#forth one is heavily inspired by that one girl I was sitting next to in 1st grade

[narnour-momo-007]

Kiddies

[sailoryooons]

Gods of the Dark | One | myg (m)

☾ Pairing: Dream god!Yoongi x f. human!reader

☾ Summary: Don’t ask for help in the dark. It’s an old tale you always heard whispered among the people of your village. But when you find yourself dragged kicking by the man you’re to marry, you have little choice but to beg for help long after the sun has set. The god who answers your pleas promises to save you, but every deal comes with a price. 

☾ Word Count: 21,606

☾ Genre: Fantasy, angst, strangers to lovers, smut

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

☾ Warnings: Sexist and patriarchal society inspired by medieval europe, a lot of world building and discussion about theories/concept of dreams, discussions of morals and ethics, world building, angst, intense fight scenes, mentions/light depictions of an abusive family, discussions of gender roles and forced marriages, attempted murder via drowning, a physical fight between a man and a woman in the middle of a storm, sexual dream sequences featuring making out, biting (light), grinding, reader having flashbacks of trauma, a lot of thoughts about reader's terrible parents, a sort of power imbalance in the sense that reader is in Yoongi's realm as a part of a deal.

☾ Published: July 9, 2023

☾ A/N: It's finally here! This was originally supposed to be two giant chapters, but I cannot manage my time in a way to write to ~40k chapters and also fit all of this in a way that is not overwhelming or feels like it makes sense, so I have chosen to do this in 4 chapters of roughly 20k words! Thank you to everyone who has hyped me up for this idea, helped me work out some ideas, or listened to me struggle to write this because I was so unsure about the chemistry between Yoongi and reader at first. I am really excited to be writing this and have taken this in quite a different direction than the original idea when I had when I watched the Lilith MV, but that's okay. I heavily draw on inspiration from the Lilith MV, the song Possession of a Weapon by Ashnikko, The Sandman by Neil Gaiman, the movie The Witch, The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V.E. Schwab and the original myth of Hades and Persephone (where I got the deal/living in Yoongi's world idea from).

Special thank you to my amazing beta team who really helped make this fic what it is and make sure it was legible: @theharrowing and @here2bbtstrash

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

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Tuck a knife with my heart up my sleeve

Change like a season

-

It begins with rain.

White sheets of it beating against the window in a gentle murmur, a soft leak in the corner of the kitchen dripping into the metal bucket your mother has set out. The storm brings a cool wind with it, blowing in on the back porch where your father rocks back and forth in his chair, watching the deluge. 

Shivering, you throw another log into the fireplace, pulling your shawl closer as orange embers spark and crackle, drifting up the shute. The smell of burning cedar grows and you smile, sitting down in front of the licking flames and holding out your hands to warm your palms. 

Behind you at the kitchen table, your mother pulls a thread and needle through a dress she’s been working on, stitching purple flowers into the sleeves. You wonder if she’s making it for the neighbor's daughter, a girl a few years younger than you to be wed soon. 

Mother makes some of the best stitching in the village, her practiced hands etching artful flowers and vines and designs on the sleeves and skirts of most of the village women. She’s tried for years to pass the craft on to you, but your fingers aren’t nearly as nimble and your eye for art is sorely lacking. 

What you lack in art you make up for in stories, though. Head in the clouds, swimming in worlds, places and things you’ve never seen. Lives and people who only exist in your mind, entire fantasies with more colors and sights and smells than your tiny little world contains. 

You’d write them down if you could. Writing and reading is not a woman’s craft, though, and you know better than to press your father on the subject any further than you have in the past. A terse word from him and your raw knuckles after being forced to do the wash alone for weeks kept you from bringing up the topic of learning to read and write ever again, especially when you remember the sting of his slap when you pushed too far.

Still, you have your mind. You have the ability to dream up worlds and twist fantasies together, to daze off and pretend that you’re somewhere else. That you’re living another life.

You have the days where you finish working at the inn early, sitting in the corner of the room with hard bread and cheese, listening to the town’s storyteller whisper tales and myths to the children of the village.

For now, it will suffice. 

When the rain finally slows in the late afternoon, it’s cloudy and cool outside, the perfect temperature for a walk. Pulling on a pair of linen pants and a tunic, you creep toward the door, hoping to avoid the attention of your parents as they begin to prepare dinner in the kitchen, their movements methodical and silent. 

Carefully, you slide boots on your feet. As you reach for the front door, hidden from the view of the kitchen, you hear your mother call your name. You pause, closing your eyes and grimacing as you call back, “Yes?”

“Where are you going? It’s wet and cold outside.”

“Just for a short walk.”

“You’re going to catch a cold,” she protests. Her steps move near you. You pull the door open and step into the wet air, eager to get away from her. “Come help us with dinner.”

“I’ll see you shortly, the weather is lovely!”

Before your mother can come around the corner and pin you with her disappointed stare, you’re down the slippery steps and sloshing into the yard, mud and grass sucking at your steps as you hurry. You hear your father yell something like dammit, girl but you can’t be sure, the sounds of birds and the bugs swallowing his curses as you rush through the front yard.

The world is covered in a layer of fine mist, tree boughs heavy with rain as they drip drip drip onto the forest floor around you. Thick, gray clouds hide the sun still. Thunder rolls in the distance, promising more rain through the night. You don’t mind, diving into the darkness of the trees on a well-worn path through the woods.

Water floods the path up to the ankle, soaking your boots. You grin and kick your feet as you walk, watching the ripples flow outward. Water mosquitoes dance on top of the surface of the flood and you note little tadpoles swim by, confirming that the river by your house is flooding up over the bank and washing into the mainland. 

This is common most summers. Your house is out of the way from the town, almost a thirty minute walk. This far north, you’re only ten minutes from the edge of the slow-moving river that floods yearly turning the land around your property into a marsh. 

It’s your favorite time of year. A heron startles as you wander through the trees, shaking its white wings and shedding water as it hurries away on long, thin legs. You spot a snake swimming through the reeds, rushing away from you once it senses you sloshing through. 

Closer to the river, you pause. It’s hard to tell where the embankment dips down with it flooded. You can see where the flood moves faster, powered by the depth of the river and the overflow from the lake up north. Leaning against a tree, you look around this world of water. 

It seems alien. Trees block out the sky and are reflected in the surface of the flood, giving the illusion that you stand between two worlds, two dimensions. 

What would that be like, you wonder. 

According to the high priest in town, there are other dimensions. There are the heavens for the gods of light and love, who bless the world with fire and harvest and rain and oceans, who protect the people and who will absolve you of all sin and greed if you pray to them hard enough and accept them as your patrons. Who will love you only if you are devout.

You don’t believe in them for a second. If those gods of love and light do exist, they are not entirely good. They have never answered your prayers, have never saved you from pain or from sorrow. You have begged the gods to give you a new life, to let you leave. To let you go somewhere far away.

They have been silent. They were silent when your father beat you after the first time you rejected a marital match. They didn’t help you when he burned all your materials when you tried to teach yourself the shapes and sounds of letters.

So you stopped praying to them. 

There are other gods, of course. Other places for the wicked, dark gods full of trickery and greed, who seek only to fill the world with sin and deceit, who desire to make humans suffer and lose themselves in hedonism and debauchery. Those gods have a place too, the dark underworld for those who should be punished and reminded what it is to be full of sin. 

You’ve never prayed to them either, too afraid of what it would cost you. But you wonder if they answer or if they too watch the world from a mountain so high that they cannot bother to help those who need it. 

Still, you wonder what it would be like to walk between two worlds. To see one reflected in the other, to fall face first into the cool water only to surface in another place, almost an exact replica of where you’re from. 

It would be nice. Perhaps there you wouldn’t be a disappointing daughter who has turned away every suitor in the village, much to your father’s rage. There, you would be allowed to pursue reading and writing. You’d have the agency to sail the world and see the ocean for the first time, to feel the freezing spray of the seas on your face while you hunt the coast for something lost. 

Always something lost. 

In all of your fantasies, you’re looking for something. Sometimes, you’re not sure what it is you’re looking for, you just know that something needs to be found. Other times, it’s a specific object or a person, something that, deep down, you know represents the thing you desire to find most: freedom. 

A small school of fish swim by your feet. They can’t be any larger than your pinky finger, scurrying along before they’re swept up in the suction of the flowing river. Sighing, you push off the tree and begin to head back home, swatting at your bare arms where gnats bite at your sweaty skin. 

Dark presses in as you walk back. You had stayed in the woods later than you intended, mind drifting far off among the sounds of the world around you. A cool tingle slides down your neck as you walk, water breaking around you. 

You pause. It’s the same feeling that you get whenever you spend far too long in the woods and the sun goes down. It feels like there’s someone there with you, just at your back. Slowly, you turn to look over your shoulder but there’s no one there, just the warm press of something you can’t see. 

When it happened the first time, you’d been so afraid you ran home. Now, though, you smile and look down at the ground as you keep walking. The presence, whether it’s real or something you have made up in your head, is always comforting. Always there, a gentle press of feeling. 

There are candles burning in the windows and an owl hoots in greeting when your house appears. Inside, you kick off your shoes and rush to meet your parents at the silent dinner table. Both of them look up at you, your mother’s mouth pinched, eyes weary. Your father’s gaze is thunderous as he picks up cutlery and begins to cut into his potato in saw-like motions, his knuckles going white.

You sit down without a word, bow your head to pretend to pray. Your mother clears her throat, drawing your attention. “It’s after dark. You missed your prayers.” 

It doesn’t matter. You weren’t going to pray anyway. But the way your parents look at you makes you drop your eyes down to the table, their expressions alarmed. Were you really about to pray after the sunset, when the benevolent gods were no longer listening? The only gods available to you now are dangerous. Violent. Tricky. 

Dinner is dry and too heavily salted. Still, you don’t complain. Somewhere in the world, you’re sure that there are wonderful feasts being held. Plates and platters of honey-glazed meats, roasted pheasant and charred filets. Whipped sweets and colorful confectionaries, dripping fruits and sugary drinks. 

None of those places exist anywhere that you’ve ever seen, but you like to imagine them as you chew your way through an oppressively silent meal. He says nothing, but you can tell your father is angry once again. Just as well, he at least keeps it to himself through the meal and says nothing when you’re done. 

“I’ll do the dishes,” you offer quickly when your parents finish. It’s an olive branch and they know it. They accept anyway, letting you gather plates as the soft hush of rain begins again. 

Rain washes out the night. You can’t see anything beyond the water that runs off the roof over the back porch as you dip your rag into warm water, scrubbing at the plates before setting them to dry in the stack next to you. 

Frogs croak, their loud voices blending together into the roar of the rain. Every now and again, lightning flashes above and thunder shakes the sky. You feel it vibrate through your ribs and you smile, inhaling the charged air. 

“... doesn’t have a choice!” You turn toward the open doorway. You can’t see your parents but the window is open to their room, voices coming in and out of the rain. “... force her! I’ve had… and he’s already agreed.”

You frown, stopping your scrubbing to lean further, straining your ears. “This won’t go well,” your mother says. 

“I don’t give a damn! It’s already done, woman. Enough.”

The rest of the conversation is drowned out by thunder. You frown and turn back to your task, trying to piece together what they’re talking about. You think back to your mother stitching the dress before dinner and think perhaps they’re gossiping about the neighbor again. She wasn’t happy that she was being married off and everyone knew it.

Still, she’s doing it. She’s stronger than you. It’s hard to imagine going through with something you don’t want, to live a life shackled to another person who doesn’t love you. Whose only purpose is to coexist with you and reproduce. To run a household and get through each and every day, the same as last.

It’s hard to say if your parents are in love. They are tender, at times, but you can’t ever point out a moment that your mother or father seem truly happy. Content isn’t the same as happiness. Not really. While they work together well and seem to have struck up a balance after the years, there’s nothing in the way they move through life that seems joyful. 

You had asked your mom if she was happy once. She gave you a funny look and said, I have a roof above my head and food on the table. How could I not be? 

Her response puzzles you still. To live is not to be happy. Being alive is just that - being alive. A bare minimum. But truly being happy is something else. At least, that’s how you understand it. How the heroes and characters in stories and tales live their lives, fighting for happiness. 

Later that night, you forget all about their whispers behind the sheets of rain. You’re tired and the storm is soothing, making you dream of a far away land where there are two armies entrenched in war, battling for their kingdoms and lighting the sky with storm magic. 

Another dream. Another fantasy. 

-

In your dream, a soft mouth meets yours. The kiss is slow, tongue dragging against yours, tasting of something sweet, mouth warm. It smells like clove and cinnamon, and though you don’t open your eyes to see the mouth that slides against yours, you know you are safe. 

-

It ends in darkness.

Dusk has settled around your home like a funeral shroud. Your father has been gone all day, your mother flippant when you ask about his whereabouts. Your mother is a painted picture of anxiety: mouth pinched, darting eyes that fail to meet yours, and hunched shoulders. It makes your palms sweat, the way she avoids you in the house. 

Rain comes down in patterns again, bands of storms floating by and turning the world gray. You don’t have to go to the inn with the road flooded, so you spend the day at the window instead, watching each storm flash by, listening to the frogs and watching the birds pick through bug-filled waters between each deluge. 

When the sun begins to set, you find your mother standing near the window, looking through wet glass as she chews the corner of her lip. She wipes her hands on her dress, not picking up that you’re standing in the doorway watching her.

The gown she has been stitching for the past few days lays on the table. It’s a beautiful thing, bursting with intricate flowers on the sleeves and the skirts. You don’t enjoy dresses - much less the kind for marriage - but you admire the careful needlework. 

“It’s a good dress,” you tell her. She startles from where she stands at the window, whirling around to face you. “One of your best.”

“Yes. I-” something crosses her face that’s unreadable. “Would you try it on for me? I want to make sure I got the sizing right.”

You shrug and pick it up. It’s not the first time she’s used you for sizing and you’re sure it won’t be the last. You just hope that she doesn’t make you stand on a stool for hours to place pins in the skirt, mapping where she needs to take in the seams and make the fabric fold. 

The material is a little scratchy when you put it on. It’s snug across the chest and a little bit long at the wrist, but the material ripples over you like water. Outside of your room, the sound of your father’s voice echoes. He sounds more jovial than usual, laughing loudly - another voice is with him. 

Frowning, you work the buttons on the side of the dress to secure it shut, pulling the fabric into place. It isn’t often that your father has guests over, but you can assume it’s one of his friends he has over for dinner. You make a sour face at the thought that perhaps it’s Mr. Laudermill and his son Nathaniel again, a family your father has tried to pawn you off on before. 

The list of people your father has tried to get you to marry is astounding. It’s become a joke in the town, a game of who will he ask next? At first, there were plenty of families who offered their sons to make the union. Now, after how vehemently you have protested for your right to pick your husband yourself, it’s you who is rejected when your father makes dowry offers.

It seems - much to your advantage - that the men of the town and even the neighboring villages grew tired of the girl who liked to say no. It gives you small satisfaction to know that sheer inconvenience has earned you freedom alongside your mother’s unwillingness to force you. 

Still, the Laudermills are a little persistent. Not your father’s favorite option he has ever brought up, but it was one that didn’t say no. 

You enter the main house with minor trepidation, uneager to spend the evening sighing at Nathaniel’s terrible jokes and attempts to win you over. You wonder if it’s sheer pride that brings him back this time, upset that he cannot beat the town's little conundrum. The unconquerable conquest. You get the feeling that’s why he and his father visit for dinner sometimes, Nathaniel’s pride unwilling to back down from the challenge. 

You’d respect him more if he had more admiration for the word no. 

Nathaniel and his father are in the main room of your home, speaking in laughing tones to your father. Your mother stands near the open back door, hands wringing together. There is another person in your house that you don’t expect, though. The village’s high priest nods his head along with something that your father is saying, wrinkled hands clasped in front of his robes.

Time seems to slow down. You take in the tight expression on your mother’s face, her eyes drifting over to the priest who is dressed in ceremonial purple robes, an air of professional courtesy about him. He’s nodding to Nathaniel who is speaking now, and it’s when you really look at him, dressed in nice linen pants, a long sleeved shirt and an ornate vest, that you put the pieces together. 

Too slowly do you react as your father turns to you. His smile is forced and his gaze is burning with warning when he gestures. “There’s our bride!”

The word sinks in like a blade. Right between the ribs and up, its point poking dangerous at your heart as your blood begins to roar in your ears. You’re frozen to the spot, staring at them from the threshold of your room. You can feel your pulse throbbing in your neck, your hands shaking. 

“You look beautiful,” Nathaniel says, grinning. It’s a genuine smile, a proud one. Something that says finally. “I’m so glad you’re ready, after all this time.”

“I… what?”

In a moment of razor-sharp clarity, you remember the conversation your parents were having last night, soft words whispered under the cover of the storm. You remember something about forcing her and someone having already agreed. 

No. No. Nonononononono. 

You don’t realize you’re speaking out loud as you back up into your room, the horror settling in as the rain begins to tap on the roof. Your mother looks crestfallen but remains silent as your father’s smile tightens and his face reddens. 

When he says your name, it’s full of warning. The back of your legs hit your bed and your weak knees buckle. You sit down with a huff and shake your head. “You can’t do this,” you whisper. You can’t find your voice, can’t work your throat louder. “You cannot make me marry.”

“Of course I can,” your father hisses. His smile drops and in its place is something dangerous. Horrific. The villain of all your dreams and epic fantasies. “I have given you more than enough time to choose. You have not. As the man of this house-”

“No!” you bark back, cutting him off and shooting to your feet. “I am a person-”

“You are a woman!” he roars, making the high priest flinch. “Your purpose is to grow up, get married, mind the household and provide an heir! You are the only fiendish woman in this entire forsaken village who seems to misunderstand this!”

“It is not my purpose!”

“It is, and you will fulfill it!” he hisses. “You will marry this man before the gods, with my blessing and the witness of the priest.” 

Behind you, thunder rolls. The rain comes down harder. Frogs croak loudly, bracketed by the sound of the trees bending with the weight of the wind. Your heart pounds in your chest as you stare at the people before you. Your mother with tears in her eyes, your father with fury in his face, the priest with disappointment and Nathaniel. Nathaniel with glee. With a grin. With a smirk. 

“I won’t do it,” you whisper. 

Before they can argue, you turn on your heel and leap onto your bed. Your father and Nathaniel rush at the doorway, their steps pounding behind you as you crawl through the window, your ribs slamming on the sill as you lean face forward. Rain soaks you immediately, your hands gripping the sill as you haul your middle half over the edge, intending to just flip down into the mud. 

Hands yank at your legs and you scream, a feral sound ripping through your lungs as you kick backward violently. You’re yanked back toward your room viciously, rib cage aching where you slide on the concrete frame. With another savage kick, you make contact and hear a loud shout before the hands drop from your waist. 

Pushing harshly, you throw yourself the rest of the way through the window, falling the few feet down to land with a splash. Your father is screaming inside the house but you’re already slipping to your feet, whatever he says drowned out in the rain. 

You don’t even think. You run, hands picking up the wet-leaden skirts on your dress as you tear off toward the woods. Water rushes around your ankles as you go and you hear commotion at the window as someone clambers through. You don’t dare turn around as you rush to the line of trees, unafraid of the dark but terrified of the slamming footsteps behind you.

It’s impossible to be fast in the flooded woods. You wince as your feet get cut up on rocks and sharp sticks that you can’t see. You trip over roots and kick solid things as you slog forward, biting back a cry as you try to flee. 

“Get back here, you wretched bitch!” Nathaniel screams behind you. 

It never occurred to you that he could say something so violent. It spurs you forward, mud and water sucking your feet down and making your flight sticky and slow. Rain pelts down between the leaves, the storm lighting up the treetops with purple flashes every now and again. Thunder shakes their branches and rumbles through your feet, the water rushing higher and higher. 

Nathaniel slams into you at the waist. You scream as he takes you down, his weight on top of you. Your scream is cut off as your mouth fills with water. You swallow in a panic, body thrumming with alarm as you choke, nose full of water, eyes burning. You can hear the dull roar of water, the swish of your tangled limbs on the floor. 

Clawing at him, you feel your nails rip down soft flesh and hear a muted yell. He lifts his weight off of you and you sit forward, breaking the surface and gasping for air, retching. Your lungs and nose burn as you gasp for air, fighting to get a breath in. 

Nathaniel is on you again, his hand going for your hair as he digs his fingers in hard, yanking at your scalp. Your hands fly to his wrist and you scream again, pulling at him, trying to free yourself. Tears smart your eyes from the stinging pain as he yanks hard enough that you think he’ll tear you right apart. 

“Fucking ungrateful,” he barks.

Your feet slide in the mud as he uses your buoyancy in the knee deep water to haul you back toward the house. You twist in his grip, mewling in panic and pain as you work to get your feet under you and fight back. You let go of his arm and throw a weak punch at his ribs. He grunts but doesn’t let go, even as you twist, hands shooting to the ground, digging through soaked earth and weeds until you feel the hard, rough shape of a rock. 

Grabbing it, you lift your hand from the water and bring it down hard on Nathaniel’s wrist. He screams and lets go of your hair. Your fingers ache from the blow but you don’t waste precious minutes, scrambling to your feet and sloshing away from him again. He’s already gripping at your dress, fingers ripping at the fabric to get a hold of you. 

Desperation claws at you and you scream for help. You don’t know if anyone else is out here in the dark of the woods but you don’t care. Bleeding, in pain, and terrified, you tear through the water, the rock clutched in your fingers, rushing in the dark as Nathaniel gives chase.

“Please!” you scream at the dark. “Anyone, please!” 

A thread of thought slivers through you about the gods. Praying to the gods has never gotten you anywhere. It didn’t make your father let you read. It didn’t get you out of your town. It didn’t save you from this. The supposed gods who rule with light and love had never heard you and you had long stopped believing in them.

But you’d never prayed to the gods of the dark. The gods who only listen to words whispered after the setting sun. 

“Please,” you beg, turning your head to the dark sky. Lighting flashes and thunder rumbles. Cool wind brushes against your face, wind that feels like it whispers I’m listening. “Please,” you scream again. “Help me, I’ll give you whatever you want. Help me!”

Nathaniel takes you down by the waist again. You gasp for air this time as your face slaps the water with a sting. The current is rushing faster here, pulling at you. Deeper. Colder. You’re close to the river, and you feel the suction of the force of the flow tugging at your body as Nathaniel digs his fingers into the meat of your arms. 

This time, he doesn’t pull you with him. He holds you down, shoving you deeper and deeper until you realize that he’s no longer interested in bringing you back. You kick at him, you tear at him. You slam his wrist with the rock again but his other hand grabs yours, wrenching the weapon away from you. 

Your lungs are screaming and water is rushing into your nose as oxygen escapes you. His grip is firm and you begin to panic. All you can think is help help help help. Please help. 

Bubbles escape your mouth as you’re forced to breathe out again. You’re running out of time and pain starts to build in your chest. You feel the way your lungs squeeze, needing air. You let out more air and press your lips tight, desperately trying not to inhale. 

Breathe in, your instincts scream. Breathe breathe breathe breathe. 

Agony. You’re in agony as you open your mouth in a final cry, unable to form the words. Unable to scream and ask for a higher power that you only believe in at this moment to help you. 

Water fills your mouth. You swallow it whole, feel it go down as you begin to spasm. 

You’re going to die. 

And then Nathaniel’s hands are gone. It takes you a moment to realize that there’s no crushing grip on your arms and in the brief moment of realization, you barely manage to push up. To break the surface and vomit, water coming out of you in a stinging, horrid mess. Your stomach turns and you feel your chest squeeze as you choke.

The storm is still raging around you, water pulling at you and pressing you into the rough bark of a tree. Blinking tears from your eyes, you look around but it’s too dark to see. You can hear Nathaniel looking for you, screaming your name in the dark. 

The back of your neck tingles. There’s a feeling in the air behind you - that sliver of breath that you often sense when you’re out in the woods alone just after dark. Like something or someone is there with you, just behind you. 

“What is it you want?” a deep, dark voice whispers. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end and you feel chilled to the bone. The voice is like none you’ve ever heard, sensual and dizzying. 

“Want?”

“You asked for help.” The voice switches to your other ear and you don’t dare turn around to find the speaker. “What do you want?” 

“What can you give?”

The voice chuckles. The sound makes you shiver, your eyelids fluttering. The voice purrs, “I can give you anything you dream, little lamb. Tell me: what do you want?”

You think about it. Lightning lances through the sky and for a brief moment, the world is a flash of silver. You see Nathaniel in the light, a few feet away from you. He’s bloody and heaving, his eyes snapping to where you hide against the tree.

“Freedom,” you gasp as the world falls to darkness again. “I want freedom.”

“What will you give me?”

“What do you want?” you beg, hearing Nathaniel move toward you.

There’s a soft hum and you feel lightheaded at the sound. “Your time.”

“My time?”

“Your time in exchange for freedom, little lamb. Better hurry, this offer is about to expire.” 

Nathaniel screams in a rage. Sloshes closer to you. Your heartbeat quickens. You can feel it in your chest, hear it in your ears, your pulse throbbing as he nears. 

“Okay,” you whisper, voice coming out shaky. 

“Then tell me you accept.”

You take a deep breath. “I accept.” 

There’s a brush at the nape of your neck, warm and soft. Though you’ve never been kissed before, you think that it’s the press of lips, intimate and barely there. Something inside you flickers to life, like a new instinct that has opened its eyes for the first time. You’re aware of another presence, a soft buzz that presses down on you as it stands up next to you. 

Thunder rolls and you feel someone brush by you.  A hand touches your cheek almost fondly, fingers dragging along the curve of your jaw. Blinking slowly, you lean into the touch, seeking its comfort. You don’t know who it belongs to. All you know is that just the feel of fingers on your skin has your stomach flipping, your toes curling. 

The hand drops from your face and you immediately miss the contact. Opening your eyes, you see another flash of lightning. There’s someone standing in front of you dressed in black, slick with rain. You can’t make out anything much, just the shape of a man in a dark cloak. 

A god. You know he’s a god, whoever this savior is. You know that something has heard your screams in the dark and has come to give you what you wanted. What you begged for. 

“She is no longer available to you,” the god announces to Nathaniel. It’s not the same whisper as a moment ago, but a deep, raspy voice. Dark. Demanding. “She’s mine.” 

“That’s my betrothed,” Nathaniel answers, though it comes out like a question, his voice trembling. “I– she belongs to-”

“Me,” the dark god assures. A loud clap of thunder makes you flinch. “Goodbye, Nathaniel Laudermill.” 

Nathaniel screams. You don’t know what happens. There’s just his shout of terror in the dark and a roll of thunder that shakes the trees and rattles the earth. You feel the vibration in the water from the unearthly thunder before you realize that this sound, this trembling, is the wrath of a god. 

The sound fades and the shaking stops. You feel more than see the god in front of you turn to face you, a sweeping warmth as he bends down. You cannot make out any features, your vision swimming with bursts of color in the lack of light. 

“You’re with me now,” he assures you. “And you should not be afraid.” 

Gentle hands reach out and cradle your face. You’re suddenly tired, every pain in your body weighing you down like stones, pulling at you until you’re closing your eyes and succumbing to the heavy exhaustion.

The last thing you remember is your whispered name on reverent lips. 

-

You’re dreaming. Your eyes are closed in this dream but you feel light and warm. Fingers brush over your cheek, soft and reverent. You hear a gentle, deep humming, a pleasant melody. It smells like clove and cinnamon, making you drift further into the dream. You lean into the hand cupping your face and hear a deep chuckle before drifting off into nothingness. 

-

The first thing you notice is the smell of clove and cinnamon. It’s a soothing scent that sends your heart fluttering as you roll over. The blankets wrapped around you feel divine, soft with a high loft that feels like you’re wrapped in clouds. The mattress is decadent, sucking you in further as you settle in on your side, inhaling deeply.

Then you remember hands tearing at your legs. Ripping you by the hair. Water filling your lungs and throat. The flash of lightning and the cold rain as you were dragged under a flood again and again. 

With a gasp you sit up in bed, heart hammering. You still as you look around, mouth dropping open at the opulent room. The bed is the largest thing you’ve ever seen, on a low platform swimming with charcoal colored sheets and pillows. The headboard looks like polished obsidian, glinting in the low light provided by dozens of flickering candles.

Stone walls make up the room, rough rock with sconces of flickering flames. The room is sprawling with a sitting area a step down from the bed, decorated with chaise lounges, a coffee table and high-backed chairs situated in front of a fireplace. Flames crackle on a log, orange light dancing across the room. On either side of the fireplace are bookshelves that stretch up to the high ceiling.

Across from the bed are open double doors where you can see a magnificent bathroom. From your vantage point, you can just make out sinks carved from a hewn rock and what looks like a trickling waterfall sluicing down the wall. 

Turning to the left, there is a set of glass doors, a balcony just on the other side. It appears to be nighttime outside, thousands of stars glittering through the glass and the largest moon you’ve ever seen suspended in the sky like a lone coin.

Carefully, you peel back the covers. You’re still in the wedding dress your mother made you. It’s stained and tattered and bloodied, making your stomach flip uncomfortably as you look down on it. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you place your feet on the stone flooring, expecting it to be cold to the touch. 

It isn’t. Warmth radiates from the floor through the soles of your feet, making you sigh, tension bleeding from your shoulders as you close your eyes for a moment. Though the aches and the pains from being scratched and hit and torn down are gone, you wince as you recall them. 

Your parents were going to force you to marry Nathaniel. You don’t know how you missed the signs before, how you thought that there was any other path. With your elbows pressed to your knees, you hang your head in your hands, pressing your eyes shut and taking another shuddering breath.

This time, a sob slips out. Somehow, you had tricked yourself into thinking that your parents would abide by your wishes to make your own choices. Foolish, you realize. Your father had not grown complacent. He had been biding his time, waiting to strike. 

The smallest viper has the greatest sting.

And your mother was going to let him do it. The woman who had brought you into the world screaming and bloody was going to pass you off to a man, even if it meant that man dragged you kicking and screaming to the altar. 

Disgust curls in your stomach and your hands turn into firsts, pressing against your closed lids and making bursts of colors flash in your eyes. Split down the middle, one part of you mourns the loss of the parents you thought that you had. The other is an open wound, festering with a hateful infection at the very thought of them. 

The sound of the door opening catches your attention. Your heart leaps as you sit up straight, dropping your hands into your lap as a man slips through the large double doors near the sitting area. Your breath catches in your chest as he sweeps into the room, looping his hands behind his back as he sets his dark eyes on you and approaches. 

He’s the most beautiful creature you’ve ever seen, you think. Inky hair falls into his enigmatic eyes. His skin is deep gold, a contrast to the all-black blouse that he wears tucked into black pants. You see the open collar of his shirt revealing a patch of tan skin and an elegant throat, but it’s his face that shatters your mind. 

The man - or god, you think - has a square, masculine jaw offset with a delicate mouth the color of rose petals. His nose is straight and wide and would look ridiculous on anyone else. On him, it’s the perfect balance, his cheekbones high and angular, cutting the roundness of his nose. 

“Good to see you’re awake,” he greets. The man stops at the edge of the step that leads to where the bed sits higher than the rest of the room. You stare and stare and stare at him, unable to process words as he grins at you. His voice is dulcet and warm, but not the voice that promised to save you. “How do you feel?”

“I…” you rasp out and you shake your head, unable to think of anything else.

His mouth quirks and he nods. “It sounds like you had a terrible time. How about you take a well-deserved bath and get out of that terrible dress? Sorry to have left you in it, I was under strict instructions not to invade your personal space.”

“Yes, please.” You hesitate. “Where am I? Whose instructions?”

“You’re somewhere safe with someone who wants you to remain safe.” 

“Where is safe?”

He gives you a secretive smile as he nods toward the bathroom before turning on his heel and striding away. On unsteady feet, you follow him. It helps that the floor is warm, giving you the strength you need to make it down the two steps and across the stone toward the bathroom. 

“I don’t think I’m the right person to answer your question,” he admits. “I’m just here to help you get settled. My name is Taehyung, by the way.”

“Taehyung.” You say the word, familiarizing yourself with the shape of it as you enter the room and stop. 

The bathroom is far more luxurious than you realized from afar. There is a waterfall running down the black rockface between two basins, trickling into a little fountain that drains on the floor. To the right side of the bathroom is a large body of steaming water. 

Herbal scents fill the room as you near the edge of the dark surface of the water. It reminds you of hot springs in a cave near the southern villages, a place you’d only heard of but never seen. It’s massive, surrounded by a smooth, stone edge. There is a corner full of what appears to be salts, soaps and herbs alongside flickering candles. 

Opposite the hot spring is a giant glass window that overlooks mountains and lush greenery. From the window, you can see the entire world of wherever you are stretched out in the most dazzling and wonderful display. You can’t help but feel as though you’re somewhere that belongs in the epitome of night.

“How deep is that?” you ask, turning to Taehyung with a wary expression as you gesture to the body of water. 

His expression softens. “Waist high when you stand in the middle. There is a ledge that you can sit on all the way around. It’s incredibly safe and very warm. I can stand just outside the door if anything goes wrong.”

“Okay.” 

Taehyung points to a stack of clothes resting on a stool near a cabinet full of towels and jars of things. “Those are for you to change into. The towels are for you to dry off, of course. Anything in the bathroom is yours to use.” Taehyung must sense your hesitation, because he gives you a soft smile. “You’re safe here. I promise.” 

“I’d feel better if I knew where here was.”

“Bathe. Relax. Then I’ll take you to him.” 

Taehyung does not give you a chance to ask to whom he refers. He strides out of the room and the door swings shut seemingly on its own. You blink a few times at it, standing in the middle of the warm bathroom in a daze.

Spinning, you look around the room and find yourself drawn to the window. Up close, you realize how high up you are. It’s a bit dizzying, and you look  down at the ground only to see that there is a garden bursting with purple and blue, neat rows of flowers that stretch until they meet a line of trees. 

A world of mountains unfolds beyond the window. You’ve never seen mountains but they are larger than you could have ever imagined, snowcaps stark against the night sky. It’s mesmerizing and a little too big, so you turn away from the window and head for the steaming basin of water. 

Peaking over the edge, you can see the bottom. It doesn’t look that deep, but your stomach twists as you pop the buttons on your dress. Your fingers feel stiff and disjointed as you work to undress. You look down at the ripped threads and the dirty fabric and think about how much time your mother spent stitching it.

Suddenly the dress feels suffocating and you pull hard on the garment, popping buttons from the threads and sending them clattering on the floor. You shed the dress and kick it away from you, stripping off your undergarments and lowering yourself to the edge of the water. 

A sigh leaves your mouth as you slide your feet and legs in first. The water is hot, though not scalding like you expected. Closing your eyes, you remain sitting on the edge for a moment, letting your calves soak and muscles unwind, fingers gripping the edge tight. 

Taking a deep breath, you slide forward a little, firmly placing your feet on the ledge Taehyung spoke of. For a moment, your fear spikes. You feel it sharp in your chest and you squeeze your eyes shut, gripping the edge of the basin. With a few deep breaths, you carefully slide down to the ledge proper, sinking in the hot water to the chest. 

“I’m not going to drown,” you whisper to yourself. The words come out shaky and you’re not entirely sure that you believe them. “I’m not going to drown, I am not going to drown, I am not going to drown.”

You repeat the mantra until you believe it, your fingers grasping the edge of the stone seat as you try to relax and melt into the water. It takes a while, but you finally grow too tired of remaining tense, taking a deep breath and gaining the courage to relax. 

Gently, you rest your head against the edge of the basin. Heat seeps into your skin and you feel the anxiety bleed out of you, your tensed muscles unwinding. You hadn’t realized how clenched up you were until you let go, and your body sags a little bit in the water. 

Time slips away. Thankfully, your body doesn’t hurt the way you anticipated that it would. Frowning, you press your fingers into your skin where there should be bruises and pain. There is no evidence on your skin that Nathaniel laid his hands on you the night before - the day before? You’re unsure how much time has passed, only that there is an eerie absence of your wounds.

Turning your head, you look at your dress discarded on the floor. There’s certainly evidence of a struggle spattered all over the fabric, but it makes you wonder if the god who answered your prayers has healed you.

A god. 

The thought comes to you in a snap and you stare down at the water, eyes unfocusing as you try to recall the details of what happened. You remember screaming for help, the sound of your desperation ripping through your mouth. You don’t think you’ve ever screamed like that, terrified and wild. You remember thinking about the gods, begging them to hear you, willing them to listen. 

Water had been filling your lungs. Crushing out air. You remember the rush of the stream around you as it pulled at your fighting body. Nathaniel’s hands gripping you and holding you under viciously, fingers like claws as he tried to drown you. 

Then you surfaced and choked, completely shrouded in darkness…. And you remember that quiet voice made of smoke and shadow. Thinking of it now makes you shiver, despite how hot the water is. The voice had promised you freedom in exchange for time and had taken you to wherever this place was. 

You open your eyes, unsure when you had even closed them. Glancing around the room once more, you decide there is no way that you’re anywhere close to home. You’ve never seen anything like this bathroom before, a feat of what appears to be architecture and maybe magic. 

Soaps and salts line the edges of the bathing pool. When you feel brave enough, you dart across the middle like a minnow, trying not to think about how you nearly crossed death’s bridge in a shallow body of water not long ago. 

Unscrewing lids, you smell each of the glass bottles of liquid, humming in delight. You settle on a hard bar of soap that smells like lavender and mint. It feels good to scrub your skin raw. You imagine that you’re washing away all of the memories of Nathaniel’s fingers on your skin and the scratchy dress your mother made for you.

Fingers and feet pruned and skin feeling stripped of a top layer, you reluctantly exit the bath. The towels are the softest thing you’ve ever felt. You run the fabric between your fingers, tilting your head up at the sky and sighing. Wherever this dark god has taken you doesn’t seem so terrifying, yet it puts you more on edge, these luxuries. 

The clothes Taehyung left out for you fit well enough, though it’s obvious they are not your exact measurements. He’s provided you with soft, black pants and a loose, black tunic with intricate designs that look like clouds on the sleeves and collar. 

You hesitate when you’re ready to leave the bathroom. So far, it seems that whatever bargain you’ve struck with this god has been in your favor. But you know you’ve made a deal in a moment of fear, and you’re not entirely sure what you’ve agreed to.

Time.

Though you’re nervous, you can’t stay hidden in the bathroom forever. Nudging the door open, you peek around the edge, gaze sweeping the room as you look for Taehyung. He’s standing in the sitting area, face toward the flickering fire. He looks both terrifying and beautiful, hands linked behind his back as he watches the flames. 

“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” Taehyung calls without turning around. “I mean it when I tell you that you’re safe.”

Slipping through the door, you walk toward him, regarding him warily. “Still,” you answer. “I don’t know where I am. Are you even human?”

He does look over his shoulder then, flashing you a wicked grin. “I’m not.” 

Taehyung’s answer doesn’t put you at ease, but you’re unsure what to do. Wordlessly, he gestures for you to follow him as he heads through the door and out of the room. For a moment, you hesitate. What would happen if you refused to leave the room? Is your deal with the god already in effect? What are its limitations? 

You can answer none of the questions you have, so you follow Taehyung, hoping to find answers soon. Except as soon as you step out of the room, you think you might have even more questions. 

The halls are dark and lit with flickering torches, casting an orange glow up to the cavernous ceilings. Though you’ve never been in a castle or seen one, you have an idea of how grand they are. There is no doubt in your mind that this is a castle, the halls resplendent and sweeping with artwork and fabric and statues. 

In front of you, Taehyung walks jovially with his hands linked behind his back. He hums a tune you don’t know, but it sounds smooth and warm. You follow behind him, casting your gaze around as you walk, trying to remember which turns you take and what paintings you pass. 

You reach a tall, closed set of wooden double doors. Taehyung raps his fingers against the door, looking over his shoulder at you with an excited grin. Your stomach flips and you wipe your palms against the bottom of your tunic. Your hands feel shaky and you twine them into the fabric, willing them to stop. 

Taehyung must hear someone on the other side of the door, because he opens it and steps in and to the side, gesturing for you to enter. You take a deep breath and walk by him into the room, stopping immediately as you look up, your mouth falling open. 

It’s a library grander than you could ever imagine. Your town had quite a small library at the church that belonged to the high priest, but this is something beyond your wildest dreams. The ceiling stretches higher than your imagination, filled with floating lights and stars - the entire night sky is stretched above you in swirling constellations of purple and blue. 

Three floors make up the library, each lined with books and windows that look out into the evening. You can see sprawling gardens beyond the tinted glass, but it’s the shelves of books that catch your attention. Stepping into the room further, you slowly spin, looking at the sheer amount of volumes that line the walls. There are multiple seating areas with rich, velvet blue armchairs and couches, tables full of books and papers and ink bottles and maps. 

Your throat tightens as you look at Taehyung, your mouth wobbling. The urge to burst into tears has never felt greater than this moment. You never imagined that you could stand in a room with so many books, and the desire to pull one off the shelf and delve in is cut short by the single, glaring fact that you don’t know how to read them. 

Distracted by the books upon entry, it takes you a moment to notice another presence in the room. You feel a tingle at the back of your neck, one that draws your eyes toward a long table near the fireplace. It’s the same feeling you had when you were saved from Nathaniel, an awareness that buzzes along your skin.

A man stands in front of the table, watching you with dark, feline eyes. He’s beautiful. Otherworldly, really. His round features remind you of the moon, but it’s the sharp eyes and the careful pout of his mouth that draws you in. He looks both delicate and dangerous, and you notice the quirk on his lips as he watches you watch him. 

He’s in all black. Black pants tucked into black, knee-high boots, and a black, long-sleeved shirt. There’s a layer of necklaces around his neck and you can see shapes and runes that are unfamiliar to you. The same runes and shapes are on the rings on his long, delicate fingers, folded in front of him. 

This is the face of a god. You know it in the way that there’s something ancient in his eyes and in the way he glows from within. His power is tangible, a crackling energy pressing up against every nerve in your body. 

“How are you feeling?” his voice vibrates right to your core. Soft and dark like you remember it, though a little rougher now. Gravelly. He studies you, unmoving. “Hopefully well-rested?”

“I feel…. Better.” Finding the words is hard in his presence, especially under the scrutiny of his gaze. You want to dart out of the room and hide, but you also don’t want to leave the library without exploring. “I think I should thank you?”

It comes out as a question and he smirks a little. Your stomach flutters at the sight; he raises a brow. “You’re welcome. Are you hungry? You’ve been asleep for nearly a day.”

The door shuts behind you and you startle, whirling around to see that Taehyung has left you. Your nerves fray further and you turn back to look at the god watching you. Behind him on the table, you realize it is a feast of sorts. Roasted meats and poultry, platters of fruit, plates of cheese and neatly arranged crackers, steaming pans of vegetables and things you cannot identify. 

He notices. “You must be starving. Come. Eat.” When you don’t move, he sighs. “I didn’t save you just to harm you.” 

It’s true enough. You carefully approach the table, eyeing him as he unclasps his hands and pulls out a chair for you. When you hesitate, he arches a dark brow again and you feel yourself grow warm in the face, muttering your thanks as you hurry over to the chair and sit down. 

The god’s presence is buzzing. He doesn’t touch you, but it’s like you feel him anyway, just an inch away from you. He helps you slide your chair in and gives a deep, contented sigh before he moves toward the opposite end of the table, taking the dull hum of energy with him. 

Across the table, he sits. His gaze finds yours again as you stare at him, finding it difficult to look anywhere else. Even with the smell of a divine meal, your attention on him is a fixed point. If this bothers him, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he leans back in his seat, casual and confident. 

“Have what you like,” he offers. “I don’t know what you enjoy and I didn’t want to pry.”

The table is full of options. You chew the inside of your cheek. There is glazed duck and roasted ham, creamy looking potatoes and sauced vegetables. Your stomach growls and twists painfully as you stare at your choices. 

“The duck is good,” he offers gently. You glance up. He nods towards the dish in question. “Sorry, it’s probably overwhelming.”

“A little,” you answer, but take him up on his advice and go for the duck. “Where are we?”

“In between.”

You frown as you plate different foods, fingers sticky as you do. You’re hyper-aware of him watching you and you try not to look up, feeling your hands quake as you add roasted veggies to your plate. “What does that mean?”

“Exactly what you think it does. We’re at the in-between of all things. Not a solid place in your sense of understanding. It’s not a physical manifestation of a land mass, but it is a world that contains physical things.” 

“A… dimension?”

“Exactly. This is my domain.”

“And what… are you?”

You look up at him then. His lips twitch at the corners and he tongues the inside of his cheek. “A god. But you already knew that.”

“Wanted to hear you say it.” 

Silence falls between you as you pick up a knife and fork, cutting carefully into your meat. You pop it between your lips, sighing when the duck melts on your tongue with the taste of honey and something else. You sag in the chair, not realizing until now how tense you had been to this point. The food sends a wave of warmth through you and the god watches as you take a few bites, patient as you eat.

“This is fantastic,” you say, glancing at him as you reach for a glass of water. “The flavors are like nothing I’ve ever had.”

“I assure you that all things here are like nothing you’ve ever had.” You hum in agreement, taking another eager bite. You cannot imagine anything in the real world tasting this succulent. You almost wonder if perhaps this is all a dream. “You didn’t pray before you began to eat.”

Your chewing pauses. He’s bemused, giving you a sideways grin with his brows raised. You swallow thickly and say, “Praying never got me anywhere until recently. Why did you help me?”

“Because you asked.”

“You didn’t have to, though.”

It isn’t a question. He answers anyway. “I didn’t.”

“So why did you? The other gods have never helped me.”

“The other gods aren’t me.” His voice is soft and lethal, raising the hair on your arms. “We are not all the same, and you’d do well to not make any further comparisons moving forward.” 

You lower your gaze. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Gods are fickle beings. We are quick to offend and slow to let go. You don’t know any better and are thus forgiven.” 

“What do I call you?”

For a moment, he hesitates. You think he isn’t going to answer just as he says, “Yoongi. You can call me Yoongi.”

“Is that your name?” 

“It’s one of them.” 

“How many names do you have?”

He chuckles. It’s a delightful sound and you smile, watching him lean his head back against his chair, looking up as he shrugs. “How much time do you have?”

Time. 

Suddenly, you remember that you aren’t here on this god - Yoongi’s - good graces. You’re here because you called for someone in a moment of need and he agreed to help you, but at a cost. Your time. He had asked for your time, and a sense of anxiety tiptoes its way up your spine as you think about the ambiguity of his deal. 

Swallowing harshly, you shift back in your seat. The food in your stomach feels a little heavy, far too rich for you to eat more than a few bites. You’ve only ever known your parents’ staples of meat, bread, cheese, and root vegetables. 

“When you saved me,” you begin. “You made a deal with me.”

“I did.”

“My freedom in exchange for my time.”

His eyes are glittering as he watches you, completely still. The fireplace next to you crackles. It makes shadows dance across his face, giving him the appearance of something wild and untamed. Your heartbeat quickens as you watch him, this godly being, as he stares you down. 

“That was the deal,” he finally hums. His head cocks to the side a little. “I don’t usually discuss business over dinner.”

“I’m done eating.”

He huffs but doesn’t seem annoyed. “Perhaps tea, then? It will help settle your stomach.”

You narrow your eyes. “How do you know that my stomach needs settling?” 

“I know a lot of things.” Yoongi rises and gestures to the chairs directly in front of the fireplace. You stand, following his lead. There’s a quiver of energy in the air and you pause, turning to look back at the table to see it’s completely bare, no trace of anything left. You whip around to look at Yoongi as he sits in a wingback chair. “I can do a lot of things.”

A steaming cup of tea sits on a wooden table next to the chair you sink into. The cushions are soft, swallowing you in and making your muscles melt. The cup is warm when you pick it up, steam curling off the surface. Sniffing, your eyes flutter as you inhale the smell of mint. 

“What are you the god of?” You open your eyes and look at him. Both of his feet are planted flat on the floor, his arms resting on the arms of the chair. He looks a little stiff, more so than he did at dinner. Orange firelight reflects in his inky eyes. “You’re a god of the dark.” 

“There’s no such thing,” he scoffs, and you frown. “Your concept of gods is skewed. There is neither good nor evil, light nor dark. There are just gods.” 

“So it doesn’t matter who you pray to?”

“We don’t need your patronage. If we did, we wouldn’t be gods, would we?” You’d never thought of it that way. You sip your tea, letting the warmth and sharp mint bloom in your mouth. “We’re beyond the simple classification that mortals use to understand and organize what they think our intentions are. I have been classed as both good and evil, light and dark, benevolent and malevolent.”

“But surely there are things that are inherently evil, even among the gods.”

“Of course there isn’t. Evil is a point of view. It is a word used to define the feeling one has when the opposite of their desire occurs.” 

“I… guess that makes sense. But isn’t something like murder wrong?”

“Are you not the villain of the duck you ate today?” You blanch. Yoongi looks smug as he gestures vaguely with his hands. “Are you not evil for calling down the wrath of a god on Nathaniel Laudermill?”

“He was going to kill me.”

“You rejected his hand in marriage. You did the opposite of what he desired. I believe in his eyes, you are the evil. Is Death evil for doing what he was made to do?” 

Yoongi’s words make your head spin. You gulp a mouthful of scalding tea before setting it on the table next to you, your mind reeling. The realization that you’re sitting in a library with a starry ceiling arguing over morals and the concept of evil with a god who has saved you from certain death makes you giggle. 

He seems surprised by your sudden outburst, raising his brows as you cover your mouth, your fingers pressed to your lips as you try to contain your sudden mirth. “Sorry. This seems absolutely insane. I’m arguing over the word ‘evil’ with a god in a realm that is everywhere and nowhere at all. It feels like perhaps I’m dreaming.”

“You’re not. Though your dreams are dizzying and far more colorful than anyone else I know. You should be proud of them.” You furrow your brows. How does he know what you dream of? Before you can ask him to clarify, Yoongi says, “You wanted to discuss the deal.”

“Oh. Right. What did you mean by wanting my time in exchange for my freedom?”

“It’s simple. I want you to spend two weeks each month here.” 

Yoongi’s words sink in as you look at the window behind him. Outside, the world is sinking into what you think might be night. The sky is swimming with stars and constellations, stuck in a perpetual twilight of sorts. You’re reminded that somehow, Yoongi is like the moon and the night itself, especially when you find his dark gaze on you as he waits for your response. 

“Why?”

He lifts a shoulder. “I’m often very alone. It would be nice to have some company.” 

“That’s it? You just want me to hang out in exchange for saving me?” He nods. “That seems too easy.” 

His lips curve upward. “Maybe I’m very annoying.” 

For some reason you think it might not be true. You think of all the things that you’ve heard about the gods. Yoongi tells you that everything you know about them is wrong, but you know that the gods of the dark are tricksters. They are experts in the art of luring mortals in, and you wonder if that’s what he’s doing now. 

“Does it have to be consecutive weeks?” you ask, trying to bide time to collect your thoughts and work out his intentions. “Or can it be a collective?”

“Consecutive.” 

“What… what happens when I go home? With my family.”

Yoongi’s face grows stormy. You shift in your seat. “You’re under my protection,” he says after a moment of deliberation. “You’ll bear a mark that protects you. No one will force their will upon you again.”

“Can you?”

He shakes his head, long hair brushing the tops of his shoulders. He looks haunting in the firelight, but beautiful. You avert your gaze, fixating on the books in the room instead. “You have my word, I will never control you. I promised you freedom, that includes me.” 

“But I have to be here. I can’t escape from that. Is that freedom?”

“You made that decision of your own free will. It’s your words that bind you here, not mine. While you’re here, you are able to do whatever it is you desire. In fact, I encourage it.” 

“Wording is really important to you, isn’t it?”

He chuckles and inclines his head, fingers tapping the arm of his chair. “It is. Consider the first day of your deal already spent. You slept most of it off while you healed.” Yoongi stands, drawing your attention to him. “Sleep more,” he insists gently. “Tomorrow, I’ll give you a tour.”

The thought of a tour - and seeing Yoongi for more days - thrills you. Taehyung appears at the doorway as Yoongi escorts you out. He wishes you goodnight and lets Taehyung take you back to your room, though you feel his gaze and presence as you leave. 

It isn’t until you’re back in your room that you realize you never asked Yoongi how long your deal is supposed to last. It occurs to you that while he has given you a sort of freedom, perhaps he has taken something from you after all. 

-

Tall trees surround you. Above them, you can make out a swirling sky of stars and planets and several moons, so bright that it turns the forest a shade of blue. The woods around you are familiar, and there’s a well-walked path just ahead of you that leads to the river by your home. You’ve walked among these trees and creatures hundreds of times, but never with a sky like this.

Crickets chirp as you walk through the woods now. Grass tickles your bare feet, the earth soft and damp beneath you. It smells like fresh rain, but there’s no flood or mud as you navigate by instinct. 

It’s peaceful out here. How many times have you come here to escape your father’s rage? How many times have you sat, back pressed against a tree, watching the light fade from the world until it was too dark to see where you were going? You always managed to get home safely, even with the lack of light. 

The river rushes a few yards ahead. You pick a spot to sit and watch, beneath the cover of leaves. The sound of running water and the smell of rain on the wind lulls you into a trance and you close your eyes, resting for a while. 

Here is where you find peace. Where you dream. 

Awareness creeps up on you and you open your eyes, looking upward as you sense someone approaching. Yoongi stands next to you, onyx eyes gazing at the river. He’s in black clothes like before, his hands tucked into his pockets. You smell clove and cinnamon, making you dizzy. Power radiates off of him but it feels warm and safe. Like the night air itself comes from his existence. 

“Am I dreaming?” you ask him. He looks down at you, an obsidian strand of hair falling in his face. He nods, giving you a gentle smile. “This is often where I go to dream.”

“I know.”

“How do you know?”

Yoongi doesn’t answer you. He looks back to the rushing river, his face becoming unreadable. He looks like he’s somewhere far away, lost in his thoughts. Absently, he says, “Your dreams are my favorite.”

“What do you mean?”

“They are bright, full of life and color and sound. You dream the way people create art, the way people create worlds. It is rare to see such magnificence among the sleeping.” 

“I just…” you shrug. “Think of places I would rather be.” 

Yoongi looks at you then and his face is shadowed, full of thunder. “You’ll never be forced to live that life again.” 

“Do you promise?” 

He opens and closes his mouth, narrowing his eyes a little before shaking his head. You feel a smile tug at your mouth, endeared by his microexpressions. “Yes, little lamb. I promise.”

-

You wake with a start, sitting up in bed and looking around. The room spins as your brain tries to catch up with your body, your physical and mental awareness completely out of sync as you swivel your head, drinking in the unfamiliar room and the soft sheets that smell like clove and cinnamon. 

For a moment, you forget where you are, and adrenaline surges through you. Your fingers twist in the sheets as you ground yourself, memories from the day before slotting into place. Letting out a long exhale, you relax, flopping backward in the opulent bed, your heart rate slowing down as your panic bleeds out of you. 

You’re in Yoongi’s home. In a place that is somewhere in between - whatever that means. The god has told you on multiple occasions that you’re safe and have nothing to fear from him and for some reason…. You believe him. Maybe it’s naive, but you can’t erase the feeling that Yoongi is being honest with you, that he has good intentions. 

Perhaps it’ll get you into trouble one day. For now, you cast off doubt and peel yourself out of bed, trailing to the windowed doors that lead to the balcony beyond. You try the handle and are delighted to find them unlocked. Slipping through the doors, you’re met with warm, balmy air. It smells like petrichor, the breeze kissing your skin gently.

Like before, the world seems wrapped in permanent twilight. There is no sun in the sky, but a vast stretch of swimming stars and the largest moon you’ve ever seen. In the distance, dark mountains loom over you, their peaks capped in snow and wreathed in mist. 

Forest stretches out toward them in a vibrant shade of green. There’s a settee on the balcony along with a table and chairs. Leaning on the stone railing, you look down to see colorful gardens and a large pond full of vibrant fish.

All of the radiance makes you smile. You’ve never seen colors so rich, and you’re unable to recall if your world was this vibrant. The garden below is bursting with violet and cerulean, the flowers unfamiliar to you. Their fragrant smell wafts up to the balcony, a hint of sweetness in the air. 

A roll of thunder catches your attention. You look to the east, noticing that one of the mountains in the distance is darker than the others. Lightning crackles in the sky around it and the mist is heavier there. You think the trees are darker too, though you can’t tell if they’re gray or if it’s the shade from the swollen thunderheads drifting over them. 

Behind you, the door to the balcony opens and startles you. Whirling around, you find Taehyung leaning against the frame, mouth curved upwards in a sideways grin. “When you didn’t answer the door I got worried.”

“I thought I was safe here? What is there to be worried about?”

He shrugs. “Maybe you took a dive off of the balcony.”

“What is that place?” you point to the thundering, shrouded mountain. Taehyung looks where you point, his smile dropping as he stares at the looming peak. “By the look on your face, somewhere bad.”

“Bad is a relative term.” 

You scrunch your nose. “You sound like Yoongi.”

“Already familiar, are we? Cute.” He pushes off the door frame and beckons you inside. “Ask Yoongi about it on your tour.”

“Are you not coming along?”

“I have things to do.”

“Like what?”

“Not give tours.”

If it weren’t for Taehyung’s playful tone and glint in his eye when he casts you a glance, you’d think you were bothering him. Instead of getting angry, he drapes himself on one of the couches by the fireplace, long legs dangling off the arm as he lounges.

