#length: 5-6k

[star-my]

Vixen ~ Chapter One

➼ Pairing: Park Jimin x OFC (Shin Ara)

➼ Length: 5.7k

➼ Rating: pg-15

➼ Content: Arranged Marriage AU, CEO AU, Mafia AU | TW: Medical Issues (resolved), Mentions/Discussion of Human Trafficking (not by BTS or SKZ members) | JK is Ara's BFF and bodyguard and Best Boy; Bangtan and Stray Kids are mafia; think Kitty Gang Jimin; flirting and fluff; multiple ARMY and STAY easter eggs sprinkled throughout (I welcome comments detailing which ones you caught); author does her best to beat the Wattpad allegations and fails miserably, which is funny because she went straight to ao3 and skipped the orange app phase

➼ Many thanks to @kookthief @moonleeai & @yoongiobsessed for betaing this chapter<3

➼ Taglist (Open): @bangtan-famiglia-net @kookthief @otome-wandering

➼ Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and in no way represents any member of BTS, SKZ, or any other K-pop group mentioned in any way beyond the face and name claims the author made for this work.

➼ Chapter Two (14/10/23) ➼ Chapter Three (15/10/23) ➼ Masterlist ➼Ao3

The door to the opulent room swung open soundlessly, allowing the tall, muscular man to enter unnoticed. He cleared his throat, gaining the attention of the young woman seated at the vanity.

“Your father has requested your presence ASAP. When will you be ready?”

The woman glanced up from her careful application of sparkly gold eyeliner.

“Give me five minutes, Kookie! Is he home?” She moved towards the walk-in closet across the spacious bedroom.

“He’s at the office. I’ll bring the car around, then.” The woman’s bodyguard –but first and foremost her friend– left, and she began the process of accessorizing.

Fifteen minutes later, the car pulled up to the tall office building in downtown Seoul, the headquarters of ShinCorp.

As the heiress of ShinCorp, Shin Ara was immediately escorted to the CEO’s office and served tea by the secretary.

“Appa?”

Secretary Kim set the tray on the coffee table, leaving father and daughter to their meeting.

Ara glided gracefully over  to warmly hug her father. “Jungkook told me you wanted to speak with me about an urgent matter. Is something wrong?”

Shin Jungok sighed, lowering himself onto the sofa across from his only child. “No, nothing is wrong. What has my beautiful daughter been accomplishing lately?”

Ara crossed her legs, smoothing her ruffled swiss-dot skirt over her knees. “I’ve been looking at property for my gallery. Other than that, I’ve been rather quiet. You’ve been busy with work, so I haven’t wanted to disturb you, Appa.”

Jungok smiled. “You are such a respectful child, Ara. Yes, I’ve been occupied with work. I just finished a meeting with the new CEO of Park Group.”

“Oh, their former CEO died recently, didn’t he? His son took over, I suppose? Awfully young to be CEO,” she mused.

“Yes, he’s only twenty seven, but he has a good head for business. We’ve never partnered with the Park Group before, though a contract was once drawn up between us. I guess he’s trying to show the board he’s capable despite his youth.” 

“Maybe he’s capable because of his youth,” Ara arched her brow at her father.

Jungok took a long sip of his tea. “Ara, are you seeing anyone?”

She blinked at the non sequitur. “Uh…no? I’ve been busy planning my gallery. I haven’t had time to date.”

“Park Jimin asked for your hand in marriage,” Jungok stated simply.

Ara stared. “What?”

“Will you at least think about it? I’m sure he’ll take good care of you and be a good husband to you, and if we make this partnership, he’ll be more solidly accepted as a businessman. You know I’m getting older, and ShinCorp will stay in our family when I retire. I am proud of you for following your own path, and a little pleased that you do not want to take over ShinCorp, but I want to make sure you are taken care of.”

“May I see the contract?”

Jungok handed her the portfolio, and she read through it carefully. “Will ShinCorp go to Mr. Park or to our children?”

“Mr. Park will have a share and your children will receive the rest. Until they come of age, you and he will have joint control over the company,” Jungok explained. “I know you don’t want to be CEO, but we must take caution in this day and age. I know you will make sure ShinCorp is run according to our mission statement.”

Ara hummed an acknowledgment and flipped over a page.

“Do you have Mr. Park’s number?”

Her father looked up in surprise. “Are you sure? I’m not pressuring you, Ara!”

“I know, Appa. I accept his proposal.”

“Well, I believe he left his card…” Jungok moved to his desk and shuffled through some papers. “...here!” He handed it to Ara.

“Er…the marriage is best announced and signed on sooner rather than later.”

Ara barely glanced up from creating a new contact in her phone.

“I’m aware, Appa,” she said briskly. “Will next Saturday work? I saw the perfect dress when I was out shopping with Unnie last week. I’ve been planning my wedding since I was a little girl, Appa.”

It was Jungok’s turn to stare at her. “In just over a week?”

She smirked. “Money is king, is it not? I’ll get everything done in time.” She patted his shoulder on her way to the door. “Leave it to me.”

~~~

Twenty minutes later, Ara slipped into her car. She clipped the seatbelt in, and Jungkook took off. 

“You’re looking at the future Mrs. Park Jimin!” she announced cheerfully.

“What?!” Jungkook swerved, then corrected the car.

“I’m marrying Park Jimin next Saturday if that works for him.” Her phone pinged. “Speak of the devil. ‘Yes, Saturday is perfect. Thank you for accepting my proposal. I am sorry it is so short notice and businesslike,’” Ara read aloud. “He sounds decent. Good.”

“He’d better be more than decent,” muttered Jungkook darkly, turning a corner smoothly.

Ara cooed. “Aww, are you worried about me? You’re the one who trained me for my black belt in taekwondo.”

“It’s literally my job, Ara!”

“I know, but still…Anyways, can you drop me off at the Whalien Cafe so I can meet all the girls at once?”

“Sure. Should I come in?”

“If you want. Have you ever tried their special 52 Hertz menu item? It’s sooo good.”

“No, I haven’t. I’ll come to crowd control your friends and try it while I’m there.”

“Wise choice.”

Ara and Jungkook walked into Whalien Cafe and ordered, then joined the five girls at two squished-together tables. Ara’s friends and unnie updated her on their lives since she had seen them last, then Ara dropped her bomb.

“Will you be my bridesmaids next Saturday?”

There was a beat of silence, then complete chaos erupted.Once they calmed down, she explained the situation. They immediately agreed to be her bridesmaids and began planning.

Ara explained her vision, then sat back as the ideas ran wild. By the end of the afternoon, she had a list of her favourite suggestions and a promise from each of her friends to join her the next day for dress shopping.

The friend group had met in college, except for Ara’s unnie, Kim Sihyeon. Sihyeon was the cousin of Jungok’s PA, Seokjin, who Ara viewed as an older brother.

Ara’s mother died in a car accident when Ara was eleven and Jungok immediately hired Ara a bodyguard-chauffeur. Jungok had Jungkook befriend Ara and trained him to become her new bodyguard-chauffeur when he was old enough. The other four members of the friend group were Jennie, Rose, Jisoo, and Lisa. They’d all been dorm mates in college and were quite close.

~~~

After a light supper, Ara spent the evening reserving things and purchasing necessary items for her upcoming nuptials.

Her phone dinged with an alert. Curious, she turned from her laptop and tapped on the message.

PJ: You’re certainly very organized! I was honestly expecting a month at best. I have people working on a story of how we met earlier. Here’s a link to the rough draft. Make whatever changes you want.

Inquisitive, Ara tapped on the link to the document, a professional publicist’s work, of course. It was well-written, if a little sensational, but she frowned at the extra drama sprinkled in, such as their coincidental meeting in Italy in the spring and their secret romance (none of which she recalled).

SA: Why do we need an article? Do you need this for appearances? *I* don’t mind being ‘just a business marriage’. It is a good story, though:)

PJ: I thought you would want it to seem as normal as possible. You are quite intriguing, Miss Shin.

SA: Good;) Let’s just release a formal announcement stating we’ve decided to get married. The media really doesn’t need anything else.

SA: I have the place and time booked for the reception and ceremony. Is there anything you’d like me to add, like family traditions?

PJ: Whatever you like. I will be giving you my halmeoni’s ring, if that’s alright with you.

SA: Of course! One final question…pink?

PJ: It’s a decent colour?

SA: 👍

A light knock echoed from the heavy wooden door, then a man popped his head into Jimin’s private office.

“Hey, Boss, there’s a box from your fiancée.”

“Bring it in,” the man behind the desk ordered. 

He carefully opened the box and lifted out a pastel-pink silk tie. The paper inside read, “I hope this hue of pink is a decent enough colour to wear to our wedding. If this is satisfactory, text me and I’ll send over the rest for your groomsmen. Black suits, please. ~SA”

Jimin smiled a little at the slightly wonky smiley face Ara had drawn beside her name and carefully replaced the tie.

PJ: It’s perfect. Thank you.

A woman all in black walked purposefully into the old warehouse. Several men and a few women were working busily in the large space, barely looking up at the click of her heels.

The door to the private rooms built into the warehouse swung open with the slight squeak of a hinge needing oil.

Gold eyes scanned over its occupants.

“Where’s Hyunjin?”

“He’s restocking the medical room since he got his new supplies,” answered a man with vermilion hair, stretching from his slump over a computer.

“Thanks, Chan.”

A tall man with long black hair popped out of a side room. “You called, Boss?”

The woman nodded shortly, clapping her hands for attention. “You all know that since Park Wonshik died, Bangtan’s been targeted. Well, the head of Bangtan had a brilliant idea to partner with the Grays, business-level and gang-level, through marriage.

“The head of Gray’s daughter is marrying Park Jimin on Saturday. The other mafia will find out tomorrow. With Bangtan and Gray united, the mafia  looking to take over Bangtan may set their sights on smaller game, so we need to be prepared for any backlash against us.

“Minho, you figure out if the others are planning to attack anyone. Hyunjin, find out how much Bangtan has on Stray Kids. Everyone else, get ready for an attack, worst-case scenario.”

“Yes, ma’am!” saluted the eight men in unison. They turned to their tasks, leaving Chan to approach the woman.

“Vix, you sure about this?”

Vixen’s blood-red lips curved in a smile. “Don’t worry, Channie. I have everything under control and I have plans for every variable, just like oppa taught me.”

Chan sighed. “Alright, then. I trust you, Vix.”

“Boss, here’s the file on Shin Ara you wanted.”

“Thanks, Hoseok.”Jimin took the file and flipped through it.

Good grades, though they slipped the year her mother Aeri died; friendly but only had a handful of close friends- four girls she met in college, four of her father’s employees, and one ex-boyfriend, Lee Minho, whom she was still friendly with. Graduated high school and college with honours, has an arts degree in photography, and had recently purchased a building on the edge of downtown Seoul for a gallery.

Who are you, Shin Ara? Why did you so readily agree to marry a stranger?

Jimin mulled over the possibilities, staring at her picture on the screen before him.

