#i mean he's just kind of off the wall anyway with his whole world domination thing

[gaiachose]

❝ Are you the new employee I was supposed to meeting today? Forgive me if you are, I don't have time to remember names. ❞

@emily-lotus / starter call

[youandtom2]

Request if you want it: Tom is playing at a golf event and reader is a journalist there. She absolutely can't stand him, because she finds out he is quite arrogant and full of himself. They go after each other throughout the whole day with sarcastic remarks. But somehow (you can fill in the details) Tom seduces her by the end and he gets her on her knees and he totally dominates her, making her choke and gag. And he embarrasses her by making her feel his muscles and beg to suck him off and he boasts about how easily he got her in the palm of his hand. :P

(14/07/22) brain go brrrrrrrrrrr THIS REQUEST!!!!

a/n (28/06/23): This was a request that was sent in and one that I had started last year that I really wanted to finish. Apologies to the anon who sent this in and waited for it whoops. This was supposed to be short but I clearly don't fucking know what short means so here's like 7k or something???

Anyway here's 'A Word for the Youth Diary?' Shitty title I know but I literally can't think of anything else.

MASTERLIST

"The weather is absolutely gorgeous here at St. Andrews' Castle Course, celebrating the first 'Pro Amateur' charity competition where a host of celebrities, socialites or anyone with a keen passion for golf can compete. A number of spectators have gathered around the course, eager to soak up the buzzing atmosphere, the scenic landscape and the presence of Hollywood stars, all in the views of the warm Scottish sun. Now that's something I never expected to say!"

The red light of your recorder dims as you press pause on your commentary. You made the switch to recorder a few years back when journalism became too close to drowning in a number of scribbled, illegible notes written far too quickly. Now it is a simple case of pressing record and pressing pause.

Of course, wherever there is a flock of celebrities congregating in the one area for the week, there will always be flock of paparazzi and journalists close by, each with the same agenda. It usually feels like mission impossible to get a word in with a celebrity or document anything of note or interest when there's a wall of other journalists blocking your way, but today those things won't be a problem. Because you’re not going after who may probably be the most coveted celebrity here. Tom Holland.

You don't quite don't know where it stemmed from; your strong dislike towards Tom Holland. In all honesty, your hatred towards him is very self-inflicted, but there's something about his ego that paints him in a very arrogant light. He knows he's hot shit with the press, he knows everyone fancies the man, he knows that his many talents has sky-rocketed him up the societal ladder and onto the throne of the rich and wealthy. What makes him double as frustrating than he is arrogant is that he hasn't done anything wrong. He's Hollywood's golden boy; ever the humble, handsome, kind, charity-giving actor that has claimed the hearts of many across the world. It's what makes your hatred towards him completely unjustified, so while no one shares the same view as you, there is some things you can do to quietly preach your opinions.

"First to arrive at the course is the notable Tom Holland, waving to the crowd with a smile, loving the attention as ever. Although I'm not sure that his mismatching colour-blocking golfing attire will receive the same compliments!"

The smirk on your lips lasts for the majority of the day as you talk incessantly into your recorder. Your goal isn't necessarily to shit on Tom, only when the opportunity presents itself of course, like when he swung the golf club at an awkward angle, sending the ball straight over the forest and into the sand bunker.

"Oooh, what a poor shot from Tom Holland. He'll be disappointed with that one. Perhaps leaning towards the 'amateur' side of the competition in comparison to some other competitors. Tom Holland yet again teaching us a valuable lesson in life; just because you're a pro at one thing doesn't mean you're a pro at everything else."

The crowd politely applauded and off he went with his caddie. While others followed, you choose to stay rooted while you wait for Mark Wahlberg to walk up to the tee. He's who you've been waiting for all afternoon. Getting a word in with him would set you up for the highlight of your career.

"Mark! Over here! Mr. Wahlberg! A word for the Youth Diary? Mr. Wahlberg!"

As it seems, Mark calmly maneuvers way past the wall of journalists, paying them, and you, no mind and strolls over to the starting point. Damn. You have to get a word with him somehow.

"Mark Wahlberg takes a mighty swing and thrashes the golf ball high into the air, and the crowd watches in astonishment as it sails its way over towards the green, a hair's breadth away from perfection as it rolls upon the hill. A round of applause circles around Mark as he proudly walks on with the confidence of a man who's set on winning this competition."

As the hours tick by, you find yourself without any luck. Those first few minutes of the competition were stuck in a loop, constantly experiencing deja vu of having to witness Tom Holland's unlucky shot followed by being ignored by Mark Wahlberg. You haven't had one decent interaction with anyone yet. Things are getting a little desperate.

You even begin to understand why the majority of journalists are following Tom Holland like a lost flock of sheep; he's very chatty. He stops at every turn to give his narration on his own playing, offers a brief insight to the projects he is currently working on, and if he likes you, even spill some of the secrets of his private life. It's a journalist's dream, one that you haven't even had the taste of yet since Mark Wahlberg is as accessible as the vaults of the Bank of England. Anyone with common sense would advise you to follow the crowd and ignore your bias towards him and just interview Tom Holland if it means you have something worth printing.

Oh no, no, no, no, no, no. Not a chance. He gets enough attention as it is.

"Mr Wahlberg! A word on your new film? Could you tell us about Uncharted! Mark! Over here!"

Not even a glance is spared your way in yet another attempt to get his attention. From your left, a voice emerges. A fellow reporter sidles himself next to you, away from the crowd that follows Tom Holland. You spot the Sky Sports label wrapped around his microphone.

"He doesn't like to speak much to the press. Thinks that he'll say something and they'll twist his words," he sympathies. It's genuine, obvious that he too has been caught up in the same frustration you've been facing all afternoon. At least he has a little more insight as to why you haven't gotten a word from Mark.

"Yeah, I figured. It wouldn't hurt just to say hello and have a small chat. What could the press twist about that? If anything, I think he's damaging his reputation by not saying anything. It's rude, y'know?"

He nods his head in agreement, but the sigh he blows doesn't seem to match. "You have to let it go though. They're not obliged to tell us anything. This is just a day out for them, they're not getting paid so why should they have to say anything about their work? It's just our luck whether they choose to talk to us."

"Ugh, I guess you're right, but I still need something for my article."

"Sky Sports has had lots from Tom. Why don't you try your luck with him? He seems to be a lot chattier than Mark. I don't know much about film journalism, only sports, so I don't know what it is you're looking for. But if you ask him anything, I'm sure he's willing to provide."

You look to him with contempt in your eyes, your lack of smile instantly shuts down his suggestion.

"I appreciate the suggestion but no. He's too easy. Think of how many journalists are here desperate to get a word in about sports, golf, acting, celebrity personal lives, all that show biz. If everyone shared the one source, audiences wouldn't bother reading them all because they all be the same, boring stuff. Think about it. If you, and 30 other journalists had the chance to interview Ronaldo, you would all take it because after all its Ronaldo. The only downside would be that you would then have 30 articles all saying the same thing and audience getting bored after reading 1. Now think about having the chance to interview Messi. It would be hard but total payout if you got it. Plus, you would stand out from the rest and that's what would gain audiences' attention."

Once again, the reporter sighs. "Look, kid. I've been in this job for 20 years and I've learned that sometimes you just have to cut your losses. If your objective is to get something to write about for your article, then you should do it however and whatever way you can, doesn't matter who the source is. If your objective is to get something from Mark Wahlberg specifically? Then you should scrap the whole article and try again. Something is better than nothing."

"I refuse to take anything from Tom Holland."

"Suit yourself. Good luck. Oh, by the way, I think you're still recording. Wouldn't want you to get your chance with Mark only to realise you have no storage left on your recorder."

You mumble a weak thanks and remember to press the pause button on your recorder. The reporter saunters away back towards the crowd, your only indication of knowing where Tom Holland is. You consider it for a second, but determination drives you away, following Mark to the next hole.

~~~~

It's all to play for in the final hole with only two possible candidates capable of winning the trophy. Currently sitting in the lead is the elusive, mysterious Mark Wahlberg, strolling casually along to the final hole with his team behind him. Ah, and of course, next in line is Tom Holland soaking up the attention as he strings along behind Mark Wahlberg like an apprentice would their mentor. It's not clear whether the confidence he walks with is a poorly executed imitation of his acting mentor ahead of him, or whether it is a man deluded with besting him. All will be revealed within the hour.

It's well into the evening of the Pro Amateur competition and the luck that reporter wished you earlier has yet to find you. With the final hole well underway, you're starting to think that it never will. So far, you've gotten a few short, curt answers from other celebrities here but nothing near the sustenance your article needs. If only Mark could stop being so stubborn.

"One at a time please guys, one at a time." Tom's smug, arrogant tone of voice emerges from behind you and not too soon after, tens of other voices asking him questions. As he makes his way nearer, so do the swarm of people and in an attempt to get out of the way, you're stampeded by the press. Bumped, shoved and pushed, you struggle to find your balance and fall precariously on your knees with your equipment tumbling from your bag. In all honesty it didn't hurt, but what an inconvenience picking up all your bits and bobs. Ugh it's all his fault.

Before you do anything irrational and say something you shouldn't, you pack up your stuff and walk away.

The competition concludes with a twist that no one was expecting. With a gust of wind getting the better of Mark Wahlberg, it earned him a double bogey and cost him the trophy, annoyingly snatched up by Tom who achieved victory with a birdie. You seethe at the sight of Tom holding up the golden trophy, soaking up the champagne that his teammates spray all over him and hearing the applause from everyone, even you as a slow, lethargic clap rings from your hands. All to just to keep up the pretence of 'liking him' of course. Ugh, why did he have to win?

After a day of being the lone ranger in a journalists mission, you concede to following the crowd into the conference room where many like you await behind a wall of microphones and a valley of cables to hear from today's competitors. And Mark Wahlberg is one of them. This might be your chance to get a question in. Quick! Where's your recorder?

Fuck. It's not in your bag. Where is it? You rummage through your bag again and it's definitely not there. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Where could it be? Did you lose it when you fell over? Has it been stolen? Fuck, you really need that!

You have no other option but to record from your phone and in your quiet, subdued panic, you try your best to catch anything he has to say. The quality isn't great and it's picking up outside noise to the point that articulation has no place on your recording. Sweating at the loss of some expensive equipment and valuable content, your phone drops and the clatter of it paints a mountain on its waveform, rendering the recording useless. Fuck, if you hadn't lost your recorder.

People start to look at you in your fluster and your legs starts bobbing erratically. The attention is too much and it's exactly why you prefer to stay behind the microphone and not in front of it. You have to leave. At the next possible opportunity, you end your recording and begin to make your way through the aisle, apologising profusely to the other journalists who wait for Tom Holland to make an appearance.

You just about make the double doors of the conference room when you hear Tom's voice welcoming the room.

"Before I start, I wanted to check to see if this was anyone's recorder..."

Everything about you stops dead in its tracks; your feet, your heart, your breathing, your entire existence. Nervously, you spin around to spot Tom Holland holding your recorder in his hands, fingers fluttering around its buttons. How the hell did he get his thieving hands on it?!

A pit opens up in your stomach at the dreaded thought of having to announce yourself in front of everyone to claim it. But damn, you really need your recorder back.

Braving the nightmare, your hand raises half-heartedly into the air. "Uh...it's mine. Sorry, I must've dropped it."

Tom's deep brown eyes lock onto yours from the stage and he throws, what you think, a sickly smile before he offers up the most ridiculous idea. "I can set to record if you want. I can sit it riiiiight here." He sits it directly in front of him and sends you a sly wink. It's a spot any journalist would dream of having their microphone; right under their nose on the off-chance that anything muttered under their breaths or whispered discreetly would be picked up. Journalists are a sucker for secrets. Quite frankly, you don't care for his secrets, you don't care for his thoughts on today's events, and you really don't care for what he has to say at all.

But the only reason why you end up saying yes is because you care more about what people would think of you if you gave up an opportunity like that.

"Sure. Thanks."

You proceed to endure 15 minutes of Tom glorifying himself in front of the press. God, it's embarrassing. You could plainly hear the snide tone underneath the guise of 'self-evaluation'. Everyone seems to soak it up like a sponge, praising him for his insightful words and self awareness, writing nothing but positive words about the actor. Whatever. You wish you could drown him out but your paranoia is rooted to your recorder at his table, thinking the worst outcome as his fingers toying with its external case. What if he doesn't know how to work it and accidentally erases all you had from today? One slip up and it's gone. Your eyes constantly flicker from your recorder to him and no matter who he's speaking to or where he's looking, he always manages to catch your gaze.

Already outside your comfort zone, you audibly whimper when you see him lightly tap the little trash button at the end of the recorder, miles away from the stop, pause and play buttons that you would regularly use. You would only ever press that button with intention, it’s pretty to hard to press it accidentally. Even without knowing how to work the recorder, it doesn't take an idiot to know what that means, so watching Tom play with it tells you that he is whole-heartedly toying with you, enjoying the view of you panicking from his throne of sadism.

It's like he can sense your hatred towards him.

~~~~

"Thank you, thank you! Until next year!" Tom smiles as he walks off stage, your recorder in his clutch. The further he walks away, the faster you bob and weave through the crowd, feeling like you're fighting against the tide as it sweeps you out. Then, just as the room empties you reach the entrance to the backstage area in a relief, only to hit a brick wall that stands in your way between you and your highly coveted recorder.

"No press allowed backstage." A security guard towers over you.

"Tom Holland has my recorder. I'd like to get it back." You have no time for polite small chat, your request grumbling with agitation.

"Still can't allow you back--"

"You can let her through, Jim. It's alright." A young boy’s voice echoes from behind the wall.

The guard hesitantly lets you through, keeping you under his iron gaze while you slip through the narrow space he gives you. You are led out into a hallway with plaques decorating the hall, awards from winners of tournaments the venue has previously hosted, the newest addition being Tom's 'Pro-Amateur' plaque much to your distaste.

The boy you recognise as Tom's caddie leads you down this hallway, he hasn't said so much as a word to you as he confidently walks ahead. Now he's getting his assistant to fetch you? God, the arrogance!

"He's in here."

"Thanks," you quietly mutter. The door closes behind you, locking both you and the actor into the room. When you started the day bright and early this morning, you didn't think this was where you were going to end up. You couldn't have put money on it.

Although, you have to admit: despite putting your heart and soul into avoiding Tom Holland the entire day, this could be an exclusive for your article. Nobody else has had this opportunity, so why not take advantage of it?

Tom smiles as he greets you, carelessly tossing your recorder from hand to hand. You swallow nervously. "You are...?"

You respond with your name, who you report for, and make it abundantly clear that you would like to take back your recorder in one piece.

He approaches with a small, boyish chuckle like you just told a joke. "Sorry, I was just thinking," he casually says, "about how you once said you refuse to take anything from me."

What? Where did he hear...? Fuck. He listened to it. And that entire conversation you had with the Sky Sports reporter...

Your mouth drops. As does the anchor in your stomach.

"What was it you said again...?"

"You listened to it." He ignores you.

"Oh yeah, that my 'mismatching colour-blocking golfing attire wouldn't receive the same compliments'."

"You...listened to it all?" you reiterate once again. Your voice rings with all the inflections of a question, but you already know the answer. Unfortunately.

Tom's brows furrow inward.

"Honestly, I can overlook the fact you insulted my outfit, it doesn't bother me that much." There's a 'but' in his sentence. You're just waiting for it. You inwardly panic, trying to remember what else you said that would warrant that dreaded 'but'. Your shield of writer's anonymity has fallen; it's what protects you if you are to ever post negatively about a celebrity, but now that he knows your name and your face, you're left exposed.

"But..." There it is. And in a disbelief, he bites, "I'm too easy? Really?"

There's two ways you could go about this. Stand your ground and defend yourself, or dig yourself a grave and apologise.

Ha. Yeah right.

"I don't really think it was your place to listen to my recordings."

"Oh?"

"Mm-hm. Should've minded your business if you knew what was good for you."

"You--" He cuts himself off and takes a deep breath, almost to contain himself and tries again. "You," he points accusingly, "are very...very lucky that you look as attractive as your voice sounds."

Your cheeks flush angrily. Safe to say, you're not used to anyone calling you attractive let alone Tom Holland, so in your fluster you have no idea how to respond. You don't know how to tame the flutter in your heart nor the fire in your stomach. Instead, you ignore it all and revert back to your original goal.

"Can I have my recorder back? Please?"

"In a minute." He swats his hand away from yours. High above your reach, you stand helpless as you watch his thumb crash land onto the record button, resuming from where it last left off. "I think that what you have about me in your article is a little bit too harsh. Why don't we start putting some positivity back in. I think you have it in you to pay me just one compliment. I did win the competition after all, I think it's deserved."

You laugh hysterically. The nerve of this guy! So conceited. "You don't deserve anything from me."

"C'mon. Just one. It's not that hard. I promise I'll give you your recorder back straight after."

Succumbing to his torment, your eyes roll over his features, his hair, his outfit and his body, trying to identify possible compliments that would meet his demands but yet wouldn't inflate his ego too much. What you don't anticipate is you're spoiled for choice.

Defeated, you sigh. "You...smell nice."

"Aw, c'mon. I said you were attractive and all you could think of was that I smell nice? Try a little harder."

"Hey, you said the deal was that I give you one compliment then I get my recorder back. Cough up, Holland."

A smug grin pulls at his lips. "I'm not satisfied. And I will give it back when I am satisfied."

Given that your hatred towards Tom Holland is now at least justified and not just self-inflicted, it means that it's twice as hard to sacrifice it all and compliment him like he so desperately wants you to, a complete betrayal to your own beliefs. But you NEED your recorder.

"You look strong."

"Elaborate."

"You clearly work out."

"What in particular?"

"Your arms."

"How can you tell?" He's really pushing the mark, overstepping it by miles with the dirty smirk he has on his face because he knows he is. You audibly grumble at the sight. Losing patience...

"They just looked particularly...muscular when you were swinging the golf club."

"Why don't you give them a feel and you can tell your readers how strong they really are in detail? I know you want to."

Is it bad of you to admit that you do want to feel them? Absolutely. Are you going to announce that to him? Absolutely not.

You don't move for a couple of seconds, your own conscience making so much noise inside your head that you can't make a coherent thought. A spark of adrenaline twitches at your hands, enough to catch Tom's eyes but it's not enough to swing it into force.

Quietly, slowly, he reaches for your hand and envelopes his fingers around yours, manipulating them to wrap around his upper arm. He makes sure to mold your fingerprints into his skin while he tenses, just to feel the sheer density of his muscles. His skin is warm, soft to touch but yet firm to grasp. While you become instantly fascinated, his glistening smile brightens in the corner of your eye. It's so quiet in the room that Tom hears the softest stutter of breaths and he feels like a winner all over again.

"Well?" He nods towards the recorder, its red button flashing. For the readers...

"Definitely..." you clear your throat. Why has your mouth gone dry all of a sudden? You retract your hand. "Definitely toned. Sculpted."

"If that's what you like then I should show you this..."

He takes your hand once again, its warmth holding you captive, and drags it all the way down to his torso. You can't pull your eyes away from how he sensually slips your hand underneath the hem of his shirt and weaves your fingers between the valley of his abs. Your fingertips skate over every sculpted ab of his, feeling the way they almost shiver at your cold touch.

Your fingertips aren't enough. Tom takes a step closer and your whole palm presses against him, almost too intimately for strangers.

Tom's head quirks to the side to get a better view of you. "Thoughts?" he asks, even though he can read them so clearly on your face. You're becoming entranced.

"...Holy shit," you whisper. "Um, yeah. Strong."

"For a woman who had a lot to say about me, you're certainly lost for words now."

As the heat rises and things escalate, neither of you diffuse the tension and the string of long, uninterrupted silence continues. Every minute that passes by is a precarious step over crossing boundaries and breaking every rule you have in your moral bible.

It forces you to suck in a nervous breath and hold it for a few seconds while you deliberate what the end goal is. Of course, it was to leave with your recorder but given your current position and your change of opinions, you're not so sure anymore. To be clear, your change of opinion isn't necessarily about Tom; you still think he's conceited, arrogant and incredibly vain, but it is what you do with that opinion that has changed. Before, you avoided him, stopped yourself becoming another little lost sheep and following him at every opportunity. Now? You're giving him every drop of attention you have to give.

Tom watches you intently while he silently introduces himself to your shyer nature, definitely not the same person that walked in here in a fit of rage and demanding for their recorder. The minute he meets that side of you, he knows exactly what to do next.

He drops his head as he drops his voice into his lower register, your hand feeling all the rumblings from his chest. "Want to be completely speechless?"

Fuck it. Sure you do. "Mm-hm."

"Good girl."

You aren't actually sure what he's planning to do so you look for intention in his eyes, but you see nothing but darkened caverns and devilish features. In fact, it's because you're looking into his eyes that you don't realise that he's grown hard underneath his straight grey trousers. Like before, he guides your hand fluidly underneath the waistband where the button pops out easily, and navigates you under the elastic band where he desperately shapes your fingers around him. He pulses underneath you, shaking with relief that he has you exactly where he wants you.

You dare not pull your eyes away from his, even as they droop in his pleasure. More so now that you admit how seductive they look. You try to mirror that same seduction with a small smile, moving your hand up and down his shaft independently.

Fuck, the more you move your hand, the more you think it's never going to end. Bluntly put, he's huge.

As a journalist, you should be eloquent with your words, careful in your choice of vocabulary, definitive with your metaphors, but all those years of reading and writing falters the second the sheer size of him stuns you. It slightly pains you to be so tasteless but nevertheless, you don't think there's any other way to put it.

So caught up in the heat of it, your common sense finally comes to once again acknowledge your recorder in his hand. You forgot he had been recording this entire conversation...

He brings it closer to his lips, seductively whispering directly into it. "Just like that..." He keeps going. "Doing such a good job - fuck - don't stop."

Encouraged, and progressively feeling turned on, you tighten your hand around his cock and move faster.

"How do I feel, sweetheart?" The microphone tilts towards you. Detail. Although at this point, you don't think it's for your readers as much as it is for you and Tom.

"So big. I almost can't fit my hand around you."

He very nearly buckled. That voice of yours is like a siren to him. Little do you know that when he found your recorder and listened to all of your little angry ramblings about him, it had sparked up a fiery, unavoidable desire inside him. It was hell having to listen to your voice talk shit about him, he just couldn't stand it. He needed to hear you compliment him, worship him, adore him, and he spent every spare minute of his day replaying your recorder, instilling your voice to memory until he could manipulate your words, imagining what they would say about him.

But now that he actually gets to hear you feed into his desire is twice the satisfaction than he initially thought.

As quick as lightning hits, an idea occurs to him and it completely devastates his entire system; if hearing you compliment him turns him on, how would having you beg for him make him feel? The idea becomes such an unstoppable craving he already knows his imagination won't be able to satiate it this time. He needs it for real and right now.

"You wanna taste?"

Doe-like eyes stare up at him - oh, you are so capable of begging him - and your movements come to a halt...all except your thumb sweeping over his tip. You didn't actually think this was going to go any further than a hand job.

"You want me to?"

Oh no, no, no. This isn't about Tom begging. "Because I know you want to. I can see how desperately you want to tell everyone how I allowed you to come backstage, meet me, get on your knees for me, how I allowed you to suck me off and how I allowed you to taste me." His hand slithers up your jawline and brings you close, leaving nothing but a hair's breadth to separate you. As you anticipate the feeling of his lips, you have but his breath fanning over yours and the anxiety bubbling at the pit of your stomach to feed from. "You just need to beg for it, sweetheart."

Beg. It was hard enough to lose one battle and compliment him, but to lose an even bigger one and beg? You would be absolutely humiliated.

Would be meaning if it was under any other circumstance, if you weren't so spellbound and seduced by him. But that simply isn't the case.

Not uttering another word, you slowly drop to your knees keeping Tom with the wicked grin within your sights. The zipper of his trousers comes undone and you pull him free, watching as his cock stands tall and bobs heavily with weight. Instinctively, your tongue rushes to wet your lips.

"Beg." Tom demands again. The recorder soon comes back into your view and your jaw clicks with frustration. He's capturing every single word much to his demented, power-hungry mind.

You chew through your irritation and instead tune into the feeling that's bubbling in and around your stomach, the one that's being powered by him. "Please," you breathe. "Please, Tom, I wanna suck you off so badly, I promise I'll be good."

"And do you promise to never write a bad word about me ever again?"

Oh, this fucker.

"I prom-"

"Say it like you mean it."

How you so wish you could lie through your teeth, but you know for a fact that from now on, any bad word you write about Tom Holland will forever be tied with this day. You'll think twice about writing badly because being on your knees for him will get in the way. You'll struggle to find the words to knock him because the compliments you paid him will stain your lips. You'll hesitate to criticise him because you'll remember how you verbalised about his good looks.

"I promise. Just--just let me taste you." It's sad how desperate you sound. "Please?"

He doesn't respond. There's one last warning to give.

"If you break that promise, I will come for you."

Adrenaline rushes through your veins and your heart pounds. Despite being adamant in your dislike for Tom, you do somehow get the feeling that the threat that rings through his tone is not one to be taken lightly. It buzzes a little too seriously for you to brush over it. So you answer accordingly.

"Okay, I promise."

The threat dissipates and he looks at you approvingly, his empty hand dropping to cup your cheek. You aren't so unaware of the twitch of his cock in your hand. "I just want to make it clear and put on the record that out of the two of us..." Tom angles you closer, "it's you that's the easy one. Too easy. So easy that you're already on your knees and begging me."

How you would slap that grin clean from his face. The scowl on yours warns him of it, but he simply laughs, mocking you.

"C'mon, sweetheart. Admit it." His boyish chuckle continues to ring in the air and its contagious effect pulls at your lips despite trying to hide it. He sees clearly that it pains you to admit it, so as a small motivator, he crouches to your level, his hand still cradling your cheek. In quieter words, though still delivered through a smirk, he murmurs..."Be a good girl for me, yeah?" His lips melting onto yours stops you from getting the chance to reply. The surprise of it fogs up your brain, submitted into a dream-like state as he gently molds his lips onto yours. It's short and leaves you wanting more.

With a flutter of lashes, you nod. "Atta girl."

He stands up taller once again and you take that as your cue to fulfill your promise. Your lips wrap around him and your tongue darts to sweep over his tip. His groans can be heard above you and no doubt heard by the recorder, crescendoing the second your head starts bobbing. Your hand covers what your mouth can't reach, doing as much as you can to make him feel good. It seems to work; his hips begin thrusting. Slowly, at first, to swing into rhythm but the more you swallow him the less control he has of his own movements, and soon, with your hair wrapped tightly around his fist, he's rutting erratically, drinking in the sounds of your moans of pleasure and pain.

"Fuck, you're so good at that."

"Don't stop. Don't fucking stop."

"Taking me so well. Good girl."

"Just like that, shit."

"Look how easy you are, fuck. So willing, aren't you? You wanted a word for your precious Youth Diary? Here it is; you are so easy it's pitiful. Fuck--"

Tom's animalistic nature completely dominates to the point where your tears and gags are silently begging to slow down. Every part of you is screaming out: your throat is bruising, your lips are tearing, your eyes are streaming, your knees are cramping, but holy fuck hearing him talk about you like that fuels the fire inside you.

His thighs twitch underneath your hands and you think he might just cum down your throat. The red-hot grip he has of your roots is your only warning before that happens.

Warmth fills your mouth and you're quick to swallow it down before you choke, like it’s instinct. He holds you hostage with his cock deep in your mouth, using you to string out the orgasm for as long as he can. Minutes later, you open your eyes to see Tom hunching over, still very much catching up to you in regaining his composure. His white fist grips the recorder while the other remains tangled through your locks, keeping you in place to prevent you teasing him any further.

When all seems settled, Tom lifts your chin once more - dabbing off the little drop you seem to have missed - and catches your gaze from behind the tears forming in the corner of your eyes. You already know what he's going to ask of you and when he perches the recorder in front of you, he shoots you a wink.

"Detail." He simply says.

"Hmm, you taste so good, Tom. Best I've ever had. I could taste you all day."

At that moment, something snaps in Tom. The smirk drops and his jaw tenses. It's small, minute changes, but it dramatically changes the atmosphere in the room. You just don't know whether it's for better or for worse.

You find your answer when Tom's muscular arms promptly tuck themselves under your arms with vigour, yanking you up onto your feet. The clatter of your recorder steals your attention as Tom carelessly throws it onto a coffee table to his right; after all, he needs his hands to be free if he is planning on returning the favour. You should be complaining about his lack of regard for your equipment and how he could've broken it, but the red flashing light still shows sign of life, so you decide to overlook it for now. Besides, Tom doesn't give you long before he whips your head back to claim your lips, hungrily moaning into them as he forces his body weight against yours and slams you flat against the wall. The collision whips all of the air out of your lungs but it isn't what causes the gasp to jump from your throat. Tom's lips find your neck, suckling onto the supple skin with intentions to bruise, all to distract you from his hand slipping under your skirt. With ease, he palms your cunt, offering just enough of a tease to have you burning for more.

"I need to hear you say my name again with that voice of yours." Ah, so that's what triggered him.

"Tom," you mewl, almost purring.

"As sexy as that sounds, I think it will sound even better when you’re cumming for me."

Oh fuck.

It's frightening how quickly Tom is able to weaken you with just the deft touch of his fingers to your clit and punishing kisses to your neck. You try your best to soak it in and remain somewhat stable to remember every moment of it, but goddammit you can't keep yourself together. So much so that despite Tom claiming to adore the sound of your voice, for the sake of dignity, he keeps his hand clamped hard against your mouth. Neither of you want curious ears to overhear the scandal coming from within.

Never did you think that Tom's all-round talents included making a girl cum so easily. It's kind of frustrating.

His fingers circle around your clit, dragging and pulling every nerve he can find and it winds you up perfectly. Legs shaking, breath faltering, you suspect you have mere seconds before he takes your orgasm.

Your whines and moans buzz from behind Tom's hand, muffled and diffused. Eventually he lets go, and replaces his hand with his lips, once again thrashing against yours.

"You gonna cum for me?"

"Fuck, I--"

"Say my name. Beg me to let you cum."

"Tom, please, I want to cum. Please let me cum."

Two fingers slot themselves into you, his palm taking over pleasing your clit and you have to stop yourself from buckling. It is the last sign Tom needs to know that you're on the precipice of shattering. With a devilish twinkle to his eye and a crooked smile, he sinks closer to you, his lips narrowly brushing against the shell of your ear and whispers the word. "Cum."

In a similar fashion to Tom what seems like hours ago, you come undone. Your hands grip onto his shoulders for stability as he refuses to stop abusing your cunt. His fingers dig deeper, his hand moves faster, and the tight curl of his knuckle breaking you sends you spiralling.

The gut-twisting tension soon turns to tranquil bliss as he slows his movements, finally catching a breath to revel in the post-orgasm haze with a twitch or two catching you out.

For as egotistical as you believed Tom to be, with the grounding kisses he litters over your cheek, neck, lips, he completely negates that belief. He utterly dominated you, yet affection fuels his movements; something you don't expect a vain person to have. Maybe he isn't all you made him out to be...

Calmly, you both collect yourselves until you're presentable, standing apart within the room as if what just happened never happened. The heat of the room is all that's left to suggest otherwise.

Tom doesn't stop you from reaching for your recorder, the plastic rectangular object feeling like home in your hand. You firmly press the stop button, letting the audio file save before you address Tom again.

"Thanks for...y'know, keeping it safe. I genuinely don't know what I would've done if I lost it."

Tom smiles kindly. "It's no problem."

"Oh, and congratulations."

He nods humbly. "Thank you. I didn't actually think I was going to win it, but I guess luck was on my side." Huh. He's not bragging...

Settling your recorder into your bag, you begin to make your way out of the room. You hadn't realised how late it had gotten and how hungry you had became until your stomach grumbled loudly. As you take your cue to leave, Tom leads you out with a gentle hand to the small of your back and chills arise. Shit. Don't start liking him now...

Tom clears his throat before you completely disappear. "Will I be seeing you lurking about any other events this year?"

Something about his question makes you smile. "Maybe. I've got a few film premieres that I will be attending."

"Good. Well, if any of them include me, I'll make sure to review your work again." How his wink makes you weak.