Today, he’s in charcoal colored pants and a red, billowing shirt that shows off the smooth, tan skin of his chest. A dangling earring catches your attention as he leans his head back, silky hair shifting. If Yoongi is made of moonlight, you think that Taehyung might be made of sunlight: golden skin, warm energy. 

“By all means,” you mutter. “Hang out.” 

“This is my home first, human. I shall do as I please.”

You make a sound at the back of your throat and roll your eyes, walking toward a large, polished wardrobe made from dark wood. It smells like fresh cedar when you pull on the brass handle, opening the door to reveal tunics and dresses, all hung neatly. 

Rich silks, velvets and cottons greet you. You run your hand over the materials, amazed at how soft they feel. They are far better quality than your mother ever had access to. Your heart squeezes when you think of her, and you shake your head a little as if to physically dispel thoughts of your family out of your mind.

Facing them seems like an impossible task. You know that you’ll have to eventually. Two weeks with Yoongi in this strange world seems like a long time, but you’re not sure if it’s nearly long enough to mentally prepare to go back and face them after what’s happened. Will they still be angry? What will they say? Will they have been worried about you all this time?

There’s no way to know the answer. So instead, you pretend none of that exists. For once, you have stumbled into a dream and adventure like you’ve always wanted, and you intend on playing the part. 

An emerald shirt catches your eye. It’s made of a silky material, supple when you rub the sleeve between your fingers. It’s plain, save for the laced string at the throat to cinch and tie it off. You grab a pair of black, cotton pants as well, the fabric just as soft as the sheets in your bed. 

With Taehyung humming on the couch, you let yourself into the bathroom to change. You appreciate that the floor is warm wherever you go barefoot, and you quickly slide out of your clothes from the previous day and into the new ones. The measurements are a little off, but more than manageable as you pull the tie closed at your throat. Glancing into the mirror, you can’t help but smile a little.

You look so different. The shirt belongs to someone adventurous, you think. Perhaps a pirate or a huntress riding atop her horse through the woods. You slide your fingers along the material, its softness inviting and magical. 

Two weeks. You’ll be here for two weeks with Yoongi, a god who has been alive for hundreds of years, if your conversation from the night before was anything to go off of. It feels surreal and you’re a little nervous, but more than that, you’re excited.

Suddenly, the world is full of possibilities. No marriage to tie you down, no power held in your parents’ hands. 

 “Gods you’re slow to get dressed,” Taehyung announces when you enter the room. He sits up, appraising your outfit. “Green looks good on you.”

“How many are there?” he cocks his head at your question, peeling himself from the seat. “Gods and goddesses, I mean.”

“Pfft. Hundreds.”

“Hundreds?” 

“Maybe thousands, I don’t really know. There’s basically an infinite amount of universes. All anyone mostly cares about are the Eternals, the gods who remain the same no matter what name or history mortals assign to them.”

“Eternals?”

“Mhmm.” Taehyung leads you into the hallway. His hands are tucked into his pockets as he strolls leisurely. You follow beside him eagerly, looking up as he seems thoughtful. “Gods are hard to define. They are great beings with massive power. Some gods do the same thing, some don’t. They come from the infinite amount of worlds to which they are native, and somehow make it into mortal history. But the Eternals have always been here, always known. They do not change.”

“Who are the Eternals?”

“Life, death, chaos, time, pathos, dream and fate.” He makes a face then. “Fate and chaos are hard. They work in direct opposition to one another. It drives time insane, naturally.”

Seven Eternals. It makes sense, from a logical standpoint. Every world must have life and death and the passing of time. Where there exists a living thing, there exists a vessel of emotion and dreams. In all worlds there is the potential for chaos disrupting fate. 

“Yoongi is an Eternal?”

Taehyung glances sidelong at you, smug. “Yes, Yoongi is an Eternal.”

“Why do you look at me like that when I say his name?” Taehyung doesn’t answer, instead smirking as if he’s enjoying a private joke. Your fists close and open as you swallow down a demand to tell you what he finds so amusing. “Which one is he?”

“Have you no guesses?”

That makes you think. Recalling the night before, you remember the way Yoongi looks: dark eyes swimming with something magical, a soft and raspy voice, the way he appeared in your dreams. 

Though your dreams are mesmerizing and far more colorful than anyone else I know. You recall what he said about your dreams, the way he leveled his gaze at you, full of meaning that you didn’t understand. 

“Dreams,” you say, certain that you're right. “He’s the Eternal of Dreams?”

“He isn’t of dreams. He is Dream.”

You’re unable to clarify Taehyung’s emphasis on Yoongi being a deity of dreams as he opens the door to the same library as before. This time, he doesn’t knock. When you step inside, you realize it’s because the room is empty. Yoongi is nowhere to be seen, though pale light filters in through the windows. It’s still forever twilight outside, yet a little lighter. It feels like morning, even if it does not entirely appear to be morning. 

Behind you, the door shuts. You turn to see Taehyung has left without another word, leaving you entirely alone in the captivating space. 

Without hesitation, you walk to the nearest shelf housing rows and rows of books. The spines range from muted browns and neutrals to bright reds and rich blues. Velvet books, leather books, canvas, silk. There is no shortage of materials making up each one, letters painted, printed or stitched down the back of them to denote what they are. 

Each one breathes a world of possibility as you drag your finger along the shape of them. You wonder how many worlds and histories are scribbled away in the pages of this room, the very idea of it overwhelming. 

Trinkets and objects you’re unfamiliar with line the shelves as well. Your fingers trace their shape and you wonder what they are. One object in particular catches your eye in the corner of the room. It stands on three metal legs and has large, interlocking rings that spin lazily in some unknown pattern. The rings are hammered metal and appear to have markings engraved on them.

The device slowly spins of its own accord. Upon inspection, there seems to be nothing else responsible for its motion except magic or science that is beyond you. You can see that there are seven metal rings and different markings on each of them, but you cannot guess what the engravings read. 

“It represents the balance of the Eternals. Taehyung mentioned you had a vague starting point as to what I am.”

Yoongi’s deep voice makes you leap and screech, spinning on your heels to face him. Your hand flies to your chest and you can feel your heartbeat rattling wildly. Yoongi stands a few feet away from you, hands linked behind his back and eyebrows raised at your reaction. 

He’s dressed similar to the night before, though a little more casual. His black pants are tucked into knee high boots, and his black shirt is loose fitted with silver stitching around the collar. You notice that it’s in patterns of stars and moons, furthering your confirmation that Yoongi is associated with dreams in some manner. 

Yoongi’s long hair is pulled half out of his face today, tied away in a bun. The rest of his hair brushes the tops of his shoulders as his inky eyes regard you patiently. His curiosity makes you feel warm all over and you drop your hands to your sides, fingers twitching. 

“How so?” you ask. You turn back to the device. “What does it run on?”

“Our energy. Each ring represents a member of my family. The speed at which they turn represents the balance among us. When the speed is off, the balance is off.”

“What causes the balance to be off?” 

Yoongi steps closer to you. You hold your breath as he does it, but you can feel his presence like a buzzing vibration at the back of your neck.

His voice is softer when he answers, “A number of things. Sometimes some of us aren’t always performing the way we should be. Other times, we’re overperforming. Or fighting, really, as siblings are wont to do.”

“I don’t know what that’s like.”

“You’re not missing much. Especially when your siblings are as ancient and never ending as you are.” 

“How… old are you?”

You look at Yoongi to see he’s standing next to you now. He looks at you, face impassive as he lifts a shoulder. “How old is the earth? How old is existence? It’s hard to say.” 

“Where do you come from?”

“Chaos was first. Life and Death were next, twins born of the sudden whims of Chaos. I was next, for Life often dreamed. Time was always there, though no one knows if Time or Chaos came first. Pathos and Fate came later.”

You nod, though you don’t fully understand the scope of how old and fathomless the existence of things like chaos and time and dreams are. It makes your head spin, trying to conceptualize the thing next to you who looks very much like an ordinary man being something so ancient and primordial that he precedes human existence entirely. 

“You’re overwhelmed,” he notes, a bit of amusement in his voice. “I don’t blame you. The best way to understand it is that I am a living concept that can never be destroyed, so long as there exists something to dream about.” 

Crossing his arms in front of him, Yoongi clasps his hands and gives you a slight smile. He has a pretty smile, you realize. Delicate and almost shy. It makes your heart flutter and you mentally chastise yourself for thinking that a being of eternal dreams can possibly be shy. 

“How about a tour? Our deal is that you’ll spend two weeks a month here. I’d love for you to feel like this is a place you can be familiar with, if not something akin to a home.”

“Home?”

His smile grows. “If that word ever seems fitting, sure.”

Home. The word makes you think about what home means to you and suddenly you feel a pit form in the bottom of your stomach. Flashes of a flooded forest, lighting lancing across the sky, hands gripping you tight and shoving you under the water. 

“Um,” you clear your throat. “So a tour.”

Yoongi’s eyes glitter as he grins and turns, using a hand to gesture to the wide library. “This is the main library, but we’ll end our tour here. Let’s go through the gardens first, it’s nice weather.”

Yoongi starts without you, leaving you to stand staring after him as he goes. His gait is smooth and confident. He presses on a pane of glass that you realize is a door. A breeze teases the loose pieces of his hair, carrying the familiar scent of clove and cinnamon toward you. 

For a moment, you stare after him. Yoongi being a deity of dreams makes so much sense in this moment, stepping into the twilight, face tilted upward slightly as though he’s soaking up the sun. He looks radiant. Tranquil. When he turns to look at you expectantly, his rose pink mouth quirks sideways. 

“Right,” you say, hurrying to follow him. “Outside is where we start.” 

When you pass him, you get the sense that Yoongi wants to tease you further. Instead, he says nothing and leads you into the gardens. A cobblestone path leads from the door through wisteria trees, their amethyst leaves swooping down and filling the air with sweet fragrance. 

Up above, the sky is a mix of blue and purple, thousands of stars twinkling. There is a stone bench near one of the windows of the library, but Yoongi leads you away from the palace and down the path under the trees. The air is crisp and pleasant, cooling your anxious, sweat-slick skin. 

Yoongi links his hands behind his back. “This is the library garden,” he informs you, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “It’s mostly wisteria trees, which are my favorite to walk through when I need to think.”

“They’re unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”

“Much different from the woods outside of your home.”

“You know the woods outside of my home?”

“You called me there, remember?” You blanch at the memory, but if he notices, Yoongi says nothing. “Besides, I’m familiar with the woods that surround your home. Your village pays homage to my brother.”

“Your brother?”

He hums. “Life. Perhaps they don’t know that it’s him they pray to, but they do.”

Taking a left, Yoongi leads you on a looping path through the massive wisteria trees. They’re larger than anything you’ve ever seen, their bows sweeping monoliths of purple, trunks thick as boulders. A strange creature sits on the branches of one of the trees, making you stop and stare. 

A tiny, carnelian creature sits on a bough, bright against the lavender background of the leaves. It has four legs and scaled feet, sharp talons cutting into the bark as it keeps its balance in the tree. Small wings are folded on its back, bony limbs with paper-thin skin between them, a lighter red than the rest of its body. A long tail snakes around the branch, holding the creature in place as its long neck extends, head tilting to look at you curiously.

“Is that a dragon?” you whisper, staring at it.

You’ve only heard them described in stories, but you don’t really know what they look like. It has scales like a lizard and it blinks two large eyes at you, entirely black. There are small horns on its head, and a forked tongue snakes out as it tastes the air. 

“She’s a fey dragon,” Yoongi hums, looking up at the creature with a smile. “And she’s not supposed to be in the trees here, are you?”

A puff of smoke curls from the dragon’s nose as it huffs, making you take a step backward. Yoongi lets out a deep laugh that makes a tingle rattle down your spine and your toes curl. The sound is like smoke and velvet, heady in the air. 

“She won’t hurt you,” Yoongi assures, shaking his head to continue walking under the dragon’s branch. “She’s a pesky little thing, but she is incredibly sweet. Fey dragons are much smaller than their firedrake cousins and less dangerous than their basilisk relatives.”

With your eyes cast upward, you hurry after Yoongi, keeping your gaze on the large lizard as you run under the branch. Her dark eyes follow you, unblinking and fathomless. The hair on your arms stands up and you can’t help but feel that despite the dragon being small and what Yoongi calls harmless, it is incredibly intelligent. 

“There are dragons here?” 

“There is everything here.”

You frown, finally turning away from the dragon as you leave it behind. “That’s confusing. Everything as in…?”

“When you dream, you have limitless potential. You can go anywhere, be anything, see any creature. Dreams even invent things that do not exist in the natural world. Creatures, stories, songs, words, plants. The possibility for creation in a dream is limitless, and this place is the essence of dreams. It is me.”

“So you are this place and the place is you?”

He seems thoughtful before nodding. “More or less. This is a dream realm as much as it is a collection of ideas, thoughts and hopes. Everything that every living creature has ever dreamed about walks these lands.”

“Even nightmares?”

Yoongi pulls up short and whips his head at you. You bite the inside of your cheek, unable to meet his eyes under his severe expression. In the distance, you swear you hear thunder. An apology springs to your lips, but before you can give it, Yoongi nods sharply once and begins walking again.

“Nightmares too. Do not speak of nightmares here, lest they come searching.”

You think about Taehyung telling you that you were safe but being concerned when you didn’t answer the door earlier that morning. A chill seeps into your bones as you rejoin Yoongi on your walk, his pace not as relaxed now. 

“They come searching?” you try, a little curious, a little afraid. 

“Yes. They are different from dreams. Unpredictable in a way I admire and dislike.” He glances sidelong at you. “They have a mind of their own. You are safe with me always, but it’s best practice to not think of them while you’re here. This world has a way of manifesting.”

For a few moments, you walk in silence. You let your questions fall silent as you look around. The two of you exit the wisteria trees to see a large pond. A single, massive wisteria sits on its western edge with a bench underneath it. 

The surface of the pond is dark and smooth, reflecting the swirling stars in the sky. Yoongi leads you around the mirror surface and points out the mountains in the distance that you could see from your windows. 

“Mountains of Sleep,” he tells you. “It is where all beings who are ready for their eternal rest come to dream for the remainder of their existence. They are also called the Mountains of Divinity, for there are hundreds of divine immortals among their peaks.”

“Really?”

He nods. “Not all beings rest here. Some prefer their own planes and resting grounds. But this existed before those places, and has long been used for the tired and the weary who are ready to retire.”

“Are they dead?”

“No. The dead cannot come here.” He hesitates. “When they do, it is because they are not a dream.”

You get the sense that Yoongi is talking about nightmares again and you shiver as he takes you around the pond. “Don’t let anything in that body of water convince you to go swimming. They won’t intentionally hurt you but they don’t understand the concept of human life.”

“They?”

“They don’t have a name. They are water-folk who were dreamt up by someone once. I admire them and they’re beautiful and wicked smart, but they’re a bit cheeky.”

“I’m starting not to feel as safe as you said I was.”

Yoongi stops and frowns. He lifts a hand as though he’s about to touch your arm before he thinks better of it and drops it at his side. You realize you’re disappointed that he did before mentally kicking yourself, feeling a little ashamed to be so affected by a god. You’re sure Yoongi gets it often, but it makes you feel silly nonetheless. 

“You are safe.” He lowers his head a little, catching your gaze. Though his eyes are midnight black, you swear you see the stars above reflected in their dark pools. “But there are rules everywhere. This place has them just the same as your home did. You were relatively safe there, but there were rules.”

“And then I broke them and Nathaniel tried to murder me.”

“Nathaniel was dealt with and will never touch you again.” Thunder rolls in the distance and your heart flutters at the vehemence with which Yoongi says this. “The misdeeds of your family cannot chase you here.”

You don’t press Yoongi on the matter. Instead, you let him proceed with the tour, keeping your questions to a minimum as you wonder what Yoongi meant by Nathaniel being dealt with. You recall the soft, susurrated voice against your ear when Yoongi found you. The gentle brush of something like a kiss to your neck. The rage and power as he stepped in front of you to face Nathaniel when the deal was done.

It does not require much to make an assumption about Yoongi’s meaning. 

The yards of his palace are sprawling and full of color. Gardens with flowers he doesn’t know the name of but said a little girl had dreamed them and he liked them so he made more. Butterflies with colors you didn’t know existed flitting from plant to plant. Fruit orchards with the ripest, reddest apples you’ve ever seen. 

And the palace. It is the only word you have for it. The building is several stories tall, hewn from dark stone with at least five different towers. Starlight glitters in the windows as Yoongi guides you up the stairs toward the massive double doors that lead to the main entrance of the castle. On the door handle are two wrought-iron griffons with proud faces. 

Without a touch, the doors open on Yoongi’s arrival. You wonder if the building responds to his presence as the door swings open for the two of you. Inside, the foyer is as magnificent as the library, a lush purple carpet rolling over stone floors. 

In the center of the room is a massive spiral staircase. Looking up, you see that it goes all the way up the floors of the palace, dizzying circles of floor after floor. Yoongi explains there are other ways to go all the way up to the top throughout the castle but this is the easiest way, though he assures you that by the third floor you’d be out of breath. 

Each room Yoongi shows you is opulent and warm. Rich, deep wooden furniture, paintings with dark splashes of amethyst, scarlet and gold. Rooms for tea, rooms for painting, rooms for music, rooms for dancing. Yoongi has a room for everything, sometimes occupied by strange little creatures that hide when you walk in or curious things that lift their heads when they see him. 

No one else besides Taehyung seems to be there, though. You come across felines, little balls of light that bounce around Yoongi excitedly and light him up like a burst of flame, a little furry thing that you think is a fox but in a shade of shocking sapphire, and a massive wolf with eyes like ice that blink apathetically at you as you walk by. But never once do you see another person. Even Taehyung seems to be amiss. 

“Does no one else live here?” Yoongi takes you through another room empty of people and things. “It’s so empty.” 

He takes his time to answer as you leave the room and move into the hallway. It’s hard to tell which way you’re going, but you think that you’re headed toward the library again. Your legs ache from going up and down the stairs on an endless tour of rooms, and you’re eager to be in the library once more. 

“There used to be,” Yoongi says slowly. “But people don’t tend to do well in places that they don’t belong.”

“So you’re all alone here?”

His smile is sad. “I have Taehyung.” He pauses before he adds, “And now you.”

I’m often very alone. It would be nice to have some company. You think of Yoongi’s words from the night before and suddenly you’re filled with sadness. Sadness for this ancient being, who seems so gentle and quiet. Who lives alone in this giant castle with all of the world’s dreams around him and no one to share them with. 

Swallowing thickly, you nod. “How do you know I belong?”

“Pardon?”

“Do I? Belong, I mean. You wouldn’t… have me here if I wouldn’t do well, right?”

“No one dreams the way you do.” He says this firmly. Confident. Fierce. “I believe there is nothing you wouldn’t be able to find here.”

“Do you always know what I dream about?” 

“No. But you dream… loudly. Colorfully. Sometimes it’s hard to ignore. I don’t like to pry, though.” 

“Can you see everyone’s dreams?”

“Mhmm. I even make some.”

This catches your attention and you reach out and grab his wrist, stopping him. He glances down where your fingers touch his skin, your fingers buzzing where you’re connected. You flush with warmth and drop your hand, clearing your throat at how forward grabbing him was. 

Yoongi is smirking when you ask, “Can you show me?”

“One day, yes. For now, the end of the tour and lunch.”

At the mention of lunch, your stomach rumbles. His grin spreads into a full smile and Yoongi leads you back to the library. Again, the doors open without his touch and as you pass them, you study them for any sign of an auto-opening mechanism but find none. 

Yoongi’s magic appears limitless. You remember the food disappearing from dinner, the swell of power as Yoongi agreed to save you, and his sudden appearance as you were drowning. You know nothing about the god of dreams or what he’s capable of, but you’re awed at how easy it comes to him. 

“This is the main library.” Yoongi turns around to face you, sweeping his arms out on either side of him. “There are two others: one in my room and one located in the dream tower.”

“You didn’t show me the dream tower.”

“I’ll show you when you’re ready.” 

Unsure what ready means to Yoongi, you look around the library. Same as the night before, the shelves are crammed full of books and scrolls, so much paper and ink that it makes you lightheaded with excitement. It still smells of lemon and wax, though as you pass Yoongi to go to a shelf, you’re overcome with clove and cinnamon again. 

Trying to ignore the shiver that merely walking by Yoongi gives you, you brush the spines of books once again, feeling their potential under your fingertips. 

“You always have access to this library. You can read what you like.”

A pang goes through you and you drop your hand. Without looking at him, you mumble, “Thank you, but I can’t read.”

No response comes. You stare unseeing at the books before taking a breath to turn your head and steal a glance at Yoongi. You expect some sort of amusement or perhaps pity, but his face is unreadable, jaw working.

“That’s okay,” he finally says. “We will teach you. After lunch we will make a schedule to help fill your time here. Reading and writing lessons will be a part of that.”

Your heartbeat quickens. “Do you mean that?”

“Do you want to learn?” You nod your head eagerly. He grins gently. “Then we will teach you.” 

-

Yoongi’s eyes are dark as he presses forward. Your breath catches in your chest as you lay back, looking up at him with your lips parted, heart hammering in your chest. He settles his waist against you, the weight of him pressing you into your bed as you lay back. 

He is so beautiful that it puts you in a daze, staring up into his face as he leans over you. His hair is pulled back, but a few dark strands hang loose. His mouth is stained red with wine, making you want to lean forward and taste his lips and feel their softness. 

Tentatively, you reach a hand up and brush the loose strands of hair out of his face, tucking them behind his ear. You don’t stop touching him, though, hand cradling his flushed face. His eyes flutter shut and he leans into your palm as you cup his cheek, thumb sweeping back and forth. 

“Is this what you dream of?” he whispers, eyes remaining closed. “Being under me, like this?”

Dreaming. You realize you’re dreaming. You jolt and suddenly, you’re alone. 

-

“Your handwriting is terrible,” Taehyung admits, looming over your shoulder. You grip the quill tighter, nearly snapping it in two. “But you learn unbelievably fast. How many of these letters do you think you have consistently memorized?” 

Taehyung is in charge of your writing lessons today and you already want to kill him. It’s been five days of your new residency in the House of Dreams, as Yoongi calls it, and you’ve quickly learned that Taehyung is equally charming and playful as he is outright vexing. 

Instead of turning to give him a very harsh poke in the arm with your quill, you scan the shapes in front of you. There are twenty-six of them, all awkwardly slanted and misshapen where you’ve used too much ink or not enough. Using a quill and ink feels alien to your hand and your fingers struggle to remember the proper way to hold it as you draw your letters. 

“I think most of them,” you answer slowly, mentally sounding out each word on the page in your head as you go. “But there are a few of them that confuse me. The lowercase ‘d’ and ‘b’ I find nearly impossible to recall and ‘v’ and ‘u’ are rather frustrating.” 

“Whenever you see a ‘u’, think of it as having a scoop. Sc-uuup.” Taehyung points to a ‘u’ on the page and mimics the scooping motion. “Might be easier to associate the sound scoop with ‘u’ even though the word itself doesn’t have a ‘u’.�� 

The desperate look you give him makes him laugh as you struggle to imagine why a word with a ‘u’ sound doesn’t actually contain the letters. You’re saved from Taehyung’s maddening - but helpful - instruction as Yoongi walks into the library. 

“You’d better not be laughing at her again.” 

Taehyung steps away from you and bows his head toward Yoongi. “I’m laughing with her. We’re just sharing amusement over the hypocrisy of letters.”  

“Yeah,” you deadpan. “It’s hilarious.”

Today, Yoongi is in a deep, amethyst colored shirt. It’s laced at the throat with the familiar moon and stars that he has stitched on much of his clothing, and his hair down and long, slicked back and tucked behind his ears. As always, he’s in dark pants and boots today, the sound of them clicking on the stone floor as he nudges Taehyung out of the way to peer over your shoulder. 

You tense. Being around Yoongi for the last five days has been intoxicating. It is bad enough that you get distracted during your lessons by the way his voice rumbles when he speaks and the way he chews his lips when working on his own things while you study. It’s worse that now he invades your dreams, whispering in your ear and hands wandering over your curves, sinful mouth brushing over your skin and leaving you to jolt awake in bed covered in sweat.

The very idea that Yoongi knows what you're dreaming of drives you to the edge of insanity. He’d promised he preferred to avoid your dreams, but you wonder if he knows. Knows that you have developed an insatiable habit of fantasizing about his hands, or about the tone of his voice. 

Gripping your quill tight, you hold your breath when he leans over you. He’s not touching you, but he’s close enough that you feel the heat of him and smell him, cinnamon and clove making your eyes flutter. If you didn’t know he was the god of dreams, you’d mistake him for the god of lust, if that was a thing.

“Why aren’t you breathing?” You peer upward to see Yoongi looking down at you. If you tilted your head back just a fraction more, you’d be pressed against his chest. Even from upside down, his moon-pale face and cosmos eyes make you want to scream. “Are you alright?”

“Nervous that I’m not performing well.”

His face softens. “You’re a quick learner. Don’t worry about progress and pace.”

“But what if I lose it when I go h- back.” 

Home. That’s what you were going to say. But the idea of home is terrifying. You don’t know what waits for you when you go back. You don’t know what splitting time between two worlds means. You don’t know what you’ll do when you have to spend two weeks there before coming back to Yoongi. 

Five days in Yoongi’s realm has been enough to make you feel like this has always been your life. You fit into the daily routines of Yoongi and Taehyung better than you imagined, and though you still sometimes get lost in the House of Dreams, you discover that you’re adapting. 

There’s always something new to discover, an adventure around the corner. You like learning your letters and the sounds that they make. You love studying the maps in the library and tracing the distances between countries you can’t name and have no idea where they are. 

Most of all, you love exploring. Rooms upon rooms of objects both normal and magical. Creatures that roam freely around the palace - including a clever little fox that has taken interest in following you around as you take breaks from studying by walking around the grounds. 

While Yoongi’s home doesn’t feel like it belongs to you, you’re more afraid to go back to your mother and father than you are to go near the pond at the edge of the wisteria garden. 

So you avoid thinking of going back.

“You’ll practice while you’re there,” Yoongi says, as though it’s the easiest answer in the world. “You have to practice every day.”

“My father won’t- he doesn’t…” You shake your head, unable to get the words out. That your father would strike you to the ground if he found you with books again. “I can’t bring anything back with me.”

“Sure you can.” You glance at him to find his expression is firm. “I told you, you’re under my protection. Things will be very different for you when you go back.”

“How?”

“It’s… difficult to say.” 

Yoongi offers nothing else. You become hyper aware of how close he’s standing to you again and you look down at your letter practicing. With a shaky hand, you dip the quill into the ink, lifting it from the inkwell and letting the excess drip before bringing it over to the paper. 

When Yoongi makes no move to leave, you inhale deeply to steel your nerves and continue tracing. He’s content to watch you as you work. If he knows how distracted this makes you, he doesn’t let on. Perhaps he has no idea that as you scrawl a shaky letter ‘k’, it’s Yoongi who consumes your thoughts. 

Even in your waking hours it seems you’re not rid of him. 

Most of your study sessions are like this, Yoongi watching you so closely that it makes your quill bleed too much ink. He is a passive teacher, letting you come to him with questions instead of correcting you constantly like Taehyung does. Even now, when you hesitate on the next letter of the alphabet, Yoongi doesn’t offer his help. Lets you figure it out. 

You dip the quill in ink and continue. 

After you finish the last shaky letter, you set the quill down, flexing your fingers open and closed. Yoongi makes a satisfied noise and steps away. You turn to see him walking toward the table by the fireplace, which is where you have started to take all your meals. Already, there are platters of food and drinks. Taehyung sits in a chair, plucking a grape from a plate and popping it in his mouth.

“I didn’t invite you,” Yoongi grumbles as he takes a seat at the head of the table. You push yourself up from your chair, legs aching from sitting so long. “Who said you can eat my grapes?”

“Ugh, I’m tired of eating alone.” 

“Let him stay, Yoongi.” The god looks at you with a glower, bottom lip jutted out slightly. It’s so cute that you can’t help but burst into laughter, hand flying to your mouth. “Sorry, I think you just pouted.” 

“He did.” Taehyung grins and leans back in his chair. “He wants you to himself.”

Yoongi hisses Taehyung’s name, shutting down the teasing immediately. You glance at Yoongi shyly as you sit down but he doesn’t meet your eyes, choosing to laden his plate with food instead. You can’t imagine why Yoongi would want you to himself, especially when all you do is ply him with questions. 

Still, a little bit of a thrill goes through you as you start loading your plate, your gaze drifting toward the deity again as he bites into a strawberry, the juice running down his chin. Your eyes track the movement as his tongue darts out, catching the drip before it escapes too far. 

Yoongi’s mouth is hypnotizing and it takes you a moment too long to realize he’s watching you stare at him. Quickly, you grab a cup and bring water to your lips, gulping the cool water and glancing up at the ceiling, feeling embarrassment bloom like warm liquid through you. 

When you put the cup down, you swear you see Yoongi smiling. 

-

Hungry lips suck at the tender flesh of your neck. You gasp, feeling your toes curl in pleasure, head spinning. Yoongi’s teeth scrape against the sensitive skin, the drag of his rough tongue soothing over the bites driving you mad. You let out a soft moan, eyes squeezing shut as you writhe under him. 

Yoongi’s large hands pin yours above your head, your fingers tangling in the sheets as he continues to ravish your neck with his hot mouth, tongue and teeth. His hips roll over you and you whine, feeling his hard-on pressing against you. 

Your parents would kill you if they knew you were here like this, trapped under a god of the dark as he sucks on your pulse point, mouth moving upward to nip your ear. Your chest is heaving and you can’t get enough breath, overwhelmed by the scent of cinnamon and clove, by the way his mouth pulls sounds from you so easily. 

Yoongi tears his lips away and looks down at you, eyes so dark and blown out that you think he might devour you, swallow you whole in one bite - 

“You’re dreaming of me again,” he whispers. “I don’t know if you mean to be dreaming of me, like this.” 

You startle, realizing this isn’t real, and the illusion fades. 

-

Twilight skies stretch above you. It’s warm outside, but the night air is cool against your skin, making you shiver as you sit down, folding your legs criss-cross. 

“Are you cold?” Yoongi asks, sitting down on the soft grass next to you. You shake your head, eyes fixed on the low table in front of you that's filled with platters of meats, cheeses and crackers. You eye a glass bottle of red liquid that you think is wine, mouth watering. “Are you sure?”

“Promise, the wind feels nice.” 

He looks doubtful as he sits down next to you, a healthy amount of space between you. 

Tonight, Yoongi has insisted on a late night snack outside under the stars. He seems eager, verging on giddy as he glances up at the sky before reaching for the bottle of red liquid and popping the cork. 

After nearly two weeks in the House of Dreams, you’ve learned that this world is forever twilight, lit up by dreams. Here, day and night don’t exist in their truest forms. There are always millions of people and creatures dreaming at every moment of existence, not limiting Yoongi’s world and power to times of day and night. 

The twilight is beautiful. You’ve grown accustomed to the purple tint to the world, the way that it gets just the barest bit darker outside during certain periods, as though even in a world where night and day don’t exist, there are still two separate halves of time. 

Yoongi passes you a glass. You bring it to your nose and sniff, delighted at the scent of cherries and something else. It’s certainly wine, though you wait for him to pour himself a glass to sip any. 

Earrings dangle in Yoongi’s ears tonight. Each lobe has a small, thin chain with a moon charm on the end that’s studded with sapphires, catching the moonlight as he sets down the bottle and sits back. His hair is pulled half-up, half-down again, leaving his full face in view as he looks at you and gives you a gummy grin that scatters your thoughts. 

“Chaos is moving through the sky tonight,” Yoongi informs you, glancing upward. “When she does, she’s beautiful to see. She doesn’t do it that often, but she’s passing us by on her way to do whatever it is she does somewhere. I wanted you to see.” 

He holds out his drink and you grip yours tight, raising your glass to clink with his like you’ve seen people do at the inn in your village. He turns away from you, bringing his wine to his lips to sip. You follow suit, tentatively tilting your glass.

Sweet cherries bloom on your tongue and you hum in delight. It isn’t just cherries you taste, though. There’s a lush sweetness too, edged with spice, filling your mouth with warmth. You look at Yoongi as you sip and see him watching with a closed-lipped smile, eyes searching your face.

“You like it?” 

You nod and set the glass down. “It’s delicious.” 

“You like sweet things.” 

“And you like salty.” He raises a brow in question. “You’re always going for the salted meats at dinner. And you have salted pork right there,” you point to the meat and cheeseboards. “Do gods get dehydrated?”

“We do not. I didn’t realize you were paying so much attention.” You shrug, picking up your wine to take small sips again. “Anything else you’ve noticed?” 

Everything, you want to say and don’t. You’ve noticed so many things about Yoongi, all of them coming to mind at once. But you don’t want to reveal just how much you’ve watched him over the last two weeks, paying far more attention than is proper. 

You could tell Yoongi how you’ve noticed that he wears seven necklaces exactly, each with a different symbol charm on them that you think corresponds to the seven Eternals. You could tell him that he has the habit of closing his eyes and tilting his face upward, like he’s absorbing moonlight. You know all of his favorite breakfast items, specifically crispy bacon and sugared strawberries. 

And there are other things you could tell him, like in your dreams his lips are soft as sin, his voice low and sultry. You could admit that most nights you feel his grip on your waist and that when you study his hands during your lessons, you can’t help but already know the shape of them. 

Perhaps two weeks back in your village is exactly what you need to get the ridiculous fantasy of this eternal being from your head. You don’t think you could bear the shame of him knowing exactly what living in the in-between realm has done for your imagination in a very unexpected way. 

“You like bacon,” you offer as an answer. “And sugared strawberries. In the evening, whiskey is your favorite. It smells a little bit like honey, but still spicy. And you must work in the dream tower often at night, because the door to the tower smells like clove and cinnamon and you always smell that way.”

Yoongi’s brows shoot up. You hide your expression with your glass of wine, taking a long draught. It hums in your veins, warm and rushing like nothing you’ve ever felt before. When you lower the glass, Yoongi watches you with an intense expression. You meet his gaze, suddenly unable to look away. 

The air feels charged as you stare. His eyes dip down to your mouth a single time, then back up to your eyes. The breeze moves strands of his hair and you smell the hint of clove followed by cinnamon, just as you always do when he’s near. Your heart starts to staccato as the silence presses on. 

A little shriek cuts through the tension like a knife. You flinch and turn around, looking at a red blur of movement burst from the wisteria trees. Tiera lands with a squawk, the fey dragon huffing as grey smoke curls from her lungs. She ignores you entirely as she normally does and skips over to where Yoongi is sitting before she settles next to him, curling like a cat and laying on her tail.

Yoongi laughs. “Hello, Tiera.” The dragon chuffs and lets out another puff of smoke. “Are you not going to say hello to our friend?” 

When the dragon pays no attention to you, you roll your eyes. “She hates me.”

“Dragons are capricious. She’s been with me for over a hundred years.”

“Not very mature then, is she?”

He chuckles again as you pluck cheese from the platter and pop it into your mouth. You’re delighted to find it’s soft and garlicky with a hint of rosemary as well. “She is still a child in dragon years.” 

“And you let her be a glutton.” 

“You could be too.” Your chewing slows and you swallow the cheese hard. You wait to see if he’s teasing you, but Yoongi watches you with a placid expression. “Dreams and desires are intertwined, you know. Desires come from dreams. It is in my nature to be indulgent.” 

“I’ve never really been indulgent in my life.”

“Do you want to be?”

“What?”

His mouth twitches. “Indulgent.”

“I think this is indulgent,” you gesture to the food. “And you’re teaching me to read and write. That is more indulgence than I could ever dream of.”

He hums and it sounds like disapproval. “I think your dreams are far more indulgent than that.” 

He knows. You think he’s going to say something, to ask about the way you dream of him. Instead, he says, “When you return, we’ll work on your indulgence. There is no shame in wanting things, you know?” 

“I don’t know. How could I?”

Light flashes above your head. You break eye contact with him to look up and gasp. The sky is full of shooting stars, hundreds of them, maybe thousands. The world lights up as you see rainbows streaking across the sky, bursts of colors and explosions of brilliance shooting through the sky. 

Your mouth hangs open as you watch, mystified into silence. You’re sure this is what Yoongi meant when he said Chaos was passing by, for the sky becomes a cacophony of color and stars and light. You blink your eyes, stunned by the display. It’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, your heart hammering with excitement as you watch it, legs crossed, head tilted up.

The stars begin to slow and there are less bursts of color, until finally, there is just a shimmering wake of stardust and pink simmering in the sky. You look at Yoongi, utterly speechless, to find him looking at you. His eyes reflect the night sky, full of constellations and stardust, glittering in the dark depths of his irises. 

Yoongi’s eyes are as wonderful as the display above, but you don’t say that. 

“That was beautiful,” you breathe. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

His eyes don’t leave you when he hums softly in agreement. “It was.” 

Tiera shuffles next to Yoongi, drawing your attention. She snakes her long neck out, tongue tasting the air as she eyes the meat on the table. Yoongi hisses at her and taps her nose in chastisement, earning an angry croak as the dragon shuffles back to her napping position. 

The rest of your evening is spent snacking in companionable silence. Yoongi doesn’t talk much unless he’s answering your hundreds of questions, but tonight, you have none. You’re comfortable to just look at the world around you, the wisteria branches dancing in the breeze. 

In the distance, you hear thunder. Your eyes follow the sound to the same dark peak with lightning crackling through the mist. You’ve yet to ask Yoongi about that peak in particular, but you think you know what looms there. You remember Yoongi talking about how there are nightmares in this realm too, and you’re not eager to ask what that thunderous mountain holds. 

Yoongi doesn’t divulge, either. He watches you as you regard the peak and says nothing. Perhaps even the Eternal of dreams is hesitant to speak of that place, which is a good enough reason for you not to press him further on it. 

When your stomach is full and you’ve had another glass of wine, you lay back in the grass. Your limbs feel heavy with drink and your world is tilted on a slow-rotating axis. The buzz in your veins feels pleasant, though your thoughts are a little sticky like honey and they run together, untamed. 

Careful to keep his distance, Yoongi lays back in the grass with you. His face looks up at the sky, but you look at him. His features are so delicate and soft, nose and cheeks so round. His face don’t make sense in your head, so severe and terrifying yet gentle and innocent at the same time. 

“You’re staring,” he says eventually. 

“I’m indulging,” you tease back, loosened up by wine. “You said I can indulge, so let me stare.”

“What is there to indulge in?” 

“Your… earrings.” 

That makes him look at you, a brow quirked. “My earrings.”

“Yes. Very shiny. Very dangly.”

“Shiny and dangly?”

“Is there an echo out here?” you demand, frowning at him. “Yes, I am indulging in your jewelry!” 

“Would you like some earrings?”

“My ears aren’t pierced.”

“Well then we’ll pierce them.”

“Well,” you grump. “Don’t you have the answer for everything?”

He smiles then, that rare gummy smile that makes you shut right up. “I told you. I’m indulgent. Anything you want, all you need is to ask.” 

Rolling your eyes, you bite your lip to hide your smile at his words. It is insane to you that this ancient being is laying in the grass next to you telling you to only ask what you want. You don’t know what you want, but you do know that this feels like a dream. That you’re not really here, and that you’re going to wake up tomorrow and be in your bed at home. 

Dread fills you at the thought of going back to your parents. In a way, you want to see them. They’re your parents and there is… unfamiliarity without the sound of your mothers needle stitching through cloth. You could do without your father entirely. The rage inside of you when you picture his face is difficult to quell and is often followed by terror. 

Yoongi has told you that you will be safe when you return. You believe him. There is no reason not to. But more than anything, you’re terrified about what comes next. Living between two worlds is something you remember dreaming about that one day in the forest, looking at the way the world was reflected back on the mirror-calm surface of the water. 

Now that you have access to two worlds, you don’t know what to do with the other that has brought you nothing but suffering. And yet, you still want to see what is there. You’re not ready to leave it entirely without knowing. 

“Are you afraid to go back?” 

Yoongi’s question is soft. You don’t hesitate to answer, “Yes.” 

“You won’t be alone. All you have to do is dream of me, and I will come.”

You hesitate then ask, “Do you know any time someone dreams of you?”

“It’s like hearing someone call my name, but I never answer. My business is in creating dreams, not invading them. People like you are able to spin up dreams on your own without my assistance. I help those who cannot.” 

“That sounds like a lovely job.”

He hums. “It’s not without its stresses. I talk a lot about the nature of dreams, but there is more to me and to my job than that. Perhaps we will leave that for your next visit, yes?”

You nod. “Okay.” 

“Come on,” Yoongi sighs, heaving himself upward. “It is late and in the morning, you must return.” 

-

“Touch me,” you beg him, straddling Yoongi’s lap. His head rests against the back of the couch and he looks up at you as you run your fingers through his hair. It’s softer than you imagined, sliding like silk between your fingers. “You told me to ask for what I wanted. Touch me.”

“Anything,” Yoongi agrees. His hands skim up your thighs, warm and rough. He squeezes your flesh, making you moan as his hands continue their worship. Yoongi grips your hips tightly, kneading your flesh as he pulls you closer to him. “Anything. Everything. For you.”

-

When you wake up, you’re confused. The roof above your head is wood and thatch. The mattress beneath you is thin and lumpy, sweat sticking the sheets to your legs. Rolling over, your vision blurs until it comes into focus once more, revealing a tiny room with just a bed, a wardrobe and a closed door. 

Your  room. Well, your room in your parents’ house, you realize with a panic. 

You shoot up in bed as terror claws at you. Did you dream it all? Was it not real? Nothing in your room has changed and the windows are open to the cool air. Grey clouds drift in the sky and you can smell the petrichor of oncoming rain in the distance. 

Rushing to your bedroom door, you rip it open, your heart threatening to burst with how hard it’s beating. You don’t know what you’re looking for or what you expect to find, but the idea that you have just woken up from the most vivid, wonderful dream is so maddening that you need anything to tell you it was real. That it wasn’t in your head.

Your mother is sitting at the kitchen table stitching. She looks up when she hears you. She looks different, leaner and narrower than you ever remember, her greasy hair tied low at her neck. Her hands pause their stitching as she stares at you, stricken. 

“What day is it?” you ask her. The day you had been attacked had been a seventh day. You remember that clearly. “Tell me what day it is!”

Instead, your mother screams in sheer terror. 

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[onyourhyuck]

Reflections | L.DH (M)

prologue- “what do you think our children would look like?” + “I’m such a coward. Fuck it.”

tw- friends to lovers trope, they’re kinda oblivious to their feelings especially y/n, haechan is whipped as hell. mentions of smoking, drugs (like weed) and alcohol. university mention. y/n is a smart good girl and haechan is sorta the mischievous boy in her class that causes trouble. Honestly just a cute fluff romantic scenario <3

notes- heavily inspired by the song “Reflections” by the neighbourhood.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Fuck off donghyuck!”

your face scrunches in multiple wrinkles, frowning at your friend who has been a pain in your ass repeatedly by constantly pressing on your laptops keyboard which would mess up the article you will have to present in your psychology class tomorrow. you are pulling a fortnight for this piece of work and when you told your friends that you were busy that you can’t attend jaehyun’s party; one of your ‘friends’, not sure if you can call him one anymore considering he’s such an asshole right now.

Donghyuck voluntarily said he will help you out, since he’s already done this project (early) you agreed but little did you start to regret it quickly when he was simply distracting you from finishing it. Right now the time is about 4.00 am and it’s causing you to have a minor breakdown.

just a little university minor breakdown that will leave you pulling at your hair and scream, kick and maybe even few tears if it worsens.

The boy looks up at y/n flashing her a deviously smile as his voice coos singing. “I been trying to do that if you haven’t noticed, babe.”

Lips left out a small Ugh, he hears you push his face away with your flat palm as your attention turns to your laptop, pressing on the keyboards again. He whines blowing out raspberries.

“Someone’s stressed..” he sang again as he brushes forth his fingers in your hair, flicking it in the air one curly strand by another. You close your eyes letting out a harsh exhale, god you pray he just happens to pass out but knowing donghyuck- he’s a freaking nocturnal animal.

He never sleeps you swear.

“Donghyuck I would lovingly appreciate it if you… get out of my dorm.” You spat warningly. He pouts watching you. “But you said I could stay.”

“Yeah because I didn’t think you’d be a pain in my ass.”

“You should thank me I’m entertaining you.” He sassily retorts sitting up on your bed, he crawls behind you where he pushes you away from your laptop and takes it; he begins to slowly type humming. “Look I’ll help you, I can tell you’re struggling.”

you sigh. Was it really that obvious? Out of all people donghyuck really can read you as if you were a tracing paper, you were as transparent as anything; maybe it’s because you guys are closer than you would actually like to admit. People would often mistake you guys as a loving couple, hell some thought you were married considering the amount of bickering you guys do. It’s reached the point where your parents and his parents genuinely wish to see you everytime you’re with another.

As you would watch the serious expression on your friend next to you, you felt slightly like a burden. You grunt in protest reaching to snatch the laptop. “Let me do it I’m almost finished anyways—“ he would pull the laptop from your reach. “No, take a rest.”

you frown. “No I’ll finish it, hyuck.” you said back as you crawl to reach the laptop but in the end you were faced with the most stubborn boy you known to existence so you ultimately gave up with a gentle sigh. instead you place your head on his lap as he types away the last bits of words in your article.

haechan looks down at you with a soft smile, he softly pats your bangs away from your face before saving the article. he couldn’t help but tilt his head, humming.

“you know…what do you think our children would look like?”

you open your eyes, raising eyebrows at his sudden question. you croak a short smile, scoffing. “suddenly?”

he gives a soft nod. “genuine question.”

“I think they would be troublesome. Especially your children.”

he gasp slightly offended. “Uhm excuse you y/n my children are perfect just the way they are.” you snicker as you reach forward cupping his face, squishing it a little. “as if, more like devil’s offsprings.”

“What if we had children together.” he trails quietly and you softly pause, letting go off his face. “You mean…if me and you had a child together?”

he nods. “Mhm what do you think they would be like?”

“Non existent… I dunno.” you slowly shrug it away but he pouts with some sadness lingering. “Come on answer seriously.” He tells y/n as he saw you sit up on the bed. You look around your room warily.

“what do you think then?” Y/n asks the boy.

He would push the laptop on the side as he lays on the right side of your bed and you would follow his body on the left side, leaning a gap in the middle between your bodies. There was a share breathe took in. Haechan would look at y/n as if she was the missing piece all along. Though this was obvious to all of the uni campus, to y/n it was like a non existent fantasy that would never happen. You met donghyuck at your first year as freshmen, you transferred from another uni few months after and since you were the new girl, everyone wanted to be your friend. Haechan laid eyes on you when you were chosen to sit next to him in psychology and he swore he never fell in love so quickly.

It was love at first sight for him. You started as sweet friends who grew to slowly pick up a bickering relationship where you constantly play fight like small children. You think of him as someone always up to no good, a boy who is stuck in his sixteen years rather than twenty one. Not only was he the type of boy to get into trouble, he did hang around the wrong people who were bad influence.

he would get into lots of police trouble and at some point he skipped school so many times to comprehend. Yet every time something fucked him over, he calls you. Whenever he was drunk to his bones, he calls his top pinned saved number under the contact name ‘my saviour’, which is you. When he hit the darkest time of his life where his mother happened to be severally ill, he isolated himself away from the world.

who was the one who never stayed away no matter how many times he pushed people out of his life and cut them out numerous times? It was always you. No matter how much you argue with him, no matter what he does to annoy you and become a massive headache; you really can’t help but think you’re fated to him. It was a blessing and a curse.

He was your reflection. You were his reflection.

The reflection of all those bad things he has done, the hard moments in life he overcame (all thanks to you)— you were exactly that, the proven moment of how far he’s come and changed thanks to you.

“I think our children would be adorable!” He exclaims with a short smile. “I’d like a little girl that looks like you.”

“Too bad I really want a boy.” You reply back and he immediately disagrees. “No way, having a daughter is way better.”

You shrug flicking your fingers on his loose wavy hair, not lying but you always found his natural hair so attractive, the way it was wavy and curly in some areas, it covered his eyes most of the time and whenever he came to class half asleep he would barely have time to brush it; yet you loved that. His imperfections were his perfect traits.

“You’re rather serious about this topic. Did you fall for me or something?” You joke out.

He falters at your words with slow hums as he never broke eye contact with your lips. Haechan was quick to catch himself staring a little too long, so he turns away to his phone to look at the time.

“Oh shoot it’s already 4.50.” He loudly barks sitting up. “We have class in about four hours, you’ll be a total zombie if you don’t sleep now.”

You raise your eyebrows. “What about you? The boys dorms are locked already and so are the girl’s dorms. Will you just sleep at mine?” He smirks making himself comfortable on your bed as if it was his own. “You bet I am. Lay down and go to sleep already.”

“Okay dad relax, gosh.” You grumble. The moment your body was sleeping next to his you seem to have fell into a comfortable slumber. something about being in hyuck’s presence makes you feel safe…

Your body relaxes underneath the bedcovers as your lamp was turned off leaving the room cover by the midnight darkness. He was wide awake staring right at you as he lays on the side to watch your unconscious face. Smiling to himself ear to ear, the little moles on his beautiful melancholy skin stand out in the blackness of the dorm. he’d slowly run his fingers down the sides of your face, brushing the little hairs from your fringe away,

The softness of your cut bangs prickle the fingers a tiny bit, though he never minded it. your gentle breathes leaning your flaring nostrils were cute to watch, and somehow he found himself admiring your raw beauty. Messy hair, no makeup leaving only your bare face, loose tomboyish clothes that suit your figure well.

he felt like he was too close to stars, just by being with you. you were the planet that was resolving round the sun.

Haechan didn’t realise it until he was far too in the situation, his lips were subconsciously closing in the small gap between you and him; he marks the open cheek leaving a wet smooch. the kiss was short lived when he slowly backs away, with a proud smile on his face. those strong feelings only grew stronger and he felt some sort of clarity from it.

he didn’t have the courage to do anything he wished to do and say when you were wide awake. But when you were asleep, he can’t surpass on the opportunity revealing itself. Yes, he was a coward.

A coward that couldn’t express his hidden feelings that he developed exactly four years ago.

But the moment he saw a glimpse your eyelashes fluttering, your eyes adjusting to the darkness where you saw haechan’s face hovering over yours. He stands frozen like a statue, dead silence. Y/n must’ve felt her stomach twist and turn, overburden by massive butterflies flying around to escape the lower abdomen. Heart skipped a beat in unison. Breathing was on holt, making you forget how to breath.

He didn’t want to be caught. He didn’t want his relationship with you change, as much as he craved a change, he was scared of it happening in reality. Haechan would rather keep fantasising about it in his head treating it like a delusional crush that will pass. Because he never knew somebody like you.

He would rather know and keep you around instead of using you because of his personal romantic feelings he holds deeply for you. He knows you don’t feel the same way, so what was the point of confessing exactly to you? The only answer was rejection from you. He wouldn’t want to lose you just because of his selfish feelings he has.

Caught by surprise when two cold hands crawl on his sharp v-jawline, with a strong force pulling him softly in on warm lips. The boy lets out a small gaping gasp that your ears picked up. You pull away from the small kiss you gave him, watching him lovingly under the bright moonlight creeping in through the windows behind your back.

Haechan eyes you hungrily, like it was a dream of his, honestly speaking he gaslights himself to believe this was just a dream of his happening; the boy lightly pulls you by your waist underneath the bed duvet covering you both. Captivating your lips in another kiss, but this time it was much more passionate. He was taking little control over time, he explores your tongue inside and out as well as your soft lips that smell of vanilla chapsticks you always put on your lips durning class.

Who knew he could get so addicted on the fantasy he could only dream about? The real deal was so much better than haechan could ever imagine. You were his bane of existence knowing that you’re going to be the death of him. He wonders what did he do in his past life to deserve such torture for over four years, pretending to not have any feelings for you. Having to deny them to his best mates.

Having to watch you speak about guys you were finding attractive. Hell he even watched you go through a breakup once and that is what pained him the most. He fought your ex and you ended up getting pissed at him, because you weren’t aware of his feelings he held for you. Haechan swears he’d never dare make you cry. It’s the last thing he wants to do to you.

Y/n’s lips quiver against the aggressive synchronised movements as you wrap your fingers round his beautiful long curly locks. He breaks out the kiss, murmuring words you couldn’t ever imagine.

“I’m such a coward. Fuck it.” He tells to no one specific but only himself, as if it was a pep talk.

“I love you, y/n.”

Brave words coming to the surface just like the colour rushing to his cheeks, thankfully the darkness covers it enough that you wouldn’t be able to see how nervous he was to the point he would be blushing like a twelve year old boy confessing to his first love; the giddy little feelings you’d thing was left behind in his puberty years, weren’t really gone.

“Hyuck..” you mutter as you watch him, seeing the girl’s eyes tremble a little as your fingers slowly unlock from the hair. You trace your hands around his face bringing him in a warm embrace close to your necktie where he rests just above the chin.

He was preparing himself for a rejection. Closed eyes shut as he enjoys the last embrace that he managed to make himself believe that it was the last time he will ever see you, ever speak to you and the humiliation will traumatise him truly. He was scared.

But when your soft voice haunts his mind with a twist of words that he never believed at first before his pupils open wide, face rushing to the surface to watch you as the only light source was from the bright full moon.

“I love you too. Always have.”

Maybe…maybe this wasn’t a dream. Haechan prays it wasn’t.

He never knew he found someone that fell just as hard as he did, because the moment his eyes laid on round bambi eyes he swore he saw his own reflection in your eyes.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

@onyourhyuck please refer from translating, copyrighting and plagiarising my work thank youu <3 reblog this fic and follow me for more it helps a girl out.

[tuiccim]

Tit for Tat

Pairing: Subby Steve Rogers x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut

Word count: 781

Summary: Captain America has tattoos!?! Well, we'll need to trace every one of those with our tongue.

A/N: Not beta read! Dedicated to my darling friend @navybrat817 who shared some inspiring pics that led me to some ho thoughts and for @flordeamatista who said please like a good girl.

“Sit.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Hands behind your back.”

He complies immediately and you secure his hands, “Good boy.”

He sat naked and at your mercy, just the way you like him. Trailing your fingers down his arm, you smile as you feel him shudder. You drop a small pillow on the floor between his knees and then slowly pull your shirt off. Steve watches, licking his lips, as you remove your bottoms. You stand in front of him smiling in just your lingerie. 

“Should I keep going?”

“Please,” Steve whispers. 

Smirking, you reach behind you to unhook your bra before letting it fall away and then turn to shimmy out of your panties while giving him a full view. 

He’s leaning as far forward as he’s capable and breathing heavily, “Please, please let me taste you.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m going to be the one using my tongue on you. Look at you. Everybody thinks you’re the pure as driven snow Captain America, but get you naked and just look at all these tattoos,” you put your hands on his thighs and lower yourself to your knees in front of him. His cock is already semi-hard and it jumps as he looks down at you. Leaning forward, your tongue connects with his chest where his star tattoo is and traces the outline of it. As you move your tongue, you also allow your breasts to brush against him. 

“Like this eagle,” you whisper, dragging your tongue across his pecs. You trace every line as his breathing pics up. Your nipples drag across his abdomen and tighten. 

“Fuck,” Steve whispers as he begins to pant. 

You flick your tongue across his nipple and dip lower to his next tattoo. Each tattoo you trace allows you to tease him with your breasts. At one moment you squeeze them together around his cock and give a quick stroke. 

Steve groans, “Please, please, touch me.”

“I am touching you, sweetheart,” you smirk as your tongue traces a tattoo on his V. His cock is nestled between your breasts as you make slow movements. “After all, you’re the one who wanted me to trace all your tattoos with my tongue. I have to give every one my singular attention.”

“You’re killing me. I’m so hard it hurts. Please, baby.”

“Regretting not getting a cock tattoo so I’d have to trace it, too?” you joke as you trace over the tattoo on his thigh. Moving back up, you lick another tattoo along his ribcage while dragging your body against him. 

“Oh God, baby, please,” Steve whines. 

“Please what, sweetheart?”

“Please suck me off. Please!”

“I don’t know that I got,” you flick his right nipple, “every,” then his left, “single,” you drag your tongue down the line in his abs, “tattoo.” You tease along his V again, “What if I missed one?”

“You didn’t! You didn’t! Please!”

“I’m not convinced,” you say as you nip at his thighs. 

“I swear! Fuck, please! I’m dying.”

“You’re dying, sweetheart?” You slowly kiss your way up his thigh. 

“Yes!” 

“Say please, Captain.”

“Please!”

“Please who?”

“Please, ma’am! Please suck me off, ma’am! Please!” His entire body is covered in a fine sheen and his cock is leaking. 

“And if I do that, can I expect some reciprocity?”

“Yes! Yes, anything!” 

“Anything?”

“Yes!”

You grab his cock and make a long lick on this tip. 

“Fuck! Please!”

You grin up at him through your lashes and then lick from his balls up his cock. 

“Baby, baby, please! Ma’am! Please, ma’am!” 

You swallow him down and are rewarded with him crying out as you do so. You suck him, flicking your tongue back and forth. 

“Oh, God, yes!” Steve groans as his hips buck. 

Moving your hand up to cup his balls, you revel in his moans and whimpers. Working him in and out of your mouth, you can feel him strain against his bonds, desperate to touch you. You pull off of him and watch his face fall in fear, “Say it again.”

“Please, ma’am!”