Another knock on the door roused him. “Sir, it’s time for your suit fitting.”

~~~

Jimin looked eagerly at the doors, waiting for the first glance of his wife face-to-face.

The audience stood as Ara strutted down the catwalk with a grace only a girl who had been bred in high society could achieve.

She took his hand, her fingers gripping his tightly. Her hand fit perfectly in his. A whiff of her floral perfume wafted through the air. Her very presence seemed familiar, though Jimin figured that could be from the hundreds of texts they had exchanged in the past eleven days.

Kim Seokjin was officiating at Ara’s request; it seemed to Jimin that he spoke slowly on purpose, taunting him with the veiled face of his bride.

Finally they reached the vows, and Ara’s grip on his hand tightened momentarily.

Jimin slipped his grandmother’s ring onto her finger, admiring the sparkle that seemed right. The three red garnets bookmarked by tiny diamonds suited her.

Ara slid the gold band on his finger, a little shock running up his arm from where she touched him.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

“...You may kiss the bride,” announced Seokjin.

Jimin carefully lifted the veil over Ara’s reddish-brown hair, careful not to mess up her hairdo, and met her eyes with a smile he hoped wasn’t too eager.

Her eyes locked on his, a hint of a smile in their mahogany depths. He smiled back, placing his hand on her cheek, his thumb cupping her jaw. The steady beat of her heart pounded under his thumb as he dipped her slightly, the crowd cheering in celebration.

With a wink at her surprised glance, he swept his thumb over her lips, pressing his own to his thumb.

Seokjin gave him a minuscule nod that he caught out of the corner of his eye. No one else appeared to have caught the faux-kiss, thankfully.

Jimin really didn’t want to have to explain to his teasing brothers that the big, bad mafia boss didn’t want to scare his new bride away.

Sihyeon straightened the train of Ara’s Alexander Wang dress and handed her the bouquet of pink ranunculus. Jimin extended his arm, Ara looped hers through his, and they swept down the aisle.

Jungok caught his eye on the way by, “Don’t forget your promise,” he mouthed.

The promise, in Jimin’s copy of the contract– Jungok’s only stipulation.

Do not let Ara find out that you or I are in the mafia.

Ara was a total Daddy’s girl, only idolizing him. He didn’t want to break her heart, tell her that her appa wasn’t all she’d thought he was.

Jungok had been secretly overjoyed when she had come to him, saying she wanted to study art, not business to prepare for inheriting ShinCorp. It was much easier to hide the fact that he was the don of the Gray mafia, one of the biggest in Seoul.

Jungok could leave ShinCorp to his Head of Strategy, Kim Namjoon, who would run the Grays as well, and Ara would be none the wiser.

Jungok’s one wish was to never crush his little girl’s world of gold and pink and glitter and peace.

Yes, he had insisted she learn a martial art and have a bodyguard, but many CEOs’ families had more protection. Aeri’s accident may have truly been an accident, but after he failed to protect his wife, he vowed to make sure Ara would always be protected.

After the luxurious reception, the Parks drove to Jimin’s home and base of operations, codenamed Cypher. Jimin drove them himself- Ara had brought Jungkook with her but given him the night off, and he was hitting it off with his new colleagues and Jimin’s friends/groomsmen, Kim Taehyung, Jung Hoseok, Min Yoongi, Choi Soobin, and Choi Beomgyu.

Jimin pulled the bulletproof SUV up to the steps and sighed in relief. None of the other mafia or gangs had attempted anything, and Bangtan was now officially allied with Gray; the gangs pressuring and testing him since his father’s death should relax now.

He leaned his head against the headrest and looked over at Ara. Oh, right.

“So…it didn’t seem quite right discussing it over text, but where should I put your things? I have a suite prepared for you, or you can have the master bedroom, whichever you’d like…”

Ara smiled a little at his awkwardness, masking her own. They hadn’t exactly had the time to discuss the finer points of married life, beyond the ‘getting married’ point.

“I think the suite would be best for now, although I am looking forward to getting to know you better, and I hope we can make this relationship work.”

“I do, too.” Jimin pulled out his phone to text the housekeeper to move the rest of Ara’s things to the prepared suite . “You looked beautiful, I meant to say that earlier.”

“Thank you. Er- did you dye your hair to match the colour scheme? I wasn’t expecting that level of cooperation.”

Jimin chuckled, getting out of the SUV and stretching to relieve the lingering awkwardness. “No, that was a coincidence. I’m glad it didn’t clash with the colour scheme, though. When you asked about suits and colours all I could think of at first was, ‘Oh no, what if she wants one of those ultra-modern black-and-white weddings’ or something.”

Ara’s light laughter floated through the crisp night. “Don’t worry, I like colour. Photographer, y’know?”

“I was really impressed by how quickly you got everything prepared.” He paused, debating on broaching the subject now or later. Curiosity won, and he plowed ahead. “Can I ask why you agreed to marry me so quickly?”

Ara shrugged, bending over to pull off her sparkly pink Louboutins. “You needed a partnership with my father’s group. Appa would have a beneficial business agreement with your company. I would like to be a wife, and in the future, a mother. I’ve never had a long-term boyfriend or anything…all the chaebol heirs are too old, too young, pricks, immature, or just not my type. I confess I did a little stalking of you, and Appa approved of you. Even if this was a business marriage, he would never suggest a man who wouldn’t treat me well. And you saved me the time and stress of introducing my boyfriend to my family and waiting to see if the verdict would fall in your favour or not,” she shrugged again. 

Jimin nodded, fascinated by the peek into Ara’s brain. “I hope that, at the very least, we’ll get along as friends. Would you like to go on a date tomorrow?”

“Sure, I’m free. What time?”

~~~

Ara settled into her very comfy bed and pulled out her phone.

SA: 2:00 p.m. tomorrow

KS: Done so soon?

SA: Shut up. 2:00, be there or don’t.

KS: Got it. I’ll be there.🙄

At 1:55 p.m., Ara descended the stairs of her new house, ready for her date. Her peach tunic dress hugged her curves and fell to her knees, complemented by her chunky brown leather heels, gold jewelry, and an oversized burgundy purse.

Jimin had just pulled the car up, and his jaw loosened a little. “You look stunning!”

Ara blushed, pushing a loose curl behind her ear. “Thanks, you look pretty nice yourself.”

Jimin wore his loose white suit well, his plum shirt complementing his peachy-pink hair.

The car ride to downtown Seoul was filled with quiet chatter as the newlyweds got to know each other better.

Jimin pulled up to an art museum and got out, heading quickly to Ara’s side to open the door for her. She took his arm, and he let her tell him all about the art and curation as they toured the museum.

“Abeoji first took me to a museum when I was six, I think? I really liked it and begged Eomma to take me back. I just kept making my parents take me to museums until I’d seen them all, and then repeated it. I tried drawing and painting, but I wasn’t very good at them and didn’t want to put in the hours of practice to attempt to be good.”

They strolled along to the photography section, having gone through the traditional paintings and sketches.“Photography caught my attention when I was ten or eleven…Jungkook had taken up photography as his hobby, and he let me try sometimes. I really loved those times taking pictures and decided that’s what I wanted to do as a job, not run ShinCorp. Appa was surprisingly accepting of my decision, but he’s always spoiled me a bit,” Ara laughed.

“Jungkook, as in, your bodyguard?” Jimin asked curiously. “He couldn’t have been much use when you were ten…he’s only a bit older than you, right?”

“Oh, Kook wasn’t my bodyguard till he was eighteen. We grew up as childhood friends since my eomma’s accident. He’s from Busan, but he was kidnapped and trafficked around the time of my mom’s accident. The police rescued him and some other children when they broke up the ring of gangsters that had been trafficking kids,” explained Ara, pausing in front of a photo of a field of wildflowers.

“Jungkook was an orphan, so one of the policemen who’d rescued them fostered him. He was Appa’s friend, and they thought it would be good for both of us to have a companion.”

Ara turned to see what Jimin thought of this revelation. He was frowning at the floor, one hand in his pocket. Running his other hand through his hair, he exhaled. “That must have been tough.”

Ara nodded. “He doesn’t speak about it much–sensitive, you know? Oh, and you don’t need to worry about…anything between us,” she added hesitantly. “We did have a crush on each other in high school, but we realized we’re better off as friends. There’s no competition.”

He raised his head to smirk at her, pushing his hair back one final time. “So, there’s a chance of winning your heart?”

She smiled back, lifting her lashes flirtatiously. “I’d say there’s a good chance.”

“Shall we go for dinner, then?”

“Sure, I could eat. Could we try this new French restaurant nearby?”

“Whatever you want, milady. What’s its name?”

“L’Domino. Main floor of the Star Lost hotel,” Ara pointed down the street to a tall building several blocks away, visible from the museum parking lot.

“Ah…I’ve heard of that place. Let’s go, then!”

The maitre’d heard their names and immediately showed them to a table. Dim lighting, but not so dim you couldn’t see what you were eating, opulent fabrics and the quiet instrumental soundtrack gave the dining room an atmosphere oozing exclusivity. Jimin pulled out Ara’s chair for her, then sat opposite her.

A black-suited waiter approached, his chubby cheeks lifted in a smile. “Good evening! My name is Jisung; I’ll be your server tonight. Can I start you off with a beverage?”

At D9, Vixen’s HQ, Chan picked up the phone, halting its first ring. “Chan.”

“Christmas, it’s me. Have Park Jimin’s hacker find Jeon Jungkook’s file of his kidnapping. Shin Ara told him about it; he’ll be suspicious.”

“Got it. Did Seungmin make the drop?”

“The goods are in position. I’ll contact you later for news on our plans, I just wanted to give you a head start on the file. Vixen over and out.”

“Thank you for the lovely date, Princess. I enjoyed getting to know you. Perhaps we could make this a regular thing?”

Jimin opened the front door, and Ara stepped into the low-lit foyer. “Thank you. I had a lot of fun, and ditto,” she returned. “Making this regular sounds lovely.”

Jimin inhaled and pushed further. “Would you like to have breakfast together in the mornings if I’m not at the office early?”

“I’d love to. What time do you normally eat?”

“Quarter to eight. Does that work for you?”

“Sounds perfect. See you tomorrow, then?”

“See you then. Sleep well,” he called after her, already halfway up the stairs.

“You as well. Goodnight, Jimin.” Ara entered her suite, all done in pastels with gold accents. It was either a strange coincidence or someone had been talking (she bet it was her appa), but it was very similar to her room at home.

She headed to the ensuite to begin her nighttime routine, replaying the whole date with Jimin.

She had expected maybe dinner or an outing, but not the entire afternoon and evening. It was lovely, but she wondered if Jimin would face any backlash over spending so much time off work. It was crucial he maintained a flawless profile in the first months of being appointed CEO, Ara was enough of a businessman’s daughter  to know that. Their marriage was, in part, to help stabilize his takeover, and she didn’t want to be a hindrance.

He was a perfect gentleman and quite attentive. She’d miss his company, but she’d make sure their next date was a little shorter. By their first anniversary, he should be able to spend more time with her again.

It’s not like she was expecting love and him to wait on her hand and foot, even if she did hope they’d grow to genuinely care about each other. Time flew by, anyway– she’d survive a few months without his constant presence. Resolved to broach the subject at breakfast the next morning, she crawled into her comfy bed and replayed his every action again.

He was too perfect. She’d find his flaw sooner or later.

Jimin tapped his fingers rhythmically on his desk and sighed. Finally, he pushed a button and asked for Jungkook to be fetched.

Minutes later, Ara’s bodyguard stood at attention in front of him.

“You’ve known Ara since you were eleven?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You were adopted by Jeon Jeonghwa, an officer in Seoul’s police department, Organized Crime division?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ara told me you were kidnapped from Busan and brought here by traffickers, till you were rescued by your adoptive father.”

Jungkook nodded.

“You became her bodyguard at eighteen…you’ve trained in martial arts for twelve years?”

“Yes, sir. Mr. Shin insisted Ara and I take self-defense lessons, and I wanted more.”

“You know who Shin Jungok is? Who I am?” Jimin leaned back in his chair, studying Jungkook.

“Yes, sir. Head of the Gray Gang and the Bangtan Family.”

“Does Ara suspect who we are?” Jimin narrowed his eyes. The million-dollar question…or maybe, billion-dollar, considering the revenue estimated to be brought in by this alliance.

“No, sir. Mr. Shin wants her to know nothing about your other business. He’s made sure she knows nothing.”

“Tell me if she ever mentions anything about it to you, please. Thank you for your time.”