"Hmm, we'll see, Tom Holland."

~~~~~

It takes you over a week after the golfing event to eventually find the courage to finish writing your article. Most of it is written from what you remember thinking throughout the day, but your work leaves much to be desired. All that's missing from the article can be found on your recorder that you have deliberately been ignoring knowing what filth it contains.

It takes a couple of glasses of wine on a Saturday night to find the bravery to listen to it once again. It all goes smoothly at first, words flow from your mind to your fingertips and your article slowly builds as your past self feeds you your own commentary from that day. You were going to stick with your original idea, deciding to keep in all your criticisms about Tom Holland because who's going to stop you?

But your valour is short lived. Because you've reach the end. When you think you have the finished product, a masterpiece of literacy for your readers to enjoy and you have nothing else to write. Just when you think you're about to press 'publish' that you reach that part of your recording that you just can't bring yourself to turn off.

Shit, it turns you on so much to hear Tom's voice once again demand that you promise to never write another criticism again and the way you caved so easily in your lust-induced state. Even listening to it makes you resonate with it all over again, resurrecting the same excitement and anxiety to stir in your stomach. It's a reminder that persuades you that you don't necessarily agree with what you write about Tom. It makes you reconsider all that you've just written, your finger hovering over the backspace button prepared to fix the promise you're about to break.

Fuck. It's such a good story. Probably one of the best articles you've written. Alas, with the disagreement going on in your head, you can't find it in yourself to commit to it. There's also the problem that if you are to post it, the privilege of writers' anonymity will no longer be in your possession. Tom does, after all, know your name and your face, and you are damn sure he will take the time to find it and read it. What unnerves you is that you have no idea what actions he might take. How could you forget that warning?

"If you break that promise, I will come for you."

So there you sit with your empty glass of wine, chewing nervously on your nails while your eyes dry at the light of the screen you've been deliberating over for the last three hours. The question still remains.

What do you do?

[shinegguk]

„Would someone who hates you, do this Love?“

Pairing: RE4!Leon Kennedy x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: +18 MDNI, dirty talk, smut/comfort/angst (basically a mix of everything), p in v, oral and fingering(f receiving), bathroom/mirror sex, foul language/cursing, fem!reader, Leon kind of dominant(?), kinda enemies to lovers

Authors Note: never thought this would be long tbh.. anyways have fun reading and MINORS DO NOT INTERACT THIS IS +18

( ̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅ ̲̅]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅ ) ( ̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅ ̲̅]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅ ) ( ̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅ ̲̅]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅ ) ( ̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅ ̲̅]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅ ) ( ̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅ ̲̅]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅ ) ( ̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅ ̲̅]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅ )

The way she walked down the hallways of the building, the way her eyes were shining like polished glass and the way her smile lights up the whole room-

Leon was ripped out of his thoughts when another agent tapped on his shoulder to gain his attention. He blinked a few times and turned to look at the man beside him.

„Sorry to interrupt but-„

Leon wasn’t listening at this point. He had her and only on his mind. Everything else didn’t deserve his attention. While he was mindlessly talking to the agent, you were walking into the break room, smiling in accomplishment as you felt good after a good training session with your new coach in combat training.

After Krauser left, you never knew where it was written in the stars where he left off, the training was way more chilling than ever. You liked the coach, he knew what he was doing and when it was the time to stop. You liked that.

As you grabbed a cold cup of water from the water fountain, your eyes were pulled onto Leon. You looked at him, a blush rose onto your cheeks and you weren’t sure if it was from hate or if you were fluttered.

You and Leon had a complicated situationship since you were transferred to the agent company in order by the president. You both never had a good start. At least thats what you thought. Leon was mesmerized by you. He lived for your smile, he loves the way you laugh, the way you are so kind to everyone - except to him.

He never knew what caused you to be so mean to him, he was struggling to not just pull you into the nearest empty space, bend you over and and fuck the most out of you until you liked him. He was so, so much struggling.

As Leon and you held eye contact, the world for the both of you stopped. You couldn’t read the expression on his face, you just interpreted something. And that something was disgust.

You thought he didn’t liked you, so you don’t like him too. But that doesn’t mean you find him attractive. The way his eyes were so beautiful, the way he was so protective over this teammates on missions, the way his body was so appealing. You had your thoughts about him, some horny ones.

It was just sad none of you had the balls to confess it.

You sighed, shook off your thoughts and took the cold cup, emptying it on the spot. You threw the used cup away, aiming your way to the next shower room.

The warm water was cooling for your burning hot body, it was refreshing and the tense muscles were finally relaxing. You closed your eyes for a moment, let the water fall down to your face. After some time just standing under the flowing water, you finished showering.

Wrapping a towel around your body, you made your way out of the shower and almost had a heart attack when you saw Leon leaning against the cool wall with his arms crossed and looking down.

„What the fuck? Get out!“, you screeched and grabbed onto the towel. Leon slowly lifted his head, looking at you with yet again an unreadable expression.

His ice blue eyes pierced through yours, goosebumps forming on your arms, legs, everywhere. You gulped, suddenly you feel so small under his stare.

„You know, I was wondering..“, he was balancing back on his feet and took a few steps forward to you. You stood still, observing his every step he takes to you.

„What?“, you asked, not knowing what he meant or was about to say. You really didn’t, thats also probably why your legs feel like jelly, and your heart was beating like crazy.

„Why do you hate me?“, he was straight forward, wasting no time. He looked directly into your eyes.

„Because you hate me. Feelings are mutual.“

He scoffed. Did you say something wrong?

„Why the fuck would I hate you?“, he asked. Now you felt dumb. You assumed something that was never the case.

„I-I..“, you couldn’t find the words, they were lost like your mind was. He smirked and took more steps forward, his breath so close to your face as he bends down to your height.

„What? You had such a bad mouth when we were talking and now? What happened to that?“, he was looking up and down on you, trying to find your weak spot.

Did you mind that? Hell no. You were somehow growing very attracted by that.

You didn’t know where else to look either. Your eyes jumping from his eyes, to his lips, to his chest-

He caught up on that.

He carefully grabbed your chin, lifting your head to meet your eyes with his. „Eyes are up here, love.“

Love. That nickname was making you weak.

He caught up on that too.

„Oh? So you like being called love?“

You whimpered, you do really like being called love. You felt the butterflies going crazy in your stomach and a funny feeling was developing in your lower area. You were getting wet. You rubbed your thighs together to feel at least some friction.

His smirk grew. He had an affect on you. Or maybe he didn’t and your body just wanted to feel the thrill.

„Just to get that clear. You assumed I hated you just because you thought that by the way I looked at you? And you never had the idea to just come up and ask? Silly girl.“, he caressed your cheek with his thumb.

You squirmed under his soft touch on your face.

„Would someone who hates you, do this?“

He pressed his lips against yours, still keeping his hand under your chin as the other wrapped around your waist. You were a little caught off guard but that didn’t changed the fact that you wanted more now. So you pressed yourself closer to his body.

His tongue asked for permission to enter from your lips, your lips were inviting. The sloppy kissing went on, until you felt the bulge from his erection on your lower stomach.

Your lips parted and you both were breathing heavily. You bit your lip as you felt his hand wandering from your lower back to the squish of your butt, grabbing it through the towel that was still wrapped around your body.

„The things I would do to you, it’s killing me.“, he breathed out. Your heart was hammering in your body and the anticipation was rising. You both wanted it, so why not now?

„Then do it.“, you said. He wasted no time, pulling the towel off your body and lifted you up, placing you down on the cold white sink. You hissed at the short sensation but that quickly vanished.

He placed a few wet kisses on your lips before moves on to your neck, collarbone down your stomach to your now exposed core. Your face grew red, you bit your lip harder as his finger drew over your clit to your wet folds. You were sensitive and he took advantage of that.

He spread your legs and angled one onto the sink while the other leg went over his shoulder, giving him enough excess to give you something he dreamed of.

Placing soft kisses onto your inner thighs, he moves closer and you felt his hot breath down there. He placed a kiss onto your pearl and his tongue began to taste you.

You closed your eyes and threw your head back, supporting your body by your arms on the sink. Your moaning was music to his ears and he wanted more. He inserted his index finger first and felt you clenching around his finger, soon enough he added a second finder and slowly began to move them.

„Oh-„, you placed your hand on your mouth, trying to suppress the noises coming out your mouth. But Leon wanted to hear them. He stopped pumping his fingers and tasting you, glaring at you.

„Move that hand away and do not dare to be quiet. Let me hear you, Love.“

That was enough for you to let out yet another whimper and Leon continued to taste your pussy and please you. You felt the knot in your stomach tighten, grabbing his hair, your breathing increased and your legs started shaking as you let out the most pornographic moan.

Leon helped you to ride out your high, and licked his lips covered in your arousal. He grabbed you by your chin and kissed you again, letting you taste yourself.

When he pulled away, he took off his shirt showing his toned abs and not a second later his cargo pants were on the floor by his feet. He was now in only his underwear but you could the the bulge and the wet spot.

He grabbed you by the waist and helped you down from the sink, turned you around and now you faced the mirror. He bend you over and lifted one of your legs, placing it onto the sink. You eyed him through the mirror as he massaged the squish of your butt before placing one finger inside your wet pussy.

You groaned in emptiness as he moved his finger out and Leon chuckled.

„don’t worry, love, you will feel my cock in just a second.“, he kept his promise and ripped down his underwear, giving his cock a few pumps before he positioned it in front of your entrance.

He gave you a quick look through the mirror and slid into your wet core. Your mouth flew open, grabbing onto the sink edge as you adjusted to his length.

„F-fuck, Love, you’re tight.“, he groaned and grabbed onto your hips, starting to move slow and passionate.

„Oh, god..“, you breathed out and you felt him brimming you to the bone. He was fitting perfectly in you and his hands were made to fit on your waist. He picked up his pace, the shower room was now filled with skin slapping and hot breaths.

His hand traced your back up to your hair, which he grabbed and pulled you backwards, back arched as he pounded into you merciless. Sweat pearls were forming on his fore head, his hot body meeting yours.

What the most thrilling part was, anyone could come in and see the mess Leon made with you. A beautiful mess in his opinion.

The knot in your stomach was tightening again.

„I‘m close.. fuck..“, you moaned out and god know what words came out of your mouth next. You were cock-drunk and your mind was foggy.

„Hold on, love, we are almost there.“

The mirror was fogging up, your sight was now blurry and Leon felt his high coming too, so, he took his last strength and pounded harder into you. His hand found his way to your clit and started circling it with his fingers.

„Cum for me, love.“

Mouth wide open, eyes rolling to the back of your head and legs starting to shake for a second time, you and Leon both chased the high. Your arousal was dripping to the floor, covering your and Leons tights.

He pulled out of you, the both of you were catching breaths. He placed a kiss between your shoulder blades, smiling to himself.

„You did so good for me, love.“

There they were again. The butterflies.

You weakly smiled and turned to look at Leon. He gave you the most beautiful smile you have ever seen. He bends down to grab the towel he ripped of you, placing it beside you.

He turned you around to face him, placing his hands on your waist and places yet another kiss on your forehead.

His actions spoke more than enough. He was in love with you, and so were you.

[wolferess]

Dec 5th- 🅸ce 🆂kating

Kirishima X Reader

A new skating rink has opened up and Kiri has been wanting to take you for a while and well today’s the day.

Waking up bright and early to start a successful day, grabbing your favorite coat from the hanger and putting on your hat and mittens as well as earmuffs to keep your ears and fingers toasty, the weather today was extremely cold. Good time to ice skate.

Kiri is dressed just as cozy as you but in all red with two pieces of his bang poking out like horns causing you to giggle at the cuteness of it. “Alright ready to go?” he questioned, with a nod of your head you both left making sure your house is secure.

You’ve always wanted to go to a skate rink but due to your work schedule before meeting your boyfriend was so full and never ending you never got to enjoy some 'you' time for yourself andi if this gentleman had not walked into your life, you wouldn’t be as stress-free as you are now.

The drive to the skating rink was no longer than thirty minutes, Kirishima opened you car door with his stretched out you a d which you take, his has a red van with initials in black with a dragon behind it almost ready to blow fire from its mouth and its high up so to stop you from rolling your ankles, how about we let the knight help you get down.

"Why thank you, sir" you said in a fancy way like back in the days while he responded "You're most welcome my lady' with a little bow, after staring at each you both couldn't help breaking into a fit of laughter.

Keeping your hand in his, you both just interlock and head into the building with swinging hands. "Hi good morning, what are your shoe sizes?" The worker at the desk asked, "Size 12 for me and size (y/s/s) for the lady" he gestured to you, "Alright!" She said turning around and scanning the shelf for your sizes and handing them to you with a smile that almost mimics your boyfriend and of course the smile is returned by him and a small one from you with a 'thank you'.

Approaching an unclaimed bench, you rested your bag and sat down to put in your skates, with Kirishima's large size picked up the most so he put his shoes on before giving the bench to you and taking your hand in his. Walking you to the risk where you see kids and adults skating and laughing as they make the whole circle, you saw couples holding hands and singing with each other and they seemed to be carrying their own conversation. Taking some deep calming breaths and your shark tooth boyfriend as your side squeezing your hand and cascading a smile letting you know it's okay we'll walk in when your ready too, you look down at your skates and watch the marked ice before stepping in almost slipping forward but your boyfriend caught you just in time and lifted you back up slightly chuckled, "Alright, ever skated before?" He stared into your eyes looking for any kind of discomfort, you held onto his bicep never letting go, and with a shaken head.

He told you to grab the board the keep the ice trap and told you to look at his feet as he shows you how to skate; keep your dominant foot in front and your non-dominant footage the back but facing the side, using your back leg to push you off and alternate. Deciding to lean off the wall and do what kiri did and skate towards him only to fail the moment you pushed off, thanks to his hero training he was able to catch you before you fell palm first into ground.

Gripping your arms tight against his chest afraiding to move from there he said "It's okay I got ya" before taking both of your warmed up palms in his larger ones and skating backwards as he repeated; push, push; and you slowly got the hang of it. Of course occasionally you almost fell but you got better as each passing hours, fays.

Within time and days of practice you guys were side by side with hearts into each other's eyes as if it was only you too in the world and nobody else.

Days like these, times like this. Things couldn't have been any better.

Sorry didn't mean to post this one late 😅, anyway I hope you like it👌🏾

𝕃𝕚𝕜𝕖𝕤, 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕓𝕝𝕠𝕘𝕤 𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕒𝕡𝕡𝕣𝕖𝕔𝕚𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕕!!

Have an enjoyable night/day

-🐾

[duhragonball]

Dragon Ball Super 109

Tournament of Power Spirit Bomb EXPLAINED?!

This is the episode where Goku finally fights Jiren, but he’s still in the middle of a fight with Ribrianne.  I kind of forgot they went at it this long, probably because there was no clear winner and they wound up switching to different opponents.  It rules, though, mainly because it suits the Ribrianne/Vegeta rivalry that exists in my head.  Every second Ribiranne stands up to Goku is more credibility towards a showdown with Vegeta. 

The only gripe I have with Goku vs. Ribrianne is that Goku’s a little too accepting of her gimmick, but he also doesn’t understand it either.  I prefer Vegeta’s outright contempt.  For example, Brianne performs a second transformation in this episode, becoming Super Ribrianne, which is just Ribrianne with energy wings and an energy bow.  I guess I shouldn’t knock it, since it is pretty handy in a tournament where ki-based flight is impossible, but I would have liked her to change color or get bigger or something.  Anyway, Goku’s just impressed that she got stronger, and confused because all her attacks look like cartoon hearts and she won’t shut up about love and passion.  Her act demands a Vegeta to throw cold water on her parade.

Their interactions are still great, though.  For instance, Ribrianne tells him that she pans to use the Super Dragon Balls to be made into a goddess.  Can you guess what kind of god she wants to be?  If you said “A Goddess of Love”, then congratulations, you understand Universe 2.  Goku replies that he hasn’t even considered what he’d wish for, and then says he might wish for a supremely powerful fighter to challenge him.  What, is Beerus too easy for him now?  Ribrianne tells him his wish is already granted because she’s the powerful fighter he had in mind. 

That’s what makes Ribrianne so badass.  I think a lot of her critics are put off by the way she breaks the genre, doing shonen action stuff with a magical girl style.  And it’s a little frustrating to try to understand her, because everything she says is about love and maidens and romance and shit.  I sort of wonder if she’s just using “love” as a catch-all term for... well, everything else.  She doesn’t say “train to get stronger”, she says “love to get more maidenly” or something.  And it means the same thing, but she makes it sound like it’s a whole other thing. 

But at the end of the day, she’s shooting exploding hearts at Goku and slamming him into walls and just fighting like nobody’s business out there.  She’s like Orange Cassidy, doing awesome wrestling matches but with blank expressions and a low-key atttiude.  The action’s the same, but the presentation is so unusual that you either like it or you hate it.  Well I like it.

Anyway, while I’ve been writing all this, Ribrianne blasted him good, leaving a heart-shaped crater where Goku used to be. 

Then she Chungus poses for dominance.  “That’ll hold him all wight.  Huhuhuhuhu!”

GOKU KICK!  Don’t get it twisted, lady.  Ribrianne kicks ass, but Goku’s nothin’ to fuck with.  I had to rewind the video and play this scene again at half-speed to get this screenshot, and it was well-worth it.  These two are awesome.

So Ribrianne rolls across the stage and smack dab into Jiren. 

She speculates that Jiren has “fallen” for her “too.”  Wait, does she think all of her opponents are in love with her?  Or is this just how she describes fighting?  Let it go, Duhragonball.  Don’t get pulled into her world.

Anyway, she runs and hides, and warns Jiren that if he doesn’t declare his intentions toward her, she’ll lose interest and ignore him, i.e. run off to somewhere safer.

Jiren and Goku see each other now, and from the bleachers, Belmod, the God of Destruction for Universe 11, contacts Jiren telepathically with instructions.  Up to now, he’s had Jiren conserving his strength, using it only when absolutely necessary, like when he stoped Kale’s rampage, or rescued Dyspo from Maji Kayo.  But now, Belmod wants him to stop holding back, and his first target is to be Goku. 

So Jiren starts to power up, and everyone can feel it.  It’s like a change in the air.  Wait, can this goofy robot feel it?  Why is Vegeta having any trouble with that thing?  It looks like shit.

So Goku decides it’s time to see what Jiren can do, and he unloads with Kamehameha.  He’s still in base mode, but it says a lot that he opened with this.  But Jiren’s power is so intense that it creates this barrier around him.  I can’t remember if this is air currents or just ki.  The point is he’s gonzo tough.

Undaunted, Goku ramps up to Super Saiyan, but his punches and kicks do nothing.

As always, Super Saiyan 2 Goku looks rad as hell, but it doesn’t faze Jiren. 

On the bleachers, Shin wonders why Goku isn’t using Super Saiyan Blue already.  Could it be that he isn’t taking Jiren seriously?  But Krillin, Tien, and Roshi explain that it’s quite the opposite.  Goku wants to get a handle on Jiren’s powers first, and figure out his own strengths and weaknesses before committing to the fight.  Once Goku has the lay of the land, then he’ll go all out, so he can use his power with maximum efficacy.  One could also argue that this is also why Jiren is just standing there letting Goku do this.  He wants to see what Goku can do, and he’s at a level where he can just stand still with his guard down while he finds out.

Goku skips SSJ3 and goes to Super Saiyan God, and this is enough that Jiren has to move to block Goku’s strikes.  So that’s something at least.

But the fight doesn’t really get going until Goku uses Super Saiyan Blue, and it’s pretty one-sided.  Goku and fight Jiren, but he can’t hit him.  Even stacking Kaio-ken on top of Blue seems to make no difference.

At last, Jiren decides he’s seen enough, and blasts Goku through a big chunk of the stage and out of the ring. 

Well, that was anticlimactic.  The tournament’s not even half finished, and they just blew off the big dream match they set up.  Jiren turns to handle his next order of business...

Oh fuck yeah.

Goku jumps back on the stage and he’s like “Hey!  Where you think you’re going?!”

This right here, this is why.  There’s a vocal contingent of fans who get fed up with Goku always taking center stage.  I can sympathize, up to a point, because I do enjoy a lot of the other characters, and sometimes it’s frustrating that they don’t get more time to shine.  And Dragon Ball GT pretty much serves as a 64-episode testament to the dangers of over-relying on Goku to carry a show.   Goku is not an island unto himself.  Without his friends and enemies, he’s just a kid running around in the woods.

But he’s still the star of the show, and moments like these demonstrate why that is.  This guy was already in one fight with Brianne this episode, then he stepped to Jiren and got his shit wrecked, and he’s already looking for more.  His only plan is to keep trying, but he’s not going to lose, and he’s not going to run off to find an easier opponent.  He wanted Jiren from the start, and now he’s got Jiren, and he ain’t letting go. 

I love Vegeta and Gohan, but when the going gets tough for those guys, they start getting in their own head.  This is usually the moment where Vegeta cries over how he’s losing, even though he trained so hard and he’s the PRINSOVOL SAIYANS.  This is usually where Gohan starts to falter, and worry about how he’s letting everyone down, or how he’s making that mistake Piccolo kept warning him about. 

But with Goku, he muscles back up and says “round 2, bitch, let’s go.” 

Speaking of round 2, Jiren wins that one too.  He beats Goku down like it’s easy. 

Tien and Krillin figure Goku could still try again if he increased to Super Saiyan Blue/Kaio-ken x20.  But Whis informs him that Goku already had that idea, and this was what he just tried to do a second ago.  So what does that leave?

Goku admits to Jiren that he’s no match for him at his full power, but he still thinks he learned enough about Jiren’s power to try one more move he’s been keeping in reserve. 

And so he powers down and starts assembling a Spirit Bomb on the stage.  Okay, so let’s talk about this.

This always struck me as a really dumb idea for this arc, because the last time we saw the Spirit Bomb used, it was when Goku fired one at Majin Buu, and he needed the combined power of everyone on Earth (plus some additional characers in space) to pull it off.  Even Goku didn’t think it could work, until Vegeta suggested that they ask the Earthlings to send as much of their energy as possible, voluntarily. 

The problem here is that Jiren is clearly stronger than Kid Buu, and there’s a lot fewer people here for Goku to gather energy from.  There were never more than 120 people in the Null Realm for the Tournament of Power.  A lot of them were erased from existence, and most of the rest want Goku to lose this battle.  So really, all Goku has to work with is the energy from his nine teammates. 

Well, eight of them, since Vegeta refuses to participate. 

Krillin, Tien, and Roshi do lend some power, despite their being eliminated.  I guess this is legal, since no one stops them.  But I don’t see the Kais or Beerus contributing, so that may be a bridge too far for them.

And Jiren is fine just standing there waiting for Goku to finish his attack.  Like I said, he wants to see what Goku can do, just as much as Goku wants to see what Jiren’s capable of.  If Goku can actually win with this Spirit Bomb, then Jiren wants to test himself against it.   Otherwise, U11′s strategy is to demoralize the other figthers by taking down an ace like Goku and making it clear that no one can hold a candle to Jiren.  So a failed Spirit Bomb plays right into their hands.  

Ribrianne, however, isn’t above shooting Goku while he’s preparing.  Maybe she wants some revenge for U7 interrupting her transformation, but Vegeta spoils her shot and runs her off.

But back to the Spirit Bomb.  There’s no doubt that it’s powerful.  The eight guys Goku used to make it are no slouches, after all.  And the gods in the crowd recognize this as a dangerous attack.  Even Khai and Belmod are concerned, and they’ve been confident about their victory ever since Jiren was confirmed for their team. 

But how could this possibly stop Jiren when a bomb this size couldn’t stop Kid Buu?   It always bugged me, but when I watched this episode today, I think I finally got a clue.  It’s less about the bomb itself, and more about the Spirit Bomb technique. 

Let’s look back at the Spirit Bomb Goku used against Kid Buu.  Once he actually launched the thing, it auto targeted straight at Buu, just like it followed Frieza on Namek.  But Buu was able to push it back, although this took a lot of effort, even for him, and Goku was still able to offer some resistance, despite being exhausted.  I mean, it was a dangerous predicament, but Goku held out for a while before he started to get overwhelmed.

Then they wished for Porunga to restore Goku’s strength, and he was able to give the Spirit Bomb the push it needed to overcome Buu.  But Goku did this as a Super Saiyan 1, even after Buu had overpowered him before when he was a Super Saiyan 3. 

The point here is that the technique clearly gives the user some sort of advantage over the target.  I mean, in Frieza’s case, Goku wasn’t even pushing that Spirit Bomb, and Frieza still couldn’t stop it.  So there’s some something about the Spirit Bomb technique that gives the bomb a powerful forward momentum towards it target, and the user can add their own power to give it an extra boost, as we saw Goku do with Kid Buu. 

So it’s got less to do with the size of the Spirit Bomb, but the fact that Goku’s pushing any Spirit Bomb at Jiren.  His own strength wasn’t enough, so he’s trying to use the Spirit Bomb as a force multiplier. And since he’s pushing it at Super Saiyan Blue 20x Kai-Ken, this one is probably bearing down on Jiren with more force than the one Goku threw at Kid Buu. 

The bomb itself is smaller, but that’s probably not a concern, because Goku’s not trying to kill Jiren, after all.  He’d get disqualified.  Also, even if Goku wanted to murder Jiren, he might not need a Spirit Bomb as big as the one he threw at Kid Buu, since the purpose of that one was to destroy all of Buu’s cells in one enormous attack, to prevent him from regenerating.   This more intimate “party of eight” Spirit Bomb might be more than enough to knock out a guy who can’t grow back his whole body.

And yet, Jiren’s still one strong dude, so he pushes the bomb back in spite of everything I said.  I never said it would work, I’m just trying to explain how Goku thought it was a good idea to try this.  And it was worth a try, although Goku may not feel so sure about it in the moment...

But like the song says, you gotta “Get All You Can Take.”

[rendevousz]

freak

avengers x teen!fem!reader

summary: you get captured during a mission and the team saves you.

warnings: language, violence, brief misogyny, torture, **NO sexual assault (because as i was proofreading, i only implied most of the torture scenes because i didn't want to write it in graphic detail and i realised the vague wordings might be misinterpreted as sexual assault which IT IS NOT, just clearing it up), and also again, my inability to write good endings

word count: 4589

notes: i just rewatched iron man 2 so that explains justin hammer LMAO also ooc justin hammer because even tho mans evil, he gets extremely um.. cruel here but anyways i hope you enjoy this!!

you were 13 when you first met the avengers and 16 when you officially joined. you grew up as one of HYDRA's experimented children and the team had found you when they raided the base that you were in.

a small, sickly-looking kid you were, sat against your cell wall, hugging your knees. 13 but you could probably pass off as a 10 year old due to how malnourished and miserable you were. burying your head in between your knees, you covered your ears as the loud gunshot noises filled the whole place. the metal door of your cell slamming open against the wall had you whimpering, hands above your head in fear.

every time the door slammed open, guards would come drag you out for more experiments so it was an instinct for you to cower in fear at the sound.

"last room in the west hall, i found a little girl."

you heard nothing because you were covering your ears, preparing yourself to be forcefully dragged by the guards to the experiment room. but it never came.

"hey," a soft voice called. you were violently shaking at this point, breathing heavily as you tried to calm down. "hey, it's okay." the voice called out again and you felt them touch your shoulders.

your head immediately jolted up, flinching away from the stranger's touch. your eyes met a blue pair as you backed away into the corner in fear. "i'm sorry! i'm sorry, i didn't mean to." the man apologised. you slowly looked up at him, observing him. he had on a full black outfit, a quiver of arrows slinging on his shoulder and he was holding onto a bow.

"don't be scared. i'm here to help," he states with his hands out, as if to calm you down. "that's what they all say." you hissed through gritted teeth and a tear-stained face, glaring at him even though that could've been a very wrong move had it been with an actual HYDRA guard.

despite the strange feeling of being safe around this man, you didn't let your guard down. that's exactly what those scientists said seven years ago. trusting kind-looking men got you into this hell you never thought you would ever escape from and you weren't going to make the same mistake again.

"clint," a red-headed female, also in all black, entered through the open door of your cell with her pistol up. at the sight of the weapon, you broke your glare towards the man. your breathing quickened and you went back to your original position before the archer came; body pressed up against your knees and covering your ears with your palms.

"i'm sorry! i'm sorry! i'll come! please don't use that on me again," you whimpered, voice muffled as your face was hidden against your knees. the woman freezes mid-walk, looking at her friend with a bewildered expression.

"nat! put that away!" clint whispered harshly, eyes glaring at the pistol in nat's hands. nat's jaw dropped in realisation, a small gasp leaving her lips as she immediately put away her weapon.

she slowly makes her way to you and clint puts his arm out before she could get closer. he looks at her with a worried expression as he shook his head, as if telling her that she can't get too close to you. nat nods understandingly, crouching down a distance from you.

"hey," she spoke softly. "i promise you that we're not here to hurt you." you kept your face hidden from her, still hugging your legs tightly. nat sighs before sitting down.

"here, let's introduce ourselves. i'm nat and this right here is clint." you hear her speak and when you slowly lifted up your head, you saw the both of them sitting down in front of you, seeming to have made themselves at home in your pathetic cell. "what's your name?"

name? you had never been able to use your name before. you always kept your own name deep in your heart despite no one ever using it, afraid you would forget it if you stopped thinking of it. the only name they ever called you here was 'number five'.

"y/n," you whispered, still doubtful about these people's intentions. you almost burst out crying when you said your name out loud. that was the first time you introduced yourself with your actual name and not the number you were given ever since you were captured.

nat must have noticed this because she immediately spoke up, trying to distract you from your consuming thoughts. "y/n...that's a pretty name for a pretty girl like you. how old are you, y/n?" she asks again.

you contemplated once more but decided it was fine. you knew you were probably going to regret trusting these two strangers but what could be worse than what HYDRA has been doing to you for years?

"13," you muttered, looking down at your lap. you were now timidly seated cross-legged, playing with the tattered hem of your shorts. you heard a small gasp from one of them and looked up to see clint with his jaw dropped.

the two adults were both thinking of the same thing. how could you be 13? you were so small and sickly-looking, they didn't even think you were older than ten, let alone an early teen.

"i know you're scared and you have all the reasons in the world to be, but i promise you, we're here to help. we'll get you out of here, only if you trust us. will you trust us?" nat says. your mind was conflicted. you were either going to finally get out of this hellhole or you were going to be taken somewhere even worse than here. but could anywhere really be worse than here?

you decided to take a leap of faith and trust these two strangers. that decision had to have been the best decision you've ever made in your life.

you were now 18, an official avenger and you had the most amazing family you could've ever asked for. they were a bit on the crazier side but could you really have a normal family when said family consisted of superheroes? but you weren't complaining. you loved these people.

they were the ones who took care of you when you thought you had no one. having been a HYDRA experiment, you had abilities the normal human didn't. said ability being shapeshifting and healing. that's why you became an avenger. your shapeshifting ability was essential during missions where you had to sneak in and you being able to heal others was crucial when medic wasn't able to be there on time.

you pretty much came along to every mission despite the adults saying you don't have to. you knew they were only doing that to protect you from dangers of all those missions but how could you not when you had such abilities? they'd be much better with you helping.

that was why you were here, in bulgaria, fighting alongside the team. well, just steve, nat, clint, bucky and tony.

justin hammer had managed to get his hands on a type of out-of-this-planet weapon that tony was also trying to retrieve, and he had big plans with it. hence why the avengers had to come where hammer had wrecked havoc in; sofia, bulgaria. he had upgraded his robots with the tech used for the stolen weapon.

with evil robots attacking the whole city, it felt like you were living the story that wanda told you of what happened in sokovia before you met the avengers.

an hour passed before all of the robots had finally been taken down and you all knew you had to get to hammer before he activates more robots to distract you guys and uses the weapon for bad things.

"tony, have you located hammer?" steve's voice sounded in your ear through the comms. you had just finished healing the nasty gash on clint's side, nat's cut on her forehead and the bruises all over bucky. you were feeling significantly weaker now, from the amount of healing you did. you stumbled slightly when you walked and bucky immediately held onto your arm. "doll, are you okay?"

"i'm fine, buck. nothing i haven't dealt with before," you told him, gently removing his grip on your arm, walking back to the quinjet.

-

"no, absolutely not. we are not sending y/n right into a death trap. she's not even strong enough right now, she just finished healing us."