“Good boy,” you say and swallow him again. Hollowing your cheeks, you moan at the taste of him. You’re dripping as you feel Steve getting close. Quickening your pace, you are rewarded with a long moan as Steve comes down your throat. His cock twitches while you slowly pull him out of your mouth and place a kiss on the tip before standing and releasing him from his bonds. In a second, he’s out of the chair and has you laid out on the bed with your legs pushed apart. 

“I believe a little tit for tat is expected,” he smiles as he buries his tongue in you. 

Updates and taglist: My taglist is closed. Please follow my sideblog @tuiccimfanfiction​ and turn on notifications for updates. All series and new stories will be reblogged to it. You will only receive notifications when a new part or story is out! Nothing else will be blogged to the page. I can’t thank you enough for your support!

[avintagekiss24]

SIGN ON THE LINE || STEVE ROGERS

PRETTY WOMAN AU

pairing: Escort!Steve Rogers x bisexual!black!reader ; minor pairing: escort! steve rogers x bisexual!black!reader x bisexual!natasha romanov || word count: 14,446 || warnings: smut, sex, rough sex, ass eating, butt stuff, oral sex (male & female receiving), rough oral sex (male receiving), vaginal fingering, face sitting/riding, 69, cockwarming, nipple play, consensual voyeurism, prostitution, daddy kink

authors note: right under the buzzer! this is for @allaboardthereadingrailroad​ marvel diversity challenge! my prompt was Pretty Woman AU. this is a pretty loose interpretation of the movie, but there are some similarities threaded throughout if you’re familiar with it. once again, a lot was inspired by @honeychicanawrites​ headcanons here, here, and here. there was also a black and white gif floating around of an animated woman, rubbing, sucking, and fucking her dude, but i lost the link! (i was gonna embed it, but i don’t want my post flagged). also, daily convos with @tropicalcap​ led to some of the filth. enjoy!

line divider by @firefly-graphics​

The wine glass clinks against the porcelain of the bathroom counter as you set it down gently, backing up to eye yourself in the mirror. You push your box braids off your shoulders and twist your body, smoothing your manicured hands down your hips as you primp. Sliding your fingers underneath the thin band of your thong, you adjust it slightly, pulling them up on your hips before letting the material snap back to your body, cutting into your flesh. The Zodiac tights come next, wiggling your hips to pull the crystal embedded fishnets up your smooth legs and up over your behind.

You dig your hands into your bra, pushing your tits up so they sit a little higher in it and pucker your lips, adding a little more gloss. A deep buzz sounds throughout the bathroom, your phone illuminating as a text slides through.

In the lobby

A smile spreads across your face. You grab the fluffy, white hotel robe and shrug into it, tying a tight bow at your waist before arranging your hair again and bringing the glass of white wine to your lips to finish it off. The small bottle of Baccarat Rouge 540 is the last accessory you reach for— spritzing your neck and wrist, rubbing them together slowly to spread the sweet, floral aroma. Grabbing your phone, and the now empty wine glass, you move out of the bathroom and hit the light switch to cover the lavish room in darkness.

You’re wet already— tight muscles clamping around nothing as you pad back into your Presidential suite. Blood starts to race, skin heats up as your heart beat grows harder. You’re so fucking horny it hurts. Stomach is tight and knotted, your clit achy and sore— fingers not enough to quell the need. So you went out one night, found a sex shop, which isnt hard in the heart of L.A.; bought a pretty glass dildo and a diamond studed butt plug— even a pocket vibrator, but it wasn’t enough. You need the real thing, a big, hard, dripping, warm cock to put you out of your misery so you can focus on the reason you’re in L.A. in the first place.

“Oh girl,” Natasha winked, handing over an off white business card, “Having dick on retainer is a must.”

You flipped it over in your hand, your dark eyes skimming over the telephone number printed in the middle of the card, the initials S.G.R. scrawled out just underneath it, “Give him a call,” she winked, “He’ll keep you plenty occupied while you’re here.”

That was two days ago— over a business lunch when the VP of Operations and CEO of the company you’re trying to acquire stepped away from the table. You’d known Natasha Romanov for exactly one week at that point, but she knew the desperation of a woman going without— you're convinced she smelled it on you as soon as you walked into her office. It took her a few days to pry it out of you, but once she caught you discreetly making eyes at the waiter, she grabbed your wrist and pulled you in close.

You’re a woman of the world, you both realize and understand sex work is a valuable commodity, and champion it, for men and women alike. But you never honestly had to give it a second thought, you’ve always had options. A cute little black book that sits just inside of your nightstand, full of names that can satisfy your every mood.

Tony for a quickie when you’re buzzed and on the way to an event, Sam for a back breaking, fingers in your mouth, ‘call me daddy’ romp, sweet Bruce when you want it real nice and slow— somebody to love you just for the night. That little black book doesn’t help you in L.A., and you aren’t about to fly somebody out for a four hour layover.

There’s a rap at the door, three quick knocks, “Just one second.” you call sweetly, slipping into a pair of Giuseppe heels— your favorite Giuseppe heels.

You untie the belt around your waist and throw the robe over the back of the couch as you click towards the door, leaving you in your black, strapless bra, thin thong, and waist high tights. There’s really no need to be modest— you’re both adults. Turning the square, stainless steel door handle, you pull gently, throwing it open for the tall, blonde man leaning against the far wall. He stands up straight, blue eyes going wide as they drop down your body, pink lips quirking into a lopsided grin.

You spin on your heels and retreat back into the room slowly, hearing the door as it hitches when he catches it with his palm. Eyes are on your body as you switch your hips seductively, moving towards the minibar. You can’t help the smile that curls onto your lips.

“Would you like a drink, Mr. Rogers?” You purr, voice low and smooth.

“Steve’s fine,” his voice equally low, equally smooth, “What do you have?”

You hum, opening the small fridge and bending just slightly, poking out your ass, “Looks like Modelo, Vodka, Rum,” you point towards the ice bucket, a bottle of Dom Perignon resting in the chips, “Champagne. I also have some white wine.”

You glance back at him, your braids dangling over your shoulder, swinging gently with each little movement you make. Steven Grant Rogers is a sight for sore eyes— and a sore pussy. He’s tall and lean, chest and shoulders wide and broad, biceps thick. His waist is small, but it adds a little allure to his frame, giving him a little shape. He has a sense of style about him too, another tick in the ‘pro’ column for him. His suit is a simple one but it reeks of great expense. Black, slim fit, no tie. Crisp, white button down with the first couple of buttons undone. Black red bottoms, and a titanium, black faced Hublot watch.

Creed Aventus fills your nostrils as you breathe in and your muscles clench again. You like a man with lavish taste.

“Champagne, please. Not too much though, I don’t like to drink when I’m with a client.” Curious eyes follow you as you move towards the ice bucket, staying on you as you pour two flutes, “I don’t want any misunderstandings.”

“Misunderstandings?”

His thick fingers brush along yours as you step close, handing him the tall, thin flute. They’re soft, his fingers. He nods gently, clinking the rim of his glass with yours before he lifts it to his pink lips, licking them slowly, “Gotta keep a clear head.”

A sharp inhale of air fills your lungs; a sly smile tugs at your lips. Through hooded eyes, the two of you keep watch of the other as you both down the bubbly champagne. Your lips tingle as you rub the glass along your bottom lip, your eyes bouncing around his handsome, heavily bearded face. His eyes twinkle underneath the lights as they roam— down your chest and stomach, down your long legs— slowly. Drinking you in. Taking stock of each curve, each dip, each line.

His eyes snap back to yours suddenly, but they’re different. Hungry. Aggressive. You take another breath, holding it in your chest for a tick before you exhale and cross your legs, squeezing them tight.

He takes a step forward, closing the already small distance between the two of you to a mere inch, maybe even less than that. He drops his eyes again, his eyelids closing to slits, the dark, delicate, long eyelashes lining them splash out on his cheeks. He inhales deep, a small, thin hum vibrating in his throat as he’s filled with the sweetness of your perfume.

“Nervous?”

The word greets your ears softly, just as it left his pretty mouth. You lick your bottom lip and pull it between your teeth, chewing as your eyes bounce between his. He smiles, pushing his face closer so the tips of your noses touch. He rubs your noses together slowly, up along your bridge, and then the tips again, his smile growing.

“There’s no need to be nervous. We’ll take it real nice and slow, okay?” his voice steady and smooth, low and soft, “You’ve never done this before?”

Two mammoth hands push along your hips, slowly dragging up and down, up and down, up and down. You swallow, a pathetic tremble sounding in your throat that gets him to smile again, “It’s that obvious?”

He chuckles, “It’s okay, honey.” he answers, hands pushing over your ass, “I’ll get you warmed up.”

He squeezes your behind; you inhale again, your hands settling on his chest. Your body is moving, swaying gently back and forth at his insistence, his hands pushing up to the small of your back. Blue eyes stay on deep browns as his warm palm settles in the center of your back, holding you in his orbit. You start to rub his chest, feeling the bulk, the muscles of him— the thick. Your index finger drifts; drifts towards the open buttons of his shirt, playing with them; eyes settling on the sliver of skin and dark hair showing through.

A knuckle pushes just underneath your chin, pressing, pressing, pressing until your head, more importantly your mouth, is tilted up to his. Your eyelids instantly— instinctively— droop, lips part in wait, in want; in need. Hooded blue eyes gaze back at you, a hint of a smile on his lips.

“May I?”

Shudders ripple down your spine as reddened lips brush along yours, “Please.” It’s desperate— the way you ask.

Steve licks into you with his tongue, groaning a little when he sucks your top lip into his mouth. He pulls you in, right up against his hard body, your hands sliding over his shoulders and wrapping around his neck. This mouth is skilled— tongue slipping along your bottom lip and caressing your own. Not too rough, not too gentle, just enough to make you melt into him; to make you go a little limp in his arms.

He nibbles on your bottom lip, pulling softly until he lets go, letting it snap back to your face. A giggle bubbles up, filling the air surrounding you and you swear you feel his dick twitch.

“Feel better?”

You smile sweetly, pulling out of his grasp and sauntering towards your abandoned phone. Tapping into the short text stream with him, you snap your eyes back to him when his phone chimes seconds later. You watch as he digs it out of his pocket and another grin cracks his face as his cash app alerts him to the fifteen hundred deposited into his account.

“Does that answer your question?”

Those pretty white teeth of his dig into his bottom lip, trying and failing to hide the grin that’s been brought upon by your quick wit. He pulls his jacket off of his shoulders, tossing it over the back of the couch before ticking his head towards the bedroom, “Bed please.”

You do not hesitate. You pass by each other as you move towards the bedroom, him towards the ice bucket, plucking it from the table in the center of the room and turning on his heel to follow you. You toss your eyes over your shoulder as you flounce, hips switching again, heels clink, clink, clinking against the marble floor.

The lights of the bedroom rise automatically from the sudden motion in the room. You feel weightless as you fall onto the mattress hands first, crawling into the center of the king bed. His footsteps continue to sound as he enters behind you, setting the champagne bucket at the end of the bed as you prop against the headboard, drawing your legs up, swaying them back and forth slowly.

Steve keeps his eyes on you as he starts to pull on his cufflinks, unclipping the double knotted, sterling silver Tiffany & Co. accessories to free his arms. He rolls his sleeves up his forearms, revealing hair and thick veins— more flexing muscles. Blue eyes bounce between the task at hand and you, that soft smile pulling at the corners of his lips never wavering, never leaving. Foreplay at its best.

Once his forearms are free of the constricting material around them, he grabs the champagne bottle by the neck and plucks out a crystal flute, dropping his eyes from yours as he pours another glass. He moves around the side of the bed, champagne bottle in hand as he sits next to you, handing over the full glass. Lifting it to your lips, you snap your eyes to him when he tuts quickly, wagging that thick index finger back and forth.

Your mouth drops open, eyes go large as you watch him take a swig, right from the bottle. He then leans over you, pushing his index finger into your chin again, tilting your head up towards his. Warm, pink lips crowd your open mouth, his eyes closing gently, the cool, bubbly liquid slipping from his mouth right into yours. You sound— sweet, tiny, pitiful— as you swallow his offering, him kissing you quick after, not giving you time to reel from the intimacy of it.

He’s gone again, just as quickly as he came, heading back to the end of the bed. He knees onto the edge, large palms sliding over your bent knees, fingertips slipping down your calves, gripping and groping as they go. He drops one hand— right to his pants— sends his eyes back to yours as he pops the shiny button and unzips them at a snail's pace. Steve lets his pants hang open as he slides his hands down your thighs, all the way down to the juncture of your hips and legs, pushing his thumbs into the creases.

Steve pushes forward, forcing your legs open as he settles in, resting that hard, lean, strapping body on yours— kissing you again. Deep this time. Bruising. Tongue kneading yours, smacking and sucking your lips into his wet mouth. Moans, both his and yours, thrum and vibrate in your chests and throats. Your muscles clench again.

Lips and mouth are on the move— down your chin, nuzzling into the soft, sensitive crook of your neck. He licks, slow, before sucking the skin, finding that one little pesky spot that makes your hips jut up into his quick. He’s hard, and that makes you whimper again. You hold the champagne flute up high in your right hand, trying not to spill the contents as your hips start to roll, free hand wrapping around and digging into his thick bicep— but you aren’t so lucky. A few drops dribble from the glass and onto your chest, slipping down between your cleavage.

You shiver when his hot tongue slides between your tits to collect the cold droplets, his hands prying the silk material of your bra down. There’s a sound, a grunt, that cultivates deep in his throat at the sight of you, bare and wanton— nipples thick and perky. He slips his hands behind your back to unhook your bra, tossing it without a care to the floor once you’re free.

He inhales sharp, a hiss slipping through his teeth, “Fuck, these are beautiful.”

Your back arches up into his hands as he grabs your tits, squeezing gently, him moaning all the while. He thumbs your nipples before taking one into his warm mouth, tongue flicking and swirling, teeth grabbing. Your body jerks up into him, hips and chest, mouth falls open before your face twists in pleasure. He gives your other breast the same attention— kissing, licking, sucking before he ventures on, his fingers digging underneath the thin band of your tights and pulling gently.

Reddened lips follow his fingers, down your waist, down your hips, down your thighs, calves, ankles, toes until you’re free of the sheer garment. You sip on the bubbly champagne as his hot tongue pushes up the inside of your calf. Sweet kisses are pressed against the subtle curve of your knee, blue eyes through long, dark eyelashes on yours the whole while. Deep, stormy eyes— the kind of eyes that make you wanna think they’re only for you; aroused by you and you alone.

He draws that red bottom lip between his teeth, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, eyes twinkling with a bit of mischief as he nuzzles into your thigh. His fingers curl around the strings of your thong as his eyes dip quickly. You close your eyes and take another sip of your drink when he starts to pull, a soft smile of your own spreading on your face as he exposes you.

There’s fingers— suddenly. Softly. Rubbing. A low hum vibrating in his throat as he touches you. A soft moan slips from between your lips as your hips start to roll, meeting each pass of his digits. Your slick already; clit hypersensitive, almost pained from going so long without. His touch is experienced, slow and deliberate as he presses soft, warm kisses against your thigh, rubbing his bearded cheek against the delicate skin.

The tips of his fingers start to drift. Down, down, down, away from your nub and to your slit where he rubs— caresses— gently. Then they’re pushing, his fingers, index and middle, sinking into you deep, pulling a sharp gasp from you.

He smiles wide before pushing out a breath, “That’s a tight fit, honey baby.” he purrs before blowing softly onto your hot, wet cunt, “It’s been a while, huh?” his voice soft, fingers pumping slowly, “Yeah, it’s been a while. Look at you squeezing down on me, baby.”

Your body jerks when Steve presses his lips to your pussy. He hums as he kisses you again and again and again, before he flattens his tongue against your clit, rubbing gently. He sucks you into his mouth, his eyes closing, eyelashes spreading over his cheeks. Your thin fingers thread into his long, blonde hair, gripping and tugging as your hooded eyes watch his head bob left and right, up and down while he devours you.

Heat blooms in your chest and stomach as you take another sip of champagne and it settles in your belly. You rest your heavy head against the headboard, licking your lips as uncontrolled moans spill from your mouth. Another sharp gasp fills the room as a third finger slips into your eager body. You can’t stop the laughter that bubbles up in your chest, and the satisfied groan that follows.

“Is this what you wanted, baby?”

His voice is as smooth as silk, the deepness of it rattling your fragile bones, “This isn’t all that I wanted, but this is a good start, Mr. Rog—” you pant, words cut off as you lift your hips when he starts to hit that little spot, “Ah, fuck.”

“Mmmm,” he purrs again, “I know this isn’t all you wanted, greedy girl.” Greedy girl. Your cunt clenches at the words, “Oooh,” he smiles as sitting up a little when he feels you tighten, “You like that? Are you Daddy’s greedy girl?”

The champagne flute slips from your fingers, the liquid spilling over your chest and stomach, pooling in your belly button, “Uh oh,” he coos, slipping his tongue up your body, sucking up the spill with his lips as he goes, “Responsive little thing.”

He pulls his fingers from you, leaving you empty, causing a frustrated, childish grunt to rumble through your chest. Steve tuts at you again, although smiling all the while as he starts to work himself out of his shirt. You bite down into your bottom lip as you watch him, more and more of his buttery, tanned, smooth skin coming into view.

His chest is wide, thick with conditioned muscles. Dark hair is splashed across the pallet of his pecs, the little happy trail spreading out across his lower stomach. There’s a deep v carved into his hips— hard abs and biceps flex as he moves. His weight leaves the mattress as he stands and shoves his fingers into his pants, pushing them down sturdy, hairy thighs. Your eyes instantly fall to the dick print in his black Armani stretch boxer briefs. Fuck.

You slip your hand down your side, over your hip and right between your sticky folds, hissing gently as you start to rub yourself, impatient and needy.

“Good girl.” he praises, making your heart sing.

He drops his hand to his dick, squeezing himself as he smirks at you. What a fucking tease— but nonetheless, your pussy clenches around absolutely nothing from just the sight of him. Those fingers of his push underneath the stretchy band of his boxers and start to tug, slowly, slowly, slowly, exposing more and more of his wiry, dark hair and skin. You drag in a deep breath when his cock finally springs free, an impressive girth bouncing as the material pushes over it.

He steps out of his boxers and starts to stroke himself, long, slow drags of his hand up and down his shaft as he watches you dip your fingers into your pussy. You tilt your hips upward as you pump your fingers, the heel of your palm pressing against your clit. Your mouth falls open, your eyes flutter, air chokes up in your throat as you fuck yourself for him, enjoying his hungry eyes on all of you.

But when he’s had enough, he’s had enough. He falls onto his knees, his weight dipping into the mattress and inches towards you, pulling your hand away. His fingers replace yours, rubbing your clit, pushing through your folds, teasing your slit quickly before he slides his hands underneath your butt and pulls you down the bed. His fingers dance over your knees before he pushes them apart and your legs fall open, pussy on full display.

Steve falls over you, hands on either side of your head, as he leans downs and captures your lips again, kissing you sweetly. There’s a sharp taste on his lips and tongue— it's you. You lean into his kiss, deepening it with your tongue as you push your hips upward, shivering when the tip of his cock glances over your clit. Shivers wrack your body again, prompting him to laugh, “Okay greedy girl, okay.”

He pulls back, rolling his shoulders as he slips his fingers between your breasts. You reach for him too— raking your fingers down his chest and stomach as he starts to push at your opening. You grip his side, digging your nails into his thick skin as the head of his cock breaks into you. He slides, agonizingly slow, his long fingers wrapping around your throat as he disappears into you, his own mouth dropping open as you envelope him.

“Fuck,” he groans, letting his head fall as he pushes a breath out of his mouth, his grip around your neck tightening slightly, “You fit me like a glove, honey.”

You push your hips, urging him to move as you wrap your small hand around his wrist and push it up his long arm, stroking gently, “Come on, baby.” You murmur, using your head to push away from the mattress slightly.

“What’s that, honey?” he asks, “Tell me, baby. Use your words.”

You mewl, husky, hips still pushing up into his, “God— fuck me, Steve. Please.”

You push your hips down into the mattress, his dick drawing out of you just slightly. You thrust back up, pushing him back in, deep, before you pull back again— over and over and over. He watches the connection, watching himself disappear and then reappear as he squeezes your throat, a steady, gentle pressure. You keep a hold of his large wrist, gasping and whimpering as you fuck up onto him.

“That’s right, doll,” he whispers, “You fuck my dick, baby. I should be paying you, shouldn’t I?”

You roll your shoulders, moaning loud, “Please,” you beg— nearly cry, “Please, fuck me. Please!”

He thrusts into you hard— biting off the words in your throat. You squeak when he fucks into you again, your tits bouncing with the force.

“Is that what you want?” he asks, thrusting into you a third time, “Hmm? Is that what you want, honey?”

You nod quickly, your face breaking, a long, strangled noise spilling out of you as he pushes his hips into yours. He sets a bruising pace after the first teasing thrusts. Hard, fast pumps of his hips into yours, skin against skin, the sound bouncing off the walls. Wet, choked sounds squeak out from you as he keeps a hold of your throat, your small hands still wrapped around his wrist and forearm. You swallow hard, the pressure from his hand making it slightly difficult but the sheer power— or the restraint he shows despite his obvious strength— makes you want to melt into the mattress.

Steve leans down, licking into your mouth with his tongue as he fucks. He kisses you hard, releasing with a loud smack before he grabs your face and chin, squeezing your cheeks as he shakes your head back and forth gently, “Does that feel good, baby?” he taunts, his red, full lips brushing along yours, “Come on sweetness, don’t go all quiet on me now.”

“S’good,” you grunt, slamming your eyes closed, “Fu— ah! Fuck!”

“That’s right, girl. This is exactly what you needed.”

You’re hoisted up, right up into his lap, your legs curling around his sides. Not missing a beat, you start to bounce and rock freely, throwing your head back as you hang on to his broad shoulders. His large hand wraps around your throat again, but his fingers creep up over your chin, the tips pushing into your mouth. You hum as you suck on them, sucking the salt of your slick right off the pads of his fingers.

Your wet muscles squeak with each push of his cock. Quick, hot spurts of precum dribbling into you as his hips thrust to meet yours. His free hand grips your hips, hefty fingers pushing into your skin, helping you move. Your nipples brush along his chest, the gentle sensation sending flashes of heat and electricity through your body— shudders racing down your spine. The hand around your waist snakes up your back, his fingers playing with the ends of your braids.

He pulls gently, then backs off, mouth agape and eyes wide as they search your face, seemingly asking permission. He tugs again and you let him— your head falling back as your tongue pushes down the length of the index and middle fingers still shoved in your mouth. Your scalp prickles with pain as he pulls harder, craning your head back further, exposing your neck. A screech explodes from your lips when his pearly whites sink into the crook of your neck before he sucks hard, pulling blood to the surface.

Faltering hips, wet smacks, damp skin to damp skin— it’s all so filthy. So crude— but exactly what you’ve needed. His hands leave your hair, leave your mouth; one wraps around your throat and the other thumbs your nipple. He keeps his eyes on you as he hisses, his hips pushing, fingers tweaking, hand tightening to push you closer and closer towards a release. Your pitch heightens, your grunts and cries shaky and desperate as he eggs you on.

“You gonna come for me, sugar?” he asks sweetly, kissing you quick and hard, “It’s okay baby, you can let go. You’ve earned it, sweet girl. You’ve been such a good girl.”

A broken moan chokes in your throat. He ruts harder and faster, each thrust pushing deeper, touching that sweet, vulnerable spot until—

Red hot is the orgasm that ripples through you. You wail as it blooms across your flesh, your toes curling and fingers digging into his shoulders. He grabs your hips as you come, guiding you down onto his cock, and then helping you rock back and forth to drain every last drop of your release. His grip around your waist tightens, his own grunts growing louder before a burst of heat swells in your cunt.

Steve punctuates his spurts with deep, sharp thrusts, hissing and groaning with each one until he’s spent. He murmurs sweet nothings into your neck, hot breath sticking to your damp skin. Your limbs turn to liquid, your head fuzzy and warm as he guides you down to the mattress. He slips out of you, strings of silk following, trickling down your hot, trembly cunt. Sweet, soft lips press against your chest and stomach, over your hips and down your legs as large hands massage your thighs and calves.

A calm washes through you as your eyes grow heavy, your breaths getting deeper and longer as you melt into the soft mattress. You feel Steve moving around, crawling back up to where you are. A long arm slips over your stomach, pulls you close, right into his warm chest and stomach. His beard and lips brush over your temple and cheek, soft fingertips run up and down your arm, pretty epithets lulling you into a gentle sleep.

You’re just as sweet as sugar, honey baby. Such a good girl.

~~~

You roll your shoulders as you shift, eyes fluttering as you start to wake. It takes a few long seconds before your eyes adjust, the room lights having long since dimmed. The moon is high in the jet black sky as bright stars smatter across the canvas. You're still cocooned underneath a heavy arm and crushed against a burly chest, a soft smile spreading on your face as he snores gently.

3:12am flashes on the digital clock on the nightstand as you feel him roll away from you in his sleep, rolling over onto his side, exposing his wide back. Your fingers instantly glance over his smooth skin, skimming down his spine before they curl over his bicep. You should have been sated, but there’s another pull— deep in your belly; still eager, still wanting. Closing the distance between your bodies, you push your bare breasts into his back as you slide your hand underneath the sheets and down his chest and stomach.

You push up onto your elbow and thread your fingers into his dirty blonde hair as your other fingers brush over his soft cock. You wrap your small hand around him and stroke him gently, right from his stomach to the tip of his pretty dick, your palm sweeping over his cockhead and slit. Another smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as he stirs after a few minutes but doesn’t fully wake; just pushes his hips languidly into your hand.

His deep breathing soon turns shallow and choppy, soft moans scratching at the back of his throat but he never opens his eyes. Warm droplets of precum bubble from his slit and you brush the pads of your fingers over the wetness, dragging it back down his quickly hardening shaft. You rile him up, make his cock rigid and angry before you pull on his hip, rolling him over onto his back.

You throw your leg over his body and settle on top of him, ass up, lips mere inches from his hot sex. In one fell swoop, you follow your hand down his cock with your mouth, his hips jerking softly from the wet warmth surrounding him. Humming, you flatten your tongue along him, the tip tracing the thick vein that runs the length of his shaft. You bob your head up and down, sucking and swirling your tongue over his tip, teasing his slit as more drops of salt-sweet cum dribble on your tongue.

Steve’s hands slither up your thighs, grab your ass and squeeze as you suck him off, his hips jutting upward into your velvet mouth. Your mouth goes slack, your eyes fluttering when he slips two fingers into your wet cunt. He fingers you slow, his thumb pressing against your asshole as you start to writhe, rolling your hips against his hard abs to massage your clit.

You pull off of him, your hand still moving up and down, squeezing him as you pucker your lips— letting them gently brush against his cock. His hips rock up into your hand, his moans growing louder by the minute, deep gasps and sighs making his chest tighten underneath your body.

“Goddamn, baby,” his voice low and groggy from sleep.

Your muscles clench around his fingers as they delve and prod, his thumb pushing and circling your warm rim. A hot breath and a quick groan push out between your teeth, his dick jumping in your hand as the air tickles his skin. You swallow him again, taking every inch, relaxing your throat to accommodate him as you bury your face in the dark blonde hair at his groin.

Steve curls his fingers, lightly scratching at your insides, making you clamp down on them, squeezing them tight; holding them in.

Steve shifts underneath you, sucking in a sharp breath, “Get up here, baby. I wanna taste you.”

The sound of his voice rattles through you. His words still slurred with sleep, voice husky. You oblige, wanting his beard between your legs once more, sweeping along the inside of your thighs. You clamor up to him, straddling his face, your thighs closing in on either side of his head. Steve flattens his head on the pillow underneath him and opens his mouth, pushing his tongue out in anticipation of you.

You push your hips forward, rolling your cunt over his lips and tongue. Your head falls back, jaw goes slack as you start to ride his face, his tongue pushing through your sticky, puffy folds with ease. A wet noise fills the room— both his tongue and lips smacking and sucking on your messy flesh. Your hand finds his cock again, your fingers fondling his tip and that pulsing vein.

A chorus of whimpers and whines, quick gasps and deep growls roll through your chest as you grab his hair, pulling his face— if it’s possible— even closer to your cunt. Steve's face is flushed red in the moonlight. He balls the sheets in his hands as he flicks the tip of his tongue against you before he sucks your folds and clit into his mouth, his head shaking gently back and forth. He only releases you to drag in quick, wet breaths before closing back in on you, humming and moaning.

A soft burn spreads through your thighs as you canter your hips, using his chin and nose, along with his tongue and mouth to cop a feel. You’re close again, hips jerking with unexpectancy, your core also starting to burn as your body strains with its need.

Steve isn’t done with you yet. He rearranges you quickly, lifting you right off of him. Your knees sink into the mattress as he grabs your wrists and flattens your hands flat on the headboard.

He fucks into you from behind, not wasting a second in setting a brisk pace. He holds your hips in his hands, fingers digging into your skin as you drop your head, your braids swinging. Your tits bounce with his thrusts, your head knocking into the velvet headboard as you hold yourself up against it. Steve’s hips and balls slap against your ass as he gruffly pulls you back into him. A hand curls around your hip and travels up to your tits, grabbing your nipple between his index finger and thumb to tweak and pull and roll the thick nub.

You’re panting again, cursing and howling as your stomach tightens and your heart leaps, heat rippling through you. A quick sweat pops up on your brow, goosebumps prickle up along your body as your toes start to curl again. Steve’s hips are relentless, driving, driving, driving hard, his girth filling every inch that you have to offer. His fingers start to prod your asshole again, pushing gently against your rim as it constricts and relaxes.

It doesn’t take much. The soft pads of his fingers against your rim, and one, two, three more  strokes of his hips and you’re gone. Your mind going blank as your orgasm rushes. Steve fucks you right through it, dropping a hand to your clit as it jumps with the contractions of your cunt. He teases it— your clit— slapping and rubbing quick circles as your walls squeeze around him, finally coaxing him to come again.

You decide that you like the way it feels when he comes inside of you. His silk ribbons coating your squeaky muscles. You collapse against the mattress after your release washes through you. Steve falls beside you, rolling over onto his back and flattening his hand in the middle of his chest as he catches his breath.

“Gettin’ your money’s worth, huh?”

You dissolve into laughter, pushing your face into the blankets as you lay on your stomach, “I am a shrewd businesswoman, Mr. Rogers.”

“You don’t hear me complaining, do you?”

~~~

“It’s a financial risk, for sure,” you reiterate, hands shoved into the pockets of your slim fit pants, your suit jacket open, “But I assure you, we can turn this company around. Carter & Danvers hasn’t had an acquisition fail in over thirty years. I will personally oversee this transition through— until it’s turning a profit.”

All eyes are on you in the boardroom as Hank Prym, CEO and pain in the ass that just won’t sign the goddamn contract, of Lang & Prym Inc. stares back at you, fingers threaded over his lips. For whatever reason, he doesn’t trust you or anything that you have to say, despite the fact that within six months— or less— his company will have to file bankruptcy. Natasha Romanov, CFO of Lang & Prym, sits to his left, green eyes sliding between his and yours. Her delicate fingers play with the pen between them, rolling it slowly as she tosses her short, red hair.

“Mr. Prym,” she starts, “We have to do something. We aren’t going to last much longer without their help. I crunched the numbers for you multiple times.”

He shakes his head slowly, his dark eyes glancing off towards the windows, “We have time, right?”

“We do,” Natasha nods, “But—“

“I’m not ready to sign yet. Not yet,” he stands, and everyone else placed around the table follows his lead. He moves around the table and up to where you are, extending his hand and shaking yours gently, “You’re good, but I’m just not ready yet.”

You smile softly, tapping the back of his hand with your free one, “That’s alright, this is tough, I realize that.”

“I’m glad they sent you instead of that Wade Wilson,” he chuckles, “How long are you in town for?”

“Indefinitely. Until you sign with us, Mr. Prym, I’m a Los Angelean.”

“Well,” he starts, taking a step towards the door, “Have Natasha show you around town. She knows this little taco place that’s to die for.”

You toss your eyes towards Natasha as she approaches and wink, “I’ll take her up on that. She’s already given me a tip or two about the lays of the land.”

You shake hands with the rest of the board members as they exit the room, finally leaving you and the smirking redhead alone. There may be a little underlying tension between you and her, you aren’t entirely sure yet, but you know that her eyes tend to linger on your frame just a tad longer than they should— not that you mind the extra attention, especially from someone as effortlessly attractive as she is.

Her arms are crossed over her chest as she sits on the edge of the mahogany table. A tight, black pencil skirt accentuates her shapely hips and long legs. A red satin blouse, unbuttoned strategically to show off her soft, pretty, full breasts.

“You’re looking a little more lively today.” Her silk smooth voice floats towards you, making you smile, “You gave my pal a call, eh?”

A devilish smile curls on your lips as you push your hands back into your pockets, “He was worth every fucking cent.”

“Glad to hear it.” She winks, and pushes away from the table, her manicured fingers reaching for your tie. She steps in close as she drags her hand down the length of the skinny tie, her big eyes following, “Maybe the three of us can get dinner sometime, hmm?”

You wiggle your eyebrows, “You just name the time and place, Ms. Romanov.”

She hums approvingly before smoothing down your tie and turning on her heel, clicking out of the boardroom with her file folders in hand.

You plop down in the chair behind your open laptop, exiting out of your powerpoint and bringing up your email. You work for a while, but your mind drifts, back to the night before, back to one Steve Rogers. Broad shoulders, smooth skin, sweet, pretty mouth… soon, the thoughts keep you from working. Soon, you’re leaning back in your chair, your fingers playing with your bottom lip as you sway gently back and forth.

You slide your phone out of your pocket and thumb through your messages, landing on his number. Tapping the screen, you stand and bring it to your ear as you take a few steps towards the windows, your eyes scanning over the city as the phone rings.

“Back so soon?”

You can’t help the smile that spreads on your face as his warm voice fills your ears, “You make it hard to stay away, I must admit. How are you, I’m not disturbing you am I? I mean, you’re probably a busy man.”

He laughs, a warm, deep laugh and your body tightens “I do take breaks, you know.” You giggle, a sudden nervous energy filling you, which is strange. You usually have no problem asking for things you want, “Don’t get all shy on me now, girl.”

“God,” you scoff, tittering again, rolling your eyes playfully.

“Come on, I thought we were passed all this? Do I need to come over there and help you relax again?”

Muscles you weren’t even sure you had, clench tight, “Are you free tonight, Mr. Rogers?”

“You know, I like that. All that Mr. Rogers stuff,” You hear him moving around, then a deep exhale, “I wish I were, doll, but I’ve got a date. Dinner and a function.”

You click your tongue, your shoulders dropping as a quick flash of disappointment washes through you. It doesn’t last long, the disappointment— hell, you make deals for a living, “I’ll double whatever she’s paying you.”

“Oooh,” he purrs, “Jealous, baby?”

“Not jealous,” you point out, “I just don’t like to wait, and I don’t like to lose. It’s not in my nature.”

“That’s very flattering, but I can’t do that. I have a reputation in this city.”

“Yeah,” you laugh, “I’m sure you do.”

“I do! I can’t cancel on such short notice.”

“Then meet me for dessert.”

“Are you trying to kill me?” He laughs earnestly, “Listen, I’m good, but I’m not that good.”

You cover your face with your hand, laughing again, “Oh my god,” you sigh, “Well, fuck. I’ll get with Natasha and see if she can recommend another option for the evening...”

You hear him shuffle through the phone again, another deep sigh pushing out of his nose. He’s quiet for a beat as you tap your index finger against the edge of your phone, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“Let me get back to you a little later tonight, alright? You and Ms. Romanov behave over there.”

“I told you I was shrewd.”

“You sure did. Wait up for me, babe.”

You smile big, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, “Will do.”

~~~

His knock sounds through the hotel room, making you tear your eyes from your laptop. You finish your email before pushing away from the small table and padding towards the door, your lace, burgundy kimono flailing with the air. You pull open the door and step to the side instinctively as Steve traipses through the threshold. You let it close with a soft click before you lean against it, crossing your legs and tilting your head as you find two crystal blue eyes on you.

The two of you blink at each other, eyes traveling over one anothers frames. He shrugs out of his black velvet jacket and tosses it over the back of the couch before he starts on his cufflinks. You watch in silence as he rolls up his sleeves, one by one, exposing his forearms just how you like— all veins and hair. His biceps bulge in the white button down, chest rippling underneath his black vest. He keeps flipping his eyes towards you, peeking through those lashes as he smiles.

He beckons you with his index finger and without hesitation, you’re moving towards him, pushing away from the door with your hands. Once you’re within range, he reaches for you, wrapping his long arm around your waist to pull you into him. Laughter bubbles up in your chest as you crash against him, his lips capturing yours in a flurry of kisses.

His hands push over your ass, squeezing your flesh before his palms push up and down your hips, “You look beautiful.” He says softly, his eyes drifting down your matching burgundy and navy bra and panties

You toss your braids over your shoulder before placing your hands back on his chest, “Thank you. How was your dinner?”

“Filling,” he smiles, “But I left room for dessert.”

“Well,” you start, pulling out of his grasp and moving back towards the table, “Hopefully you like chocolate.”

You spin on the balls of your feet to face him again, holding up a small plate with a large piece of chocolate cake. You smile as he laughs, shoving his hands in his pockets as he steps up to you, leaning down just a tad to take a whiff of the freshly baked German chocolate cake. He opens his mouth, flicking those big blue eyes up to yours again, waiting patiently. You pluck the fork that’s dug into the spongy cake and cut off a small piece before placing it at his lips.

He takes it slowly, keeping his eyes on you as he slides his tongue along the bottom of the fork, sucking the cake into his mouth. He chews it carefully, closing his eyes as he hums in satisfaction, licking his lips, “That is good.”

You pop a piece into your mouth, agreeing with his sentiments, “Mmhmm, this is really good.”

Cutting off another piece, you slide it into your mouth, closing your eyes and moaning again. You feel his gaze, drifting down your chest and stomach, down your legs and then back up again. It feels nice— having his full attention. You don’t intend to go without it for the rest of your stay in L.A. While waiting for him, you came up with the perfect solution— your greatest deal yet.

With a gentle flutter, your eyes are open again, finding his staring back into yours. A flush of red seeps into his cheeks and lips, down his neck as his eyes drop to your chest quickly.

“Something the matter?” You ask coolly.

He shakes his head slowly, sucking his teeth, “Rethinking my decision to have dinner, that’s all.”

A smile quirks onto your lips, “A man has to eat, Mr. Rogers.”

“I can survive on chocolate cake and champagne.”

“Not for too long; unless…” your words drift away with ease as you step away from him again, grabbing your phone and heading towards the bedroom.

The soft click of his Christian Loubotin slip ons against the marble floor greets your ears as he follows. You point the fork towards your champagne glass still sitting on the table but keep walking, passing through the threshold of the sprawling bedroom and plopping onto the equally big bed. He enters moments later, hands full of a champagne glass and bottle. The mattress dips with his weight as he sits on the edge, right next to you, where he watches you chew on another piece of the rich cake intently, his gaze only leaving to top off the bubbly, golden liquid.

Steve waits until you pause to pass the square champagne flute your way, thick fingers brushing along your thin, manicured ones. That strong gaze stays on you as you sip, a lopsided grin pinching his cheek, slow blinks until you hand the flute back and cut into the cake once more.

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

He clears his throat at your sudden aloof demeanor, “Don’t be coy, tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

He laughs, “Maybe a spanking will help rejog your memory.”

You cut your eyes towards him, inhaling sharply at the notion, “Do you charge extra for that?”

“Only for naughty girls.”

“Let me grab my purse, then.”

You throw your legs over the side of the bed to stand playfully, but he catches your calf with his palm and gently rearranges you on the bed. He takes the fork from your fingers and digs it into the half eaten cake before bringing it to your lips.

“Answer me, please.”

You accept his offering slowly as your body constricts at the firm tone of his voice. You bat your eyes while you chew before slipping your hand down his wrist and forearm, stroking gently, “I was just thinking that you could possibly survive off of chocolate and champagne if that someone indulging you is also offering other vital nutrients.”

His eyes squint as he goes for another piece of cake, this time eating the bite himself, “Ah,” he says after a minute or two, his eyes towards the ceiling as he works it over in his mind, “You’re saying you’d also like to be my dinner.”

“Precisely. I mean, it doesn’t really make sense to leave one restaurant after the main course just to go to another for dessert.”

“It is timely; and, as you know, my time is extremely valuable.” He nods slowly, “My clients are a demanding bunch.”

You smile, “And don’t like to share.”

Steve pushes in close, brushing his lips against yours just to tease. He drops his face and nuzzles into you, the soft hair of his beard caressing the sensitive flesh of your neck before his lips start to nip and nibble.

“So you are jealous.”

The husky fullness of his voice sends a targeted missile to your core— your heart skipping a beat as the air freezes in your lungs. The feeling sinks right to your bones. A devilish hand slips along your bare stomach and around your hip to squeeze, before pulling you closer. A pink, velvet tongue presses against the juncture of your neck and shoulder, sliding up to your ear before he plants gentle, gentle kisses.

“How are we going to solve this problem?” He whispers, teeth nibbling at your earlobe.

“Mmm,” you hum, “Maybe we should talk when you aren’t so full. I’m a woman of class— I don’t eat leftovers.” Your sentence ends in a whisper as you lean up and get right next to his ear.

His chuckle is deep, vibrating through you. He takes a breath, his chest puffing up, straining his shirt and vest before he pushes it out slowly, “I still have two hands and a mouth.”

“I don’t know where those have been either.”

“Well then why don’t you give me a bath? That way you can be assured I’m clean.” He stands, extending his hand towards you, “Maybe I can work up a second appetite.”

Steve whisks you into the bathroom, only dropping your hand to start the bath. You lean against the long counter, crossing your legs as you watch him undress. He takes his time of course, flicking those eyes up at you every now and again as he sheds the rest of his Tom Ford suit, taking the time to fold it up and set it aside. Your eyes can’t help but drift, down that chest and hard stomach, over the smattering of coarse, dark blonde hair at his lower stomach, right to his thick, long cock.

“I usually make clients pay before letting them ogle me,” he winks, “You’re getting a freebie. Come.” He beckons again, curling his index finger towards you.

“Oh?” you purr, pushing away from the counter and sauntering to him, “Why am I so lucky to get such a perk?”

Steve inhales deep again as he slides his hands underneath your kimono at the shoulders, pushing it right off, “I like you.”

“You barely know me.”

He spins you around, fingers unhooking your bra before he crushes his chest to your back, “I have a feeling that’s going to change.” He whispers, pressing his cheek against yours as he stares at you through the mirror.

He pushes his hands over your hips, fingers curling around the strings of your thong, slipping it down your thighs. He bends to lift each leg, pulling the undergarment from you and tossing it atop his pile of clothes. A large hand encases yours and moves you to the edge of the tub, keeping a tight hold as you step into the hot water.

“My phone, please?” you ask sweetly as you settle down, resting your back against the porcelain.

Steve disappears momentarily only to return with your phone and another flute of champagne. He sits the items on the edge of the tub and slips into the opposite end, grabbing your feet and placing them against his chest. He lifts your right leg and starts pressing his thumbs into the bottom of your foot, rubbing firm circles, smiling slowly when you moan. Grabbing your phone, you thumb through your music before Prince fills the bathroom.

“I thought I was supposed to give you a bath?”

“We’ll get to that,” he says easily, lifting your toes to his lips, kissing them softly, “I want to hear this plan of yours.”

You pull your foot from his grasp and reach for your loofah and shower gel before pulling on his wrist to get him to move towards you. Steve slides between your legs as you separate them, wrapping them around his waist as he lays against your chest. You dip the loofah into the water, letting it soak it up before you squeeze it over his chest. A smile and a laugh bubble from you when you start to wash his chest as low groans rumble through his chest.

You push him up to sweep the soap over his shoulders and back, admiring the smooth canvas of tanned skin. He relaxes easy, muscles cooling and calming under your fingers, his breaths getting deep and long. The length of his body captivates you as you push the sudsy loofah over his bicep and down his arm, not able to reach his wrist without straining.

“You alright back there?”

“Shut up,” another giggle pushes through your lips, “You know, my legs are forty four inches from hip to toe, so that means you have eighty eight inches wrapped around you right now and you’re still longer than I am.” You kiss the tiny spot just underneath his ear, “Your mama fed you well.”

“She was a good woman, my mama. Hell of a cook.”

“Was?”

He sighs deeply as he runs his hands up and down your legs, “She died, a few years ago.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

He shrugs, “That’s the meaning of life, right? You live, you love, you lose. I was lucky to have been able to take care of her until the end, some people don’t get that.” He tips his head up to yours, his eyes searching your face, “But that’s enough about me. How was your day?”

“Long,” you smile, anchoring your left hand in the middle of his chest as you continue to push the loofah around his body, “I couldn’t close my deal, so it looks like I’ll be in Los Angeles indefinitely.”

“We’re not that bad, you’ll fit right in.”

“You’re not a Los Angelean,” you tease, poking him gently, “I can hear that Brooklyn in you, no matter how hard you try to hide it.”

His laughter fills the bathroom, making you smile wide. It’s a nice sound, his laugh. It’s also nice knowing you can pull such a genuine response from him— the slight distance he’s worked so hard to build over the years slowly starting to slip away.

“I miss New York sometimes. I haven’t been back since—” he cuts the words off, but you know what he was going to say. He clears his throat, visibly catching himself slipping and tenses, trying to regain his control, “I’m sure this news has something to do with you wanting to be my dinner and dessert?”

“Yes, so,” you start, clearing your throat as well, “If it isn’t obvious, I quite enjoyed my night with you, and I’m sure you’ve picked up on the fact that I hate to share.”

“Only child, huh?”

“Shush,” you slap at him, “I don’t want to have to wait my turn for you, and I’m much too active, if you catch my drift, to go days between having you.”

He nods slowly, “I’m with you.”

“I’ll have business dinners and such, actually I’m attending a polo match on Saturday and I um, well, I’d like you to be… mine… while I’m here. Be at my every beck and call.” You click your tongue, “You know, like an employee of sorts.”

You peer at the side of his face as he sucks his teeth, nodding slowly, hands still dragging along and squeezing your legs, “That’s an idea, isn’t it?” he turns his head towards you, “You’re a very attractive woman, you could have anybody you want, for free. Ms. Romanov to start.”

“She talks about me?” you gasp, giggling a little, biting your lip, “But I can’t flaunt her around the way I want to, we’re technically working together, imagine if HR gets a whiff. No, I’d like a professional, although if you don’t mind, we could invite Ms. Romanov over to play every now and again.”

“Whew,” Steve chuckles, pecking your lips quickly, “I like the sound of that. Well, if you’re talking indefinitely, it’s gonna cost ya.”

You nod, “Of course. We’re both business people, we can work this out.”

He pulls in another breath, blinking towards the opposite walls, “That sounds lovely, and I’m flattered but,”

“Steve,” you whine, “Come on, you’re not even thinking about it.”

“I have dates lined up already.”

“Cancel them.”

“I can’t do that,” you scoff, “I can’t! Once you head back to New York, I’ll be the one dealing with a horde of angry women— if they’ll even want to see me again!”

“Okay,” you cut him off, “I’ll let you finish out your week. How’s that? Then, starting Saturday, you’re mine until my deal is closed.”

“That could be a month, or more.”

“It could be a day,” you shrug, “Name your price, I’ll pay it either way.” He grows silent, “The uncertainty makes you the real winner here.”

You walk your fingers up and down his chest, nuzzling against his cheek and wet beard as he thinks it over, “Let’s do some math,” you say after a while, grabbing your phone, “You charge fifteen hundred a night, right?”

“Yeah, but you want twenty four hours a day, and you want to show me off like some boy-toy,” he smiles, wiggling his eyebrows, “Price goes up.”

“Say it.”

He knocks his head around a few times, “Twelve thousand a week.”

“Fifteen hundred times seven is ten thousand and change, and even so, that alludes to you having a date every night of the week— which I doubt. Try again.”

“Fine, nine.”

“Five thousand a week,” you counter, “And I’ll pop for dinner on nights I don’t have a business engagement.”

“Eight thousand and I won’t charge you for threesomes with Ms. Romanov, which, I can easily talk her into.”

You laugh, “That’s not fair, we’ll both be enjoying those threesomes with Natasha. Six thousand, threesomes included,” you wink playfully, “You can stay here while I’m at work, and you can use up my thousand dollars a day per diem. The hotel has a spa, a gym, a world renowned five star chef in the twenty four hour restaurant— you can book a masseuse everyday for god sakes.”

Steve sucks his teeth, “Seventy five hundred.”

“Sixty five hundred.”

He smiles, “Seven thousand. You pay upfront, every Monday, and no refunds— no matter when your deal closes.”

You grab your phone, flipping over to your cash app. His phone vibrates in his pant pocket as you turn the face towards him, the seventy five hundred dollar transaction still lighting up the screen.

“A tip?” he asks, raising his eyebrows at the extra money.

“For humoring me. We got a deal, Mr. Rogers?”

He stands, water falling off his body as he steps out and grabs one of the fluffy, white towels, “Let’s fuck on it.”

You smile wide.

“You know,” he starts, wrapping your shoulders with the towel as you stand, “I would have stayed for five.”

You wiggle your eyebrows, “I would have paid twelve.”

~~~

It’s been a little over a week since your deal with Steve was struck, and the two of you have fallen into quite a lovely little routine. You’ve already gotten used to falling asleep on his chest, his long arms wrapped around your middle. Waking up at random times in the night to find him rutting into you softly, his warm breath on the back of your neck, hot lips pressed against your shoulder, fingers digging into your hips.

The two of you get along well— having dinner together every night, laughing and talking aimlessly whether it’s down in the restaurant or curled up on the couch, you in Steve’s lap as a random show plays in the distance (not that you’re ever paying attention to it). He’s a charmer, becoming an instant hit with the businessmen and women at the polo match and business dinner you were invited to. He looks good on your arm, and you like having him there.

Waking up with Steve is also fun. You currently stand in the bathroom, brushing your teeth as CNN plays in the embedded TV in the long mirror. There’s a shift in the reflection of the bed, Steve rolling over and letting out a deep sigh as he drifts back to sleep. Blinking back towards yourself, you glance down at your phone, tapping it to illuminate the time. You’ve got a few minutes to spare.

You rinse your mouth quickly and pad back into the bedroom, pulling the white sheets away from his naked body. The mattress dips under your knees as you climb onto it and place your hands on his thighs, raking your painted fingernails down his flesh. You knead the muscles, squeezing gently as you massage each thigh, working your way up from his knees. Within minutes, he’s growing, cock twitching before towering up, the light from the bathroom helping cast its shadow over his stomach.

There’s a quick sound from him, a half grunt, half moan, and you can’t help but smile— you’ve learned he’s a light sleeper. You sink your warm mouth over the head of his cock, your tongue swishing and teasing his slit. He gasps, and it sends a quick shiver down your spine, your pussy constricting as you push down his length, taking him all in.

You only bob your head a few times before his hips start to join in, pushing up into your mouth gently. Soft little moans choke up in his throat. Breaths hitching before he squeaks, his body twitching with each pass of your tongue. Hums vibrate through his throat and chest as he licks his lips and sinks his teeth into his bottom lip— a deep red flushing through his fair skin.

Each tiny sound from him, long hisses, desperate pants, quick, sharp whines as you work him over, sends jolts through your own body, your pussy wet and achy, stomach tight. But you have an early Zoom meeting, and time is slipping away. You reach for his hands and place them on your head as you slow down, giving him a clear signal.

He slips one of his hands down your cheek, rubbing his thumb gently against your skin to get you to peek up at him. You nod quickly, and not a second goes by before he grabs a handful of your braids and fucks hard up into your awaiting mouth. You moan with him as he forces your head down with his hands, his hard, long cock slipping down your throat.

Tears slip out of the corners of your eyes and down your cheeks, spit and cum bubbling out of your mouth as he fucks your face. Steve leans up to watch you take him, his hips still grinding hard.

“Tha’s right, baby,” he slurs, pushing out heavy breaths, “You take my cock so good, baby. That’s s’good, sugar. That mouth is so fucking pretty around my cock.”

Your heart leaps in your chest at his praise, the stroking of your ego making your body clench. You keep your nails dug into his thighs as he fucks into your messy mouth, lips flushed red, swollen and slippery. Steve whines loud, his octave high, the sound bitten off and broken as he slams his head back on the pillow, his mouth falling open. His hips pulse as he nearly cries, your scalp burning as he grips your head and hair.

You fight the urge to touch yourself, wanting to keep the delicious ache with you throughout the day. Steve lifts his head to make eye contact with you again, his face strained and broken as he whimpers, “Fuck, I’m gonna co— ,” he groans, loud and drawn-out, “That mouth is perfect. Ugh, I’m gonna paint that pretty mouth with my cum, baby— ah!”

He freezes suddenly and then pushes his hips upward, pushing his rigid cock deep before he spills, your warm, rough, pink tongue helping to coax him. He slams his head back down on the pillow, chest and muscles tense hard as each pass of his orgasm grows stronger, his spurts long and hot.

When his hips stop thrusting, he softens into the mattress, his limbs damn near liquid. His eyes flutter as he drags in deep, ragged, audible breaths, each one shaky and wet. You clean him up with your tongue, bobbing your head again, gripping his hips as filthy little noises and sweet cries squeak out of his throat. His body jerking and jutting. Once you’re finished, you kiss his tummy and smile before pushing off the bed.

“Where you goin’?” he mumbles, reaching for you as move back into the bathroom, “Hey, come’re”

You spin around to wink at him before closing the door a little to finish getting ready for your day.