“Yes, sir. Also…there was never really anything between us. We’re like siblings, sir.”

Jungkook left, and Jimin resumed his finger tapping, staring at the spot where the man had stood.

Time went by, and the newlyweds fell into a routine. They would have breakfast together four times a week when Jimin wasn’t ‘at the office early’. When he came home, they would have dinner, either trying out a new restaurant or one of Ara’s home-cooked meals. 

Cooking was her hobby, and she enjoyed experimenting with various cuisines and fusions.

Mrs. Lee, the housekeeper, let her have free reign of the kitchen, a feat not easily achieved.

The long-date problem was solved by the compromise of several shorter dates. Once a week, Jimin would take Ara on a coffee or lunch date, the short distance between Ara’s gallery and Park Group’s buildings coming in handy so they could stretch out their precious minutes together. 

Ara had almost finished setting up her gallery and excitedly shared her plans for the opening and all the organizing she had to do. Jimin was bemused by her enjoyment of organizing things and creating organizational systems, imagining if she knew about his secondary business and how she’d whip everyone into shape. He had no doubt that she would be a force to be reckoned with if someone got into her path. Grinning at the mental image of Ara siccing Jungkook and maybe his own men on someone standing in her way, he realized he was smiling like a loon and quickly smoothed out his expression.

Just in time.

His secretary knocked on the door and poked his head in. “Sir, the dress was delivered. However, Mrs Shin has not opened it yet.”

With a fond smile, he rolled his eyes. She was probably busy focusing on the networking for the ball tonight.

For all her love of order, she could be so scatterbrained and distracted sometimes. Her suite was a disaster when she was getting ready to go out, and she was always leaving something behind somewhere. Maybe it should have annoyed him, but it only endeared her to him more. She wasn’t completely perfect, something that reassured him to no end. Perfect people were too good to be true, something that made him suspicious of Ara and Jungkook in the beginning.

At first, he’d only spent so much time with Ara because he wanted to know what she was hiding behind that girly-girl, society and gilded mask, but as they became closer, he realized she truly was that good-hearted; not shallow at all, but she didn’t shy away from being the cliche chaebol princess.

Her openness drew him to her like a moth to a flame. He had so many secrets. What was it like to just be who you are, unapologetically? Not worry about what people thought of you?

Jungkook was similar to Ara, probably because they’d been practically attached by the hip for over a decade. He’d quickly proven himself to Jimin’s closest circle, and as Mrs Shin’s guy, he was quickly welcomed to the inner ranks. He gave Jimin good advice about how to deal with Ara, which Jimin truly appreciated, and he was always down to join Jimin in a workout or spar.

Even Hoseok, Jimin’s Head of Security, approved of Jungkook, a difficult achievement.

By the second month of the contract marriage, Ara and Jungkook were permanent fixtures in the Bangtan Family’s life, and it seemed unthinkable that anything should happen to them. They were Parks now, and it seemed like they always had been.

Jimin knocked on Ara’s door, fiddling with his garnet cufflinks while he waited. The thick carpeting muffled her footsteps, and the door swung open unexpectedly.

His jaw dropped.

The form-fitting red dress had a sparkling corset bodice, laced up tightly to emphasize his wife’s curves, and a hint of thigh winked at him from the slit in the gauzy skirt.

Diamonds glinted from her ears, between fluffy curls he wanted to wrap around his fingers.

Shin Ara looked every inch the mafia queen she was, even if she didn’t know it. 

Jimin’s gaze slowly slid down to her strappy gold heels, then back up, making Ara blush.

“You look wonderful,” he said, extending his hand.