you were all back at the compound now and planning a second attack on justin hammer.

"it's not a death trap, buck. and i know you're worried but she's the only choice we got. y/n, all you gotta do is sneak in as one of his henchmen and provide entrance for us. once we get in, we'll take all his guards down and get that weapon from hammer and we won't have to worry about his world domination plans anymore. it'll be over as soon as it starts and she'll be back safe with us. sound good, y/n/n?"

"yeah, sure." you agreed, already having a person in mind that you were going to change yourself to.

-

the plan had gone just as steve wanted and they managed to raid justin hammer's building, tony stealing the very item that could've aided in the massacre of millions. justin and his henchmen managed to escape the building before the avengers could catch them.

"well, that was anticlimactic," tony scoffs, already making his way to the quinjet. "but good job, y/n. you saved the day once again."

he expected to hear a laugh from you, like you usually did, being the only one who ever responds to him after missions. but instead he was met with silence. "kid?" still no answer.

"y/n, where are you?" steve panicked, finally realising that you were the only one who hasn't responded in a hot minute. "y/n/n, this isn't funny." he breathed out.

"she's...she's gone."

-

"well, well, well," a voice spoke right as you woke up from your slumber. you squinted, noticing that you were in some sort of dark room with only one light bulb right above you. "what do we have here?"

a figure walks right in the light and you could barely make out justin hammer's ugly face with how dizzy you felt. "if it isn't the little freak." he states condescendingly, smirking down at your helpless position, both wrists and ankles cuffed onto the metal chair you were sat on. you struggled against the restraints, trying to get free but to no avail.

your breathing quickened, your current vulnerable state reminding you of your later years in HYDRA. they had started off experimenting on you on a metal gurney but as you grew older, you realised that what they were doing to you was bad so you started fighting back. that ended you up on a metal restraint chair instead of the gurney, strapped to the chair with cuffs on your wrists and ankles.

this felt like deja vu. the same panic you felt, the same breathing difficulties, the same amount of effort put into trying to get out of the restraints. "you should know, princess, that that doesn't work." hammer chuckled, a fake pout on his lips as he crouched in front of you, a rough hand on your cheek. you instinctively jerked away from his touch, to which he paid no mind to because he had expected that. he then grabbed your chin harshly, turning your head up towards him. you glared at him.

"you think i didn't know what you did? snuck in as one of my men using your freaky powers? not to mention useless. imagine having powers but not being able to use them to even escape from mere humans," he laughs in your face, harshly letting go of your chin, throwing your head backwards. "you tell me where stark planned to bring the weapon and i'll let you pretty little thing go."

"no."

before you could even comprehend, his fist came flying at your face and your head dropped to the side at the impact. your left cheekbone was throbbing and you could already tell you were gonna have a black eye. despite the pain, it wasn't something you weren't used to. you were an avenger, after all. getting decked in the face was practically in the contract.

he grabbed your chin once again, pulling your head upwards to face him. "you're gonna tell me where it is or i'm gonna make you regret it."

you looked up at him with a bored look. he punched you again. and again. and again. until you could taste the blood on your tongue. "think you wanna tell me now, sweetheart?"

"never. not to someone like you."

the man seemed to get a kick out of beating you up because he punched you again in the face. your whole face was pretty much numb now and the metallic taste in your mouth intensified. you smirked at the man before you, chuckling darkly.

"sure, beat up the helpless girl. that's the only way you can beat me, right? when i'm all tied up? what a man,"

his hand was around your throat within a second and he forced you to look him in the eyes again. "sweetheart, you're a girl. tied or not, you're still weak. not even with that useless power of yours."

taking advantage of how close his face was to yours, you gathered as much bloody saliva in your mouth before spitting it in his face.

it was very much the wrong thing to do because after he wiped off his face, he left the room and two men came in, various tools in hand for their fun with you.

-

"stark! my buddy! how's it going?" justin hammer's face appeared on the screen in the conference room, where the avengers were having a meeting about your possible whereabouts.

"where is she?!" wanda growled, standing up abruptly.

"what ever do you mean?" hammer smirked, feigning innocence. "you know what we mean. where is she?" steve spoke authoritatively, trying to control his anger at the sight of the man's face.

"i'll tell you where your thing is if you tell me where my thing is." he smiled wickedly. this caused wanda to get angrier. "y/n is not a thing! and the weapon was never yours in the first place!" vision held onto her to calm her down and it worked because she sat back down, though still glaring at the screen.

"oh she's not a thing? seems like it to me, though." he smirked and the team frowned, not understanding what he meant until they heard screams and justin's smirk widening at the sound. what a sick bastard. "what are you doing to her?!" bucky screamed, knocking his chair back as he stood up.

"i don't know, you tell me." he chuckles, and the screen changes to the live footage of you in the restraint chair with the two men in the room.

you were no longer fighting back now, just sat limply with your head dropped to the side. the first hour with them, you had been fighting back like you did with justin, despite the restraints, but now entering the second hour, you were too exhausted for anything.

your left eye had been swollen shut, you could barely breathe through your nose, your cheeks were throbbing like hell and your bottom lip was busted. your head was the only thing that moved freely when hit so the men seemed to find satisfaction the most when they punched you in the face. though that didn't stop them from inflicting pain on other parts of you.

"let her go, she's just a kid!" sam exclaimed, his grip on the edge of the table tightening to control his anger. peter and wanda were crying looking at the awful state you were in, clint, tony and bruce were silent in shock, steve and bucky were getting increasingly angry as the abuse continued.

"are you going to tell us where stark is keeping the weapon or have you not gotten enough?" one of the two men was heard asking, pulling your hair back to make you look up at him. you look at with your half-opened right eye, breathing heavily. "my answer's never gonna change no matter how many times you ask."

he scoffs, stepping back before the other man swings a bat right at your stomach. the air was immediately knocked out of your lung. the men laughed as you coughed up blood profusely. this caused wanda to get more hysterical.

"well, looks like she wants more. i'll call back when she's had enough. toodles," he waves his fingers at the camera with a sinister smirk before abruptly ending the call.

the room went silent after the call, save for bucky and sam breathing heavily from the anger they felt. bucky then turned to steve, pain could be seen on his face. "you said she would be safe."

"i–i'm sorry, buck. i didn't know he was gonna take her with him." steve was still frozen in shock, the image of you on the chair now permanently ingrained in his brain. in everyone's brains actually.

"guys, gear up, he's in colorado."

all heads turned towards natasha and she looked back at them with a 'what?' expression. "you were tracking him down the whole time?"

"um, duh? now come on, gotta save our girl."

-

you awoke to a stinging sensation on your inner forearm. after your bloody coughing fit, they proceeded to beat you up again and you were knocked out then. now you were slowly regaining consciousness but you were starting to prefer being passed out. your whole body was in pain and the fact that you couldn't even move made it even worse.

"oh, lookie here. sleeping beauty is up." you were met once again with justin hammer's ugly face. he was sitting on a chair perpendicular to your left side. you couldn't wait to get out of here so you didn't have to keep seeing his face every time you woke up. your inner forearm was stinging even more now so you looked down at it. you gasped at the sight.

"how'd you like my artwork?" he chuckled at your reaction. there on your arm, obviously carved out with the bloody knife that the asshole was so proudly holding on to, was 'FREAK'. carved out big and bold. on your skin. "pretty fitting, eh? freak? because, you know, that's what you are."

the blood was seeping out through the cuts and it stung even more now that it had been exposed to the air. the asshole moved his chair to your other side. "what should i write on this arm?" he feigns a thinking expression, looking up thoughtfully with his thumb and pointer finger on his chin.

"please, i–i don't know where tony put it. i really don't." you cried, tears now flowing freely down your face without a shame.

he looks at you with amusement. "what is this? are you...are you giving up already? can't take anymore?" he smirks and you sigh, closing your eyes. you just awoke but you were exhausted. so, so exhausted.

he takes out his phone, the smirk now permanent on his ugly face. "stark! kid's finally had enough. wanna tell me where the weapon is now or do you want to find her body at the bottom of the ocean?"

you couldn't even be bothered to react to his statement. the pain all finally registered and you were tired. tired and in excruciating pain.

"kinda busy right now, can you call back later?" you could hear tony's voice sound from justin's phone and the man beside you laughed. "i see you don't care for the girl. what could possibly be more important than saving her?"

"i don't know, you tell me." a voice said from behind you two and before you knew it, hammer was knocked off the chair he was on. you weakly turned your head just in time to see a metal arm force hammer up onto his feet before wrapping around his neck. "don't you fucking touch her again."

"y/n!" you heard wanda's voice as she entered the room with peter. more tears flowed down your face at the sight of them, stinging when they rolled past the cuts on your face but that didn't matter. your family was finally here to save you.

you saw the red mist of wanda's powers surround your cuffs before they clicked open. "oh, bubs, i'm so sorry." she cried, both hands hovering around your face, hesitating to touch you in fear of hurting you. her eyes fell onto the words carved out onto your skin and her mouth fell open before covering it with her hand. "i'm so sorry we couldn't get to you sooner." peter's voice cracked and you could tell he was emotional.

"it's okay," you told them, giving them a small smile, the biggest one you could give in your current state.

tony, sam and steve entered the room to see bucky relentlessly beating up your captor and wanda and peter standing by you as you cried.

"cupcake, we're here now. don't cry, you're safe now." tony came closer and despite knowing that you were because your family was finally here, you couldn't help but let out all the pent up emotions you've kept throughout your time of captivity.

sam had a go at justin once bucky was done and steve had to physically pry them both off of the sick bastard so that nat could cuff him and bring him back to the jet.

"y/n/n, i'm so sorry. if i hadn't–"

"it's okay, stevie." you cut him off. truthfully, you only did so because you knew he was going to giving a long-winded explanation justifying his actions and your headache couldn't bear to hear lengthy sentences. but you also didn't think it was in any way his fault so he didn't deserve to be beating himself up for this. shit happens, anyway.

"let's get you out of here, doll." bucky says, cringing when he sees the blood on the floor of your chair, as well as on your clothes. he quickly reaches to lift you off the chair but stops when you let out an ear-piercing scream of pain. "doll, i'm so sorry! did i hurt you?!" bucky questions in panic.

"y–you didn't, they did. it...it hurts everywhere," you cried, feeling hopeless that you couldn't even bear being carried by someone, let alone get up by yourself. their hearts broke when you said that. you never really cried much in front of them and you were known to withstand pain well because of how much shit HYDRA put you in as well as your powers being healing, meaning you had a higher pain tolerance than most people.

"it's okay, bubs. i got you. let's get you home, alright?" wanda's calming voice broke you out of your breakdown and red mist surrounded your whole body, wanda moving you with her powers. you were thankful of that because it didn't cause any more pain to your body.

maybe hammer was right. maybe you are just a freak with useless powers. wanda floated you into the jet and she set you down on the bed. "y/n, oh my god!" clint cried out once he sees you. you looked much worse than you did on hammer's camera footage during the call an hour ago. "kid, i'm so sorry."

"clint, take the wheel. bruce doesn't have all the resources needed. she needs to be treated ASAP." nat tells her best friend and he nods, taking the wheel and immediately taking off once everyone had boarded.

you were laid on the bed, right eye slightly open as bruce examined you. exhaustion hit you like a truck and before you knew it, you blacked out.

-

"how is she, doc?"

"pretty banged up but y/n, as i already knew, is a strong girl. lots of internal bleeding, broken bones, bruises and scars but she'll be fine. you can check her file later if you want," doctor cho tells tony outside of your room. "it's fine, can we see her?" he asks on behalf of the whole team standing behind him.

"yeah, of course! she woke up five minutes ago. i'll be off now, call me or my team if you need anything." she bids goodbye and left the group of superheroes.

steve slowly opens the door and there you were in bed, staring up at the ceiling. "hey, y/n/n," he greets sheepishly, feeling as though he had interrupted your alone time of blankly staring at the ceiling. the team trailed in behind him and soon your bed was surrounded by the avengers.

"hi, cupcake."

you looked away from the ceiling and turned your head towards tony. "oh, hey tones." you smile as sam helps you sit up while the rest sat on chairs all around you. "how you feeling, bub?" nat asks, eyes flickering down to the bold scarring of letters on your forearm.

"as okay as i can be." you answered truthfully, pressing your inner forearm closer to your body so the team doesn't see the letters carved onto your skin. you already know what you are, you didn't need the rest thinking so too.

"you're not a freak, bubs."

you look up at wanda. "i'm sorry, i didn't mean to read your mind. but they were awfully loud. you're not a freak, y/n. and you're not useless too. that bastard may have carved out that word onto your skin but the scar will fade. it's not permanent. you know why? because that's not what you are." she tells you, taking off her jacket to wrap it around you because you felt self conscious of the scars all over your arms where the team could see.

"yeah, doll. you're an amazing person and your powers help us so much. i mean, you saved millions just helping us get the weapon back from justin hammer. if you hadn't, well, who knows what could've been happening right now?" he places a gentle hand at the side of your head, stroking your hair.

"yeah and who heals us when we get really hurt during missions, huh? i mean, if you hadn't healed that stab wound i got during that mission in new mexico, i probably wouldn't even be here at this moment." clint tells you and you roll your eyes at him. "you're exaggerating."

"i am not!" he laughed and you playfully rolled your eyes once again.

"y/n/n, i'm really sorry for—"

"i don't wanna hear it, stevie."

"but–"

"no. it's not your fault. shit happens." you brush him off. "lang–"

"you say language to me, i'll blame this shit on you even when it's not your fault. try me, rogers." you glare at the blond super soldier. he raises his arms in surrender, leaning back on his chair as the team laughs.

the team continue to entertain you and you couldn't help but smile at the sight in front of you. these were the people who would drop anything for you and were willing to dropkick any asshole in the face for hurting you. justin hammer never had a chance against your family to begin with.

taglist <3

@amourtentiaa @rqmanoff @abitofeverythinggg

[hornime]

home workout | bokuto koutarou x gn!reader

“i’d let you do- do anything. anything you wan’ to me. i’m yours. all- all,” his voice raised a few octaves as the inside of your thighs brushed past his cockhead, “yours. all yours.”

warnings: 18+, sub!bokuto, jealous!reader (i mean who wouldn’t be when bokuto, your goddamn boyfriend, is perceived by other people the fuck), also lowkey possessive!reader, lotsa licking and sucking, nipple play, some praise (from reader) and some begging, brief mention of dacryphilia, kinda soft at the end

w/c: 1.5k sheesh

a/n: bokuto brainrot has me in literal tears. him being completely clueless to people flirting w him cus he doesn’t recognize romance from anyone but you has me so soft. i luv this man w my whole heart !!!!! ALSO THANKS FOR ALL THE LOVE ON THE BAKUGO FIC I JUST ABOUT SHIT MY PANTS WOOWWOWO

you weren’t an idiot. you knew that your boyfriend was attractive in literally every aspect of the word. he was sweet, patient, and kind, and what he lacked in academic smarts was made up tenfold in his emotional maturity and ability to read people. big and beefy, bokuto was all yours and all you wanted to stay trapped within his arms forever. unfortunately, to maintain the figure you adored so much and stay in shape for the volleyball season, he had to leave the four walls of your shared bedroom far more than you liked, having a daily obligation to spend a few hours at the gym.

once again, you weren’t an idiot. the few times that your work schedule and his training schedule aligned, you’d been able to work out together. and despite your knowledge of just how good-looking bokuto was and the fact that other people could perceive him (much to your chagrin) you were shocked at just how much people shamelessly flirted with him. 

cute girls with matching leggings and sports bras practically clung to his biceps, gushing about how strong he was and how he could probably pick them up with just one hand. their incessant giggling, mesmerizing hair twirling, and teasing touches pissed you off to no end, and you’d tug your boyfriend away before their breasts got too close to him for your liking.

something else you noticed was that, no matter how blatantly obvious the girls seemed to be, the guys were somehow worse, flirting through terms you couldn’t even understand. they compared deadlift weights, bicep curls, hip thrusts; you gritted your teeth thinking about whether they’d ever compared cock sizes in the locker room—you wouldn’t put it past those thirsty gym rats. sneaky bastards.

and bokuto, of course, was oblivious to it all. how could you blame him—he was so used to being adored! you knew that, to him, all of their praises paled in comparison to yours, but you couldn’t help but feel jealous. he was all yours—should be all yours—and you hated sharing him with the world.

you woke up saturday morning with a ringing in your ears, hand smacking the nightstand trying to turn off that god-awful alarm noise, bleary eyes barely able to focus on the text notification from your boyfriend.

[5:33 AM] kou: gm babe!!!! i didnt wanna wake u up cus u looked so peaceful! im heading to the gym rn. text me when ur up! love uu

[5:34 AM] kou: should be home around 9!! gym bud wants to show me something so i might be a little late for breakfast.

just to reiterate, you weren’t an idiot. for all the annoying flirting you noticed when you were with bokuto, there was no doubt in your mind that there must be a lot more when he was at the gym alone, which, unluckily for you, was most of the time since he was a freakin’ pro athlete and all.

you couldn’t prevent the pool of envy from swirling in your gut. gym bud? are you serious? who could that be? the girl with the arm tat or the dude with the dreads? no, maybe its that yoga instructor with the ass—

you shook your head, clearing your brain. you’d be here for hours if you went through everyone at that stupid gym that had ever shown interest in bokuto. the clock read 9:53 AM and the green flame in your body only burned brighter. just as you were about to call him and ask where he was, the front door slammed open.

“babe! i’m home!”

you silently put your phone down, teeth still clenching in jealousy. for some reason, hearing his voice only exacerbated the tension in your shoulders. you needed him. now.

“babe?” his voice creeped closer as he tread through the hallway towards the room. “you up?”

you peeked your head out of the doorframe, cheery voice masking your devilish intentions, “kou!"

his eyes brightened as he made eye contact with you and flashed his trademark smile. “hey! what’s u-” he took in the mischievous glint in your eyes “-p?”

you grabbed his burly forearm, yanking him behind you and walking towards him, forcing him to stumble and fall back on the bed. “wait! i’m all gross and sweaty,” he said, “gym showers were broke-”

“i don’t care. take off your shirt.”

“wow, someone’s eager. missed me that much?”

“watch it,” you glared. “i’m not in the mood, kou.”

he gulped at the dominance radiating from your voice, scrambling to take off the t-shirt that stretched between his pecs perfectly. with the fabric off and throw haphazardly to the side, he looked to you expectantly, the epitome of innocence.

your eyes wandered over his sculpted chest, the remnants of a soft sheen of sweat from his workout making it shine in the sunlight pouring through the blinds. your heart stuttered in your chest—he looked like an angel. coupled with the way with his bottom lip was tucked under his front teeth and the wide, anticipating look in his eyes, fuck. you almost smiled how blessed you felt in that moment, to see him in such a raw, alluring position, before a jarring thought caused your lips to twitch back into a frown.

everyone else can see him, too.

your eyes hardened. maybe they can see him all big and strong, you thought, but they’ll never get to see him like this: submissive.

and so fucking sensitive.

within an instant, your lips were latched on the soft spot above his collarbone, causing him to whimper in pleasure. you continued to travel along his throat, slowly working your way to the other side of his neck and crossing back to nibble at his adam’s apple.

you unexpectedly pulled away, drawing a short whine from him, before repositioning yourself so that you were straddling his outstretched legs. slowly, starting from the hem of his shorts, you dragged your tongue between the ridges of his abs, moving up towards his pecs, tasting the saltiness of his sweat and feeling the muscles tense underneath.

“fuck,” he groaned. as your lips puckered around one of his peaked nipples, he uncontrollably jerked his hips up, inadvertently rubbing his sensitive cock between your legs. overwhelmed by the sensation, he moaned. “fuck.”

“you taste good,” you muttered, grazing your teeth over his other nipple. “just wanna taste you all the time. you’d let me, right?”

thoughts muddled by just how good everything felt, he nodded mindlessly. “i’d let you do- do anything. anything you wan’ to me. i’m yours. all- all,” his voice raised a few octaves as the inside of your thighs brushed past his cockhead, “yours. all yours.”

you paused. raising your head from his chest, you made eye contact with him, so intense he almost closed his eyes to shield himself from the blaze burning in your dilated pupils. “why’d you stop,” he begged, “i want more. feels so good and i wan’ mor-”

“say it again,” you demanded. “tell me that you’re mine.”

his eyes, glossed over and prickled with tears precariously close to falling, squeezed tightly as he spoke, unable to control the growing volume of his voice. “’m all yours. always. all yo- yours.” he gasped as you resumed your movements, pinching the sensitive skin around his v-line while fervently leaving sloppy kisses on his chest. 

“good boy.”

he keened at your praise. another light touch to his cock combined with the passage of your mouth had him trembling, and his breath hitched as he cried out in warning, tears now flowing freely over his flushed cheeks. “m’ gonna cum, ‘m gonna, gonna cum.”

“yeah?” you whispered, lips brushing against his strained abs. “go ahead then.”

“fuck!” he whined, blabbering as you sat back and watched in awe of the beauty before you, a big strong man like him reduced to nothing more than a moaning mess. “fuck, fuck—you always make me feel so, s-so go-od, fuck i love you.”

with soaked shorts and an exhausted sigh, he dropped his head back onto the plush comforter of the bed. you flattened your palms on his quivering body, reeling from the aftershocks of his orgasm. he panted, running his fingers through your hair before nudging your face to look at him, staring at you with an expression of pure bliss and adoration. he studied you for a bit before declaring with a soft smile, “you’re the best. so fuckin’ happy that i’m yours.”

driven by affection, he sat up and reached his arms around your waist, snuggling his chin over your shoulder and mashing your chests, yours clothed and his naked, together. “kou wait!” you shrieked. “you’re all sweaty again! it’s gross!”

he chuckled. as if you hadn’t been spoiling him by licking it up just a few minutes ago. “you’re right. i‘m probably sweating more now than i was after my workout.”

at that, your ears perked up. “well maybe you should do home workouts more often then,” you teased.

“you’re right,” he repeated with a grin, “maybe i should.” if it meant more mornings like these, he’d forego the gym in a heartbeat. 

that night, he canceled his gym membership. after all, he reasoned, it’s offseason anyway.

© property of hornime 2021. do not plagiarize any of my writing and do not repost/copy my writing onto any other sites.

[bemylord]

aot boys as your boyfriend

♡ character: eren, erwin, armin, jean.

♡ warnings: fluff, gender neutral, some curse words.

♡ note: it's my vision of how aot boyzz will act if they'd fell in love with ya. i already did with levi, so i give a link to that chapter.

ᴇʀᴇɴ ʏᴇᴀɢᴇʀ

you've been stuck in his head the whole night. he has daydreamed about you almost every night.

eren isn't the weak boy who'd be scared to tell you his feelings, just he has some insecurities about it. maybe he feels something because you did awake his titan when nobody can't do that; maybe because he was listening to your voice while he was a titan.

you're dexterous and have some skills in how to kill titans. eren thought maybe your ancestors are ackerman?

but he decidedly tunes himself to ask you on a date. 'y/n, are you busy?' 'nope, eren, is something wrong?' 'yes, no, but.. would you mind to go on a date with me?' so, you had your first date under stars, gazing at the shooting star and made a wish. after that night, you entered into a relationship with a titan boy, without even knowing it.

eren'd call you love or baby. even if you both are in the public, he doesn't care what whoever will say: you're his lover and he wants to make it obvious to everyone.

when you inside walls, having a quiet, kinda day-off from the training and cleaning, eren calls it cuddie-day. why? nothing better to do than having you in his muscular arms, burying his face into your hair and finally rest. you both have a chat about nothing, just half-muttering 'til you both fall asleep.

it's kinda egoist but when you two outside the wall, eren'll keep an eye on you. he kills titans within twenty meters faster than you, so you could continue riding.

his palms have calluses and scars from the fight that he had in the past, but you think it's manly. you always rub his rough skin when you've got the opportunity. for eren, he'll do everything for you just so you keep rubbing his scabrous skin.

during the cuddle session, yeager will cover your face with quick but gentle kisses, holding your jawline delicate, pattering on your cheeks with his thumb.

eren tries to make you feel happy and loveable no matter what. also makes sure that you're knowing that you're safe and protected by him.

you should whisper in his ear dirty phrase, as he gets in the mood right away.

ᴇʀᴡɪɴ ꜱᴍɪᴛʜ

you're his hope and support, his sun and his moon. you mean a lot to him.

overprotective bby. before every expedition, he'll insist on you to stay inside the wall. it's not about trust, it's about he'll be focusing on you, he'll certify every second you aren't surrounded by the titans and you've enough gas.

still, he prefers you to be home, waiting for him. the thought of you biding your captain and lover, gives him the energy to come home safe.

he allows you to wash and treat his wounds after a mission. you kiss his tensed muscular, giving him a soothing back massage, running your hands on his body. 'you finally home, my love. other people and i are safe because of you and your teammates. i'm very proud of you'

after an exhausted and long trip, he asks for a few days off to spend with you.

as your captain, he needs to make sure you're strong and have knowledge of how to kill enemies.

erwin's palms are huge, so you're comparing your hand by pressing your palms in his. after years of using the vertical maneuvering equipment, he also has some calluses. the captain loves those moments when you're interlacing hands, despite his coarse skin. 'do you like hold my hands even if they're unpleasant to the touch?' you laughed, kissed his outer part of the palm. 'yes i do, captain, and i do like kissing them'

his confident way of speaking, you consider as something cute at him.

you need to obey, that erwin is dominant in the relationship.

his favorite kiss is neck or collarbone; pressing the lips against your smooth area around the neck, wrapping his arms around your waist, and mumbles some phrases - best way to kiss.

erwin calls you sweetie or honey. everyone in the survey corps knows you both are dating.

no one from organizations will dare to flirt or say something rude to you: whether it's military or scout regimen. it's quite simple, they're scared to die or be eaten alive by a titan. 'y/n, honey, i just want you to know that i love you' 'i love you too, my love' before and after mission, in the morning or before you both go to sleep, during cuddle, erwin tells you a lot of i love you's

ᴊᴇᴀɴ ᴋɪʀꜱᴄʜᴛᴇɪɴ

i guess jean is the kind of boyfriend who'd hold you by your waist all the time when you're at the public.

those tender and affectional quick kiss on your lips while holding your hands in his.

jean knows what he does whilst kissing you if you get what i mean; holding your waist or he runs his finger down your cheek, drawing patterns on them. in the beginning, jean was timid and uncertain about his movements, he hesitant about what he can do, what he can't. now, he determined the way he kisses his lover.

he likes to brag about you a lot. if someone from the corps is looking at you, he talks to them like that: 'are you jealous that they chose me, not you? get the fuck off them, bastard, or else i'll punch in the face'

he's kinda yandere if someone is staring at you.

if you were brat to him or you had been annoying him for some reason, he'd press you against the wall, holds your hands above your head, smirking at your face expression: he took off guard, you helpless and vulnerable. 'you had been a brat, y/n. do you want my kisses or something more? anyways, i'm here to give everything you've been craving for'

at those moments, jean being as cocky as he could be. he's dominant, controlling your movements, and impudent as fuck.

funny-unfunny jokes; compliments a lot if you feel chagrin or downtrodden. he understood you've been through some difficult problems, and living in the world when you need literally survive every day is sick. that's why jean wants to be your sun and the person who'll protect you.

he prefers to call you heartie [because you got the key to his heart] or angel. 'in the world full of ravenous titans, i want to be the one who makes you smile, heartie. take my hand in your, and let's create our world together'

ᴀʀᴍɪɴ ᴀʀʟᴇᴛ

armin is a sweet boy, who'd treat you like a queen.

read a book before fall asleep. you lay down on his chest, listening his calm voice, falling asleep. it's his preferred to end the day.

far beyond the wall, you are acting in unison: he protected you, you protected him. while he's thinking about a strategy you're killing titans or vice versa.

his hugs are warm and cozy. he put his palms at your back, rubbing your skin through the fabric or if you had some spicy night, pattering on your back indecipherable traces;

those dialogues with a cup of tea, when you half-muttering, in the room, that illuminated by the candles, enjoying that atmosphere.

armin loves to take a bath with you. delicately washing your skin, especially if you've got wounds or injuries. once you fell asleep whilst armin was cleaning you.

i think armin would switch. he likes being a dominant one, having right as he wants to, but he also likes when you're taking the control of his body.

armin has small palms with long fingers, milky skin. his hands always warm and delectable to the touch. in addition, armin is a touchy-feely man: he enjoys hugging or interlacing fingers.

idk why but i think armin'd like to have midnight walks on small alleys in the town, dreaming to change this place. he lives here in fear of the unknown what will be next, so armin'll do everything that he could do.

you capture his spirit, make him lose his breath when you smack your lips against his one's. those spontaneous kisses, you know.

occasionally, he gets sudden bursts of tenderness lol but hear me out: you both are doing nothing or training together when suddenly armin wants to kiss or cuddle you. it's just something tantalizing feeling he got. 'you're so beautiful right now, y/n, i want to give you a kiss' 'only now?' you smiled, receiving a shy kiss. armin blushed at your words; he doesn't mean you look unattractive yesterday or something like that. 'i'm sorry, baby, i didn't mean it, i-' 'i've got you, love, don't worry. let me give my kiss' armin gave you a thousand kisses later, as a token of his infinite love for you.

//~~//

yeap i did it. soon part 3 with tsukki-tsukki.

tomorrow i'll post a request with tsukki and do the rest with aot boys.

[alluringjae]

until dawn; pt. II - ljn

part I | part II

⤑ summary: basic number one rule of the museum is not to touch the art. but no one told jeno that falling for one of them isn’t allowed either.

⤑ pairing: jeno x female reader

⤑ word count: 12.2k

⤑ genre: ANGST, fluff, romance, smut (f receiving, dom!jeno waow, dirty talk, wrap it everyone) | broke architecture major!jeno, historical figure!reader, enemies to lovers!au, college!au, night at the museum-inspired!au

⤑ warnings: references to actual historical figures, explicit language, graphic details, major heartbreak caused by another party, expect time jumps too

⤑ author’s note: happy jeno day!! i’ve been so excited to post this part, and i’m happy we’re here!! perhaps, this is the last long fic i’ll write for a while so i can rest, but i’ll still be posting short stories within the weeks to come! i’m excited for may to say the least hehe

btw, for the smut scene (indicated with **), i highly recommend you listen to strange (feat. hillary smith) by kris bowers!! this song is from the bridgerton soundtrack, and oh man, the feels!!

with that, enjoy!

italicized text either means they are personal notes or flashbacks.

this was meant to be more angsty, but either way, i screamed every time i wrote something gut-wrenching.

⤑ taglist: @renjunniehome

​ ⤑ ctto above!!

⤑  leave me some feedback, constructive criticism, or hellos!

“You ready to get your butt beaten by me, Lee?”

“Prepare your final words when I win instead, (Y/L/N).”

Mischievous banter exchanged between you two became a new norm. Almost every night, someone within the art pieces established a contest over anything and it released the competitive sides of you two. So far, Jeno has been winning. Not like it hurt your pride, but maybe just once, you could conquer one game to feel better. Not only that, there’s a mini penalty for the loser. So far, you’ve cleaned up the lobby yourself and acted cutely to everyone the entire evening (or aegyo as Jeno called it).

Tonight, a game of archery was held by the Greek gods. They pushed away any extra pieces away, leaving the whole room vacant with two boards right beside Zeus’ throne. Numerous arrows were produced and sharpened, Zeus in the center announced to everyone participating.

“It’ll be 1 on 1 games. First to go are Jeno vs (Y/N), followed by Athena vs. Hermes, Cleopatra vs. Freddie, and last would be Hades vs Aphrodite.”

Cutting the chase, you didn’t expect Jeno to be that good at archery. Sure, he told you that he took classes with his friends for fun when he was younger, though it showed that he’s a fast learner and even hit one bullseye in the middle of the game.

Not slightly threatened until the last rounds, you fixed your aim and lessened your overthinking when preparing to shoot. Thus, you scored 2 bullseyes shot. It was a close fight, having the audience on the edge on their feet again because it’s the two of you. Your dynamic with the night guard always elevated the mood, shifting their bets over and over again.

By 1 point, you received your first victory against Jeno. Unlike you, he showcased his sportsmanship sweetly without any comments of disbelief. He’s never bragged about anything big in his life, not unless it’s a high grade for his plate. Normally, he celebrated wins in a laid-back manner. But don’t be fooled: he loves giving penalties.

“This is why I don’t make bets with my friends because I really go for their weak spots.”

“You’re cynical, Lee Jeno.”

“Only if you’re close to me, (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“Aren’t we already past that stage?”

Almost halfway through his job, he sustained a meaningful friendship with you. Out of everyone, you were his default person to hang out within the nights he had a shift. If he wasn’t present, he made sure to give you small treats or gifts as much as possible. An innocent friendship, it was that the world would’ve never believed in.

Or was it?

“To celebrate your win, what do you want me to do?”

“You’re too kind for me to play around with, even if you’re the complete opposite of me.”

“I’ll make it simple and worthwhile since I don’t know when I’ll win a game again.” As your finger tapped your temple as you pondered deeply, a smart idea came through. “Grant me 3 wishes.”

He chuckled, lowering himself to view you better. “Am I like some genie now to you?”

“No room to complain, I won, didn’t I?” You grinned, raising one brow to show your dominance.

“You’re petty in your own way, aren’t you?”