“That’s not fair,” he shouts, making you giggle, “Fuck.”

~~~

One Zoom meeting turns into two, turns into three and beyond. You jot down notes, shaking your head slightly in agreement as you grab your phone, calculating a few numbers before you recite them for the rest of the group. It’s kind of amazing how you all deal with millions of dollars like it’s absolutely nothing.

You’ve had your nose so stuck in your laptop and phone all morning, you haven’t had a chance to pay any attention to the tall blonde traipsing around the place, shooting you little looks and quick smiles as you work, in hopes to garner a glance. It hasn’t worked so far; until now that is, as he saunters out of the bedroom after his trip to the gym and a late shower, chest bare, grey sweats hanging low on his lips.

Water still beads on his shoulders, a few strays slipping down his pecs into the dark hair that covers his chest. You cut your eyes towards him and slide them with him as he moves into the dining area, watching as he bends over to pluck a bottle of water out of the mini fridge. He stands back tall, rolling his broad shoulders a bit before he tips his head and guzzles the cool liquid, Adam's apple bobbing.

“Hello? You still with us?”

You snap your eyes back towards your laptop, a smirking Natasha Romanov staring back at you, “Sorry, I think my, uh, connection got a little wonky,” you lie, sending your eyes quickly back towards the chuckling Steve, “What were you saying, Ms. Romanov?”

“Scott Lang, our other CEO is flying in next week from Chicago, he wants to set a meeting with you but was wondering if you could carve out sometime to call him beforehand. He just wants a run down of the numbers you’re proposing.”

“Sure, I’ll pencil him into my schedule later today, if that’s okay? Around three?”

Natasha taps on your phone, “Perfect, looks like he’s free. Mr. Prym also would like to see you and Mr. Parker again to go over the construction plans of the possible new building.”

“Okay,” you nod, turning your attention to your phone to text Peter, “I’ll get back to you whenever Peter shoots me his schedule. He’s kinda busy though, so it might not be until next week.”

“That’s alright.” she answers absentmindedly, “Clint? Do you have anything for her?”

“Nope, I’m good I think.” The short blonde says.

“Nick? Wanda?”

After a chorus of no’s, you all say your goodbyes before you end the call, returning to your notebook, forgetting all about the burly man stalking towards you. Your phone buzzes, and you grab it up, skimming over Peter’s text message before you respond quickly, setting up a quick call with him for the following day and asking him to share his calendar with you. A soft ding sounds from your computer and you’re immediately turning back towards it, bouncing slightly when a weight pushes into the couch next to you.

The taps of the keys on your keyboard are followed by the swoosh of your outbound email before you grab your pen and start scribbling again. A constantly buzzing phone, more taps, more swooshes, and your gentle, random hums are all sounds you’re used to; not so much your sudden roomie. He’s bored and slightly annoyed by your snubs all morning— also wanting a little payback for your shenanigans so early in the morning.

You haven’t even noticed that he’s now completely naked.

You lean up a little, squinting as you study the growth chart on your screen, your fingers playing with your bottom lip as your mind crunches the information. A gasp fills your chest as you’re lifted from your spot and settled right onto his lap. Before you can protest, he shimmies the short shorts covering your lower half down your thighs and over your knees, and pushes your white satin panties to the side.

Steve sweeps your box braids over your shoulder as the head of his cock pushes through your folds. You feel his eyes on the side of your face, that soft beard brushing against your jaw as he rocks his hips slowly, teasing your clit and opening with his dick. He grazes his fingers over your thighs before he cups your hot sex in his palm and uses his fingers to spread you open.

With a firm press, he slips inside of you, pushing until he bottoms out. He wiggles his hips, just so you can feel him moving inside of you before he grabs your laptop and places it back in your lap, “Don’t let me disturb you.”

You squirm on top of him, your hips rolling slightly as he starts to play with your clit, rubbing slow circles against your soft, wet skin. Your mind is blank as you stare at the computer screen, breath light and choppy, body tightening around his rigid cock. You want him to move, to thrust up into you real nice and slow while he thumbs and pulls at your nipple, breathing hot, hushed words into your ear. Trying to coax him, you wiggle again, pushing down onto him but he doesn’t relent— he just turns on the tv and settles back into the couch, throwing his arm over the back like you’re not even sitting on his dick right now.

He continues to rub your clit lazily, keeping his eyes on Sports Center as your body tenses every now and again, tiny, needy moans vibrating your vocal chords. You try to focus on the numbers and emails in front of you, but your mind is mush— a dull ache throbbing in the pit of your stomach, your teased clit starting to sting from his gentle pressure.

Natasha’s name flashes across your laptop, sending a sudden strike of fear through you, heart dropping to your feet, “Steve—”

“Answer it,” he says gently, “I’ll be quiet.”

“She’ll see you!” You hiss.

He just chuckles in return, “Not if you stay still, she won’t. Answer it.”

Your fingers tremble over the mouse pad, the arrow hovering over the accept button. Steve reaches around and taps the button before relaxing back into the couch, sinking lower into it as Natasha’s smiling face pops up on your screen.

“Hi,” she greets happily, her chin in her palm, a pair of red, thick rimmed glasses over her eyes, “Are you busy?”

“Um,” you start, clearing your throat as your voice quivers, “Not, um, not really. What’s, uh, what’s—” you grunt when Steve finally thrusts into you.

Natasha’s eyes squint as she tilts her head, “You okay?”

Smiling quickly, you nod, “Yeah, sorry. What’s up? Does Mr. Prym need something else from me?”

“Oh, no, this isn’t work related.” She laughs lightly, “We’ve missed each other in the office this past week, I was just wondering if you were doing okay, see how L.A. is treating you.”

Steve shifts underneath you, pushing his hips hard. You tense hard, muscles quivering around him as you dig your nails into his thigh, trying to muffle the squeak that rises in your throat.

“It’s great,” you strain— high pitched and shaky, “It’s um, I l-like it here.”

“Have you seen Steve lately?”

Your eyes widen when Steve snakes his free hand up to your chest, grabbing a handful of your left tit. You turn the laptop away from you quickly as Steve leans up, resting his chin on your shoulder, another deep rumble of laughter falling from his lips.

He centers the screen on the two of you again, kissing your shoulder as Natasha feins shock, “She’s seen quite a bit of me lately.”

Embarrassment flushes through you— heat rising in your cheeks, but Steve rolls his hips slowly and jossles you on his lap and you can’t help but sound, a wet little whimper as he thumbs your nipple underneath your shirt, “S-Steve.”

“It’s okay honey,” he whispers, kissing your jaw, his eyes cutting back towards the laptop as Natasha leans back in her chair, teeth dug into her bottom lip as a pretty pink blush blooms across her cheeks, “Little Natasha has a voyeur kink,” he pushes his mouth right next to your ear, his octave dropping, “She loves watching me fuck pretty girls like you,” he lifts your top up, exposing your see-through bra as he turns his attention back to the screen, “Don’t you, baby?”

“Are you fucking her right now?” Natasha breathes, her voice thick and deep, “I wanna see.”

Steve sets the laptop on the glass table in front of you, pushing it back until your lower halves are exposed— his cock rooted deep in your cunt. You hear Natasha groan, watch as she starts to drag the pads of her fingers across her chest as she sways gently back and forth in her swivel chair.

“Does she feel good, Steve?” She asks.

“Oh,” Steve purrs, lifting your bra slowly so your tits fall out one by one, bouncing softly, “She is so tight, Nat. So warm. You’d fall in love with this pussy.”

You fall back against his chest, turning your head slightly to nuzzle into the side of his face as he gropes your tits in his massive hands, squeezing hard as he pinches your nipples between his index fingers and thumbs. Languid thrusts start to push you up and down, the fingers on your pussy spreading you open for Natasha as she stands, wiggling her hips to hike her skirt up.

She sits back in her chair and lifts her left leg, resting her foot against the edge of her desk. Her thin fingers push through her slick, wet folds as she watches Steve fuck you slow, sucking her bottom lip into her mouth. You open your eyes just enough to watch her unbutton her blouse, slipping her hand in to pull her left breast out, exposing her pierced, pink nipple.

“Oh, fuck,” you groan quick, before hissing as Steve pushes in and out, humming soft as he starts to let it go to his head, “You’ve been hiding those from me.”

“You can see them in person soon,” she purrs, her head falling back on the chair as she pushes two fingers into her cunt, “I can’t wait to feel your tongue on my tits.”

You tense at her words, Steve cursing as your muscles squeeze around him. He bites down on your shoulder as he starts to fuck into you faster. He rolls your nipples in his fingers as the sound of your skin slapping against his gets louder— sharper. Natasha blinks slowly through hooded eyes, her sweet mouth falling open as her hips buck, one hand slapping at her reddened clit and puffy, slick folds, the other pumping in her slit.

A shudder races up your spine— hips jerk unexpectedly, digging down into Steve’s, “Sugar’s getting close, Nat,” he breathes, sliding his hand back to your clit, “God, I wish you could feel how tight she’s squeezing me. Hear how wet she is?”

You should be embarrassed; how spread open you are, the wet, filthy squeaks and squishes of your cunt as he ruts into you. But watching Natasha as she fucks herself to you, hearing her mewl and curse, her fair, smooth skin blushing red while she loses herself. It’s all obscene. Sleazy; but that’s why you like it.

“Oh, make her come, Steve,” Natasha groans, her tongue slipping out to lick at her nipple, “I want to see that pussy quiver.”

Steve wraps his arm around your middle, holding you tight, breathing into your ear as his hips go into overdrive. He fucks into you fast and hard, bouncing you on his lap. He shoves his fingers into your mouth, hissing and groaning as you suck them. The sweet whimpers and whines of Natasha make you shiver, the sight of her hips thrashing and the sun glinting off of the diamond studded bar nipple rings accenting her perfect tits, send you right over the edge.

You throw your head back as your orgasm blooms, spreading through your veins like fire. You whail as you slam your eyes shut, Steve dropping his wet fingers to slap your cunt, teasing your clit as it jumps with contractions.

“Oh, God, yes,” Natasha pants, her fingers rubbing quick, hard circles against her clit, hips pulsing, “Yeah, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna... come, baby— you’re so fucking perfect, sweet girl.”

“You are perfect, honey,” Steve moans into your ear as wave after wave of your orgasm washes over you, “That tight pussy feels so good around me. So sweet— that’s why I call you honey.” He wraps his fingers around your neck, “You want me to come in her, Nat? Huh? You wanna see my hot cum spilling out of her?”

“Yes!” She cries, hunched over as she thrashes her hand back and forth, her mouth hanging, “Yes, Steve.”

As if on cue, he grunts deep, his cock jumping as he starts to spurt. He keeps a tight grip around your neck as he fucks hard with each spit, the hot ribbons coating your slick muscles. He pulls out of you unceremoniously, cantering your hips to give Natasha the full view of his silk dribbling out of you, your spasming, tight cunt pushing it out.

Natasha comes hard, her moans growing louder and higher as the coil finally snaps. Her tits tremble with the aftershocks, her hips jutting upward randomly as she creams. Her fingers slow as her eyes close, her head tilts back and resting against the back of her swivel chair as she licks her lips. Deep, smooth breathes swelling her chest as her hips come to rest.

Steve kisses you deep— tongue pushing into your wet warmth to massage the roof of your mouth. He sucks on your top lip, smacks on you loud as he palms your thighs before kneading gently. Smiling against his lips, you let your body go limp; melt right into his burly chest and stomach, his cock resting against your balmy, used, sticky cunt.

“Goodness, me,” Natasha purrs, a sated, soft smile on her lips, “That was sweet. We really need to get together now.” She laughs.

You giggle, pushing your fingers into Steve’s hair, “Steve let me work threesomes into his base price, so you’re welcome any time, babe.”

“Oh, he did, did he? That’s not fair Steven Grant, you nickel and dime the shit out of me.”

Steve shrugs, “What can I say, she’s a better business woman than you.”

“I can see that. I hate to come and run, but I need to freshen up. I have a meeting with Hank in a half hour. Maybe we can all have dinner Friday night?”

“I’ll make reservations. The restaurant in the hotel is fabulous.”

She winks, her lips curled in a smile, “Text me.”

The connection ends and you fall back into Steve’s chest, brushing your cheek against his, “Now that your debauchery has ended, can I get back to work now?” you laugh.

“Nope,” he answers quickly, slapping your laptop shut and lifting you with him as he stands, “It’s lunch time.”

“Steve,” you laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck as he carries you back into the bedroom, “I have so much to do. I’m waiting for the architect to call me back, I have a presentation I have to put together—”

“Numbers to crunch, businesses to buy, blah, blah, blah,” he drops you onto the mattress and grabs the menu from the nightstand before plopping down next to you, “They got sushi today, yummy.”

Work becomes an afterthought. You and Steve lay in your nakedness, eating slowly as you stare at each other, rogue fingers reaching out and sliding along hips and arms and tummies. Lingering blue eyes skip along your face and body, his deep laugh rattling every bone, every muscle, every vein you possess. He opens up a little more, talking aimlessly about he and Natasha’s friendship, how they met through his friend, and fellow escort Bucky Barnes.

“Bucky,” you lay on your back, leg bent at the knee as it sways back and forth slowly, Steve curled around you, “Even his name is kinky.”

He nuzzles into your neck, exhaling deep as he rests his eyes. His long arm is slung over your chest, legs tangled with yours, “He’s a good guy. I might let you meet him one day.”

“Might?”

“I don’t want him stealing you away from me.”

The words hang over you like a cloud. You blink slowly up at the ceiling as they, the words, swirl around you, filling your chest and head. Maybe you’re thinking too much into it, putting too much weight on them. He probably says this to all of his clients while in a post sex haze. You’re being silly, you don’t even know this man… but you want to.

That scares you.

After only a week, you don’t even recognize yourself anymore. What started out as just needing some company every now and again, has turned into looking forward to seeing him after work. Not being able to wait until you're across a dinner table from him, being squeezed against his body while in the tub, not wanting to pry yourself out of his arms in the morning. There was a time where you thought nothing of work— buying, selling, making money, climbing the corporate ladder— you ate and breathed your work.

Now?

All you want to do is eat sushi and nap the days away, with Steven Grant Rogers wrapped around you like a blanket.

~~~

Steve glances over his shoulder at your sleeping body as he sits on the edge of the bed. He stands slowly, running his hand through his hair as he moves towards the double doors and out onto the balcony. Night is falling over L.A., the sky dark as the moon and stars start to shine through. He leans over the concrete columns as he thumbs through his phone, casting his eyes out over the streets as he taps on a name.

“Steve,” a deep voice says, “Shit, I thought you died, man. Where have you been?”

“Sorry Buck, I’ve been with a client all week.”

“All week? Wow, big spender.”

“She’s from New York, in town on business.”

“That sounds fuckin’ awesome. Where are you?”

“The Waldorf Astoria, Presidential suite.” Steve turns, tilting his head as he watches you sleep.

“Oh, shit! You lucky bastard!”

Steve continues to stare at you, blinking slowly as you roll over onto your side, “You know, she hasn’t been out on the balcony once since she’s been here,” He says absentmindedly, nibbling on his bottom lip, “She’s afraid of heights.”

“O-kay?” Bucky chuckles as he draws out the word, slightly confused, “Why do you sound so sad? What’s going on?”

“I’m breaking rule number one.” Steve answers softly, dropping his head.

“Steve,” Bucky warns, his octave dropping.

“I don’t want her to go.” Steve answers softly, “I’m— fuck, I think I’m falling for her, Buck.”

~~~

Your phone vibrates softly against the couch, illuminating in the darkness as a text from Natasha slides in.

Good news! Hank’s ready to sign the deal first thing tomorrow morning!

[221bshrlocked]

A Sky Full of Stars

Pairing: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin) x Fem!Reader

Words: 11340 (I know I say this all the time but this really was supposed to be a short one-shot but it got away from me because I just loved this idea so so much. Sorry not sorry.)

Warning: Nothing but fluff. Some kissing that turns into a heated make-out session that turns into a cuddling session.

Inspired by this tiktok by the lovely ameliagonzales who was gracious enough to allow me to use her idea and write this.

A/N: It's been a while since I wrote something that's fluffy slightly angsty and dialogue-centered. I'm not going to lie, this took longer than usual because of the lovely anon that decided to tell me my characterization of Din is hella off and I realized I don't care if it is because it's my writing and I get to do whatever I want with it. Let me know how I'm doing in the comments and reblogs are always always appreciated. You can add yourself to the taglist here. This is not beta'd btw.

“No silly this isn’t green, it’s blue.” The little girl put her toy away and brought out a new one, giggling at your faux pout as she shoves the new object in your hand and asks you what color you thought it was. You turn it around in your hands, trying your hardest to hide the hurt growing in your chest at not knowing what color it is. You think it’s closer to the first toy she gave you but you’re not sure. You’re never sure. You look at the girl and smile at her before setting the toy aside and wiggling your hands at her. She immediately stands up and screams as you run after her, laughing along with her giggles as you chase her around and watch as more kids join in and run away from you.

You’re not sure how long you’re chasing the little ones and you hear some of them gasp and ‘oooh’ when your young friend runs into a solid figure. You stand up and watch as the girl tears up as she apologizes to the man she just ran into. You’re immediately hugging her and assuring her that everything is okay, turning to the side and narrowing your eyes at the man that scared her half to death.

“Shame on you Mando,” you pretend to smack his shoulder three times and watch as the child in your arms sniffles between laughs when the Mandalorian tries to hide away from you.

“I’m sorry little flower, I didn’t mean to scare you.” You watch as the man reaches for a small bottle in his pocket and slowly hands it to the girl. “Here you go, a token of my apology.”

“It’s okay sweetheart, he’s a nice man...even though he doesn’t look it.” You wink at Boba Fett and giggle along with her when he sighs heavily and pushes the flask into her hand. She takes it and shakes it around, her eyes lighting up when the bottle shimmers at her ministrations and illuminates her hands.

“It’s so pretty! How did you know orange is my favorite color?” The girl slides down your arms and quickly hugs the hunter in front of you before running away and showing her friends. You look at her with longing in your eyes, wishing with all your heart that you saw the gift the same way she saw it.

“Still no color princess?” Fett questions and you shrug your shoulders as you make your way towards Slave I and sit on the ramp.

“Yup, same old same old. Who knows if I’ll ever see color.” There is a hint of hurt in your tone but Fett says nothing as he approaches you and stands to the side. He pats your shoulder once as he takes his helmet off and softly wipes at the visor to clean it.

“Don’t give up, kid. You’re still young...you’ve got all the time in the galaxy and you travel everywhere. You’ll meet them when you least expect it.”

“In this line of work? Yeah, I don’t think so Fett. But at least one of us didn’t lose the positive attitude. If I’m being honest, I was hoping to see color before the next supply run. The chances that I’ll live to go to Pasaana during another Festival of the Ancestors are practically non-existent. I heard they wear so many variations of the same color...maker, it would have been nice to experience that.” You pick up a rock and throw it away as you nervously ring your fingers and brush the conversation aside, not wanting to start the journey with a sour mood.

“Well, lucky for us, we have extra help on this run so it should be quicker. Maybe you’ll see color before you go?” Fett looks up and you follow his line of sight as another ship slowly lands just behind Slave I. You stand up and walk behind your old friend, looking back at the crates to ensure they’re still there before you approach the landing ship.

“Oh no, what poor soul did you manage to rope in this time?” You eye the ship and swear there is something familiar about it but you pay it no mind as Fett puts his helmet back on.

“Hey, I don’t always bend people to my will you know. He volunteered actually...he knows his way around the Narvath Sector and he might even tag along with us to the Forbidden Valley. So, be nice and don’t flirt with him.” Fett warns and you throw your hands up in defeat, failing to hide your smile as you respond with feigned offense.

“I’m not going to flirt with him.” You raise an eyebrow when Fett snorts at your high-pitched voice as he makes his way to the landing ship, and mutters something beneath his breath. The ship powers down after a couple of moments and you take a deep breath when the doors to the docking ramp slide and a figure appears at the corner.

“There he is...took you longer to land this time.” Fett yells to the other Mandalorian, not noticing how you take a few steps back as the man walks down towards the two of you.

“Oh well things just got a little more interesting now.” You break the silence and cringe when the Mandalorian struts past your friend and takes out his blaster. You hold your hands up when he points the weapon at your head and you watch as Fett strides to the two of you and stands in between your body and his brother’s weapon.

“You?” The Mandalorian growls and he tries to step aside and Fett holds his chest and pushes him back.

“Me!” You smile nervously and gulp when Fett turns around and looks at you. You swear you can almost see the look he’s giving you but you say nothing and hope that he can handle this situation for you.

“Oh.” You would have laughed at Fett’s response if there wasn’t a bounty hunter standing not five feet away from you and killing you a thousand different ways.

“You two know each other?” Fett breaks the silence and continues to stand between the two of you, knowing his friend’s short temper and your dumb comments might escalate this situation.

“I wouldn’t say we know each other. I’d say we met very briefly on-” You try to explain what happened the last time you saw the Mandalorian but he cuts you off. He pushes his blaster into its holster and you sigh heavily but keep your hands raised, afraid he'll change his mind any second and try to shoot you again.

“You almost blew up my ship!” The Mandalorian yells and you jump at his exclamation. His irritation seeps into your skin and you narrow your eyes at him as you walk around Fett and begin to nudge at the beskar armor with one finger. Your anger at his unfairness outgrows your fear of what he can do to you and you continue to push on his chest plate as you talk back at him and ignore Fett’s whispers to let it go.

“I did no such thing. I merely tried to fix your shitty cooling radiator panels but you scared the fuck out of me when you came up behind me and suggested I switch the parts, hence why I dropped the cauterizer and burned through the wires. So technically, you almost blew up your ship.” You’re breathing heavily and you’re sure your nose is flaring from how annoyed you are by the man in front of you. A few seconds pass between the two of you and it’s not until the Mandalorian tilts his head that you realize what you’ve just said and done. You take your hands away and swallow the growing lump in your throat as you step back and apologize a few times before you walk to the crates.

The Mandalorian stands there in silence, never once looking away from you retreating form, even when Boba Fett comes and stands him.

He’s missed this, and more than he preferred to admit.

“Little princess is fiery today.” Fett comments and notices when his friend turns and stares at him through the visor. The Mandalorian says nothing as he walks away from Fett and follows you. You’re in the middle of counting the supplies in the crates when you hear the crunching of footsteps approaching you. Thinking it’s Fett that’s come to help you move the supplies, you roll up your sleeves and ask him to take the opposite side.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell at your brother. I was just annoyed because I was only trying to help and he scared me.” When you look up and see that it was the Mandalorian and not your friend, you drop the crate and stare at him. He says nothing as he picks up his end of the large box and waits for you to mirror his actions before he begins to walk back to his ship. Neither of you say anything as you go back and forth until all the crates are on his ship. You walk out and stand next to Fett, waiting for his instructions to see whether you were going to go with him or with the new member of the crew.

“So what’s the plan?” You avoid the Mandalorian standing next to you and turn your body towards Fett, hoping that he’d say that you were tagging along with him.

“You’re going to go with him.” You cease to breathe at his command and clench your fists when you recognize his tone. He’s not leaving room for negotiation.

“W-why?” The Mandalorian walks back to his ship at your question and you pout when you realize that he may have misunderstood your inquiry. Not that it mattered whether or not he misunderstood...

“Fennec...we’ll meet you at Iktotchon.” You look to the ground and shuffle your feet against the sand, turning back to him and nodding quietly as you follow behind the Mandalorian.

“And princess!” Fett calls for you and you glance at him when you reach the top of the ramp.

“Hmm?”

“Try not to get into too much trouble.” You look at him with annoyance and shake your head when you realize he’s just teasing you. Standing at the large doors of the ship, you glimpse one last time at Mos Eisley before you make your way into the heart of the ship. A few moments later, the ship powers up and you watch as the barrier raises and locks just as light filters through the area. You’re not sure what you’re supposed to do or where you’re allowed to go so you remain standing where you are. Not a minute later, you jump when a voice breaks the silence and booms through the ship.

“Come up to the cockpit.”

You take a deep, calming breath as you set your things to the side and ascend the ladder to the cockpit. You come face to face with a door and you’re about to knock when it slides open and reveals the Mandalorian sitting in the pilot chair.

“Sit down and buckle up.” He says as he flicks on buttons across the board. He turns his head towards you to make sure that you’re buckled in before he raises the throttle levers and begins to take off. You hold back from saying something snarky as the turbulence gets worse, only shutting your eyes when it gets to be too much. You’re not sure how long you’re sitting there with your hands clasping the leather of the chair but it’s only when you hear the seat in front of you turning that you realize you were already in space.

You frown when you open your eyes and see the Mandalorian already looking at you, the tilt of his helmet letting you know that he was silently mocking you.

“What?” You break the silence and watch as he rights himself before he turns around and pushes the auto-pilot button.

“You’re a supply dealer who hates flying.” It’s more of a question than a comment and you can’t help but narrow your eyes when he stands up and continues to stare at you.

“So?”

“Not a good quality of life.” If you’re surprised by his response, you try not to show it as you stand up and face him defensively like before.

“Says the man who wears beskar armor every minute of the day.” It’s a low blow and you know you have no right involving his religion. But you’re fed up with his passive aggressiveness and you want to make sure he knows that he can’t talk down to you.

The Mandalorian turns away and looks at the passing stars of the galaxy, softly whispering for you to follow him as he exits the cockpit. You want to apologize for what you said but you hold back instead, following him down the ladder and standing to the side when you see him moving things around.

“This is my cot, and that right there is yours.” He points to two doors across from each other at the end of the hallway and waits for your confirmation before he walks past them and shows you the refresher.

“Help yourself to any of the rations. We’ll arrive at Iktotchon in four sleeping cycles so there should be enough food for the two of us until we get there.” You’re not sure what makes you reach for his wrist when he turns around to walk away. He stands still and looks down at the hand grasping his beskar before he looks at you.

“S-sorry...I- umm, are you coming to Pasaana?” You ring your fingers nervously as you look at yourself in his visor, taking two steps back when he straightens up and looks down at your hands.

“You’re going to the Festival of the Ancestors.”

“Yes. Well, it’s me, Mando, and Fennec. So I was just wondering, you know, if there was...if you had anything lined up after this supply run. Because if not, you can tag along...it only happens every-”

“42 years. I know.” He cuts you off and you’re not sure if his body-language seems more open or not but within a few seconds of chatting with him, he’s suddenly relaxing and leaning back against the metal wall. He’s silent for longer than you prefer so you force a smile and rub the back of your neck awkwardly as you prepare to tell him to forget that you asked since he probably has more important matters to handle.

“Ok.” It’s a simple response yet you feel your skin heat up as he nods at you and walks to his quarters. He hesitates at the door for a moment before he pushes the button and steps into the privacy of his room.

You let out a deep breath and stand in your spot for a few minutes before you slip back to the docking space to bring your belongings to the room. The ship is surprisingly more quiet than others you’ve been on and you remember what he told you about it the last time you saw him. A faint memory of how he defended the size of his ship makes you giggle. Then again, you’ve heard from Peli about the piece of junk he had before this and knew that it was barely considered as machinery.

“Maker, how am I going to make it four days on this ship with him?” You shake your head as you prepare to go to bed. The twin suns were just setting on Tatooine when you were leaving and you knew it was better to get as much sleep in as possible considering how quickly things sometimes escalated on these kinds of runs.

Surprisingly, things weren’t too bad when you left your sleeping cot the following day. The Mandalorian was already awake and cleaning his weapons. You bid him a quick good morning as you moved past him and looked for some snacks. He didn’t seem like he wanted to converse with you so you opted to stay in your room for the remainder of your waking hours. A voice in your head told you to keep the door open in case he did want to chat eventually but as you thought, he never once disturbed you.

The second day on the ship was perhaps slightly more eventful. Although he continued to pass his time in silence, he did manage to ask you to help him fix something in the cockpit. You were shocked he requested your services with ease and said nothing as he stood aside and watched you tinker away with the radar display screen. He thanked you twice when you finished and told you that he’d let you know if he needed your help with anything else.

The third day, however, made you wish you could open the docking doors and throw yourself out in space. You hadn’t seen him all morning long and you thought it was probably because he wanted some privacy in the cockpit. By the middle of the day, you jumped out of your cot and grabbed some spare clothes as you headed to the refresher, wanting to shower once before you landed on the sand-filled planet the following. As you walked to the door and pushed the button, you were met with a heavy fog escaping the room. When the fog cleared, you dropped your clothes and slammed your hands on your eyes, immediately backing away from the room as the Mandalorian scrambled to wrap something around his waist. You weren’t sure how many times you apologized in the span of one minute but when you heard the familiar sound of a blaster turning on, you stood in silence and waited for him to say something.

“Pfassk, do you have no kriffing regard for privacy?” He growled through the vocoder and you shook your head to try and explain to him that you saw nothing but his back.

“I- maker, I’m so sorry. I swear on my life I didn’t see anything except your back. I didn’t know you were in there...I really didn’t or else I wouldn't have gone in.” You sigh in relief when you hear him murmur to himself as he sets down the blaster and shuffles around in search of his clothes.

“What do you mean you didn’t know I was in there? The red light was on, which usually means someone is in the fucking refresher using it.” Hearing him swear shouldn’t make you shiver and yet you do. When you notice that he’s gone still, you assume it’s safe to look at him again. Taking a deep breath, you turn around and lower your hands as you muster up the courage to try and explain to him why you couldn’t see the red light.

And boy was that a mistake. You regret removing your hands from your eyes as soon as you take a good look at him. Turns out, the beskar armor only made him look more intimidating. The man was large, made to be a hunter. He was broad-shouldered, muscular in all the right places and soft in others. You unintentionally frown when you see his bronze skin littered with scars of all shapes and sizes. Maker, the life he led was worse than you thought.

“I- uhh, I don’t...I couldn’t see it.” You hated how much your voice broke when you tried to explain yourself. As much as you wanted to blame it on being afraid of him, you knew it was less about the danger he exuded and more about the fact that you could see more of his skin than you thought you ever would.

“Excuse me?”

“I didn’t know it was red.” You knew none of what you were saying was making sense but this wasn’t exactly a situation that you thought you’d find yourself having to deal with, and with the Mandalorian of all people.

“Are you fucking with me?” He was less hostile than earlier but his words were still spoken aggressively. You couldn’t blame him really, especially when you knew how strict his religion was.

“N-no. I- my species doesn’t see color until- well, it doesn’t matter. My species doesn’t see color. We just see grays. I’m sorry...I should have asked before if there was anything I needed to learn about the ship that required me seeing colors. It escaped me. I’ll try to pay more attention...I promise you I saw nothing.” You take one last glance at the heaving, glistening body in front of you before you turn around and walk in your room. You shut the door behind you this time, knowing that he probably wanted some of his privacy back and that he would need to limit himself should you keep it open.

It’s not until a few hours later that you sit up when you hear a soft knock on your door. You stand up and push open the barrier, finding the Mandalorian standing in front of you with his helmet looking straight at your reluctant expression. You wait for him to say something and when he doesn’t, you raise your eyebrows and silently ask him if he needs anything.

“I didn’t know about your...I didn’t know. And I didn’t mean to scare you with the blaster either, it’s a reflex to- umm.” You nod at him and look down to see what he’s holding in his hands. “You left your clothes lying on the floor.” He pushes the fabric towards you and averts his eyes when he sees your undergarments peaking through the shirt. You thank him as you set them down on your bag and look into his visor again.

“Ad'ika?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry.” The whispered exclamation does little to calm your nerves and you’re not sure what to say to him so you nod and awkwardly smile into the shiny beskar helmet. The Mandalorian murmurs a quick ‘good night’ before he makes his way to the cockpit, leaving you as confused as ever.

You don’t get an ounce of sleep that night, the image of him in nothing but a helmet and some flimsy pants making you wish he had shot you with his blaster instead. You refuse to admit the rising emotions you’re beginning to feel towards him, mostly because it didn’t matter whether or not he reciprocated them.

You still couldn’t see color.

He wasn’t your soulmate.

You’re afraid to leave the room the next morning, not sure which version of the Mandalorian you were going to have to deal with. It turns out, there was nothing to worry about because not surprisingly, you got the quiet, slightly shy man chatting with you. He pretends nothing happened the previous day and you go along with it. You’re just about to enter the atmosphere of Iktotchon when you receive a hologram from Fett telling the two of you of the sandstorm passing through the meeting point.

As you buckle into the seat behind the Mandalorian, he takes a moment to turn around and call for you.

“There’s going to be turbulence.”

“I- I know.” You barely hold back from furrowing your eyebrows at his comment but then he turns around to face you completely and you narrow your eyes at him with suspicion.

“I’ve landed on worse planets.” It takes you a few extra seconds to realize what he’s attempting to do and you can’t help but laugh and break the moment. You quiet down when he turns around and begins to descend to the planet.

“Are you worried about little old me Mandalorian?” You try to distract yourself from the sudden, harsh shaking of the ship but the teasing does little to calm your nerves when you realize that the sandstorm was as bad as Fett made it sound. You shut your eyes and try to picture the calm nights you’re so used to on Tatooine.

“You know, you can just call me Mando.” His voice breaks you out of your haze and you growl in response when you hear a few sounds go off above you.

“No, I- I can’t call you that. I reserved it for the other guy already!”

“You mean the Mandalorian who already told you his name?” He claps back and chuckles when you sigh in irritation at his question.

“Fine okay you’re right. How about this? Can you land this fucking ship without killing the two of us Mando?” You’re screaming at the top of your lungs and grasp the belt around your torso harder when you don’t hear back from him.

“Mando?”

“You mean the ship I already landed ad’ika?” Your eyes shoot wide open and you look around frantically, only to see that most of the turbulence you experienced was due to the sand and gravel hitting the metal of the ship.

“Oh...that was- not as bad as I thought it would be.”

“Anything beats Maldo Kreis.” Mando says as he stands there across from you and the slight tilt of his helmet at your confused expression makes you realize he may not have meant to say that out loud.

“We need to go. The storm will only get worse if we wait until night.” You nod in agreement and follow him out of the cockpit to the docking station. Mando instantly regrets lowering the docking ramp when he sees gravel quickly entering the ship. You run to your room to grab the helmet you brought with you and lock it in as you return to help him with the crates.

It’s a difficult few hours on the planet, and you grow more irritated when the Ikotchi threatens you with less supply exchanges. When his demeanor suddenly changes and he asks you to take the crates and leave, you thank him and quickly take the crates up the ramp with Fennec before he changes his mind. You never once notice both Mandalorians as they subtly push their blasters back into their holsters.

You’re leaving Iktotchon later than you prefer, mostly because both bounty hunters find themselves in a heated argument that Fennec has to end not-so-gently. You don’t bother asking Mando what the issue was when you see him strutting into the cockpit, quickly strapping yourself in when he glances at you to make sure you’re safe.

It’s a rough take off for both his ship and Slave I, but you say nothing of it, knowing that he might not appreciate any light teasing at the moment. Once you’re out of the planet’s atmosphere, Mando puts in the coordinates for Pasaana and sends a hologram to Fett, letting him know that you would be reaching the planet in less than a day.

You want to ask him if you could help in any way but you decide against it and leave him to his thoughts. You want nothing more than to take a long, hot shower to rid yourself of all the sand that managed to seep into your clothes. But then you notice the state of the docking area and before you can talk yourself out of it, you look around for anything that resembles a sweeper and clean as much of the floor as you can. You’re thankful that Mando doesn’t leave the cockpit and when you’re done, you go back into your room to grab a change of clothes so you could use the refresher.

You think you hear Mando passing by your room but you say nothing and make your way to the refresher, halting in your steps when you look at the light and find it turned off.

Great.

“Mando? Are you in there?” You’re not sure if he can hear you or not so you try to ask him again a little louder.

“Mando!? Are you i-”

“No.” You jump as soon as you hear him respond from behind you. Turning around, you clutch at your chest when you see him standing in front of his door without the beskar armor.

“I- uhh, t-there’s no light. And I wasn’t sure what that meant really.” You’re ringing your fingers again, and hope that he doesn’t notice just how nervous you are in his presence.

“Well I- I rewired the electrical circuits of the refresher so you know when it’s occupied and when it isn’t. If the light is on, it means I’m in there, and if it isn’t, then it’s free for use. No more colores.”

You look at him as if he took off his helmet, trying to wrap your mind around the fact that he went out of his way to accommodate you when you’re only on his ship for another few days.

“Thank you,” is all you manage to say before you push the door and scramble in. Mando looks at the door for another few minutes before he remembers that he hasn’t eaten in a while. He cooks up a meal for two quickly and eats his share before you finish your shower. When he hears you walking out, he sits in his usual corner and brings out his weapons to polish them.

You smell food as soon as you walk out of the refresher and you throw your clothes on your cot before you make your way to the large space across the hallway. You’re about to ask Mando about the food situation when you see a plate opposite of him on the table.

“It’s yours.” Mando breaks the silence as he wipes in between the crevasses of his blaster, nodding towards the space in front of him to let you know that you could join him,

“Thank you Mando.”

Neither of you say anything as you inhale your dinner and it’s not until you’ve washed your plates and set them aside that Mando decides to break the silence.

“Can I ask you something?”

“S-sure.” You think he’s going to ask you what it’s like to not see colors and to only see gradations of gray but his question catches you off guard.

“When can your species see color?” If you were uncomfortable by his question, you did a good job hiding it from him. Mando watches as you push off the wall and return to sit in front of him, lazily pushing around the towel he was holding as you answer him.

“This might sound stupid and I’m usually told that it’s not real but I’ve seen those of my kind experience the second they could see color so I know it’s not just a fable we’re told when we’re young. Basically, we see color when we meet our soulmates.” Mando’s heart breaks when you throw him a forced smile, one he’s seen a million times looking back at him in the mirror.

“Your soulmate?”

“Yup, the person I’m destined to be with. My other half. The one that will belong to me and I to him.” Mando nods along with you as he stands up and hangs up his weapons one by one.

“I know what you’re thinking. What’s someone like me going to do at the Festival of the Ancestors? Honestly, I think it’ll be fun to attend it whether or not I can see the colors. It’s a rich culture so I’m sure I’ll enjoy it either way.”

“I can always walk around with you and describe to you the colors, t-the patterns even. If...if you want.” His suggestion throws you off guard and as earlier, you gape at him as you try to figure out what he was playing at. You think he’s pulling your leg and will laugh at you at any moment, but when he doesn’t, you realize that he’s being dead serious.

“That would be nice Mando. I might not see the colors but I could always imagine what they look like next to each other.”

And just like that, the conversation is over as quickly as it begins.

“Good night mesh’la.” Mando murmurs as he makes his way to his quarters, leaving you more hopeful than you’ve felt in a long while.

It’s a weird thing to admit but for the first time in years, you don’t go to sleep wishing you could wake up and see colors. No. You doze off wondering what it would feel like to hold his hand and maybe, just maybe, kiss it. You think of how soft his untouched skin must feel like and how calloused his scarred muscles would look.

When you dream that night, you see faint images of his lips caressing yours and his firm arms bringing you into his embrace.

And you wake up with a lazy smile etched on your face because those dreams, those sweet, lovely memories your brain conjured up during the night, felt as good as seeing color.

You can’t look at him for the duration of the morning, constantly pretending that you’re doing something or other so he doesn’t think you’re avoiding him because the last thing you wanted was to make him think you didn’t want to talk to him. But you just can’t find it in yourself to look into his visor. Every time you so much as glance at the beskar helmet, you remember what your subconscious conjured up and you stutter out a response to whatever he says.

Not surprisingly, Mando notices the shift in your behavior and he waits until you finish fixing the crates’ locks, which were clearly not broken, before he approaches you.

“Mesh’la.”

“Yes Mando?” You’re still not looking at him and Mando starts to genuinely believe that he’s done something wrong. When you try to walk past him to place the tool back in your room, Mando reaches out and takes hold of your wrist before you’re out of reach. You look at his gloved hand wrapped around your skin before you meet his eyes past his visor and Mando holds his breath because for a moment, he thinks you can see straight through him.

“You’re angry with me.”

You never realize until this moment that Mando tends to ask most of his questions in the form of a statement and it’s strange. It’s strange because it never occurred to you that he’s the type to perhaps jump to conclusions when he can’t read the situation. Setting the tool box down, you stand up and fix your shirt as you muster up the courage to respond to him.

“I’m not. I’m not angry with you. I’m- it’s...difficult to explain.” His hold loosens but he’s standing in your space and you think it’s because he’s not totally convinced by your answer and won’t let it go until you give him a proper explanation for the sudden change in your treatment.

“It’s difficult to explain why you’re not angry with me.”

There it goes again, that weird phrasing of his inner thoughts. You huff in irritation and Mando misunderstands your annoyed expression so he steps away and turns to look everywhere else but you.

“No, Mando...maker- yes it’s difficult to explain because you’re- no, not you. It’s not your fault it’s mine. I’m just not used to- gods why is this so hard?” You’re visibly stressed and it must be a sight because Mando comes back to stand in front of you and he rests one hand on your shoulder, waiting until you turn to look at him before he tries to break the anxiety-inducing silence.

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. I- I shouldn’t have offered to walk through the festival with you. I should have thought of how uncomfortable you’d feel before I selfishly asked t-” You perk up at his choice in words and you’re about to ask him what he meant by what he said but he doesn’t give you a chance. “Please believe me when I tell you I only wanted to...I thought it might help.”

“You see, this is exactly why I’m avoiding you.” You’re not sure who’s more surprised by your little outburst but when his hold tightens around your shoulder, you think maybe it’s him.

“So you are avoiding me.”

“Yes okay? I am, I’m avoiding you because the last few days felt like a whiplash of emotions and I don’t know what I’m feeling right now. One minute you’re angry and quiet and it’s as if I’m not in the same space as you, and the next thing I know, you’re rewiring your damn ship so I know how to use it and then offering to pretty much waste your time during one of the most beautiful festivals in the galaxy just to make sure I’m enjoying myself. And...and it’s difficult because I feel myself falling but I don’t want to because I’m afraid...I’m afraid you won’t be there to catch me...because you don’t have to. Because why would you when-”

You’re not sure how you got to this moment but all you know is that you're’ suddenly surrounded by Mando and the cold beskar armor and his natural musk and this unique woodsy scent and it’s-

It’s breathtaking.

“Cyar’ika, I didn’t know...I didn’t know I was causing you this much distress. It’s difficult for me to- to speak my he- to speak at times. I wasn’t thinking of how I’m coming off and I was so busy trying to figure out my- my own feelings...that I didn’t stop and think of what you must be going through.” His voice is low and you think perhaps that it’s breaking with every word he whispers through the vocoder, so you do the only thing you think of at the moment. Reluctantly, you wrap as much of your arms around him as physically possible, hoping he’d understand that you were listening to him and no longer trying to ignore him.

“Mando-”

“I- I volunteered for this supply run.” You’re not sure how this relates to this current affair but you sink further into his embrace, hoping that he wouldn’t shy away from explaining why he’s bringing this up now.

“I know. Fett told me.”

“Did he tell you why?” Mando replies instantly and you furrow your eyebrows even though you know he can’t see you.

“N-no.”

“I- I couldn’t stop thinking of you. Ever since the last time I saw you, I’ve been at war with myself, with what I was allowing to happen. I knew you weren’t to blame with the cauterizer but I couldn’t accept my heart letting you...maker, I can see why you said this is difficult.” He chuckles nervously and you hold your breath in anticipation because he isn’t, he can’t be admitting what you think he is.

“W-what’re you saying Mando?”

“I’m saying I need you cyar’ika. I’m saying, I’ve been dreaming of you for the past 53 sleeping cycles. I’m saying, I can’t bear the thought of not seeing you after Pasaana.” You don’t realize how long you’ve been holding your breath until you exhale against him and Mando pulls away, keeping his helmet aimed to the floor as he continues. “And if- if you can give me a chance, I’d like to- I’d like to...well, I’m not exactly sure what you enjoy doing but I’d like to do it with you. You don't have to give me an answer now. I know I’m being selfish and I know that I- I don’t belong with you because you haven't seen color yet. But please, please consider this. Consider me.” His voice is much more reserved, lower even, than before and you realize it’s because he was probably considering not telling you up until now.

Your heart breaks at his last words because this was never something you thought you’d have to deal with. But looking back at the last few days, no matter how confusing or strange they were, you can’t help but admit how alive you’ve felt.

You know he doesn’t expect you to answer him right away and you know you should take some time to think over what he’s asking of you.

So when you lay both of your hands on his chest and ask him to look at you, Mando thinks you’re going to reject him and you feel his muscles tense when you step closer to him.

“I do...I- I am considering this Mando, I have been for the past few nights if I’m being honest...it’s actually part of the reason why I couldn’t look at you today. I woke up with this unusual thought, well, unusual to me. It’s been so long since I stopped thinking about seeing color and directed all of my attention to something, or rather, someone else.” You smile up into the visor and slowly reach to rest your hand on the space between his helmet and his cowl. The mere touch of your skin shakes him to his core and Mando has to clench his fists so he doesn’t lose control over himself.

“Today was the first time I woke up not caring if I hadn’t seen color because- because being with you, and- and talking with you and staying on this ship with you felt like I’ve already seen color. I don’t know what’s going to happen when I do...if I do, but I know that I’d like to give this, us, a shot.”

“You...you do mesh’la?” He almost sounds like a young child asking his parents for permission to have something and when you nod at him, Mando can’t hold back anymore. He wraps his arms around you once more, and carries you off the ground, smiling to himself when he hears you giggling at his dramatic display of affection.

He pulls away and you think he’s about to say something but a message comes through to the ship and Mando apologizes quickly before he ascends to the cockpit. You stay planted in your spot for what feels like hours before you hear Mando telling you that you’re nearing Pasaana. When you get to the cockpit and take your usual seat, Mando rises from his chair and approaches you, kneeling down at your feet to buckle your belt easier and ensure that you’re safe. It’s a small gesture but you know he’s conveying a thousand emotions in that little tap to make sure that you’re buckled in properly and when you smile at him, he reaches over and pushes a stray hair behind your ears before he returns to his pilot chair.

You don’t feel the turbulence once, mostly because you’re too busy replaying the brief moment over and over again in your mind until you’re sure you’ve committed it to memory.

Mando has to tap on your shoulder twice once he lands, and you nod in affirmation when he asks if you were feeling alright. The two of you make your way out of the ship just as Slave I lands. When you glance at Mando to ask him about the argument between him and Fett, you find him already staring at you. You smile at him and watch as he looks away apologetically. Maybe he really was as nervous as you.

“You’re coming along then?” Fett says to Mando as you make your way towards the desert and you pretend to focus on the dozens of kites flying in the air, unsure whether you were meant to be a part of this conversation or not.

Mando replies in Mando’a and you look to Fennec to ask her something about the kites to try and ignore the two men who may or may not have been talking about you. You’re about to ask Fennec about the colors of the flying toys when Mando steps in between the two of you and takes hold of your upper arm, pushing you ahead of the others so he could get a private moment with you.

“Is- are you okay?”

“Fine. He’s being difficult.” His curt answer lets you know that he wasn’t going to reveal what that whole ordeal was about so you nod and try to fall in step with him. You’re about to ask him about the colors of the kites when Mando leans over and whispers in your ears.

“Those two over there are red, like the color of the twin suns on Tatooine when they’re just setting. And, that one over there, the large one flying higher than the rest, it’s a dark blue...like the night sky.” You try to not let the proximity of his body affect you but the more he tells you of the colors, the closer you want him to get to you.

“That smaller one is light green, like many of the plants on Felucia.”

“I’ve never been to Felucia.” You admit to him as you keep your gaze on the kites, trying to differentiate between the colors but barely noticing a difference between the grays.

“I can take you there.” He offers with ease and you look into the visor and smile at him. “I’d like that.”

You can vaguely feel their eyes on you but you don’t bother to pay attention to them, wanting to spend as much time with Mando as you could. Once you reach the edge of the festival, you thank the Aki-Aki that approach you and wrap a necklace of flowers around you. You laugh when they reluctantly look at Mando and he sighs heavily at your death stare before he leans down and allows one of them to place a necklace around his cowl as well.

“Hey Mando?”

“Hmm.”

“Do the necklaces look the same?” Mando turns around and sees Fett and Fennec look away from the two of you. He waits until they walk the opposite direction before he looks at you and takes hold of your necklace.

“Yours have lighter colors...yellow, orange, white, pink and a few light greens here and there. Mine is darker. This is purple, and these are blue...and all of these are dark red and brown.” He points to each of the flowers and tells you its color, never once noticing the way you’re looking at him and hanging onto every single word he says.

When you hear the sound of distant music playing, you take Mando’s hand and make your way through the crowd, telling him that you want to see what they’re doing on the other side of the festival. Mando says nothing as you pull him through, only responding when you directly ask him about the color of the caravan fabrics and laughing when you joke about how he technically blends into the surroundings. And when you come across a large crate that you can vaguely see some designs on, Mando offers to make room for it on his ship so you can get it. It’s a long argument between the two of you but he wins in the end, telling you that he genuinely wanted to gift you something that you can remember him with and might enjoy some day. You almost cry at the unspoken implications of his words but when he shrugs his shoulders and hands over the credits, you quietly thank him and let the seller know that you’ll be taking it before you leave.

Over the next few hours, Mando never leaves your side once, even when you tell him that he should enjoy his time as well. You notice how he changes the subject every time you ask him to explore by himself and giggle when he responds with an opinion on some of the color combinations. It’s quite comical to be in the presence of such an intimidating individual who’s complaining about how ‘that blue doesn’t go too well with this red.’

As you’re making your way through the different caravans, you notice a table displaying a dozen large cloaks. Turning to Mando, you see that he’s busy asking one of the sellers if they have similar shirts but in darker colors. You walk to the table on the other side and look through the capes to try and differentiate between them. When you realize that it’s of no use, you hold one up and call for him to ask if he should buy a new one.

“Hey Mando, maybe you should get this instead of-”

The question dies in your throat when Mando glances away from the vendor and holds your gaze. Your brain refuses to catch up with what your eyes are seeing for what feels like an eternity and your hand flies to your chest and clench it tightly as your heart skips a beat at the sight in front of you. It takes a few seconds for you to inhale deeply when you realize that you aren’t breathing and you feel your heart skip a beat when you watch Mando strut towards you. He drops what he’s holding in his hands and takes a few strides in your way, not caring to hold back as he wraps one arm around your waist while the other rests on your neck and tilts your head so he could take a better look at you. You still can’t wrap your mind around what just happened and you’re not sure what he’s saying until he lightly shakes you in his arms and raises his voice to grab your attention.

Maker, his voice was unlike anything you’ve ever heard. It was hoarse yet calming, the kind of calming that one could only dream of feeling.

“Mesh’la, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” His voice shakes you to your core and your eyes shift down to his lips, tilting your head to the side when you follow the scruff peppering his handsome features and memorize the different colors of his hair. Gods, you couldn’t put a name to any of them but you knew you liked the combination of the light and dark outlining his sharp jaw.

“I- I don’t...maker. You’re...you’re-” You’re unable to form a coherent thought and as you reach out to touch his cheeks, Mando clenches his jaw but doesn’t dare to move a muscle. He realizes that this is the first time you see him without his helmet and he finds himself praying that you find him, at the very least, okay to look at. His hold on you eases when he feels the palm of your hand caress the side of his face before you push his hair aside. Mando nuzzles into your touch and he shuts his eyes to commit this moment to memory. The last time someone was this gentle with him broke his heart, but he found himself longing for a similar feeling with you. Only if it was you.

“N-no...please. Look at me.” Your whispered request drowns out the music of the festival and Mando’s eyes flutter open immediately. He looks down at you and can’t help but shift his focus to your parted lips as you try to speak again.

“Mando? What...what color are your eyes?” You hold your breath as Mando’s gaze softens when he meets your eyes again. He doesn’t know why you’re asking but he answers you anyway.

“Brown.” His voice breaks but then you’re smiling up at him as you reach for his cheek with your other hand and rest it on his heated skin. He’s not sure what brought about any of this but he can’t care less, not when you were here, in his arms, touching him so gently and looking at him like he was the only one that mattered across the galaxy.

“Hmm...they’re a beautiful color.” The admission sends a shiver down his spine and he doesn’t register the meaning behind your words until he sees your expression change to one of panicked shock.

Oh.

“You can see color?” Mando doesn’t intend to sound so accusative but his tone must have been harsh because you nod and snatch your hands away from him as if he’s burned you. You don’t dare look anywhere else as the reality of the situation settles in your mind.

It’s him. It’s been him all along.

“I- I can see color.”

Mando watches as you blink in confusion before you look to the side. You do a double-take when you see the vibrant colors of the festival and Mando steps away as you walk around him and approach a caravan hanging clothing of all color gradations. You ignore everything else as you softly trace the different colors and patterns on the garments before you walk over to the next little cart and stare at the vibrant jewelry. There’s so much to take in and you forget for a moment where you are. When you look away and turn your eyes to the sky, you can’t help but smile at seeing the kites gliding through the air. You don’t know which one you want to focus on because they’re all so pretty so you stand in there for a few moments to take it all in.

It’s not until you feel a presence next to you that you remember how you came to see this new world. When you begin to ring your fingers anxiously, Mando takes a step towards you and takes your hands in his palms.

“Cyar’ika, do you need anything?” He doesn’t know what to say and your lungs refuse to expand when you finally look at him again.

You spent years conjuring up different scenarios in your head to try and anticipate what to expect when you finally meet your soulmate. But standing here, in front of Mando, in the middle of the Festival of the Ancestors, you realize that this compares to nothing.

“I- I don’t…”

“If you want me to go-”

“No! N-no, please. Stay here with me. Stay here with...me.” Y

ou tighten your hold around his hands to prevent him from leaving. Mando nods and turns back to the caravan he was standing by to grab his helmet. You say nothing as he carries it and looks at you, but your eyes must give you away because Mando throws you a quick smile as he keeps it on his side and leads you through the festival.

Neither of you discuss the new development but you don’t ignore it either. You continue to steal glances from each other every now and then, especially when Mando leans over and tells you about each of the colors. Except this time, he doesn’t tell you so you could imagine what they look like. He tells you so you could memorize what each pigment is and begin to recognize them on your own. It’s almost as if nothing changed with how often Mando describes to you the gradations and patterns, but you know that this was far from the truth. And with the way Mando breathes softly against your forehead when he leans down to talk to you, you sense that he knows this as well.

He’s much more forward with his touches now, perhaps even a little shameless too. Hours ago, he would apologize if he pushed you by accident or shifted closer to you. But now, he was walking with you with one hand on your lower back and he would stand longer behind you as you asked about a new color shade.

As the sun slowly sets across the sky, you turn to Mando and wait for him to finish his drink before you ask him about the others.

“Do you mind if we don’t tell the others just yet?” You watch as Mando’s expression falls and you shake your head immediately so he doesn’t misunderstand the reason behind your request.

“Not because I don’t want them to know about us, I- maker, it’s just that I’ve experienced so many changes in the span of a few days and I want to make sense of things without...without someone asking me too many questions about what I’m feeling. I want to let this sink in? And- and I’d like it if it’s just you and me. Please.” Mando is quiet for a while and you think that maybe it was the wrong thing to say to him.

“Us?”

You can’t hold back your laughter at the soft question and you almost fall over from how hard you’re giggling at him.

“That’s what you took away from everything I just said?” You sigh in relief when he mirrors you and chuckles in return.

“I’m sorry cyar’ika, I- of course. Whatever you need from me.” He’s a man of few words but he somehow knows what to say to calm your nerves.

“Thank you Mando.” You say as you turn your attention back to the setting sun to watch the colors change across the sky.

“Din Djarin.” He whispers to you after a long while, and you meet his eyes briefly, your furrowed eyebrows silently asking him what he was referring to.

“My name is Din Djarin.” His gaze is piercing and you find it much more intense now that you know for a fact that they’re your favorite color. “So you can start calling the other guy Mando again.” Your heart skips a beat when you see dimples appear on his cheeks as he grins at his own joke, and nudges your shoulder so you could relax into him again. You say nothing and lean against his shoulder, resting your head on his beskar armor and enjoying the cold sensation against your heated skin.

You’re not sure how long the two of you sit there in your bubble and watch the festival as it continues on for, but you’re interrupted when Fett approaches you and clears his throat to catch your attention.

“We’re leaving.” The Mandalorian says as he watches you closely. You think you’re being subtle studying his armor but Fett notices how you continue to look between him and Din’s and he tilts his head to the side as he turns to his friend and barely holds back from smirking at him.

Din nods and lets them know that you would be returning with him back to Mos Eisley. Fennec is about to ask why the two of you are acting differently when Fett shakes his head as he looks at you.

“Until next time princess,” Din’s posture straightens when he hears the nickname and narrows his eyes at the man trying to get a rise out of him.

“Usenye.” You snap out of your haze when you hear Din growl at his brother and wave goodbye to him and Fennec as they walk away from you.

“Is everything okay between the two of you?”

“Yes sweet girl, don’t worry about it.” You flush at the pet name and Din notices how you shiver at his touch when he raises your chin to take a better look at you. He slowly leans towards you, never once breaking eye contact as he grows closer to your lips. “Is- is this okay?” He asks and refuses to move a muscle until you respond to him. You’re already breathless and he has barely touched you but you muster up the courage to answer him.

“Y-yes.”

He smirks when your hoarse voice fans over his cheeks and as much as you wish for him to take whatever he wants, you’re thankful that he’s being patient with you and ensuring that you’re comfortable.

“Sweet girl,” Din whispers as he finally captures your lips in a chaste kiss. It’s at this precise moment that the festivities begin to pick up but you don’t notice the fireworks filling the skies or the music growing louder. You shut your eyes and hold onto Din’s wrists as he moves against you and deepens the kiss. When you gasp at his ministrations, Din’s hold on your neck tightens and he pushes you back until you lay on the blanket he set down for you. You moan as he slips his tongue past your lips and swirls his tongue across yours. Fisting your hands into his cowl, you try to pull him closer but cry out in pain when the beskar armor digs into your hips.

“I’m- I’m sorry mesh’la. I didn’t mean to-”

“No no it’s...it’s just your armor. I promise, I- I liked this.” You gulp nervously when you see an amused expression take over his handsome features.

“Is that so?” You don’t have time to react to his question, squealing in surprise when he suddenly stands up and pulls you along with him.

“What- where are we going?” You ask him as he pulls you through the multitude of visitors and Aki-Aki. He stops abruptly and speaks to one of the natives before he pushes you into the caravan standing behind him.

“Din, we can’t just-”

“I asked for his permission. Don’t you know, all of these are for visitors who want to stay the night.” You’re about to ask him why you’re staying the night out here instead of his ship but you can’t seem to form the question because you see Din taking his armor off.

It’s mesmerizing watching him take each beskar piece apart but when he’s down to just his clothes, it occurs to you that this night might be going somewhere else. Your nervousness must show on your face because Din walks towards you slowly and takes your hands in his. He kisses your wrists before leans over and rests his forehead against yours.

“Don’t worry cyar’ika, I’m not… I won’t- we’re not here to do anything other than talk. I didn’t feel comfortable taking my beskar off out there so-”

“I trust you Din.” You interrupt his word-vomit and lead him to one of the corners of the tent so you could lay down next to each other. When you rest your head on the pillow and finally look up, you’re met with a small opening in the ceiling of the caravan that gives you a perfect view of the blue night sky lighting up with fireworks.

When Din finally seats himself next to you, you whine in irritation and pull him down until he’s on his back next to you. Din never once lets go of your hand and he occasionally raises the palm of your hand to his lips to kiss across the skin.

“Can I ask you something?” You don’t look away from the fireworks when you speak, not wanting to miss seeing any of the vibrant shades of reds and yellows as they broke through the clouds.

“Anything sweet girl.”

“Why did you take off your helmet? I thought your Creed prevented you from showing your face.” You hope the question isn’t too insensitive or private, and when Din takes longer than you like to respond, you finally turn to him to apologize. But Din cuts you off before you can even say anything, keeping his focus on your wrist to distract him long enough so he could respond.

“I had a son once, well, he wasn’t mine physically but, he was mine. He was a foundling by Creed and I was tasked with bringing him back to his kind. It’s a long story that I could tell you another time but...when I had to give him up, I couldn’t bear the thought of him never seeing me without the helmet. I needed him to see me, to know what I willingly gave up and what I had to do to ensure his safety. I’d taken off my helmet once before and even thought it was my choice, I didn’t want to. But in that moment, before I watched him go, I decided that he was more important than my Creed. He was...he was everything to me. And it took a long time to realize that personal connections and relationships weren’t a weakness, they were a strength. My strength.” You’re not sure when you turned to your side and nuzzled into his embrace. But you couldn’t focus on anything else but him and the way his eyes twinkled in sadness when he mentioned his kid. It was a shocking admission and you never once thought of him in such a role but looking back at the last few days, you didn’t find it impossible. He was kind, quiet, sweet, adn patient.

“I keep my helmet on almost all the time but I only take it off around people I trust. I’m telling you this because- because I trust you. I trust you cyar’ika. I took it off earlier today because I wanted you to see me...and also because I was trying to pick out a gift for you. I figured if I didn’t preface it with anything that it would be less dramatic but- little did I know.” The indirect mention of the not-so-little change you experienced earlier today makes you smile.

“If I knew you needed to look into my eyes for you to see color, I would have taken off the helmet the first time I saw you.” He trails his nose across your cheek before he kisses your eyes and your forehead, smiling down at you when he sees how relaxed you feel in his arms.

“It wouldn’t have mattered.” Your response surprises him and he pulls away and looks at you quizzically.

“I- I saw you before my eyes saw you, Din. My heart chose you before my soul did. I...I think I knew when I saw you again…I think a part of me knew that you were it for me and that it didn’t matter if I didn’t see color with you because- because you were...you’re perfect.” You feel a weight lift off of your chest when you finally confess to him what you’ve been feeling for the past few days and you shift impossibly closer to him to let him know that you were telling the truth.

“I’m not perfect mesh’la.” His laugh is self-deprecating and he only stops when he feels your hand slip around his back and hold onto his shirt like your life depended on it.

“You are to me.” It’s perhaps too forward for him and Din doesn’t know how to react or respond to your confession so he nods at you and nuzzles into your neck to avoid any more of your intense emotions.

“You haven’t told me yet what your favorite color is.” He tries to change the topic, not expecting your response to shoot through his chest and into his heart like a blaster.

“Brown obviously.” You answer instantly and without hesitation.

“Why ‘obviously’?”

“Well, it’s-it’s your eye-color Din. What other color could be my favorite?”

His heart ceases to beat at your adamant reply and he pulls away again to look into your eyes to see if you were teasing him. Instead, he finds something swimming in your eyes that would have terrified his soul had he met you years ago.

“Ner kar’ta,” Din moans into your ear as he rests up on his elbow before molding his lips with yours again. You don't know what any of the Mando’a means but you have a pretty good idea of what he’s trying to convey in that moment and you wrap your arms around his neck and bring him closer to you. When he lays back down and pulls you into his side, you can’t help but take one last look at the night sky, finding the stars shimmering behind the multitude of fireworks. You watch the different colors blend with each other, and you almost cry when you see the yellows and greens and blues mixing so beautifully together to create new gradients across the galaxy.

But none of them compared to the color of Din’s eyes. And you go to sleep dreaming of the moment those kind, dark, brown orbs captured your soul and whispered affections into your heart.

Translations

Mesh’la - beautiful Cyar’ika - beloved/darling Ad’ika - little one Usenye - go away Ner kar’ta - my heart

Pedro Pascal (and any of his characters):

@pastel-0-princess @feelmyroarrrr @libbymouse @its--fandom--darling @spideysimpossiblegirl @princess76179 @cheekygeek05 @miraclesoflove @purple-mango @freeshavocadoooo @metalarmsandmanbuns @acthenerd @greeneyedblondie44 @cannedsoupsucks @purplepascal042 @talesfromtheguild @f0rever15elf @vibin-hippie @onesmokinbabe @leaiorganas @words-way-of-life @kideyz @lovesickmadsadpoet @niall7inches @rosiefridayrogersunday @tati-adventures @sleep-tight1 @itsfreeekinbats @cybergroupie @vibin-hippie @marsplsstop @mouthymandalorian @diogodxlot @janebby @juletheghoul

Din Djarin: @a--1--1--3 @tanzthompson

[halfway-happyyy]

The Girl

Friends, this piece is a bit naughty, so it’s under the cut. It’s also inspired by this ask: 

How he has always possessed the ability to know exactly what she needs without vocalizing it.

How all he must do to see how badly her body yearns for his, is to press his lips to the warm nape of her neck.

How all she has to utter is, “I need you…”

It's late when he arrives home for the evening; the scent of damp pavement from a recent storm floats in on the breeze from the open front door, and she drops her head back for a moment to breathe it in. Dinner is already long but forgotten; a plate of walnut-crusted trout (his own catch from a few weeks ago), blue cheese and bacon brussel sprouts, and roast potatoes sits on a rack in the oven under an all-encompassing warm setting. The flame from a candle wavers in the spring draft beneath her gaze and she sighs contentedly when she hears him enter the kitchen.

He sidles up behind her, his deft fingertips brush the hair back from her shoulder blade as he begins massaging her shoulders. His ministrations are firm- bordering on painful, but she stays rooted to the spot because she knows she'll feel all the better for it in the end. “You're carrying a lot of tension kid,” He murmurs, lowly. “Everything alright?”

She turns in his arms to face him, then. Blueish-violet circles grace the delicate space of skin beneath his beautiful azure eyes, speaking volumes of how much time he's spent on a film set the last few weeks. She fights the urge to trace a fingertip along the deepened creases next to his eyes, and drags a bottom lip between her teeth. She’s managed to keep the feelings at bay most of the day, but now that he's finally home- warm and hard and utterly alive beneath her touch- she is rendered entirely powerless. “I crave you, Alex…” It exits her mouth more strangled and embarrassingly desperate than she wants it to, but luckily for her, it seems to get the point across.

A barely audible noise exits his parted lips before he offers her one last look, and makes for the living room. He doesn't beckon her to follow him but she does regardless, and watches him take a seat in the plush, burgundy chair adjacent to their bay window.  Their home perches high above the city of Los Angeles, a myriad of lights twinkle before them like a starlight-woven tapestry. Alexander clears his throat and pats the top of his black, trouser-clad thigh. “Come here, and I'll see if I can give you what it is that you so desperately need…” She takes a seat atop his thigh; the soft material of his trousers is felt easily through the thread-bare cotton of her sundress. Levelling his piercing gaze with hers, he gives his head an almost imperceptible shake. “Now what's got you in such a state, hm?” He wraps an arm around her waist to secure her to his lap.

She swallows hard- opens her mouth to answer him but feels his fingertips on the soft skin of her knee and she shudders. They travel lazily up her thigh and he nods his head to encourage her forth.

“I had a dream about you last night. An inexplicably sexy one, and when I woke up this morning you had already left…”

Alexander clicks his tongue, pouting his pink lips up at her. “How unfair… will you share with me what your dream was about baby?”

A shadow falls over her features; she suddenly grows bashful and turns to bury her face in the hollow warmth of his neck.

A soft chuckle erupts from the base of his throat and he squeezes the tender skin of her inner thigh firmly and tries to press her on further. “Did I have my lips on you, gorgeous girl?”

She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth again and nods her head against him. “Yes…”

“Good girl. Did I make you feel good?”

She untucks her head from his neck to gaze at him, and he certainly doesn't miss the sudden burst of pink in her cheeks, or the way her heart thrums a little more wildly in her chest. “So good…” She whispers, earnestly.

She can feel his erection growing in the crotch of his trousers, how hard it swells beneath her thigh.

“And did you touch yourself at all today while I was gone?”

She shakes her head no, and it’s the honest truth.

His fingers travel farther up her thigh, and he groans when he notices her complete lack of panties. “Did you do this for me?”

And what she wants to say is, of course! But all she can manage is a meek nod of her head. He's close to the center of her hot, wet core now. One fingertip away from it, and the urge to grind down against him is overwhelming. He takes a deep breath and swipes the hardened pad of his fingertip over her slit, catches the moisture there and groans loudly at the notion of it. “So wet for me baby. Probably making a huge mess out of these pants, hm?” Her eyes fall shut as a desperate moan escapes her parted lips. Alexander sighs heavily at this and clicks his tongue. “This isn't going to work if your eyes are closed. You're going to be a good girl for me, and watch everything I'm about to do to you, hm?”

She concedes without fuss.

Alexander pushes two fingertips deep into her soaked cunt and leans in to take the velvet softness of her earlobe between his teeth. The fullness of his fingers inside of her, combined with the sensation of his stubble against her cheek; her earlobe as he gently suckles on it, has her trembling violently against him. He pulls away to blow a stream of cool air over her lobe, and admires the goosebumps that rise in patterns over her chest and neck. “How does this compare to your dream?” He smirks.

A breathless laugh escapes her lips and fans a lock of sandy blonde hair out of his eyes. “It doesn't.” She squirms above him as he begins to fuck her more aggressively. She resists the urge to close her eyes as her pleasure builds in her belly. “More,” She suddenly whimpers.

Alexander clicks his tongue, slows the movements of his fingers to an aching crawl. “I beg your pardon? Is that really any way to ask for what you want?”

She swallows hard and tries to grind herself against him, in dire need of more friction. “Please,” She whimpers breathlessly. “More please…”

Alexander hums against her. “I don't know if you can handle a third one, baby. I think it might just be too much for this sweet, little cunt of yours to take…”

“Please…” She whimpers again.

And he finally relents, pushing a third, thick digit into her hot, dripping wetness. His rhythm is lackadaisical at first; followed by a period of a sped-up tempo for a few seconds, with his long fingers hitting her spot every time. Her orgasm builds steadily in the pit of her tummy like a blaze gaining momentum. He can feel it in the way she clenches around him, can see it in the perspiration that blooms over every bare patch of skin on her body. And God, he wants her so bad…

“You're so close for me, sweet girl.” He purrs, softly. She nods her head; her gaze is utterly pleading and glassy and he simply assumes that this is just her looming orgasm taking its toll on her… but then the glass in her eyes turns to tears, which cascade down her flushed cheeks, and he fears for a moment, of coming apart on the spot. “Good girl…” He manages between groans, as he continues to fuck her without abandon. He has a strong hold on her, knows that if he loosens up even the slightest bit, that he'll lose her for good. “Let go for me sweet girl,” He whispers.

She tosses her head back as his words echo through her foggy brain. Her orgasm ripping through her, sending shockwaves of electric pleasure that exit her body in the form of ragged moans and breathless sobs. It takes her a while to recover from her high, but Alexander takes the extra time to wipe away the stray saltwater with the calloused pads of his thumbs. “I don’t think that's ever happened before…” she murmurs lowly, her voice utterly wrecked.

He wraps both of his arms around her protectively, grounding her damp, flushed frame to his, and rests his chin in the crook of her shoulder. The image of her coming apart beneath him plays on like a film in his mind, makes him even more dizzy with need for her than he already had been. He allows himself a deep, steadying breath, cuddling his face ever further into her. “I’m always learning something new about you, my beautiful girl.” A heavy, contented sigh follows in that statement's wake. “I have a feeling I be will until my last, rasping breath.” His brimming, unadulterated admiration for her causes her heart to swell with endless amounts of love.

[elleonmybeloved]

Inspired by the beautiful art I saw recently of a kiss-dazed Diluc saying that he supposed you could continue, and from my own Diluc randomly coming home for absolute free on a random pull, I present you:

Kissing Booth!

Diluc x Female Adventurer Reader

Rated T: Lots of kissing in the dark with the big D himself.