“Thank you.”

~~~

Jimin proudly escorted his wife into the high society, clandestine mafia ball.

Jungok spotted them arriving and came over to greet them.

Every two weeks, the entire group of Gray and Bangtan’s inner circles came together for dinner. Jungok had been at their mansion two days ago, yet he acted as if it had been two months.

“Hello, my beautiful daughter; Jimin. You look so much like your mother,” Jungok stared wistfully at Ara. “Speaking of, when will I get my own grandchildren?”

Blushing furiously, Ara thwacked her father’s arm. “Appa!”

“What? I’m an old man, I want to see my grandchildren before I die.”

Ara scoffed. “You’re so dramatic, Appa; you’re not that old. Anyways, how’s your new secretary doing? Has he learned anything yet?” she grinned, recalling her father’s exasperated rant on the secretary’s new structuring and organization tactics earlier that week.

“Yes, Seungmin just needed some time to learn the ropes; he’s quite bright. When will you have your opening night?” Jungok switched the topic.

“Next month, the twelfth. I’m so excited!”

Jimin chimed in with a chuckle, “It’s all she’s been focused on for a while now.”

Ara glared playfully at him and swept off for some punch. 

Rejoining the men, she saw her father grip Jimin’s wrist tightly and speak lowly into his ear.

“Appa? Gwaenchana?”

“Just a little thirsty,” Jungok said thickly. Ara quickly passed him her punch and watched in horror as it spilled all over the front of her dress, the cup crashing to the floor moments before Jungok.

“Appa!” Ara stared at the sweat gathering on his forehead, at the light, fast breaths he was taking as he weakly tugged at his tie to loosen it. 

"Call an ambulance!" She demanded of no one in particular, crouching beside him in worry.

Jimin dialed the emergency line quickly and waited for the ambulance to come. Jungkook rushed over, checking Jungok’s pulse and loosening his collar and cuffs, rolling him onto his side.

The EMTs arrived and transported Jungok to the hospital, sirens blaring as they sped through the streets.

Ara nervously twisted her fingers in her lap, her gaze fixed on the flashing lights directly ahead of them as Jimin followed the vehicle carrying her father.

Finger twisting was joined by impatient pacing in front of the row of chairs as she awaited any news.

After what seemed like hours of pacing under the glaring white lights, the doctor who’d taken her father approached.

“Mr. Shin is stable but unconscious right now. He had a heart attack. Do you know if he had any of these symptoms lately?” the doctor rattled off a list of concerning things Ara wished she knew about.

She shook her head helplessly. “I-I don’t know. I just got married recently and moved out- I’ve only seen him briefly…”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Jimin wrapped his arms around her comfortingly, returning from making calls to his secretary, letting her know that he wouldn’t be in the next day. “You didn’t and couldn’t know– that’s not your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault; it’s just a fact. Your dad is stable now. It’ll be okay, yeah?” His hand rubbed soothing strokes up and down her arm. “Ara, you’re cold.” Shrugging his coat off,  he wrapped it around her like a hug.

“We’d like to run some tests on Mr. Shin, just to make sure he’s okay besides this issue,” said the doctor, eyeing her sympathetically. “Could you come to my office to sign some papers?”

Once everything was finally sorted out and she had seen her father, reassured that he was going to be okay and there was nothing for her to do at present, Jimin took her home and sent her straight to bed.

Tucking her in, he smoothed the comforter over her shoulders, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. “He’ll be okay, Princess.”

“Thank you for everything, Jimin.” She blinked up at his shadowed profile.

“Of course. Get some sleep.” His finger brushed her cheek, then she heard his light footsteps head toward the door and the quiet snick of the door closing.

Closing her eyes, she did her best to sleep. Its comforting embrace welcomed her swiftly.

[prince-liest]

vox actually getting angry??? sign me UP.

-🪼

Hahaha - a little angry, a little upset, but I feel like I should raise a warning sign that says, "This is still the guy that's dating Valentino on the regular" with regards to, like, Vox's standards for a healthy relationship. But there's a reason that staticmoth are constantly off-again-on-again, and Vox doesn't fucking want that with Alastor (and Alastor is a little too categorical to be able to handle it like Vox and Valentino do).

Anyway, it's a shorter installment, but I just finished the first draft so hopefully soon I can just. Gestures at fic. It's like this!!

[berryhobii]

Reconnect (myg x reader)

Pairing: Idol!Min Yoongi x black!wedding designer!female! Reader

Word Count: 6K+

Warnings: fluff, established relationship, mentions of secret relationship, mentions of a wedding(but not Yoongi and the reader’s), reader and Yoongi are engaged, Smut(18+ but I don’t control what you consume), unprotected sex(please speak to your partners before engaging in this), vaginal sex, squirting, creampies, riding, doggy style, mating press/missionary, oral(f receiving), soft dom Yoongi(he’s super soft and vocal but also goes kind of rough😊), rough sex, multiple orgasms(f and m receiving), brief aftercare and mentions of amazing aftercare, reader has goddess locs(color and length not specified), reader also has that Wendy’s Strawberry Lemonade kitty, reader also also has nipple piercings, reader got a fat ass because who doesn’t appreciate a nice booty?

A/N: Hi! This is my second time uploading something. I’ve had this story in my drafts for a while. I had been writing it using she/her pronouns so I’ve been spending the past few days to change those to you/yours. If I missed any, I’m sorry but please let me know so I can make the story more cohesive. Reader is black but their skin color isn’t really described but I believe I referred to their nipples being dark so that’s it. My next post with either be a GreekMythology!Jimin or a Gamer!Jungkook. The Jimin story is actually really long so I think I’ll turn it into a small series but I’ll post the 1st chapter sometime next week. Thanks again for reading! Criticism is greatly accepted and I hope my black and melanated girlies feel good reading this! Have a good day.

~

“I’m sorry, baby. I know I said we’d have dinner but we have to do some last minute recording.”

You tried not to sound disappointed when you replied. “That’s okay. I understand.” And you truly did. You knew how important his job was and that it would be a priority of his.

You just wished that it didn’t take so much of his time. You understood that his music was his life and that it was his dream career. All of his hard work had led up to being able to do what he does now; to make music and inspire the millions of fans that listened. You were so proud of him. Seeing him live his dream filled you with a different kind of pride and emotion. He was happy and that’s all you ever wanted for him.

Still, you missed him. You two had barely spent any time together the past month while he’s been preparing for their new album. He’d come home long after you’d fallen asleep and he’d sleep into the afternoon, just to rise and immediately get ready to go again. You couldn’t even have breakfast together like you used to. You could barely even start a conversation before he was cutting you off with a kiss and rushing out of the door.

While you had your own career of designing wedding dresses, you still had so much free time on your hands. You had already designed your newest collection and it was currently in production to be created. You’ve even made multiple visits to a few stores and they were running amazingly. There was only so long you could bury yourself in work before your heart began yearning for Yoongi’s companionship.

“I promise when this is finished, we’ll go on a trip. Just you and me.”

That made you smile. You and Yoongi have traveled a lot together over the years; Bora Bora, Italy, The Maldives—and each experience had been just as memorable and romantic as the last. He proposed to you in Italy at the Orange Gardens. It was such a magical moment. Just thinking about it made you want to cry. The entire trip was just absolutely perfect; from taking a gondola ride on the gorgeous waters to the 5 Star hotel they stayed in for 3 days and 2 nights, all the way to the candlelit dinner where he got down on one knee. You remember it fondly.

While the promise of a trip together didn’t fix your loneliness now, it gave you something to look forward to.

You couldn’t fight the smile in your voice. “Okay.” Your eyes went over to the stove where dinner was cooking. You had just finished searing some steaks that were finishing up in the oven. There was no point of putting them away for him to eat later. They wouldn’t be as flavorful or tender.

“Hey, is it okay if I bring you some dinner? I know you haven’t eaten yet.” Your tone shifted to one of slight teasing but you knew you were right. His pause of silence was proof enough.

“You don’t have to do that, baby.”

“I want to though. I made steak and I’ll feel better knowing you’ve eaten. I won’t stay long or distract you.” Just knowing he had a home cooked meal would make you happy. You would nag him constantly about drinking too much coffee and eating take out. It came from a place of love, however and Yoongi never minded. He loved having someone so attentive to his health when he’d blatantly ignore it. It showed you cared. Also, he secretly loved being babied by you. He’d never admit it out loud or to his friends but you knew. There was nothing better than coming home, a bath prepared for him to soothe his sore muscles, a meal on the table, and cuddling into your soft breasts while your rubbed his back—always being careful with his shoulder.

Your already nurturing nature and tendency to baby Yoongi increased tenfold once he got surgery. You barely let him leave the bed, even following him to the bathroom to make sure he didn’t hurt himself. A little bit stifling but he was so grateful to you. You always took care of him.

“Then that sounds great. I’ll leave my door open for you. I love you, baby.”

“I love you too. See you soon.”

With a giddy pep in your step, you finished cooking dinner, packaging it nicely in cute Tupperware before putting it in a bag. You had already showered and your clothes were fine but you wondered if you should put on something different. While Yoongi thought you looked good in anything, you still liked to look pretty for him; wearing dresses and heels whenever you went out, keeping your nails and toes done, and making appointments to get waxed every month. Self care was important to you. It not only made you feel good about yourself but it was also something you just liked to do for your husband.

Deciding to change your clothes, you slipped on a t shirt maxi dress that hugged and showed off all of your curves, along with some short open toed shoes to show off your freshly painted white toes. It was simple but still dressy and feminine, just your style.

Checking your hair once more in the mirror and smearing on some lip gloss, you grabbed the bag of food and your keys before exiting your home.

~

HYBE Studios was a pretty moderate drive from your apartment. The reason for that is to keep crazy fans from ever finding it. Once the company realized other idols were having their homes broken into, there was a decision to move all of the boys about 30 minutes from the company in a luxury gated neighborhood. You had to admit, you missed your old apartment you shared with Yoongi since that was their first place together but you also couldn’t complain about the walk in closet and the jacuzzi bathtub.

You greeted the security guard in front of the car garage, him lifting the block to the garage. After parking close to the company cars that were often used to transport the boys during RunBTS, you exited your car and made your way through the side door to the lobby.

You nodded at the secretary, everyone already knowing who you were and letting you pass with no issue.

Yoongi’s studio was on the 8th floor at the end of the hall. Namjoon’s was just a short distance away as well.

Once you reached his door, you entered the pin code on the keypad. Besides a few staff members and the boys, you were one of the few with the password to his studio. He just preferred silence and no disruptions so the code was only used during emergencies or whenever you or the boys came to visit. There was also a group chat for everyone with his code, adorably named ‘The Plastics’, courtesy of Taehyung. If they ever needed to come to his studio, they’d send a text beforehand so he’d know to expect them.

The beep sounded and you opened the door, smiling at the sight of your husband who was cutely leaned over on his right palm as his eyes scanned the production screen for his music. You didn’t get most of it but you always found it adorable when he’d try to explain. He’d get so invested in telling you how reverb and delay could either make or break a song that he’d never see how endearingly you’d stare at him. And he’d always get surprised when you’d lunge to bite his cheek.

“You are just too adorable! I have to bite you!”

His headphones were around his neck so he turned at the sound of his door opened, a smile immediately rising to his face at the sight of you. He removed his headphones, standing to greet you.

You could barely put the food down before his hands were around you waist, pulling you in for a hug. You wrapped your arms around his neck, cuddling into his body as you inhaled his cologne and the gentle scent of his favorite body wash.

He pulled away a little to press a few pecks to your forehead. “Hi baby.” His deep, slightly tired voice sent shivers down you spine. It was almost like his regular voice was just his morning voice constantly and out of all of the little things you loved about him, his voice was towards the top of your list—right after his newly grown out hair, his hands, and that little habit of him slurping whenever he’d explain things.

You inhaled a deep breath, basking in the affection. “Hi.”

You two just held each other for a moment, locked in an embrace and not wanting to let go. This was your special kind of intimacy, just not speaking or moving, simply holding one another.

Yoongi considered himself a pretty private person. A little ironic considering he was a world famous idol who’s whole job was being put in the spotlight. However, when it came to his personal relationships, he did his best to keep that as private as possible. Just imagine the uproar when people found out he was engaged. You had been hidden from the public eye for 3 straight years before you got engaged. How? One part extreme luck, the other part moving quietly. Your relationship started off with you meeting for the first time at a staff member’s wedding. You had designed her dress and she was so amazed and in love with how you created her dream dress that she insisted you come to her wedding. Always happy to see people overjoyed with your work and excited to see your design in action, of course you agreed. Coincidentally, you were sat pretty close to the table the boys were at. When you recognized them, you softly smiled and introduced yourself, expressing how you were a fan and how many women said they were using BTS songs as their wedding songs. Yoongi was drawn in instantly, your gentle voice and sparkling eyes as you talked about your clients drew him in. He could tell you were passionate about your career, just like he was.