“Perhaps. Now come on, I want to use my first wish.” You shrugged it off like no big deal, loving the high feeling of triumph. You lead him to the center of the lobby, where a beautiful grand piano only selected people get to play during exhibits. “Open the museum piano.”

Ever since you were brought to life, you never used it. Tempting but because people from the outside might here, maybe it’s time to try something new. A new challenge, and besides, you missed entertaining people through it. The last time you touched the delicate piano keys was to your family before you ran away.

It’s a good thing that in the shackle of keys Jeno held, the needed key was there. Unlocking the lustrous black instrument, you sat by the matching black bench. Crackling your fingers, you tested by pressing a few keys to get the hang of it again.

“What are you planning to play, (Y/N)?” Jeno leaned against the side, his arms crossed.

Humming the first notes of your piece, the nostalgia ran through your veins. “Nocturne No. 2 in E flat by Chopin.”

Your fingers took off and played each chord slowly and calmly. This piece reminded you the most of your mother, who sat by the couch in front of your old piano with your father while guests from the party they hosted crowded around you. Being the youngest, they often requested you to perform as entertainment so you always put your best foot forward. Or so you tried.

Nevertheless, no one else in your family was capable to play this piece as perfectly as you. By the way your eyes closed and your body swayed to the mellow tune, Jeno observed how you memorized this piece by heart. A passionate flame you were, outshining every pianist out there.

He wasn’t surprised at how multi-talented you were, though there’s a different kind of aura you present when you played the instrument. From your hard and tough front, you could be soft and sweet to the right people.

In a way, you showed your comfort toward the boy by serenading him with the piano. Sketching him with him in the past was one thing, but this was another. You’d sketch with people you’ve grown used to, but you play piano to people you want to cherish in your life. As dangerous as it seems, Jeno was someone special to you, only wanting to have good moments with him.

Junmyeon will always have a huge part in your museum life, but Jeno filled the emptiness that he left behind. This loneliness for a human friend vanquished thanks to Jeno, and you didn’t want to jeopardize it at all. Sure, whenever he acted like a gentleman around you, let you inside the Foreign Art Room, or brought you food sometimes, you couldn’t help feel honored.

Though lately, every time he showed off his strength when he defeated Zeus and Hades during an arm wrestle game the god held again. You seriously had to catch a breath at every flex his arms made, like the goddesses. Maybe how he pushed his black hair back when he’s drawing another plate, you’d give yourself a few extra seconds to see his long fingers skim through them. He’d bit his lower lip when he’s in too deep with his creativity, wondering if he’d bite the lower lip of the girl he’d ki-

All right, (Y/N), relax. Maybe you’re thinking this way because it’s been decades since your last relationship. You wouldn’t want to fall for another possible trap and hurt yourself again, right?

Ever since this job, Jeno’s university life drastically changed. Yes, he still hung out with his friends and performed extremely well in his classes, though he prioritized anything related to the museum wherever he was. If they were drinking out, he’d buy an extra bottle of soju for you on his way back to the dorm. Rarely does he get shitfaced anyways.

If he and Renjun visited the bookstore to purchase pens or any art-related materials, he always bought either an extra sketchpad or set of pens. Even if you were simply a figure to everyone else, he appreciated the bond you both developed.

Every night, he’d tell you about his day from the start. Normally, it consisted of a lot of schoolwork and coffee, some stories about his roommates too. Speaking of them, he’d insert a lot of humorous words about his entire group of friends, whom you learned their names too.

Mark, Jaemin, Renjun, Jisung, Chenle, and Donghyuck, each of them presented a different color in their group. Jeno, who’d admitted to being shy and quiet, grew out of his shell because of them. A friend of Jeno’s would automatically be a friend of yours, if only you were allowed to leave the museum or become a human.

Jeno learned more about your past explorations that never got documented because you no longer had an interest in jotting them down. They were adventures you’d kept to yourself, memories only close to you then would know. Except now, Jeno was another addition. You’re not the type to instantly open to people, though again, a sense of relief surrounded him every time you encounter each other. It grew gradually like a warm hug, softening your heart and breaking your walls.

The more he spent time with you, nothing feared Jeno the slightest. He’s always maintained himself intact, avoiding lines to be crossed and giving respect to those who deserve it. However, he began to question himself where exactly his feelings lie with you after Jaemin tried to set him up on a blind double date just so the best friend of his date wouldn’t feel left out.

He’s rarely one to get crushes on people, even when other girls in his college openly showed their affection towards him. Valentine’s Day or his birthday, several girls sent him chocolate or flowers. Jaemin and Renjun got sick of girls reaching out to them first so they could reach him. It’s not because he’s not the dating type, but because he’s so goal-oriented that unlike his roommates, he doesn’t have a slight clue about dating.

Though one-night stands while at a party and dating were completely different, he’d still say he had experience with girls. Plus having an older sister, he never took advantage of them. He’d rather tell them in person that the feelings weren’t mutual than ghosting them. He’s not like Jaemin anyways.

With that, he’s so lost when his heart beats twice as fast the second you’ve woken up from your posing slumber. He doesn’t comprehend how flustered he’d be when you highly insist to help him with his plate or how cute he finds it when you’re playing fetch with Mochi. On top of it, when you chose to sketch each other for one of your sketching sessions, he’d take a longer stare at your visage before he drew some strokes.

A lot of historical accounts mentioned how your beauty was the standard of the Victorian era, wherein you were the jewel of your neighborhood and numerous men wanted your hand. Women envied you, especially having high intelligence skills that were equivalent to a man. That time, that felt like a threat to most men. Though surprisingly, it turns out there were men who liked intelligent girls.

Jeno knew he liked you as a friend, though liking you past that he didn’t intend. Nor was it allowed because it’ll break one of the golden rules. Before he’d go beyond contemplating, he had to stop himself. This was so unlike him. The feelings will fleet away, he’d repeat to himself. Don’t waste a great friendship because of your silly emotions.

Individually, both of you swallowed these harboring feelings down your guts and simply kept your friendship status safe. Doing your typical activities or whatever else you could think of, none of you minded to change it whatsoever.

Unknown to you though, it was obvious to the other art pieces ones that you two practically passed off as young lovers. Although they know that pushing one towards the other went against the rules, Aphrodite begged to differ.

“Holding them back from expressing what they really feel just because of the law here is a tragedy. They should at least try, you know?”

On another typical night, Jeno invited you to the Theater Room for a movie marathon. After finding out that you’ve never seen any moving pictures, he wanted to be there to introduce it. Luck was on his side to not have plates or requirements due for the week and everyone was behaving themselves, so he started with rolling out short films from the 88mm projector. Having premade popcorn and drinks, the two of you shared roars of laughter and emotional tears.

Switching to the cd player for longer and clearer films, you’d opt to believe that you were born at the wrong time. With all these advancements, it came with a lot of new beliefs. One of them was allowing women to study and work. Then again, she was a pioneer according to historians. Without her, it wouldn’t help shape society as it is today.

Nonetheless, this movie Jeno played on the big screen was what he defined as “one of the classics”, 10 Things I Hate About You.

This outspoken character named Kat was presenting a poem to her class, trying to hold in her raw emotions towards Patrick, the boy who broke her heart. Too engaged, you didn’t notice how Jeno stretched his arms out so he could wrap one around your shoulder. Not that you were complaining, his warmth reassuring you safety.

“I hate the way you talk to me, and the way you cut your hair. I hate the way you drive my car. I hate it when you stare. I hate your big dumb combat boots and the way you read my mind. I hate you so much it makes me sick; it even makes me rhyme. I hate it, I hate the way you're always right. I hate it when you lie.” The way she attempted to keep her strong ground only reminded you of where you were weeks ago, especially once she excruciatingly broke down.

“I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry. I hate it when you're not around, and the fact that you didn't call. But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you. Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.” Only when you leaned back to the chair, you felt his arm. His thumb caressing your covered shoulder, you peeked him a little bit. His eyes fixated on the screen, absorbed in the acting and how Kat’s tears weren’t scripted as she stormed out of the classroom.

Not that you were her, but it sparked the past memory of how you merely disliked him because of his job. But as a person, not even close, not even once did you hate him. How blessed that he never judged you for it, staying patient all this time.

Right before he could look back at you, you moved your face back to resume your watching. Jeno definitely noticed what you did, though not sure as to why. Whatever it was, it wasn’t harmful.

Once the film ended, Jeno checked his watch for the time. 4 am, he wanted to do something else now instead of film viewing. You were on par with it, wanting to walk it out after being seated for hours. As you both cleaned up and bid the posters outside goodbye, the doors to the museum were locked unexpectedly. Impossible on Jeno’s half because he had the keys for every room, but he double-checked his bunch.

Alas, the keys for these doors specifically were missing. But there was no other way anyone could’ve gotten it, plus it’s not like the last person he talked to, which was Aphrodite, would need it.

Or did she?

Rather than putting any blame on each other, your only wish now was to return to your section before sunrise. You and he could just relax momentarily before yelling for help.

“Maybe we should watch another film first?”

“Alright, you choose while I return the rest.”

As Jeno inserted the cd of Cinema Paradiso inside, the background music of the opening played. He hummed the first notes, already feeling the love from this film. Another must-see classic as recommended by Renjun, he wanted to rewatch it with you.

Slowly returning each cd and film roll to their respective drawers, the melodious theme had you waltzing in the small space. Even beyond your life, classical music never gets old. Aging like fine wine, sounding spectacular as time passes because of people’s creativity.

Jeno gazed over your sudden movements, smiling uncontrollably at how immersed you were as you multi-tasked. However, you took a wrong turn by the desk and almost dropped a priceless film roll. But before you fully slipped and fell, a pair of strong arms caught you at the right time. Panting from the nerves, mostly when he was inches from your face. Never has he pressed his body this close to you to protect you, and never have you seen his captivating eyes this up close.

As enchanting as the background music of Ennio Morricone was, it only became noise once Jeno took ahold of the film roll on your hand and placing down on the desk. Taking another step closer, you were backed up by the edge. Not to mention how his height dignified his impact on you, your arms were still situated by your side with nowhere else to go.

That was until his finger elevated your chin so he could meet you on eye-to-eye level. His other hand gripping your waist, you became brave enough to place your hands by his broad shoulders. Licking your lips, you glanced at his lips quickly. But he noticed it, and as risky as this was, it was a leap of faith to take.

“May I kiss you?”

Always such a gentleman, even when he already knew how much you desired him through your returning affections. Calming your breath patterns by the speed of everything occurring, you came back to your senses. He’s the one who constantly told you not to forget your roots, so you were going to take this one.

You trust him, and he does too.

“Yes.”

Since the first film, some kind of tension increased the closer he moved or intimate his actions were towards you. You kept pushing it back in hopes not to ruin what you both have. But it only turned out to be mutual, especially how none of you held back as soon as his lips passionately clashed yours.

Tangling your arms around his neck, you stood on your tiptoes to press even closer to him. Feeling his lively heart pumping against your hollow chest, you bit his lower lip. Something you’ve secretly craved to do, he growled from the pleasure. He hoisted your waist to the desk, his impatient hands earnestly traveling all over your body. While your legs locked around his torso, your feisty nature leaned back so your entire body lied on the small desk.

Jeno was on top, placing one hand down to hold himself while the other squeezed your waist firmly. Even if you’re made of wax, you’re like an actual living woman at night. Everything about you becomes real until dawn. You emitted vulgar moans, giving him more access to your neck. Peppering a mix of soft to hard kisses, your hand teasingly snaked under his shirt. He really wasn’t joking when he bragged that he was quite ripped since he enjoyed sports and going to the gym, cupping a part of his toned abdomen.

“If you want something, all you have to do is ask.” He sluggishly sucked the area between your ear and neck, one of your weakest spots. “What’s on your mind, baby?”

The growing moistness in between your legs left a stain in your panties, trying to close your legs out of embarrassment. It’s been decades since you’ve been stimulated like this. However, Jeno beat you to it as he trailed the hand that was on your waist and lowering it right above your covered sex. He cupped it agonizingly slow, making you folding your leg from the pleasure. For a man who doesn’t date around, he knew exactly what he’s doing.

“I just kissed you, and you’re already this soaked. Can you handle me, baby?”

As the strong woman that you present yourself to be, it would selfishly take the right touch from the right man to weaken you. With his savage lips back on yours while your hands clutched on his shirt, he was simply waiting for a verbal answer, yet driving you completely mad. Everything was happening so fast, and here he was to please you in anywhere you seem fit.

You were deprived, and oh, you needed it more than ever.

However, seconds before you replied, there was loud rumbling from the main doors which stopped your devilish antics. As Jeno moved back from you to see the ruckus, you lifted yourself back up, pulling back your dress sleeves and flattening out the creases. The last thing you wanted was a trail of familiar red marks from the aggressive male, finding any reflective surfaces to check.

“I wouldn’t be that dumb to leave you hickies now, would I?” Jeno ended your worries as he placed his hands by your side again. His face leaned towards yours again, reliving the warmth in your cheeks. His lips were plumper, catching traces of your coral lipstick smudged there down to his jaw. He slotted himself again between your legs, grazing a hand on your waist and the other to your warm cheek. “The door’s unlocked now, and it’s 5 am. Do you want to clean up now?”

You playfully scoffed, aware that neither of you had plans to do that yet. Such a player while in the heat of the moment.

“Spare me 15 more minutes with you first.”

Hiding the romance you’ve both built failed without trying. Aphrodite spotted all the signs from your open physical affection and words of admiration, calling you two out in front of everyone without shame. She is the goddess of love, after all. You couldn’t fool her even if you tried.

Plus, she’s the one who locked the two of you up in the Theater Room that night. But neither of you know that.

“Sketch my ideal home?” Jeno bent down to the table, testing out his newly bought pens so they wouldn’t spill.

“Isn’t that why you decided to pursue Architecture in the first place? Come on now!” You pestered across him, opening your new sketchpad since your last one ran out of pages. As expected, Jeno bought you one when he went to the bookstore. As much as you insisted not to because he should use the money somewhere else, he did it anyway. He loved your works, encouraging you in any way he could.

When he was reminded of his humble beginnings of his passion for architecture by you, never had he envisioned exactly how his perfect home would be like. Settling down was so far beyond his mind, only focusing to graduate university then study for the licensure exams. However, he did miss drawing something for fun, not as a requirement. He also was the one who took charge of designing his dorm.

“Fine, only if you draw what your ideal home would’ve been if you never left London.”

Now as lovers, the only addition to your relationship were the public and private exchanges of affection. Deep conversations, film viewing, back and forth banter, you’re both still the same competitive duo everyone expected to be together. In public, the two of you held hands, hugged, kissed each other cheeks too when it felt right. Cleopatra’s face of fake nausea was priceless every time, while Princess Diana, Anne, and Katherine enjoyed it. It’s been years since they’ve seen this glow of adoration in you. Bit by bit, you’re going back to the old you. Except now, you’re a lot stronger.

Perhaps, this version of you proved wrong for the need for romance. Even if you made the choice not to settle down then, it would’ve been different if Jeno was in your universe then.

“Are you done there?” Jeno asked while you were finishing up your masterpiece. Life in London sounded fun when you were younger, having all these ideas on interior design and the like. An innocent time.

Instead of replying, you strode to his side and compared your pieces together. He pictured a two-story home, with a backyard and rooftop area. He definitely wanted to stay in the city as his whole life was based there. Although you preferred living in the countryside more for more freedom, you gave it a shot by pinpointing every detail of a wealthy typical Victorian-era home you liked. You desired a spacious lobby with a grand staircase in the middle, a crystal chandelier there too. The living room would have a small library and a grand piano, where wide doors leading to the grasslands were beside it.

Considering you two lived from different times, in a way your ideal homes were similar. Somewhere private, surrounded by nature and minimal furniture, you’re curious as to how it would look if the two of you fused them together. A mix of old and new, will it look pretty?

“What will look pretty?” Jeno questioned your random thought, looking back and forth at your sketches. “You know who’s pretty though?”

“If you say what I think you’re going to say, I’m lea-”

“You.”

Jeno has gotten flirtier since that night, always finding the right opportunity to flatter you. Although you denied them out of embarrassment, the butterflies in your stomach can’t lie to you.

You’re so smitten, and so was he.

Jeno’s always one to follow the rules, but so far, he’s been breaking some of them already.

Just last night, he gave Renjun access to the lively museum because he needed more research regarding you. Initially, he practically interviewed Jeno for every piece of information he gathered because he used to be so deep in the books to study everything about you. Now in the past, Renjun still couldn’t forget how Jeno drunkenly admitted how crazy he was going to be over you and your coldness whilst sobering up in the dorm.

He didn’t understand one bit by that, especially when you’re technically dead. But by the sight of the first piece Renjun saw alive, which was Zeus, he almost passed out. Piece by piece, he viewed these artworks come to life from his fresh eyes. Right before he could’ve screamed when Athena shot a lightbulb in their exhibit, you happily called out Jeno’s name.

Renjun froze on the spot upon seeing your wax figure come to life. He’s browsed through this museum numerously due to the new exhibits, but lately, he checked your section out to find any tiny details that were linked to your life. Aside from the sketchpad, compass, and hairpins, he wanted to know if there was more to your life as an explorer.

As human interactions except the night guard weren’t allowed, Renjun needed help for his project in Women Studies. Just like Jeno’s assignment, you aided him. Fruitfully answering every question he gave you, Athena popped out of nowhere to inspect Jeno.

“I see you’re breaking another rule.”

“I’m sorry, Athena. He was desperate, and it would be selfish of me to let him fail.”

“This is the last one I’ll let slide, alright?” Athena huffed, not impressed by the reckless behavior Jeno acquired over time. She saw this coming, but for a change, she couldn’t punish him. He was a young adult, still learning more about life. Only will she step in if things turn for the worst. “I can’t believe I’ve gained a soft spot for you.”

Jeno laughed, hugging the figure like his older sister. “You love me though!”

Glad to say, Renjun aced his project and kept his word of not telling anyone about the happenings in Jeno’s job. Jeno even made a makeshift non-disclosure contract so Renjun wouldn’t spill the slightest details.

Lately, so much has been happening in the museum that having alone time with each other was rare. And when you did, the two of you made sure to maximize it and make every intimate moment count. From each touch, each longing kiss, each moan, and groan, never were you left hanging whether you’re at the Theater Room, Jeno’s office, or the Foreign Art Room.

The only time the two of you went beyond the boundaries was at the indoor garden. Jeno managed to get the key to it, lighting up some candles before you invited you inside. Thanks to the magic of the Greek gods, the cameras were bewitched to display fake imageries when security checks in the morning after.

Upon your deep conversations, you’ve mentioned once or twice about the indoor garden. It was the latest addition of the museum, opening in the early 2000s. Because it was a sacred place, no art piece was ever allowed inside.

Yet again, Jeno challenged the rules again when he invited you inside. A few minutes before, he set up some lights along the hallway of the garden, where he placed a blanket, a picnic basket, and his laptop right at the end of it. The best place to view everything, he just knew you’d love it.

He was undoubtedly right once you gasped at such a pretty sight. Seeing the silhouettes of various flowers and plants together with the night sky with all the stars sparkling, it was like you’re attending another ball with your sisters, who were looking for suitors then.

Once Jeno leisurely led you until the end, he brought out all the delicacies from the basket. One of them was this Italian savory dish of dough with toppings such as cheese and pepperoni, or pizza as they named it. The next ones were fresh strawberries and melted chocolate, followed by grape juice.

“I’d drink actual alcohol with you again, only if I didn’t get shitfaced and do my job properly.”

“Point taken. Besides, this is close enough. So pour me a drink please.”

Perhaps this was the closest to a date Jeno could ever ask you out to. With the restrictions and being constrained with time, he brainstormed all sorts of ways to bring the outside world to you. From simply letting you wander around this fascinating room, he unleashed the inner romantic in him. None of his friends would’ve thought since they never asked him about it, so he kept it to himself only. Finally, he’s satisfied with what he prepared. After eating, the two of you would watch more films before the sun rose again.

You’re just the right person for him at the moment he can act that way.

After your quiet stroll and sitting back down, Jeno surprisingly handed you a tiny box.

“A gift?”

“Open it.” He sipped on his juice, paying attention to your actions. Gently untying the box, the amazement in your eyes couldn’t fathom such a lovely present. No words were required to verify that Jeno outdid himself again, just your facial expression alone is enough.

When Jeno said that he pays attention to the tiny details, he doesn’t bluff. Throughout your growing relationship, you’ve cited how you wanted another special flower in your life. Just because you couldn’t view lavender roses the same way ever again, it didn’t mean you wanted to kick them out of your life. Flowers were one of nature’s beautiful creations, so you’re wishing to find the love you once had for lavender roses in other ones.

Thus, you came across what you thought held the highest form of meaning: red roses. Despite its thorns, it’s still a marvelous flower. Innocently, you told him that just because of the memory of your father giving them to your mother on her birthday yearly.

Red roses represented true love and romance, a discreet message only those eager would know.

Jeno was one of them, which was why he reserved this gift for this very moment. It was a necklace he found through a college fair recently, a subtle red rose pendant in the center. Since he couldn’t give you huge gifts, he settled for something light. Something none of the guards or the director wouldn’t pinpoint out when they do their inspections.

“Do you like it?”

Not one utter from your mouth since you’re so hypnotized, your lips quirked up in a charming smile. “Is that even a question? This is astonishing, Jeno.”

After you attempted to put it around your neck, Jeno sighed and stepped in to help you out. “Turn around, (Y/N). Let me.”

The tension gradually heightened once you held your hair up so Jeno accessibly viewed your clean neck. Clasping the lock, it took all his might to hold himself back from you. Even from behind, your silhouette was attractive to him. The lights he set up weren’t helping the slightest of what he’s thinking to do with you.

“Done.” He breathily whispered in your ear.

**

If he thought he was the only one feeling something powerful, he’d be more than wrong. The lingering sensation of his slim fingers gracing your décolletage area unhinged another kind of want, the one you’ve only imagined in your mind when you were needy and alone. It shouldn’t be a sin unless you’re with the person you’ve fallen for, right?

Facing him again, the eye contact didn’t last long when you were the first one to strike a move. Jeno kissed back right away, his hands pulling you closer by your waist. Whatever sultry music Jeno played, it gave you the perfect momentum to grind on his lap. He groaned against kisses, adding his tongue. His thumbs sensually rubbed your hipbones, one of your hands toying around with his hair while the other one balled up his shirt by the chest. None of you cared if anyone caught you.

The last time you’ve been this aggressive was at the Theater Room, which eventually increased the hidden lust you’ve had towards each other. Taking things slowly at first, it’s about time to delve in for more. The mood was already set from the start, even if Jeno didn’t plan this to happen here. But being the prepared man he is, he did have a condom in his back pocket.

Your fingers trailed from his neck until his crotch. He was hard, sensing how suffocated he must be. But he kept himself in control. Locking eye contact, you sweetly spoke.

“Grant my second wish, Jeno.” That same hand of yours held one of his, planting it in your breast. “Make love to me.”

Giving the go-signal, he crashed his lips on yours while stripping you off your dress. Carefully, he turned you around to untie your tight corset. Once it fell, your neck leaned sideways as his lips attacked it madly. Your breaths were tremulous, placing both his hands on your freed breasts to knead with. His touch felt like fire on your skin, yet you couldn’t stop.

“Jeno,” Obscene moans from your lips choked out. You desired more, shifting back to face him again to attack his lips. Slowly feeling one of his hands laying you down, you spread your legs with ease just for him. He parted after your head landed on the cushion to unbutton himself. The way your mouth dropped to selfishly stare at his bare body, flexing them before getting back into position. He was fit and toned just as Cleopatra predicted.

As much as Jeno knew how wild your thoughts were getting, he was more taken aback by your perky chest.

“Fuck, you are divine.” He sucked one nipple as his fingers ventured to slip your panties down. So much was going on, you didn’t know which stimulated you more. You tried to close your legs around his hand, but he slapped your inner thigh to stop you.

The cool breeze shivered you, especially from your core. Jeno’s fingers adventurously grazed from your hip area to your lower lips. He teasingly rubbed it up and down in your essence, his index finger settling it right at your needy clit. Another moan escaped your lips, an opportunity for Jeno to slide his tongue in your mouth. Enjoying the moment, his fingers dipped inside you. A gasp broke your kiss, making him giggle in your ear.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

“Oh, angel. The things I want to do with you.”

Sliding them back and forth, curling it even, you squirmed for more. Dropping himself to meet your core, Jeno placed your legs on his shoulder. Pushing you closer, his steamy breath felt like friction. Your hips grinded against it, so he gripped on them so you stay put.

“Angel,” He chuckled darkly, his crotch tightening at how powerless you looked. “You’re so pretty.”

You were drenched from arousal. But to Jeno, you were glowing under the lights. He wanted to take his time to admire what he had done to you. His independent girl, only weak for him.

His fingers unfolded in your lower lips, diving in to your orbit. You could hardly speak from his skilled mouth, especially his tongue savagely lapping your clit in numerous paces. You’ve only daydreamed about what it could do aside from kissing, and it exceeded your expectations. By the heated sensation that had the heels of your feet digging his back deeply, you affirmed to have seen more stars than the night sky above you.

Your back arched uncontrollably while his hands grasped your hips to stay in place, the tears in your eyes formulating while tugging on his hair. Your thighs clenched around his face, but his broad shoulders widened it to taste more of you. No use of pulling away when his grip on you was tight, so you could only cry out from the pleasure.

“Fuck!”

The ringing sounds in your off were going off, your throat drying up from moaning once another orgasm was about to hit. Once the knot in you snapped, nothing could hold back your screams of pleasure whilst panting for air. Sensitive as he licked every remaining essence he caused, he smirked as he got up to unbuckle his jeans.

Oh, boy. He got quite a package behind his boxers.

Even while you were overly sensitive, you had to grasp it in your hands. He was yours, and you were his.

The way you clenched around his protected length, pausing to readjust yourself to the feeling. The foreplay deemed helpful, though the girth of him overwhelmed you. He stretched you out so good.

“Are you okay, (Y/N)?” The stunned face you made was expected, still feeling worried that it may be too much.

Biting your lip, you moaned once everything felt bearable. “You can move, Jeno.”

None of you could track exactly how many rounds you went through. Even in the semi-public area, it didn’t hinder either of you. There’s that thrill, and surprisingly enough, you both shared the liking of it. Always switching the positions, you decided to call it quits after another sloppy round in missionary. Something seeing Jeno on top, fully submitting yourself to him, made you feel calm to be vulnerable. It’s really the trust you’ve established from the start, making you rely on humans again once you’ve let the past be.

Jeno brought out another blanket, initially meant for cuddling. It was still applicable though, curling your body into a spoon towards his racing chest. Music was no longer noise, the intimacy creeping back instead of lust this time. The afterglow of Jeno, sweaty and knackered as his legs sprawled under the sheet, was a sight for sore eyes. He’s always been handsome while on duty, but post-sex gave him an extra boost.

Plus there’s pride from the red marks courtesy of you on his chest, grazing over it softly.

Jeno chuckled softly at your smooth fingers, lifting them up to kiss them tenderly before kissing your lips again. Only humans were capable of and to love, but you’re some kind of an exception. Regardless of the magic from the plate, you’d be able to love too if it weren’t for your background.

There’s so much love Jeno wanted to offer you, even if he hasn’t said it out loud yet.

Perhaps one reason was because time was beginning to tick. Finals were a few weeks away, then the one-month long semestral break until a new semester kicks off. Time really flew by, and his bank account and heart expanded too. Enjoying the now was all he could think of doing, but those uncertainties bothered him.

The biggest would be where you and he would stand when his job ended.

Jeno was too absorbed in his internal debate, as portrayed by his eyes staring off in space and running his hand in his hair repeatedly. Something was disturbing him, and you’re concerned as to what it was.

“Jeno,” Around his arm, you tapped his chest to get him out of it. “What’s going on in your head?”

Jeno approached every obstacle he faces straightforwardly, not wanting to let him hold back. Rarely did he keep secrets, especially from you. Instead of hiding away, he voiced it out.

“(Y/N), will we work out?”

“What do you mean, Jeno?”

You’re so occupied in the present that thinking of the future was never in your field. Like him, you’re just enjoying being in the moment. Though after tonight, it’s making you wonder if there’s a future.

“Well,” He placed his hand on top of yours, affectionately observing you. “Times flies faster when you’re having fun, and well, the semester is ending.”

His last words crushed a part of your heart, remembering his initial plan. None of you expected your friendship to bloom into what it is now, but life was just full of surprises without a schedule. At the same time, none of you wouldn’t have it any other way.

It may have been a few months since you two committed to each other, but the spark was still strong. It wasn’t like a summer romance kind of feeling. Time was not a determinant of love either, which you were certain of it with Jeno. A lot more than Junmyeon.

It should’ve frightened you when you realized your love for Jeno, but it didn’t. Even if you didn’t age physically, your mindset did. You’ve learned to forgive your younger self, and through Jeno, you let your guard down completely. From that, you let love in. Platonic to your fellow art pieces, and all of the above to Jeno.

Throughout your relationship, you regained all confidence in yourself and everything you set your mind to.

“I wouldn’t want to worry too much about it if I were you.” Your body flipped to lie on your stomach, resting your head on your palm.

“Why shouldn’t I, angel?”

Gazing back at him, you left a velvety kiss on his lips to rest his thoughts. His hand wrapped your neck, deepening it. But you pulled away with a giggle, all too knowing of his secret intentions as his cock began to harden again. His eyes narrowed down and his lower lip stuck out at your attempt of being a tease.

But enough about sex, you wanted to address a point.

Lee Jeno was going to be the biggest risk you wanted to take and fight for, and no one should try to stop you.

“I’ll ask Circe for a potion. For me, for you, for us.”

If it weren’t for insistent questioning towards every art piece, who kept their mouths shut, only Circe herself banished him from his suffering. Her series of potions varied, and the one you requested years ago which you threw out was capable of turning any art piece into a living human. No potion of Circe ever failed, so you entrusted your life for the day you do drink it.

“Are you sure, angel?”

Jeno knew about that one specifically, and as great to hear that you never threw it out, he never put pressure on you. He wanted you to do whatever felt right, even if deep down, he wished you’d use it. He was only worried about how the flow of the entire museum would be disrupted.

Typical Jeno always looking out for you, but you saw right through his concern. Here you were, caressing his check as reassurance. With an honest smile,

“I’ve never been more certain with anything in my life here until you came, Lee Jeno.”

Jeno opened up more to his life outside the museum, telling all sorts of experiences not just his days as a university student. From his childhood, his family, his travels, heck you even want to meet his friends at this point!

Newly, he shared with you how the sunrise and sunset looked like in Seoul with much vivacity. It’s a luxury as a human to witness as day breaks and ends, so you could imagine by yourself how it would look like. Sure, you had drawings and all, but that was from the real (Y/N) (Y/L/N).

This version of you wanted to live more; that’s your greed now.

“You’ve never touched snow too, right?” Jeno, who had his arm wrapped around you, silently watched the first batch of snow from inside.

“Yup, that’s the thing when you’re imprisoned in this place.” You sulked by his side, earning a chuckle from him who pulled you in closer.

“Don’t tell me now that you despise this place.”

“I don’t, but it hinders me to experience new things. The whole pattern of being awake at night by a plate gets tiring, Jeno.”

All Jeno would do when you’re frustrated was placing your head on his shoulder, listening as you talk.

“I know, angel. But it won’t be long until you leave this place with me, right?”

“You know it!” You interlocked your hands with him, eyes trained at every falling snowflake.

Sometimes, moments in silence with Jeno were all you needed for the night. Being within each other’s presence, focusing or admiring something from afar, it was all the peace you’ve needed from the bustling art pieces.

This week was the last of the semester, and Jeno’s off duty for tonight to focus on his exams. You’ll see him tomorrow night, which was his last shift ever, and also yours too.

Perhaps the biggest milestone you’re committing to without any regrets.