~~~

With slow, drawn out movements, you did your best to set up the booth in the square. Around you, the other adventure teams set up normal ones, like cupcakes, charm bracelets, and assortments of artifacts. You cast a wistful gaze at them, wishing your group had also had some artifacts to sell.

In order to make the funding competition more fair and prevent repeats, each group had to draw a concept from a hat and make their booth sell that particular thing. Unfortunately, somebody had the great and hilarious idea to put some joke prompts in there, and your group had the great misfortune to pull the one and only paper marked “kissing booth” from it.

Admittedly, you had been kind of expecting Bennett’s group to draw that one, so the situation completely blindsided you. You weren’t the only girl on your adventure team, but Felicia had a boyfriend, so the burden was left to you.

“Hey, need a hand?” Jack, a fellow adventurer asks, having approached you with a friendly wave. “I noticed you don’t have your booth set up yet and Katheryn says we’re starting in five minutes.” 

“Thanks Jack, but I’m good.” You give him an awkward smile. “Other than the curtain, the box, these chairs…” You sigh. “Aaaand this lipstick, there isn’t really anything else to set up.”

“Oh, okay.” He deflates, probably thinking you are denying him because he doesn’t seem useful.

As much as you’d like to hide behind the thick red velvet of the curtain, your group needs funding, and you’re not about to be the reason nobody can get their blades and armor fixed up at the blacksmith for the next several months.

“I guess, if you don’t mind, you can help me put this on top.” You acquiesce, throwing him a bone. Holding up a sign that says “Kissing Booth: One kiss for 1,000 Mora”, you gesture at the top of the wooden booth, where there’s a couple nails hammered in to hang the sign on.

“Leave it to me!” He says, and takes the sign from your hands to place it, dreadfully, in plain sight, right where it’s supposed to be.

“Thanks.” You say, trying hard to sound genuine lest he misunderstand.

“No problem! See ya, and good luck fundraising!”

He’s off with a whistle, and you wonder if he even read the sign he just hung up for you. Oh well, whatever.

 A few minutes later, the chime of a handheld bell rings through the courtyard, and you hear Katheryn’s voice announcing, “Welcome to the Adventurer’s Guild’s Biannual Fundraising Fair.”

Resigned to your fate, you draw back the velvet curtain and sit in your chair, gripping the tube of red lipstick harder than you would the handle of your sword if you came across an entire nest of giant slimes.

People filter into the square, most making a beeline for the sweets, and several crowding around the artifact booths to get first pickings of the feathers, goblets, and timepieces alike. With no flashy goods at your table, it’s a while before anybody even notices you. When a few people, you are relieved to see them laugh, and say “Look, they made a joke booth this year too, haha!” You let out a nervous laugh and give them a good natured smile.

You notice immediately when your luck runs out, a gaggle of young men and women just out of the cupcake booth heading your way. The exaggerated “No way, seriously?” accompanied by obnoxious giggles from one of the girls lets you know that they aren’t paired off, and the “Well if it isn’t my lucky day” from a lanky guy with a fashionable undercut and a flashy ear piercing tolls the bell of your doom.

“Hi, welcome.” You manage to greet the group with a stiff smile. 

“You’re selling kisses?” One of the guys, a shorter one with black hair asks.

“... Yes.” You reply. “One thousand mora each.”

“Real kisses?” The flashy guy is the one to ask this time, leaning forward with a piercing look. “Like on the lips?”

“Or somewhere else on the face.” You suggest hopefully. “But yes.”

“Well then. Allow me to be your first customer. I’ll start off with three kisses, all on the lips. If you don’t mind.”

You do mind. But what can you do. At least he’s not ugly, but the amused stares of his group at your situation are humiliating, and your cheeks get hot with shame as you stare down at the table and he counts out three thousand mora, placing them on the table in front of you.

Applying a fresh coat of red lipstick buys you only a few seconds, and then he is leaning in expectantly. You close your eyes and resolve to make it as quick as possible.

“Stop!”

The voice is so sharp you startle in your chair as your eyes fly open. Crossing his arms and scowling, Diluc Ragnvindr stalks over and stands between you and flashy guy.

“Huh? Why? What’s the deal, man? I properly paid, count it if you don’t believe me?” Flashy Guy looks confused.

“That’s not the issue, just take your money and go.” Diluc swipes the coins off the counter and insistently presses the fist of them against flashy guy’s chest until the other man bewilderedly accepts it.

“Um, okay. I’m just gonna… go?” He and his group of friends leave, the girls already breaking into gossipy whispers before they’re even out of earshot.

“Uh, hi Diluc. Why’d you do that?”

Diluc turns to face you at your question, an annoyed expression on his face. “You’re really asking me why, Y/n? … Seriously, why would you even go through with such an idea in the first place?”

You frown at the implication in his tone. “I didn’t have a choice. And my group needs the money.”

“You should’ve made them give you a different booth concept.”

“I tried. Groups aren’t allowed to change concepts, since it would be unfair.” You explain with a sigh. As relieved as you are to have gotten out of kissing anyone so far, the weight of the empty mora box you are supposed to fill weighs heavily on the back of your mind. 

“... You just need to sell all your stock, right? How much were you going to sell?”

You look up, and take a moment to think about it. “I guess I was hoping to get away with just fifty. Fifty thousand mora could possibly last us a few months… if we’re lucky and nobody’s sword gets shattered to pieces from a superconduct reaction again.”

“Make it a hundred, and I’ll just pay for it.”

“Huh?” You blink. “Oh, wow, thank you! That’s very generous of you. I wonder how I will explain all this to anybody who asks though…” Unable to help a cringe at the thought of your friends and guild mates teasing you for being the kiss-whore of the town, Diluc takes in your troubled expression with a raised brow.

“That’s none of anyone’s business.”

“Yeah but… if someone does find out you uh, sponsored us a hundred thousand mora, and didn’t even receive anything in return…” You play nervously with your hands, already imagining the protests of unfairness. “...But I guess I’ll just deal with it since the only way I can see managing to avoid that is if I actually give you a hundred kisses, ahaha.”

“...”

Dammit, this is awkward, why did you have to joke like that? Diluc is looking at you with an intense unreadable expression. You can’t help but squirm.

“What?”

“That’s a good solution. Let’s do it.”

“Oh. Really?” You stammer, feeling heat rise to your face. You’ve had a crush on Diluc for the longest time, but never in your wildest dreams would you think he felt the same. “With me? Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. But I would appreciate a little privacy. Move over.”

You’re still reeling as he makes his way around and comes in the booth, leaning back instinctively to get out of his way as he reaches over and unbinds the thick velvet curtain, leaving the two of you in the dim red light that barely filters through the fabric.

Diluc pulls the second chair up next to yours, and sits facing you. He takes a pouch out of his pocket and places it on the counter of the booth next to you with a faint clink. You don’t even have to count to know there’s a hundred thousand mora in there, it’s a fat enough pouch.

Taking a deep breath, you begin, uncapping the lipstick to apply a fresh coat.

“Is that part necessary?” Diluc asks.

You falter, lips already cherry red. You don’t know what to say. Does he think it looks bad on you? You can’t help flushing in shame. “Oh, sorry.”

“No- it’s ugh, it’s fine. Continue. Please.” Diluc backtracks, placatively patting the air with his hand.

A long moment of charged tension passes, as you try and fail to work up the nerve to close the distance. His lips look so soft and the way his jaw works as he swallows sends a thrill through you.

“......”

“......”

With a small noise of impatience, Diluc shifts in his seat— and then kisses you, pressing his lips firmly against your own until you relax and melt back into him. He begins to rub his lips back and forth against yours, and strokes the shell of your ear with a gloved hand. The sensation makes you shiver. His breath is loud in your ears.

Heat builds up within you, threatening to burst. Your brain struggles to comprehend- Diluc, whom you’ve loved for the longest time, is kissing you. 

Your breath catches in your throat at a particularly assertive press of his lips, and at the startled sound, Diluc breaks away.

“You okay? Still enjoying this, or…?” He asks, voice a rich murmur for your ears only.

“I’m fine, m-more than fine ahah,” You giggle breathlessly. “But I’m the one who’s supposed to be kissing you.”

“Hurry up then. You were taking too long.”

The implication of his feelings in the way he says it fills you with sudden confidence, and you smile and give him a look before leaning in and pressing a quick, sweet kiss to his lips. It leaves you exhilarated and buzzing, and a squeezing saccharine urge bubbles up within you. Resisting the sudden desire to clench your teeth, you swoop in and attack his face with kisses, pressing your lips into the smooth skin of his cheek several times before moving to the other one. Diluc gives a breathless laugh and you feel like your heart will just burst. The soft, tsck tsck tsck sound of repeated kisses fills your ears. 

After his cheeks have received enough attention, you move down to his jaw, the slight indication of ginger stubble prickling against your lips as you give it a few smooches in adoration before moving to the sensitive skin of his neck. It’s warm and so soft against your lips, you can’t resist going further than you should and opening your lips after kissing to suck on it. The surprised, needy sound Diluc makes sends a distinctive squeeze somewhere lower than your stomach full of butterflies. 

You hesitate, and then do it again. He gives a low grunt this time, and your head spins at how quickly the two of you are losing control. Somehow reminded of all the girls in Mondstadt who swoon over and try to woo Diluc, you place a restraining hand on his shoulder before diving in and sucking hard right below his jaw. 

“Hey-!” Diluc hisses and pushes you off. 

You startle out of your love-addled haze and are squeaking out the beginning of a frantic apology when Diluc roughly grasps both of your thighs and lifts you out of your chair and deposits you onto his lap. 

Thrown off balance, you scramble to steady yourself, squishing your body against his chest and gripping both his shoulders to right yourself. 

“What’s the big idea?” You ask, giving him a look as you recover your composure. “I almost fell!”

“I would’ve caught you. And if you want to kiss me like that, you’re gonna have to fully commit to it.” Diluc says, raising an eyebrow and giving you a cool glance right back. “I’m not going to get a hickey from someone sitting across from me in another chair like some nervous Church of Barbatos deacon in training.”

“Fine, fine, I get it.” You huff. He has a point. “You could be a bit less rough with me, though.”

Diluc blinks and averts his eyes for a moment. “... Right. Sorry, Y/n. Wasn’t intentional.”

“Yeah, I know.” You roll your eyes at him, thinking of how he throws his claymore around like a weightless treebranch.

Adjusting once more to get yourself comfortable atop his thighs, you apply another coat of lipstick. Leaning in, you're about to press another adoring kiss to his cheek when he turns his head, catching your lips instead. Your gasp of surprise melts into a whimper as he gets aggressive with it, pushing your mouths hard together with a gloved hand at the base of your head. You can’t escape his onslaught. Kiss after kiss, he doesn’t stop until you are gasping for air and then just dives right back in. Your mind goes blank of all thoughts, puddling into an empty haze.

When you come to your senses… a long time later, your lips are swollen, head dizzy from lack of oxygen, and … — Diluc’s gloves are on the floor, his face blissed out and slack, the sight sending a spear of heat straight through your stomach to your core. You swallow dry, clenching your thighs on either side of his and slide your hand down his stomach, and OHhhhgod abort, somebody is pushing the red curtain aside, flooding the small space with bright light.

“Oh, what the-! What in Barbatos’ name are you two doing in here?” Cyrus asks, rearing back with a shocked expression. “Archons, Y/n, I thought you’d left the booth behind.”

“Master Cyrus?!?” You’re just. Frozen stiff in Diluc’s lap, mortified. But instead of letting you scramble out of his lap, Diluc tightens his arms around you, trapping you in his embrace.

“Despite being given a ridiculous product, Y/n managed to sell all her stock to me. I hope there isn’t a problem with that.”

Cyrus stammers in the face of the thinly veiled accusation, monocle nearly slipping off his face. “Yes well. I’m not in charge of the prompts, miss Katheryn is… ahem, anyways, the fundraising event is over now. We’re taking down the booths and moving them to the Adventure Wagon.”

“Oh, okay.” You say, tucking your hair behind your ear, still flustered. “I’ll be right there.”

“You gonna need help taking the booth down and carrying it over, kid?” The blond older man asks, an unsure look on his face as he eyes your companion.

“I’ll take care of it.” Diluc says before you can answer, and you nod belatedly.

“Alright. See ya.”

When Cyrus is gone, the two of you are once again shrouded in red-tinted darkness, but the noisy sounds of people walking and loading things onto the wagon is unmistakable.

“...So, um… anyways…” You begin awkwardly.

“—That wasn’t a hundred.” Diluc cuts you off.

“...Huh?”

“That wasn’t a hundred. So you can deliver the rest of them later this evening. I’ll tell Adelinde to keep an ear out for you, so just knock if the Winery is closed by the time you arrive. I have some work to do with the guild but I should be done with all my most important business by five.”

“Oh. Okay. Sure.” You smile shyly. “Far be it from me to not deliver in a timely manner.”

“That’s my girl.” He says with a wry smile. “Blessedly quick on the uptake.”

“We should take the booth up before Master Cyrus comes back.” You admit reluctantly, climbing off his lap as he releases his grip on you.

“Let me do the heavy lifting.” Diluc insists, and the two of you come out the back and get to work on taking it down.

You try to help carry one of the smaller supports over to the wagon, but Diluc just says “I’m the one with the gloves, so I’m the one handing the wood. You’ll get splinters.” and shoves the Kissing Booth sign into your hands instead.

Diluc is… covered in lipstick kissmarks, and though several of your guild mates see and remark on it, there isn’t a trace of the pink on Diluc’s cheeks that you had seen in the booth as he gives cool responses. Remembering the sight of him, flushed and dazed and panting, has you nearly dropping the stupid sign though, and you hastily distract yourself from the thoughts of his lips that had tasted faintly sweet like grape juice… with the fate of Bennett’s booth. 

You’re not sure what happened, but somehow it got burnt down to a crisp. Vaguely you recall he had drawn candles as a selling prompt. Ah. You can more or less guess what happened. Poor Benny. 

“See you tonight.” You give Diluc a little wave goodbye when you’re finished, and he’s about to leave.

Catching your hand, he gives you a kiss this time, getting the top of your hand smudged with the faint remnants of your lipstick. “Don’t keep me waiting too long. I’m a busy man.”

[fourlium]

Blink

I wrote this with the idea in my mind that we may all have been a Kang Sol A once in our lives. And that is not a bad thing. We may all have felt that we were only there to shine the light for the chosen ones or for the “bright”. You see, we all are equally-flawed. And that is, if that characteristic is even a flaw. But to set the point straight, we fill each other’s gaps. And to have someone like Sol A in our lives is to have another reason to brave tomorrow. So I may as well be a Kang Sol A, then.

This was inspired by back number’s song Mabataki or ‘Blink’ – which I cannot put into words how much I love. A part of this writing is my interpretation of the song itself, materialized through that of Sol A and Joonhwi’s being.

For you who have been hard on yourself. You are needed. You are loved.

-

Sol A and Joonhwi had just finished their Criminal Code class and the two is now heading to the legal clinic to help Professor Kim for another case.

“You think this will be another defamation case?”, Sol A asked the bright-eyed boy walking beside her.

Joonhwi flashes a teasing smile at Sol A proceeding to say, “I don’t think so. But if that’s the case I guess you won’t need me anymore since you are a master in that.”

Sol A stopped at her tracks and stared at the guy for 5 seconds or so and rolled her eyes at him before marching, heavily at that, towards the door of the legal clinic. A confused Joonhwi followed and hurriedly sat beside the sulking Sol A.

“What now? Why the long face?”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

“What did I do wrong now?”, Joonhwi paused, and with a realization, scooted closer to Sol A.

“Were you upset because of what I said earlier? It was a compliment, okay? All good, all genuine. I believe in you, you know that.”

After what seems to be Joonhwi’s main defense in court, Sol A just remained silent. She stood up from her seat after a while and began to walk back and forth the space as if thinking hard about something. After what feels like an eternity for Joonhwi, the girl finally spoke her mind.

“I’m sorry. I admit that it was about that. It is just that I’ve been stressed for the past few days, and I must have projected my pain on you. I’m sorry, Joonhwi-yah. And thank you for believing in me,” Sol A said in her most sincere, albeit nervous, self. With Sol A’s confession followed another silence that was composed of tension- from Sol A’s end- and soul-searching stares from the boy sitting in front of her.

“It’s okay. It’s alright. I know you’re working on it, and I understand. Thank you for being honest with me.”

And after a mutual understanding through their eyes that seems to be a secret code for only the two of them, all is well yet again.

The two now is seated closer than before from each other while both of them stares at the clock that seems to be ticking at a slower pace than normal. Sol A eventually sighed, turning her head towards Joonwhi who was already looking at her.

“Do you want to listen to a song? I guess Professor Kim is taking time because of the traffic,” Joonhwi suggested while fumbling at his pants' pockets to grab his phone. Sol A then offered her earphones and all is set. Joonhwi insisted to pick the first song this time, contrary to him letting Sol A choose first whenever they are in this situation.

Happiness isn't the repeating cycle of night turning into

The bright morning as the stars fall

Rather, it's holding an umbrella for a special someone

As the rain falls on them

The song starts with the vocalist’s cool voice, yet Sol A felt warmth. Maybe it’s from the lyrics of the song transcending language barriers making her understand the Japanese words or maybe it was in the way Joonhwi’s hand made its way towards hers, softly linking their fingers together, which brings comfort in her stead.

It’s fine if there’s no answer

As to why we’re alive

As long as you want to protect

The person you want to see and the things you need

Without pushing myself and being humble

Just like this, if I were

To sing these dear feelings

The song went on the first verse after what seemed to be a magical instrumental. Sol A, although hesitant at first, clasped her hands tightly with Joonhwi’s. And then there was magic.

Happiness isn't the repeating cycle of night turning into

The bright morning as the stars fall

Rather, it's holding an umbrella for a special someone

As the rain falls on them

It’s not something you can find by refusing to blink

Or straining your eyes

So stay by my side

Joonhwi was silent but a knowing smile was apparent on his face after the verse finished. It is as if he’s learned the meaning of the song after a week of just this very song playing whenever he listens to music. Maybe he did search up the translation and understood it from there. Or maybe he understood it because of Sol A. Maybe it was because he found the personification of the song in the person his hands are clasped with now. Scratch that ‘maybe’. This time he was certain.

I couldn’t become a person who lived for their dream

A person who diverted away from the right path

A person who was used for someone else’s sake

Or a person who lived for themselves

But it’s just that today again,

I thought that maybe someone will think I’m needed

After what felt like hours, the song went to the bridge and right there and then Joonhwi pressed Sol A’s hands, conveying what it seems like his version of comfort and confession.

Happiness isn't the repeating cycle of night turning into

The bright morning as the stars fall

Rather, it's holding an umbrella for a special someone

As the rain falls on them

The me who’s perplexed upon finding yet another weakness

But is that even possible

In the place where I find my eyes closed

Sol A yawned, the song pulling her into a deep slumber. It was at this moment where she decided to place her head on Joonhwi’s shoulder. The song hits it closing verse at the same time Sol A’s eyes finally gave in to sleep.

To be honest with you, this was not a spur-of-the-moment decision by Joonhwi. He was planning to confess after all. And maybe in that plan was once a plan that included him singing a song for Sol A. But then the great second round judicial passer decided against it. His reasoning composed of Sol A laughing at him, his average voice, or him not having the guts to do it in front of someone like her. Yet again, it seems like fate was in his defense and the girl beside him just fell asleep before the song ends. And so, in quiet hums to the melody and quiet hushes to not wake up Sol A, Joonhwi sang along to the closing verse of the song.

Happiness isn't the repeating cycle of night turning into

The bright morning as the stars fall

Rather, it's holding an umbrella for a special someone

As the rain falls on them

And then before I realized,

I was the one that was being protected

Always,

I want you to always be by my side

Even when my eyes are opened, even when my eyes are closed

As the song comes to a close, the door opened revealing the much-awaited Professor Kim. She took a glance at the bodies that occupy the room and found herself smiling at the sight. As much as she wants her students to rest, there is a call for work and at that realization, she decided to make her presence known.

“I don’t want to take away the moment from the both of you, but our client is waiting in the hall right now.”

At the sound of Professor Kim’s voice, a surprised Joonhwi shuffled in his seat, waking up the tired Sol A in his arms.

Pause.

The two of them looked at each other’s eyes, still surprised, realizing that break is over. Yes, they were surprised. Or maybe this is the only reason they are forced to think, for their heartbeats were at high.

-

After the session was over, Professor Kim accompanied the client outside after reminding Joonhwi and Sol A to discard the trash that was left from the snacks before exiting the room. And so, they went to clean and arrange the files for the next consultation.

“The song earlier. What was the title of it?”

“It’s Mabataki by back number. I can send you the link if you want to.”

“Go on. I really liked the melody and somehow the lyrics spoke to me. Huh, am I being sentimental again? I thought that was the alcohol speaking for a moment,” Sol A joked.

“Nah. As if there’s alcohol in your system. It’s just you. Also, Kang sol,” Joonhwi says but pauses mid-sentence.

“Why? What’s up?”

“Never mind. I’ll just chat you later.”

“Yah! Han Joonhwi!”

-

The two of them had just finished cleaning and went on separate ways back to their dorm to catch some rest. Sol A proceeded to take a quick bath to ease the tiredness away. After the refreshing bath, Sol A was determined to sleep not until a text popped up.

Kang Sol.

Yah, are you there?

Here’s the link of the song https://open.spotify.com/track/7hIfpcdUZcyCKHYy8gp49E?si=095d6e0abb584ce4

Also, you may want to check the translation to satisfy the ‘sentimental’ in you. Haha. Kidding. But for real, check it out.

한준휘 is typing…

“What’s with him now?”, Sol A ponders as the time wastes away waiting for Joonhwi to send her the following texts.

What happened earlier was certain to me.

I had planned to confess before, but I can’t seem to find the words so when I found out about this song and immediately thought of you, it hit me. I was so sure at that moment.

I’m not really good with words so I find it comforting to have someone who understands me just by looking at my eyes. Uhh, I don’t know. I’m just rambling at this point.

Read the lyrics.

More than my confession today, I want you to remember the lyrics.

Good night, Kang Sol.

Just when Sol A thought this was the end of his ‘rambles’ as he declared, another text pops up.

Remember the lyrics. Uhh, especially the last part where you decided earlier to sleep at. Haha.

Just so you know.

Because you’ve given me all that.

Sol A can’t seem to wrap her head around it. She was aware of what happened earlier, of how Joonhwi’s hands searched for hers, how he pressed it three times – yes, three times – and how she fell asleep to his voice. And she cannot also seem to find the words for what happened.

More than my confession today, I want you to remember the lyrics.

So she did. And right there and then, she understood everything.

That it is perfectly normal to fail because there is grace.

That happiness is sheltering the person you care for from the rain under a shared umbrella.

And more importantly – that forcing yourself to see will not bear the right answer, and that closing your eyes is not a loss.

It’s in the blink.

It’s everything in between.

It’s everything that’s in front of you right now.

-

Closing notes:

I don’t really know if I made sense, but this was just a spontaneous entry without any storyline or whatnot. It’s actually my first time in years to write another entry with dialogues. So please bear with me at that. And I sure write for therapy and as a hobby. Although that may be the case, I will still be perfectly happy to hear your thoughts! All mistakes are mine. All song translation is credited to: https://lyricstranslate.com/en/mabataki-blink.html & https://www.musixmatch.com/lyrics/back-number/Mabataki/translation/english

All my appreciation to back number for letting me, and now us, to hear this song.

-

Just as Law School and Kang Sol A gave me the strength and motivation to write again (and believe in myself again), I hope that the message of this entry will come across like that to you as well.

Thank you so much for taking your time to read.

Just keep blinking.

-fourlium

[wingz-of-shit]

Adorable abnormal

This one shot was inspired by this post by @free-pancakes

Summary: This is how the survey corps reacts to Hange being five after one of her experimentation went wrong :) 

2k words

.

.

CLANK! BOOM! FIIZZZZZ

It had been precisely twenty-seconds since Levi heard the blast coming from the other side of the building. If he had no idea what had been going on before, the way in which people were going gave him enough evidence to know it was coming from the devil’s lab. What the fuck did you do again? There were at least five people that were hurrying to the lab with him, among them, Erwin. 

« What happened? » he asked the blond-haired man. He had an obvious scowl on his face, Erwin spent the entire morning dealing with taxes and expenses… nothing could make him happy, while anything would irritate him. 

« I don’t know Levi. I don’t know. » 

They reached the corridor leading to the lab, it was filled with an overwhelming smell of burn and… something Levi didn’t even want to think about such it was abhorrent. Erwin entered the lab first, he deadpanned at the scene. 

« Erwin? »

Levi peeked his head inside being careful to breathe with his mouth, whatever had Erwin so astonished had to be abnormal. Abnormal. It was the perfect word for it. Levi was staring at a cloud of dark smoke that engulfed Moblit and… and a child. 

« What the fuck? » Levi mumbled while getting closer to Hange’s right arm. Moblit was curled around the kid protectively, whatever fluid had exploded must have been toxic. 

« What happened here? » Erwin asked while pushing the rest of the curious gazes away from the door. After closing it, the Commander came to kneel in front of the kid… kids weren’t allowed here. Why would there be a kid? Levi kept wondering how the kid came to be here, deep down he had a feeling he knew exactly who that kid was. 

« Berner. What happened? » 

For a second Levi thought Moblit would faint, but he quickly composed to talk to Erwin. « Commander… I … I’m not entirely sure. But… Hange-San, she experimented, and then, BAM, and smoke, lot of smoke.. » 

« Did that exposition blow your brain too? » Erwin darted a glance at him « What? You understood something? » Erwin sat Moblit on a chair while keeping an eye on the kid. Suddenly that very kid launched herself at Levi which provoked a gasp from the people in the room.

« Levi!!!!! » 

Levi stared at the squirt that was crawling up his leg with big brown eyes. For a second he allowed his gaze to linger on the figure. It couldn’t be? But yet… the brown eyes, the wide grin, the messy hair… even the same damn glasses. Could it be she has a kid? « Levi! Levi! Hold Hange on shoulders!!» *gasp *

« Moblit would you care to explain, please! » The vein on Erwin’s temple grew larger. 

« Well… Hange-san was trying to find a formula to make titan less aggressive. It somehow made sense given the plants she put in that potion. But then she added some kind of powder… Neither Nifa nor I saw what it was but it just went … BOOM! And next thing there was a huge vapor in the room, we could barely breathe. When it dissipated a bit we saw Ha - … what we think is Hange- San sitting in her place. I mean, the potion obviously took her back to a certain age. It has to be her. »

It was her, Levi could tell. No kid had ever reeked so badly. 

There was a knock on the door. Eren peeked his head inside and with all the subtlety that distinguished him and he ran to Hange. « Captain!!!! Is that Hange San? What happened!» 

« Shut up. » Eren dropped his eyes at the sound of his frigid tone. Surprisingly, when Levi looked down, Hange was still clinging to his leg. « Levi! Shut up! » She repeated happily. He groaned but lifted the kid nevertheless. She’s cute. 

« Berner do you know how we can fix this? » Erwin asked while he took a closer at Hange’s face. Suddenly Levi saw something change in Erwin’s eyes, there had been annoyance and weariness, now there were… stars, awe? 

« Aw, she’s so cute! She hasn’t changed!! Look at these chubby cheeks! » He kneeled to level her. « Hello Hangeee, do you remember what happened to you?? » Levi felt his lunch gather in the back of his throat… he’d never seen Erwin so sickeningly sweet. 

« Erwin!!! » Hange beamed extending her tiny arms to him. He gathered her in his arms. « Erwin!! Shut up!! » Time stopped for a second, if Levi knew how to laugh he would have, instead a weird sound that reminded him of a dying titan came out of his throat. The shock on Erwin’s face would be forever carved in his memory. « Erwin big eyebrows!! » 

In a matter of seconds, Erwin had left the lab obviously vexed, Hange was standing confused in the middle of the room with Jäger and Berner holding back laughs. « Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings come grains of truth.» 

After some time Levi decided he had to go to town to gather ingredients that would bring Hange back to her normal form. Hopefully, it would take the confusion away from him. For the past hour, he’d followed Hange around the entire building, scared she’d hurt herself. He’d never cared for kids before. With a deep breath, he entered the drugstore Hange was so fond of. He gave one last thought at the 104th kids whom he had entrusted Hange with. 

* Eren and Mikasa *

« What?!! Why me? » Eren pleaded the rest of the crew when they all left running away from the room the Captain had just left. He looked back and forth between the kid and Mikasa.

« Do you honestly think that its squad leader Hange here? » Mikasa asked while sitting on the couch near the kid. 

« Well, Moblit said it was. And so did Captain. » Eren groaned and dropped heavily on the other side of the kid. « Did you ever babysit? » Mikasa shook her head. « No. Can’t be that hard, right? » Eren thought for a second. « It’s Hange-San we’re talking about here. » 

After a few minutes, Hange asked the two teenagers to play, it had to happen at some point. So they led the five-year-old to the training grounds, they’d find entertaining things here.

« Look over there, behind this wall, there are giant titans which you usually love Hange San! » Eren smiled at the sun brightening the sky - and Mikasa’s smile -  « We always go out to fight them, and you are always getting in dangerous situations but you’re very good at coming out of them safely! » He turned around to look at the five-year-old

… gone. « Hange-San? » 

« HANGE SAAAAN! MIKASA! We have to find her!! Captain will kill us! » They both began to search around, on second throughs, the training grounds had been the worst idea. There were weapons, thunder spears, 3DMG… He gaped at the park, people were flying around, cutting fake titan’s neck… 

From afar he saw a small figure getting its head cut clean by a younger recruit. Eren fell to his knees sobbing. « Mikasa… what have we done. We’re doomed. We killed Hange-San. » 

Mikasa scowled at him and hit his head. « Are you dumb? This is a fake titan marionette Eren.» 

They kept searching for the next ten minutes until they met with a soldier who said saw a small kid running toward the wall. The wall. Of course. They hurried there to find Hange digging the foot of the wall with her small hands. It shouldn’t have been shocking, yet both Eren and Mikasa stood stunned at the sight.

« I wanted to see titans. » She wailed as they carried her back to the SC building.

* Jean and Armin*

« Why us? » Did Jäger want to get on his nerves? He had other things than to care for a small kid, no matter if it was his superior or not. « We made our shift. Your turn. » 

Jean stared at the small kid climbing on Armin’s lap. The sight wasn’t surprising at all. Armin had always admired Hange-San, he treated her with so much respect it was suspicious. But there, with the roles reversed, it totally made sense. The blond grinned brightly at the small brunette who was trying to push the hair off his forehead. 

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. 

He went to sit beside the pair and stared at the squad leader. « She’s so cute. » He said before he could hold it back. The girl shot daggers at him. « I am not cute! I am Titan!! Can we play titan? » It didn’t surprise any of them. 

They stood and went into the garden. Hange San stood on the bench as if it would make her look taller. « Armin is Levi! And Jean is the Titan! »

« Levi? » 

« Humanity’s strongest!! And you have to save me! And Jean is the bad guy! » 

The two boys exchanged a knowing look, maybe they could get information out of this tiny version of their superior… they’d always been wondering what was going on. Jean crouched in front of her. « Hange, if you answer one question I will be the best scary titan for you. » She titled her head expectantly. « Why would humanity’s strongest save you? Why not… the Commander or… Mister Berner? » 

« Because Levi will be my husband when I am tall!!! » Both boys nearly choked at the words. Had they… heard well? « Wait what? » Jean replied.

« That’s two questions. You said one. Bad titan now. » Damn, as smart as ever. 

« Hange, if I ask you one question again, I’m taking my 3DMG to be just like Captain Levi. » She nodded eagerly. 

« Does Levi want to be your husband too when you’re tall? » Hange grinned sheepishly, her cheeks reddened.

 « Yes! Short stack is Hange’s boyfriend! … Let’s play now! »

* Nanaba and Mike*

« It had to happen at some point. » Mike said as Nanaba lifted Hange on her hip. All of Jäger’s friends had kept an eye on her, they’d come to them frantically and exhausted claiming that there was no way someone could muster this much energy. Mike took a look at his supposed friend. 

« What did she even do to end up like this? » Nanaba gave the girl a glass of water.

« Don’t know… Moblit said it was a failed experiment. I hope we can get her back to her normal form. » He didn’t like the idea of people changing forms like this, it was unnatural… but then again titans existed too, so why not age-reversing potions. Mike relieved Nanaba from the weight and placed Hange on his shoulders.

« Whoaaa! I’m as high as titans! » 

He chuckled. « Last time she said this was because she smoked a blunt. » Nanaba slapped him on the shoulder.

« What? This is still Hange. I’m sure if you hand her booze now she’ll happily have it. » 

Apparently not interested in joking, Nanaba went through the books on the shelves to read a story. There were funnier things to do with a kid than read a story. « Hey, Hange, what do you want to do? » 

« Can we mess with big eyebrows? » It took Mike a second to understand she was talking of Erwin. « Did… I hear that rightly? » Apparently yes, because in a matter of seconds Hange explained a destructive plan on how they would piss the commander of the survey corps off. In any normal situation, Mike would have refused but he had a good cover… a five-year-old Hange. This could explain anything...

« So… you want to … command tons of candies with the survey corp’s funds…? » Nanaba asked again, unsure. « Yes! And then Erwin will be really angry! It’ll be fun! » 

« We sure don’t have the same perception of fun. » The blond woman looked up at him. « We can’t do that Mike. You know we can’t. » Hmpf responsibilities. 

« Okay how about instead we put mud in Levi’s room? Is that good enough for you? » The smirk that spread on Hange’s face terrified him just as much as it amused him.

*Levi *

He held the handles of the bags tighter. For some reason, Levi was frightened to go back to the SC building. He left Hange almost all afternoon with immature teenagers, this couldn’t be good. 

He pushed the door of the mess hall open, the sight that welcomed him was beyond was he had imagined. Everyone was slumped on the tables, seemingly exhausted, or almost snoring. Erwin was drowsing, his head barely supported by his hand, Mike was facing him, muttering.. curses maybe? His eyes lingered on everyone until they fell upon small Hange. She was braiding Historia’s hair with frightful focus.

« What the hell is going on here? » 

Nanaba answered him. « She… she killed us. How is she not sleeping yet? She’s a monster.» Levi approached the said monster.

« Hey there four eyes. » 

Her eyes lighted up when her eyes fell on him. She muttered his name in a whisper, holding her arms out to him. He lifted her and walked to Moblit who had… paint on his face… gross. «Here, got all you wanted for the potion. » Hange laid her head against his shoulder, he wondered then how all of them ever considered her a monster. 

« I’ll put her to sleep. » 

« Yeah yeah, we all tried, good luck. » 

"I'll scare her to sleep then." 

Levi left the mess hall to Hange’s room, it couldn’t be hard to put her to sleep, she was drowsing on hi… drooling, she was drooling on his shoulder already. He tucked her in bed with a care that surprised himself.

« Levi, stay? » she murmured when he turned the light off. « Mh, no? »

« Please? Nightmares… » 

Tch. He sighed and sat on the bed beside her, she curled up against him and fell asleep right away. We all tried they said. Morons.  

…

The first rays of light woke him up. Had he? Slept? He found himself being very warm and unusually well-rested. Hange. Right, he had to help Moblit about Hange. He inclined his head to the subject that was spreading so much warmth and nearly gasped when he saw a full-grown Hange resting her head on his shoulder. 

Her breathing was soft, her face as smooth as that five-year-old that had terrified the entire survey corps the day before. 

Glad you’re back four eyes.

.

.

.

yeah so this was my very first Levihan one shot, thanks @free-pancakes for the support! 

[sylvie-writes]

Bad (4): Moral of the Story

First inspired by this song ➳ Bad by Lennon Stella

(Ransom Drysdale x wife reader)

Summary: Your divorce with Ransom is finalized and some changes, good and bad, occur for the both of you.

A/n: Sorry loves that I’m slow with getting out chapters! There’s just a lot going on lately, so I apologize that this one is kinda short. Next chapter will be better!

Also, many thanks to those of you who voted! hehe I might have been a little biased and wanted Andy in the story too...

Warnings: mild profanity. more angst.

As always, plz pardon any mistakes, the stories are always proofread but I tend to make many mistakes regardless.

Series Masterlist

On November 12th, a life you once knew was officially left behind.

That was the day a judge signed off his judgement and you and Ransom were officially divorced.

After all the hell he put you through, one would think you’d be happy. But honestly? You were still unhappy. Of course you’d never left him back in your life, yet your heart was still broken. 

It wasn’t supposed the end this way.

You weren’t ever supposed to be sitting in your car, alone, letting your confident facade fall, as your shoulders racked with heavy sobs.  

Unfortunately, life is just always full of surprises. Good and bad ones.

Today seemed as if it were just the perfect day for a divorce, if there was ever such a thing.

Rain heavily fell from the ominous-looking clouds, such as your tears uncontrollably streamed from your eyes. You were thankful for the dark lighting, making it impossible for the others parked in the dimly-lit parking garage to see your distressed state. 

Behind your tears, the radio quietly played, and you took a second to listen to the song, reaching forward to turn to volume up, just the slightest. Its lyrics spoke to you, and somehow you knew things were gonna be okay. 

Some mistakes get made

That's alright, that's okay

You can think that you're in love

When you're really just in pain

Some mistakes get made

That's alright, that's okay

In the end it's better for me

That's the moral of the story 

Once your emotions made their much needed escape, you took a deep breath, as if you were starting afresh. This was your life now, and from here on out, you’d make the calls. Ransom was no longer looming around the back of your conscience and it was nice. He was of the past, and currently you were preparing for the future. Even your little one knew it, as they lightly kicked you, almost as if they were saying, ‘it’s gonna be okay.”

And you knew that was true. You had a baby on the way, and that was more than enough. A precious gift from the heavens, who would be making their appearance in a little over a month. Just the mere thought brought a smile to your face, one you caught in the rearview mirror. Analyzing the smile, you realized that it wasn’t forced and that you were finally, truly, happy. 

A few weeks had passed since the divorce, and you were functioning just fine, some would even say incredibly. For you, the dark clouds of your divorce and past love life had moved on, but for Ransom, it was quite the opposite…  

Ransom was miserably laying on his couch, legs propped over the armrest, head lazily laid on a throw pillow, half of his mind focusing on the tv, while the other half, imagined a time when you were there with him.

“Ransom, have I ever told you how much I loved you?” 

You hand rested on his soft and clean-shaven face, gazing happily into his never ending blue eyes. The man pretended to think, shaking his head then leaning forward to capture you lips in a kiss. Ransom pushed your back against the couch, as the two of you laughed, although still lipped locked. 

“Ransom…”

The man’s eyes may have been glued to the tv screen, but instead his mind was replaying the memory of you. He could even hear your voice, as if the daydream was nothing more than reality, until another voice cut into his mind. A higher pitched one, if you will.

“Ransom!”

He didn’t respond to the girl, the call of his name being mixed with two voices. Blair’s and yours. It took everything to hold onto to your voice and ignore the other. 

“Ransom.”

Finally, the woman’s voice, who was actually standing in front of him, broke through, shattering his memories and pushing him into reality.

Ransom quickly sat upright, to act as if nothing happened, allowing the smiling woman to sit in his lap, while peppering kisses over his jawline. Her kisses were nothing like yours. You kisses were filled will love and not lust.

“Oh Ranny. How did I get so lucky?”

He plastered a fake smile on his face, leaning into to kiss her nose, instantly repulsed by his own actions. 

“You know, I already did some wedding planning today.”

The words that left the woman’s mouth made Ransom’s constant thinking freeze. He had been so eager to getting over you that he blindly proposed to this woman, who was obviously no better than himself. She was going to put up with his shit, unlike you. That was definitely something he didn’t need in this new marriage. Actually he didn’t even need a marriage. 

“Blair, I’m sorry I just can’t.”

Her eyes grew like the size of saucers, as she hopped off of Ransom’s lap, standing tall and towering over the sitting man, clearly ready for a fight.

“Can’t what, Hugh?”

“Get married.”

The scoff she let out was loud enough to be heard in China, before her pitchy voice started yelling at Mr. Heartbreaker. She really was overreacting, this was Ransom Drysdale after all.

“You asshole! Is it because I’m not (y/n), huh is that it? Newsflash! She won’t take you back. You’ve fucked up Ransom and now you are losing me too!” 

At the mention of your name, a fire ignited inside Ransom. Yes, he screwed up, but he didn’t need anyone, especially Blair, to tell him that.

“Yeah, I screwed up, but you know what? We are both fuckers who ruin the lives of the ones we love. You knew damn well I was married, and seeing what I did to her, you knew what you were getting yourself into! I’m not blaming you, cause it takes two to tango, sweetheart!” 

Blair stared daggers into Ransom’s eyes, him doing the same, as both of their chests were heaving from their screaming match. The man had made a great point, although self-deprecating yet true. When he was married, he was so willingly ready to cheat, it was a sign that Ransom would never be ready to commit to anyone, even when he thought he was in love. 

Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to be arguing and drunk, though, while even sober, Ransom’s mind never functioned properly. Not after you left anyway. 

Their argument continued into the night, with Blair leaving behind her rock of a ring in the palm of Ransom’s hand. And truth be told, that when woman angrily strutted out the door, Ransom felt at ease for once. He had finally put a patch on his sinking boat that rocked in the large ocean of his fuck-ups. When the bed was empty that night, it felt nice. Why he ever traded you for Blair was beyond him, and he hated himself for it. But no, he knew you’d never take him back, you were too good for him. Hopefully, you’d find someone else who’d love you better than he treated you. For once, Ransom put your needs before his. If you were to show up on his doorstep tomorrow moring with an engagement ring, and a man at your waist, he’d hoensly congratulate you. As much as it would pain him to see you move on, he knew no amount of pain could weigh up to the heartbreak you felt. 

This was his punishment. 

It really did take all the physical restraint in Ransom to not run up to you, fall to his knees and beg when he saw you those weeks ago in court. It took everything in him to not call, and apologize for the hell he put you through. Because as much as you deserved an apology, he knew you’d never forgive him and it would hurt him even more.

For you, as the time to your due date got closer, you suddenly realized that one income might not be enough. Bills after bills can bleed one dry. So, last Saturday, you saw an ad online for a personal assistant, the requirements were slim and the hours were as needed. After four long days, you finally received a chance for an interview, which unfortunately occurred during your work hours. Lorraine, the sweetest woman on the planet, offered to work your shift, giving you the time to rush off to the DA’s office. Newton wasn’t too far of a drive, and at this point you’d travel across country just to give this precious life inside of you, a good beginning. Being eight months pregnant, probably ruined your chances of getting the job, but when you met your “hopefully soon-to-be boss”, he seemed to not care. Actually, he was willing to give you the jobs, but was concerned it would be to much for you. It took a few tries, but you finally assured the man, leaving his office only to see him again tomorrow. 

You came to know your boss as Andy Barber, a man with a heart of gold, and his worries always about you. It was endearing, and you started to unintentionally drift closer to the man. One late night in that very November, Andy had decided to work well past his usual hours. It was pitiful to see the man all alone in the building as the only source of light was at his desk. Thanksgiving holiday was coming up and Andy begged for you to go home and start your holiday break. For minutes your both “bickered” back and forth, until you finally left, giving Andy a sense of relief. He really did care about you, although he never said so. Your were his employee and he wasn’t sure if you felt the same way. Well, until tonight anyway.

Just as Andy thought he’d sent you home, you came back ten minutes later, a small pizza box in one hand, while the other held a liter of soda. A grin spread across Andy’s face, as he stood up to take the box from you, clearing off room on his desk for the two of you to eat. While enjoying your makeshift dinner, you and Andy started to open up to each other even more, carrying on small talk, that led to something else.

“So how far along are you, (y/n)?”

“About eight months.”

Andy raised his eyebrows in surprise, while also admiring you for your dedication. 

“Wow, that’s amazing! I can’t even imagine how hard all of this is for you.”

Your boss motioned to all of the paperwork on his desk, to which you just shook your head. It really wasn’t an inconvenience at all. 

“Oh, it’s not that bad. I’m the only one making a home for this baby, so I do what I can.”

Your eyes trailed up from your belly to be met with Andy’s sympathetic smile.

“I wouldn’t have known, but I do know this baby has the best mother of them all.”

At the compliment you let out a small laugh, a sound that made Andy beam, as the two of you continued to work on some files. To keep the night from falling silent, you continued to talk with the man, not missing a beat in your conversation. 

“Thank you, that means a lot to me. My husband, err, ex-husband, Ransom, cheated on me, but he did leave me this precious gift.” 

For some reason, you felt compelled to tell Andy your story, like you needed to get it off your chest to someone other than Lorraine. Come to think about it, Andy was the only other person you trusted, Lorraine, of course, being the first. In the two weeks you had worked together, the man had made an everlasting impression on you. 

Oh good god, why did you just spill your guts to the man? He probably doesn't care for your sob story--

“Ransom? As in Ransom Drysdale?”

You nodded your head, preparing yourself for some spew of judgement.

“That’s right! I’ve heard of him... and you. The two of you seemed in love. I’m so sorry (y/n), you didn’t deserve it, honey.

Not only were you shocked that Andy did genuinely care, but the pet name sounded like it was a second nature to him, which seemed to make your heart swell. 

“Thanks. It’s led me here though! To this amazing job with my lovely boss.”

Feeling a surge of confidence, with hopes that maybe Andy felt the same way, you shot him a playful wink. Your eyes dazzling in the yellow light of the desk lamp, making Andy view you almost as an angel. Thank the heavens he wasn’t standing, because your adorable wink made his knees weak. 

If Andy was going to become close to you as he hoped, now was the time to come clean about his past, and serve it on a platter as you had done. A good relationship always starts with trust. 

“Well if it makes it any better, I went through something similar. My wife left me years ago, with my son too. Last year, I went to go visit them, only to find they’d been in a car accident-”

A stray drop of a tear fell onto the paper underneath Andy, and it broke your heart to see him this way. It was obviously hard for him to tell the story, and you’d heard enough. Deciding to make a bold move, you moved around the desk and wrapped your arms around Andy’s shoulders. 

The man solemnly turned towards you, his chair swiveling around along with him, giving you the space to sit on his knees, while holding him close. His beard tickled your neck, as silent tears were shed. Your hand soothingly ran along his back, as you placed soft kisses to his temple. Andy’s arms were at your twisted waist, the baby bump slightly in the way, although you had turned your body to accommodate the man’s large figure. 

The two of you stayed locked in each other’s embrace for a long four minutes, until Andy pulled back, his arms still around your waist. Slowly, you brought your hand around from his neck, and to his cheek, using your thumb to wipe at the dry tears. Andy leaned into your touch and smiled contently at you. He was a broken man, who needed some love. Exactly the kind you’d shown him. 

Without second thought, you pressed your lips to Andy’s, noticing how his lips felt different than Ransom’s, his beard making you giggle just a bit. After what seemed to be forever, you and Andy reluctantly pulled away from each other, blissful smiles on your faces. 

From that night forward, you and Andy Barber started dating. Dinners out after long nights of work, or movies at home. He reminded you so much of how Ransom was in the beginning, except this time, you knew that this man wouldn't break your heart. 

For Thanksgiving, you invited Andy over for dinner as the two of you were all alone this year, no family this time, and your friends had their own lives. 