After exchanging numbers while the bride and groom were cutting the cake, you two mainly texted and called each other in your free time. It took about 4 months for you to go on their first date since Yoongi had to go to America for promotions. He thought you’d lose interest since he traveled and couldn’t take you on a proper date but you never minded. You liked talking to Yoongi and found yourself developing feelings for him. He was trying and effort was one of your biggest green flags for a partner. A little distance wasn’t that big of a deal to you. Of course, you wanted to be able to be close to him and hold his hand and maybe even kiss but you knew what you were signing up for when you started talking.

Once Yoongi went on break, he started dedicating a lot of time to you; dates, inviting you to his place for dinner and wine, and learning more about you. He didn’t think you would get along so well. Talking on the phone was vastly different than being in each other’s physical presence but you had melded together like the pieces of a puzzle. You were so gentle and compassionate, always looking after him and giving him affection he hasn’t gotten in years. You were perfect for him and vice versa.

Your eyes slowly blinked up at him, just taking in his handsome features. You could spot the bags under his eyes, feeling a little sad that he was running himself ragged.

“You look tired. Have you slept since his morning?”

He hummed. “I took a little nap around lunch. The new couch came in.” You turned a little to look at the new addition to his studio. Before, he just had a small leather couch, moreso for decoration than comfort. Once he got a bigger studio, he upgraded his furniture but kept that couch. After some prodding from you, he ordered a new and more comfortable couch—one that could become a pull out bed for those overnights at the studio.

“It looks great.” It was a dark grey color, wide and stretched enough to fully support 2 people if you wanted to spoon on it.

“Yeah. I just didn’t think it would take that long to get it in the door. Namjoon almost knocked over my synthesizer.” He said that with a shake of his head. You giggled, imagining the tall and clumsy man scrambling to pick up the keyboard.

“I can only imagine. I brought food. You should eat it before it gets cold. I should go.” You tried pulling away from him only for him to tighten his grip on your waist. You let out an “oof” as your face met the hard planes of his chest. All that physical therapy and time in the gym had really bulked him up. While you loved his body regardless, you definitely weren’t complaining about the extra muscle. He was filling out this black shirt just fine.

He nuzzled his nose in your neck, inhaling your favorite perfume that you’ve worn since he met your. It was one of his favorite scents. His hands rubbed up and down your back, feeling all over the material of your dress.

“No, stay. Eat with me.”

Yoongi could be very affectionate and straightforward when he wanted to be, normally when you were alone. He’d never show this side in public. Not because he was ashamed of his love for your, far from that. He just preferred to keep their intimate moments private. Maybe a little kiss here and there and some hand holding but moments like this were for you only.

Your manicured fingers went to his nape, scratching at the hair there. “I don’t want to distract you.”

“You’re not.” He pulled back to look you in eyes. “I want you to eat with me. I feel bad we couldn’t have dinner at home.” And he did. He knew his job demanded a lot of his time and attention and even if you understood that, it didn’t stop him from feeling guilty about leaving you alone all the time. He knew you could entertain yourself and had your own life outside of him but he still felt bad not being able to spend as much time with you as he wanted. He missed you just as much. While he loved his job, nothing beat coming home to your warmth and affection. To be honest, he was getting a little touch starved.

He led you over to the couch, waiting for your to sit before going to the mini fridge in his studio.

“Do you want juice?” He asked as he pulled out a couple of drinks. He always kept some of your favorites in his mini fridge just in case. You didn’t drink caffeine or really any alcohol, water and juices were your favorites.

You nodded your head, beginning to take out the Tupperware containers. They were still nice and hot. He placed a juice down on the table, along with an energy drink. You frowned at that, leaning forward to pick it up.

“You need to drink water. Don’t think I haven’t noticed those coffee cups on your desk.”

He rolled his eyes and sighed but couldn’t hide his smile. You were too good to him. Sometimes he felt like he didn’t deserve you. Taking the energy drink from you, he went back to the fridge to grab a water instead.

Ignoring the smug smile on your face, he sat next to you, waiting for you to open all of the containers. The smell was delicious, making his stomach growl.

Your handed him some chopsticks and a few napkins before sliding the steak over to him. “Here. Try it.”

You ate in silence, him using his chopsticks to place some pieces of steak and vegetables in your bowl. You smiled, the cute ways Yoongi showed he cared always making your heart warm. Fans knew he was more subtle in showing he cared and that wasn’t any different than him in private. You had to learn that his love language was acts of service but in a more quiet way.

After you finished eating, he helped clean up the containers, giving you some wipes to clean your hands and the table.

He let out of a groan as he sat back down on the couch, belly full and fully ready for a nap. But he knew he had to get back to work and that meant you had to leave.

“Thanks, baby. It was delicious.” His hand came to rest on your thigh, rubbing the soft skin. You hummed, placing your hand on top of his.

“Of course. I’m happy you liked it.” You both rested for a moment before you began moving. “I should go. You have work to do.”

You barely made it to your feet before he was tugging you back down on his lap. A surprised yelp came from your lips at the sudden movement, ass meeting his thighs when you landed. He situated you so that you straddled his hips, his hands immediately going to your ass.

“Baby….” You pouted, feeling a little shy all of a sudden. You were normally the one who initiated physical affection so for Yoongi to do it so roughly surprised you. You weren’t complaining, however. The way his eyes were hooded over and how he looked up at you with that dark endearment made your belly tingle. You knew where this was going.

“Stay.” His left hand pressed your body down so your chest squished against his. “You come here in this dress and my favorite shoes…”

You adjusted yourself to wrap your arms around his neck. “I hardly wear these.”

He shrugged. “I love anything you wear. You look so sexy.” His hand traveled up your dress, moving it up your ass so he could grope full handfuls of the fat. While Yoongi appreciated all parts of your body, your ass was his favorite. Genetics, exercise and a little bit of happy weight had all accumulated into jiggly ass he loved to squeeze and slap. When you met, you were pretty thin but in shape nonetheless. Fans speculated that you gained ‘happy relationship weight’ since Yoongi treats you right. Whatever the reason, he thanks the higher power every day for it.

You could feel the heat beginning to spark between you, along with Yoongi’s growing boner pressing against your panties. Now that you thought about it, it’s been a little while since you’ve been intimate. You and Yoongi have barely had any time for quickies, let alone a full session of sex. And you two could go for hours if you wanted. On the day of your engagement, you barely left the hotel room because you couldn’t keep your hands off him. How could you? He was your fiancé. Mmm, that word just got you hot and bothered.

Your hands ran up his neck and into his hair, scratching at his scalp. The low hum of contentment that came from him spurred you on. You brought your faces closer together, lips hovering before you trapped him in a kiss. He hummed again, lifting his head to kiss you deeper, hands still squeezing at your ass.

Your kiss grew more heady, both of your hands massaging each other and trying to stroke any piece of skin you could. Yoongi began pushing against you to make your roll your hips against him. His cock could probably cut glass from how hard he was. You always got him excited with barely doing anything. To be honest, he started getting hard the moment you entered the room. Just your presence got him feeling almost immediately horny.

And it was the same for you. Your cunt had began getting wet the moment Yoongi turned around in his chair. He just looked so comfortable and effortlessly sexy and the way his muscles strained against that shirt made your imagination run wild.

You pulled away to inhale a deep breath. “Yoongi….please…”

His lazy smirk sent a rush straight to your already wet pussy. “What do you need, baby? Tell me.”

God he was such a tease but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t absolutely love it.

“I need you.”

That was all he needed before he moved to flip you onto your back. You bounced against the soft couch cushions, barely getting your bearings before he was back on you, pressing his lips to yours.

His large hands traveled up your dress, lifting it over your belly and breasts. He leaned back to get a look, letting out a groan at the absolute beauty under him.

Your chest was heaving from just a little kissing, your goddess locks spread out under you, glossed lips plump and ready for more. You were so gorgeous and he made sure to let you know.

You squirmed under the compliment, feeling giddy and a bit bashful. You always received compliments and the occasional catcall and while you accepted the respectful ones gracefully, none of those ever mattered to you. Yoongi’s praise and compliments put you on cloud 9 and you really believed him.

His hands traveled up your body to your breasts, eyes catching something under your bra. He pulled the annoying piece of fabric down and if he could get any harder, he probably would.

“Fuck. You’re wearing your piercings? Did you come here to try and kill me?” The little diamonds sparkled under the light. He remembers buying the jewelry for your birthday last year. He also remembers sucking the sensitive nipples until you were crying just an hour later.

You giggled, biting your lip. “Of course not.”

His smirk widened. “You little sneak.” His hands went to grope at the soft flesh, a sigh falling from your lips. His thumbs ran lightly over the stiff peaks, pulling more sighs and little squeaks from your lips. Your nipples had gotten so much more sensitive after piercings. Yoongi couldn’t be too rough on them when you first got them, being careful of your healing process. He could barely touch them without you gasping in the slight pain from healing. Of course, he never complained, understanding your pain so he just stopped touching them. He just didn’t think it would test his control so much; seeing you walk around without a shirt sometimes, the already silky and delectable breasts looking more appetizing from the little barbells. Months had passed along with many maintenance appointments before you announced that they could be touched without pain. With the pain gone, your sensitivity skyrocketed and with Yoongi’s skilled tongue beginning their assault, your pleasure had been taken to a new level.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer and his mouth open to lick over your nipple. You let out a moan as his tongue swirled all around your piercing. He switched to the next one, giving it the same treatment.

The heat between your legs was becoming too much, your panties beginning to feel uncomfortable from how they were sticking to you.

“Yoongi….” You whined. His eyes lifted to lock on your flustered face, lips parted as puffs of air came through them, your eyes desperate and pleading for anything. Everything.

Reluctantly pulling away from your nipples, he helped you pull the dress from your body, tossing it somewhere in the room. Neither of you cared.

He kissed from your breasts to your tummy until he reached the apex of your thick thighs. You immediately dropped them open, revealing yourself to him. He groaned at your desperation but also at the sight of your soaked underwear. The thong barely covered anything, the baby blue fabric now dark from your arousal. It was practically leaking from you, the bottom of your ass shining. Kissing over the stretch marks that streaked down the inside of your thighs, he whispered words of praise to you.

“Fuck baby. You’re so fucking wet.” He couldn’t help himself, surging forward to suck on your clit through your panties. A shiver racked your body, your hands coming down to bury in his hair. The friction wasn’t as good with your panties still keeping his tongue from making direct contact with your clit but it was something. And it felt so good.

Your hips jerked against his face, trying to get more. His hands dug into the meat of your thighs, holding them open as his tongue licked at your clit.

More moans fell from your lips, pleasure causing your vision to go blurry. You felt so close already and he’s barely done anything. Blame it on you not having a proper orgasm for weeks. Your hands just didn’t feel the same and Yoongi had thrown out all of your vibrators once you two started having sex.

“You won’t need these anymore. All your orgasms should come from me.”

Now you were remembering why he threw them out in the first place. Only he could rip pleasure and orgasms from your body in seconds, playing your body like a piano.

Your hand came down your body, tapping against his forehead. He pulled away slightly, eyes searching your face for any sign of discomfort. You really only stopped him when you were shaking in overstimulation and he knew you hadn’t even cum yet so why were you stopping him?

When he pulled back, you grabbed onto your panties, pulling them aside to reveal your fat and dripping pussy to him.

How the hell did he get so lucky? Did he save orphans in his past life or something? Not only had he managed to put a ring on a kind, generous, and absolutely amazing person who treated him like a King and opened up the deepest parts of him, he also managed to snag a submissive, slutty, and needy woman who could ride his cock for hours and bend in ways he’s only dreamed of.

There was no way.

Eyes darkening in lust, he dove back in to capture your clit, licking at it more furiously than before. The heat from his mouth made that pressure build in your lower belly, your toes curling from their position in the air. Your loud moans only pushed him further, shoving 2 fingers in your tight heat. Your slick walls gripped his fingers so tightly that he could barely move them.

“Y-Yoongi! I’m gonna-“

He curled his fingers up, pulling away from your clit to lean up close to your face, his breath hitting your cheeks. “You gonna cum? You’re such a good girl.” He pressed some kisses to your open mouth, fingers thrusting in and out of your in a superhuman pace, veins and muscles in his arms shifting and bulging from the exertion.

When your orgasm crashed, you swore all of your senses except touch disappeared. You couldn’t hear and your vision blurred from the tears that had welled in your eyes. But Yoongi didn’t stop.

Your hand flew down to grab at his wrist, back arching as he continued his assault, helping you ride the huge wave.

He pulled his lip between his teeth. You were so sexy.