However, it took an unnecessary conversation you accidentally eavesdropped on to rock your decision.

You needed more ink after running out mid-way of sketching the sculptures as a secret parting gift. Before you could take a single step inside your exhibit room, a series of voices were full-on arguing. Booming back and forth, you peeped your ear out whilst hiding against the door.

“Athena, how dare you did to her?! She’s done so well from moving on from it, falling in love even! And now you’re telling me this?!” The distinct voice of Princess Diana, who spoke sweetly most of the time, boomed towards the Greek god. “You’re heartless.”

“I did what I had to do for the sake of this place, Diana!” Athena raised her voice, the lightning in her hands holding back from lashing out. She hated it when anyone argued with her, especially when she does things according to what she believed was necessary. Out of everyone, she had more leadership. “She had to know that her place is here as a wax figure, not outside. Talking Junmyeon out of it was for the best, plus it’s ideal when he drank the potion of memory loss from Circe.”

“But it tore her apart when he left her, and it’s going to tear her again if you do the same with Jeno.”

“How else are you going to approach the situation then, Diana? Those two have broken the highest golden rule, so they need to wake up.”

Right when she celebrated within herself for healing, hearing the unbearable revelation behind the past devastated you. This whole time, she internally blamed herself for being ageless and lashed out at others. The scary past barged back in, and you couldn’t handle it anymore.

Somewhere in the corner, you wept without a trace. You could care less about Athena’s opinions, but you found yourself agreeing to some of her words. You had a role to fulfill, and leaving that behind would be selfish and it could make the museum go topsy-turvy. As painful for Junmyeon to leave you, it was because the truth hurts. Nothing could change it, even if Circe could be your solution because it’ll leave a lot of questions. You didn’t want Jeno to be seen as a suspect.

Oh, Jeno.

There’s nothing wrong with falling in love either, you didn’t intend it to happen. But it becomes unfair when it compromises with your purpose, and that’s not how you are. You’ll always remember Jeno as your biggest risk, though it’s time to end things. Treacherous as it was to accept for you, risk-takers have boundaries too.

Fast forward, on the night of Jeno’s last shift, you’ve cherished every second with him. Playing around, chatting with other art pieces, kissing in private, you made it count. Before dawn broke, that’s where you chose to come clean by the garden, your sacred place. Not even your self-reassurance could prepare you to witness the hurt and confusion Jeno felt.

“You’re a mortal, and you still get to choose your path. Mine is already predetermined here as a wax copy of a historical figure.” You advised as you held both his hands, your voice shaking at the reality.

A few days ago, you were beaming with exhilaration at a new journey but now you’ve permanently backed out. Jeno couldn’t comprehend, and as much as he tried, he couldn’t. A life without you by his side would be empty and dull. “Even so, there are things about you that the original person didn’t have.”

Arguing with him wasn’t your favorite, and it’ll leave the two of you in a bad mood. But there is no way to negotiate this; you’ve already made up your mind. “We must end this, Jeno. You need someone who can grow old with you, and I can’t be that person for you.”

“But we can make it work!” His hands gripped on your slumped shoulders, whilst your face avoiding his to spare yourself from the heartache. “There’s still Circe.”

“I know, but recently, I found out that she’s an indirect cause of my misery.” Pulling away from his touch, you belted with frustration. “I cannot do this anymore, Jeno.”

You’ve always fought for whatever you wanted in life, and Jeno knew he was one of them if it weren’t for you telling him that. So he did the same, thinking of ways to make you feel whole. Now, he couldn’t tolerate the sudden crumbling of his heart from your outburst, and all he wanted to know was why you felt this way. How could he help you?

You don’t keep secrets from Jeno, but the truth behind your harsh actions cannot be revealed for the sake of the museum. Plus, you didn’t want him to despise this place he admired. Causing him pain wasn’t on your list, but keeping him safe was. It may be shown differently and he may not understand it now, but over time, he will.

“Jeno, you’ll find someone better out there. Someone with their whole life ahead of them, who’ll love you for everything that makes you who you are.” Repetitive punches in your guts urged you to barf at your half-lie, but you held it in.

“Why are you pushing me away? What happened to taking risks, (Y/N)?” Jeno interrogated, taking your hands in his hands again. They unconventionally quivered, like his lips. Jeno has never cried in front of anyone, not even when he was younger. Though for you, he just might. “Am I not worth it for you?”

Dear heavens, he was wrong. You internally screamed that, but you can’t let your selfishness seize the night. As Athena said, you had to wake up from your dream. “Committing to you was my biggest risk of them all, Jeno. Everything else that went along with it, I don’t regret it one bit. But time’s really up for us, and we must resume our normal duties.”

“I can’t lose you, (Y/N).”

“You never will, Jeno.”

He crouched lower to meet your height, his finger moving your head so you’d look at him back. Weakly enough, you did. “I want you to be a part of my normal life, angel.”

“I’ll always be here, you know. I’ll be standing in my usual spot upstairs, and you can drop by whenever you can.” You pressed your lips, lifting your head to avoid incoming tears. Meanwhile, he began shedding a few. You’ve hurt him big time, and you’ll never forgive yourself for this. “I still have one wish, right?”

Jeno’s sorrow was beyond his capacity, leaning his forehead against yours to kiss it. No matter what he could say or do, he already knew it won’t be effective. You’re affirmative in your choices, yet he still wanted to challenge it. All he wanted to know was why you’re doing this.

“Let me walk you one last time to your section.”

The black night sky had remnants of blue, motioning that dawn was approaching. Other figures gave their goodbyes to Jeno earlier, cleaning up their areas before they pose. Though none of them anticipated such a cold atmosphere between you two, they could only spy on what was bound to happen.

“My last wish is for you to let me go, Jeno.” You avowed, blinking your eyes with faux positivity. Your hands patted his blazer so it wouldn’t crease. “I already have a role to fulfill here, and you’re on the way to yours, future architect.”

“I love you, (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” Only tonight did he muster his courage to finally admit it to you after giving himself more time to analyze it. Timing was always crucial, and the badness of it showed.

Deep in your heart, you resonated the feeling. But it’ll make things more complicated, and it was the final thing you’ve wanted to occur. Someone had to be the strong one, and now, it should be you. With one more compassionate kiss on his lips, you stepped inside your section and readied your position.

“Goodbye, Lee Jeno.”

The sunshine brightened the room, and you’ve frozen to slumber again.

All Jeno could do was drop on his knees, sobbing over your rash actions. Unknown to him, a single tear left your eye as you posed.

Regardless of what status you were in, the pain of it all remained.

Jeno spent most of his semestral break with his friends to travel or whatnot, trying to forget it all. Even if he aced all his finals, his efforts felt like nothing if he never had you by his side to celebrate.

The sting over his short-lived romance with you never diminished the slightest, no one whom he could express his pain about it to especially when Renjun drank the memory wipe potion that Athena initially left for Jeno by his desk.

Forget it all, and live a peaceful life. You have so much potential, my mentee.

- Athena

Perhaps this was the same thing Junmyeon drank all those years ago, but unlike him, he didn’t have the guts to. He still wanted another chance.

So every day since the new semester began, he spent every afternoon break at your section. He’ll be seated by the bench, doing his assignments and talking about his day while sometimes stealing a glance of your figure. Some habits don’t change.

He never got sick of the same smile you exemplified, falling even more for you. He’ll often wonder what you’ve been up to.

What are your new sketches?

Are you taking care of Mochi well?

Have you apologized to Sanghoon yet?

Speaking of him, he surprisingly scooted over to Jeno’s side. This was the first time Jeno met the man, and politely enough greeted him. Sanghoon interviewed the boy, asking all sorts of questions that Jeno had every answer to. The biggest change that Sanghoon noticed since he left was your personality. You no longer bite, but treat everyone kindly without bias. You’re always active to help him out in cleaning the lobby, and you don’t go easily defensive.

Once he found out that Jeno was the reason for that, he was overjoyed at the start and wanted to meet him some way. You were a tough cookie, but now you relaxed. That was all that mattered to him, hoping to know more about him from you. That was until Diana stepped in and told him everything that happened. Mostly, the bad.

Playfulness eventually bore love. The last time you fell in love was in the 80s and Junmyeon pushed you away, he recalled. This time, you’re pushing Jeno away because you simply agreed with Athena’s points.

This wasn’t right, but it wasn’t his place to interfere.

But then again, he finally caught Jeno for the first time today and this time, he was open to hearing his side of the story. Lessen his misery too.

“No matter how stubborn she is, she loves you.” He advised him, bringing out one of your full sketchbooks. As Jeno opened it, the majority of the portraits were him. Sleeping, smiling, laughing, you drew him from every minor detail you could spot like the mole near his eye and his crescent eyes.

A handsome face I would never get sick until the end of time. Someone I want to wake up to every day in the morning if it weren’t for that plate.

- (Y/N)

Towards the end, a sketch of a house unfolded. The interior was a fusion of modernity and old royal design due to its white walls, wide space, and the placing of less furniture, plus an open backyard. There’s another tiny comment on the side from you.

I was right. Joining our varying designs together is pretty. Maybe Jeno and I could live in a house like this one day.

- (Y/N)

If you loved him so much, why did you let him go then when you had all these plans with him? Even if he tried to understand, he just didn’t.

“Don’t give up just yet when she told you to.”

“Are you just saying this or something?”

“Well, Princess Diana passed this message on but after everything, I believe that she’s right.” Sanghoon gave his opinion, but Jeno was reluctant to accept it.

“I never got a proper explanation why she suddenly changed her mind, Sanghoon.” He ranted, raking his hand through his hair from puzzlement. “Did I do something wrong?”

Sanghoon pitied him, having the upper hand and questioning himself whether to reveal the truth. However, since this boy took the job, he’s succumbed to secrecy. Without any transparency, it could drive someone mad. He’s too young for that, so Sanghoon breathed in defeat and placed his hand on Jeno’s shoulder.

“Promise me you won’t be mad when I tell you because I was when I found out; almost screamed even.”

Jeno nodded, listening to whatever Sanghoon had to say.

Of all people, he never would’ve expected Athena to do such a brash thing. Someone he respected and trusted, only to betray him by doing something she believed was good for all. Except it wasn’t, and it ended up hurting you all these years. The woman he loved, now he’s a clearer understanding of why you did what you did. Yet, it can’t fix his excruciation.

Heartbroken was an understatement; he had no one to rely on. With Sanghoon, he finally had a proper breakdown. The older man could only comfort his quietly, picturing him like one of his sons going through a hard time in school. But if it involves the heart, it’ll take more time to recover.

“You’re always the one adjusting, Jeno. But I think this time, you’re the one who needs space.”

A Year and a Half Later

“Jeno Lee!!!” Jaemin roughly wallowed his best friend in a hug when he arrived in their dorm room for the first time in a long time. “You dyed your hair blonde again!”

Renjun, who was behind the two of them, only rolled his eyes as he helped carry Jeno’s bags. “God damn it, Jaemin! You’re supposed to be helping me first!”

“I know, but give me a few seconds! I’m just happy our group is back together!”

Jeno laughed at his friends’ annoying yet silly dynamics, giddy to be back home. For a year, Jeno spent his 3rd year of university in Rome, Italy after one of his professors brought up to him about a scholarship program there for his course. At the time where he needed a change of scenery, he sent his application form and got interviewed.

Acing it, he had the opportunity to fly across the world to study and travel. His English skills surely improved, even picking up Italian words along the way due to a required class for it. He studied the history of different locations and how they were built.

He also went on field trips almost every day if it weren’t for the Italian students assigned to tour him around, academic and non-academic. Nights he spent on drinking wine on the rooftop of his dorm with them, screaming his complaints in the world with them.

It didn’t hit him that his stay was reaching its end until he submitted his final plate. His goodbye party didn’t even feel like one, but a see you later in the next few years after he becomes a licensed architect with money. His goal of it felt more realistic, motivating him to excel in his remaining years in university.

After unpacking half of his things, he was reminded of an email from one of the head professors, who requested another copy of his confidential documents from the Italian university he went to as soon as he’s back on campus.

He raced to the department with a folder of them and luckily encountered the said professor. Handing it to him, this professor questioned how he was and what experiences he gained from the trip. With excitement, Jeno spoke all sorts of tales from his adventures, highlighting how determined he was now to be an architect.

“That’s great to hear, Jeno!” He celebrated, checking on his watch, and widened his eyes. Frantic at his colliding schedules, he asked Jeno for a favor. It turned out that at the same time as his emergency meeting, he’s supposed to tour the new transferee student around campus.

“Only if you have time, Jeno! I could always ask another student, plus you just came back and need rest.”

“It’s not like I left for a decade, sir. No worries, I’ll do it.”

“Oh, bless your soul.” He put his hands together in prayer position, bowing back and forth with gratitude. “Wait, she’s right outside! Go ahead and introduce yourself.”

Jeno nodded, exiting right through the department doors. This girl had her back turned, inspecting her surroundings. She wore a black and white tweed blazer that matched with her skirt, black high heeled boots, and a black handbag. She must be a foreigner, Jeno thought.

“Excuse me, are you the transferee in the department of Architecture?”

Jeno didn’t brace himself for the surprise he’d face once this girl reacted to him calling her out. Her face was one he could never forget, no matter how many times he told himself to. The same face he convinced his heart to stop beating for, yet it lied.

This radiant face was none other than yours.

Jeno almost dropped his phone. He tried his best to hold on to your promise, but he failed. It was the main reason he studied abroad; to forget and focus on his career path. So the least thing he could’ve done was to study hard for his dream career.

Just a glimpse of you projected back every single memory you’ve had together. Beautiful yet heart-wrenching, he kept his emotions to himself.

You even wore the rose necklace he got you. Could it be?

“It’s been a while, Lee Jeno.” You took the metaphorical scissors to cut the tension, trying to contain the crushing feelings. The faculty center was a public place, yet it’s like the two of you were on the main stage.

“Do you remember me?” Astounded, you nodded. Every single detail.

Jeno could’ve ran away, but didn’t. He could’ve left you hanging, but didn’t. He can no longer count how many times you’ve appeared in his dreams, only to be disappointed when morning comes to not have you in his arms. He took one step closer, taking his time.

“How do you know me?”

“You’re the boy whom I helped with his assignment, argued with me over Romeo and Juliet,” You mimicked his move, making you one step nearer to him. “And most of all, the boy I once gave my entire heart to.”

Another step, leaving a few inches between the two of you. His heart palpitated without caffeine. What if he was napping in his dorm again? It was all surreal. “Is it really you, (Y/N)?”

Hearing your name from his lips lowered your guard, you pleased him with a hopeful grin. “I’d be dust by now if I didn’t drink Circe’s potion, right?”

That’s where Jeno unchained himself from his emotions. He engulfed in a warm hug, one that has no plans to let go when his chin planted on your shoulder. You returned the gesture, dropping all your worries away along with your bag and papers as your arms snaked through his neck.

You knew you had to part ways for a while after everything, though you were unsure how he’d feel about it. You recalled every time he visited you after his job ended up until his intense chat with Sanghoon, where he bawled his heart out. You couldn’t take it anymore after trying to stay strong, crying as soon as you woke up that night.

All your fellow figures could do was soothe you down like before to the best of their abilities, yet this time, it was unsuccessful. You’re filled with misery, realizing later how much of a big mistake you’ve made.

You’ve isolated yourself again for a while, but less rudeness and more silence. It was until Circe visited you. She doesn’t like getting involved with drama, though now was different. She, alongside Hera and Aphrodite, couldn’t withstand you tolerating the heartbreak again. So they went behind Athena’s back on this one time and created a potion together just for you. But with a compromise.

“This potion can turn you into a human. However, there’s only a 10% chance you’ll regain all your memories from this place.”

“So I’ll forget everyone and him?”

“Yes, unfortunately.” You’re about to shoo her away, not in the mood to do something drastic as that. But Circe grabbed your arm again. “I strongly believe that if you and he meant to be, then there will come a time these past memories will suddenly surge at you.”

“Must I need to forget to live properly?”

You’re stubborn, and Circe expected it. “You’ve broken so many golden rules, (Y/N), so it must be done. I’ve gone against Athena for this potion, and rarely have I done that. So rather than wallowing up in misery, you should focus on yourself. Do what makes you happy because this place is trapping you from every great thing out there.”

Those were the word that the actual (Y/N) (Y/L/N) lived by, nevertheless, you’re unique from her. You built a separate identity from her. “But Jeno-”

“At the right time, (Y/N). Pull yourself together and do all the things you’ve dreamt of before he came into the picture. I just know he loves you that much, and that he will wait for you.”

That same night, you gathered all your senses and drank it. The transition was fast as lightning speed, and behold, you were like a new person. You’re back in London, with a family that closely resembled your former one; only 3 older siblings, making you the youngest. You also had a new set of memories, from childhood until your adult years.

From (Y/N) (Y/L/N), you became (Y/N) Edwards.

It took one drunken night out with your university friends for the unlikely surge of old memories to speedily hit through your intoxicated state. Way beyond a dream, you’ve dropped your shot glass and broke down in the bathroom of your dorm room. You left something unaccomplished, and you had to do something before it’s too late.

Thus, you rushed to Seoul thanks to your parents’ support as they agreed that exploring outside your home country was a great experience. The only excuse you gave to your friends for the sudden transfer was you finding a new calling.

Sure, studying abroad was an exciting thing but you’re more determined to reunite with him. Even if this encounter was unforeseen, it was bound to happen one day. It so turned out that you had the same major in your former university and this new one.

Head to toe, you remembered everything.

“I’m so sorry I took so long.” You cradled your head on his chest, unaware of how your new life left Jeno so troubled.

“That doesn’t matter anymore.” Jeno tightened his grip, scared of releasing you again. Those two years felt like a breath of fresh air and a punch in the gut. “I tried to live up to your last wish, but I really can’t.”

“I want to take that wish back, Jeno. I wasn’t thinking right and only ended putting you through so much.”

“Oh, angel. I slowly understood why you did it.” Before he got too fragile, he softened his grip on you and showed his face again to you. He wanted a better look at his pretty girl, his fingers brushing strands of your hair behind your ear. Heart-fluttering, you bit your bottom lip. “What would you want to wish for instead?”

“Instead of you letting me go, I wish you could take me back and love me again. I can’t undo the past, but I’d still like to think I’ve tried my best.” That was the only wish you could ever think of. As huge as it was, it was something he may not accept. Yet you gave it a go, risking it all. “I don’t deserve you at all, Jeno.”

“Don’t say that, (Y/N).” One of his hands grabbed yours, putting it on his cheek. Cupping it, “I’ve never stopped loving you, you know.”

Oh, love. An all-too familiar emotion that either makes or breaks you. Of all the times you could’ve said those words, you held back, especially that wretched night you two broke it off. Although you showed it, being able to say it to someone felt more empowering.

This was finally the chance you’ve unconsciously waited for.

“I’m stupid for not saying this sooner.”

“What is it?”

With intimate eye contact, you drowned in the comfort of his brown orbs. You trusted him then, and you trusted him now. “I love you, Lee Jeno.”

Secretly, Jeno anticipated for the day you’d say those meaningful 3 words. Just like you, he showed more affection through actions than words. He only admitted when he lost you, and never would he do the same mistake again. If he felt that the love was strongly present, he will say it aloud.

“I love you still, (Y/N).” His arm around your waist tugged you in further. “I loved you as (Y/N) (Y/L/N) and I will continue to love you as (Y/N) Edwards.”

He peeked on your ID earlier, but regardless, he stood by his truth. You’re still the same (Y/N).

Finally, he closed the limited space between your lips. The memories of your past romance replayed in sync of every touching kiss, popping one leg up like in the movies. The Princess Diaries, specifically. Like in the museum from your unbearable parting, one warm tear freed itself down your cheek.

The sweetness of being reunited with you again beat the torturous wait of Jeno. Time really made your hearts grow fonder. As everyone said, if the love between two people is real, then it’ll find its way back to each other.

The world must be on your side too because no professor called you two out on your public display of affection. Jeno pecked your lips one time before stepping away, picking up the things you dropped.

“Now come on, I have to tour you around as instructed.”

You stomped on your feet, rolling your eyes from being left hanging. He’s still the same tease from before. “After that kiss though, I would’ve thought we could reschedule it.”

“No can do, Edwards.” Passing over your things, he wrapped one arm around you as he escorted you out of the building. The university was huge, with more buildings and green fields surrounded everywhere. “Left or right? There are a lot of places you missed out on all those years.”

“Point taken. Then you lead the way, my love.”

[sapphixxx]

Just finished Lain. Watched the last episode twice, which gently removed my heart from my chest and pulped it into a fine paste in a mortar and pestle. This hit much closer to home than I expected.

In my Lain epistemology post I somewhat flippantly made an aside that the series was only tangentially about Lain the actual character. By which I meant that my read on the series up until that point (around episode 8 or 9) was that each episode was teasing apart different aspects of the ambiguity of truth, knowledge, information, and communication, with the events of Lain's life being almost just a sort of example case study for how these concepts can impact someone on an individual level. Lain was framed in a kind of zoomed out way as an abstract avatar moving through these events without a whole lot of expression of her personal thoughts and feelings.

And then we get to the last three episodes.

It's in this space that Lain the 8th grade age girl with thoughts and feelings and wants and needs and fears comes into painfully sharp focus. The beginning of the final episode sums up and contextualizes what all of this has always been about.

Who am I? What is the real me? How can I tell what's real about me if everyone interprets it differently?

Do I even exist if other people can't see me?

The flippant bravado that I expressed in that post is the same attitude that Lain has been applying to her own very sense of self throughout the series, as just another arbitrary and moldable piece of information subject to interpretation with no inherent truth.

She effectively commits suicide by removing herself from sight, mind, and memory, of everyone around her. After all, if they have no knowledge of her, then she no longer exists. But what is lurking in the subtext of this finale is that she fails to consider that everyone she is cutting off is equally subject to this process. She imagines that without her meddling they are able to be happy. But that's all it is, imagination.

She doesn't exist to them anymore because she erased their knowledge of her, but it goes both ways. In doing this, they cease to exist to her, too. The image of the happy lives of the people she knew don't come from real observation or fact. It is something that she is imposing upon her memory or imagination of those people, which is only possible because she's removed herself from the possibility of being reminded just how complex and occasionally painful their lives will be with her or without her. In those scenes nobody misses her except in these brief fleeting moments where they remember some fond association with her, before moving on to their happy lives.

But this isn't reality. She isn't seeing these people. This is how she comforts herself, by imagining that everything is for the best without her, and nobody has to feel the pain of missing her. But that's not something she can know or control. The pain they feel upon losing her doesn't exist only because she has removed herself from where she might see it and have to acknowledge it.

Do I even exist if other people can't see me?

This phrase is taken to its literal extreme in the finale. But I think it's important to take a step back and really think about what this means on a more human level, especially when it comes to the kinds of struggles that everyone, especially kids that age, are dealing with.

That is to say, even if you literally physically exist and go about the world talking to people going to school eating dinner and so on, if there are parts of you that people don't know about, if there are things inside you that you can't express, you quickly come to the painful realization that to other people, that stuff just doesn't exist. Which means that whole side of you doesn't exist, according to the outside world. And if that side of you encompasses something important about your identity or your experiences, it's hard to not come to the conclusion that the real you, the entirety of your being, doesn't exist to them either. And when you try to tell them about it, or when they notice on their own, but they don't understand or perhaps outright reject it, hasn't some fundamental part of your humanity been erased? In this kind of environment it's easy to start doubting that any of it exists at all. After all, if nobody else will recognize it, you've only got your own word to go on. And that isn't always enough to trust.

And again, keep in mind that this goes both ways. I think Lain's sister is the clearest example which is given by the series. One episode she begins as a character, someone who has thoughts and a personality and so on. By the end of the episode she is reduced to the state that she will stay in for the rest of the series, blank-eyed and senseless. That fully fledged self she had still exists though. Lain just stops being able to see it, so effectively her sister stops existing for her.

Do I even exist if other people can't see me?

When you are isolated you can say anything about yourself. You can say you're nobody, or you're God, or perhaps something even wiser and greater than God. It can feel powerful to start writing your own existence and rationalizing your own isolation, the perceptions of others be damned. You can say well, my parents don't understand me and I stopped being able to connect to my sister, but who cares! Family is just arbitrary biology anyway! What if they aren't even my family at all, and are just plants put in place by a secret organization. I'm not lonely, I'm just seeking a greater truth, a conspiracy that only I can see! I don't make social mistakes, I'm not afraid of hurting anyone, that's the fake me running around out there! But it's not sustainable. Eventually life comes crashing down, whether it be in the form of interference in the material world, or if that mental state with all of its attendant self-spun narratives just finally collapses.

As with most things in this series, Lain's interactions with "God" are written in a very abstract symbolic way. But, the pattern that it follows seems very familiar to me as one of a predatory adult grooming a vulnerable minor. He alternates between gassing Lane up as the most powerful and important being who has ever lived, and then in the next breath saying that she's nothing. In peddling his conspiracy theory narrative of humankind merging with The Wired, of Lain simply being a powerful piece of software meant for Grand Purpose, he feeds into her struggle for identity and the need to be seen and understood by at once validating these feelings and how confusing they are, while reinforcing her isolation and his own dominant grip over defining the shape of the world and society.

When Arisu finds Lain living in filth and comforts her, that is one of the rare moments that the raw, vulnerable, material world Lain, weighed down with no pretenses, pokes her head out. That moment of genuine intimacy that she has been so hungry for this whole time is enough to allow her to retaliate against "God" when he shows up in anger upon being doubted. When Arisu reacts poorly to this sight, though, is when Lain makes her final dive back into her own walled off reality. For as much as she wants to be seen and held and comforted by this girl she loves, it is far more painful for her to have to witness and live with the feeling of rejection and guilt that came from Arisu's fear in the aftermath.

The final image of her father finally expressing the real tenderness she has longed for. The imagined future of Arisu dating her former teacher well into adulthood, because it's the only model of a relationship Lain has ever seen someone want, because her parents certainly don't seem happy, and she herself didn't get anything out of the boy who kissed her. The final statement, "I will always be with you". As with everything in the series, these can be interpreted many ways. But to me it reads unmistakably as the final moments before suicide.

In any case though, after all that, it seems fairly starkly clear why Lain resonates so strongly with trans people. Contrary to the old saying that all happy people are happy the same way, but all miserable people suffer uniquely, this path to despondence is depressingly common. It is the way out that is unique to everyone who finds themselves there. I hate to say it, although I feel very lucky to say that I have survived being in that place many times--which I think is proof that it is possible to get to the other side and make a good life, despite everything-- I think if it had ended any more neatly or more positively, it just wouldn't feel as honest. It captures the depth of that state of being. That's just what it's like. And as heavy as it is to sit with, I get a lot from being able to see something painfully familiar to me reflected in such a raw way. After all that, a happy ending would just feel disingenuous. I mean, that's my life, and any happy ending they could have written just isn't how it went.

[cozyenigma]

In for a Penny

(From my friends reaction to reading this I seem to have found a niche of mine lol 

Please do mind the tags!)

Word Count- 1,405

Request?- Yes!

Summary- Your life adventuring with Illinois seemed too good to be true sometimes. It all felt a movie, moving from place, treasure to treasure. But you forgot that not every adventure has a happy ending.

Tag List- @cookielover0001010​ , @swag-droid , @watchoutforfrostbite​

Warnings- major injury, blood, amputation

Sometimes you felt like your life was closer to a movie. Illinois himself may as well have walked off the silver screen. You met, he swept you up in a whirlwind of adventure, and now the two of you bounced from place to place and explored everything the world had to offer.

Your current haunt was an old temple, half built into a mountain. Illinois's eyes had sparkled when he told you the space was dug right out of the side.

"Alright," he drawled, unfurling his makeshift map with a flourish, "this is it."

You only raised an eyebrow. If your life was a movie, the treasure room would be grand. Hidden behind a gauntlet of traps for anyone daring or foolhardy enough to try and claim it. This door was just... a door.

A simple rectangular stone panel set into the wall. No engravings of any kind beyond cracks and grooves worn in by age and the elements. The only thing remarkable about it was the series of holes set in the wall on either side of it.

"Really?" You stooped down to peer into one. "Thought it'd be a bit tougher to get to."

A hand at your shoulder pulled you back.

"Careful darlin', not quite that easy," Illinois pointed the flashlight towards the hole.

Set back a couple feet, barely visible, was what looked like a button?

"That's our way in," Illinois stuffed the map back into his pocket. "One on either side, just gotta hit the right ones and we're golden."

You huffed a surprised little laugh. Just like a movie after all. "And what happens if we don't? We lose an arm?"

A pause as he turned to look at you. That expression wasn't promising.

"Wait, are you serious?" You kept your hands very safely to yourself.

"Hey, hey," Illinois set his bag down, "that's not gonna happen. Because," he yanked the zipper open and drew out a book, "you're looking at a veritable expert in ancient languages."

"Oh yeah?" You watched, amused, as he cracked the book open and started looking at the engravings on either side of the door.

"Well," he shrugged one shoulder, looking over at you with a lazy smirk, "my Latin isn't that great."

A snort as you sat back against the wall. Settling in to watch, you found yourself wondering again how Illinois ended up here. Doing this.

He wasn't exactly forthcoming with the details of his own life. One of the tidbits you knew was that he was in college at one point. For one reason or another he'd dropped out. That, somehow, led him here, trying to bust into an ancient treasure room with you years later.

"Got some pictures of these from a buddy of mine a while back," Illinois said, distracted as he scribbled down some notes. "Syntax is a bit weird but-" he sets the book down, "think I got it."

He pointed to a hole on his side and then to one on yours.

"We press these at the same time and the door should open," he turned back to you, a little smug, "and we get our hard earned reward."

"Yeah," you glanced towards the holes again. About the last thing you wanted to do was stick your hand in one. "And hopefully not lose an arm in the process."

"You don't have to worry your pretty head about that," as if to demonstrate, Illinois reached into one almost up to his shoulder.

"Illinois-!"

"It's fine," he had the gall to laugh as you practically leapt to your feet, "I haven't pushed the button, see? Besides, the way this works is that it's a team exercise. We both push a button at the same time and the door opens. They're too far apart for one person."

"So...?"

"So," he gestured towards his arm, "if one person fails, it's their teammate that's punished."

Your stomach dropped. "Wha- do you think I'd rather chop off your arm?!"

Illinois still hadn't taken his hand out of the damn thing. "No one is getting their arm chopped off. Trust me."

You blew out a long breath. Did he know you already did? He must, with all the death defying adventures you two went on. So it wasn't a matter of if you were going to put your arm in that stupid thing. Your non-dominant one. You trusted him but you definitely didn't trust this death trap.

Cringing slightly, you cautiously reached in. The stone was cool against your skin. Nothing poked or prodded or so much as scraped against you.

Your fingertips just barely brushed against the button. It was smooth and polished. Even now, with just a bit of pressure, you could tell it had some give to it.

"Okay," Illinois gave you one of those winning smiles, "just push it on the count of three, alright? One, two, three!"

The button gave way easily. It barely made a sound. You held your breath for a moment, then two.

Out of the corner of your eyes you saw Illinois's brows draw together.

"But..."

Whatever he said under his breath was lost to you. Your attention was drawn to a short, sharp click. One that sounded like it came from right in front of you.

The sensation was odd and you’d have a hard time describing it later. Not exactly pain just- pressure. There and gone in the space of one moment to the next. There was... there was less weight there.

Distantly you heard Illinois say your name.

Experimentally, you tried moving your arm. Somehow there wasn't any pain. Not at first. Your arm was almost numb in a sense. The only thing you felt, if anything, was an odd sort of warmth.

There were hands on your shoulders.

You snapped your head back around to find Illinois staring at you, looking just a bit panicked. He'd probably been trying to get your attention for a while, you thought. That expression didn't ease any when he actually looked towards your arm.