Dinner started out great, you and Andy bought a small Turkey, basting and then roasting it, along with making some side dishes, most of them being microwaveable. Honestly, the food had tasted delicious regardless of the way it was cooked. 

Just as you were about to dig into the feast before your eyes, a text message rang through on your phone. Who would be texting you at this hour, especially on thanksgiving?

Ransom- I know this isn’t the time, but I was wondering if tomorrow you’d like to go out for lunch. Not as a date or anything, but so I can apologize to you and explain. I’m not looking for forgiveness, but you deserve to know.” 

Your face looked as if you had seen a ghost, the expression scaring Andy as he had peeked up from his plate to see you not eating, and instead staring into the void of your cell phone screen. 

“(y/n), what’s wrong?” 

Reaching across the table, Andy grabbed your free hand, slightly startling you from your deep thoughts. 

“Uh. Ransom. He texted me. Asked for lunch tomorrow to explain everything.” 

The man, still holding your hand, shook his head, prompting you to continue on with the story. 

A part of you wondered why the events of the past had happened, and to get closure, you needed answers. Maybe it wasn’t in your best interest, but the curiosity inside of you was piqued. Now that you knew Ransom was willingly ready to talk, you also knew that if you didn’t take this opportunity, it would instead eat away at you. Something that you definitely didn’t need. 

“Andy, what should I do?”

“Oh honey, I know you want to know what happened , so go. But if you ever feel uncomfortable, call me and I’ll be there to kick his ass.” 

You laughed at Andy’s protectiveness, and lightly kissed his hand that was enclosing yours. Looking down, you felt a tiny yet powerful kick. A sign from the little one that his or her father still didn’t know about their existence. The ending of Ransom’s text flashed in your brain, the irony of it all laughing at you. 

You deserve to know. 

Ransom was an asshole, that’s for sure, but in the end he fathered this child, and deserved to know that much. The same went for yourself, as you were entitled to the story that destroyed your marriage. 

Tomorrow is definitely gonna be one for the books...

another a/n: If you’ve made it here (the end) I applaud you very much, but while you’re here, I apologize for this chapter. The writing style is that of a fifth grader, and I am forever ashamed that i actually posted it haha. 

Anyway, the next chapter should hopefully be better!

taglist (series and in general tags): @kiwihoee @buckybarnesthehotshot @memissbee @tricereads @tonystankschild @coffeebooksandfandom @ria132love @what-is-your-wish @maan24 @bval-1 @jemimah-b99 @turtoix @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @l-u-n-a-m @lexeeehhh​ @hc-geralt-23​

lemme know if you wanna join, be removed, or if i tagged the wrong person!

[harryssunflowerkiwi]

‘KIWI’ Part 1.

Pairing: Harry Styles x Female Reader

Synopsis: You’re a famous designer. You meet Harry at a party and he is obsessed, but you’re not going to give in so easily.

Word Count: 3.7K

Warnings: Not much for this part! Some sexual undertones.

A/N: hello loves! This is my first fanfic ever and I’m writing it on my phone so please bare with me. If there are any grammar or spelling mistakes I apologize, I will do my best! There will also likely be smut in the next part! And please keep in mind that this is PURE FICTION and is in no way an accurate depiction of Harry Styles! It’s just for entertainment purposes only :) So without further disclaimers, let’s get into part one of a multipart series called ‘KIWI’ very loosely based on Harry’s song. I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think and be kind xox

🥝Outfits mentioned in this part 🥝

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SEPTEMBER 3rd 2020~

You woke up to the sound of ‘dreams’ by Fleetwood Mac blaring from your phone that sat on the glass night stand beside your bed indicating that it was indeed already 6:30AM and therefor the time for you to leave your oh-so comfortable bed. The sun was shining ever so slightly through the crack between the black silk curtains that hung over the large window directly across from your bed, stinging your barely awake eyes. With a bit of hesitation you rolled over to turn off the alarm and swung your bare feet over the side of the bed letting them touch the cold hardwood floor of your bedroom. You made your way to the on suit to pee and brush your teeth. As the icy mint of your toothpaste hit your tounge you looked in the large mirror above the sink, you look tired. Of course you look tired, you’ve been getting three hours of sleep every night for the past month. Your hair is disheveled, no doubt from whoever you had kicked out of your apartment the night before after yet another hookup. You didn’t regret it, of course, you never do. He was a nice guy. Well, he was a decent lay at the very least. And he seemed to enjoy himself too so there’s no harm.

Just as you finished washing your face you heard your phone go off again. “Of course” you thought as you slowly made your way back into your bedroom where you had lazily threw your phone back on your bed before going to bathroom. You picked it up and squinted your eyes slightly to make out the name of the person calling. ‘JEFF AZOFF’. You sighed lightly and pressed answer.

“Jeff It’s not even 7” you said in a somewhat faux dramatic tone.

“oh stop y/n I know you’ve been awake for a bit” he replied and you could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

“What do you want” you sat back down on your bed and placed your left hand under your chin.

“I’m throwing a party at our place tonight and there’s no party without you”. You thought for a minute, knowing you couldn’t actually say no to a party, especially one being thrown by one of your best friends and his fiancé.

After about 30 seconds of silence you signed dramatically and said “You’re absolutely right, I’ll be there at 10 but next time tell me ahead of time. You are aware I have a business to run”.

Most of the morning was spent working through some designs, yelling at people for doing their jobs incorrectly, finalizing some details for London fashion week, and drinking copious amounts of coffee. You stood up from your “desk” (which was really just your kitchen island) with a stretch and looked down at your phone that was sitting on the counter, it was 8:43PM. Deciding that you should probably start getting ready for Jeff’s party, you walked back through your bedroom and into your walk-in closet to pick an outfit. “Alexa play get ready playlist” you yelled through your apartment and shortly after ‘girls in the hood’ started playing through out your apartment at full volume. Fully aware that Jeff’s spontaneous parties are generally pretty casual, after about 10 minutes you landed on your favourite pair of black Levi’s, a baby t that says “nobody’s pussycat”, a pair of black Gucci boots and grabbed your new fuzzy yellow and blue jumper in case you got cold (and also to throw over your shoulders for a bit of colour). Walking back into your bathroom you decided to do your makeup, since you had been working from home today and hadn’t put any on yet. You ended up doing some simple makeup, to not clash with the bright colors on your jumper and let your hair fall in loose curls. By the time you were fully ready it was just past 9:30, which was perfect because Jeff’s place was about a 20 minute drive from your apartment. You put your boots on, grabbed your yellow tinted Gucci glasses, your phone and keys and headed out.

Harry had gotten a very similar from Jeff as you, but it had come the day before. He was excited for the party, it’s been awhile since he’s been out anywhere but the studio. He’s been working on his new album tirelessly. Writing songs this time round was becoming increasingly more difficult, he’s felt dry of inspiration which is partially what he’s hoping a party will help with. Being around some new people and some of his closest friends. Jeff told him he was inviting some of his mates that Harry was yet to meet, which hopefully meant new experience outside the realm of ex girlfriends and band mates. He told Jeff he wouldn’t make it till around 11PM considering he’d be in the studio until 9 and he’d need time to make it home to change and shower before heading over and London traffic was an absolute nightmare, especially on Friday’s. Once he was done at the studio it was half nine, he sighed heavily as he left the lofty studio feeling the heavy weight of the pressure to write new material.

Once Harry arrived to his flat he immediately dropped his keys into the white and blue ceramic bowl he keeps by the door and swiftly kicked off his worn out vans. He was tired, but determined to make some worthy memories if not only for the sake of his future albums. Hell, maybe even just to blow off some steam. He needed that, badly. After making his way up the long spiral shaped stained oak stairs he walked briskly into the bathroom right across from his bedroom. He took his phone out of the back pocket of the light brown sweats he was wearing and glanced at the time 10:03PM. He let out another light sigh before hopping into the large black tiled shower. After a very quick shower filled with worried thoughts of where his career will go if he can’t write music, he hurried himself into his walk in closet with just a blush pink towel wrapped loosely around his hips and his phone in his left hand. Since he was already running slightly behind schedule and Jeff didn’t mention this party being anything but a casual gathering, he grabbed a pair of light blue YSL trousers and a simple white button down blouse to pair with his oh so worn down white vans, simply not having time to fuss about picking a new pair of shoes to match.

By the time Harry arrived at Jeff and Glenne’s flat it was five minutes to eleven. When he pulled up there were already around 10 cars parked around the house, some of which he recognized of course. He made his way up to the large front door after thanking his driver and knocked loudly, his various rings making a light clinking noise against the wood. About thirty seconds later the heavy door swung open to reveal Glenne who smiled widely when she saw him. “H!” She shrieked and pulled him in for a quick hug as she pulled him into the warm house.

“How’re ya Glenne” he smiled back enthusiastically as they entered.

“Good, good!, come let’s find Jeff and get you a drink” she said over the somewhat loud music that ran throughout the house. As Glenne guided him through the farmiliar house he took a moment to observe the people around him as they passed, seeing plenty of people that he knew well, a few he had met on a few occasions similar to this one, and some whom he’s never met. All together there were around 20 people, from what he could tell in passing.

Once they made it through each room of the well decorated house and into the bar area near the kitchen and dining area, he immediately saw Jeff leaning against the wall directly across from the doorway to the area. He was talking to a couple he recognized as Cathrine and Fred, two of their mutual friends, both worked in the music industry (Catherine being a well established sound engineer and Fred being one of the best producers in London). As they approached Jeff looked up and smiled excitedly at Harry and quickly pulled him in for a warm embrace. “Good t’ see you” Harry said as he smiled against his shoulder.

“Good to see you too H, glad you came. Nice to see you outside of that studio” Jeff replied with a small chuckle as they pulled away.

You had been at the party a total of fifty minutes and managed to down 3 vodka martinis and a glass of champagne without hesitation. You have always been able to hold your liquor, even though you didn’t usually drink more than twice a week. Not that much, you thought. Currently you were sitting on one of the two bright red sofas that sat Jeff and Glenne’s living room. You sat back against the velvet upholstery and had your left leg swung over yours and Glenne’s mutual friend Kassandra (or kassie as you called her).

You felt good, great even. It had been over 9 months since you had last seen any of these people. You had been living back and forth between New York City and London basically your whole adult life and just got back to London three days ago after being away for the most of the year. You were overjoyed to be back. You and Kassie were the only ones sitting on the couch to the right of the room, with a few others scattered throughout the living room. Some were standing and giggling by the fireplace, sipping on something strong you assumed based on how loudly they were conversing. There was a slightly less intoxicated couple sitting on the couch opposite of Kassie and yourself. You knew them well enough, although last time you saw them they were nothing more that friends and now they are very clearly together romantically. You didn’t mind though, not at all. You didn’t mind the noise, the increasingly drunker strangers and friends that passed through, you didn’t even mind the already almost-blackout strangers who thought they knew you and engulfed you in a rather tight hug. You felt relaxed and at home, as you always did when around Jeff and Glenne.

After about fifteen minutes of Jeff chatting Harry’s ear off about how excited he and Glenne were to be getting married, Glenne grabbed Harry’s arm. “Oh my god! H, I haven’t even introduced you to everyone yet have I?” She asked enthusiastically.

“I don’t believe you ‘ave” he replied with a small chuckle as he ran his free hand through his rapidly growing curls.

Before he knew it Glenne was guiding him through the house introducing him to a few people he hadn’t met yet. As they made their way into the living room he saw two girls sipping on what looked like martinis sitting on one of the couches. The two women were partially intertwined. One of them stood out though, almost like she controlled the room without even speaking. Harry stared at her, barely listening to Glenne talking beside him. She was incredibly beautiful, he thought. Her eyes and hands were effortlessly working together to capture everyone’s attention without even speaking. She wore a confidence he hadn’t seen before, even with his vast experience with super models and other celebrities alike. She looked like a royal, even in casual attire. He stood there, in the doorway completely stunned and rather confused as to why on earth he had never met her before.

“Earth to H?” Glenne said as she overdramatically waved her left hand in front of his face.

“Oh, um.. sorry, what were ya sayin’?” He replied as he quickly moved his gaze away from the stunning girl and back to his friend.

“Nevermind, cmon I need to indroduce you to Y/N and Kassie.” She mumbled quickly as she pulled him by his hand towards the very girl he was gawking at just moments before.

In the middle of Kassie making a dad joke in classic Kassie form, you spot Glenne walking over to where you are sitting rather excitedly with someone you immediately recognize as Harry Styles. Of course you knew who he was, and that Jeff was his manager and friend but you never had the chance to actually meet him. With both your schedules being as intense and unpredictable as they were it just never happened. You were a fan of his music, he is a very talented man but you definitely didn’t consider yourself a “stan”.

As they approached, Glenne turned to Harry and said “H, this is kassie!” As she pointed at her.

“Kassie works for Universal. Kassie this is Harry” she continued.

“S’ nice to meet you, Kassie” Harry said with a polite smile as he bent over to shake her hand lightly.

“And this��� Glenne started as she turned her attention onto you. “Is one of my best friends, y/n! She’s the designer for KIWI” she finished with a smirk and a quick pat on your knee.

“Designer and founder actually love” You said as you glanced at Harry.

You extended your right arm out for him to shake and said “lovely to meet you, Harry. I’m y/n”. He seemed nervous which made you smirk a little. You thought it was cute.

As you placed your much smaller hand in his large ring clad one he responded with “S’ lovely to meet you too y/n. Big fan of your work”. His hand was a little sweaty but very strong and the shake itself was demanding which you liked.

Harry didn’t like how nervous he was talking to you, he’s not usually so anxious to speak to beautiful women. But, something about your incredibly strong eye contact and the way you said his name made his knees want to give out. He hadn’t lied when he said he is a fan of yours, he genuinely is. He loves your designs. Your ability to create pieces he’d never seen before, pieces completely out of the norm yet so easily fashionable was astounding to him. He had even worn some of your designs on tour and for a few interviews.

You took a sip of the martini that you held delicately in your right hand with a small hum in appreciation for his compliment. “M’ a fan of yours also, fine line is great” you reply as you glance down at your glass to find it empty. Harry takes a moment to revel in the fact that you enjoyed his latest work, before seeing your empty glass.

“Let me get ya’ a drink” he blurted out, not wanting the conversation to end.

“Mm I’ll come with” you agreed with a smile. Harry grabbed your hand again to help you up off the couch and away from Kassie who was now giggling with Glenne about something.

Harry keeps your hand in his as he guides you towards the bar. Once the two of you approach the bar he reaches for the glass in your hand and asks “what would ye like?”. You move your glance away from his and over to the large bar.

“I think we should do shots” you say with a big smile that makes Harry’s heart beat just a bit quicker.

“Shots it is then, love” he says with a small chuckle as he puts your dirty glass down and grabs two clear glass shot glasses.

“What liquor are we thinkin’?” He asked as he looks over the options.

“Oooh tequila for sure” you say confidently as you point at the bottle of expensive tequila.

“Mmm great choice” he praises as he grabs the bottle and proceeds to pour you each a shot.

“Cheers” you smirk as you grab your shot glass and clink it against the one in his hand. You make eye contact again as you down the shots in sync. As you lower your now empty shot glasses you realize how close you are to him, only about a foot and a half. Being this close to him makes you realize how handsome he is, his eyes are incredibly green and his shoulders are perfectly wide. His chocolate coloured curls sat harmoniously atop his head, one piece falling in front of his face seemingly by accident but it looked as it is meant to be there.

As Harry brought his shot glass away from his mouth and felt the strong burning sensation of the tequila making its way down his throat he stared at you. You’re eyes ostensibly checking him out, or atleast that’s what he convinced himself you were doing. In fact the combination of the warmth he felt in his stomach from the strong liquor and the minimal proximity between you and him was making him feel slightly dizzy. You truly were the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. He wanted to know everything about you, where you were born, your passions, your worst fears, what makes you wet, what makes you angry, who you care about. Literally anything and everything you were willing to tell him he was more than happy to hear about.

“How’d you know Jeff and Glenne?” Harry finally asked. You smiled as you thought about how you met them.

“Jeff and I have been friends since collage, and I met G about a year after we graduated. I indroduced them actually” you explained as your smile grew at the fond memories.

“Jeff manages you right?” you asked as you turned back to the bar and started making yourself another gin martini. Harry nodded as he watched you

“yeah e’ does, but we’re great mates too. A’ve been since before he started managing meh” he said as he turned towards you a bit more

“s’ crazy we a’vent met before this” he continued as you finished making your drink.

“It is, a shame really” you smirked. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m off to powder room” you took another sip of your drink as you began to walk away.

Harry watched you walk away, shamelessly staring at your bum and god was it nice. He was stunned to be quite frank. He wasn’t completely sure what it was about you (other than the obvious of course) that made him so enamoured by you but he couldn’t help it. He ran his hands over his face and let out a huff. Looking around and taking in his surroundings properly for the first time since he laid eyes on you, he noticed less people were there. He decided he’d find Jeff so he could more subtly wait for you to return.

When you come out of the bathroom you look around and notice there are seemingly only a few people left at the party. You grab your phone out of the back pocket of your jeans to check the time, the screen illuminates and shows 1:37AM. You let out a small huff, put your phone back in your pocket and decide to go find Jeff. You walk down the hall from the bathroom and into the living room to find Jeff and Glenne sitting on the couch you were sat at earlier. Beside them was Kassie and sat on the couch directly adjacent from them was Harry and a man you’d never met before.

“Hi loves” you say as you strut over to sit next to the man you’d never met. “Don’t believe we’ve met, I’m y/n” you say confidently with a smile and extend your hand for him to shake, which he does.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Mitch. I’m Harry’s guitarist” he says with a slightly awkward smile.

“Oh lovely” you nod. “Y/n is the designer for KIWI, Mitch” Harry says as he tilts his head forward a bit to look at you over where Mitch is sitting in between the two of you. You giggle slightly at the sudden interruption.

“Oh! That’s sick. We all love your work” Mitch says with an even bigger smile as he looks at you again.

“Thank you” you reply as you smile back at him just as enthusiastically.

“H is pretty much obsessed really, pretty sure he bought out most of your fall collection” Mitch gushes as he nudges his head towards Harry slightly. Harry gives Mitch a bit of a menacing look as he feels his cheeks heat up.

“Mmm obsessed is he?” You smirk as you move your glance back to Harry and take a long sip of your drink.

“Anybody who isn’t would be ‘ave to be blind, love” Harry said as his lips turned up into a smile, showing off his infamous dimples.

Just as you were about to reply to Harry’s bold compliment you heard Kassie let out a loud yawn from across the other couch. You turned your attention towards her as she said “think I’m gonna head out guys, it’s getting late”. She got up and Jeff and Glenne did as well. Kassie gave Jeff a hug.

“Think I’ll be going also, I haven’t watered my cactus since yesterday” you giggled as you walked over to hug Glenne and say your goodbyes. As soon as you let go of your embrace you noticed Harry was stood directly beside you.

“I’ll walk you t’ the door” Harry insisted and you nodded, following him to the front door.

“Love you Jeff! Love you G!” You yelled behind you.

Once stood in the entry way with Harry he said “really was lovely t’ meet ya”. You smiled and gave him a short hug.

“was lovely to meet you too Harry, thanks for havin a shot with me”. You went to grab the door handle to leave but Harry stopped you by grabbing your wrist lightly.

“Do ya think I could get ya numba’?” He asked as your gaze met his yet again.

You hummed in faux thought “now where’s the fun in that, love” you replied with a smirk as you turned back around, releasing your wrist from his grasp, opened the door and left.

[neon-junkie]

Lovesick - Chpt.1&2

Summary: The last thing Micah Bell ever expected to happen in his storm of a life is for him to get soft on a woman, but that's exactly what's happened. And now, Micah has to figure out if he wants to keep suppressing those feelings or finally act on them.

Pairing: Micah Bell x f!Reader 

Word Count: 4414

Rating: SFW

Tags: Pining, Secret admirer, Feelings denial/realisation, Comfort, Fluff, Angst, Mental breakdowns, Crying, Slow burn, Friends to lovers, Falling in love, Mostly Micahs POV.

Notes: I really really really really really enjoy the idea of Micah getting super-duper soft on someone and struggling with those mushy feelings, so why not write a multi-chapter fic about it?? This was heavily inspired by the song 'Whiskey - Tejon Street Corner Thieves'. I can totally picture Micah being the kinda guy to suppress his mushy feeling with alcohol. I was gonna make this a short fic where a very drunk Micah confronts the reader like "ahh I'm drunk and i hate you because you make me feel like this," and then I got carried away because I'm a sucker for super slow burn >:)

He hates you. He despises you. Even just the thought of you makes him sick to his stomach, sick to the point where he can barely stand up straight. And whenever he sees you? Whenever you come over to him with that soft smile on your face and talk to him as if he's a normal human being? God. That makes him so much worse. He hates the way you make him feel, the way no woman should make him feel. He'll happily point and laugh at any man that allows a woman to tell him what to do, to make a man soft and worship the ground she walks on. But Micah's found himself in the last predicament that he thought he'd ever end up in; he was expecting to finally have a noose stay around his neck and steal him from this world, but instead, he finds himself here. Micah looks up from his knife, sharpening it over and over whilst he leans against a tree on the outskirts of camp. It's gentle out here, calming, with a pretty view of the red sand that welcomes the lake as the waves rock back and forth. But no picturesque setting can at least settle the flames that burn inside of him. Micah's always been a loose cannon, a devil walking amongst the earth. He never really questions his actions, he just does them, especially when the bastards on the other end of his gun deserve it. But that fire inside of him is slowly turning into a sickness, a dizzy and sweaty sickness that makes him question his actions simply because he worries about what you'd think. 

He was so disappointed in himself the first time it happened. He'd trailed across to Valentine saloon with yourself and a few other camp members, only because you'd invited him. The other men didn't pay much attention to him, but you did. You stuck beside him all night, practically pouring liquor down his throat as he tried to calm that feeling he gets whenever he's within ten meters of you. A stranger had tried to grab you on your way back over to the table, and Micah was straight to his feet, storming over and landing a punch perfectly on that poor fuckers nose. At first, you were glad that Micah had your back. But the more punches Micah landed, the more that stranger's face turned blue. You only had to bark Micah's name once to catch his attention; his head perked up, the stranger's blood splattered across his face, but his wild eyes had calmed the second he locked onto you. He dropped that man to the floor and left him to the elements, following you out the Saloon and apologizing over and over for getting so carried away. "He shouldn't have touched you," Micah had told you. "I know, and I appreciate you sticking up for me, but you got so carried away. He's probably gonna die from those injuries. You've gotta stop being so bloodthirsty," you told him as he helped you up onto your mount, climbing on top of Baylock shortly after. "Bloodthirsty?" Micah questioned. The word echoed throughout his brain, settling in his stomach as his nerves were turned to a different kind of mush. He felt cold and isolated, like he had disappointed you and ruined any chance of you ever falling for him, not that there probably was a chance to begin with. "Yeah, bloodthirsty," you repeated, nodding at the same time. He apologized to you again and told you he'd sort himself out, that he'd stop acting on impulse and anger. You tried to laugh it off with him; "Of course you will, and I'll grow wings and fly." Micah laughed along with you but the fact that you doubted him so much kept him awake for days, not that he sleeps much anyway. How dare you. How dare you have such power over him, despite not even being his, or being aware of it. Sure, you're kind and polite to him, but you have no ties to him. You've barely flirted with him, and surprisingly, he hasn't tried flirting with you either. Whenever you're around he can't put on that cheesy act, he can't throw a few pick up lines your way and hope for the best. Micah finds himself actually wanting to impress you, to show you his best side in hopes of winning you over. It's sickening. Micah scowls and sharpens his blade a little harsher. He's not frustrated at you, not one bit, but he definitely is frustrated at himself. He can't believe he's fallen for a woman; he's not just fallen, he's tripped over and fell face-first into a ten feet deep grave, and he wouldn't be surprised if you decided to leave him down there, or bury him alive. Amos once used a specific word when he first started feeling like this when he met his wife - lovesick. Micah hates that word, he despises it, but only because he can feel it right now. It fits so perfectly, so snug. To be in love with someone so much that they physically make you sick. It's amazing how one person can do that to another and not even be aware of it. Micah's surprisingly acted like his usual self when he's around you, though the odd stutter has slipped out, along with his hands that are now almost always clammy. He hopes you haven't noticed it, especially when he put a wad of cash in your hands after a robbery you'd assisted him with. He has slipped up once though, and he knows he slipped up because you approached him the next day to check if he was alright, to which he excused himself again and ran off. It was hard not to notice the mess Micahs knuckles were in the day after that saloon fight; they were swollen, an array of purple and red blotches, some parts of his skin had even torn. "That looks nasty," you said as you caught Micah's attention. He brushed it off, saying it was nothing, but you continued to push at it. "I've got something that might help, let me go fetch it," you said. Before Micah could protest, you'd already ran off. He took a seat at the campfire with you and on command, held his hand out. Micah watched you as you dabbed the ointment onto a cloth and then oh god, you're holding his hand. Oh fuck. Oh shit. Your fingertips are pressed against his palm, your skin against his, as your other hand holds the damp cloth onto his knuckles. Was this it? Was this the day that Micah was going to embarrass himself in front of you? Was he going to throw up? Maybe pass out? You're being so kind and gentle, helping heal his wounds, something that nobody has ever done before. "She's just a friend, she's just being kind to you," Micah tells himself over and over, trying to remind himself that you'd never fall for a devil like him. "How longs this gonna take?" Micah asks, trying to mentally prepare himself for however long he's going to feel sick for. "Oh? You got places to be, Micah?" you ask with a laugh, eyes briefly meeting his before focusing on his hand again. "I'm a busy man, sweetheart. Someones gotta bring in the money," he tells you. Oops. The pet name didn't mean to slip out, but you don't cast a scowl or begin to hurdle abuse at him, you seem to barely notice it. "Of course you are, Micah. The busiest man in the camp, always sharpening his knife or cleaning his guns," you say with a laugh. "I mean it. I've got a robbery that needs attending to," Micah lies, though you seem to be falling for it. "Fine, fine," you sigh, moving your hands off Micahs. You look up at Micah, expecting him to thank you and leave, but he sits there blankly. "Well? Ain't you gotta go rob some folk?" you ask. "Yeah, sure. I'll see you around, thanks again," Micah quickly mutters before jumping to his feet and running off. He managed to rob a few folk on his ride around the area, the ride that was meant to settle his nerves and clear his mind. It worked, and Micah felt like his normal self once he began robbing folk, but all his progress crashed and burned when he trailed back into camp that night and accidentally locked eyes with you. What a fool this man is. The sound of your laughter catches Micahs attention. He's been stood leaning against this tree for god knows how long, thinking about you, not that his mind isn't always occupied with thoughts of you. But that's a different kind of laugh you're letting out, one that Micah's only heard when it surprisingly been directed at him. He peers over his shoulder and gazes into camp to find you talking to Arthur. He's babbling away about whatever, talking to a few of the girls though you're sat amongst them. They're all laughing along with him, and Micah isn't sure if you're laughing louder than the others, or if he's just more focused on you. But either way, it hurts. Micah hates feeling jealous, just as much as he hates feeling lovesick. But Arthur? Why does Arthur have to be the one to make you laugh like that? Why can't he just fuck off and leave at least one of the women available? He's a big, dumb idiot, but he knows how to make the women swoon, especially all the camp ones. Micah holsters his knife and throws the whetstone to the floor in anger. As the stone hits the ground, he instantly regrets his outburst, knowing that if you saw that, you'd be disappointed in him for acting out in anger. He checks over his shoulder but you've thankfully not noticed, still fixated on that big dummy. Micah rubs his face, trying to brush away that feeling inside of him but it's no use. He hears your laughter again and begins walking away. He needs to get away from that situation. He doesn't want to hear nor see other men flirting with you, not only because he gets jealous, but because it reminds him that you'd never go for a man like him. Maybe Micah should avoid you for a while? Maybe he should give himself some space in hopes of killing off all those feelings he has for you? ------- Micah's not been seen around camp for a week now. He left in the night without telling anybody where he's going, not even Dutch. He's occupied his time well, doing all his favourite things and visiting two close friends of his. His thoughts of you become less and less, and eventually, he feels settled enough to return to camp, ready to suppress those feelings and push you away. He returns during the evening, trotting back into Clemens Point to overhear Pearson shouting that dinner was ready. Baylock is hitched and his saddle is removed, swung over the hitching post so his mount can relax. Micah spends the evening lounging about, speaking to a few camp members, half-eating his food, the usual stuff, but there's been no sign of you. Good. He doesn't need to see you right now. The night is spent drinking with Bill before he goes off on guard duty, leaving Micah to have another glass of whiskey on his own. Nature eventually calls, and Micah forces himself to his feet so he can wander off into the forest and empty his bladder. He hums to himself as he does so, his feet stumbling ever so slightly but he only considers himself tipsy. If a stranger were to waltz into camp with their guns blazing, Micah knows he's somewhat sober enough to take them on, and that's the only reason why he doesn't consider himself to be drunk. He takes his time wandering back into camp but a noise in the distance perks his ears up. Micah stands still, his feet coming to the halt so he can focus on the sound rather than the crunching earth beneath his feet. It's a whimper, as if a baby deer has been left by itself nearby, no momma to be found. Micah follows the sound, curious to know what's crying out nearby. He'd normally ignore it, but his gut is telling him to follow, even though he told himself that he'd stop listening to his gut so much as it always got him caught up in some kind of trouble, usually feelings related. Micah wanders well into the outskirts of camp, trailing down along the shoreline and coming to a halt when he finds the source of the sound. It's you, your knees up to your chin with your arms wrapped around them. You're sobbing into your lap, your knees muffling most of your cries though some had seemed to slip out. Micah finds himself in a predicament and curses whoever is in the sky for pulling him into this one. Should he sneak away and let the guilt of knowing he left you alone to cry settle on his shoulders for however long it chooses to stay? Or should he go over and comfort you, knowing that sickness inside of him will spark up again? Although, it's already begun to return. He sighs as he rests his hands on his hips. There's no getting rid of these feelings, is there? This isn't a somewhat simple matter where he can pull his revolvers out and shoot at the thing that's eating him up. This is something new, something that he can't just run away from, though this isn't the first time he's run away from his feelings. Micah knows that if the situations were reversed, that you'd come running over to let him cry into your arms. And as much as he wants to, he doesn't want those feeling to begin controlling him again. Before Micah can make a decision, his feet are already pacing over to you. It seems he was set on his decision the second he saw you like this, and he was only stalling to try and prepare himself for those feelings to return. Micah clears his throat, catching your attention. "You alright?" he asks with that drawl, though he knows what your answer is. A pair of glossy eyes look up to meet his, and Micah feels his heart beginning to melt at the sight. "Sweetheart," Micah sighs without realising, settling down beside you. "I'm fine, Micah. Really," you tell him as you wipe your eyes, letting your legs settle and no longer be bunched up against your chest. "Now, I know that ain't true," he shakes his head. "What's a matter?" he asks. You give your eyes another rub as you clear your throat. "Y-you ever think you're alone in this world? Like, I know I ain't technically alone, but I sure do feel it," you tell him without hesitation, knowing that Micah is the kind of person who can relate. The other camp members would begin to tell you how many people are here for you, trying to reassure you, and although that's a kind gesture, it's not the one you're looking for. Micah, on the other hand, knows what true loneliness is like - to have nobody but yourself, and to be like that for years on end. Maybe you were two sides of the same coin. His ears perk up at your words, surprised that you felt such a way. It tugs on his heartstrings, an organ that everybody doubts Micah has, but you're the only person who seems to remind him that he does have a heart after all. "I know what that feels like," Micah says with a laugh. "I'm surprised you feel like that, 'specially with being the camp's favourite," he continues, his eyes flicking out at the water before returning back to you. "I wouldn't call myself that, I'm no Arthur. I know I fit in just fine, but there's only so much a group of friends can do, you know?" "Oh, I don't exactly know how that feels, sweetheart. But I understand what you're feeling. You're lonely-lonely, ain'tcha?" Micah asks, and doesn't seem surprised when you nod in agreement. "Mhmm," he hums, "I know how that feels." "Ain't you ever had someone be sweet on you before, Micah?" you ask him. Micah can't help but laugh a little at your question, assuring himself that you know what his answers going to be. "Course not," he replies somewhat confidently, though he doesn't seem proud with his reply. "I'm surprised," you tell him. Micahs eyes flick over to you like a spooked owl, uncertain if he heard exactly what he thought you said. "You're what?" Micah questions, his face relaxing as he tries not to look a wide range of negative emotions, ones that he'd rather not show. "I'm surprised. I know the camp doesn't exactly like you, but you've always been so kind to me. You've helped me out on more than one occasion without me asking for it, you'll carry my ass during a gunfight, and you always seem to give to me but never take. Hell, you're here comforting me now when I'm certain some folk would have pretended not to notice me," you tell him. Micah has to dip his head a little as you speak, covering his eyes with the brim of his hat. You can tell that nobody has ever said such words to him, though he's doing a good job of suppressing that sickness inside of him, preventing it from coming up to the surface to show you just how soft he is on you. He's meant to be a rugged outlaw, a man that kills and robs for fun, when really he feels like a child at Christmas whenever he's near you. "Guess that's what friends are for, huh?" Micah replies, trying to keep his gaze hidden and his eyes forward. "Yeah," you nod, moving your eyes over to the scenery. You can't help that a lone tear escapes from the corner of your eyes, a leftover from earlier, but Micah looks at you from under the brim of his hat at just the right time to see it escape. You've done a good job at suppressing the loneliness inside of you for so long, but every now and again, your emotions get the better of you and you just need to let it all out. "Hey," Micah says as he sits upright, reaching out to wipe the lone tear from your cheek without thinking about it. "You still got some left inside of ya?" he questions, to which you nod in agreement. "You need a shoulder to cry on?" Micah asks, his stomach turning at the thought of you finding comfort in him. He's expecting you to brush it off, to say you're fine, but instead, you're nodding again and shuffling closer to him. At first, you simply lean against his shoulder, your cheek and temple pressed against his red shirt. You cling onto his arm like a nervous child, letting your tears flow once again. Micah's trying his best not to feel sick; he's never had somebody find comfort in him before, even though you're only clinging onto his arm, but it's enough to soften his heart and cloud his mind. A choked sob escapes your lips and Micah finally snaps at the sound of you in pain. Without thinking, he scoops you up, pulling you onto his lap and holding you tightly against his chest. There's a brief pause from you and Micah's certain that he's finally done it - he's finally stuck his foot into a door that should be closed, but his mind eases out as your arms wrap around him and your head buries deeper into his chest. The feeling of your tears against his skin makes Micah hold his breath, eventually letting it out slowly as he rests his chin on the top of your head. He's not quite sure what to do with his hands; one rests on your waist, whilst the other begins to trail up and down your back, comforting you in an uncertain way as he's never done this before, but he seems to be a natural as you find peace in this storm of a man. Micah hears you let out another choked sob and he holds onto you a little tighter. "Let it all out," he coos in a voice so soft that it could send a lamb to sleep. He's taken aback, not knowing he had such softness inside of him. Micah has to hear that tone again, to remind himself that he has that ability to be so gentle. "I'm here for ya," he says, the words slipping out of his mouth. The faint sound of a "thank you," from your lips finally melts Micahs ice-cold heart. And to think, this time yesterday he was pacing around his camp, telling himself over and over that he wasn't going to let 'any damn woman' turn him into such a mess. Maybe he could make an exception? Well, he knows he can because he already has. You take your time, letting out all the tears you have left. It feels nice to have somebody comforting you, especially as it's someone you weren't expecting. Everybody needs to cry sometimes, and you're sure Micah knows that far too well. Within time, you feel yourself calming down. Your lungs and muscles begin to relax, your breaths becoming longer and deeper, and your eyes are no longer glossy. You continue to take comfort in the man wrapped around you, holding onto him a little tighter as you move your head from his loosely buttoned shirt, up to the curve of his neck. His beard brushes over your forehead, but his cheek eventually rests against it as his body relaxes. This is a feeling that Micah could definitely get used to - the feeling of you snuggled up to him, your body fitting perfectly against his like a two-piece puzzle, even though he's struggled to put the pieces together for so long. That sickly feeling in his stomach is slowly settling, moving up his body and burning in his chest, though he prefers the burning over the sickness. "How're you feelin'?" Micah asks you, giving your back another gentle rub. "I'm getting there," you tell him. "Got a headache now though," you say with a slight laugh. "Must be dehydrated, though it's good you let them tears out," he replies. "You want me to go fetch you a drink?" Micah offers. He'd rather sit here with you in his arms, but he'd put your needs over his wants any day. "You've done enough for me, lettin' me cry all over you and soak your shirt," you say with a laugh. "I should probably get to bed anyway," you sigh, not wanting to move though you assume Micah is sick of you crying all over him by now. You're definitely mistaken. "C'mon then. Let's get you to bed," he says, his voice still as soft as earlier. That softness is intoxicating, a gentleness that you've never seen before; it urges you to hold onto him and never let go, but you force yourself off him, shuffling away so Micah can slowly get up onto his feet. You give your eyes another rub and as you open them, Micahs hand is out waiting for you. He helps you up and almost seems reluctant to move his hand away, but he forces himself to, not wanting to cross any boundaries. He walks you back to camp. It's silent for once, surprisingly peaceful as nobody is up drinking, singing, telling stories around the campfire. Micah urges you to get to bed whilst he fetches you a drink and you do so, scooting into your enclosed tent. "Here," Micah says as he crouches down in the entrance and hands you a cup of water. You gulp it down before thanking him, filling your body with the water you'd lost during your breakdown. "Now get some sleep. You must be exhausted," Micah coos. He's about to stand up and leave you to it, but you call out his name. Micah turns his attention back to you, a pair of sad eyes in the darkness of your tent. All he wants is to crawl in and settle down beside you, sleeping peacefully for once, but only because he doesn't feel like he needs to keep his guard up around you. "Thank you," you tell him again, a lot clearer than your sobbed manners from earlier. "S'alright, darlin'," Micah replies with a small nod. He flashes you a smile before finally getting up and leaving, letting you enjoy a well-needed rest. Micah trails over to his usual spot by the campfire. That feeling of whiskey in his blood is long gone by now; the shock of seeing you in such a state must have sobered him up, and he doesn't feel the need to pick up another bottle and begin wrestling those emotions again. He's somewhat content, though he fears that this was just a chance encounter, that tomorrow you'll be back to being the camp's favourite member to flirt with, and he'll have to stand on the sidelines and watch but be too scared to take any action. However, Micah feels calm enough to get some rest, even if it is just letting his head dip and having a snooze on this uncomfortable chair. It's better than nothing, and he knows he'll be awake before anybody else, preventing them from seeing him in his most vulnerable state. If only you had asked him to stay. Micahs mind becomes clouded with the thought of curling up beside you. He'd rest however you want, cuddling or not; he'd even be happy if you turned away from him or just used his body for some extra warmth. Micah wants to tell himself off, to slap himself around the face for being so desperate for your affection, but he'll allow himself to dream about such things just for tonight. The thought of settling down beside you sends him to sleep, with his hands resting on his stomach and one ankle crossed over the other.

[whumpeeblog]

TW: WHUMP, SLAVERY, TORTURE, VIOLENCE, BLOOD

Credit: this is not my original idea. Characters and writing is mine, but I was inspired by a prompt. I don’t remember the original author of the prompt but credit to them anyway.

The mangled figure mopped the floor with her tangled hair and silent tears. She scrubbed at the white tiles with what little might she had and the torn rag she had been provided with. Trembles and shivers racked her body whenever she heard the clanking of a pot, or chopping of a knife in the kitchen next to her. S’s master, K, prepared a meal for himself while his slave toiled away, attempting to turn herself invisible.

Although S attempted to avoid K’s burning gaze, she found it nearly impossible. K pounded towards the table, and set down a steaming plate, clanking it heavily on the wood to extract a startled flinch from his prisoner.

“Put the bucket in the closet,” K commanded.

With severe struggle, S clamored up from the floor, gripping the ledge of the island as leverage. Pain exploded throughout her muscles and skin with every move, but she knew better than to disobey. He could make it much worse than it already was. She limped to the utility closet behind the kitchen, and dumped the bucket, setting it down with the rag inside.

“Hurry up!” The accented voice crashed from the dining room.

Oh god I’ve upset him. He’s gonna hurt me.

S scurried messily to the dining room, then dropped to her knees with a wince and small groan. She had the drill memorized well. Keeping her eyes to the ground and kneeling to face her master, she patiently, yet painfully, waited for him to finish his meal. S was prepared to retrieve whatever he wanted at a moments notice, whether that be something as simple as a napkin, or his favorite jagged whip for his own gruesome amusement. The results of silent submission proved themselves less painful than defiance.

K unsheathed his dagger, then brandished it before slicing off a piece of easily tearable turkey breast.

“Open,” he demanded. He lowered the small piece to the child’s mouth, and she obeyed, starving for an ounce of nourishment. The tender meat landed on her tongue, guided by K’s rough hands. His gesture of kindness tasted of bittersweet sadism. S was given a bit more food and bread; not a lot, but it was better than starving.

K’s rough fingers suddenly twisted into S’s roots, and ripped her head back, exposing her throat. A gasp dropped from her lips, and she lowered her eyelids, so as not to look her master in the eye. Harsh punishments came with unwanted eye contact. Hyperventilation raked through her lungs. K had been brandishing the knife before, and S was fairly confident that he was about to use it on her throat.

A cold shiver erupted when a trickling stream of chilly water dripped into S’s mouth and down her throat, as well as outside of her mouth and onto her neck. K allowed her to gurgle the water until he felt she had had enough.

“Clear the table.”

K’s chair scratched against the tile as he rose. His fingers snapped and pointed to the half consumed plate of food on the table. He was aware exactly of what he was doing. He left the food as a test, as well as a form of torment, after giving his slave a small amount of what she could have.

S eyed the food hungrily, her starving insides reminding her with painful stabs of malnourishment. She knew better than to even try to sneak a bit of food in. He always saw. He always knew, and his eyes pierced through her with every cruel glare.

K sank into the couch, and grabbed a remote next to him. S mentally noted his hawklike gaze from the corner of his eye. Hoarse moans of pain whined from her throat as S limped back and forth across the kitchen floor. Her back stung dully from the deep scars of the many whippings and beating she had received in the past five years. Cuts and bruises painted a picture of torment on her canvas of skin, and the burning soles of her feet were still slightly raw from being whipped. Most recently, she had been severely tortured for her assistance in an important prisoner’s escape. K had finally decided to break her after the defiant stunt, and was succeeding. For five years she had been a deviant, rebellious slave to him and her previous masters, and no one had taken the time to break her into the slave she should be. K’s last torture session had lasted a month, and had bent the girl into submission to his demands.

S picked up the dishes and washed them, her stomach aching in anger as she scraped each full dish into the trash; a waste of good food. She soon finished washing and drying the last dish, then set it inside the white cupboard. Tears ignited with each step she took towards her master. She would learn to live with the painful wounds Keith had burdened her with, but each limp made her want to cry out in agony and beg for her death.

A sadistic smirk etched itself on K’s lips. His stormy eyes observed the girl hobbling towards him. At least her feet were beginning to heal and she wouldn’t get much, if any, blood on the carpet.

S kept her eyes low and knelt at K’s feet, prepared to stay in that position until he decided it was time to chain her in the dungeons for the night. Her broken soul cherished the last bit of freedom she would get before being dragged to the dingy cells beneath the massive fortress. K stared at the tv for a few moments.

“Look at me.”

S’s gaze rose to meet his. Fear bolted though her blood, and a shiver drowned her in terror when K’s line of vision struck her own. She trembled, unsure as to what her king would do to her now.

K patted the couch next to him.

“Come here,” his accent commanded her.

S hesitated. She wasn’t allowed to even lean on the furniture. She was a prisoner, after all. Her place was in the dirt with the rest of the wretches that served K. Her eyes darted left and right, searching his face for a sign of sarcasm. His features were serious however. He had given her a direct order, and she must obey. Either way, he would most likely punish her for rule breaking, so may as well follow the order. S attempted to rise, nearly toppling back into a mangled pile on the floor. K then stood, lifting her up by her arms. A soft blanket draped itself over her bare shoulders, covering her scars, fresh wounds, and branding marks. The child flinched when the fabric blanketed her body. The only touch she was accustomed to was pain.

Why is he doing this?

“Sit.”

S cautiously leaned against the edge of the white couch. K sat to her left, then pulled the chain on the lamp to his left, clothing the room in darkness.

“Come closer.”

The captive slid back against the couch, and skidded towards K. Terrified pupils stared into nothingness, and a brainless body leaned against its captor.

K slid his arm around S, a taunting act of false care and security. He turned on the television, flipping to a channel playing an unknown movie.

Intrigued thoughts clouded S’s mind. She didn’t know what to make off K’s sudden kindness. Then she realized that it wasn’t a kindness at all and that he was torturing her again. On the screen, a movie containing a man being tortured flickered.

The mans body was being ripped apart, by bit. The screams of the man were almost unbearable as the first method of torture was removing the mans fingernails. They were torn off, one by one.

The oxygen in S’s lungs caught in her throat, and she whimpered, unable to breath. K snickered.

“Do you know why you are watching this?” He questioned cruelly.

S shook her head in misery, tears splattering the couch beneath her.

“That’s what I’m gonna do to you.” K pointed to the screen, and S let out another soft groan of anguish.

Her breaths became rapid and hyperventilation began to take over her body. The shrieks of the man, who was now having his fingers slowly cut off, pierced through her skull, leaving her shivering. The little bit of food that K had blessed her with rose, and she swallowed it back, leaving a burning trail of fear in her throat. Pressure pounded her brain, and her thoughts became dark, foggy clouds. She couldn’t think or speak. Whimpers sounded from the trembling figure as she hid her face in her master’s chest. It was all she knew to do.

K shook the girls shoulders, chuckling under his breath.

“I want you to watch.”

The wails of the man on the screen stopped S’s brain and heart, and the room spun in a dizzy craze. Her eyes raised to watch the man being flayed and cut into pieces, blood soaking the wooden torture table he was chained to. The man flailed in utmost agony and torment.

K looked on without a second thought. The torture didn’t bother him. He had done the exact process to prisoners countless times.

“I’m gonna do that to you, but I’m gonna make it a thousand times worse,” K bragged, rubbing the sobbing figure’s bare, shredded back. Sensory overload. K’s gentle touches seared the wounds on her spine. The horrifying soundtrack from the screen froze her heart in pure dread. A putrid ache filled her stomach and rose into her throat as she watched the gory movie.

Although aware of the rules that forbid her from speaking without permission, her tongue could only roll off the words “Please.” The words were whispered under her wavering breath, and each intake of air wheezed in panic.

K broke out into laughter, then tethered S closer to his chest with his arms, securing her at his mercy. He wouldn’t force her to watch any longer. He allowed her to sob into his chest, soaking his white shirt. He wrapped the blanket tighter around her, covering her half naked body. His brawny arms shifted, and his hands sunk into her bloody, matted hair.

Was that pity he was feeling for her? He disdained the thought of himself being kind to her like he used to be. He had always been cruel to her, but there were a few times that he had allowed her to live freely in his home, and treated her like a human. The most recent was before she set one of his prisoners free. He had almost gained a friendly relationship with his captive, although she was openly intimidated by his presence. Over the past five years, she had seen his mercy and his wrath, and she feared what he could easily do to her.

A sorrow drenched him as S’s tears finally silenced and she fell into an unconscious state of sleep in his arms. He ran his fingers through her roots, not bothered in the least about the bloody trail she left on his fingers.

Pity is weakness.

Sandpaper fingers stretched down to wipe drying tears from a tormented face. S slept, whimpering and trembling with each breath she took. K only latched on to her tighter, then rose, carrying her bridal style to the cell where she spent most of her nights.

He wove through the underground tunnel and dungeon system to one of the torture chambers, which was where the executioner, A, resided.

The choice between throwing her in a cell or chaining her down to the torture table bounced around in his brain. She had seen enough kindness for one night. K laid S’s bare spine on the splintered wood. He tied her hands outstretched above each side of her head using rope, then transferred to her ankles. Several months back, she had been fitted with permanent shackles. These contained thorn like spikes on the inside of them that were driven into her ankle bones when secured. They couldn’t be removed by simple lock and key, and freeing her from them would prove painful. K latched a strand of chain to the shackles, securing her ankles to both sides of the table.

[magicalsalamander]

Flowers that Speak Poetry

Pairing: BTS Seokjin  ⇆ Reader

Genre: Fluff | Angst | Smut | Alien | Childhood friends | Tattoo artist |

Summary: Butterflies are one thing, but flowers and butterflies bring prosperity. The Butterfly, a servant to the Flower Inn, home to Anemonas of Anisum, was your home and it was all you knew. However, home for you lied across the yard into the next. In the shadows, Jin painted with needles on bodies, but for you, he painted with brushes butterflies on your skin. Like the butterflies, your heart fluttered when you were with him, but he always called you a child and treated you often as such. However, will your heart always be able to flutter when another offers to buy you from the Inn?

Warning: Rated Mature; explicit language, war imagery/mentions, species-ism(?)/racism(?) -alien vs humans, mentions of alcohol and consumption, slavery, prostitution, tattooing is illegal, trafficking, bullying, abandonment, insecurity in body image, death of minor charactors, it’s alien, dom/sub implications, possessive behavior, soulmates(ish), virgin reader, unprotected sex, fingering and riding.

Words: 25.6K

A/N: Story inspired by the story Mademoiselle Butterfly by Ogura Akane but with its own twist. I’ve read this story when I was younger, and it’s been a favorite for a long time, so I wanted to pay homage to it. I really recommend you read the story after you read this, please. I’m sorry for the delayed release AND GOING UP UNEDITED. Header image edited by me, but I don’t own the photo. Thank you for reading!

masterlist | moodboard

*UNEDITED*

Unceremoniously the wooden screen door slid open, rattling gently as you peered inside inconspicuously. You had heard shouts, even from within the Flower Inn, and felt the tickling need to check it out. Within the living room, the man lying, who had been making a hideous face in the light of pain, startled as he caught you suppressing a laugh. “HEY! Who are yo-ugh!” Grunting at the pain you giggled harder at his inability to complete his thoughts. “Brat, don’t laugh!” He finished that shout with a yowl as the needle pricked him deeper. You covered your mouth suffocating another chuckle.

Ironically the appearance of the customer was exactly as you predicted. He was burly, older, scared from civil battle, maybe not from the capital because of the slight tone in his scream. Human men were always the type to wail like a woman in labor while getting tattooed.

The tougher they are on the outside the weaker their inner heart is.

With a heavy sigh Jin pressed down on the man with his free hand harder, knee jerking to hold him but pausing. “Please don’t move.” The man whined grumbling unsavory words underneath his breath relaxing for a moment before Jin continued to poke the remaining ink of the needle into the outline.

You glanced at the tattoo as Jin turned and dipped his needle tipped stick back into black ink. “Don’t disturb me. I’m in the middle of work right now, Butterfly.” You already could imagine the lighthearted glare he wished he could’ve spared over his shoulder at you. You blatantly disregard the warning tone and carried on as if he hadn’t spoken. Lowering your white canvas apron, you had been using as a makeshift coat, you shook off the droplets of rain on the porch then slipped it back on knotting it in the front. You smoothed out your linen navy skirt, before you placed a docile hand over your chest and bowed forth dramatically. You softly apologized to the customer in your sweetest tone then you relaxed against the doorframe.

Heavy rain fell off the black clay tiles of the roof creating a sporadic cascade of water. The stone steps leading up to the porch were stained a dark grey as water pooled on their surface. The dark wood of Jin’s home appeared darker, but the white walls even brighter as the grey clouds looming over dispersed light. Borgo was archived by old buildings built from when the first humans settled on Anisa seven hundred years ago. You had heard that humans, your species, came from a planet called Earth. The planet itself was gone, but the few human languages spoken was the only true remainder of old Earth on Anise. Guerrian was quickly replacing the old tongue with the new regime’s customs.

Jin was a man of his work, requiring peace and quiet—then there was you. He was used to your shenanigans, they never phased him anymore; fourteen years of familiarity tends to create a tolerance for chaos. He raised a brow expectantly at you, but you held his gaze as you further relaxed against the doorframe, slumping into your spot in spite. You might even grow roots there if you so felt like it. Sighing heavily, he rolled his eyes, he returned to his work receiving a hiss as he began tattooing again. A small smile pulled at your lips in your small victory.

You took a deep breath in, falling into a natural rhythm you had with Jin. The crisp, autumn air was causing the tip of your nose to inflame in response to the chilled, wet air. It was refreshing compared to the air within the Inn. Something about this air was completely different from just over the fence. Even the way the rain hit his roof was different. You smiled at the tree that sat in Jin’s yard as most of the leaves had turned auburn. It was as if they had absorbed the molten heat from the previous summer and it left a scar in place of the once vibrant green. It was all we had to hold from the blistering summer as it had long past and it only reminded you that winter was quickly approaching. You wondered if Earth had similar seasons like you do on Anise.

Turning away from the yard you asked habitually. “Can I get one next Jin?”

“No.” Short and sharp.

You chuckled under your breath.

For now, you were content to sit and watch his wide shoulders that narrowed to his waist as he meticulously worked on the tattoo. Jin’s work was always incredible, to think it came from him poking a needle in and producing a masterpiece. A dragon, so Jin called it, curved around the man’s back with the face of the beast between his shoulder blades. You remember seeing the dragon piece in his sketchbook and having to ask him what that was. Apparently, it was an ancient Earth beast that used to roam. He had proven it with an old book he had that his grandpa had left him that had all types of creatures that used to live on Earth.

You changed your mind after that, you were glad you didn’t live on Earth or ever saw it.

It was when the man shifted his head, burying it in his elbow suppressing groans that you noticed his hair was cut short. It was a fresh cut. Would this man’s tattoo heal in time? Your chest squeezed at an even more churning though. Would Jin ever have to cut his hair short too? The large tattoo meant that he feared the red letter more than the needle. You knew it though, the fear was inevitable, weren’t all young men when they neared thirty? If they lived long enough to see it that is.

You brushed the thoughts away, physically dusting yourself off with shooing sounds to accompany it like you were warding off evil. It was no use worrying about that when there’s no letter in hand.

Jin finally spared a glance over his shoulder, the customer sighing in relief for a short break. “Butterfly.”

You froze, the look he gave you had your heart doing somersaults; his gaze wasn’t unique or uncharacteristic, it was simply him existing, but his cordial calmness gave him this ethereal command. Butterflies within your stomach fluttering to their content enticed by the honey tone of his voice. His black hair was parted but the strands curved and hung off his forehead outlining his honey skin. The long, lilac robe made that went to his knees if he stood was made of silk, the white collar that formed a V from the crossing of the lapels framed his neck. His black pants accompany the ensemble made of the same material of his robe. He told you his outfits were traditional. It was what his grandpa wore, so would he.

You couldn’t help the tinge of heat that rose to your cheeks as he called your name again and you met his raised brow.

For sure he had caught you staring.

“They’re calling you.”

“No, they did’n—.” Your lips formed a pout, although the motion didn’t clog your ears as you wish they had been.

From next door, the Flower Inn, Cherry was out in the yard shouting, “Butterfly! I can’t believe I’m standing in the rain for this girl! Butterfly!”

Your shoulders sunk.  

Cherry’s voice grew louder, “BUTTERFLY! I swear to the gods if you are at Kim’s and not doing YOUR CHORES—!” Her booming voice sent a shiver down your spine and you were at attention immediately not caring to hear the rest of what she had to say. There was only one Anemona you feared and that was Cherry… second to the Mistress, and if she found out you were here…

You shot up from your spot!

“I’ll be back later Jin!” You paused struggling to pull your apron back over your head. ”Bye Mister! Come back safe!”

The man receiving the tattoo found it upon himself to chuckle and waved at you as you scurried across the yard holding up your skirt to keep it from getting wet while still holding your apron over your head. You hopped over the fence with slightly struggle nearly tripping as your skirt caught on a branch of a bush. They could hear murmurs between you and Cherry as you shouted, “I’m okay! I’m good—no, I didn’t trip Cherry. All good! Ah, wait, Cherry! Stop pulling me, I’ll come willingly—!” Resounding giggles filtered through as you wiggled out of her grabbing your ear. You ran towards the Inn with Cherry shouting about you running off again.

The man rested his head on his forearm chuckling lightly. “She’s cute. Is she an Anemone?”

Dipping his needle in the viscous ink he let it drip off like his smile. “No, she’s a child.”

The customer laughed, “A child? She looks ripe to me.”

He winced, convulsed in pain, then shouted colorful profanities he couldn’t understand.

Jin finally moved his knee up and gently placing it on the man’s lower back only using only some strength. His black eyes evolved as his pupils bursted orange. “YAH, I said don’t move! How many times do I have to tell you. Don’t make me tell you again!” He dug his knee in a bit for emphasis.

The customer whimpered burying his face further into their elbow.

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

Fits of giggles were loud through the screen doors as loud grunts and boisterous drunk laughter followed. You dropped the serving tray back in the kitchen staring longingly outside the kitchen window. The cooks were busy with their backs turned and other servant girls were on route. You eyed the fresh pastries on the table and quickly slipped a few onto a napkin and tucked them away in your apron pocket. They were so warm as if you had put a warm stone in your pocket. The thought alone made you shimmy in place.