Once you came down, he slowly pulled his fingers from your, the digits glistening in your release. He sucked them into his mouth, moaning at the taste. He just couldn’t get enough.

Now he wanted more. Standing from the couch, he pulled off his own shirt and pants, taking his briefs with them. His hard cock slapped against his stomach, red at the tip and practically pulsing.

You bit your lip, thighs squeezing together as your pussy throbbed. Fuck you were so wet.

He flopped back on the couch, patting his lap. “Come ride this cock, baby.”

Not needing to be told twice, you crawled over into his lap, taking your bra and ruined panties off on the way.

His hands gripped your ass once you were straddled on his hips. You could feel the heavy weight of his cock pressing on your ass and it filled you with excitement.

Reaching your hand back, you gripped his cock, pumping it a few times. He groaned, head falling back against the couch at your touch.

Delivering a sharp slap to your ass, he growled, “stop teasing.”

His deep and demanding voice sent shivers down your spine. Never one to disobey, you lifted your hips, lining up his cock with your entrance. You rubbed the tip over your opening to gather some of your wetness before you slowly began sinking down on him.

A moan came from both of you as his thick cock began splitting you open. Your walls were squeezing him so tight that he felt like he could cum right there but he refrained. He wasn’t even all the way inside yet.

Your mouth was dropped open as his cock stretched you open, head tossed back and eyes closed as you basked in the feeling. Each ridge and vein was pressing against you in the most delicious way, the slight curve pressing against that spot deep inside of you. You felt like you could cum again just like this.

Once your ass met his thighs, you both let out sighs. Not only from pleasure but from being able to be close like this. This is what you needed; this closeness, this union, this intimacy. Sex was so much more to you than just getting off. It bonded you and brought you closer than ever, love spilling over and intertwining your hearts and souls.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him in for a sweeter and more sensual kiss.

“I love you…” you whispered against his lips.

“I love you too.”

Your hips began rolling against him, slowly at first to get accumulated to the stretch. He assisted you with one hand on your ass and one on your hip.

Before long, you began raising your hips, falling back down on his lap. The low clapping sounds spurring you on.

Yoongi groaned against your lips. “That’s it, baby. Faster.” With another sharp slap to your ass that made you moan, you bounced faster. Your ass jiggled each time it connected with his thighs and a part of him wished he could see it but the blissed out look on your face was too good to pass up.

Unwrapping your arms from his neck, you leaned back to get that perfect angle, your hands landing on his knees. A squeak fell from you as his tip began bullying your soft spot. Your head fell back, mouth dropped open as that delicious feeling began building in the pit of your stomach.

“Ah! Yoongi! Your cock feels s-so good!” You felt drunk, mind hazy and awareness faded. All you could focus on was the feel of him under you and the way his perfect cock slipped in and out. Your entire body felt like it was on fire, electricity spreading all the way to your fingertips and making your toes curl.

Yoongi couldn’t take his eyes off you. He didn’t even know where to look; your breasts, face, where you were connected? He could see how your arousal was dripping down to wet his pubic hair, a ring of your wetness coating the base of his cock. You were truly was a sight to behold.

That pressure was building faster than you thought. Sliding your hand down your body, your fingers connected with your clit, rubbing the nub in fast circles.

“Yoongi!”

He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. Your walls clenched and constricted around him, almost suffocating him. His hands rubbed at your nipples, flicking at the piercings. You were seeing stars, the stimulation was too much. His hands roaming you, your own fingers on your clit, and his cock inside of you was all too much.

That pressure…..

“I’m cumming!”

Your hips lifted from his cock, it falling out to slap against his stomach. Your fingers rubbed at your clit until some drips of liquid came out. The motion of your fingers caused the droplets to fly everywhere, some landing on the cushions as well.

Once you were done riding it out, he was flipping you back on the couch, head pressed into the cushions and ass up in the air. He delivered a few slaps to your ass, pulling some moans from your at the sting. Your head was swimming, the sudden movement making you a little dizzy but that dizziness quickly left when Yoongi entered you again.

His cock entered you in one swift motion, hips immediately working to push and pull against you. Your ass clapped back on his hips, the fat jiggling and rippling with every move. His own orgasm was just over the horizon.

“You are so fucking sexy.” Each word was punctuated by a thrust. “You come in here looking this good and then you bounce on my cock until you squirt? Why the fuck have I been spending all my time here when you’re at home?” He was really talking to himself. Only a true idiot would leave a hot piece of ass like this at home all day. And he must really be a true idiot, probably the dumbest man alive. But not anymore.

Your moans were rising in pitch. With this position, you could every inch, every curve, absolutely everything. You could barely breathe, your brain only being able to form utterances of his name and begs of faster and harder.

That feeling in Yoongi began cresting, balls drawing up as his orgasm washed over him. His hands gripped your hips and ass hard enough to bruise but you could care less. He could bruise you up all he wanted.

His orgasm spread from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, shuddering his whole body. “F-fuck….” He breathed out. That was probably the hardest orgasm he’s ever had in his life.

Your own breath began to even out. You thought that was the end but you were suddenly flipped around back on your back. Both of your legs were hiked up over his right shoulder, thighs pressing into your chest in Yoongi’s absolute favorite position.

“You think I’m done with you?” His smirk was teasing and it caused more arousal to drip from you. He reached his hand down to line himself up before pushing into your heat. A gasp came from your throat at the intrusion, your hands coming to grip at the back of his neck.

His hips set a brutal pace, balls wetly slapping against your ass.

“Oh my god! Y-Yoongi!”

It felt like he was in your throat, every thrust hitting you in all the right spots. Your nails scratched at his neck, the slight sting only pushing him harder. He could feel your walls tightening, a tell tale sign of your orgasm. Your breasts bounced with every push, dark nipples looking incredibly enticing.

“Cum, baby. That’s it.”

Your body seized up as your second orgasm full body absorbed you. Your vision spotted white and your ears were ringing.

But not even your orgasm made him stop or slow down. He pushed faster and harder, the squelching noises getting louder as more and more wetness spilled from you.

It was like your orgasm wouldn’t stop. Wave after wave came over you. Every nerve was lit on fire, your mouth dropped but no sound came out. He had taken every word from you.

When he felt you squirt on his cock again, he shoved his full cock inside. Your toes curled so hard that you could feel them crack, legs shaking but he held them tightly. Your hands smacked against his shoulders as the stimulation became too much. You were so full.

“Yoongi!”

“Take it. Take all that cock, baby.”

You had no choice but you didn’t care. You’d give up every choice if it meant he’d fuck you like this.

He rolled his hips against yours a few more times before his own orgasm washed over him. He groaned into your throat, a full body shudder racking his body.

Lifting his head, he connected your lips in a soft kiss, a complete turn from what just went down. You hummed against his lips, hands roaming his soft skin.

He moved your legs from his shoulders, massaging your slightly sore muscles as you kissed. You both let out small moans as he pulled out of your heat, his cum flowing out of you.

Yoongi helped you clean yourself up, giving you a large elastic to tie up your hair. The sweat would definitely make your roots curl back up but that was a problem for another day. You put your dress back on as Yoongi pulled his shirt and pants back on. Your underwear found themselves tucked into his back pocket. A little silly considering he had endless access to you pussy but you guessed it was some man thing.

When Yoongi went back to his computer, leaning over the chair to click at some things, you visibly deflated, mood dampening. Was he really going back to work? You guessed you did just come to drop off food, the sex was a bonus and you did say you would leave afterwards. You just couldn’t help but feel a little sad and used. Yoongi was the king of aftercare, always running you a bath or giving you cuddles as you two calmed down from lovemaking. It’s not like this one moment would make you think Yoongi didn’t care but you did feel a little defeated.

Gathering your things, you were about to approach the door but Yoongi’s voice stopped you.

“Where are you going?”

You didn’t turn to face him, feeling a little embarrassed. “Home. Aren’t you going back to work?”

A snort came from him. “Of course not.”

You gasped when his body pressed against your back, also the feeling of his boner was right on your ass.

“Yoongi….”

“You really think I’m about to work and let you go home so you can wash my cum out of you? I’m fucking you until you can’t walk.”

Maybe you should come to the studio more often.

[chuplayswithfire]

Izzy Arc Thoughts, the post!

Having now watched the three episodes three times over (some of them more than that shhhhh), I still have a BUNCH of thoughts about the rest of the crew I want to percolate on, but I had some thoughts on Izzy that I finally feel confident in, as to what's going on in with his character since the end of season 1, and especially the arc he has between Impossible Birds and The Innkeeper.

Being upfront: I wasn't sure what kind of arc the show would do with Izzy and we still obviously don't know the full scope of it, as we have five more episodes to go, but it's definitely been intriguing in a way I didn't anticipate. I figured Izzy would continue on with his antagonistic role, and he still might, but it seems like D Jenks is having fun letting Con have a role with more emotional nuance than in season one, and seeing as that role has an impact on everyone else, I wanted to share my thoughts on what I think is going on with him in the episodes that we've seen so far. I also wanted to start my in depth analysis with a character I don't care about nearly as much (being honest!) as I do the rest of the crew, but who also has a huge impact on two characters I do care very much about, Ed and Stede. I'm planning to analyze Ed and Stede in each episode before we get eps 4 and 5!

This is a long post! It features many quotes directly , transcribed by me and taken from the captions by Max. I used a read more because the whole thing is over 6k in length and analyzes the dynamic presented between Izzy and Ed and Izzy and Stede presented in episodes 1-3 of season 2 of Our Flag Means Death. If the read more doesn't work, that is not on me, sorry.

Alright, so recap: when we left Izzy, he had lashed out at Ed for the person he was choosing to become and the manner in which he was expressing himself and his feelings - the blanket fort, the binging sweets, the singing for the crew, the sharing his feelings and asking to be called Edward, the encouraging a talent show, and then, the cleaning up and comfortably wearing a colorful printed robe of nice, soft fabric. (Quotes: "I should have let the English kill you. This, whatever it is that you've become... is a fate worse than death." "(growled) No. This, this is Blackbeard. Not some (breath) namby-pamby in a silk gown, pining for his boyfriend.”) When these insults get the aggressive reaction from Ed that Izzy associates with the version of Ed he prefers, he encourages him with a smile, hand cupping Ed's cheek, and choking out "There he is." Ed shoves his hand away, backing away with a closed off expression, and Izzy's smile dies and he closes the distance between them. He states what he wants from Ed, makes a threat, and walks away without waiting for a response. (Quote: "Blackbeard is my captain. I serve Blackbeard. Not Edward. Edward better watch his fuckin' step.”)

The next time we see Izzy, Ed has donned his leathers, made his face up with dark make up to look more fierce, and is cutting off Izzy's pink toe and feeding it to him. We know from episode 9 that cutting off toes and feeding it to people was a classic Blackbeard move. For Izzy, this is several things: 1) confirmation that Blackbeard is back, the one who would never let a threat stand and does a good maim 2) a punishment for said threat (Quote: "Threaten me again, ever... I'll feed you the rest. Understand?" "Y-Yes, Blackbeard.") 3) a confirmation that he has his boss back, that whatever Stede has done to his boss' brain is over.

We get confirmation of that third point when Izzy speaks with the crew as they're getting rid of Stede's books and possessions - "Blackbeard is himself again," with a broad smile. Later, we see Izzy abandon the crew on a small island, presumably on Ed's direct orders, as he waves goodbye to Bonnet's playthings - them - as they depart. Izzy has a gun as he stands beside Ed, and they're watching as Frenchie finishes the new flag and hoists it.

That's where we left Izzy in Season 1: standing besides Ed as Blackbird returns to being Blackbeard for a brand new era of being Blackbeard, greatest pirate who ever lived, terror of the seas.

And when we return to the show, that's kind of what we get. Edward is being Blackbeard and Blackbeard is the terror of the seas, a Wanted Poster with so many crimes they're covering both sides of the poster (and yeah some of them are very silly, what midwifery was Ed up to, exactly-), and yet, Izzy is not happy when we see him.

What I think the show works to establish in episode 1 is that what Izzy wanted back was the man he saw as the old Blackbeard, who wasn't afflicted by these feelings of love or softness or "weakness", which he views as something that Stede Bonnet inflicted upon Edward. We know that, because it's how he phrased it to Chauncey - that "[Stede] had done something to [his] boss's brain". He seemed to view these feelings as something akin to an infection from Stede, that was corrupting the Blackbeard he knew and respected to something less than. Izzy wanted the old Blackbeard back and he thought that when Ed took his toe and fed it to him, said he'd killed Lucius, all that I recapped, that he'd gotten just that. A return to his preferred normal, where everything makes sense exactly as he thinks it should. Ed back to normal, it's Blackbeard time, getting rid of the dead weight and all that.

Except that's not what he's gotten at all, and I don't think Izzy had fully grasped why prior to episode 1. He has suspicions, of course, but it takes him a while to build to a confrontation about it.