"Is that blood?" You found yourself asking.

Something was running down the wall. Red and coppery smelling, it flowed in thick trails from the hole you still had your arm in.

"Shit," Illinois cursed rather viciously, going to snatch up his backpack.

You knew that first aid kit wasn't going to do the job, seeing as you're the one who packed it.

"Illinois-" you tried to get his attention.

The kit found, Illinois turned his attention back to you.

"C'mon sweetheart, let's sit you down now," those warm hands were back at your shoulders now. Warmer than before, maybe.

"What about the door?" You asked instead.

The question seemed to throw Illinois off. He paused, opened his mouth to say something, glanced towards the door, then back at you.

"What?" Was all he could manage for a moment.

You continued, feeling oddly detached from the whole thing. "The treasure? You still have to get it."

That metallic scent was getting stronger now. Mixing with the smell of dust and damp, it would've been enough to turn your stomach in most situations.

The confusion gave way to something like grief. It flashed across his face for a moment before he was holding you tighter.

"I don't care about the damn treasure!" Then Illinois was pulling you, by the shoulders, away from the wall.

"I feel fine though…” you tried to argue, trailing off a bit.

You had looked at your arm without meaning to. What was left of it anyway. Maybe it was seeing it or moving it that did the trick but now it was starting to hurt. A steady ache, barely noticeable at first. It came and went with your heartbeat.

The next instant Illinois had you sitting against the wall. Pressing something to your arm. That had you nearly drawing back, a brief stab when it'd only been throbbing before. Illinois didn't let up.

"I made a mistake," he was saying, voice calm but talking a bit too quickly. "But you're gonna be fine. Look at me darlin', you're gonna be okay. Just lemme-"

The rest of the words were lost on you. Somehow past it all, your first clear thought was huh, so that's what that looked like.

There was a lot of red for one. You heard Illinois talking louder but it wasn't any easier to parse and the world turned a bit gray after that.

[miyaniacs]

CHAPTER THREE

NAVIGATION // Characters // Chapter Two

summary: Reader: female; 20 years old ; Apparently you know something… but what this something is you still got to find out.But curses, good and bad sorcerer now want to get you into their hands.Ending up in the hands of the good ones, y/n finally meets her old best friend again - Yuji. Now Yuji and his friends make it their mission to keep you save in this whole new world. Days turn into weeks and you become closer and closer to your ‚bodyguards‘

Warnings: slight NSFW (nothing explicit), mentions of blood (like only a drop of blood), bad writing in the middle bc i was unable to do it better andddd typos.

A/N: Hey.. sorry it took so long, but it was all so stressful and confusing with my BA. I don’t really like this chapter but i like the idea i got at the end of it haha Sorry if this is bad. Feedback, Comments, Reblogs are appreciated.

Your eyes widen and you quickly look down. Big mistake. Now your eyes are glued to his incredibly big muscles that show through his shirt.

You want to extend your hand and just touch them.

How is it possible for a human being to be this... this... just damn.

His arms cross over his chest. His biceps and triceps are flexed, slightly squishing his chest muscles, making them appear even bigger.

Your mouth hangs slightly open and your eyes begin to wander up again.

To his sharp jaw, then to a scar on the corner of his lips, his lips which look slightly chapped but still incredibly kissab-

WAIT.

STOP.

STOOOOOP.

Besides all the hot things about him the way he looks down at you, you feel frightened.

Raising his right eyebrow he chuckles.

And god it sounds hot.

“It’s not really polite to stare at the man you bumped into.”

“I- I- omg I’m sooo sorry.” You stutter and look down on your hands. He was right - you really embarrassed yourself right now.

“It’s fine, haven’t really felt it anyways.”

You really don’t know what to say or do, so you just keep on starring down at your hands. Something about him makes you feel so small.

“So... what brings you here babygirl?”

“Uhm.. just wandering around...” you mumble.

“Huh... and why is that?” He asks, amused by the state you’re in.

“Got too much on my mind.” You finally look up at his green eyes again.

There’s a glint in them.. but you can’t really make out what it is.

“Mhh you know I’m a good listener.”

“I don’t even know you.”

“Toji.”

“Huh?”

“My name- now you know me Y/n.”

“Wait how do you - wait no forget it, probably everyone around here now knows who I am.” You roll your eyes and plop down on the grass.

Toji sits down next to you and leans his head on his knee, looking over to you.

“So?” He asks.

“ I mean.. you probably know about the whole power thing and me right?”

“Yes I do.” He says and for a second there’s a small dangerous look in his eyes, which you obviously missed.

“And now they want to kill me, but this strange teacher promised me to not let that happen...” you sigh, “ but that isn’t really the real problem. Everyone expects me to stay here with them... But... no one thinks about the fuckin fact that I have nothing with me. Like I need some clean underwear? And my Uni stuff... and clothes... and arghhhh.... “ you sigh again and let yourself fell backwards into the grass.

“Oh yeah, why should you care if someone wants to kill you, when in fact the real problem is that you need to pass your finals.” He chuckles.

“I know I know... I just want to think about normal stuff..”

“I mean... I could distract you , if that’s what you want?” He smirks and glances down at you.

“Welll... depends on what we’re talking about.”

“Depends on what you want.” He lays down and rests his face on his hand.

Trying your best, you keep on starring into the sky and not look to your right.

A hookup with a hot stranger does sound like something that is appropriate to do during this time.

You bite your lip and keep on starring at the sky. The sun is slowly setting, which turns the whole sky into a beautiful pinkish orange light.

“Surprise me.” You say, trying to be cheeky, as you turn to your right and look at him.

Liking his lips, he smirks and gets up.

Confused you sit up and see him extending his hand.

Hesitating for a second, you finally lay your, comparably small hand, in his and he pulls you up as if you weight nothing at all.

“Where are we going?” You ask as he continues to hold your hand and drags you with him, further away from the buildings of the school.

“Mhhh you’ll see.” He simply says and keeps walking, slightly speeding up.

After a few more minutes, the buildings are barely to see and the anxiety starts creeping up inside of you. Why the fuck did you go with a stranger.

A stranger that is way stronger than you.

He’s not that hot, at least not hot enough to risk your life.

At least you’re now walking down a street, with other people around... maybe if you scream loud enough...

“And we’re here.” He stops in front of a building.

“Wh..Where are we.” You stutter and look up at him.

“My apartment.” He smirks and opens the front door.

“Ohh..”

After five more pairs of stairs, he stops at the door down the floor.

“Come on in.” He opens the door and holds the door open for you.

“Don’t worry, I won’t kidnap you or anything.” He chuckles.

Carefully you walk inside and hear him closing the the door behind him, locking it.

Whatever you expect his apartment to look like, it’s not this.

The room, is rather a loft.

Most of the walls are covered in windows, that reach down to the floor.

The bed is on the right, the kitchen on the left.

Everything looks modern and simple.

The most prominent colors aren’t real colors - Black and white dominate everything.

Some green touches thanks to a few plants.

Two Katanas hang right above the wall over the bed.

The bed is rather low, yet big with simple white sheets.

The kitchen is white too, all the electro stuff black, the few dishes that are shown, look modern and expensive.

In the middle of the room, are two big black leather couches with matching arm chairs. In contrast to the rest of the room, those look old - the expensive kind of old, not the worn out old.

“You can move.”

Turning around you see Toji leaning against the closed door, arms crossed over his chest.

“Uhm..” You look around not sure where to go. You don’t even know why you’re here.

“The couch.” He lays his hands on your shoulders and shoves you towards said couches, pushing you down on one. The leather is soft and you immediately sink into them.

“Relax, I thought you’re more fun.” He rolls his eyes and runs his hand through his black hair.

“I - I shouldn’t have come with you.. Uhm.. the others are probably looking for me.” You stutter. You really should not be here. What is wrong with you. Coming with a stranger. A total stranger. Why did you say surprise me. This wasn’t you. You tend to be more careful.

“Mhh... well let them search. You’re here now.”

“You don’t get it, they said it’s dangerous for me being alone.”

“But you aren’t alone.” He smirks and leans down his finger tracing over your cheekbone, down to your lips.

“And who said, that I’m not the one they try to protect you from?” He leans closer.

You can feel his breath on your skin. Your heart races.

He is right.

You had a bad feeling about him all the time.

Why did you come with him.

Fuck.

Your phone, you need to text Yuji and sent him your location or try to escape.

But even tough you know this is what you need to do... Your body doesn’t listen to you.

“Perfect. I always like the bad ones.” And with that you kiss him.

Why?

You really don’t know. Your body moves at its own, while a voice in your head screams and tells you to run - yet your hands wrap around his neck and you pull him closer.

His hands find your waist and he easily lifts you up, carrying you towards his bed.

“That’s the distraction I had in mind.” You purr against his lips.

His kisses travel down to your jaw, neck, cleavage...

Opening your eyes you star at the night sky. Your fingers trace over the soft cold grass.

Wait what?

Why are you outside.

Why are you- wait are you alone?

Quickly you sit up and look around.

Yes. You are alone.

And still near the small forest.

But... why are you alone...

You talked with someone... what was his name again... Toji!

Where is he?

“Y/N!”

“Y/NNNNNN!”

“YES?” You call out.

From the distance you can spot two figures running towards you.

“Y/N!” Yuji screams and speeds up.

“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!” He screams and falls down on his knees.

“H- here..” you say and look up at the other person and screaming when you look into the same eyes you saw... what in your dream? Or whatever it was.

“What?” Megumi asks annoyed.

“YOU!”

“Me?”

“What’s with him?” Yuji asks confused.

“Uhmmm.. nothing.. I walked into a tree.. my head is still.. fuzzy.” You say, remembering your dream. Your hand reaches up and touches the exposed skin on your neck. You can still feel his kisses.

Who is he.

And why does he look like Yujis friend.

Confused you walk back to the dorms with the two.

On the whole way they complain about you not answering your phone, worrying them, etc. Apparently everyone was looking for you.

But shouldn’t anyone found you before?

You haven’t walked that far away...

___

It’s past midnight and you’re sitting on the ground in your room.

You can’t sleep and think back to when you arrived back at the dorms.

Everyone seemed relieved when you came back with Yuji and Megumi and asked where you’ve been. After you told them, leaving out the Toji part, Gojo was confused. According to him, he went through the while forest and you haven’t laid near it then.

You tried to lighten up the mood by joking about his blindfold, but he wasn’t in the joking mood and quickly cut you off and dragged you away from the others.

“Where have you really been?” He had asked you, without his blindfold on. His blue eyes practically starred into your soul.

“Literally where I told you.”

“IF you’ve been there, i would have saw you. Also... where did those come from then?” He asked you and pulled down your collar of your shirt. Dark blue marks cover your skin.

“I don’t remember me leaving them.” His eyes travel back up to your, now red, face.

“Uhm ... so ... I ...”

“Listen. I don’t care about whoever you’re fucking with, but keep your sex life low - at least until we figured out this whole mess. You don’t know about this world and who to trust and who not.” He stares at you and you only nod.

“GOOD.” He smiles, his character changed again.

“As a last resort, you know where my room is.” He winks.

There’s a knock on your door and you groan. Who tf visits you at this time.

“Yes?” You open it and before you can scream a large hand covers your mouth.

“Missed me?”

“Sukuna?!!” You mumble against his hand while he pushes you inside of the room.

“Yes my little pet.” He smirks and closes the door, “ When I remove my hand, you know better than to scream, yes?”

You nod and he removes his hand.

“Good girl.” He purrs and his sharp nail runs down your cheek and you feel your skin opening.

His eyes are fixed on you, while he brings his finger closer to his lips, licking up the small drop of blood.

“Beautiful. Just as I remember it.” His eyes roll back and a grin spreads on his face.

“I heard you had some fun today?” He opens one of his eyes and nods towards your neck.

“I- uhm... I don’t know.” You answer truthfully.

“Huh? Was it that bad?” He chuckles.

“No... I mean.. I don’t even know if it was real..” you open up to him.

Why are you opening up to him? TO HIM?

“Mh... that’s the seal puppy.” He smiles and sits down on your bed.

“Seal?” You ask confused and sit down next to him.

“This.” His finger tips on the spot on over your collarbone.

“The mark?”

“Yeah yeah... its real name is the infinity seal. When it’s activated an ancient power starts to ... well run trough your blood.” He lays down on the bed.

“You know ... it doesn’t only give power to others. It helps you too. Makes you stronger, faster, gives you some sort of sixth sense.”

“For what?”

“For well... Everything? My Queen... your... well ancestor I guess, told me it feels like a different person, living in your head... they warn you if you’re in danger, give you the right answer when you only have seconds to act, they just .. help you get what you want.. what you need.. what’s good for you...” he glanced up at you.

You immediately think of that strange feeling of your body moving against your will, while being with Toji.. was that ‘person’ telling you that you needed sex?? When you think about it, you really are less stressed now. Or were them the one telling you to run?

“You felt them?” He sits up and rests his chin on your shoulder.

“Oh yes... you did...” he leans closer to your ear.

“How did it feel like? Finally doing what you want to do... not caring about the consequences... or who you might hurt...” his hand creeps around your waist and pulls you towards his chest, “just doing what is good for You.”

“I- I- No... I felt bed,..., I knew the other would look for me and...”

“Nahhh nah nah... yet you didn’t listen to that part of you, why?”

“The other feeling was stronger.”

“See... They know what you want. What is good for you...” his fingers run up and down on your waist.

“Then... why .... why don’t I remember coming back here.” You stare at the door, not feeling his hand moving to your back pocket or realizing the situation you are in.

“You’re simply not used to the power. Your memories will come back eventually and the more you get used to them... you won’t get those blackouts.” His lips gaze over your neck.

“Why are you telling me all of this.” You breath out.

“Because I want you to trust me.” His hand leaves your waist and grabs your chin instead, turning your head to face him, he adds, “And I want you to know everything. I know that the white haired idiot won’t tell you everything. He’ll simply tell you what will help him - but I … I want you to understand the whole power, I want you to know everything before you choose to share this power with someone.” His thumb rubs the skin on your face.

“Sukuna..” you whisper and stare in his eyes, “what if they decide to kill me..”

“I already said that I won’t let this happen.”

“But … you’re only one person…. And they seem to be .. powerful…”

“Ohhh you don’t have to worry about that- I will protect you.”

“Thank you.” You gently smile at him.

“Now … I have to go. The brat will wake up soon.” He says and gets up, walking towards the door.

“Goodnight y/n.”

He walks outside and you fall down on the bed.

Behind your closed door, Sukuna licks his lips and looks down at the old finger in his hand.

TAGLIST (open): @laceymorganwrites, @nnessworls , @irreverent-dream , @fiona782 , @shadyjinyoung, @kasianthus @hello0i

[honeymoonjin]

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 11.1k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: voyeurism, exhibitionism, filmed sex, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), big dick namjoon serving us tripod realness, dom!joon, and when i say dom i mean both dominant AND domestic : ), impregnation kink, daddy kink, praise, dom!jimin, sub!reader in both of these scenes, lingerie kink (m wearing), copious teasing, very light spanking, french kissing, lapdance, the jimin scene is filthier than the tags give it credit for ngl, oral (m receiving), cum swallowing/eating, aftercare (as always) 

banner designer @jamaisjoons​ | thank you everyone in the sfhs server, you bring me so much joy, motivation and good ideas | AND finally thank you to the anon that suggested [redacted] jimin i legit replanned everything just to make that his prompt

DAY TWELVE

The mattresses in the room of bunk beds are surprisingly comfortable. The metal springs squeak a little if you move too much, but you wake up feeling well-rested.

“Not too bad, right?” Hoseok chirps, swinging out on the ladder and jumping down onto the floor with a thud. Using his laundry from the day before, he unceremoniously swaps his sleep shirt and boxers for some deep green skinny jeans and an orange sweater. Namjoon, more modest and distinctly more sleepy, grabs his clothes and stumbles back to his own room.

“The beds? Better than I was expecting for sure.”

Hoseok smiles warmly as you hop down the ladder and arrive on steady ground again, toes curling into the carpet. He fiddles quickly with a chunky watch, doing up the links. “Breakfast is downstairs if you want it.”

You throw him a teasing grin. “Not if you’re making it, thanks.”

He has the good graces to pretend to be offended, before tugging you into a playful side-hug, ignoring your squeak of surprise. “No, you cheeky fucker, Jungkook bought pancake mix. He texted me saying there’s plenty for everyone.”

“Jungkook making breakfast?” you ask dubiously, but the warm image of pancakes for breakfast makes your stomach growl. “Let me get dressed real quick and I’ll come down.”

Jungkook, it seems, is starting out the day cheerful as ever. He gives you a big grin when you, Namjoon and Hoseok come down for breakfast, and he makes sure to dish up the biggest pancakes for you, before taking the second biggest for himself.

Jin raises a teasing brow when you come down accompanied by the two men, Namjoon still with his hair ruffled up awkwardly from his slumber. “Long night?” he questions with a cheesy wink.

Hoseok catches on to the teasing nature, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Sadly, Namjoon wanted a rest day, so we didn’t enjoy any funny business.”

Jungkook watches the three of you closely, lips tightening just a little bit before he breaks out into a cheeky smile. “I think Y/n would have been too tired out to do anything more anyway.”

You choke on air, a forkful of pancakes blessedly not in your mouth yet. Beside you, Hoseok chuckles awkwardly. “Goodness, JK, we heard enough yesterday. The gym walls are not as thick as they should be.”

Instead of blushing like you are, Jungkook puffs his chest up. “I’ve never heard Y/n scream like that with any of you guys. Then again; I bet you haven’t made her squirt like I did.”

This time you aren’t so fortunate, coughing on a mouthful that you’d anxiously stuffed in to keep yourself occupied. You send Yoongi a grateful look as he slides you a glass of water.

“Jesus, Jungkook,” Jin grimaces, “we’re trying to eat breakfast.”

You keep your eyes down, confused by Jungkook’s behaviour and more than a little embarrassed.

When you hear Namjoon speak up, his voice is strangely tensed. “That’s really not appropriate.”

A heated pause. “This is literally a porn show,” Jungkook states defensively, “sex is the whole reason we’re here. I think everyone’s forgetting this is a competition about being the best in bed, I’m just- You know what, never mind, pretend I didn’t say anything.”

“You just what?” Namjoon questions. It’s unlike him to be argumentative, and you shift in your seat, taking another sip of the ice-cold water. “Did you really make us all pancakes just so you could gloat? Y/n is a person, not a video game, Jungkook. Have a little respect.”

Jungkook doesn’t respond, but when you glance up, the frustrated rolling of his eyes and furious stabbing of his fork in a pancake speaks volumes.

Yoongi pinches his brow. “Jin-hyung, can you pass the syrup? Thanks.”

Namjoon stares expectantly at the youngest Gentleman for a few moments, before letting out a light huff and returning to his food.

Silence continues for a moment or two before Taehyung pipes up, voice tiny in the oppressive tension. “How many people still have to do their prompts this week? I haven’t done mine yet.”

Yoongi sends him a lightly exasperated look. “Really?”

Taehyung gives a small shrug, glancing to the camboy sitting beside him. “I mean… I don’t think we need to be explicit but this show is about sex. I feel like it’s equally bad if we don’t talk about it at all, you know?”

“The kid’s right,” Jin allows with a wry grin. “I’ve done mine. Tuesday; though I suppose some of you saw.”

Jimin cocks his head, lost. “Saw? Uh, yes, I haven’t done my prompt yet. Actually, uh, if you guys wanna take part, stay in the lounge tonight. I need an audience.”

You send him an inquiring look. “What about me?”

Jimin lets out a short laugh. “Your participation is kind of mandatory. Please stay in the lounge too.”

You appreciate the slow brushes of conversation that ease the tension away. “Am I an audience member or a volunteer?” You grimace suddenly. “Wait, fuck, it isn’t like a circus act or something, right? You aren’t a magician?”

“Don’t worry, the show won’t be that kind of magic,” he promises.

You go to reply, but your attention is caught by the way Jungkook is openly glaring at Namjoon like he’s waiting for something. “Kook?” you question.

Jungkook’s eye twitches. “Why aren’t you saying anything now, Namjoon? So they get to talk about sex but I can’t?”

Jin sucks in harshly through his teeth, sending a look of alarm to the youngest. “Okay, break it up, that’s enough. Jungkook, any more smart comments and you can leave. We’ll talk privately if you need it.”

Jungkook lets out a bitter scoff, but Namjoon is already rising hastily, banging the edge of the table in his haste to get up. “I’ll go,” he urges, “you all can enjoy your breakfast in peace.”

Nobody seems to even breathe as the sounds of Namjoon’s footsteps fade away, a door upstairs shutting harshly.

Yoongi has his face bent, thumb and forefinger pressing to his forehead, like a headache is coming on. “What the fuck was that?” he muses tiredly.

Jungkook doesn’t answer, staring at his pancakes like he’s trying to make them burst into flames.

You bite your tongue harshly, unsettled by how tempers flared so quickly. Unsure of what to do, you stare at Jungkook for a moment. You don’t want it to seem like you’re picking a side, but he has five others around him, and Namjoon is upstairs alone. You slide your chair out, quieter than last time. “I’m just going to check on him. Jungkook; you’re fine, I’m not angry.”

He breaks out of his death stare at his breakfast to send you a look of bewilderment, but Yoongi is already clicking his tongue disapprovingly. “Well, I am,” the second eldest declares, and you rush upstairs before the scolding begins.

Namjoon answers, albeit reluctantly, when you knock on the door and call out to him. He’s well and truly awake and alert now, hair combed down sullenly, the purple looking more faded than ever against the rich blue of his long-sleeved t-shirt. “Are you okay?” he asks with a tired frown.

Your brows lift automatically. “That is the exact question I came up here to ask. Can I come in?”

His bedroom is even more tidy than usual, now that he hasn’t been sleeping there. You sit down on the edge of his bed, feeling an unsettling swirl of dread.

“I’m sorry about Jungkook,” is the first thing out of his mouth as he sits down beside you, shoulders hunched like he’s making himself as small as possible.

You shake your head slowly. “You shouldn’t apologise on other people’s behalf. He’ll say sorry if he wants to.”

Namjoon pauses for a moment. “Then I’m sorry about contributing to the uncomfortable atmosphere.”

Despite the situation, your mouth quirks into a grin and your eyes soften. “Forgiven. I’m more worried than angry, you know? About the both of you.”

Namjoon lets out a sigh, eyes dancing aimlessly around the room, no doubt pondering complex concepts at the speed of light like he usually was. “This is probably to be expected, right? Tension. I didn’t think I’d be the one involved, though.”

“Ah, it wouldn’t be a reality show without some drama,” you allow, scooting back on the bed so you can tuck your feet up, crossing your legs. “We’ve just gotta move past it, I guess.”

“Didn’t it make you uncomfortable?” Namjoon blurts suddenly, cringing at the volume of his voice. “Him talking about you so publicly like that?”

You run your tongue along the inside of your cheek. “It took me off guard for sure. I don’t know; I guess sex is kind of our currency in here, you know? Him being so, uh, bold about it out of nowhere is pretty weird, though.” You shrug it off. “Maybe he slept bad last night.”

Namjoon searches your face. “I’m too much of a prude, aren’t I? Things like that bother me, so why did I sign up for a porn show?”

You turn to face him, brows knitted in sympathy. “Just because others are more open doesn’t mean being modest is a bad thing. Don’t let Jungkook’s bad mood make you believe that you don’t belong on the show or that you need to change. Okay?”

The two of you share a tender moment of eye contact, before Namjoon laughs shyly and turns his head away. You grin at him. “What?”

“It’s stupid,” Namjoon deflects, “it’s not the time.”

“Not the time for what?” you press. “Tell me; I’m curious now.”

Namjoon’s eyes dart up, pausing briefly at your lips. “I just… I really wanted to kiss you.”

Your heart swells, but you keep your face open, your voice barely louder than a whisper. “Then you should kiss me.”

All the breath leaves his lungs in a rush, but before he can inhale again, he’s propelling himself forward, wide hands cradling your jaw steady so your lips can join, a little uncoordinated but perfect nonetheless.

The small whimper of surprise is muffled by his lips, but you quickly melt into him, hands clutching at the front of his shirt for stability.

You can taste the remnants of breakfast, the sweet stickiness of maple syrup on his lips. You deepen the kiss to seek out more of the flavour, breaths escaping your nose as you don’t dare part for a second. Namjoon seems equally enraptured, shy flicks of his tongue making your head spin.

You lean in until your wrists are pinned between his chest and yours, and then lean in more, wanting to be close. Like oxygen to fire, the more contact you get the more desperate you become, and when his hands lower to lift you easily onto his lap, grinding you unconsciously against his erection, you feel ablaze.

“I need to-nm-do my prompt,” Namjoon murmurs out, teeth catching on your tongue with how deeply you kiss.

You swallow, leaning back slightly to take a breath in. “We don’t have to now,” you assure, moving your hands up to stabilise yourself on his shoulders so that he cranes his neck up to chase your lips. “Or have you graduated from Hoseok’s School of Sexual Prowess already.”

You smile down at the way his eyes flutter shut with a crooked grin, delicate crescent moon lash line a deep brown against his tanned skin. His lips are flushed and swollen, and he swallows like a man parched before he speaks, blinking blearily up at you. “I prefer to learn on the job,” he quips hoarsely.

You grin, leaning down to nudge him slightly to the side with your nose, giving you a better angle to leave a trail of light kisses from the corner of his mouth to the top of his jaw, tugging on his earlobe just enough that you feel his dick twitch against you. “What’s it gonna be, then? Am I a naughty student? Slacking receptionist? Do I need to sign for a package, delivery boy?”

The chuckle Namjoon lets out is pained and reluctant. “Was that what you were hoping for? It’s a bit more romantic than that.”

“Romantic is good,” you assure, letting his arms on your hips hold you steady as you lean back and search his face. “Do I get any more clues? Tell me something.”

When he blinks up at you, there’s something open and earnest in his gaze, like he’s left behind that shy boy that blushes at any mention of sex. “Let me show you, love.”

He cradles your back and lays you down on his bed so delicately it takes your breath away. Without speaking, he presses his lips to yours again, and once again you feel unanchored in an ocean, kept floating by the pressure of his proximity. Slower than usual, you move against each other; his hands bracing him up by the pillow, your leg hitched up over his waist to keep him close. Between the soft cushioning of his bed and the solid heat of his body, you feel secure and safe, eyes closed so that he fills your other senses entirely.

The sweetness of the maple syrup on his tongue and lips has long since melted away, but it leaves behind his natural flavour, one you think you prefer more. Aftershave still clings to his cheeks, tingling your nostrils, but past it is the bright candylike scent of his orange blossom shampoo, and they mix dizzily as the ends of his hair brush your skin.

Need begins to pool between your legs, but it doesn’t drive you, instead staying muted in the background like the pleasant heat of a bubbling jacuzzi, hips rocking lazily without any true purpose as you focus on the shocks of pleasure when your tongues connect.

It’s impossible to tell how long the two of you stay like that, no urgency or haste, just enjoying the intimacy and closeness of shared breaths and swollen lips. When he trails a hand down to slip under your shirt, even his slightly calloused fingertips running up your side is enough to make you whimper, sensitised to every touch.

Namjoon groans when his palm covers your breast, gripping it and swiping a thumb over your stiffened peak, arousing even through the fabric of your bra, his mouth only leaving yours for the second it takes to push your shirt over and off, connecting again with a small grunt of need.

Though Namjoon’s body is hot like a furnace against you, the open air still causes you to shiver, arching your back so Namjoon can blindly locate the hooks on your bra, able to slip it off you in no time at all.

This time, when his teeth tug at your lip and you feel the uninhibited contact of his fingertip tracing a circle around your nipple, it’s like a spike of electricity straight to your core, igniting that spark of full-blown arousal. Namjoon’s lips quirk against yours when you let a moan catch in your throat.

When he shifts down, you’re expecting his mouth on your breast, or perhaps him to sit up to take his own clothes off, but he doesn’t go nearly that far. Instead he presses your jaw up, exposing your neck but laying kisses on the underside of your chin first.

Perhaps it’s that you weren’t expecting that touch, or perhaps such a unique place isn’t used to that type of attention, but his swollen lips caressing just below your jaw feels magical, eyelids fluttering as he sucks so, so gently.

His hand never leaves your breast, massaging the flesh, tracing where your regular skin pebbles into the dusky areola, nail dragging teasingly over the bud, and your mind is working itself into knots trying to process all the sensations he’s stirring in you.

If his first time was thrilling, this was nothing short of electric, neon bursts of colour behind your eyelids the only thing you can see. As his kisses slowly venture lower, dipping to the base of your neck, pulse throbbing against him, you picture your nerve endings like purple strands of electricity in a plasma ball, lighting up with every touch of his fingers, lips and tongue to your skin.

“Na-Namjoon,” you gasp out, swallowing to ease the dryness in your throat, “don’t tease, I need you.”

Namjoon shifts lower, but not low enough, chin resting on your chest as he looks up at you with a pleased smile, clearly satisfied with his improvement from last time. “But love, there’s no rush. We have the rest of our lives, remember? To have and to hold,” he rumbles lowly, pressing  two light kisses to the top of your heaving breasts, “til death do us part.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh.”

Namjoon’s lip twitches. “Oh,” he repeats playfully. Goosebumps break out on the tops of your arms at this sudden brazenness. He’d clearly been doing plenty of talking with Hoseok, and to see his hard work pay off in your pleasured reactions probably gave him a burst of confidence. “Are you going to be patient for me now, love? Let me savour you?”

Your breath catches in your throat, so you just nod shakily.

Satisfied with your response, Namjoon quirks a lip before using the very tip of his tongue to trail a circle around your nipple, just wide enough that the bud strains for his attention. Your fingers clutch his sides, annoyingly still clothed, as he moves to the other one, still giving your nipple a wide berth. “C-come on, Joonie,” you complain hoarsely, “I need more.”

When he looks up at you from below his lashes and sucks one nipple slowly into his mouth, tongue pressing it against his upper teeth, you hiss sharply, releasing the air in a breathy moan. Namjoon suckles at you gently, still languid but no longer avoiding your most sensitive areas, and the hand not propping him up begins rolling the other one between his fingers, making you shudder.

You’re so wet between your legs it’s growing uncomfortable, and so you cant your hips up towards him, hoping he gets the message. He tuts at you, but pulls off your nipple with a wet pop and sits up to undress further.

Namjoon shucks his own shirt without ceremony before his fingers find your waistband, and you let him slide off your pants and underwear as you lie back and enjoy the sight of his thick chest and smooth stomach, a trail of dark baby hairs disappearing past his jeans that you didn’t remember noticing the first time you slept with him.

He takes off those jeans, his boxers too, and joins you on the bed again, running a warm palm up your side. “I want to taste you,” he announces simply, carding a hand through his hair to keep it out of your face.

“Fuck, please.” You watch with wide eyes as he lies on his stomach, hands dipping under your thighs to lift and part them. The exposed air has you clenching instinctively, and you swear you can see his eyes dilate at the sight. “Namjoon,” you whine, back arching in impatience.

“Shh, love, I’ve got you,” he assures, peppering kisses from just below your knees, down your thighs until you can feel his breath on your core. “So beautiful.”

You can barely breathe, head propped up on the pillow to stare down the plains of your chest and stomach to the insanely attractive man between your legs. Though you’d grown fond of the kinkier, wild scenes - in fact, your dreams at night had taken a turn since joining the show - something about seeing Namjoon so at his element in this domestic atmosphere has you dripping.

Like he has all the time in the world, he locks eyes with you and blows a wave of slightly cool air over your folds. You breathe out a groan, sending him what you hope is a convincing-enough pleading gaze. He smiles placidly, licks his lips, ducks his head even further, and-

And blows another stream, this time narrowed and colder, directly over your clit. You shudder and buck instinctively in his grip, his hands on your thighs keeping you spread.

“Come on,” you gasp out, “Hoseok’s made you into a fucking demon!”

“Oh, trust me,” Namjoon murmurs, “Hoseok’s version was way kinkier than this. I’m trying to be romantic and sensual.”

You shift again, fruitlessly trying to wiggle your hips closer. “It would be really fucking romantic if you would actually put your mouth on my-ah!”

Just like you know Hoseok would (you don’t know whether to thank him or curse him for this), Namjoon strikes when you least expect it, and when you most need it.

Though his mouth is small, his tongue is no less nimble, darting deeply through your folds to collect your juices and using them to slurp harshly at your clit. You jerk, hand shooting down to latch in his hair, but he continues that constant, unyielding vacuum until you’re squirming hopelessly beneath him, finally pulling off with the slightest graze of teeth.

“Happy now?” he retorts, swollen lips glossy with your slick. His hands tighten on your thighs. “Hold them.”

Invigorated by his command, you rush to grasp the backs of your knees, keeping your legs up and spread for him. “Fuck, so good, Joonie, w-want more.”

Now with two hands freed, it’s no surprise when two fingers find their way into your wet heat, twisting inside you with every smooth thrust. His chin is smeared with your wetness when he lowers it to continue laving his tongue over your sensitive clit, but he groans sinfully into you, like he’s getting just as much pleasure from it as you are.

Once he really gets going, he’s merciless, his fingers so thick that you don’t even need a third one to really feel him filling you, hooking up to rub at your g-spot every now and again to hear the involuntary whimpers you give out.

You hold onto your own knees for dear life, writhing under him as a hot coil tightens inside you. “Fu-fuck, Joonie, I’m getting close.”

His mouth detaches from your clit for a bare moment, enough for him to pant out a groan and stare lustily up at you. “Don’t cum yet,” he instructs lowly, “you’re going to cum on my cock this time, love.”

You whine, biting your lip harshly to try and distract from the building pleasure. “Then you have to- have to stop, Joonie,” you shudder out reluctantly.

To your surprise, Namjoon is even more begrudging than you are, tugging out his fingers to chase a last few indulgent licks up your seam before he finally sits up to kneel, panting. “Are you ready for me?”

You feel yourself grow impossibly wetter at the sight of him grasping his length, slipping it through your folds to slick it up. “Yes, god yes, I need it, need your cock,” you garble.

Namjoon’s eyes flutter shut for a moment, before he presses his head to your entrance, sinking in barely an inch to test your reaction. “Can’t wait to fill you up, love,” he admits, abs clenching with the effort it takes to sink in slowly. “Fuck a baby into you, my perfect girl.”