Quick on your feet you dashed out of the kitchen. You peered down the hall waiting for signs of stirring, but quickly you realized it was clear. The multicolored lanterns hanging from the ceiling were bathing the hall in warm light and flickered as you sped by. You crept down the hall down towards the servant’s quarters; your newest escape route after getting chewed out by Cherry. Your feet were light on the polished wooden floor that was so glossy it twinkled thanks to your handiwork. A small smile pulled your lips imaging the smile from Jin when he takes a bite. Should you have swiped more?

Eyes widening you plastered yourself in a crevice against the wall behind a dresser as an Anemona stumbled out of a hosting room with a customer. The customer’s cheeks were red and high in happiness as he drunkenly laughed. His pupils were dilated and red, all the same, but you missed it in his sudden movement. In a blink of an eye he had her pressed up against the wall on the other side of you. They shared a lasting kiss, sounds emanating from both of their throats and your cheeks would’ve flushed if it was the first time you had seen it; being twenty-three you had seen more than a pure eye could handle over the past decade and some. You waited for them to stumble down the hall towards her room. You sunk further into the shadows as the dresser jostled as he stumbled. In a husky laugh he pressed her up against the wall breathing hotly on her neck. Curiosity got the best of you as you leaned over gripping on the dresser as you peered over. Your eyes widen as big as saucers. You recognized her, one of the thirty Anemona that worked at the Inn, but what was her name? Was it, you scrunched your brows…Daisy? No. You wrestled through the countless names, but none felt right. You weren’t close to anyone though. Cherry was the only one you spoke to regularly. Well…spoke to was a loose term around these parts.

You slunk back as her eyes flickered about his face. He attempted to whisper but instead spoke loudly. “Let me buy you, Lily.”

She twirled the hair at the nape of his neck with well-manicured fingers, “What can you give me Sir?”

“I am a Guerra of ranking! I can give you anything. Get you out of this Inn, of Borgo, and into my palace.”

She giggled. “Palace? You live in the palace?” He hummed sinking into her neck and taking a loud sniff. She pets the back of his hair, “Buy me then. I want it all.”

He growled full of lust, “But first let me see you in your room.”

She giggled taking his hand as they raced by you, his figure appeared like a large shadow in his haste as they whisking away upstairs towards the second and third floor rooms. You couldn’t remember which one was hers. At some point so many women had passed through these walls that you didn’t bother learning their names. Especially when a man would moan it in ecstasy. You knew they were all going to be bought by someone. You sighed heavily when their footsteps disappeared. Third floor, they went to the third floor.

You may not have known her name, but you knew of her. Had seen her face countless times. You knew she was in love with the boy who worked in the kitchen, the one that made the pastries. You caught glimpses of them when they thought they weren’t being seen. After you leaned against the door one day, catching him with a dreamy expression after she left the kitchen. You struck a deal with him; he’d make extra pastries just for you as long as you kept his affair a secret. Suddenly the pastries in your pocket didn’t feel so warm. You couldn’t lift your gaze as you stared at the floor feeling almost paralyzed. In this world, your world, moments like these you’re reminded you have a debt to pay. There wasn’t room for choice. You had a debt to pay just as much as everyone else.

Anise was a planet you used to call home until it was torn apart. It was constantly at war as you had heard from the whispers of elders and retold stories of their parents. Years ago, your father never returned after he was forced to cut his hair short. His red letter on the table as his hair surrounded it. He joined the army to fight in the uprising against the Guerra, quietly leaving that night. It was your mother, two siblings and you until your town was affected by the war. Guerra were known as true warriors, a fearless and fierce race. No one knew of them; galaxies far and wide had never heard of them until they began integrating and conquering planets. Quickly they became the feared from the edge of the universe, but what was even more unnerving that they looked human like.

You remember in flashes the night when they came to Silva, of them in packs, tall, ominous shadows with red pupils, swords and fist a light as you huddled under the window with your family. You remember seeing the flames reflected in your mother’s eyes, before it felt too warm where you hid.

Your mother took you and your siblings and escaping Silva, but in the new town your mother grew a debt despite working herself to the bone trying to feed you and your siblings. You were the oldest. Clearly you can recall the warmth of her hand, the grey sky, and the damp soil as she walked you through the town of to the merchant. With tears streaming down her face as you pleaded with her, she promised to come back for you. She promised, but promises were never forever.

The merchant took you to Anisum, the capital overtaken from the humans by the Guerra a hundred years before you, even though you put up a fight. She was going to come back for you, but how was your mom supposed to find you if you were in Anisum? You don’t remember much besides the hunger pains, the cold nights in Winter as you sat in back of the horse drawn cart next to other young human girls and boys. The cart pulled up next to places across the capital and into nearly every district. The kids dismounted as the merchant bargained with the shop owners or people. You were the last in the cart. In the district of Borgo, the merchant pulled up an Inn, the Flower Inn, the building silhouetted in darkness from the twilight hours, but from the windows of the three floors emanated light. The entrance door clanked open as the heavy doors swung open and the Mistress stepped out onto the street. The merchant nodded and she quirked a brow. Your head was tipped back her index under your chin as she looked you over. She said nothing about your runny nose or tears slipping from your eyes. Her gaze was chilling as it was unreadable and stoic, yet you couldn’t stop crying. Quietly she turned and placed a few coins in the merchant’s hand, then the merchant shoved you out of the cart. You struggled to get up, your weak knees and limbs were tired. The wheels of the cart turned as the merchant left. The Mistress went inside and your elbow was yanked until you stood. You gazed at the person picking you up, although at the time you had no idea, it was Cherry, a human who just a few years older than you. “Come inside, it’s cold. There’s much work to do.”

You nodded wiping your face and you followed her inside Flower Inn.

Although at the time you were none the wiser, but you grew to realize where you were sold to. Borgo, the city of the forgotten, where the humans are of the servant class and the Guerra gain pleasure. It’s the only district between the divided land of humans and Guerra where both species roam freely. The Flower Inn was no stranger to pleasure, entertaining and catering to Guerra and wealthy human alike, as long as they had money they were welcomed.

The sound of giggles brought you from your memories. Your eyebrows knitted as you sighed at the reality of the rhythmic thumping coming from the ceiling. You’re going to have to do extensive laundry after the amount of council members that decided to visit tonight to celebrate something you couldn’t bother to remember. Emerging from the shadows you crept down the dimly light hall until you snuck into the shadows again and slipped outside. Chirping from nightcrawlers greeted you in symphony and the cold night air had you shivering instantly. You looked up to the night sky the two moons shining bright in the east and the third, just a small after image, in the western sky. Feeling a chilled breeze, you pulled your arms tighter around you uselessly. The night air always dropped towards freezing, temperature dropping dramatically as soon as the sunset. You worked fast across the yard as you made your way into the neighboring yard, breath near visible. The tree in his yard was your guide as the green leaves glowed golden softly. The midrib and veins of the leaves had a bioluminescence, coming to life at night from the stored solar energy during the day. It was the only tree in Borgo that did that, it was like it was alive. Like his tree, scattered warm light was visible from the frosted glass of his screen doors and windows. You instinctually smiled, he was still awake. You nearly jogged up to his porch, kicking your shoes off before you climbed up onto the porch leaving your shoes on the stone steps. You opened the never locked door without prompting finding Jin sitting in front of a table on the floor painting another sketch. Warmth instantly embraced you like you were sitting in front of a furnace.

“Jin, I’m home!” You teased.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working right now?”

You sighed slipping down next to him. “Thanks for the welcoming. It’s great to see you too Jin.” When he didn’t humor you, you continued on a small rant resting your chin on the table. “They’re already drunk. At this point those men are searching for something else besides alcohol. I could hear the coins dropping form their satchels with every fake giggle.” You rolled your eyes, “Tell me Jin, are men that simple that a single laugh can empty a man’s wallet?”

He laughed at that breaking his concentration, causing you to smile at the squeaky sound. You quickly fished out the goodies that were still steaming. “I brought you some Junq tarts.” You handed him one before you took one.

He grabbed your wrist faster than your eyes could process his movement as you brought the pastry to your lips. His hand was stained black from his ink. Your eyes flickered from the treat to his with your mouth still wide open. He glared at you, “Did you eat, or did you skip again?”

Your mouth clamped shut as you blushed. You tried ignoring his question by still attempted to bring the pastry so sweetly calling your name to your mouth. His grip on you tightened almost painfully as he plucked it out of your hand setting it away from you, including his. He’s learned from experience. You whined defeatedly rubbing your wrist dramatically. “Fine. No. It got too busy I didn’t have the time.” The Mistress had informed you and all other staff an hour before the arrival of the Guerrian government officials. To say you were busy was an understatement, and your stomach grumbled loudly against your will in convenient timing. A pastry wouldn’t kill you, but Jin always wanted you to eat properly. He laughed as he got up, adjusting his silk, blue robe taking the treats with him as he went to the kitchen to prepare you a meal. He grumbled, “Now I have to start a fire.” You longingly stretched out your hand as you watched him take the treats away.

You were nearly drooling when Jin had placed food in front of you. You looked to him with gleaming eyes and thanked him for the meal. That was another thing Jin was great at. He could cook a delicious meal out of the simplest ingredients. His meals were worthy of being served at a royals table. You moaned at the first bite of food as the bite of braised meat and rucke grain nearly melted in your mouth. He gazed at you with a smile before he picked up his brush and began painting again. You nearly shoveled the food in your mouth choking on how delicious it was. He patted your back, “Slow down, there’s more in the kitchen. No one is going to take your food.” Your cheeks flushed as you sipped on water clearing your throat. You nodded and began asking him about his day. You ate slower, keeping conversation with the background being accompanied by soft hum of distance music from the Inn.

After nearly licking your plates clean, not leaving a single grain of rucke, you rolled over onto your back snatching a cushion to rest your head on. You watched Jin as he carefully dragged his brush on the paper, his eyebrows scrunched in concentration. You felt content, you could fall asleep. Fighting off sleep you sat up, all be it slower because of your full stomach. Softly you called to him to gain his attention, “Jin~Jin, Jin-ie.” You held out your wrist and forearm for him. “Draw something for me.” He sighed taking your hand gently into his, the stains of ink only randomly on the tips of his fingers. His long, slim fingers grazing over your soft skin almost medically, but you brightened thinking how delicate he always was with you. His hands were always warm, but it was just something that was always true for him. Your heart was racing, and you tried your best to suppress it.

“The usual?” You nodded.

He dipped the brush and began carefully painting. It sent a small shivers down your spine as the cool ink touched your skin.

You had met Jin fourteen years ago when you were nine and he was thirteen. The house was originally owned by his grandfather, but he had passed six years ago. Jin took over the family business, continuing to practice although tattooing was considered illegal; In Borgo, anything went, as long as the officials who cared didn’t catch you. Customers still came.

The first week at the Inn, Cherry pushed you out the entrance tossing you a satchel of coins with a list of things to pick up from the market. Feeling lost you trudged your way towards the street following the makeshift map Cherry had drawn out for you. Confused at the simple line drawing, you paused when out of the corner of your eye you caught a glimpse of movement coming from the house across the Inn. As you peered over the fence like a bandit, you saw a boy sitting on the porch hunched over a floor table. He looked to be very concentrated in what he was doing. You couldn’t help your curiosity as you wanted to see what he was doing, but you underestimated the strength of the fence. It collapsed forward into his yard and you screamed, faceplanting into grass and bushes. Startled he dropped his brush and rushed over to you helping you up, nearly fishing you out of the bushes. He laughed once he realized you were okay. You forgot about your pain as you were surprised by the sound of his laugh. It was unique and it reminded you of when you polished the floors. Your face had blade of grass and dirt stuck to it. He crouched down then brushed it off. You felt like a brief zap of static shock zip through you at his soft touch. When your eyes met his, your heart skipped a beat, his near black eyes were captivating. He was handsome and if your face wasn’t flushed before it was then. Immediately you wanted to run from embarrassment, but he introduced himself with a full smile. After a confession of why you were lurking at his fence, he showed you what he was working on. It was a sketch of a butterfly. Your eyes lit up and immediately. He watched you carefully as you turned to him holding the paper. “It’s beautiful.”

Butterfly…it all started with a butterfly.

After persuasion and consistent pestering, you wanted a picture for yourself. Instead of giving you a sketch Jin would practice painting butterflies on your arm. A simple design his grandfather gave him to do over and over again. His grandfather always emphasized the basics; a foundation was important. Over the years it became more intricate as Jin became more skilled, but it was always a butterfly for you. You would come back to the Inn and the other girls began calling you Butterfly. Your real name was to never be spoken at the Inn, it was to be forgotten, erased…except Jin knew of it. He was the only one that knew you were Y/N Y/L/N, Butterfly.

Just being by his side…you were happy.

Your forehead was nearly resting on his. His scent was surrounding you like a warm embrace, a mix of the smell of ink and something floral. He looked up and your faces were only inches apart. You held his gaze, his eyes full of unspoken adoration. Your eyes dipped to his lips as he licked them, wetting his lower lip with his tongue. You missed the rose gold color blooming in his pupils as he closed his eyes. He pulled away placing the paint brush back onto the holder. “There.”

You hadn’t realized you were holding your breath until you played it off by checking out his drawing. Had he thrown another log into the oven? It was two butterflies that were fluttering towards you. It was beautiful. You looked up and Jin was already watching you, eyes black but with glimmers of gold that must’ve reflected from the lantern on his table. Your eyes flickered to his lips again before you looked down at your wrist. Surely were imagining what you were feeling just now.

“Thank you Jin.”

He hummed, flicking his eyes low as he waited for all the emerging and existing color to drain before letting go.

A smirk bloomed on your face, “Now, about the Junq treats.”

He laughed, a devious expression setting on his features as he looked up. You knew that look. You saw it coming before his comment. “What do you think held me over in the kitchen while I cooked for you.”

Your jaw drop, “No. No you didn’t Jin! You didn’t! You didn’t eat them all.”

He stuck his tongue out at you.

“JIN!”

Muted sliver of silver and golden light peeked through the door as you cracked open one of the sliding doors. Jin was sound asleep on his floor futon mattress with a single arm strung out from his thick, pink comforter. Pink due to a mistake you had made, but that wasn’t for discussion. The back of his hand stained black from dried ink with splatters on his forearm. Like a serpent it slithers back into his comforter as he groaned in protest when you opened one door completely letting in the bright afternoon light into the once dark room. Particles of dust floated through light that illuminated him before you pushed both doors open. He flipped over on his futon away from you, covering his face back into his pillow and pulling his comforter over his head. Tussles of his hair was still poking out like weeds.  

“Kim Seokjin, it’s noon already! Get up.”

He groaned, voice husky from sleep. “Nooo.”

You left the doors purposefully open, letting in the cold air even though it was causing goosebumps to rise on your skin. The cold was one of the only way you found you could rouse him from sleep, Summers were always more difficult and you had to get creative then. He groaned tucking himself deeper into his comforter on the futon, weeds disappearing. Your nose scrunched at the strong smell of alcohol. You picked up dishes and empty bottles of alcohol before you dropped them off where they belonged. You knew he had his friends over the previous night. It was rare that all his friends could visit. When he had told you they were coming you were excited. As usually he rolled his eyes at you mumbling to himself. The six of them always treated you like a sister and brought souvenirs from their travels. You were too busy the previous night working. Correction. You attempted to sneak out but were caught red handed by Cherry. You were monitored for the rest of the night and had to help clean up all the hosting rooms as well as punishment.

You really needed a better method.

With your hands on your hips, you poked at his back with your foot nearly rocking him. “Yah! Get up. It’s noon! You have to get up.” He just wiggled with your shoving. Frustrated at the lack of progress you got on your knees attempting to yank the blanket off. “Jin, wake up! You have to start the day. Don’t you have customer’s today?”

Suddenly he rolled onto his back and grabbed you, wrapping his arm around your waist. With a late scream he dragged you down onto the futon next to him. His very warm breath tickled your face as he moaned. “Sleeeeep.”

Your face heated and your heart was beating fast. You swallowed as you tried pushing against his firm chest. That was something interesting about Jin you had never seen him exercise, yet from the glimpses you got of his arms during the summer, he was built and toned. He slowly began slumping over you holding you down. He was heavy. He nearly was laying on top of you as he held you within his embrace tighter. He didn’t budge as much as you tried. You felt like you were going to combust from your heart alone, but was he running a fever? You froze as he tucked his head into your neck. His lips were grazing your skin. He huffed hot air onto your neck. “Sleeeep, Butterfly, pleaasse.”

“J-J-Jin.”

He lifted his head up from where it was tucked in your neck pouting. You couldn’t help the chuckle as you cupped his cheek stroking just under his eye. He made a sound that was akin to a purr. Even when he just woke up he was still handsome. He blinked sleepily at you and you saw a flash of yellow in his eyes. It happened so quick you nearly missed it, but you couldn’t second guess it.  

“JIN!” A booming voice interrupted as the door opened. The man gasped closing the door immediately, “Sorry! I didn’t know you had someone over!”

Jin inhaled deeply before he got up, mumbling angrily, “No one will let me sleep today.” You laid their blinking hand still in the position it was stroking his cheek. You hadn’t even realized you had cupped his cheek. “Jimin, it’s okay. It’s just Butterfly.” You winced. Your hands slowly curled and lowered to your chest. It shouldn’t have hurt; he always called you a child and treated you like one. You brought your knees to your chest before you sat up.

Jimin opened the door again and peeked inside his brown hair making an appearance first. His eyes formed half-moons with his short smile as he greeted you and you politely returned it. He was one of the six. Jin was an isolationist, but somehow, he had a close tight knit group of friends. Out of all of them, Jimin was the least you knew about. He was enigmatic only coming in and leaving as far as you were aware.

“Why are you here Jimin?”

“I have an appointment.”

Jin raised a brow, hair still a voluminous bird’s nest. “What?”

Jimin chuckled, eyes turning into halfmoons. “Ah, you’re finally showing your age if you can’t remember last night. Lay off the partying old man will ya.”

A playful growl bubbled in Jin as he yapped neck elongating to spit out a monologue. Jimin continued cutting him short, “I’m actually late, but I knew you’d still be asleep. You agreed last night that you would finish my tattoo.”

Jin grumbled, rubbing his face to dispel sleep, going along with it. “Alright, alright, let me get set up.” He looked over to you, “Butterfly, can you make some tea for us?”

You nodded and made your way over to the kitchen. You missed the glance that Jimin gave you as you walked past him.

You sighed as you brewed tea, his words echoing in your mind. The way he was looking at you earlier had your heart fluttering, but now it was flatlining. You were just a servant at an Anemone house none the less. Jin…was different, it was evident in his facial structure. He was gorgeous and he could have any woman he wanted. Of course, he wouldn’t want a, a—child like you.

When the water was boiling you dropped in tea leaves and watched them sink. Standing there for a moment you let it steep. Placing cups on a tray and the kettle you brought out the tea. With practiced ease you maneuvered like you always do at twilight hours. Jimin was already sitting in the cleared room at the floor table. You placed the tray on the table and began serving with both hands. Jimin stared at you as you poured him tea as well as an awaiting cup for Jin. He couldn’t help admiring your gentleness.

“Thank you Butterfly.” You looked up at him with a smile that didn’t reach your eyes that had him returning it.

“I’m taking my leave.” You gathered the skirt of your dress as you closed the porch door behind you without sparing a glance.

Jin came back in the room with jars of ink and tools. Jimin raised a brow as he sipped loudly at his tea. “Is she okay?”

Jin quirked a brow not catching on as he set up his inks and needle. His eyebrows scrunched in contemplation before settling, “Mhmm-yeah, why?”

Jimin shrugged, setting his tea down. “I guess it’s just been a while since I’ve seen her.”

It was quiet except for the ceramic clinking and the tapping of tools as Jin maneuvered.

“You know Hoseok has his eye on a girl in that house, but you know how his parents are. They’re trying to push a girl from the upper side, some sort of alliance thing.”

Jin hummed as if to say he was listening, but his head was still throbbing lightly from the hangover sitting in. He looked around and sighed in relief seeing the tea cup as he took a large gulp.

“—it’ll only be a matter of time before she becomes an Anemona.”

“What?” Jin questioned tuning in to Jimin’s chatter, setting down the empty cup.

“Butterfly. It’s only time before that Mistress makes her one too. Human women are now becoming a commodity. The human population is dwindling and the Uppers are seeing to it by buying them.”

“No.”

Jimin shrugged, “That’s a shame—she’d earn a lot if she did. She’s grown up really well. Maybe I—.”

Jin glared at him, burgundy tinging within his pupil, “Don’t you dare. I know what you do with women.”

Jimin chuckled his nails clinking against the ceramic cup. “Why not? She’s grown and can decide for herself.”

Jin glared, opening his jars more intensely than necessarily. “She’s a child! she doesn’t need you and your playboy ways to taint her.”

Jimin laughed nearly falling over. “Child? When are you going to stop using that excuse. I mean Jin, do your eyes work properly? She’s far from being a child anymore.” Ignoring the glare sent his way, Jimin continued, but near mumbling it. ”Honestly, she’s prettier than any of those girls in that house, you know it. She could open her own Inn if she wanted.”

“Why don’t you buy her then?”

Silence answered Jimin back as he had expected. Jin curling his sleeves up to his elbows. “Alright, ready. Lay down.”

Jimin eagerly removed his jacket and shirt exposing the crane tattoo that was partially done on his back. Jimin settled down excited. Jin wondered for a moment how he wasn’t hungover, but then quickly he remembered Jimin’s tolerance level was unmatched. He can’t even remember what happened last night. Humans could always consume fermented drinks as if it was their job—especially Jimin.

After mapping out the rest in his head, Jin dipped the needle into black ink swirling it around for a moment. He moved over to Jimin, pressing down harder than necessary and stabbed into his skin. “OU-OW-OWOWOWCH—shhh---HHH!” Jimin cried out, teeth clenched and lower lips wiggling.

Jin shrugged, smacking his friend’s arm as if he hadn’t put extra force into the prick. “Don’t move.”

Jimin glared at him before yelping again. “JIN! THAT HURTS!”

You hung up the last of the laundry as you hummed a tune Jin had been humming recently to keep yourself awake. You hadn’t slept well last night as nightmares had clouded your dreams with shadow men with red eyes and images of your mother being pulled away by them disturbed you. It all was in flashes and you can’t remember much of it, but each time you closed your eyes again it played again.

You hummed louder to yourself.  

Snowflakes fall down

And get farther away little by little

I miss you (I miss you)

I miss you (I miss you)

How long do I have to wait

And how many sleepless nights do I have to spend

To see you (to see you)

To meet you (to meet you)

You smirked at the thought of when you had caught him mindlessly singing it as he cooked dinner for the both of you the other day. Yoongi had been working on producing the piece and had come over to show it to Jin weeks before, you just happen to be there. You wiped the sweat from your brow, the sun was beaming down strong in the sky. All the ice had melted, and the flora and plants were anew—spring had arrived.

You paused as you picked up another clean piece of bedding then shaking it out. You felt their stares before you met their upturned chins as Anemonas walked by. You stared wistfully; they were gorgeous with dresses made of silk like fabric that you were sure was expensive and hair carefully done so that there wasn’t a stray strand. They looked like they’ve never cleaned or worked a day in their life. They walked with poise and grace that only high tiered Anemona could ever poise. It almost seemed like they were gliding across the floors. They were beautiful and your hands were calloused.

They smirked and near snorted when they caught you staring. You turned away continuing to adjust the fabric, but your ears were still alert. You barely picked up the whispers between them.

“That’s the one that bothers the artist? How pitiful.”

“Doesn’t she know her place?”

“You think he uses her?”

“Have you seen him? He’d never go for her. You’re more suited for him.” They giggled as they kept walking.

Your expression flattened but you worked to keep your face neutral as if you hadn’t heard their remarks. You had swallowed all those feelings, even Jin’s, and let things return to normal. You could swallow your feelings if it meant you could keep being around Jin. As they passed you turned back around and hung up another blanket.

As long as you could be next to Jin, you were happy. That’s all you need.

As you were about to place the remaining last clip you heard stomping coming from the hall. The Mistress was in her slip, it was rare to not see her fully dressed. You watched curiously as she nearly jogged down the hall, her face angry and for once you were glad it wasn’t you on the receiving end of that expression. You laughed at the thought. You turned back and hung up the rest of the laundry still carrying the melody.

Passing by the edge of the cold winter

Until the days of spring

Until the days of flower blossoms

Please stay, please stay there a little longer

----Later

An hour before sunset you were in the kitchen sorting and polishing cutlery. You were talking to pastry boy as he was sneaking small bits food to you. Lilly may not be here anymore, but he still gave you treats. As you popped in a treat savoring the sweet flavor, the kitchen door swung open. Clattering from other various staff sounded as everyone shook. You nearly choked as the Mistress gaze searched the kitchen instinct to run kicking in. Her fiery gaze landing on you. On reflex quickly you swallowed the treat as if your life depending on it. She strode up to you, small, slim figure cutting through the crowd like a knife. Her long black hair flowed wildly around her pale face, but the motion couldn’t compare to her wild gaze. “Come with me now!”

Just when you thought you had evaded her wrath for a day. You wiped off your shaky hands on your apron and bowed, “Yes, Mistress.”

She looked around the kitchen to wide eyed staff, “Get back to work.”

Silently you followed her to her office. She nearly collapsed into her wooden seat but still attempted to do it gracefully. On an exhale, “Butterfly.”

You stood in front of her desk kneading the dirty skirt of your dress. What had you messed up so bad that you were being called to her office? You quickly recalled all recent events. Was this about you stealing pastries? No, you do that all the time. Or was it when you accidently walking in on the couple? Look, you hadn’t eaten and you were a bit tired, they should’ve locked the door. On second thought, maybe this was about you–.

“You shall serve tonight.”

Her statements cleared your thoughts. Your head whipped up jaw slack. “Mistress? I-I believe you are mistaken. I’m not a—.”

Her nostrils flared, “Silence.”

You sealed your mouth.

“An honorable guest has requested you, and this is an offer I cannot refuse. I owe his father a great deal of a favor. You will serve.”

She stood up, face softening as she saw your eyes gloss over. “Butterfly, you are no longer a child.” Your hands scrunched in the skirt of your dress tighter. Those words clung to you like oil. So much was happening your mind was racing a million miles per hour. You’ve watched for years and could probably do it all blindfolded, but that doesn’t mean you wanted to. You didn’t want to.

She began to slowly step closer to you, speaking much softer than before. She played with a loose piece of hair as she tilted her head almost. “Oh Butterfly.” Your eyes lifted until you met hers until they lowered again. “Do you remember that night that I bought you?”

You nodded once.

“I saw something in you, and I only invest in potential. All my girls are of the highest standard. Now I expect to reap those investments back. I saved you, so now save me this favor.”

A knock at the door sounded with two older retired Anemonas coming in after. They were the ones who took care of the styling and dressing of the girls. With a wave of the hand the Mistress commanded, “Get her dressed and ready.”

With a minor bow they surrounded you grabbing your elbow. You felt defensive tightening up. “Come along dear.”

You wanted to argue, but what could you?

You had a debt to pay…just like everyone else.

You didn’t argue as they washed your body with luxurious soaps that made you smell as the others did. You didn’t argue as they twisted and pinned your hair in a specific way. It was as beautiful as you had seen on the others. Or how they painted your face to their liking, red lips being the point. You slipped on the tight slip, then into the silk burgundy skirt that had gold embroidery skillfully woven into it to appear as highlights when the fabric moved. Pulling it up you realized the skirt had two slits in the front just apex at the top of your thighs creating a panel in the front. The bodice was a halter that followed the design of the skirt as they laced you up from the back as you held the bodice up. Finally, with a last heave the dressed forced you to stand upright, they tied it off in a large bow. They finished it off by adoring you in golden bracelets, anklets and hoop earrings, which felt like shackles to you despite their statement of luxury.

As you sat at the vanity staring at your reflection the Mistress came in, she was similarly dressed in her own gown. From the vanity assorted hair pins were displayed. Humming under her breath in approval she picked up a gold pin with a ceramic multi petaled flower at the end. From the flower were string chains of pearls and a butterfly. With ease she slipped it in your hair then placed her hands on your shoulders softly. “You look beautiful, Butterfly.”

You couldn’t recognize the person in the mirror. It was you, but it wasn’t at the same time.

“You will serve Mr. Park tonight. He is the son of the Guerrian Collation Ambassador for Human government. Treat him well.”

Your stomach sunk even further. This person was so high ranking why would they want you? Your eyes slowly looked up to her, “Yes, Mistress.”

Anemonas came into the room and they paused nearly crashing into one another as they stared at you. You wanted to curl in upon yourself, but your dress didn’t allow you. One who you recognized from the when you were doing laundry earlier. Her eyes scanned you, what you didn’t realize was stunned in surprised before she quickly hid it. You hadn’t had the chance to learn their name, nor would you want to. Her voice was clipped, “Hurry girl, he is here now.”

Your legs feel like jelly, but somehow stiff as you walked. You had little practice in the stilted shoes they wore, but that wasn’t why your limbs were stiff. Walking down the hall brought a new feeling to you. A door slid open as Cherry stepped into the hall before pausing. Her eyes widened, “Butterfly?” You held her gaze before you looked back in front of you. She stepped out into the hall watching as you descended the stairs to the first floor. She clenched her fist and quickly turned down the hall.

The girls ushered you and hissed harshly at you. “You cannot mess this up! Do you realize who he is? You! Cannot! Mess! This! UP! Do you hear me?”

How had they known his face? Apparently, he had been here before, but why had he requested you? Had this person seen you serving drinks before? Why you? Why you! You tried to be as discrete as possible, a no name servant among the Flowers. So…why you?

As you had watched Cherry done before, you swallowed your nerves as you steeled your face. Passing the first host rooms the people within were already laughing as their shadows danced on the paper screen door. Night had settled comfortably in the sky, three moons just near peaking. You counted the seconds that passed with each clatter of coins falling from the adjacent room. The laughs being the refractory period between drops. The lanterns above didn’t feel bright enough to guide you forth suddenly and you were running on pure instinct. Pausing at the last room you waited in front of the screen door. Your hands were trembling as you assumed stance that you’ve seen a million times.

The girls opened the sliding doors in unison, and you took a stable step forward that even surprised yourself. “Thank you for having me tonight, I’m Butterfly.” Slowly you raised your head to increase the tension. Playing coy was always the game. At the other end of the table as they lower a ceramic shot glass from their thick lips, his eyes were brazened as his chin jutted out knowingly, the sharpness disrupted by his big smile. He was sitting alone in the room, the largest room available, with a buffet displayed before him. Your eyes widen as you realized who Mr. Park was.

Jimin.

Jimin…was a son of the ambassador? Your mind rattled through memories, although few, that you had spent with him. He had never acted mighty, never flaunted his wealth around you all. How come you never noticed before? It explained so much at the same time, the enigmatic nature especially. Snapping out of your stupor at this moment he was a customer, not Jimin. Softening your eyes into something you had seen the other girls play. “Good evening, Mr. Park.”

He laughed, eyes forming half-moons. When you still didn’t move, he saw the conflict in your eyes. He urged you closer to him with an open hand. “Please, Butterfly, call me Jimin—it’s just me.” With a smirk that revealed his white teeth there was a glint in his eye. “I don’t bite.”

“If that is what you wish.” His eyes roved over you as you strode over to him. The panel of your dress somehow remained perfectly in front of you, but you felt vulnerable with your legs and arms exposed. You shuffled over to him and sat down on a cushion next to him.

He chuckled again, completely amused by you. “You look like a doll dressed like this.”

Jimin was a handsome man, any girl would be lucky to be his suitor. However, he…he wasn’t Jin. You’ve never thought of him as anything more. You felt neutral towards him, this must be how the other Anemona felt. Remembering their words, you automatically put on a face hoping the hollowness was concealed. You giggled covering your mouth with your hand. He smiled lowering your hand from your mouth, “Don’t cover it. You’re beautiful.”

Your eyes widened, he was so close to you, faces nearly touching. Your mind flashes back to when Jin had his face this close to yours two moons ago; how your hand reached for his then, but your hand now remained trained at your side. He wasn’t warm enough.

You sat back, “Would you like me to play you a song Jimin?” His eyes lit up. You entertained, keep conversation, played an instrument, all be it not as well as he was when he took it from you. He blamed it on Yoongi for your lack of ability. It was odd, you felt comfortable but something in the back of your mind was niggling at you. He drank, but very little, when you asked why he confessed, “I want to remember my time with you. I want to remember it all. Does that bother you?”

You suppressed the flush and shook your head. He laughed as he had been all night. Yet, his eyes were sincere and full of adoration. He took your hand and held it gently in his as he looked down at the exposed skin of your forearm with a soft smile grazing his lips. “Did Jin draw that?”

You wanted to pull back realizing that your skin was still stained. You nodded. He grazed the faint butterfly with his finger.

“I always ask for a real one, but he refuses every time. He says I’m too young.”

Jimin huffed, forcing air from his nose to suppress the snort. “But we are the same age and I have one of his tattoos.” Your heart winced at that, it’s true. Another reminder of how Jin saw so little of you, how he didn’t see you the same. Jimin continued seeing your expression have fallen slightly, “A Butterfly shouldn’t be kept in this cage, when her wings are so beautiful.” It’s quiet as he carefully transverses the image. “I want to buy you, Butterfly.”

You tensed up under his delicate touch. He smiled at you dropping your hand to your lap, “Of course, I won’t force you. I never force my women; you must know that. I am man, no feral Guerrian.” He smirked at his own joke, but you sat there stunned, missing the insinuation. The wind had been knocked out of you. This was far from anything you had imagined would happen tonight. He tipped your chin with a crooked finger forcing you to look at him. His eyes were full of adore. “I’m serious, Butterfly. Think about it. I’ll be back tomorrow by noon for an answer.”

He got up and adjusted his clothing, “Thank you for tonight Butterfly, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He walked out of the room and you sat there dazed. Minutes must’ve passed before you got up but stumbled on your feet. You clutched the table, food nearly untouched as you focused on breathing through your nose. You kicked off the annoying stilted shoes. Never in your life did you think you were going to be bought. You got up, feeling better with your feet touching ground.

You flung open the screen door jostling Anemonas who had been lingered outside the room as you came out. They rushed up to you when they found their ground. “Butterfly! What happened? Why did he leave?”

“You didn’t make him happy did you? No man leaves happy without going upstairs at least once.”

Another asked, “Did you scare him away?”

Cherry pushed through the crowd coming up to you and instantly pulling you into an embrace. She held you tightly as your hands loosely reciprocated. She pulled away but still held you with shaky hands. You had never seen her upset, but you missed the look of concern. Your mind couldn’t focus. “I’m so sorry Butterfly. I tried to convince her to pull you out. She said he requested you. I tried even asking Hos-,” she sealed her lips cutting herself off. Her grip tightened again, “What happened Butterfly?”

You felt like the walls were closing in.

“Butterfly, answer me! Talk to me!”

Over the chaos you answered all their questions. “He wants to buy me.” You couldn’t motivate yourself to have an ounce of happiness in it.

Nameless girl of the hall was the first to speak, “Park Jimin? He wants to buy you? Yeah right.”

Cherry shot her a glare silencing her as the Anemona rolled her eyes. You nodded.

The other girls shrieked in excitement, “Congratulations Butterfly!”

No. No. No! This wasn’t what you wanted at all.

You pushed out of Cherry’s embrace and past the small crowd. Their excitement and happiness died out when they realized you weren’t excited like they were. “Butterfly! Butterfly!” Cherry took a few steps after you before she stopped. She sighed, she knew exactly where you were going, but this time she didn’t have the heart to stop you.

Your feet gained speed as you jogged faster and faster towards an exit. There’s only one place where you know to go.

Your feet were freezing, but you didn’t mind the numbness as you ran across the yard and into another. Oddly you felt unclean, tainted and disloyal as you could still feel Jimin’s light touches on your skin and see his smile behind your eyes. Your feet were gaining traction, but the weight of the material of your dress weighed you down. It felt like you were running through water to get to him. Your hair restricted movement and the makeup made you feel stiff. The tree was faintly glowing, the recently fallen leaves in his yard still barely pulsed. You reached the familiar porch with the warm amber light flickering from inside.

You slid open the door and opened your mouth to speak but immediately clamped it closed. A woman was lounging across his floor completely nude from the waist up with her back to you. Her back was covered in a partial tattoo, art you recognized. She turned over to look at you, chest on full display and her face was just as gorgeous as her salacious body. A smile bloomed further solidifying her beauty. “Wait your turn, sweetheart.”

You blushed and suddenly the sliding door slammed closed nearly clipping your nose. Jin pressed in behind you hand still on the frame sealing the door shut. “Get out!” He was seething. “Who the fuck do you think you are coming into my house.”

You recoiled back at his tone and words. He had never yelled at you before. You turned around slowly. Her body clearly still in your mind as you came face to face with his chest. His robe was loose as he wasn’t wearing an undershirt, splatters of dry ink was on his collarbones. You swallowed as you looked off to the side.  

His eyes widened as far as they could stretch. He hadn’t realized it was you on his porch, he thought it was someone trying to sneak inside. It wouldn’t be the first time an Anemona from the Inn had tried to. “Butterfly?”

You hadn’t heard him call your name too engrossed in your thoughts. Gorgeous was the only word that came to mind and the tattoo that was on her back was eerily familiar. You couldn’t help to compare. She was a woman to him. Your lower lip began to tremble as tears were beginning to build in the corner of your eyes. You dipped your head. You couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes. Your voice wasn’t as stable as you spoke. “I’m sorry for intruding.”

He heavily sighed removing his hand, but still standing close to you. “You know not go in when I have clients.”

When you hadn’t responded he called your name again, but you refused to look up. He knew something was off, he curled his finger and placed it under your chin. You slowly raised your head, eyes still downturned. He stepped closer nearly whispering your name full of concern. “Butterfly, look at me.” Taking a second you finally raised your eyes. His breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t bring himself to look away until the hair pin poking from your hair caught his eye. A small golden butterfly was dangling amongst other jewels. A small smile was tickling at his lip before his eyebrows furrowed. His eyes traveled down to the dress you wore, your figure was on full display teasingly by the tight fabric. Your bare legs exposed; the slits dangerously high that almost your entire hip was out. It had him feeling some type of way as he felt his eyes warm as he devoured your being. Why? Why were you dressed up like this, like an Aneomona? A snarl in throat was barely audible at the thought of someone else besides him seeing you like this. Had someone? The threatening sound blooms as  his mouth opened to ask when a breathy voice inside called him. “Jin, Darling?”

The tears you’ve been holding back were threatening to break again. Of course, of course he had someone else. Held someone else. His words that he had always told you ring in your ears, those girls, as well as Jimin’s recent ones. The veil was pulled as you saw the landscape clearly. You were a child to him. He had never looked at you otherwise. You were mistaken all those times. It was only you who had been feeling this way towards him. You had been trying to hide how much it hurt you, but this was undeniable.

You bowed your head, not daring to look up as a tear slipped down. It stung, but you couldn’t bear to wipe it. “I’m sorry.” You raced past him your long dress caught under your feet as you stumbled and caught yourself on the tree. The fallen leaves pulsed brightly as you disturbed them before they looked like falling stars settling back down. Heaving you collected the skirt of your dress and disappearing into the shadow and the dark night as you ran off.

He jogged forward, bewildered as he stood at the edge of the porch as you disappeared. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Ji~~n.”

Heaving a sigh, he hesitated, something pulling within him to go after you. He turned around grumbling under his breath in a different tongue. He opened the door and closed it behind him with a bit of force. The lantern hanging on the porch swayed on the closing of the door until the wax tipped and the light went out.

Nauseum swirled in your empty stomach, but you couldn’t bear to eat. Jimin would be coming soon. Your mind was foggy yet chaotic with many incomplete thoughts. You felt torn mind and heart; your stupid heart wanted to see him while your mind told you not to. However, you weren’t one to listen to the latter. Standing up on sore feet you make your way through the halls, girls you passed in hall looked at you with envy. You didn’t pay them any mind as you let your feet carry you with the muscle memory. Your feet crunched in the grass as you walked. You paused, the ground under your feet cold, you swallowing thickly, what if she was still there? Would she still be there? You had never seen someone come out of his room before last night. Your stomach churned with all the maddening thoughts. You swallowed it again though. That was none of your business. You were going to respect it, even if you didn’t like it. He was still Jin.

As you entered Jin’s yard your eyes widen, the porch door was already open. Your eyebrows furrowed; he was never up this early. It was always your job to wake him up. You paced slowly with your hands folded in front of you as you peered inside. Jin was sitting at his table already sketching with a steam cup of tea. You crept closer and sat on the edge of his porch. You knew he knew you were there, but he said nothing to acknowledge it. She wasn’t there.

It changed nothing though.

Sitting alone with yourself last night you realized a lot of things. You were twenty-three and if you ever wanted anything for yourself you couldn’t depend on Jin for the rest of your life. You couldn’t watch him be with someone else. You couldn’t watch him smile at someone else. You couldn’t watch him…love someone that wasn’t you.

The Mistress was right and this is how you’ll pay her back.

You were going to leave your childish self behind, even if that meant leaving him behind.

You crawled up closer and sat against the door frame taking a deep breath, holding the feeling before it slipped away. You couldn’t be sad. You didn’t want tears to be the last thing he remembered you by. One last time you asked. “Will you give me a tattoo Jin?”

Without looking up from his paper, “No.”

You smiled, a genuine laugh bubbled and lasted until your stomach began to hurt. In a way that was an answer you wanted. Maybe you didn’t want a tattoo to remember him by, but those words that he’s always told you. Not treating you any differently.

He finally looked at you with an odd expression of concern. Why were you laughing? None the less it made him smile.

Catching your breath, you turned away from him and gazed out at the yard, the morning light flooding and the dew sparkle on the grass in the garden was quite beautiful. Rays of sunlight filtered through the leaves of his tree creating a beautiful distortion on the grass.

He bathed his brush in the ink as he stared at you. You were too quiet. You had been off since last night. It sets his spine straight as he remembers what you looked like last night. The way you looked had replayed in his mind all night as he worked on that woman’s tattoo, even after he kicked her out.  “Butterfly?”

Your eyes had become glassy without realizing it and you wiped at the tears that were forming. You smiled wide, “Ah. Sorry, just remembered something.” You recounted, “Remember when we first met and how I broke your fence? And somehow you let me still come around even after that?”

Placating his earlier feeling he chuckled recalling the memory. The image of your once smaller being coming into mind. He stared at you for a moment, then taking a sip of his tea. You were still you. That thought made his smile widen. Nothing had changed since then, that was still the routine.

Feeling brave you looked over your shoulder enticed by sound of his laugh like a butterfly attracted to a beautiful flower. You took in that moment where everything feels like it was going in slow motion and you could count the lashes on each of his eyes. He was ethereal, almost too good for this planet, as he is. His features handsome, golden in the morning light.

You turned away from him. “Jin, I—someone bought me.” The confession spilled from your mouth like vomit.

His brush stilled on the page, ink pooling as the paper soaked it up willingly as he stiffened. You looked over your shoulder, quietly waiting for him to say something. You both held each other gaze. His eyes narrowed before he began painting again. In a tone too casual, “Don’t joke around Butterfly.”

“I’m not. I’m leaving today.” You didn’t know how to handle it from here, truly not even having expected yourself to have the gull to come over.

“Butterfly,” Jimin was making his way over towards you crossing the yard. He was dressed smartly in clothing you had only seen worn by wealthy humans. He was showing his true colors now that you knew. Jin furrowed his brows at the appearance of one of his best friends. Normally he would be glad to see him, but something felt off at his appearance. He had no appointments. Jimin was all smile as he came to stop in front of you. His eyes near sparkled as he greeted you. “Good morning, Butterfly.” He then turned towards Jin who was just watching. “Morning Jin, you’re up early.”

Jin nearly tossed the brush at him, even making the gesture. Jimin flinched out of reflex before Jin put down his brush. Seeing Jimin wasn’t just stopping by he stood up and walked until he stood at the edge of his porch right next to you. “What are you doing here Jimin?”

Jimin’s smile bloomed further crinkling at the corners. “I’m here to hear Butterfly’s answer.”

His eyes narrowed at Jimin. Your heart was pounding hard in your chest. Jin questioned, a low undertone of a growl in his voice. “Answer?”

Jimin stepped closer to you, his polished shoes crunching under the grass as he shifted on his feet. He grabbed your hand gently. “What is your answer Butterfly?”

You paused purposefully waited for something, an objection, a scoff, a laugh, anything. It was silent. It was silent except for the thoughts within your head screaming for something yet, the silence from him was louder than any scream, any thought you had. You resisted looking at Jin. You already had your answer. You decided this. You wanted this. You wanted had to do this. You wanted—this. “Yes.”

Jimin pressed a quick kiss to your hand, his plush lips soft. Your face and body heated up to a near sizzle. That was something you had never expected.

Jin’s visage was rumbling beneath barely containing control at the simple gesture from Jimin. He looked up to Jin before meeting your eyes. “We should be on our way Butterfly.”

“Let’s go home Butterfly.” Nodding you took his hand and slipped off the porch.

You paused, “Goodbye Jin.”

He said nothing staring at you as you realized he wasn’t going to say anything. You turned expressionless, matching his. You let go of Jimin’s hand  going back towards the Inn.

Jimin and Jin stared at one another, a certain tension in the air. Jimin’s face suddenly softened as his smile returned as he bowed to his friend before he followed in your direction.

Jin watched as the wind blew by messing up his hair, wisp of his bangs covering his eyes that had turned red. His hands clasped behind his back speckled like they were stained with dry ink.  

The steam from his cup was flowing freely from the cooling tea. He found himself glancing up at the clock on the wall. His fingers rhythmically drummed on the table. He looked up to the clock again and found the small hand had only moved a minute. He had even left the screen door open. He had finished all his clients for a day. His wrist was sore with how many clients he had been taking on. He debated if he should cancel all his clients for the following day.

He checked the clock again and realized yet only another half a minute had passed. He heaved a sigh.

What was keeping you? Where you busy? Had they finally scolded you for the last time? He knows that you found a new route as you recounted your story of it in full detail. His customer had to hear the story that day too, but somehow, they were engrossed in your story. He laughed brushing the hair out of his face. He pulled at the strands, when had his hair gotten so long? You would trim it for him. Maybe he would ask you to trim it for him ton—.

It hit him hard when the sound of the clock ticking drummed in his ears, the memory hitting him.

You were gone.

You had been gone for weeks.

He sighed heavily as he stood up and went to the kitchen grabbing liquor. On his way back he opened the porch door, his body running too hot even for his comfort. He gripped onto the doorframe as he stared at the tree in his yard. It no longer glowed, it had been fading and fading until tonight, it no longer glowed. It was spring it was supposed to be thriving. He placed his hand over his chest and rubbed it in a circle, eyes turning amber. He sat down opening the bottle as he set up his ink block and opened his sketchbook to a new page. He took big gulps of the fermented amber liquid as the rucke flavor covered his tongue.

He had seen you at the marketplace. He had seen you with Jimin as you were perusing the shops. He found himself watching disregarding the shop owner trying to bargain with him. You had nodded along to something Jimin had said. You chuckled as Jimin raised a hideous dress to you then holding it up to him with a brow raised. He had never seen his friend so friendly with a woman. Jimin normally never was seen out with a woman, especially during daylight. The distance between you two was too close for comfort. Speaking of clothes, you were wearing a new dress, not the normal blue canvas one you always wore. Your hair was shinny and were well taken care of, rather than your normal tied up and messy, carefree taming. You were almost unrecognizable, like that night you came to him when he was working. By your gait he knew it was you. He could pick you out of a crowd of a thousand if given. It was almost intrinsic, you. 

He took another gulp of the beer, feeling looser as the liquid cooled his being. His eyes grew similar in color to the liquor as it filled him. He dipped the brush in the ink letting the black ink drip into the block. The way Jimin placed a hand at the small of your back and leaning into you played over in his mind. Swirling his eyes grew darker taking on a red hue before it morphed into hot iron.

Violent strokes scrapped across the page as the hair of the brush made a resounding slap as it hit the scroll canvas. His hand working sloppier as his hand got in the ink of the canvas blending in with his changing hand. Stroking forward, gliding it around as if on autopilot he created. He hooked the brush on the stand as he blinked blearily at the sketch. The alcohol already running heavily through his system. Exhaustion took over him as the buzz was shutting him down. He slumped over hand holding the paper as he sleep overcome him. His lips smacked.

He had painted a butterfly.

You stared at the starless sky having spent the evening watching the sky turn from your windowsill daybed. The three moons had all shifted into the east sky nearly overlapping one another You felt restless. You weren’t allowed to do much, if anything. Jimin insisted he had servants to do things. He was confusing, had he not bought you to do the same? You were having a hard time adapting to his way of life and expectations. His life was completely different from what went on in Borgo. Tall, pristine white buildings with black tiles filled every street in the heart of Anisum. The roads were paved with stones versus the dirt you were used to. People used their given names. You hadn’t realized Anisa, the whole world was…so large. The heart was different as people were more standoffish and selfish, but the same could often be said of Borgo. But there you knew people, there was a sense of community even though everyone was different. Even those who came in from neighboring planets held this air of stature. It was the first time you had seen others from different planets as they government didn’t allow them into Borgo. You saw starship stations, things you had only heard rumors of existing. Of course you had seen them in the sky, but they were so much larger in person and up close. Beings of all skin color, stature and shape filled Anisum.

There was so much, but it felt hollow. This wasn’t home.

There was an ache that comes and goes, always returning in quiet moments.

Knocks sounded at your door and you sat up straighter. “Come in.”

Jimin entered and shut the door behind him with a winning smile on his lips. You matched it in greeting. He strides over to where you were, hands clasped behind his back, a habit he had when he was in front of other officials, but this felt mischievous.

“Someone’s in a good mood.”

He sat next to you gazing out the window. “The moons are beautiful tonight, what’s not to be happy about?”

Quietly you nodded. You enjoyed Jimin, he had been nothing but hospitable. He was sweet to say the least. You found out you had a lot in common with him and found yourself build a friendship. Yet, you didn’t feel…

“Are you happy Butterfly?”

Your cheeks heated and you tried swallowing the truth. He had been watching you this entire time you were lost in your thoughts. “Yes, I’m quite happy here.”

He laughed, face contouring comically. That was something you appreciated was he never put up the same pretense around you he had with others here. “Butterfly. I can see your unhappy.”

Waving your hands, “No! No really I’m—!”

“Butterfly, Butterfly, calm down! It’s okay, it’s okay!”

You hung your head in shame. You couldn’t look at him. You felt guilty admitting it even to yourself. You should be happy. You have everything now. All…you…ever…wanted.

Jimin leaned forward elbows resting on his knees. “I want to do something for you. Will you let me?”

You quirked an eyebrow at him in confusion. You weren’t one to deny him feeling burdened by his kindness. You didn’t like the way the feeling from earlier intensified, he was up to something. “Okay.”

He smirked up at you with a sly smile. “You won’t regret it. I promise.”

His chest was rising and falling slowly as he draped his arm across his face. He wanted to pull up his comforter but in his drunken stupor he had only managed to lay his futon down last night. He had slept with the porch door open his body was feeling overwhelmed by an odd fever. His body was tingling with restlessness setting his joints steely. It had made him snappy and alcohol had been a hasty solution to the agitation in his veins. The slight hangover was still drumming in his head and the unsettling feeling in his bones returned. He let out a heavy sigh.

A shadow casted over him and a laugh tickled like a clear bell in his ears. His arm that was draping over his eyes fell away. He let your voice soak in, your words, the way your eyes meet his and didn't turn away. You were smiling down at him, a halo of light behind you. “Jin, it’s noon.”

He kept staring at you. He blinked closing his eyes for a few moments before he opened them again. You pinched his cheek and his face scrunched. “Did you drink too much again? I warned you not to drink so much.”

“What are you doing here?” Were the first words out of his mouth.

You pouted your lips then it fell into a smile in your signature tease. “I want a tattoo.”

“No.” He grunted, rolling over.

You quirked a brow eager for the challenge. “Today, I’m a paying customer.”

“No.”

You hummed nonchalantly, unaffected. “The ones you drew for me never lasted; I want this one to last.”

He sat up on his side and pushed off walking towards the kitchen. You grabbed his hand before he could get out of reach. “Jin. I want this.” You tugged, Please.”

He pulled his hand out of your grasp. “No! No matter how much money you give me I won’t. You…you, you’re a –.”

You finished for him, “Child?” Instantly you felt defensive.

He had the semblance to look embarrassed. “Yes...a child.”

You had been doing a lot of thinking in the past few weeks; amplified last night since Jimin implanted this idea in you of what you’d say to Jin when you first saw him, but this had been something you had been holding in, wanting, for a long time. A breeze blew by shivering the leaves of the tree in his yard and it carried hints of Jin’s scent. Floral but inky, yet the accompanying scent of alcohol was distasteful. You scoffed, frustration finally bubbling to the surface. “Over and over again you’ve called me a child and told me not to get involved! But you know better than anyone else that I was never allowed to act like a child.” Ironically you were feeling flushed as he kept eye contact. “So, don’t get involved, treat me like everyone else —a customer. I’m not the Butterfly of the Inn anymore.”  

Your chest was heaving slight as you released all your suppressed emotions. He sat there for a moment before he got up. His blue robe billowing about him as he walked away. The silence always hurt more. A pang of hurt filled your chest. This wasn’t how you wanted it to be when you saw him again. You wanted to him to see you differently. See that you had done things on your own. You sat there, hand hanging in the air. Footsteps returned back lightly thumping on the floor into the room as he stood in the threshold of his kitchen with his jars. Your brows furrowed then it struck you why he was there.

“What do you want?”

You smiled eyes lighting up. Your stomach was doing somersault in excitement. “You know what I want.”

He nodded setting down his supplies and sorting them out. “Where? On your arm like always?”

You shook your head taking in a deep breath. “On my back.”

His face was neutral, but his ears were a burning red. He cleared his throat. He took a moment before he nodded. Your fist clenched on your lap in excitement, it was finally happening.

Your heart was beat so fast. Your pride suddenly was asking to be swallowed. You had never been nude in front of others despite seeing nudity your whole life. Especially in front of Jin. You hadn’t really thought of the real implications of what getting a tattoo on your back entailed. Your hands were feeling sweaty.

“Did you changing your mind?”

You bristled at his question. You weren’t going to change your mind! Taking a deep breath and in a single motion you pulled your robe down and let it pool at your hips, while still clutching your hands over your bare chest with your sleeves. You decided to forgo an undershirt today wearing a thicker robe coat to compensate, but you wore a skirt as the robe wasn’t long enough to be a dress.

His jaw clenched as he tried to not clear his throat at the sight of your bare skin. He closed his eyes for a moment allowing the color to diffuse.

“Lay down.”

You carefully maneuvered and you laid down on the futon. It was quite eye opening how vulnerable and nervous you were feeling. When you settled, he only then moved. You flinched at the unexpected feeling of his large warm hands on your bare back. You both lacked to comment on your reaction. With his index he started at the top of your next and with his thumb of the same hand marking the end point, he inched his fingers counting how many he stretched. It was a simple touch, but it had your shoulders moved closer together as his index and thumb met at the small of your back. “Relax Butterfly.”

You nodded resting your face on your forearm.

The ritual began as you heard him open up the ceramic jars. The scarping of his wooden wire whisk as he mixed the ink fast then slow lifting at the end as he checked the consistency of the ink as it dripped off. The sound of fabric crumpling as he rolled up his white sleeve of his undershirt forgoing his blue robe. The first prick had you hissing through your teeth. You finally understood his customers wholeheartedly. He chided you, “Stay still.” A sound akin between a whine and aggrievance answered him, surprisingly putting a small smile on his face at your reaction. Your hand clenched and fisted the futon underneath you. He found it oddly endearing. Eventually you fell into his rhythmic pricking and the pain dulled out and was tolerable. He was gentle with feather light touches and pricks. Hours passed as he quietly painted you.

His needle was set on the table closing the session. “Done.”

You felt immensely sore, but immensely content at the same time. Carefully sitting up you carefully held your robe over your front as you looked over your shoulder. He was already staring at the four butterflies that flew up towards your neck starting at your lower back in varying sizes. You realized that was the first time you were truly seeing him. No pretenses as you looked at one another. He looked different. His tan skin somehow darker although you were sure he sat inside all day. His eyes having this shade under them that wasn’t there before. He looked ill. While he was tattooing, he must’ve dropped ink on himself, his hands were stained heavily, fingers nearly completely stained black. He was normally a clean worker, never or rarely staining himself. His eyes looked different, almost as if they had a golden hue like the setting sun. He stared at you, but they remained there with noticeable difficulty. Before you could inquire on his wellbeing his gaze tore away from your spine as he moved to close the jars piling them on the tray. His voice was strangely thick, “Clean it well.”

You twisted around facing him fully. “I’ve missed this.” You scooched closer to him stopping just short of brushing your knees to his. “I’ve missed you.”

Proximity was vital to him now as the fever within him returned. A cramp settling in his stomach at the dulcet tone of your plea. “Butterfly—.” His voice had depended as pleaded with you. The fact that he didn’t pull away made you believe in your favor. You ignored distance, holding the front of your robe together with one hand as you reached forward, hand instinctually wanting to cup his cheek. It felt like you were imagining things as you thought Jin was leaning towards you as well. Your fingertips grazed his cheek and the feeling washing over him in local pleasure but his stomach swirled stronger in contrast.

The spell was broken as knocks sounded at the front door before followed by echoes of it sliding open. Jin’s whine were concealed. “Butterfly! Are you done?” Jimin’s voice echoed down the hall.