Because see, Ed switched from healthier coping mechanisms like crying, eating sweets, creative outlets, and talking to people about his feelings to much more acceptably pirate means of coping with his feelings - violence in the form of raids and drugs (rhino horn, which thought people joke about it being an aphrodisiac, has a variety of believed medical uses in Vietnamese medicine, treating ailments including hangovers, fever, gout and potentially terminal illnesses, like cancer or stroke). Raids and drug use should be totally acceptable means of managing your feelings as a pirate, except that Ed is going too far with them, pushing the crew to the breaking point and beyond. They're raiding every day, they're not taking breaks, they're not having days off, they're chasing down ships as fast as they can take them down and now they're going to be throwing away loot. Izzy is realizing that actually he has not gotten the Blackbeard he wanted and things are not great. He's also lost at least two more toes.

He and Ed have an early exchange - Izzy looking sickly, skin sallow, what appears to be hair dye or make up trickling from his hairline, Ed prepping and snorting rhino horn like it's cocaine:

Izzy: "The crew are lookin' a tad worse for wear.” Ed: "Did everyone get cake?" Izzy: "Yeah, they got cake." Ed: "Well they're, they're welcome to have some rhino horn. Just ground up a fresh batch." (snorts rhino horn) "Oh fuck! You want some?" Izzy: "No, not right now, no." Ed: "Well then, get back to work ya fuckin' lightweight!" [cut to Izzy among the crew] Ed voiceover: "Can't do the job, someone else will."

Throughout this scene, Izzy looks increasingly distressed as Ed does drugs - he looks his most distressed during the voice over however, his jaw flexing, his eyes watery.

This is what appears to have shaken him the most - the idea that he's replaceable, that Ed can and would get rid of him in favor of someone else. It's obviously incredibly distressing to Izzy, in a way that I genuinely don't think the loss of his toes was. Izzy clearly values his relationship with Edward - while in season 1 he definitely wanted a promotion and liked the idea of authority, of being captain, the fact that he was swiftly mutinied and nearly murdered seemed to put a kabosh on his ambitions, and reoriented him to staying at Ed's side. We know that Izzy at least believes that loyalty is important - we know that he thinks he's acting from loyalty when he tries to make Ed watch as his boyfriend (in Izzy's words) is murdered.

Izzy values his position with Blackbeard. He serves Blackbeard, respects him, was honored to work for a legend. And while this is supposition, he seems to have considered himself and Edward as having a close, intimate relationship that did not require words or confessions or honest expression of feeling, this kind of bond where words aren't necessary, because they're tough, manly men who don't need to express their feelings.

But.

Then we get this line. Then we get, "can't do the job, someone else will." Seven words, and they shake Izzy to his core, make him finally start questioning his until then unquestioned belief in the ways of the world and his relationship with Edward. It shakes him enough that he actually breaks in front of the crew, in a scene that's incredibly funny, but also leads to them extending him some genuinely unearned compassion, as they question the healthiness of his relationship with Blackbeard - even as Izzy is finally questioning if he has a relationship with Blackbeard.

Following his breakdown, Izzy has the crew bring the treasure above deck, but doesn't go through with making them throw it overboard. Instead, he takes those new doubts and brings them to Ed, pushing for a conversation where he is clearly for the first time in their working relationship expressing his thoughts on said relationship in word form.

Izzy: "The crew are refusing to part with any treasure." Ed: "Why?" Izzy: "Because it's fuckin' treasure." Ed: "Not good enough. (stops toying with knife, slides it in Izzy's direction.) And that's another toe. Take your boot off." (stands from seated position, walks over to Izzy.) Izzy: (starts by looking down at the ground, then slowly raises gaze to Ed's face as he speaks.) "Who am I to you?" Ed: “...What?” Izzy: “We’ve worked together for years. (sniff) You know me better than anyone has ever known me, and I daresay the same is true for me about you.” (a musical beat plays. Izzy lowers his eyes from Ed’s face, looking in the middle distance.) Izzy: I have (several second long pause) love for you, Edward.” Ed: (starting as Izzy is speaking, right after the word love) “Oh, come on.” (walks away from Izzy, circling around him.) Izzy: I’m worried about you. We all are. The atmosphere on this ship is completely poisoned.” (pause) “But if we could all just maybe (pause, swallow, visibly struggling with words) talk it through.” (musical beat) Ed: (slowly looks up) “As a crew?” Izzy: (face falls subtly, taking on a starker look of upset)

The scene transitions away, but let’s really dig into all of this for a second, because this is crucial. This is Izzy going from matters between us are unspoken but profound to I have doubts and I am verbalizing my thoughts in the hope that they will be assuaged. Izzy is expressing aloud his thoughts on their relationship for the first time, because as Izzy puts it, he thought he knew Edward better than anyone. He thought he understood him better than anyone else alive. Now, we know that Izzy doesn’t understand Edward already - we’ve known that he doesn’t actually see the person Edward all along, but this was made especially clear in episode 6, where his voiceover notes that he is “starting to suspect that Edward has no intention of ending Stede Bonnet’s life”, at a point in time when Ivan and Fang are confident the plan is off and everyone else seems pretty clear there’s a co-captaining effect going on.

The point is that all this time, Izzy has been acting from a place of assuming he knows Edward best of anyone in the world, that he understands him, that he can follow what’s going on with him and that they are intimately bound together, in this deep and unspoken love for each other that doesn’t have to be said allowed, but only has to exist, unacknowledged but deeply felt. 

But then Ed said that he could be replaced. Then Ed said that he could find someone else to do Izzy’s job. 

And this introduced doubt into Izzy’s mind, for the first time. This is what made Izzy verbalize all these things - what made him ask who he is to Ed, what made him state that he has love for Ed, that he worries for Ed, that he and Ed understand each other better than anyone else… because now he has to say them aloud, because he has to be reassured that these things are true. 

That he is someone important to Ed. That Ed has love for Izzy and knows that Izzy has love for Ed. That Ed understands Izzy, that Ed knows that Izzy understands Ed. For years, he has thought that he and Ed understood each other in this profound way, that they alone truly knew the other, and he has to question if that’s true. 

He’s being vulnerable, in a way vaguely akin to the vulnerability Ed offered in episode 10, and it clearly doesn’t land. He wants reassurance that this deep and profound love and intimacy he was so sure was there, is real, and Ed can’t give him that reassurance because it’s not true. Not in the way Izzy was so sure it was. Not in the way he ruined Ed’s life to believe. 

Izzy finally decides to put himself out there, and all that Ed gets out of it is the echo of Stede Bonnet, and it makes Izzy’s face fall like a rock. There’s the answer he didn’t want: the relationship he believed he had with Ed is not there, and Ed is still, utterly, truly, fixed in his feelings for Stede Bonnet. 

(and like just to clarify, I really don’t feel bad for Izzy here - he doesn’t have the relationship he wants with Ed because he’s never tried to really understand Ed, or listen to him, and he isn’t what Ed wants in a partner, but, objectively, Izzy does make himself vulnerable here, and he’s shot down, because Ed just doesn’t return his feelings)

Which leads us into the continuing scene. Ed goes to confront the crew about the atmosphere of the ship being poisoned, which everyone denies at gun point, leading Ed to shoving the gun under his chin and having a little conversation with himself, unsettling everyone around. 

Ed: “I know who we should ask, ol’ Blackbeard. Hello mate. You think the vibe on the ship is poisoned? I don’t know, Blackbeard. Maybe a little toxic sometimes. Maybe it’s a bit uncomfortable sometimes. You do make the crew a little bit uncomfortable sometimes. They think you’re crazy. Well, I’m not crazy. I don’t feel crazy. I feel pretty fucking good actually.” (the camera is focusing on the faces of all the crew as he gives this monologue, gun still cocked under his chin.) Izzy: “Fucking End!” (Screamed at Ed’s back) Ed: (slowly turns to Izzy.) Crew: (Fang looking shocked and saddened. Frenchie shakes his head very minutely, looking at Izzy.) Izzy: “The atmosphere on this ship is (word drawn out) fucked.” (working his jaw, looking down and to the side as he says this.) “Everyone knows why.” Ed: (nods once, sets his chin, walks forward.) “Well I don’t. Enlighten me.” Izzy: (smiling with mouth shut, suppressing a laugh. Shrugs.) Your feelings for Stede fuckin’ Bonnet.” Ed: (Nods as soon as Izzy says Stede’s name. Shoots him in the leg.) Izzy: (cries out in pain drops, clutching his knee.) Ed: “Frenchie.” Frenchie: “Yes?” Ed: “Congratulations, you are now first mate.” Frenchie: “Oh, no. I don’t, I don’t  think I’m qualified.” Ed: “‘course you are mate. You can start by cleaning up that mess.” (tilts head towards Izzy. Turns to rest of crew, onlooking.) “And the rest of you, you throw this shit overboard and get suited up.” (claps twice, turns away.) “We’ve got a record to break.” Izzy: (still groaning in pain.)

So that was a lot. 

Izzy has realized, over the course of this episode, that his relationship with Ed is not what he thought it was, is not what he wants it to be, and that Ed is still and probably always will be, in love with Stede fuckin’ Bonnet. This is why Izzy decides to say what he believes to be true - that the atmosphere is fucked because of Ed’s feelings for Stede. It’s important that we know this is not actually true - while Ed being ghosted by Stede did start his spiral, Ed was able to stop that spiral with the help of community and reaching for healthy coping mechanisms. Ed spiraled again after Izzy intervened, insulting, threatening, and demeaning him as discussed in the recap, and the spiral isn’t about his romantic feelings - it’s about, as s2e3 The Innkeeper firmly establishes, his feeling fundamentally unloveable and monstrous. Throughout s2e1, Ed is clearly denying the crew days off and meaningful rest out of pursuit of as many raids as possible. He’s trying not to touch the ground, flying high both via drugs and adrenaline, and his exchange with Frenchie at the end of the impossible makes it clear he doesn’t want to stop. 

It’s also very important, that throughout this entire thing, the only crew member Ed actually hurts is Izzy, who doesn’t actually object to losing his toes. Now, I’m on record for being one of the many people who think Izzy is actually glad that the toe scene happens - I don’t think he actually especially wanted to lose his toes, but, he was glad to get back the Blackbeard who would cut off toes, and I do think he felt there was a certain intimacy in being the only one experiencing violence. Izzy is a masochist and has previously expressed delight in being the subject of violence - was very happy to be choked by Ed in s1ep10 - so while this is not safe or sane, I do think it’s consensual, in the sense that Izzy thinks this is part of their mutual love, their unspoken but deep and crucially intimate togetherness that leads them to know each other on the deepest level. 

And then Ed says he can be replaced. And then Ed makes it clear that even when Izzy is emotionally vulnerable, Ed’s heart is with Stede. And Izzy realizes, he doesn’t have that place with Edward that he thought he did. He doesn’t have that special relationship. This is not intimacy, for Ed. And Ed shooting him and turning away isn’t even the final nail in that door. 

Because, in s2e2, Izzy is still alive. The crew has hidden him in the walls and are trying to preserve his life, even as Izzy screams for them to kill him and calls them cowards for not doing so. The crew is gathering medicine, preparing an amputation, figuring out what to do with Izzy to try and keep him alive, and Izzy wants them to kill him. (Quote: “Kill me you fucking cowards! Kill me -”)

I would say it’s because he’s realized the relationship he devoted his life too and considered sacred, the relationship he considers most valuable… is not that to the man he loves. Ed replaced him and pirate code says the first mate should kill him. The first mate (Frenchie) refuses to kill him. Frenchie is not much for that, and neither is JIm. Both of them, having experienced a better life and place of work when Stede was captain and Ed was their co-captain, are trying to preserve Izzy’s life the best they can. Jim especially clings to the memory of when life meant something on this ship, even Izzy’s life. 

Which - this makes sense coming from Jim, and I think it’s why they chose Jim, because Jim wasn’t present for Izzy being captain or the mutiny. Jim has the least complicated relationship with Izzy aside from Fang, who is notably not present in any of the scenes to do with rescuing Izzy, despite having been clearly shocked and appalled that Izzy was shot. 

Izzy, is not thrilled to be being kept alive, but the fact that Izzy is kept alive, means that Izzy has to process his feelings - and face Ed again, who, having shot Izzy, mourned and sobbed, has woken up, cleaned himself up, cleaned his space out, and decided to seek death. 

From Izzy. 

This, I think, is the second most crucial moment in Izzy’s arc and transition, because Izzy thought he was someone of incredible importance to Ed, and he also thought that he knew and understood Ed better than anyone, and that Ed crucially, understood him just as well. He thought that even without any emotional honesty or vulnerability, they knew each other more than anyone else possibly could. 

He thinks that Ed knows him. 

And Ed comes to him, and they have the following exchange:

Ed: “Morning.” Izzy: “My leg?” (looking down his body.) Ed: (laughing) “Yeah. Oh, no, that’s gone now. Up in Leg Heaven.” (sets the smelling salts down, turns to look down at Izzy.) Izzy: (looks up at Ed.) “Have you come to take the other one?” Ed: “I think one’s quite enough. I just popped down to say a proper goodbye.” (reaches behind him, draws gun. Izzy: (watches the gun, looks down from Ed’s face to gun and back as Ed cocks and loads it.) Ed: (looking at the gun, not Izzy.) “Had a dream about you last night.” (flips gun to offer the handle to Izzy.) “Take it.” Izzy: “Oh, fuck off. Fuck off. Fuck off.” (slaps at Ed’s hand, looking away from Ed.) Ed: “Hold it! Hold it.” (they are speaking over each other. Gets the gun in Izzy’s hand, directs it at Ed’s head. Looking at Izzy.) “I dreamt that ya killed me. Shot me right through the skull.” (moving the gun and Izzy’s hand, drawing it to his forehead, leaning closer. The camera moves between Ed’s face and Izzy’s.) Izzy: (smiles slowly then sneers.) “Good for you.” Ed: (blinks and nods slowly.) “It was good for me. It’s just what the doctor ordered.” (The camera moves from Ed’s face to Izzy’s showing him with that frown as Ed stands over him, leaving the gun in Izzy’s hand.) “Anyway, it wasn’t even like that.” (walks away from Izzy.) Izzy: (eyes tracking Ed as he walks away.) Ed: “Not in my dream.” (moves to stand at the foot of Izzy’s bed, back to Izzy.) “I was standing.” (inhales). “Just like this.” (Closes eyes. Spreads arms.) Izzy: (from his view, Ed is standing against the light, back open, arms spread. He blinks and raises the gun audibly.) Ed: (Swallows, holding his arms out.) Izzy: (smiles, sniffs audibly, dropping the smile as he clenches his teeth. Laughs harshly, mockingly, gun raised.) “Ohhhhh, ah, you scared, Eddie? Too scared - too scared to do it yourself? Ay.” (laughs) “Go on, clean up your own fucking mess. I’m not doin’ it. I’ve been doin’ it all my fucking life.” Ed: (looks down, disappointed. blinks.) Izzy: Fuck off. Ed: (nods, swallows.) “Farewell, old chum.” (whispered. He walks up the stairs and away from Izzy.) Izzy: (watches, shaking, nodding slowly himself, breath hitching.) Ed: (reaches the top of the stairs. A gunshot sounds. A creak. Ed lowers his eyes, looking down at something off camera. Nods. Exhales.) “I loved you” (a pause) “best I could.” The scene transitions from there, and the next we see of Ed, he is initiating plan two of suicide attempts: steering the ship into a storm and goading the ship to kill him or die with him.