Your heart races at his words, clenching around. “God, yes, Joonie, please.” Though all the Gentlemen were well aware you were on birth control, there was something wildly erotic about the thought of it. “Fill me up, wanna be good for you.”

Finally he bottoms out, and your thighs shake at the stretch. With your hips tilted up, it almost feels like he’s fucking right into your stomach, so deep your mind struggles to process the sensations. He heaves a few breaths, giving you a chance to squeeze around him experimentally and grow accustomed to him filling you so completely.

You mumble out your permission for him to move breathily, the air punched out of your lungs when he pulls out only to drive deep inside of you in one slick thrust. Your mouth drops open once he begins to thrust, holding onto your knees for dear life as they tremble uncontrollably.

“God, look at you,” Namjoon pants out, chest heaving with excitement or exertion, perhaps a mix of both. One of his palms presses against the top of your stomach, increasing the pressure of his cock inside you. “‘Be so beautiful with my baby inside you, love, tummy swollen. I’ll take good care of you, would you like that?”

You have to squeeze your eyes shut to put all your focus into speaking. “Ye-yeah, I want that, Joonie,” you manage to articulate, his length keeping your mouth watering whenever he’s inside you. “Gonna be such a good daddy, Joon.”

Like a switch being flicked, Namjoon suddenly jerks, going rigid. Your eyes open blearily when he stills inside you, and you moan openly at the fucked-out look on his face, his eyes lidded and hair wild.

“S-say that again,” he commands, and your mouth drops open at the desperate grate to his voice.

So Namjoon liked to be called… “Daddy,” you whine experimentally, grinning when his cock twitches, hips juddering. “Want you to fuck me, Daddy, please move.”

“God, love, so fucking perfect for me,” he makes out before he starts off again with a renewed vigor, hands kneading at your breasts, at the flesh of your hips, at your ass as he lifts you up to meet his every thrust.

The feeling of him fucking into you so intensely has you feeling delirious, unsure if the ringing in your ears is actually the sounds of your own cries, torn from your throat with every slap of his balls against your ass, the weight of his hips jerking you into the pillow more and more every time.

You feel the pressure of his body hovering just above you, the angle of his thrusts changing, then suddenly his mouth is on your breast again, sucking harshly at the nipple. With the way your body moves beneath him, he can’t help but scrape his teeth against you a couple times, but it just makes the pleasure soar higher, neon starbusts of colour behind your eyelids when you squeeze them closed.

“Close again,” you warn desperately, losing the grip on one of your knees due to the sweat gathering there. With one up and one down, the angle changes again, and you reach out blindly to latch onto his upper arm, screaming at the heights of pleasure. “Can I cum this time, Daddy, please let me cum!”

“Fuck, give it to me, cum for me,” he growls out around your breast, and you see stars.

The orgasm that rips through you is powerful enough that all your senses fade suddenly away, unable to feel anything expect a rush of pleasure all the way down to your toes, boneless yet convulsing as he pistons his hips into you once, twice, three more times until he’s taken by the way you clench tightly around him.

He laps clumsily, wetly at your nipple as he spills inside you, before the two of you are completely drained of energy. Panting, heaving, you don’t even manage to catch your breath before you’re falling into slumber, Namjoon still inside you.

--

“He told us to wait here, right?” you ask anxiously.

There are six of you gathered on the couches in the lounge. Television off, the silence is weirdly uncomfortable. Perhaps that’s just because you know that everyone is waiting here not only to see Jimin, but to see what Jimin is going to do to you.

Hoseok, tucked into the smallest corner of the couch on the right, huffs lightly at your question. “He’s Jimin, Y/n. Either he’s up there primping or he’s just making you wait to be obnoxious.”

Perched beside him with a glass of whisky, two fingers full, Yoongi sends a droll glare to Hoseok. “Bold words for a man who’s choosing to watch the show.”

“I’m curious, sue me.”

“I think we all are,” Namjoon adds, curled up beside you in the central position of the three couches. “I think the only one that knows his prompt is Tae.”

Taehyung turns to answer, propped up against Jin’s side on the left, but the eldest interrupts, a crease of worry between his brows. “Not all of us, it seems,” he points out. “Don’t you find it strange that Jungkook isn’t here?”

“Does he know?” Taehyung wonders, fingers dipping into his pocket to reach for his phone.

Yoongi frowns. “He knows. He asked me not to make him anything for dinner tonight. Said he wasn’t feeling well. Didn’t seem like he was sick, just… distressed. I think you should talk with him, Jin.”

Jin sucks in a breath, pauses, and exhales again, jaw flexing. “Sure.”

The six of you lapse into a slightly strained silence again, before Namjoon gets restless, shifting beside you until he finally clears his throat and looks up at Yoongi. “What is for dinner, hyung?”

“We didn’t really have much for lunch, so I’m thinking steak and pasta,” the doctor offers up. “There’s some carbonara sauce in the pantry that looks good.”

Taehyung coughs nervously. “Do we have steak? I didn’t think there were-”

“We had plenty this morning when I checked,” Yoongi cuts in evenly. “Should I be aware of any recent developments?”

The masseuse pouts, leaning further into Jin’s side like he’ll protect him. “Well… It’s just that I feel so bad for Mango! The kennel I bought online isn’t as insulated as I hoped it would be and I know she gets lonely.”

Yoongi groans, going lax on the leather of the couch. “So you figured she’d what? Cuddle with the steaks?”

“I just figured maybe if I gave her nice food she’d cheer up,” Taehyung adds, “and it was just two! Are you mad at me?”

“No, I guess I’m not. Jungkook isn’t eating anyway, and…” Yoongi grins. “As penance, you can have plain pasta and watch the rest of us enjoy our perfectly cooked steaks.”

Taehyung throws himself against Jin dramatically, but even as he moans in misery, a relieved smile crooks at his lips. “I suppose,” he drawls begrudgingly, and once again a light atmosphere fills the room, like everyone’s just sighed out a breath of relief.

You lean onto the arm of the couch, facing Taehyung. “Tae, Jimin’s prompt isn’t too, like, intense, right?”

He cocks his head. “What do you mean? For him or for you?”

“Uh…” Your mind whirls blankly, cheeks heating up as you draw the attention of the other guys. “For- for me. So far some of the scenes have been pretty taxing, and I guess I just didn’t expect such a jump up from Week One.”

Instead of laughing or teasing, the others go a little solemn, perhaps even bashful. “Jimin’s isn’t super crazy, Y/n, don’t worry,” Taehyung assures quickly.

Yoongi bites down hard on his tongue, jaw popping. “We didn’t go too hard on you, did we?”

You suck in a breath. “I mean- No, not individually. It builds up though, you know?” Something niggles in the back of your mind, something you’ve wondered for a while. “Do you guys talk about it?”

Hoseok hesitates. “About fucking you?”

Your cheeks are on fire as you curl up small in the corner. “Not- Not that specifically, but just… Do you guys discuss who goes when and who has what? I kinda wondered why you spread yourselves out, if it’s just a coincidence or if you- Never mind, it’s stupid.”

“We kinda do,” Hoseok admits freely. “Like, obviously we don’t all sit down in a room brainstorming or something-” You don’t miss the way Taehyung and Namjoon instinctively lock gazes, though you can’t quite read their expressions. Hoseok continues, “but we do chat with each other and try and give each other space.”

Jin shrugs easily. “Yeah, like, I’ll just say in the groupchat, ‘I’m planning on doing my scene outside, look outside at your own risk’ or whatever.” The eldest stiffens as he’s fixed with several glares of alarm, including your own. “What? Were we not meant to tell her about the groupchat?”

Your mouth drops open. “You guys have a groupchat without me? I wanna see!”

“That defeats the purpose of you not being in the group chat,” Yoongi points out, though his grin is more sheepish than mischievous.

You make a noise of exasperation, ready to protest further, but before you can open your mouth the doorbell rings.

Everyone freezes.

After a moment, the doorbell rings again.

“You should go get it,” Taehyung supplies helpfully, eyes on you. “Might be interesting.”

Your heart picks up with the cool thread of adrenaline. It’s time. All eyes are on you as you sit up and make your way out to the foyer, the tile cool under your bare feet.

Though the door is a rich mahogany, clouded glass panels on either side betray a dark figure, perfectly still. Even though you can barely see the outline, there’s no deny the expectant tilt of their head belongs to none other than Jimin.

By the time you pad up to the door and turn the knob, his hand is outstretched to ring the bell a third time, and his mouth parts in surprise before giving you a pleasant beam.

You’d been wondering if he was meant to be a delivery guy, a mechanic, something along those lines, but your first glance over him proves you wrong.

His blue hair is glossy enough to reflect the light of the lamp above the doorway, curled in graceful swoops on his forehead and temples. Though he always wore makeup, it was clear he’s set to impress, with a bold russet red lip, powerful black eyeliner and a spot of gold under each eye.

He’s taller than usual, and you glance down automatically, to be greeted with the most gorgeous black heels, stiletto points giving him an extra few inches of height. The shoes make his legs look a mile long, and you suck in a breath as you follow them up, realising they’re completely bare, the only adornment a sinfully tight pair of black fishnets that dig in to his thighs and calves.

In fact, all he seems to be wearing otherwise is a black trenchcoat, falling to mid-thigh and with the sash tied so tightly it accentuates his narrow waist.

All put together, he looks like sin personified, the kind sailors drown for. You can’t help but want to dive in yourself. Trying to go along with the roleplay, you play dumb. “Do I, uh, do I know you?”

Jimin’s smile broadens as his arm falls, hand resting snugly on his hip. “You will soon, sweetness.” Usually one for pinks, nudes and clear glosses, seeing him suddenly in a deep red makes you realise just how full his lips are. You miss the feeling of them on you. “Did Taehyung not tell you I was coming?”

“Did Tae-?” You clear your throat, unsure how to proceed. This Jimin was Amazonian; bruisingly pretty and intimidating in his grace. “I guess not? Was he supposed to?”

His eyes crinkle empathetically, darting past you into the foyer. “Let’s talk inside, shall we? I’m not exactly dressed for the outdoors.”

“Oh, fuck!” you blurt instinctively, and you swear his lip twitches before you’re backing away hastily, ushering him inside. “I’m so sorry, please come in! Do you want me to take your coat? I don’t- I don’t know what you need.”

Jimin steps inside and closes the door behind him in one smooth motion, punctuated only by the click of his heels on the tile. He reaches out to pat your cheek, only somewhat condescendingly. “No wonder, sweetness, you didn’t even know I was coming.” That isn’t quite true, but in the scheme of things, you may as well not have known he was doing his scene tonight at all for all it’s helping you. “Why don’t you lead me to Taehyung? I assume he’s here.”

“Of course he’s- I mean, yes, he’s here. Right this way.”

The two of you only have a short trip to the lounge, where no doubt the other five have been straining their ears to eavesdrop, but every strike of his heels against the floor behind you has the hairs on the nape of your neck standing on end.

In the lounge, the guys are all turned around in their seats to shamelessly ogle Jimin, Taehyung the only one without the gobsmacked look on his face - though even he takes in an unsteady breath at how gorgeous the man looks.

You make your way to him, standing awkwardly in front of the couch that him and Jin share. Turning back to face Jimin, you can’t help but match Taehyung’s reaction. Jimin looks even more radiant in the decent lighting of the room. You can see now his trenchcoat is a lush fabric, slightly thicker than silk, and deeply matte. Around the inside of the collar is a faint embossed silver logo, promoting Chanel as the designer of that piece.

Ignoring the stunned silence of the room, Jimin slinks immediately to Taehyung, tipping his chin up with his knuckles. “Did you not tell Y/n about me, hm?” he questions with a faux pout. “Kept it a secret, our naughty Taehyungie.”

The masseuse wilts pleadingly under Jimin’s gaze, and the responding wicked grin makes you think that Jimin probably told him to keep quiet, only to tell him off for it now. “Sorry, Minnie,” Taehyung mutters nonetheless. “Wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Did you now?” Jimin lets go of him, stepping back. “I suppose we should get down to business, then. Are you all leaving, or do I have an audience tonight?” Glancing around imperiously, you watch as his eyes dart back and forth, smile faltering. His breath catches, eyes dull with disappointment that he quickly masks under a broad smile. “It’s just the six of you, then?”

Your heart aches as you think of the missing person still upstairs in his room. “Yeah, it’s just us.”

Always the professional, Jimin moves on without comment. “Well, then, sweetness; take a seat and get comfortable. You’re a lucky girl tonight.”

Your mouth feels dry even as it waters. Taking your seat beside Namjoon again, you watch in rapt anticipation as Jimin slips a hand into his pocket and pulls out his phone, fiddling with something on it as he strolls slowly into the center of the room, just in front of the television.

“We have a few rules,” Jimin announces. “No heckling, no getting drunk while I’m here, and no touching unless I give you permission. They’re simple, so I expect you to follow them. Got it?”

With his back to the group as he sets up his phone, you’re unsure who exactly he’s addressing, but some of you make general hums of confirmation, all the attention on Jimin.

When the music starts - a deep, thrumming beat with a sensual pace - you can see the change in him immediately, even from the back. His shoulders adjust, head tips back slightly like he’s letting it run through him, and his fingers find the knot of his sash.

You can barely comprehend the fact that Jimin is about to dance for you, breath caught in your throat when his hips begin to sway and the fabric of his trenchcoat loosens, slipping down just enough to reveal the tops of his shoulders, bare except two skinny black straps.

Following the groove of the music, he rocks his head back, hips shifting side to side, and lets the coat fall an inch at a time. A tight black bodice is revealed, structured leather with a soft velvet trim that covers most of his back. Sleeves dangling right at the ends of his fingertips, the coat dips just below the swells of his ass, which are clad in a racy g-string, a thicker band of lace low across his hips and a narrow one running down the middle of his cheeks. Letting the coat go completely, the last of his back silhouette is exposed, the leather garter straps that hold those fishnet stockings up.

“Shit!” Yoongi hisses under his breath, hands glinting in the light and whiskey glass significantly emptier than before. A dark patch spreads across one leg of his pants, evidence of him spilling his drink.

Though he was quiet, Jimin picks up on it, and turns smoothly, lightly surprised and heavily amused, watching Yoongi squirm in embarrassment as he approaches.

If the view from the back is breathtaking, seeing Jimin full-frontal is another level. The bodice has clearly been tailored for someone with a flat chest, but the shape no less speaks to the feminine style of a bra, roughly triangular leather covering the upper half of his chest to meet the smooth velvet straps. The whole piece is just short enough that it leaves a stripe of skin between fabrics, his hipbones jutting out gracefully and guiding your gaze lower, where the front of his lace panties strain with the size of his length, the tip threatening to peek out the top.

He’s hard, you notice with a start, and from the hazy look on everyone’s faces, they’ve noticed it too. Jimin likes this.

When he’s standing in front of Yoongi, towering over the other in his heels, he reaches out a hand silently, eyes darting to the glass in Yoongi’s hand.

The elder gulps, holding it up, blushing as Jimin wraps one hand around Yoongi’s wrist, and takes the glass from him with the other. In a graceful swill, he downs the last of Yoongi’s whiskey, not even wincing. Teasingly, he bends down to place the empty glass directly over Yoongi’s crotch, making him hiss.

Like he has all the time in the world, Jimin straightens up again and tugs the wrist in his grasp higher. Locking eyes, Jimin parts his lips and wraps them around the base of Yoongi’s thumb, sucking off the spilt liquor.

Yoongi groans lowly, cheeks stained red as his eyes flutter shut in a mix of pleasure and humiliation. As Jimin makes his way through all of Yoongi’s fingers, bobbing his head obscenely and swirling his tongue, you think you see the empty glass wobble on Yoongi’s lap, like his cock is twitching in his pants. Fuck. It’s not even you getting the full weight of Jimin’s attention and you already feel dizzy with need.

Once he’s done, Jimin lets go and Yoongi’s hand falls limply to his side. Satisfied, he moves to the center of the room again, hips fluid with the flow of the music.

A cursory glance around the room shows that you’re not the only one heavily affected. Beside you Namjoon is restless, shifting back and forth from spreading his legs to ease the pressure, and clenching them together to try and hide the bulge in his pants. Hoseok looks pale, eyes wide and locked onto Jimin’s ass as he walks away from their couch.

On the other side, Taehyung and Jin are significantly more shameless; Jin rests a hand on the back of Tae’s neck and tugs at the curls of hair there as the younger boy ruts against his thigh, curled into his side even as the two of them focus on the attraction in the centre of the room.

You can only imagine how fucked out you must look too, wriggling against the couch cushion seeking friction with your heart thudding in your chest. The effect is only heightened when Jimin locks his eyes to you and begins to dance.

One day, a few of you were gathered in this very lounge, having enough drinks to get a bit silly and uncoordinated. Jimin had told you all a little bit about his dancing career. From what he’d said, you formed this mental image of him in soft makeup and satin shoes, dainty but powerful in front of an adoring crowd. The way he spoke about music - too much of a heavyweight to be as incoherent as the rest of you - made it seem like it was his greatest love, a match made in heaven.

Though now pirouettes and grand jetés had been replaced by spread legs and lidded eyes, you could still see that passion he spoke of. It enchanted you like a snake charmer or a siren, and arousal entwines endlessly with awe in your stomach.

After what feels like the shortest eternity, the music of the first song fades out, and Jimin straightens up, exhaling a breath like he’s releasing its hold from his body to make room for the next.

The tune that fills the room next has a decently higher tempo than the first one, each beat punctuated by a clap, and he grins when he hears it, stalking forwards.

Between Jimin and the rest of you is a coffee table, and he makes his way around to Taehyung and Jin, eyes sparkling at how Taehyung straddles Jin’s thigh, blinking up at the dancer owlishly.

“Oh, baby,” Jimin coos, “enjoying the show?”

Taehyung nods, not shy but too wound up to speak.

At the lack of verbal response, Jimin grins, perching himself on Jin’s other thigh, making the eldest hiss. “Taehyungie,” Jimin calls in a sing-song voice, fingers winding into his hair, just above Jin’s, “you still haven’t paid me for my services, you know?”

“H-huh?” Poor Taehyung looks barely coherent, interrupted from his grind and staring weakly at Jimin’s glossy lips. You can’t imagine you’d be faring any better in his situation. “What- How do I pay you?”

Jimin faux pouts. “Normally I’m very expensive,” he admits lowly, but the room is silent apart from the music, and since it’s just playing from his phone, it doesn’t impede the rest of you listening in. “But I like you. I’ll take my payment tomorrow. You know what I mean, right?”

Taehyung nods dumbly, obediently, making the dancer grin wickedly.

Fixing his attention on Jin, Jimin trails his fingertips up his thigh and traces the outline of Jin’s cock in his makes, making him groan. “Take good care of my baby tonight, won’t you?”

Jin sucks in a shaky breath, eyes darting to Taehyung, but the curly-haired boy just whines and buries his face in the crook of Jin’s neck, a wordless display. “You got it, Min.”

From the other side of the room, a click of the tongue catches your attention. Hoseok is straight-faced, extricating himself from the corner of the couch to stand up and make his way out.

Jimin swiftly stands in front of him to impede his way. “Where are you going?”

Hoseok rolls his eyes with a shrug. “I came, I saw, I sated my curiosity. I’m not interested in waiting in line to be fondled, thank you very much.”

Jimin seems to have forgotten the music, eyes gleaming as he faces off the dom. “Poor baby too impatient to wait, hm? I’ll let you jump the queue,” he finishes in a husky voice, grinning.

Hoseok eyes the doorway behind Jimin, huffing impatiently. “Nice try. I’m not interested.”

Tipping his head to the side, Jimin’s brows lift in a mix of surprise and bemusement. “I’m inclined to disagree,” he says, taking a step closer so that only a sliver of air parts them. Hoseok stiffens, stubbornly avoiding looking at the dancer. “I’d venture a guess that you’re leaving so suddenly because you’re a little too interested.” Slow enough that Hoseok has plenty of time to refuse, Jimin runs his knuckles all the way down Hoseok’s front, brushing over his crotch. His grin widens, flashing white teeth. “Hmm.”

Hoseok scoffs and pulls himself away, neck and forehead slightly red. “Don’t get too cocky. It was from Taehyung, not from you, peaches.”

Even from the other side of the room, Jimin’s instinctual reaction is clear as day. His shoulders drop and his lips part, lashes fluttering before he can control the response.

If you didn’t miss it, Hoseok certainly didn’t either. He barks out a laugh, back in power again, and steps to Jimin’s side to pass him. “Knew it. Don’t miss me too much, then, peaches.”

Even as Jimin is shuddering at the petname again, Hoseok rears his hand back to smack Jimin’s ass with a sharp noise of impact, Jimin jumping forward with a startled squeak. “No touching!” the dancer hisses, one ass cheek already flooding with a sweet candy pink.

“Apologies,” Hoseok says with a teasing grin, already at the doorway, “I’ll see myself out.”

Jimin makes an indignant cry, but the older man is already bouncing up the stairs cheerfully. Determined to get the sexy atmosphere back, Jimin takes a deep breath and turns back to you all with a rueful smile, but it falters when the music fades out, the second song ending. “Ah,” he murmurs, “show’s over, kids.”

Namjoon, the only guy that hadn’t received any personal attention, sits up with a frown. “Wait, already?”

Jimin shrugs, smiling at him sweetly. “Sorry, Joon. Last song’s a private dance. Maybe another time.”

A private dance. Your breath quickens as Jimin turns off the next song that randomly came up on shuffle, collects his phone, and hitches his coat off the floor with the point of a stiletto, gathering it under his arm.

The others quietly start to stretch, sit up, Yoongi going to fill up his glass again. By the time Jimin makes his way to you, Jin has already lifted Tae up with a single arm under him, carrying the younger upstairs as Taehyung sucks shamelessly at his neck. Namjoon is slower to move, probably still a little worked up and edged from the show, but he joins Yoongi in the kitchen, leaving the two of you alone.

Once Jimin is directly in front of you, your breath stops. He’s gathered the lightest sheen of sweat from dancing, or perhaps that’s just the highlighter on his cheeks, and his eyes are hazed from the excitement of performing. He silently reaches a hand out to you with an enticing smirk.

You furrow your brow in confusion. “Not here?”

“I did say private. Unless you want me to fuck you where everyone can see?”

You gulp at the thinly veiled threat. “We can go.” You take his hand and let him lift you up with effortless strength, pausing when he looks at you expectantly. “Did I do something…?”

Jimin beams like you’re a cute but stupid pet. “I haven’t been here before, remember? Show me to your room, sweetness.”

“Oh!” You rush past him, hands catching to guide him out and upstairs. The thrill of excitement speeds your steps, and in no time at all he’s placing his coat and phone on your desk, guiding you to sit on the end of the bed.

The third song starts with the familiar smoothness of Beyonce’s voice, an older pop song that holds up still, and Jimin slips off the black straps of the bodice, another set directly below them. Arms tucking behind him, he begins to undo the clasps one by one.

“You were being very well behaved, you know, sitting there and waiting for your turn,” he muses, fiddling with the fabric behind him. “Now you get a reward.”

You don’t know what to say in response, just nodding wordlessly, but it seems he is content with that. After a moment, you notice the top half of the bodice pull away from his chest lightly, revealing not plain skin but more lace, matching the panties that struggle to cover his cock. He approaches you as he undoes the last few at the base, and slips smoothly between your legs, letting it fall to the side.

In front of you in all his glory, Jimin looks gorgeous, the inky swoops of his tattoo peeking out from under a sweet black lace bralette, the skinniest straps holding up the delicate cups. In the center is a tiny black satin bow, and you think you feel your heart give out a little at the sight of it.

Even in his pretty lingerie, he’s no less intimidating, and you shudder at the feeling of his eyes locked onto you, feeding on your reactions and pinning you to the bed.

“You like it?” the dancer asks, voice rough with arousal. You nod quickly, still too stunned for words. Jimin hums, winding a hand around the back of your neck. “Show me how much you like it.”

Before you can suck in a breath, his mouth descends on yours, and a shot of electricity runs through you as he spares no time for pecks and caresses. This kiss is nothing short of filthy, his tongue runs over your teeth, he bites your lips, he sucks on your tongue. You do your best to reciprocate enthusiastically, but there’s no question who’s in charge.

With how deep and primal it is, there’s no surprise when you feel your shared spit begin to collect in the corners of your lips and run down your chin. Jimin doesn’t stop, but lowers his mouth to lap it up, pushing it back in and continuing to fuck his tongue into your mouth.

You moan hopelessly into the kiss, hips rocking on the edge of the mattress fruitlessly and fingers holding on to his neck and shoulder for dear life. His teeth are sharp, nipping mercilessly at your bottom lip until your eyes sting, but it only serves to drive more need.

The music in the background livens up as it reaches the chorus, and suddenly the thought of the song finishing and him leaving you high and dry comes to mind. You tug yourself away from him, sucking the spit off your swollen lip. “Jimin,” you gasp out, “I want you.”

Jimin grins. Though his gloss is all but gone, the colour on his lips remains intact. “You aren’t gonna let me finish my dance, sweetness?”

“Wi-Will you still fuck me after the song ends?” you ask, feeling stupid for needing confirmation.

Jimin lets out a soft but condescending coo, hands squeezing your cheeks together so that your lips pout. “Poor baby just wants to get fucked, does she? Baby just wants a cock in her.”

Even as he mocks you, you can’t even defend yourself. “Please, Jiminie.”

He places a single light peck over your protruding and obscenely swollen lips. “Let’s make a deal; I’ll dance for the rest of the song, and if you can keep your hands to yourself, I’ll let you cum when I fuck you. Sound fair?”

At this point, you’d agree to anything, and both of you know it. “I can do it,” you insist even as your voice wobbles.

Instead of answering, Jimin begins to move, following the momentum of the music. Your hands lie at their sides, the duvet cool against your heated flesh.

He starts out easy, stepping back to give himself more space and slowly lowering into a crouch, the heels making his calves pop. Running his hands down his chest, fingers slipping under the lace, he sighs out like his own touch gives him unspeakable pleasure.

You grit your teeth. Watching him touch himself just makes you want to touch him more. He widens his legs, showing the place where the lacy band narrows down below his balls into a thin string. Whether it’s the angle or just the amount of moving he’s done, the tip of his cock has nestled up higher, poking out just to the side of his hip. Shamelessly, he runs a single fingertip over it, tapping so you can see the clear strands of precum that cling.

You let out an unsteady breath, relaxing slightly as the song begins to build to the final chorus. Not long.

Unfortunately for you, Jimin recognises the changing keys as well as you do, and he stands up smoothly, slinking towards you.

Instead of settling between your knees this time, he turns his back to you and bends down, folding himself in half to fully bare his ass. Hoseok’s handprint still pinkens the skin of one, and the sudden desire to reach out and see if it’s as warm to the touch as it looks overcomes you. You hiss and fist your hands in the fabric of the duvet cover, making Jimin stretch up with a laugh.

Merciless, Jimin widens his stance, choosing to sit on top of your lap, ass grinding on you. You can imagine this movement would be much more unbearable for a guy, but you still feel your resolve unravelling, taken by the fluidity of his hips, the lace accuentuating his slender waist, the pressure of his head as he tips it back onto your shoulder.

“This is so unfair,” you complain shakily, and are rewarded with the musical giggle Jimin lets out, bubbling from his arched throat right into your ear.

Luckily, the chorus ends, and the final notes settle down. Jimin’s hips still and he turns his head, lips just about brushing your cheek. “Good job, sweetness,” he praises warmly, “can I have another kiss?”

Your jaw jerks automatically before you catch yourself. Though it’s fading out, the song technically hasn’t ended yet. “Not yet.”

Shameless even as his ruse is exposed, Jimin just beams and twist around so that he’s straddling you face-on. He lowers his mouth to your collarbone, nibbling at the skin there as the beat fades and the overlaying instruments peter out. Though it must only be ten or fifteen seconds, it feels like forever as he rocks himself against you just like Taehyung had done to Jin - albeit less desperate and more strategic - and licks at the bite marks on your neck.

Finally, it goes silent, and you exhale deeply, hands automatically coming up to rest on his hips as he laughs lightly at your successful efforts. “I’m impressed,” he admits, “guess you get your reward after all, sweetness.”

So relieved that the heat between your legs will get some attention, you barely take notice of him standing up off you, at least not until he slips his cock fully out of the panties.

His cock, straining with being left unattended so long, is a far deeper pink than the mark on his ass, particularly around the head. He sucks in a breath through his nose as he strokes himself, before blinking down at you.

“Clothes off if you want me, sweetness.”

You could guarantee you’ve never undressed so quickly before, frantically enough that your hips are hot from the friction of tugging down your pants. You take no note, however, just spreading your legs wantonly as you eye up his cock.

“Fuck, look at you,” Jimin curses, bracing a hand on your hip as he lines himself up. “Don’t even need stretching, do you? Looks like Joonie opened you up for me already.”

Your cheeks burn, but there’s not enough time to dwell on the embarrassment, as Jimin holds you down with his grasp on your hip and bottoms out in a single thrust.

Even though he’s right, the sudden fullness has you gasping a moan, almost falling onto your back. You prop yourself up and widen your legs further, eyes locked on the sight of his cock, nestled underneath by the lushest black lace, buried deep inside you. “Fuck, please move.”

“My pleasure,” he coos with a sweet smile, before the smile drops to a slack pout of lust, snapping his hips with a deftness that you now know is due to his background as a dancer.

You fight to keep yourself sitting up, one hand around the back of his neck as he fills you with every stroke, but the angle isn’t quite right, and you find your pelvis shifting to find it.

Jimin notices your frustration, and wordlessly pauses, grips your thighs and tugs you forward so that you’re flat on your back, ass over the edge and held up by his upper body strength. Without you even processing the change, he’s returning to his ruthless place, and you sob from relief at the way your insides come alive with pleasure, so much stronger than before.

“Fuck, right there! Right- ungh, yes, Ji-Jimin,” you pant out, feeling unbearably hot all at once with the intensity of it.

Though part of you is still sore from the scene you had with Namjoon earlier, your swollen walls only increase the drag of him against your sensitive tissue, and you quickly turn incoherent, tongue so thick in your mouth that you open it, panting as your fingers clutch the duvet to anchor you.

“That good, huh?” Jimin notes with a laugh stuttered by grunts of exertion. Normally, you’d protest or retort, but with your ankles wrapped around him and back arching off the bed, there’s nothing on your mind but the enveloping urge to cum.

Rather than reply, you just let yourself drown in the sensations, vision going black as your eyes roll into the back of your head.

Your orgasm comes so fast that you don’t even notice it approaching, can’t even warn him. It’s like a clap of thunder, making you go stiff with a scream before turning completely boneless, legs slipping down off him weakly.

Jimin curses as you squeeze around him, but fucks you through it thoroughly, only slowing down once you begin to fuss, shivering and wriggling away.

Dazed from the sudden onslaught of pleasure, it takes you a few moments for the fog in your brain to clear. Once you do, you glance down and realise Jimin is still achingly hard, dripping with your slick and the remnants of Namjoon’s cum, but none of his own. He strokes it lazily, gaze searching your face.

So exhausted from two intense scenes in one day, you don’t think you could manage to jerk him off or give him a decent blowjob, but to leave him hanging would be cruel. Instead, you fumble to slide yourself off the bed, landing a little too hard on your knees.

“What are you- oh, Y/n, fuck,” Jimin exclaims lowly as you blink up at him and open your mouth, sticking your tongue out. He gets the message easily, speeding up his strokes as his tip bounces on your tongue, brief sparks of the salty tang of your shared arousal.

He must have been close before, because it doesn’t take him more than a minute to fall over the edge, cumming into your mouth with thick spurts. A shame it couldn’t have been inside you a different way, but you nonetheless chase his cock, blade of your tongue dipping into his slit to make sure you’d gotten every last drop.

Jimin swears lowly, stroking your hair back fondly as you swallow, and helps you stand up on wobbly legs.

Leading you to the bathroom, Jimin sits you on the closed toilet seat as he runs a bath. Having slipped off his heels somewhere back in the room, he unhooks his garters as he waits for the tub to fill. With one leg resting on the high edge of the tub, rolling down the fishnets one at a time, you once again are silenced in awe of his beauty.

It feels unspeakably intimate to watch him unclasp the bralette, slip off the panties, and slowly take his makeup off, easily locating the makeup remover he’d borrowed from you that very first night.

Your eyes sting a little as you’re reminded of that time. It feels like an eternity ago, even though it’s just under a fortnight. You’d thought he was so intimidating back then. Though he still had the power to command attention, you’d seen enough of the kindhearted, thoughtful and sensitive man beneath that the Jimin two weeks ago felt like a very different man.

“Water’s ready.”

You blink yourself out of that train of thought, letting Jimin help you carefully into the tub, joining you on the other side, legs tangled. “Thank you,” you manage to say, still feeling a little out of it after a tiring day and a good orgasm.

Jimin beams, glancing away to obscure some of his face. It’s clear to you that the lack of makeup has him feeling a bit vulnerable. His skin is flushed red - either naturally or from exertion you couldn’t tell - and his brows were softer, eyes looking smaller without the shadow that emphasised them. He wasn’t any less beautiful like this, just more human. Comforting, in a way, as he passes you a washcloth and begins to lather himself up in strawberry-scented bodywash.

“Hey, Y/n,” Jimin starts, but his voice sounds weirdly stilted and unlike him.

“Mm?”

“My, um, my…” He lets out a light cough, avoiding your gaze with an air of forced aloofness. “Granny keeps asking about you. She’s convinced we’re dating, but that’s, uh, I’ve assured her we aren’t. She really liked you, and whenever we chat she asks to speak to you, and, um…”

You feel more coherent than you have in a good couple hours, sitting upright. “She does?”

Jimin laughs ruefully. “I never really knew how to ask you if you wanted to speak to her, or if I should even ask you at all-”

“So you thought now, while we’re both naked in a tub after you fucking my brains out is the right time?”

Jimin’s cheeks colour more as he splutters. “You can say no, I just didn’t want you to… I don’t know. You can say no.”

You beam at him. “I have one rule.”

“What?”

“I’ll hang out with Mrs. Park on one condition.”

The blue-haired boy stares at you warily. “Which is?”

You lean forward with a deadpan expression on your face, making him grimace in worry. “You let me sleep in your bed tonight,” you explain gravely, “I’m running out of options for this Bangasm Bomb thingy, and it’s only fair after you just took me out of commission like that.”

Jimin laughs in relief, throwing his head back with a joyous grin. “Deal! Don’t scare me like that.”

You return his smile, heart swelling from the fondness you hold for him. “Of course I’ll chat with your grandma, Jimin. I love her. She reminds me of you a lot.”

You may have said too much, but Jimin goes lax against the opposite end of the tub, smile never leaving his lips, and you don’t regret it for a second.