The feeling disappeared from the air as Jin turned away from you. You didn’t answer Jimin as you stared at Jin who collected his stuff. He got up and the air had dramatically cooled around you as he began walking away towards his storeroom. You pulled your robe back up feeling vulnerable again. His blue robe crumpled on the floor reflected the light beginning to illuminate softly from the leaves of his tree outside. Your words had him pausing. “I have no more excuses to see you anymore. I can’t pretend I miss the Inn. I can’t make detours to this street from the main market without it being more obvious. Or say I want to see Cherry without glancing over and hoping your door is open.”

The tree outside shivered as the wind passed by.

Night was coming soon.

His footsteps continued.

Tears fell from your eyes, but as quickly as they fell, they dried. You tied the knot of your robe tight around your waist. You pulled out the satchel of coins and dropped it on the cleared table not caring to count or ask how much. Slowly getting up on sore legs as you walked towards the front door. Familiar pain can still made you nauseous. As you turned down the corner of the hall Jimin was waiting for you at the front door, hand extended out to you.

Eyes rimmed red and with the saddest smile you walked towards him with your own hand extended.

He sees it all, especially the way you don’t pull away or recoil this time when he holds your hand. There’s no reluctance or hesitation and somehow it makes his hold much looser this time after he can see the dullness behind your eyes. This wasn’t the reaction he had expected. He had thought this would be the answer. “Are you happy now Butterfly.”

“Yes, thank you.”

Jin appeared at the door silently, you hadn’t noticed but Jimin had. Jimin glared at Jin upset at the outcome. He couldn’t believe he was standing there after so calmly when you were clearly upset. Why was his friend so stupid and blind. Jimin neutralized his expression and it turned coy. It was his last coup before he gave up trying. Jimin stepped closer to you, near face to face as he leaned in to whisper loudly into your ear. Daringly he placed a hand on your hip as he pulled you closer to him. “Will you let me see it later Beautiful?”

You nodded not hearing his request despite his proximity and touch. Your mind was elsewhere.

Eyes glinting, his hand was still on your hip. “Let’s go home Butterfly.”

Your feet felt planted as if they had been molded, but uprooted as Jimin gently pulled you alongside him going towards the tall gate. You took a breath then a step towards. Your head swam with regrets, why couldn’t it all turn back to how it was. Maybe you still were a child yearning for him even after such clarity. The ink in your skin didn’t make you a woman. You were still you and he still didn’t want you. They say once bitten, twice shy, but I think for it's more like forever shy. Tears built in the corner of your eyes again, you felt stupid.

You reached the gate Jimin pushing it open until you were jolted by a sudden tug and onset heat. Jin twisted you around pulling you out of Jimin’s touch vicariously pushing Jimin away. You were face to face, a breathtaking sight as his figure towered over you. His eyes were fiery red, pulsing, replacing his black irises. His face feral with something wild you had never seen his gentle feature morph into. He seethed, “Don’t.”

The subtle smirk that Jimin had sent you had been the last straw. He had been holding back, composing himself for so long. He allowed Jimin to mess around, even buy you from the Inn, telling himself you were better off—safer that way. The last thread holding his senses together snapped as unadulterated anger filled him. The tattoo he had just given you was so intimate—his—and it was only his to see. You…you were only his, and all of you was for his eyes only.

You stared wide eye at him. “Jin…your eyes.”

You saw his face shift into horror as he realized he had let himself slip. He dropped your hand like he had been burnt. He brought a shaky hand up to his face as he began to stumble backwards rapidly. His eyes flicked to yours petrified. You blubbered, “Seokjin, you—.” He turned on his heel and ran back into his home, stumbling before he disappearing down the dark hall.

Your mind raced completely bewildered by the situation, yet as a sense of familiarity settled in. Those eyes. Flashes of those eyes. You had seen them in him before, but you had brushed it off as a reflection of light, the sunset, anything but…what you think it is. Those eyes belong to only one thing, the same ones that were outside your childhood home, the ones in your nightmares. You had thought it was just that though, a figment of your childish imagination, anything but real. But they’re just human like…weren’t they?

Jimin got up from the ground and jogged over to you. A heavy sense of guilt in his stomach, Gods, this wasn’t how it wasn’t supposed to turn out.  “Butterfly.” He shook your shoulders when you didn’t answer him. You blinked and looked at him.

Jimin looked at the house then back to you, “Listen Butterfly. I’m sorry Butterfly I-I—I.” You scrunched your brows, did Jimin know? What was going on.  “I just didn’t expect it to happen like this.” He pointed towards the house. Frustrated he grunted and he ran his hand through his hair, really, he didn’t expect this nudging to come this far.

Yoongi’s cup of rucke was sitting just out of reach next to him as his fingers pressed the keys of his lap piano. Jungkook and Taehyung had taken it upon themselves to freestyle a song with slurred lyrics that weren’t lingual. Alcohol being the influence had all seven of them giddy, giddy too after seeing eachother after a while. After the meeting they brushed away all the blueprints. They had gathered around the floor table that was filled with empty and partially filled bottles, glasses, and plates Jin had prepared. Jin only hosted gatherings because of his ability to cook and the other naturally decided on their own his home was the epicenter of their gatherings. Taehyung had brought new ink for Jin in his recent travels in the system. Namjoon had brought political gossip what was going on in the higher courts. Jin, along with everyone joked upon a cheer cutting Joon’s monologue short about the shortcomings of the government. He thought they had closed the meeting already. Jin held up his cup, “To the next King, Namjoon!” Simultaneously despite the others partially listening cheered along.

Namjoon blushed mouth gaping like a fish. “Guys-alright, alright, I’ll stop. I’ll stop! But don’t come complaining to me when you can’t fuckin’ keep up next meeting!” The man absolutely blushed nearly dropping his ceramic cup of alcohol from snorting and dismissing the cheer. Even Hoseok, who was calmly laying on the floor as the first few sips had already rendered him chill, suddenly sat up and clanged his glass along with everyone else. The cheer didn’t diminish just to taunt him. It enticed them to sip more. It had always been chaotic when all of them gathered.

The porch door was propped open letting in the breeze and aerate the room full of men alike. Over the music of Yoongi was playing there was a light under hum of music coming from the Inn. When the room quieted Jin smiled at the siren like call. His ears were red, skin had been crawling with patches of ink and from his chest a light glow emitted shining through his shirt, robe long ago discarded and Jungkook was wearing it. He had been partially shifting all night. “Butter~~fly”

Jimin rolled over, hearing the murmuring coming from Jin. As he listened closer, he could hear the name Jin was mumbling. The urge to tease overwhelming him as he propped on table next to him. Jin rarely drank, only when they came over, usually too busy to bother with it and the effects.

“Jin, where’s butterfly? Why isn’t she here?”

Jin blinked slowly as he huffed out an answer, “Cherry probably.”

Hoseok’s ears perked up at the mentioning of the name before he slumped back down onto the floor.

Scooching closer to Jin, he unnecessarily whispered. “Hey, hey Jin!”

“Hmmm?” Jin’s eyes had closed, his brain signaling slowing down as the alcohol flowed through his system.

“Did you tell her yet?”

A shout of howls around the room picked up as a betting game had picked up. The arguments of who and what were the rules always took up the most of the time before the game even started.

He hummed scrunching his face not hearing Jimin clearly. “What?”

Jimin spoke loudly, “Did you tell her about you—you know?”

Jin’s head shot up, eyes fiercely glared at Jimin, pupils turning ember and suddenly sober. “No!”

Jimin pouted, clearly tipsy as well, and senses not picking up on the change in Jin. He scoffed, annoyed. He had been watching Jin for the longest time. He had known him since they were young. It was painful watching the two of you run circles around one another. You were painfully obvious, but painfully oblivious to the obvious. Jimin was naturally whiny when he was sober, but alcohol tended to intensify it. “Why won’t you tell her, she’s going to find out soon enough?”

“No!” His fingers gripping hard and scratched the surface of the table. Anger bursted like a flame, but his focus was still fuzzy, as he racked his brain for the right response. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Oh come on Jin.” Like a candle sparked Jimin got up using the table as a stabilizer.  

He stumbling towards the porch, passing the others who were slapping down cards and calling out counts. Yoongi was still playing his piano, although the beat had slowed down significantly. The others payed him no mind. Jin kept his eyes on him. A coy smirk pulled at Jimin’s lips, a single brow arched in taunt. “If you won’t tell her because your too pussy to do it. I’ll do it. It’s easy. Watch.”

Jimin had pulled open the porch, “Butterfly, I hope you hear this, Jin’s a—.”

Jin was up within seconds as he dashed forward and spun Jimin around pinning him to the wall. The force was hard enough that the wall shook. Jin’s pupils were dilated and irises completely red. A black veined hand was wrapped around Jimin’s throat. “Don’t. You. Dare!” He seethed the command through his teeth.

The room had grown silent all of them staring before instantly sobering. Taehyung, Namjoon and Jungkook stood up, black veins and red eyes emerging in all three. All three gathered the strength to pull Jin off Jimin. Although Jimin never lost his smile through the ordeal, laughing. He had dangled the bait and Jin caught it willingly. Jungkook was the strongest of the group, but Jin’s strength rivaled his often. The other two supported by maneuvering them off Jimin safely. Barking but not biting immediately the alcohol his Jin’s system hard as he slumped into Jungkook’s arms mumbling like a child. Taehyung held onto Jimin as Namjoon ordered Jungkook to lay Jin down, “He’s had enough.”

Taehyung supported Jimin as he brought him back to the table checking on him. Jimin waved everyone off, he was fine, Jin would never actually hurt him. Jostle yes, but never hurt. Hoseok checked him over before rubbing a knuckle to his head, “Ai-gu, you know better than to tease him about Butterfly when he’s drunk.”

Jimin giggled drunkenly as he brought his liquor up to his lips. “Are you guys tired of it too?”

He looked around and all of them had the same hesitant expression. “I don’t like secrets.”

Yoongi grumbled as his playing picked up again. The tip of his fingers dark too, but they began receding into his usual pale skin color. “Children in men’s bodies, all of you.”

The lot of them laughed.

Jimin’s eyes shifted over to Jin who had been haphazardly laid on his mattress already fast asleep. An idea popped in his mind, the fun wasn’t over.

Jimin held up his shot glass, “Cheers!”

Glasses clanked, “Cheers.”

Your mind was racing, all the denial, all the fears came to life. ”J-Jimin?”

“There’s a lot you don’t know, Butterfly.” Jimin was uncharacteristically unkept and bent out of shape as he raced to explain.

The stake felt like it had dug deeper in your chest hearing that. Fourteen years…fourteen years and you never noticed he…wasn’t quite human? Guerra were human though, right? The eyes made you believe different. The images you had seen in your youth made you feel that you had just seen the surface. You had never imagined that he was…one of them. How….how had…you not known?

Who was Jin really? What…what was he?

Jimin had expected Jin to stop him the day he bought you, but Jin did nothing, as usual complacent when it came to you. He didn’t mean for it to come to this confession, just—a confession. He ran his hand through his hair a few more times before running his tongue over his lips. He held your shoulders, pleading with you, “Butterfly, I’ve made a mistake that I shouldn’t have. I just…I just didn’t want to see you in that Inn anymore either. You belong here. Here with him. Not with me, not at the Inn, here you belong here. I could see it, always have, the look you both give eachother. He’s scared right now, more than you are and he needs you. You’ve always wanted answers, now it’s here in front of you.”

He spun you around until you were facing home. Jimin pushed you forward again. “Go.”

You regained traction before you face planted and with a step forward you walked back towards home. With a hand on the doorframe you glanced back and Jimin nodded assuring you. You were trembling you didn’t know what to expect. A loud inhuman groan that sounded like a growl echoed from within. You turned around ready to run but Jimin stopped you turning you back, “Don’t be afraid! He won’t hurt you. He’ll never hurt you.” Holding onto that you took it to heart. Jin had never hurt you. You took a shaky step forward before you found your feet walking you inside. For Jin, you could do this for Jin.

The atmosphere felt different as you carefully walked forward hands trembling. You had seen that color in his eyes before but ignored it. The time Jin had pulled you down with him coming to mind as you saw specks of gold and red in his eyes. Maybe you did on purpose, the truth was heavy. The dark wooden floor echoed the sound of your footsteps in the near empty hall, the tall white walls felt endless. Deep shadows had settled in, but you knew exactly where to go. Standing at the sliding door of the main living room you could hear the sounds rumbling from within. Your hand reached for the ajar door. You needed answers, you wanted answers despite your churning stomach. You pushed open the rest of his main room door and stepped inside. He was heaving in the far corner of his room, nearly engulfed in the shadows.

“J-Jin?”

An unsettling growl erupted from his throat. “GET OUT!”

You swallowed the fear that coursed through you at the unfamiliar hostility, physically refraining from stepping back like you had wanted to. This was still Jin. He was still Jin. You weren’t going to run away now. You closed the door behind you. “Jin, please.”

He growled louder turning slightly exposing his face that was still partially obscured by the shadows. He began turning and exposing himself slowly from the shadows. His white shirt was soaked through in sweat despite the temperature dropping rapidly as he turned around. Black strands of hair were stuck to his exposed forehead as his head was tilted back exposing his neck, lips parted as he heaved. His eyes were feral, red and fully dilated, as his brows knitted, and you could assume from frustration. He didn’t want you to see him this way as it was difficult for him to maintain eye contact.

“Are you alright?” You struggled to keep your voice stable

“You need to go now!” He commanded. The room because of him felt smaller than you remember, despite being in here not long ago. It was as if his being was an extension of the shadows as it crept the whole width of the room. His jaw clenched trembling with restraint.

“No, I’m not leaving.” You stated with confidence you weren’t sure. “I can’t, I can’t keep turning away and taking no for an answer.” You swallowed the words almost stuck in your throat. “Who are you? Why…why didn’t you tell me? Is this…is this why you kept pushing me away?” Tears began pricking at the corner of your eye.

The coal in his eyes returned with a sense of vulnerability accompanied by a ring of gold before it dissolved. He was silent, but you weren’t going to allowed it. You were tired, tired of rejection and being left in the dark. You tried reaching for him, “Please, Jin.”

“STAY BACK! DON’T COME ANY CLOSER!” He tossed his head back with a vicious snarl. Moment by moment he began to look wilder and more deranged as he shivered backing further into the corner. “Leave!”

“Jin your scaring me.” You retracted your hand back holding it to chest as if it would protect yourself. Jimin said he wouldn’t hurt you. You knew Jin wouldn’t hurt you.

He heaved strenuous breathes, imploring you, “You should leave.”

He appeared to be in a lot of pain and it was concerning. Reason caught up to you. Should you get Jimin? Jimin would know what to do. But you didn’t want to leave, what if he collapsed. “No. Let me get Jimin, he can help.”

At that he faltered, and he let out a high-pitched whine. “NO! Don’t go near him!” He couldn’t control it anymore. It was taking over. He had been resisting it for so long, trying to hide this part of himself from the world—from you. But you-- were the trigger. His knees caved and buckled until he collapsed knees spread hands in front of him for support. “I can’t—I can’t control it any—!” He let out another high pitch whine that turned into another vicious snarl. His nails scratched at the floor scrapping and causing curls of wood to coil in its trail. He sat up with flinging his head back as his spine arched. His bones began cracking and snapping as they reformed and elongate. You watched in horror as his skin shifted and his physique grew and filled out. His shirt tore as his already wide shoulders and chest expanded; pieces were hanging by the thread. His pants ripped at the outer and inner seams but remained on in his kneeling position. The sound of cracking and snapping had stopped; his already tall height had increased by at least another foot. His muscles grew and shoulders were impossibly wider to accommodate for his shifting into a giant.

Moonlight illuminated his kneeling figure that poured in from the frosted panes as night finally settled in. His name sat on the tip of your tongue just when you thought it was over. Instantly his tan skin then erupted in dark spots like ink soaking into a canvas. This part seemed to not be painful as he made no sound of protest. It began at his fingertips until it simultaneously became one and replaced his skin color with a color akin to charcoal migrating up his hand and forearm; it paused at his elbow and through the tears and holes in his shirt you could see the dark color began to branch off like veins over his upper arm as it trailed up. It looked like armor but engrained in his flesh as it settled.

Hidden under his sleeves it reappeared, creeping up his neck like veins. The pigment crept up his neck and over his jaw and marked half his face in an uneven crawl of black pigmented veins. At the same time his chest glistened as his torn shirt billowed around him as the veins began to trail on his chest towards his heart. Over his heart under his skin a circular patch began to glow white hot as Jin let out a guttural groan. It morphed and looked like molten fire was underneath and the shadow veins began encasing around it connected the fire to the rest of his body. It pulsed alongside his heartbeat.

Jin’s jaw suddenly unhinged open in a silent scream. From the pulsing core in a single hard pulse the fire like molt spread the molten glow replacing main shadow veins that were adjacent to major veins. Large strips over his arms were filled until it ended at the tip of his middle finger on both arms. A similar fire vein began creeping up his neck next to his jugular, over his jaw and up over his eye until it stopped at his hairline. It appeared like a molten scar down his face.

He had fought off the shift so long, only allowing small episodes, but he hadn’t shifted fully in years. It was overcoming him in such a powerful wave he had never experienced before. His sweaty black hair hung in tendrils front of his eyes as he heaved. The shift was complete.

This…this was your answer. This…was what a Guerra truly is. This was Jin.

This whole time you thought you had imagined that, a child’s rendition of a Guerra, a monster. You had thought they were only human like, but in all truth you were unaware of what made them different. This being hiding under a sheep’s skin. It was simply an apartheid to you. A giant shadow with glowing red eyes. The fire, the heat, it all made sense. You had seen them before and it wasn’t your imagination. Jin was…the word slipped from your lips. “Guerra.”

His head lifted eerily slow until his eyes met yours. When he opened his eyes blearily one was glowing red and the other, the shadowed was gold like the vein.

“Are you afraid?” In a strained voice he asked. “Want to run now? Now that you see the monster that I am.”

You shook your head side to side hands clenched at your chest. In all truth you weren’t afraid, not like you were earlier. The imagination and unknown were more terrifying than the truth. You knew the history, what they had done to your family, but that…that wasn’t Jin. He was still Jin. “No.”

Parroting you, “No?”

You slowly walked towards him despite the soft growls he emitted with each breath. In this form his senses were heightened and he could hear your heart beating hard in your chest. His nostrils flared as he took in your scent. His senses heightened in this new form. It smelled so sweet and enticing. He remained still fighting his baser self. You slumped down onto your knees in front of him. From this close up he looked even more formidable as if he had manifested from the cracks of Anise. Sweat began beading at your hairline from the heat he was radiating. “I’m not going anywhere. I don’t care that you’re a Guerra. I just—you lied to me. You never told me about this. Why? Why did you hide this from me?”

He shook his head, growling under his breath in an attempt to scare and evade you.

Feeling bold you reached forward placing your hand over his.  The simple touch had him shivering as he attempted to control the feeling of power thrumming through him. The inky skin felt calloused at contact, but oddly smooth when your smaller hand twined over his hand. His growling ceased as your simple touch had him slumping slightly forward towards you and it eased the tension in his being; tamed in an instant by your simple touch. You had so much control over him and you didn’t even know it.

His voice was deeper than you were used to as he spoke. “I had to hide it from you Butterfly. I’m not the only one Tae, Kook and Namjoon are Guerra too. We all have to hide it because of me—because of my family.”

You controlled your expression regardless of how much that additional fact hurt as much. They had hid it from you too. You kept quiet waiting for him to continue. When he reopened his eyes after taking a moment of silence, they sought yours in an act of bravery; pain swirled with the burgundy and it gripped your heart.  

“The Guerra used to fight in wars against the Titans to protect the universe—even humans. We are peaceful people, it’s in our blood to be protectors. Papa had told me that we were until the new rule took over and our race became…murderers. Invading planets, colonizing and destroying isn’t how we were supposed to be.”

You sat back on your feet trying to take your hand back but he didn’t let you. He tightened his grip around your hand and you returned the feeling to assure him you weren’t going anywhere.

“My family were personal guards for the royals for generations, but when my father saw that humans were being killed senselessly he couldn’t support stand by the regime anymore. It wasn’t who we were, Guerra—we don’t hurt. We don’t hurt unless someone hurts us or our loved ones.” He voice shook hurrying his words and making them almost indescribable. His thumb was running over the back of your hand in an act of self-soothing. He licked his lips before he began, knowing what he was about to say would probably hurt you, “The war.”

Your hand squeezed his back at the mentioning like he expected. His hands itched pull you into him, protect you from the truth, but for now he had to be content holding you like this; because you may not want to much longer. His head tipped down and his long, black hair curtained over his face. “Our parents…started it.”

Your eyes widened impossibly. Panic settling within you as the painful grip his eyes wrapped around your heart squeezed. “Jin, what? What are you saying?”

He shook his head, strong voice pulling your attention back center, “Listen Butterfly, I know this is a lot, but I need you to listen. You wanted to hear it, and I’m telling the truth.”

“Tell me.”

“Kook’s dad was also a guard with my dad and they both worked together to gather evidence against the regime. His mom was a maid in the palace and would sneak letters to Joon’s dad who worked for the universal courts. They were building a case against the regime.”

“My father found out the regime had been planning a genocide. A full take over Anise to erase all the humans. My father had Kook’s human mother spread the word amongst other palace maids and it spread quickly outside the palace. Kook’s dad was a Guerrian guard too and called his friend, Joon’s dad, who was a member of the universal courts and told him of the conspiracy. They warned people, but it was too late, the war had started and they captured my father. They killed my father and Kook’s…my mother died sacrificing herself to save me and Papa. This house was my mom’s house before she was sold off to the palace to work. Tae’s family was upper Guerrian, an old friend of my parents, who were entrusted to help us escape the palace and come here.”

The face of your mother comes to mind. The face of your father you had lost to the red letter. Your siblings. The ones who came in for tattoos. So many people had been lost.

“After the war the courts made it illegal for Guerra to shift to protect the humans, but there was so much….destruction, so much pain left. It’s not how it’s supposed to be.” He slipped his hands from yours as he looked at his hands with detest. He clenched his fist and the core on his chest brightened. “The war may be over, but its not for me—for us. There’s another uprising soon and the regime plans to strike again. The regime still has plans and if they found out, that a Kim and the others involved in the coup had survived then they would come for me—and you if you were with me. I’d be killed on the spot.“

Tears flowed freely as you sobbed. It explained so much and filled so many gaps. Your heart ached immensely you had no idea he was holding in so much. There was so much you had no idea about, yet the underlying emotion of fear was present. You could lose him, there was another war on the horizon. You could lose him like you lost everyone else. You could only whimper his name.

He sighed and smiled as he wiped your tears. You were too kind with a heart that was too big. It was something he had always loved about you. His hot hands cupped the side of your face, they were so large it curled around the side of your head. “I did this to protect you. You are not safe with me, Butterfly.”

You leaned your head into his touch with your hand going over his and the other on his wrist to hold him to you. You hadn’t realized how much he was holding in and how painful it must’ve been. He had the others, but you know the loneliness he must’ve felt not having his parents and to suddenly carry such a heavy burden. You didn’t have words for how badly you felt for him, but you knew you felt so much. You felt brazen and nothing mattered anymore that everything was out now. “I love you Jin. I don’t want to be without you.”

Hearing the words he feared the most he pulled away from you. In the haste of his motions his torn shirt fell off him like scraps further exposing his shadowed body. Molten veins were pulsing faster along with his core mimicking his heartrate, but the most intense radiation came from the scar like vein that transverse his face. They were glowing at you as his expression scrunched. “You don’t get it! I can’t drag you into this. They’ll kill you too Butterfly. They’ll kill you!” He stood up and your face barely came up his knees. His torn pants were hanging loosely around his waist, and you could see more of the veins shadow and molten on his body through the rips. Shifting on his heels he began backing away from you. He felt the need to defend his one last secret he had been guarding carefully with his whole soul for years. His tone flat, “Leave. Leave and don’t come back.”

His words were like a catalyst causing you to stand up. There was much to fear in life, but you were exhausted letting it be the ultimate hurdle. You were afraid of the future, but a future without him was terrifying. He backed up with every step you took forward to maintain that vital proximity. “I don’t care!” You shouted over his rambling. Tears streamed down your face again. “Don’t, don’t make me leave again. I can’t do it again. None of this scare me, nothing scares me more than not being with you. I don’t care that you’re a Guerra, or that I could be in danger by being with you. None of that compares to the pain of being without you! I was miserable at Jimin’s. I couldn’t—can’t stop thinking about you. Everyone, everyone threw me away, even my own family, and the only time I’ve felt like someone cared was when I was with you. Don’t… leave me too…please. I love you.”

Each declaration chipped away as him like he was taking bullets. You could see his face soften as his resolve was crumbling. It was minute but you caught it, you knew him like the back of your hand. It was the same one before he always caved and did whatever you asked. You moved forward going on your tippy toes as you grabbed onto his shoulders and yanked him down to you forcefully. Your lips met skin, but it wasn’t his lips. You had missed his lips and had planted your lips against his chin. You pulled away sitting back on your heels but your hands were still on his shoulders. You head dropped as disappointment overwhelmed you. “Ha, I’m still a child after all.”

He tipped your chin back, his red eyes meeting yours with so many intense emotions love, sorrow, adoration, and fear. You were fearless, always doing whatever your heart desired. You were braver than he could ever be. He was afraid just as much as you were, but here you were jumping into his truth with no gripes. He held you there, held you in his eyes as if the world was within yours. With each second that passed, his feelings of guilt and remorse began to leave him. “No.”

He dipped down capturing your lips in a gentle press hoping to convey all his thoughts. All air left your lungs and it kicked your heart into overdrive. He gently moved his lips against yours and you could only describe his mouth against yours as a furnace. You were unsure of what do as you had never kissed before. Coming to your senses you began moving your lips against his plump lips softly and hesitantly. Skinship was casual between you too, but this level of intimacy was new to you. A low, drawn out groan that held a mix of relief, happiness escaped him as he felt you reciprocated. His hand that was under your chin shifted as he gently cupped your neck. Although you didn’t want to you pulled away for air overwhelmed and unprepared.

“Butterfly,” he whispered huskily against your lips. The air around you grew warmer if possible and heavier around you, and it felt familiar yet new with the desire that began to well within you.

He dipped down and picked you up as if you weighted nothing, his strong arms barely flexing in the motion. Earlier he had to strain and lean down and hunch over to meet your lips. You naturally wrapped your legs around his narrow waist. Jin’s body had always felt overheated to you, but it meant safe and security. It had your body heating up with arousal. He mumbled to himself almost, “You’re so small—so precious Butterfly.” You wanted to refute, you were quite average for a human, but he gave you no such chance.

“Jin—mpf!” He chased your lips this time with unrestrained desire and furiously that had you gasping and glad he was holding you securely to him. Your nails scratched unwittingly against his thick neck and tangling your fingers in his wet hair causing a long, low groan to rumble from deep in his throat. The vibrations sent desire thrumming through your veins. If this was what kissing was like you were upset, you hadn’t done this sooner. His tongue poked out and swept over your bottom lip before he took it between his teeth. It had you moaning tightening your grip in his hair that had him reciprocating the sound. He had greater lung capacity than you and it was evident in the way his voracious kissing never let up. Everything was happening so fast, but you were willingly falling in. You escaped his lips and when you pulled away there was a borderline animalistic growl he released. You couldn’t help the chuckle you released at his sound. You rested your forehead against his and holding his cheek. Teasing him back, “So precious.” He lightly tapped your thigh catching onto the gest. You pecked his lips as you giggled, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Your breathes mixed and he was staring at your puffy and bruised lips. Prideful that it was his doing. “Mine.” His hands tightened on your legs and slid up your tights trusting you to stay put. He gripped and kneaded your hips and you gasped at the possessive touch. A wave of heat went up your spine as you shivered, calling his name. A smirked pulled at his lips, he liked the way that sounded. His lips continued as he kissed the corner of your mouth moving to your jaw. His mouth trailed down until he pressed searing, sloppy kisses on your neck suckling and leaving marks behind. A needy whine that melted into a moan left your lips as he scrapped your hypersensitive flesh with his teeth.

He panted against your neck, unable to hold back his thoughts. “This is wrong.” Despite his protest his tongue poked out tasting your skin. He showed no signs of slowing down or stopping. Your hands squeezed his muscular shoulders holding onto him tighter. You felt small and vulnerable against this expansive figure. You whispered into his ear as you leaned forward. “If this is wrong then I don’t want what’s right.”

He pulled his face from your neck and met your eyes with a look you had seen customers give Anemonas—lust. You knew he saw the reciprocal want there. “Gods, you’re going to be the death of me Butterfly. Do you know what you’re doing to me, what you do to me?” He rested his forehead against yours pecking your lips, all for himself so he wouldn’t succumb to the ravenous urges. He had surrendered fully to you. He adjusted you in his arms pulling you closer. In the action your chest brushed up against his and your crotch pressed against his member that had been forming. You mewled tucking your face into his neck at the arousal it sent through you. He chuckled at the cute reaction. He knew you were a virgin. “We don’t have to do anything.”

You shook your head, “I want this. I’ve waited for you long enough. I want all of you.”

He was back on you. He kissed you deeply weaving one of his calloused, inky hands on the back of your neck so he could deepen the kiss further. Night had settled in encasing everything in darkness with the lanterns unlit in the dark room, but you both hadn’t noticed the change. He was radiating a bright copper light from his being. It was enough to cast a mood light as if he was a lantern burning. You didn’t realize he was moving too lost in the feeling of him. The futon was still laid out from your session. Carefully he sat down with you straddling his lap, the whole time he was aware of your back. The skirt you wore had ridden up so far it was exposing nearly all your lower half. He chuckled when you whined as he broke the kiss, the irony. He teased nosing around your temples then neck taking in your scent that was getting sweeter. “You couldn’t stay away could you, Butterfly? You couldn’t listen to me huh?” You mewled as he squeezed your hips. His hands trailed up falling in the dips and curves of your body.

When his hands began to caress your sides, you felt as if your heart was beating outside of your body. It drummed manically, alive only to the sensation of his touch. How long had your body craved for this? Imagining what it would feel like to have his hands on you like this? Even his touch above the material of your robe was enough to suffice and have you feeling manic internally. You felt him everywhere, his palms burning their way to the skin. Over your robe his hands cupped your breast, thumbs rubbing over your nipples. They hardened under the motion. Your thighs squeezed around his muscular ones as you moaned. Your arousal was building as you felt your core stirring.

“I’ve thought about this before.”

Something in your stomach flipped. “R-really?” You stuttered as his warm hands kneaded harder. He kept his eyes on you while he kneaded and pinched at your nipples watching your reactions.

He chuckled lightly, “There’s so much I want to do you.”

“I want to touch, kiss every inch and hold all of you and feel you bare against me.” You had never heard lewd words coming from his mouth before.

You wanted that too. You reached up and undid the knot of your robe and let it fall from your shoulders. You held your hands over your chest, what if your chest wasn’t too his liking?

As if he could hear your thoughts, “Your beautiful my little human.”

You flushed at the nickname and pulled your hands away from your chest, trusting him. You allowed the sleeves to completely fall off you, robe forgotten. He went for your waist instead of grabbing at your breast like you expected. It was always what the men at the Inn did. They always groped at them as if they were drowning, but Jin held your waist still so gently. The looked mesmerized as if he had never seen a more beautiful sight and it had your heart skipping a few beats. “Beautiful, Butterfly.” Your eyes met, and you felt no shame, only love.

“Touch me.”

His hands caressed your abdomen with featherlight touches, although the slight callous to his hands were a welcoming friction. His fingers cupped your breast fully spilling into his welcoming hands. He massaged lightly and pinched at your nipples. Light pleasure traveled into your lower half filling the reservoir. His mouth accompanied his hands. His tongue delicately brushed against your right nipple. Your back arched into the feeling. His tongue felt hot as he teased it around the nipple before his lips encompassed it and he suckled. He took his time tasting you as he moved to your other breast when he felt the other had been marked enough and nibbled to tenderness. He looked up to you and his blazing, wild eyes had you moaning, he looked like he wanted to devour you.

It didn’t sound real to his ears the soft sounds of your moans and mewling. It had him wanting it more, and louder. He released your breast with a soft pop and his mouth was lightly glistening with his own saliva. While holding your unfocused gazed in his he trailed one hand down your navel finding your center over your skirt as he cupped you. You gasped, “I want to see all of you.” He had his hands dipping into the waist band of your skirt and tearing it along with your underwear. It ripped like wet paper as he tossed them somewhere in the room. “Jin!”

You whimpered instantly surprised by his strength again. In that moment you were reminded you were with a Guerra. You tried closing your legs but because of your position it didn’t allow you too.

“Don’t care, need you.” He didn’t want to afford having you moving off him. He inhaled taking in the scent of your arousal and his eye color deepened from red to a blood orange. “Gods, you smell divine.” He whined, suddenly pleading with you, “Please, butterfly, let me touch you. Please.”

You couldn’t resist, as much as you felt shy you wanted to feel him. You wanted it too. You nodded. He shook his head, “Say it. I need you to say it.”

“Touch me Jin.” You got out breathily. He groaned, enjoying the sound of it coming from you.

One finger dipped between your legs and ran up and down your slit. His touch was hot and it didn’t take him long to switch to two fingers coating both of his hands in your slick. “So wet for me little human.” You flinched every time he ran his fingers over your clit. He was so Intune with you as he quickly picked up on your reactions and what had you mewling as he swirled his fingers over your clit in a circular motion. His other hand had trialed back up and was groping at one of your breasts in time with his other hand. His mouth latched onto your neglected breast biting softly at the nipple before he suckled it to soothe the ache. You were drowning in euphoria at his simple touches. “So sensitive.” He commented out loud unaware he was even speaking. You moaned as he played with your body expertly.  You had a moment of wonder. How did he know how to touch you so well. How did he know the female body so well when you hadn’t seen or heard of him having any partners? You pushed against his shoulders as your breast made a resounding pop out of his mouth. You combed his hair with your fingers, “Did you?”

He looked up, breathing hot air over your nipple unwilling to part with your body. You resisted the urge to flinch at the tingling feeling. Gulping, embarrassed by your insecure feelings. “Did you…with her, that woman that night?”

He was lost in the furrows of lust it took him a moment to register what you were asking. He laughed sitting up straight finding your eyes level with him. You hated that he was laughing, but he placated you quickly. “No.”

He spoke honestly, “I’ve laid with women before, but I never enjoyed it, not like this. Nothing will ever compare to this, to you. I never loved them. It was to rid myself of my urges for you. I never wanted to hurt you. I only want you.”

Oddly, you didn’t care that he had others, because right now you were here—and going to be forever. You froze in his lap, did he, did he just say he loved you?

Tears pricked at your eyes again, “You love me?”

He smiled, “I do.”

You didn’t know what to do with yourself, you were bubbling over with happiness as a stray tear fell. You pressed your lips to his and he returned the gesture eagerly laughing lightly at first at your excitement. Your bare chest pressed together and it felt so good feeling his bare skin. You felt like melting. His head tipped down exposing his thickened neck as he moaned. The veins on his neck looked like rivers of fire and deep canyons in where the shadow veins took place. You wanted to kiss it like he had yours. Your lips pressed gently over his and it had his eyes rolling back. The fire river like veins that trailed adjacent to his jugular were sensitive. His hips twitched rubbing against your bareness and it had you clutching at his shoulders tightly as you moaned louder than you had before. He made a similar nose under his breath. Egged on by the sound you kissed his neck generously until his skin was damp. You were surprised that despite the change his skin tasted like skin. Although there were hints of smokiness to him now along with his natural floral scent.

He allowed your hands to trail around his chest and large shoulders feeling his skin. His skin felt so soft until you reached the inked skin that felt slightly calloused. One thing that always had struck you odd was that Jin never had any tattoos, now you understood why. His bare torso was a sight to behold and the shadow and molt designs were predatorial. You let your hand trail down his chest and settle over his crotch. A strangled noise left him. He let you experiment and run your hands over the bulge. “Let me see you too. I want to see you Jin.” You were curious, you had seen human male client’s nude before on accident, you wondered if Guerrian anatomy were similar. You assumed as much since their non shifted form was human-like. Just from the outline you already had an idea he was large. “Please. I want to make you feel good too Jin.” You were too cute to resist.

From underneath you he used his hands and ripped his pants apart and tossed the flaps around. He wasn’t wearing undergarments. His length was standing erect against his navel. When you finally saw it you felt a mix of emotions thrill, anticipation and fear. The length and thickness was intimidating, but his large size must be normal for a Guerrian. Surely, he was much larger than the males you saw at the Inn, but that may have been down to your inexperience. His cock was just a bit darker than his natural skin color, but at the thick base the inky pigment ombred into his skin color. On the shaft smaller capillaries of fire ran up the shaft to the tip. Two, large, adjacent shadow and molten veins ran on the underside of his cock leading to the bulbous tip and disappearing into the slit. The tip was leaking thick fluid that was almost gelatinous.

Late at night when service was done sometimes the other servant girls would stay up and talk in your room. Some tips and trades were exchanged that weren’t recipes that they had gathered from Anemonas. Pulling from your bank you grabbed the base of his cock and your fingertips barely touched and it already felt heavy in your hands. It swelled slightly growing firmer in your touch.

“Ah-fuck, Butterfly!” You retracted your hand thinking you hurt him. His cock made a resounding slap against his stomach as you let go. He grasped your wrist, “No, don’t stop, it’s okay. It-it feels good.”

You nodded grasping him again and his expression scrunched. Your small hand felt great, even though your grip was loose. It was you touching him and that already had him on edge. He felt like he could cum any moment.  

“Is this good?”

He groaned, nodding, gods, you were so innocent and it made him wan to defile you even more.

You ran your hand up and down the shaft using the precum that had leaked over the tip to coat him in his own esscence. Out of curiosity, you brought up your fingers coated in his precum to your lips and wrapped your lips around his fingers. The salty, bitterness that greeted your taste buds was a harsh contrast to what you had imagined. The girls always in the throes of it had moaned how good they tasted. It wasn’t bad, just unexpected. You are swallowing every little drop of precum from your fingers.

He lost it as if awakening the feral Guerrian part within himself he had been controlling. He grabbed your hand as it reached for his cock again. He grunted, huffing through his teeth, “Next time.” You whined trying to reach for him again, his grip tightened on you. His eyes were blown out wide, “Butterfly. Next time.” He kissed your pouting lips. “Right now, I want to feel you.”  

You shifted over his crotch, but his hand found itself between your legs again. You looked at him questioning. “I need to prepare you to receive me.” You blushed at your eagerness then nodded in understanding. Switching back to one, his finger circling your entrance carefully. You could hear yourself, sticky as you coated the pad of his finger, and you fidgeted, wanting more but still feeling nervous. On cue, he slipped the digit inside you. Your velvet walls squeezed around the intrusion and you winced. His fingers were smaller than his cock, but way bigger than your own fingers. You whined, but he pressed kisses to your lips gently pulling you in a passionate make out. His finger began moving deeper within you and he swallowed each of your noises. “If you can’t take my fingers how are you supposed to take my cock, little human?” You panicked thinking he wasn’t going to put it in you. “No, Jin, I can take it. I can take you.”

He smirked, but underneath he was also a bit concnerned. You were so small compared to his current figure. If he was in his human form there was only a small difference, but he couldn’t shift back now. You grinded against his hand sending a wave of pleasure overriding the pain. The dulcet sound encouraged him, to continue prepping you. This time your walls accepted him sucking his finger in with a desperate need, locking him in placed. He explored you a little, dragging and rubbing inside you, trying to stretch you for what was to come.

“Let me add another finger.” You nodded as you felt him pull his digit out and press another finger up to your twitching entrance. He pressed in and the initial sting hurt as well as the push inside. He rubbed your hip with his other hand in soothing circles. Shifting his hand around he pressed at your clit with his thumb rubbing similar circles. You moaned into the touch as his fingers began to sink into your cunt. He began pumping his fingers into you and the reserve you had been building was soon becoming too much. You had no idea this could be so pleasurable. The woman at the Inn never bragged that sex was this great, always stating it was dull at most.

“Jin? Jin somethings happening, something’s coming.”

He captured your lips increasing the pumping of his fingers and circling around your clit. “Come for me Butterfly, come all over my fingers.”  

Your walls clenched around his fingers and suddenly you were bursting, creaming all over his fingers. He slowed his pace down a bit until you whined. Both of your eyes were blown out and unfocused already despite him still not having his cock in you. The pleasure was already so good. Your scent of arousal had flooded the room and it was making his brain hazy. He pulled his fingers out of you and popping them into his mouth. He groaned at the sweet taste of your essence. It was like junq and cream. It was just as sweet as the rest of you. “My fucking gods Butterfly you taste so good.”

You were panting body still twitching over him. Oddly you didn’t feel exhausted but you wanted more, you wanted more of him. As if he could sense it he captured your lips pressing you for a lasting kiss mixing your tongues. You could taste yourself on his tongue but you didn’t mind it. “Butterfly, I want to lay you down, kiss every inch of you. Taste every inch of you. But for right now, I want you to ride me.”

You nodded and with his help you hovered above his tip, letting him settle against your opening. He moved his cock against your slit collecting your previous cream. “Do you want my cock little human?” He asked still keeping a seductive tone, but he was worried, holding your hips in place.

“Yes, I want this.”

You took his cock from his hand and brought it up to your entrance. You were trembling slighty but you pressed down letting your hips fall. His fingers were definitely smaller than his cock, but you were glad he prepped you. He watched you letting you take him at your pace. The sting burned and you felt like you were going to rip as you kept taking in his tip. With the head in you paused chest heaving at the tight fit. You struggled, feeling a little foolish. He was strong as he was supporting your whole body weight with a single arm while he leaned back on the other to get a better look at you. He groaned at the way he watched your pussy suck in his cock and it disappeared in you. You paused with just the tip of him in. You were so tight holding him in a vice grip. He felt like a young Guerrian again, he felt like he could come at any second but he fought hard against it. With encouraging words to distract himself and to help you slowly you sunk fully onto him to the base. His cock was so hot, hotter than the rest of his body and it was throbbing within you. Unable to resist anymore he pressed his hips upwards sinking further into you until his whole cock was in you. You cried out loud back arching as you could feel him all the way in your stomach.

You felt heavenly. He pulled you closer to by the waist and encouraged you to wrap your arms around him. The slight motion had you whining but he hushed and assured you. His lips found yours, unable to resist, as his tongue and yours moved against one another.

“You don’t belong in anyone else’s arms but mine.”

You squeezed at his shoulders.

“Ready?”

You nodded and with the help of his hands on your hips he dragged you up to the tip of his cock. On the drag down moans tumbled forth from your parted lips, mouth dropped open at the intense pleasure. His grip on your hips tightened as he helped you repeat the action and soon you were riding him. You were fucking him  He moaned your name. Hearing him use it in this context set your body alight. He proved to you just how much he liked what you were doing, no matter how inexperienced you were by being vocal. You hadn’t expected that from him as he was normally quiet and introverted.

“Turn over for me.”

Carefully you twisted in his lap and the noise his cock slipping out of you was sloppy enough with the mix of both of your juice it had a flush rising to your cheeks. You allowed him to move you so that your back was facing him. Gently his fingers moved over your freshly tattooed skin. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the center of your back, one for each butterfly. You were gorgeous in his eyes, nothing could compare to you. “My Butterfly.” He kept moving you until you were on all fours, ass up and bent just right for him. With his other hand he brought his cock back to your entrance and pressed inside you. It had you moaning at the new feeling and it felt he was going deeper inside you. Slowly he maneuvered so you could get used to it before he was pounding into you. You felt encompassed by his large being. Your elbows collapsed under you as your face was on the mattress. You turned around looking over your shoulder. He looked delirious as he pumped himself into you. It had your walls clamping down on his length. He grunted losing himself in the pleasure.

“Gonna cum Butterfly?” You nodded. He reached around your front fingers finding your clit. It had you mewling and squirming. He pressed down onto you nearly laying himself over you as he kissed your shoulder.

“My good little human. Mine. All mine.”

You couldn’t hold it anymore as you came. His cock swelled slightly, molten vein within you brightening as he neared his end. A high pitch whine escaped you as he increased his pace. “Jin! Oh my gods, Jin!” He thrusted harder and deeper inside you. He was lost in the pleasure. His pace was becoming sloppy as he came coating you walls in his thick cum. He twitched above you as he kept cumming, filling you fully with his seed.

You whined as you collapsed underneath him. His cock slipped out of you, but you both didn’t care about the mess. He fell next to you on the mattress, both of you were heaving. Turning you over carefully onto your side so you were face to face with him he brought you into his chest with his hand draped over your waist. You were beyond sweating and overheating, but you didn’t care. You wanted to be in his embrace. Your hands rested on his chest. He dipped his head down and your lips lazily worked against one another.

Pulling away, you blinked sleepily. His eyes were trained on you with a similar soft expression.

“I love you.” In a raspy voice that sounded heavy with sleep, he confessed.

You giggled pecking his lips. “I love you too.”  

You blinked as light shined in from the porch resting the urge to tuck yourself back into the comforter. You turned over onto your side sitting up, pushing the hair back from your face. Inhaling deeply fresh air. You look towards the source of light that ultimately woke you up coming in from the porch. You promised yourself it was only going to be a short nap, but the sky outside was already darkening.

Jin’s wide shoulders were hunched over as you could see one of his arms moving. You crawled over towards him. He had set up station on the porch as the weather had gotten much warmer. When you reached him you wrapped your arms his waist plopping your chin over his shoulder. You peeked his cheek, “Hello.”

He hummed twisting his head around to peck your lips quickly. “I didn’t want to wake you, you were sleeping so good.”

You groaned but it was endearing to him. You planted your chin back on his shoulder. He held your hands tightly still. His black inked hands with the fire veins exposed freely as he worked.

“Something came for you.”

You perked up at that. He let go of one of your hands and dug into his robe coat pulling out a letter. He held it between his fingers. “It’s for you.”

You lit up at the sight of the letter. Had Cherry written you? You wondered if her and Hoseok had finally tied the knot since they moved from the city. You crawled around front and sat yourself in his lap and he wrapped his arms around your waist. You flipped it over a few times, it had your name on it but it was addressed from a place you didn’t recognize. For sure this letter wasn’t from Cherry.

“Who’s it from? Are you sure this is the right Y/n?”

He propped his head on your shoulder like you had earlier. “It’s right.”

You pulled at the side seal and dug your finger in ripping it open. You pulled out a letter and quietly read it over. He tightened his grip around your waist as you were the quietest you’ve ever been. Your eyes grew bleary and tears began to slip down your cheek. You turned around in Jin’s lap, hand shaking, “How? How did you?”

He smiled wiping your tears from your eyes. “I had to do a lot of research, but I found her. I sent her a our wedding picture. She sent her blessings and this letter for you.”

You were ugly sobbing as you pressed your face into his shoulder as you wrapped your arms tightly around him. Your mother hadn’t forgotten about you and was very proud of you as she wrote in her letter. She was proud of all you had done for humans and Guerrian alike. In the letter she said she had tried looking for you but wasn’t allowed into the capital all those years ago. She never stopped thinking about you. With the liberation and breaking of the apartheid after the two-year war a few years ago, she was finally free to come to the capital and she wanted to meet you. Your siblings are doing well. There was nothing about your father. But this letter, that’s more than you could’ve ever asked for.

He held you tightly in his arms. When your tears dried you leaned back and pecked his lips. “I-you’re—I-I love you so much.”

He smiled and captured your lips with his, “I love you too.”

You smiled clutching the letter closer to you. Shyly you pulled back holding out your forearm. “Paint one for me?”

He took your arm and pecked the skin, “Anything for you Butterfly.”

The ink was always cold, but his warm hand was enough to counter it. With a last stroke he painted a butterfly on you. You held your arm up to the sky that was painted in an array of colors welcoming the sunset.

Everything was alright.

Copyright 2020 by magicalsalamander. All rights reserved.

[anothers-trash-my-treasure]

The Mistress.

Summary: Combining Kinktober days 25 (Caught getting off) and 26 (overstimulation) with Fictober day 27 “Give me that.”. Very very very heavily inspired by @edteche2 ‘s “The Master” series so please please please go read those if you haven’t already, they are phenomenal! 

I’ve titled it The Mistress because the original definition of “Mistress” is female expert. I know usually mistress is used as a term for another woman but just forget that for a second, okay? Okay. 

Pairing: Josh Washington / Reader

Rating/Warnings: ohhhh smutty asf baby. Use of sex toys. 

Words: 2000

Tag List. @edteche2 @xmxisxforxmaybe @diasimar @txmel @the-almond-dinger @gloriousdarkangelsworld @yousaycoke-isaycaine

Ever since Josh introduced his bundle of toys into your sex life, to say things have gotten interesting was an understatement. The amount of times he came over to your place unannounced, using his key to get in and walking in on you in some pretty compromising situations was honestly ridiculous. It was like he knew when you were using them. And every time he caught you with them, he’d always just sit back and watch. He liked knowing he introduced you to this new world of pleasure. Whereas some guys may have been intimidated by the toys, afraid that they did a better job than they would, he was confident in his ability to make you scream louder than the silicon and batteries could.

And you knew it too. As soon as he made his presence known, your body craved him. It drove you crazy. He’d just sit there, next to you on the bed. Whispering dirty encouragement in your ear.

“C’mon princess. Let me see how good you can make yourself feel.”

“You can have me later baby, just let me watch you. Look so pretty like this.”  

“I know you’re close, be a good girl and cum for me.”

It was truly never a dull moment with Josh. And you wouldn’t have it any other way. But what bothered you, only a little, was how you never walked in on him taking any time for himself. It made you feel a little bad. Were you a bad girlfriend for taking matters into your own hand from time to time? You knew some girls who thought masturbating was a form of cheating. You knew Josh didn’t mind, but part of you wondered if it did bother him a little. And if he wasn’t taking matters into his own hand, were you denying him pleasure by taking care of yourself? 

It got to the point where you were determined to catch him red handed. You wanted to see him, flushed and sweaty under his own hand. Imagining it was one thing, you wanted to see it. He always got so hot and bothered seeing you that way, you wanted to be on the other side of it. But every time you went over, unannounced, he was always just playing video games or cleaning up after making lunch, or something just so mundane and anti-climatic. You were starting to lose hope. Until...

You had initially gone over to surprise him with his favorite dessert you had gotten while out on a ‘girls night’ dinner with some friends. You unlocked his apartment door and let yourself in, expecting to see his head of curls sitting in front of the TV, but he wasn’t there. 

“Josh?” you called out,  “You home?” 

You placed the dessert in the fridge and stood, listening carefully for maybe the sound of the shower running or footsteps coming down the hallway. But the only thing you heard was a soft moan. It was so quiet that at first, you thought you had imagined it. But then a second one sounded, much louder, and you felt your entire body flush with heat. 

Was this it? 

You crept down the hallway, as quietly as you could, down to his room, where the door was opened only a crack. You peaked your head in, pushing the door open just a fraction more to see into the room better. And boy, was the sight even better than you thought it’d be. 

There he was, in all his glory, naked, chest glistening with sweat, accenting his strained muscles. Your eyes travelled down his body, seeing his legs spread open while he worked The Blue Lagoon over his cock over and over. His movements are languid, not too fast or too slow. His hips roll up into the toy as his hand twists the sleeve on each stroke. His eyebrows draw in, a low whining moan leaving his lips. The scene before you is so hot, your thighs squeeze instinctively at the sight, trying to provide yourself some pleasure. 

His eyes flutter open and his body freezes for a second when he sees you.

“Jesus-” he startles, head rolling back on a sigh when he realizes it’s just you, “Scared the shit out of me.”

He goes to move his hand away from himself, obviously assuming that since you’re here he gets to fuck you instead of the sleeve. You shake your head, entering the room fully and walking over to him.

“Wait, don’t stop.”

He looks at you, eyebrows raised in a silent question. 

“Let me watch for a bit.” 

His face flickers through a range of emotions; confusion, surprise, arousal and then landing on smug. He smirks at you, hand moving back to the toy and continuing his previous movements.

“Yeah, I bet you like seeing me like this.” he taunts, cocky and Josh-like in every sense of the word, “Perv.” 

The desire to knock the smirk right off his face bubbles up inside of you and smile sweetly back at him, a plan forming quickly in your mind.

“You just look so good like this, baby.” you coo, settling yourself down next to him on your stomach, propping yourself up on your elbows and letting your fingers dance over his biceps, “How could I not wanna watch?”

He hums, eyes slipping shut as he starts to lose himself in the pleasure again.

“Tell me how it feels.” you say softly, carefully taking control of the situation without him noticing. 

“Feels good.” he moans, biting down on his bottom lip as his eyes find yours again, “Not as good as you though.” 

You hum thoughtfully, placing a kiss on his shoulder, “You can have me later,” you say, stealing his lines, “Make yourself feel good for me, yeah?” 

He groans, head falling back and eyes slipping shut again. You watch him, drinking in every twitch of his muscles and every moan that leaves his lips. His cheeks are flushed red, hair sweaty at his temples and panting at the tightness around his cock. He’s gorgeous like this. You let him work himself over for a bit, watching as his movements get faster as he approaches climax.

“You gettin’ close baby?” you ask, low and sultry in his ear.

“Yeah,” he breathes, breath hitching when you nibble on his earlobe. His hips twitch and his breath stutters and you know he’ll be done for if you don’t stop him. You hold your hand out, stopping him and making a ‘give me’ motion.

“Give me that.” 

His movements stop and he looks at you, wide eyes and panting, “What?” his voice is high with disbelief. 

“Give me it.” you repeat, eyebrows raised expectantly, “I’m not done with you yet.” 

You can see how much it pains him to remove himself from the sleeve. His cock red angry and beautiful. He watches you intently as he hands the toy over, pupils blown wide, his breathing starting to settle. 

“Good boy,” you purr, capturing his lips for the first time in a sweet kiss. When you pull away he tries to follow, you stop him with a hand to his chest and smile. You have him right where you want him. 

“Just lay back,” you encourage, “I got you, babe.” 

You start kissing down his body. Starting first at his jaw, working your way down his neck and chest. You stop at the juncture between his shoulder and neck, sucking a mark there. You move further down, biting at one of his nipples briefly, enjoying the soft moan he lets out at the feeling. You smile against his skin, continuing your ministrations until you reach the base of his cock. 

You glance up at him from your spot between his legs. He’s barely keeping it together, his eyes bounce back and forth from your eyes to your lips, which are just barely brushing against the tip of him. He’s anticipating your every move, desperate to finish. 

You lick a broad stripe up his length, swirling your tongue around the tip before taking him in deep. Your quick movements punch a groan out of his throat and he arches his hips into your wet heat. You know by the desperate twinge in his voice that it won’t take long to get him back on the edge. You work him carefully, hollowing your cheeks and sucking as you slowly pull your mouth back. 

“Oh, baby,” he whines, hand tangling in your hair, “‘m gonna cum.” 

You pull off of him, giggling at the face of betrayal he makes at you when you crawl back up his body, “Not so fun, is it?” You tease.

“Babe-” He tries.

 “You do this to me all the time, it’s only fair that I repay the favor.”

“No, baby please,” he grips your arms tightly, pulling your closer and kissing you hard, “I’ve already edged myself like three times, I need to finish.” 

The new information spreads a wave of heat through you, “Oh,” you say, absolutely delighted, “No wonder you’re so sensitive.” 

Your finger trails up his length and you watch with wonder as it twitches and flexes along with a desperate whine from his lips, proving your point brilliantly. 

“You need it, huh?” You ask, keeping your touch feather light.

His hips flex into your touch, trying to get more friction than you’re able to give him at the moment. He whines in response and you know you have to take pity on him. He just looks way too good like this to torture him any further.

“How do you want to finish?” 

“In your mouth.” he answers immediately, eyes locked on your lips, still glistening from your previous ministrations on him.

You place a kiss on him lips, agreeing to the terms before you resume your position between his thighs. You don’t prolong the experience, taking him deep into your mouth and watching with alive eyes as he arches under your mouth.

“Oh, Yesss,” he groans, his hand finding its place in your hair again.  You let him guide your movements, letting him show you exactly what he needs. He’s gasping and you can feel the desperation radiating off of him in waves. He needs this so bad. And you know just what to do to help him along.

You pull back, just barely scraping your teeth on the upstroke before taking a breath and taking him deep into your throat. You hold him there, letting him feel your throat work around him as you choke on it.

“Fuck!” he shouts, spilling down your throat. You pull back just a bit, letting him fuck your throat through his orgasm, working hard to swallow everything he gives you. 

When he pulls you off his cock he’s breathing hard and you sit back to take him in. His softening dick glistening with your spit, cum dripping off the top of it, remnants of what you missed. You can see the muscles in his thigh quiver slightly and you feel a sense of pride roll through you. The amount of times he’d made you quiver like that, it was about time you seen it happen for yourself. 

“Jesus Christ,” he sighs, pulling you close to him so he can kiss you, slow, deep and dirty, “You’re perfect.” 

You chuckle against his lips, stealing one last kiss from his lips before sitting up, “You think I’m perfect now, just wait until you see what I put in the fridge for you.” 

His eyes widen and he props himself up on his elbows, uncaring that his now soft cock is just out in the open, cum cooling on his skin, “Triple Chocolate Fudge cake with Oreo crumble?” 

You nod, barely humming in affirmation before he’s flinging himself out of bed, trying to put his sweatpants on as he runs out the door of his bedroom. You hear him yell a few moments later from the kitchen, mouth full of chocolatey goodness;

“You’re perfect!”