[starshipsofstarlord]

Perception is Key

Part Two to Hell on Earth

avengers x reader

series masterlist

masterlist

Summary; dread is all you feel as you take up temporary residence in New Asgard. Something big is coming, and you are not the only one that can feel it, but despite that, Thor tries to make you feel safe in his rebuilt kingdom, though all you see is it falling before your knees

Warnings; mentions of death, angst, secrecy

divider by @firefly-graphics

Death, it was a certain doom for all living mechanisms, even Asgard had been demolished by its inevitable demise. Yet here you were, nursing an off handed bottle of ale that came from the gods, whilst you breathed in the salt scent that regarded from the ocean that crashed by. New Asgard, the home of Thor and his brothers in arms, whilst his real sibling was killed by Thanos. It was a shame to see the brave deity in mourning, however, there was nothing that you could do about it. Nothing.

The concept of the end came to all, it was a daunting curse that teased its victims, and pried them into sculpting their own fears of it. But for all the people in the galaxy knew, death could be peaceful; you liked to think that you were the same. A wound cog that did not work for their purpose, a villain that could do some good. And whilst you had never threatened the end of the world, your hereditary abilities sure as hell did. It was another danger to humans and more, thus making you one in regard.

Killing was a route that you didn’t want to take, it was dark, and there was no way back for redemption. Murderers and the bad guys, if they wanted penance, would spend their whole lives trying to make amends for what they did, in exchange for a forgiveness that they would never be granted. And if you did such a thing, as regretting causing exhibitions of death, your father would send for you from the underworld, and have you dragged back down to his bleak halls.

Those heroes would rise, as the ones that you came to know and befriend were brought to bottomless pits of service for Hades, suffering for all eternity as they knelt before the god whom ruled hell. Mother could only prey that he would give up his display of the deceased, he used them like puppets, and it was not a friendly scenic for the next batch of Demi gods that they were planning. You were brilliantly strong, but they would be stronger, as not only would they have the army of warriors behind them, they would be invincible.

Their carriageway into ironic new life, was affecting to you, you could feel it as their existence seared through your veins. There was a war coming, and it was going to be a blood bath, there would be bodies littered on all the planets as they respected their appetites, and they would come for you. It wasn’t silly for you to fear them, they had been around before, it was a rebirth for the ages, a damning revolution that would drain all the breathing from the lungs of species, flushing their external beings into whisperings of blistered remains.

Zagreus and Macaria were coming, pursuing the punishment that was deemed worthy for your scoundrel self, you were nothing more than another revamped version of yourself, raised from the ashes, and taking your overdue time to age. You were supposed to be the cause for the world’s destruction, but they, they would tear every atom down piece by piece, because you were unable to complete your mission of birthright.

Humans, nor other vessels of aspiring and mundane inventions, had the impact of defence to protect themselves from more dominant species. They were simply specks with heart beats in the universe, thumping in their chests as they strived to usher their own planet under the hypocrisy of a dying climate.

“Heimdall once said that Hades had a vision, and he, a seer of all people, couldn’t see how far his faction of thought went. There was no end with his quarrel with the nattering of life, instead, it was competently endless, going on for light years upon light years, straggling the gods into the grand demise. To put it into other words, you are his vision.”

“Well I’m not sure that our Vision back at the compound would be too pleased if I coined his name.” But all joking aside, the air shifted every time that you brought lightness to your words. Continuing, you spoke to Thor, whom had brought you to his evolved demeanour of his homeland, and stole you from the consequences of the violent struggle that you had instinctively conquests upon James Buchanan Barnes. “However, on a more serious note, you are aware of my origin, and the truths that Hades is my father. You know of why he crafted me, but there will be a greater shadow than my foresworn self, and the others need to know of this oncoming riot.”

“We shall tell them, but first; eat.” The god of thunder intended for you to follow through with his kind hearted order, though a heated rumble shook the core of the earth, the energy trembling up your legs. They had been born, sooner than anticipated, and much closer to your break from the ruckus than you had wanted.

“I am not sure we have the time, you felt that cause of apocalyptic foreshadowing, I can tell by the fearful promise on your face. My father will not rest until he has me, a weapon in his hold returned, and to do so, he will tear apart this family, in literal terms, so that I can return to my biological home.”

“Eat.” Thor spoke once more, gulping down the terror that graced his long spanned veins. “If there is to be a fight on earth for the ages, destruction raining down on midguard, then you will need your strength. There is no need to deprive yourself of basic necessities, young warrior.”

Accepting the small loaf from his hand, you watched as the crumbs fled a trail through your palm. Even you appetite was frolicking trauma upon bacteria that swayed in the depths of the bread; the gathered yeast feared you, much like you feared yourself. “I’m going to have to return to the compound, as much as I hate to do so after what I had done, they have to know. And throughout our excursion of informative speech, then they shall have to know of my dreaded secret.”

But what if they already knew?

“A weapon like that...” Steve shook his head as he threw the classified papers onto the desk space he had reserved for his affiliated research. “We have to protect the earth, and if we have to do so from her, then we will have to stretch to any means necessary.” The captain gulped, not pleased as he divulged deeper into this situation with his friend.

Bucky remained shocked from the fleeting threats that had deranged from your form; it was like a curse adorned you, but it turned out, it was just you. Nothing had made you this way, instead, you were born a vigil monster, a daughter of a fraternising god.

“The daughter of Hades... I miss the old days where we believed in one god, and went to church every Sunday morning.” He wasn’t have supposed to have heard Barnes talking, but the figure did as he pressed himself against the wall, his hearing inclined to listen to more.

Peter’s eyes bulged as he was silently affirmed with the truth. He had a web stringing each digression together as he thought of your independence that you had been determined to keep. They were going to tell everyone, swaying their opinions from what they knew, rather than what they did not.

But that made you a legend, a mortal infliction of ancient religion; there must have been more to know. He had to be silent to ensure he didn’t trigger an alert to the super soldier’s enhanced hearing, as the boy that was pursed with a spider bite slipped away, portraying his fawning portrayal of being a vigilante.

His assumed destination that his quiet feet were carrying him too was the library. There’d surely be something useful in the walls of filled shelves, and if there wasn’t, then the internet was a useful friend. As he entered the subjective room for required reading, he saw the Falcon himself, Sam Wilson, seated at a small and solitary table.

Perhaps... no, it’d be wrong to turn him against his close friends... but possibly what was necessary. Peter allowed his doe eyes to scan the various sections. Mythology. Though, all avengers knew that there was some truth to every realistic evolution of belief, though it was usually only a little. But maybe, in your case, there would be more.

Tony had told him there had been an incident, and Peter had believed that Mr Stark was concealing a devise of perception from the rest of the aligned team. It was certainly wrong for him to delve against the ruin of the circumstances, but he was eager to do anyways. Whatever happened must’ve been lined coursing seriousness, and he was afflicted with firm interest to find out what.

Ah, he found something. Adjoined with the abilities he knew that you were capable of, he knew it must have been in regards to you, it just made sense. The spine spoke with integrity, daring anyone to read the biblical novel of fumed remark that raised hell on Earth.

The goddess of invoked, bringer of nightmares and madness, Melinoë.

[kbandtrash]

SKZ Mafia Bullet Point

~Megan~

Masterlist

Word Count: 1.6k

Jisung!

Neither of you were actually part of the mafia

You were just two classmates who weren’t really familiar with each other at all

Until one fateful day when Changbin, a mafia boi, who had been flirting with you for ages, cornered you in an alley

He seemed a little confused

“You’re the one they’re after?” he said with a frown

“Who’s after me???”

He bit his lip, pulling out his gun slowly

“My family, can’t imagine why though.”

“Then why don’t you let me go?” you said, trying hard not to freak out

He shuffled his feet and checked his watch, then aimed the gun at your chest

He had an unsure little smile on his lips, almost apologetically

“C-come with me, and I won’t kill yo-”

“HEY!” Jisung yelled from down the alleyway

He was running toward you like a squirrel in a tree

His fluffy hair had butterfly clips and he looked anything but intimidating

Changbin sighed in relief

“Alright, I surrender, see you guys later!”

He yeeted out of there, throwing his gun down and grinning sheepishly

Jisung reached you and bent down, breathing hard

“Did he… hurt you?” he asked with a deep breath

You shook your head, smiling

“That was horrifying but at least you saved me?”

He grinned, honestly looking like a squirrel

A very handsome squirrel

“Glad to help.”

You composed yourself, checking that you were okay for real

“You seem familiar?” he said with a raised eyebrow

“Uh… I’m Lee Y/N, if that’s any help?”

He went red

“You’re Minho’s little sister?”

Basically Jisung is good friends with your brother but they’re boys so Minho never let you guys meet

But Jisung is in your class so all of Minho’s efforts are ruined

“Speaking of Minho… I should probably get home,” you said, pressing your lips together

Jisung nodded

“I’ll take you home, and maybe say hi to-”

“NO!” you shouted nervously. “I mean… uh, Minho would freak out if he saw us together, you know?”

Jisung nodded again, hanging his head

“I’ll follow you, then.”

You looked at him strangely

“You we’re just threatened with a gun, and you heard Changbin. His family is after you. They might be everywhere. I’ll just follow you at a fair distance…”

He met your eyes and swallowed

Your eyes were sparkling

“Thanks, then,” you said with a smile

“N-no problem.”

So you head home

Nothing happens

Then a few minutes after you get home a knock comes at the door

Minho yells from his room: “DON’T GET IT, IT’S MY- A GUY!”

You knew it was. It’s Jisung. You laughed and hurried to your room, closing the door, because Minho would kill you if you were outside where they would be

But that evening a knock came at your door

You slowly opened it, confused

Minho stood there with a big frown

“We were playing truth or dare.”

You laughed at him before he continued

“He dared me to invite you to hang with us, and if I don’t do it I have to tell him who I like, plus I won’t get my pringles back.”

You laughed even harder

But because you were nice and were kind of interested in the funny, nice squirrel, you went out and played video games with them

Jisung was HILARIOUS. And you learned that among friends he was known as a quokka. And you were even more interested in him

Hanging with him and Minho it felt like he was being himself

It made your heart flutter at how cool he was

The next time someone looked at a clock it was really late and dark outside

Jisung had walked over and Minho had his license so he drove the quokka home

(Jisung had declined the offer, but Minho refused to let him go outside where there might be dangerous gang activity)

You were home alone

A soft, quick knock came at your door

You almost missed it

Who could it be? you thought

You looked through the window and saw Changbin standing there with a few other guys

Your heart dropped

Another set of louder knocks came

You ran to your room, shutting the door

The first thing that came to your mind was you had to call the police

And then you would text Minho to let him know

The knocks turned into pounding

“Yes, hello, these guys are at my house, one of them threatened me with a gun earlier…”

After you called the police you sent this text:

There are bad guys outside right now, I called the police, so don’t come back and stay safe. I’ll be okay.

Then you heard the front door open.

In Minho’s car, he was on a slightly busy road (who knows why it was so busy so late at night)

When you texted him, he was too busy being a safe driver to look

Jisung looked at it

“Hyung, Y/N’s in trouble.”

Minho was stuck on a road where it would be difficult to head back home quickly

“Hyung, pull over.”

Minho was freaking out

Jisung was shaking, trying to reassure Minho

They both knew if either of them drove in the state of worry they were in, it wouldn’t be safe

So Jisung ran.

He ran like his life depended on it to your house

It felt like he would be too late

He arrived, hearing police sirens in the distance

“The dang station is too far away from here”

He did the dumbest thing he’s ever done and walked right into the house, where four guys with guns were shouting and pounding on doors

They hadn’t found your door yet

Changbin saw Jisung first

The quokka felt his heart drop when he saw a gun aimed at him

But he threw all fear for himself aside and ran right at Changbin, pushing him onto the ground

Changbin was crying, asking why in the world he had to be part of a mafia

Jisung took his gun from him, saying “I’m sorry, hyung, just please give up.”

Then he scampered away and slammed the edge of the gun on a guy’s head

The guy flopped to the floor, out cold

Who knew I could do that??? Jisung wondered

Then he spotted a frying pan

He laughed at himself but grabbed it anyway, heading toward the upstairs, where the other two guys and your room were

One of the guys was prepared, firing a bullet, but missing

Jisung used his adrenaline to smack him in the face before another bullet fired

When Jisung looked around again, he couldn’t find the fourth guy

But he could hear you screaming

“Y/N!”

He sprinted to your room and without thinking slammed open the door, unprepared

A bullet bit right across his shoulder, causing him to shout

He stumbled, beginning to shake at the sight of you

Jisung recognized the guy from somewhere

Then it hit him when the guy smirked

“Johnny Suh?” Jisung squeaked out

Johnny shrugged maliciously and turned back to you

You were on the floor, pushed up against the wall, looking sick and determined

The quiet police sirens were now much louder

Johnny, looking slightly rushed, pulled his knife on you

Jisung had dropped his frying pan but his other hand (uninjured) still held the gun he took earlier

He had no idea how to use it

But he couldn’t bear to just watch Johnny use his knife on you

You writhed in your place, whimpering

It looked like you had already been scratched once before

They weren’t deep cuts and they weren’t in vital places

But you were in pain

That’s what Johnny wanted

“Y/N, if you let me take you out of here without any more fighting back,” Johnny tried to say, but he was cut off

Jisung had thrown the gun - with his non-dominant hand - with a loud grunt

And it hit Johnny exactly on the back of his head

It hit the perfect spot to cause him to teeter and crash to the ground

Your eyes widened as you shakily held the cuts, glancing from Johnny to Jisung

“Jisung,” you cried, relieved

Jisung held in sobs as he ran toward you, collapsing next to you, unable to stay upright

“Y/N, the p-police are almost- almost here.”

You nodded slowly, pressing your lips together with tears spilling down your cheeks

“We’ll be okay.”

It felt like it would take forever before you two would leave the hospital, but it didn’t last long

The police had interviewed you both a little about the attack just for evidence

You heard from an officer that the Seo family was put behind bars but Changbin was still being inspected to see what would happen

When you and Jisung finally made it back to school your friends were freaking out

Well

They would be freaking out one second

But then they would suddenly say “Y/N and Jisung sitting in a tree-”

You didn’t appreciate it until Jisung finally got over himself and asked you out

So basically

You were dating Jisung

And then you realized you had to introduce him to Minho as your boyfriend

So one day Minho invited Jisung over and Jisung came inside and ran to you

“Y/N baby I missed you!!”

Big hug :)))

Minho’s jaw dropped and then he cleared his throat

“Thank goodness it’s someone we can trust to always take care of you.”

So big uwus

Anyway in the end Minho approved your relationship, Changbin got to come back to school after a few months, and through Changbin and Jisung your friend group got a whole lot bigger

The end :))

[ace-in-a-shopping-cart]

Dance With Me Under the Stars

@yeah-im-a-fae-deal-with-it, I hope you enjoy this! I had a lot of fun making it and I hope I did the wishes justice. Happy Holidays!! (Much of the imagery was based on the song Volcano by The Vamps.)

@sanderssidesgiftxchange

Word Count: 3993

It was mid semester and Virgil had arrived late to class for the first time in his three years of college. He hurried in quietly, taking his usual seat and pulling his books out. Almost shamefully, he grabbed his homework and walked between the desks to put it on the teacher’s.

He must have had the worst luck in the world as, just then, she turned around. “Ah, Mr. Storm. I was wondering when you’d show up.” Her tone was kind, no note of malice anywhere.

Virgil nodded. “I forgot to set my alarm.” His voice was quiet, barely reaching past the professor.

She nodded with a smile that seemed genuine. “Go back to your seat, please. Just as discussed yesterday, you’ll be debating Mr. Croft in a few minutes.”

Virgil trudged back to his seat, slipping past the others to sit in his usual corner. Feeling eyes on him, he looked up to find Logan Croft, a double major in zoology and astronomy who was taking this class for fun, staring at him with an unreadable expression. Virgil ignored him, turning back to his notebook and doodling in the margins as he waited for the professor to finish taking attendance.

He got through half the page before he was being called up to debate, as per usual. He and Croft were only put against each other as examples or if the lecture finished early. This was mainly due to them both being stubborn in their ways and being able to debate things for hours. Thus, they were both called into her office the day before to confirm the topic and style of the debate.

There they stood, on opposite sides of the same plain. It was a familiar position for the pair during their debates. While many would have seen a peaceful place within that plain, maybe even a spot to build something, the two students only saw a battlefield with the fight yet to be fought, yet to be won. Their words danced across the plain, leaving wounds that didn’t mean a thing outside of that moment. A struggle for dominance raged before, as it always did, they came to be equals that saw eye to eye.

Their debate lasted for the first half of class before they came to some sort of agreement on their topic and sat down to listen to the teacher give a lecture on what just happened. After class, Croft caught up with Virgil on his way out. “That was a good debate today, Storm.” He said. The battlefield was back to a plain, nothing special about it.

Virgil looked at him briefly before just shrugging and walking up the stairs. He didn’t bother to look back or wonder why the student who usually avoided him unless it was during these debates was talking to him. He just knew he needed to get to class.

A day later, he was running to dance class and missed a step. Crashing down the stairs, he landed at the bottom in a haze of pain. He tried to move but found that his vision was blurry and his ankle was broken. Someone nearby gave a shout and he heard footsteps on the stairs. A hand landed on his shoulder and he flinched, coming face to face with the person who lived across the hall from him.

“Virgil, what happened?” Emile said, eyes looking concerned.

The dancer didn’t even lie to the psychology major he knew only in passing. “I fell.” He shook his head, trying to get his vision to focus on something, anything. “My ankle hurts.”

Emile nodded and moved to look at it. Gently pressing, he inspected the joint. Virgil hissed when he pressed on it and Emile sat back. “Yep, that’s broken.” Sighing, he moved to help Virgil to his feet, throwing the dancer’s arm over his shoulders. “I’ve got time before my next class so I’ll take you to the nurse before I go tell you’re dance teacher you won’t be able to make it today.”

Virgil shook his head, hobbling along beside him. “No, I’ll tell her later.”

Emile frowned. “You know Professor Kim is not going to be happy about this development. She was counting on you being there through the whole semester.”

Virgil just laughed, shaking his head. “Since when do you talk with her?”

“Since I came to drop off your lunch that day and she was the only one there. We struck up a conversation about you.”

Virgil nodded. “Fair.”

Emile pushed the door open and sat Virgil in the nurse's office before leaving with a wave, tossing an, “I’ll be back in a bit,” over his shoulder. Virgil waited for the nurse to come and diagnose him, soon being rolled out on a gurney on his way to the hospital to get a cast on his broken ankle. He’d also been told that he had a concussion but that wasn’t the main concern.

A few days later, debate class was back in session and Virgil was there in a cast, crutches by his side. Croft came in and eyed the crutches before setting his bag by his usual chair. He didn’t sit down as Virgil thought he would, rather coming over to stand by Virgil’s seat. He nodded his chin at the cast. “What happened there?”

Virgil was taken aback by the care in his voice, a voice that had previously remained so neutral while talking to him that it was borderline monotone. He shrugged as he continued to grab his books out of his bag. “I fell.”

Croft raised his eyebrows, looking about as convinced as he would if Virgil had just told him the sky was magenta. “You fell? Why don’t I buy that, Storm?”

Virgil shook his head. “I don’t know why you wouldn’t believe the truth, Croft.”

He huffed, his eyes melting into the concern that was evident in his voice. Opening his mouth, he seemed to be about to say something but thought better of it, going to sit down instead just as the professor walked in. She paused by his desk. “Professor Kim told me about the ankle. You don’t have to debate for the rest of the semester if you don’t feel up to it.”

Virgil shook his head. “Standing won’t be a problem as long as I have the crutches.”

She nodded. “Still, I’d like to let you rest for a bit.”

Virgil shrugged. “I’m fully capable of standing and debating but I’ll follow your lead on this.” She gave a final nod and moved to stand at the front of the room to begin class.

Thus, six weeks went by. Virgil did essays on dance and movement instead of performing the dances. Professor Kim insisted on recording the lessons so he’l still be able to do them when he’s recovered, which he was immensely grateful for. Debate class went similarly in that he wasn’t called up as often to debate Croft anymore. Instead, he wrote most of his debates as argumentive papers.

That summer, Virgil stayed on campus. He wasn’t taking a summer course, he was simply trying to follow the videos Professor Kim left for him. He lived nearby anyways so it made sense to keep using the studio on campus. That’s how he ended up running into Croft again on the stairs. 

“Oh,” the other student said, bag in hand as he was clearly trying to put his books back in it, “I didn’t expect you to be here.”

Virgil smiled, holding up the gym bag that had replaced his book bag. “The studio is allowing me to catch up on my dance lessons over the summer.” He paused. He and Croft had never been too cordial with each other, merely remaining civil. However, toward the end of the semester they'd come to some sort of academic truce. Now, they were just normal strangers, just two students. So, Virgil took a chance. “What about you? Why are you still here?”

Croft finally shoved the last book into his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. “I’m having to retake a class due  to low grades.” He shook his head. “I just can’t grasp the subject.”

“What is it?”

Croft sighed. “Psychology.”

Virgil nodded and, on a whim, gave an offer. “I passed Psych with flying colors if you want me to tutor you?”

That plain, that had once been a battlefield before lying dormant, became a meadow in that one moment. No longer a place for duels or violence, but peace and healing. Their once shaky truce seemed to settle, becoming something more permanent, as Croft smiled. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

They walked side by side as they discussed times and tactics for studying. They concluded that their only overlapping free time was directly after Virgil was finished with dance practice as that was when Croft got out of his classes and clubs but before Virgil had to go to Professor Kim’s office for office hours.

So, the very next day saw Virgil walking out of the shower room, towel he’d been drying his hair with still in hand, to see Croft leaning against the wall in the hall. “I wasn’t expecting you for another fifteen minutes or so.” Virgil said as he approached.

Croft looked up from the book in his hand. He briefly glanced at the page number before snapping it shut and picking up his bag. “Apologies, I like to be early.”

Virgil just waved his hand as they fell in step beside each other. “It’s fine. Next time, you don’t have to wait in the hall if I’m not in the shower, you can just sit in the room. As long as you’re quiet, you’ll be fine.”

Croft nodded. “Noted, thank you.”

They made it to the library and sat down, both pulling out books. When Croft gave Virgil a puzzled look, he laughed a bit. “I’ve brought my notes and blank copies of homework to use as practice problems. First, I want to gauge just how bad off you are.” he set down the cumulative final review. “Fill this out to the best of your ability.” Croft set to work, a serious expression on his face. Virgil didn’t want to twiddle his thumbs while waiting so he pulled out his phone and opened it to a new note, beginning to plan out his evening.

Once that was done, he looked up to see Croft with his tongue sticking out slightly, hair in his eyes, and eyes focused on the page. Strangely, there was something beautiful about the concentrated look on his face. Maybe it was the way the sunlight dramatized it and cast his eyes into shadows, making Virgil want to stare until he could see where the iris ended and the pupil began; maybe it was the way his hair framed his face in a way that made Virgil want to pull out a sketchbook.

Feeling self conscious at that thought, he looked back down at his phone and ignored the other student until he heard a pencil connect with the table. “Alright, Storm, I’m done.”

Virgil nodded and slid the page over to himself, quickly checking it against the answer sheet he’d made up. He gave Croft a grade, circled it, and slid it back. A sharp intake of breath came back as Virgil pulled a clean piece of paper closer to himself and began to write down what needed to be worked on.

“Is it really that bad?” Croft’s voice came from Virgil’s side.

He paused in his writing to look up at his former academic rival. He shrugged. “It could be worse. You don’t seem to be too bad off right now and we’re gonna try to get you to where you need to be as soon as possible.”

Croft nodded and away they went. The next few weeks were spent in a new routine. Croft would wait in the hall if Virgil was in the shower but most times Virgil had lost track of time and gone over, resulting in Croft sitting in the corner reviewing definitions. A few times, one of his clubs wouldn’t meet and he’d get out earlier than normal. Those were the times that Croft would sit in and make sure Virgil wasn’t putting too much strain on his ankle and was properly hydrating. Those were the times they’d strike up a bit of witty banter that reminded them of their debates but on a personal level that the debate class was lacking.

One step at a time, they came closer on that meadow until they were standing side by side, leaning on the other. As they grew closer, the meadow rose as if two tectonic plates were pushing it toward the sky. Over the course of that one season, the meadow had become a mountain of a friendship. Their banter began to spread outside of just those rare moments, becoming a constant part of their meetings, tutor sessions, and walks. 

It wasn’t long before the summer semester ended and they had a few weeks of vacation before the next semester. As the days shortened and the leaves turned colors, Virgil almost expected Croft to go on his way. After all, the agreement was done. Virgil had finished learning all the moves he’d needed and Croft had passed his classes with the usual flying colors. 

Still, tutor sessions turned into chats over coffee, dancing changed to walks in the park, but their late night talks on the way back to their apartment building stayed the same. Virgil enjoyed that constant, knowing that no matter what else happened that day, he could walk back to the apartment building with Croft. It was one such walk that it struck him. In all their time together, he’d gotten closer to Croft and no longer saw him as the academic rival they’d been at the start of the year. Instead, he saw him as a friend, or even more than that.

Just when Virgil was satisfied and comfortable with the balance they’d created together, fate tossed a spark gently onto the mountain. In that instance, the mountain turned into a volcano. In that one instant of time, Virgil had fallen for Logan Croft and he knew with absolute certainty that he wouldn’t have it any other way. He had no idea how he’d tell him, or even if he would tell him. After all, volcanoes can stay dormant for years before going extinct or erupting. Virgil could just wait and hope it was the former or deal with the latter.

The next few weeks were much the same as that with the exception that Virgil was noticing every little thing that Logan did. He noticed the way he leaned toward Virgil as they talked, the way his focus was entirely on the dancer during conversations. Logan was always walking on Virgil’s left side, the ankle he’d broken mid spring semester that acted up occasionally but especially on stairs. He noticed Logan holding doors for him or smiling at him for no particular reason.

All of this gave Virgil a spark of hope in his chest that had him wondering if Logan liked him back. That spark was almost crushed one afternoon. They had just gotten their coffee and started their usual round about the park when Logan spoke. “I might not be able to do the full rotation today, Storm. I’ve got a date with Roman later.”

Virgil felt like his chest had just been stomped on. “. . . A date?” He didn’t know how he kept his voice steady when his heart was breaking, getting closer and closer to shattering the more he thought about those two words.

Logan tilted his head to the sides. “Maybe ‘date’ is the wrong word for it. It’s more like a meet-up.”

Virgil nodded, pretending he hadn’t been holding his breath through that whole exchange. “Okay, when do you have to leave?”

“About half an hour.” He turned and smiled. “Plenty of time.”

Virgil smiled and walked ahead, turning to face Logan as he walked backwards. Logan shook his head. “That’s not the safest way to travel, you know.”

Virgil just shrugged. “There’s worse ways to travel.” He also got to see the rare grin that spread across the zoology major’s face, not that he would tell said student that.

Their walk in the park ended with them standing at the entrance. “I’ll see you later, Storm.” Logan said by way of parting.

“Wait! Later as in tomorrow or later as in-”

He laughed, something that was even more rare than his grin but something Virgil longed to hear more often. “Later today.” Virgil nodded, walking back to his apartment alone.

On a whim, he grabbed his gym bag, stuffing his dance shoes in it, and went to the studio. He scrolled through his playlist as he entered before just hitting shuffle and letting the music play as he got ready. He waited for the next song and took a second to identify it before throwing his hoodie off and moving to the center of the room. 

He went with the music, letting his body flow in whatever way it wanted. Incorporating all the moves he’d learned over the past few months into a cohesive whole that was both as graceful as saplings in the wind but as sharp as the flapping of cloth. He danced to forget his troubles and anxieties, letting them bleed into the movements. A faster song came on and he changed his movements to match, becoming sharper as he let himself get lost in the music, lost to the beat of his feet against the floor, the feeling of the air on his sweat, the feeling of dancing and being free and feeling on top of the world.

When the playlist ended and his muscles were screaming for him to rest, he collapsed onto the floor, panting for breath. When he felt like he could stand, he moved to check his phone clock and found that he’d spent the whole afternoon dancing. Quickly, he showered and made his way back to his apartment. He was still overheated after dancing for a few hours straight so he just had his hoodie slung over his arm, his gym bag over his other shoulder.

He got back to his apartment to see Logan with a fist raised to knock. Smiling, he moved around him and unlocked it. “Come on in.” He dropped his keys in the little bowl on the entrance way table. “I’ve just gotta put this stuff away but it won’t be long.”

Logan smiled, standing comfortably in the entryway. “Take your time, Storm, I’m not going anywhere.” 

For a brief moment, Virgil wondered what his first name would sound like in Logan’s voice. He didn’t dwell on it, instead he nodded, ducking into his bedroom to store his bag where it belonged. Taking a second to put on some extra deodorant and move his hair around so it looked semi-styled instead of the mess it was before, he took a deep breath. The scare of losing him that afternoon had made Virgil realize that he needed to act fast before he lost Logan for real.

So, he kept the hoodie across his arm as he went back out and picked up the keys again. “Ready to go?”

Logan nodded. “Quite.”

Virgil held the door open for him, locking it on his way out. They started down the path in relative silence, the only noise being the crunching of gravel beneath their feet and the sounds of life coming from nearby buildings. Virgil was hesitant to break the silence despite the feelings and words bubbling below his surface. Logan also seemed comfortable in the lack of conversation. They made it to a bench that was out of the way and sat on it to stargaze for a bit.

Virgil tilted his head back, resting it on the back of the bench. His eyes scanned the sky, resting on different stars and connecting them into constellations. After another while of silence, Logan shivered beside Virgil and the dancer turned his head, looking at the astronomy major. “Are you cold?” His voice broke the silence like a sheet of ice falling from a slope.

Logan shrugged. “A bit. I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

Virgil hummed and threw his hoodie over the other. “No use in you getting cold when this is right here.”

Logan didn’t react beyond tilting his head down just the slightest bit. He hummed, taking a breath before speaking. “Apologies again for having to end our afternoon walk early.”

Virgil waved his hand. “It’s fine. In fact, it actually gave me time to think.”

Logan looked over at him, eyes inquisitive behind his square black frames. “What about?”

Virgil took a deep steadying breath of the night air before he turned to face Logan just a bit more on the bench. “About you, actually. I realized something when you said you had a date with Roman.”

Logan nodded, his gaze sharpening as his attention seemed to hone in on Virgil. “Okay.”

Virgil fiddled with the rips in his jeans, suddenly anxious. “I realized that if I didn’t act now, someone else might be walking by your side in the park, laughing with a coffee in hand. Someone else might have the door you knock on late at night when you can’t sleep, be the person you debate with over the phone into the early hours of the morning.” He took another deep breath, not looking up at the wonderful human sitting in front of him, the one who deserved the world. “I realized that I love you and can’t stand the thought of another person getting to hold your hand and kiss you goodnight.” He turned his head so he was staring out into the night rather than at Logan. “There, I said it. I love you. I love you so much my chest aches.”

Logan hummed in a way that Virgil couldn’t interpret before there was the rustling of fabric and Logan was kneeling before Virgil, one hand hovering near the dancer’s cheek. “I’m glad you told me as it makes what I’m going to say much easier.” Virgil’s eyes widened slightly, fearing the next thing to come past Logan's lips.

“I love you too. Honestly, I think I’ve loved you since the start of the fall semester. The way you helped me study, putting things into ways I can understand and bending over backwards to do so. The care you take with everything you do, the grace in your every move, the fire and passion you put into your dancing, I love all of you.”

Virgil couldn’t believe what he was hearing but his nerves settled when Logan’s soft expression didn't change, didn’t turn to a sneer, he didn’t laugh or mock Virgil. Elated, he leaned forward but paused before he could connect their lips. Logan smiled at the quiet ask for consent and leaned in with him, closing the distance and bringing him into a kiss. His hovering hand settled on Virgil’s cheek as Virgil’s hand came up to cradle the back of Logan’s neck, neither wanting to let go.

When they pulled apart, they were both smiling. Logan pulled the hoodie tighter around his shoulders before standing, offering a hand to Virgil to stand as well. An idea came to him and Virgil put his hand in his pocket, pulling his phone out to play a few ballads. “Dance with me under the stars?”

Logan grinned, sliding his hands to be around Virgil’s neck. “I’d love nothing more.”

So, the two did just that, dancing the hour away under the midnight stars. In the arms of the one they loved, the same person who had been their greatest enemy at the start of the year, neither could ask for a better way to spend their time.