But Ed’s deal is so many more posts from here. No, we’re focused on Izzy for the moment, so what did this whole exchange mean for him?

First, the thought that Ed had come to do more damage. That Ed was there for Izzy, that this was about Izzy. But it’s not. Ed has had enough of that. He notably does not apologize. Izzy notably does not seem to expect one. There is history here, and the last time they were in positions like this, the camera angle was flipped - Ed at Izzy’s right, a hand covering Izzy’s mouth, making him eat his toe and the idea that things could go as they had been, that the Blackbeard Izzy had schemed and tried to have a man killed over was back. This time, Ed is at Izzy’s left, with a gun, and he doesn’t touch Izzy except to hand over the gun.

This is where it’s so important that Izzy believed he and Ed knew each other best of all. Because in episode one, Izzy was getting worried for Ed, but it’s in episode 2, in this moment, as Ed hands him a gun, that he realizes Ed wants to die. And it’s in this moment that he realizes that Ed fully believes Izzy could. That Ed has taken these actions believing that they would lead Izzy to kill him. That Ed wants to commit suicide via Izzy, that he thinks killing Ed is something that Izzy wants, could want, could do. 

This is Izzy, realizing that he and Ed don’t understand each other nearly as well as he thought. This is Izzy, realizing that Ed looks at him and sees a man who could and would kill him, when Izzy thinks that he couldn’t ever do that. This is Izzy, having the true final death knell on that relationship he believed they had, the intimacy he believed they had, the lack of a need for words. He thought all this time that he knew Ed best and that Ed knew him, and he doesn’t want to kill Ed - and he’s also hurt and angry and upset to know Ed genuinely thought he would. That Ed would come to him for this, because Izzy doesn’t think he could kill Ed, but Ed thinks he could. 

In his mind, Ed should know that Izzy could never kill him, should trust him, should know without having to be told that it would never happen, but here’s Ed in the flesh, asking him to kill him. 

It’s over, everything he thought was there. 

And Ed? Ed did care about Izzy, in his own way, but every overture he made was denied, shot down, Izzy not interested in the bird guy, the ship, the clouds and how they contribute to a plan, the drugs, and like, Izzy is allowed to not be interested in any of those things - but these are the things Ed was interested in. These are the ways Ed tried to connect most recently, and Izzy shot them all down. To Izzy, there was a deep and intimate connection in spite of all of that. To Ed, every way he could connect with Izzy was shot down. He loved him the best he could, which wasn’t a way that could provide either of them what they wanted. Izzy had love for Ed, but that love could not be fruitful or nurturing to either of them, because it was unspoken and therefore ripe for misunderstanding. 

Izzy stews down there in the ship, in his own thoughts, while Ed steers the ship into a storm and makes his last effort to die, to have it all end - to push the crew to killing him, or dying with him. And then he ties his leg up, makes his way above deck, shoots Ed in the arm to keep him from killing them all, and tries to kill himself instead, staring at Ed as he tries to shoot himself with the gun Ed wanted Izzy to kill him with. Despite the gun being aimed for the temple, he fails and falls back, leaving himself staring up as it rains on him, hiding any tears. Fang brings Ed down, and the crew gather together, Fang supporting Izzy’s weight, as Jim lifts a cannonball with a scream and prepares to bring it down on Ed’s head. Izzy watches without interfering.

EDIT: ADDED THIS SECTION:

A quick addendum: even though I watched episode 2 so many times, I didn't realize that Izzy tried to kill himself after Ed left the room! The gunshot that Ed hears is in fact Izzy trying and failing to shoot himself right then and there, in that moment that Ed departs. Izzy's forehead was so wet and the background of him falling back and water splashing was such that I truly thought that took place in the rain, and that he tried to shoot himself after shooting Ed. Thanks to @glamaphonic for letting me know. This does leave me even more certain that Izzy is motivated to do this because he has finally understood both that Edward wants to die, and that he and Edward never understood each other as well as he thought, which brings the last years of his life into question. He tried to kill himself, failed, and came up to stop Ed from bringing down the ship. It's not just that Izzy stews down there - as Ed departs, leaving Izzy behind, Izzy takes the shot. He tries and fails to kill himself, and wakes and climbs the steps to take the shot at Ed he couldn't before.

The next time we see Izzy is s1e3, The Innkeeper, when Stede crosses over to the Revenge and finds the crew amidst the wreckage. He’s eating a raw bird with the rest of the crew, and then is brought aboard the Red Flag. As Stede asks the crew about Ed’s location, Izzy watches him. He’s the only one not eating soup, hands tucked over his chest. 

As Stede starts asking questions - dangerous questions for Izzy and the former crew of the Revenge - he walks over with a crutch. 

Izzy: “Bonnet. Good to see you.” Stede: “Piss off, Izzy. I don’t wanna hear from you.”

Stede talks to the rest of the crew, as Izzy grimaces. Stede pays him no attention. The next time Izzy speaks up: Stede: “What about my painting? Why is it all stabbed up?” Izzy: (looking up through his hair, smiling.) “That was me.” Stede: (sighs and walks away without response.) Izzy: (blinks slowly, looking dismayed. We see him start to turn his head in Stede’s direction.)

Well, that seemed like someone trying to pick a fight, and disappointed he didn’t get one, too me. In Izzy’s mind, Stede is his romantic rival, the man Ed loves where he didn’t love Izzy, and, currently, also a threat, because if he keeps asking questions and reveals the mutiny, they’ll all be killed. 

But Stede is one more thing. Stede is another dagger in Izzy’s heart, as we continue transcribing:

Izzy: “Don’t cry Bonnet. We just redecorated.” (has clearly been following Stede.) Stede: “I don’t mind, actually. I think the knives really help bring the place together.” (calmly stated before he walks away to look at the rest of the furniture.) Izzy: (drops his head, looking away as though trying to gather words.) Stede: (turns to look at Izzy.) “What’d you do with him? I know he wouldn’t have left by choice.” Izzy: (sniffles) I know you think you understand him. Stede: (interrupting) “He was either gonna watch the world burn or die trying, so which was it?” (leaning forward despite the considerable distance, still calm.) Izzy: (swallows, dips head. Starts moving forward, gritting teeth through words.) “Alright Bonnet. Have it your own way.” (stalking forward to Stede on his crutch.) “He went mad. He tortured the crew. He took my fuckin’ leg ‘cause I dared to mention your fuckin’ name.” (emphasis on the curses, slams fist when he says your name.) Stede: (in drawn breath, turns away) Izzy: “He was a wild dog, and we dealt with him like one.” Stede: “You sent him to Doggy Heaven.” Izzy: (stares in silence, head shaking. Flashes back to Ed laying in the rain, breathing out “Finally,” and laughing as Jim brings a cannonball down on him as Izzy watches. Stares. Turns to look away from Stede, face twisting. Shakes his head. Shuts his eyes. Breathes the word:) “No.” Stede: (turns to look back at him.) Izzy: “I could never do that.” (looks away, still not looking Stede in the face). “We deserved him on a beach (sniffles) left nature to do the rest. More than he would have done for us.” Stede: (turns away, breathing out.) Izzy: (continuing) “You and me did this to him. And we cannot let this crew suffer anymore for our mistakes.” Stede: (turns to look at Izzy) “Why would they suffer?” Izzy: “If your captain senses mutiny, she’ll kill us all. That’s pirate code.” Stede: (camera lingers on his face as he swallows.)

Doggy Heaven has a heavy meaning in this series, considering that Ed was supposed to send Stede to Doggy Heaven, and couldn’t because of his love for Stede. Ed couldn’t bring himself to kill Stede, but here is Stede, who Izzy views as a romantic rival, guessing that Izzy could kill Ed. Acknowledging that he, like Ed, believes that Izzy could kill Ed. Izzy, who thinks he couldn’t and wouldn’t and has love for Ed, and sees himself as loyal. 

But Izzy did stand back as Ed was killed, and that’s why he reaches for dehumanizing language to defend the action - he calls Ed a wild dog and that they dealt with him like one. 

(It’s the first time in the show that a white character makes a racist remark without immediate consequences. Before anyway says otherwise, yes it is always racist for white people to dehumanize a man of color. It is always racist to say a person of color is or was an animal or liken them to being an animal. He could have said that Ed was a danger to the crew in any number of ways but he reached for likening him to a creature less than human and yeah that’s a racist thing to do. I believe the show did not follow through with consequences for this action because it’s clear that Izzy is STILL trying to pick a fight with Stede.)

The commonality in all of these scenes with Stede are twofold. One, Izzy is trying to distract Stede from the truth of the mutiny and what the crew did (and the fact that Ed is still aboard the Revenge, left for dead [or as Izzy put it, for nature to do the rest]). The second is that Izzy is trying and failing to pick a fight - failing, because Stede won’t take him up on it. At all. Stede is not engaging with Izzy at this point outside of the practical matter of seeking information, and that’s all he has to spare for Izzy - he’s already told him to piss off once, and that’s as much energy as he spends on it, but Izzy comes at Stede antagonistically more than once - three times, actually, and I think it’s because if he has a fight with Stede, and Stede says all the things he’s thinking, about how awful Izzy is, how he’s a traitor, how could he have hurt Ed, any of those things, then Izzy can fight about it, and he can justify it to himself, and he can ignore the thought from now on, because it’s the same thought that Stede fuckin’ Bonnet is having, and those thoughts are worthless.

But Stede doesn’t give him that. Stede doesn’t give him a fight at all. Stede walks away from Izzy again and again and again and in doing so does not grant Izzy an out, an out that can ONLY come from Stede, because no one else is going to disagree with the mutiny. 

Stede is the only one who could give him that fight, and Stede refuses. And Izzy continues to have to sit with his own thoughts and justifications and they clearly aren’t enough for him, because he’s continuing to push. 

Izzy is also trying to protect himself and the crew, here. It’s very much about that. He is trying to keep himself and them from dying by being caught out for mutiny, but I think it’s interesting that it’s only here that he tries to take accountability for what he said and did to Ed, and it’s in service of avoiding what he’s actually done. Izzy says that he and Stede did this to Ed - this that resulted in, as he says, Ed going mad and torturing the crew and having to be mutinied and abandoned on the beach. Izzy needs Stede to feel equally responsible - so that Stede will help protect the crew, but also because I think Izzy is feeling guilty and has been, because he could watch Ed die, and he could hurt Ed, and he didn’t think of himself as that person, but he is and was, and thinking that he caused all of this himself is too much. Better to give some of it to Stede, and help the crew out as well as himself. 

He had love for Ed, in his own way, and he thought they understood each other and had a partnership, but here’s Stede fuckin’ Bonnet, who only knew Ed for a matter of weeks, and understood him better than Izzy did and wouldn’t do the thing that Izzy did, and this is the final nail for Izzy, the thing he’s struggling with in this whole revelation that Ed didn’t have any romantic love for him, that there was no special intimate romance between them that didn’t need to be said or expressed or acknowledged with words or vulnerability to exist, because Stede takes one look at the situation and can summarize what happened. Stede knew that Ed would want to die, because you can’t actually burn the world down. You can say “burn the world or die trying”, but the only end result is dying trying. 

And Izzy, I genuinely don’t think, understood that Ed wanted to die. Not until Ed offered him the gun. Not until Ed spelled it out. Izzy knew that Ed was fucked up over his feelings, but I don’t think he understood where they were leading. 

But here’s Stede, and he did, and Izzy can’t take that, which is why once the truth is out and the mutineers are locked in the brig awaiting probable execution, Izzy tries to pick a fight one more time, even now that there’s nothing to distract Stede from. 

Izzy: (hears footsteps and turns his head.) Stede: (comes to the brig, staring through the bars at Izzy, then the rest of the crew.) Izzy: (smiles) “Go on Bonnet, give me your worst.” Crew: (looks up at Stede slowly.) Stede: (Looks at all of them, silent and not visibly angry, somber. Tilts his head down, eyes closed. Opens his eyes, shoves against the bars and turns and walks away without a word.) Izzy: (Drops the smile. Stares forward into the distance, eyes visibly wet with tears, blinks several times).

 So, clearly trying for a fight, wanting one, and continually being denied. Izzy is almost certainly grieving Ed, the relationship he thought they had, and also his leg, and Stede is the only other person here who would even possibly mourn Ed too, and Stede refuses to give him any response. Even when goaded, even knowing the truth, he has nothing to say to him. The next time Stede and Izzy are in the same room, Stede has concocted an escape plan, and doesn’t look at or speak to Izzy at all as he gives instructions and organizes the escape.

And when they have made it back to their ship, when they’re getting the wheel and rigging set for escape, they have a final conversation:

Izzy: (walks up behind Stede, who is watching the Red Flag.) “I just wanted to thank you for-” Stede: (walks away without letting him finish.) Izzy: (looks down, is left standing alone as live moves on the ship.)

Over the course of these three episodes, Izzy’s plot is realizing that he was fundamentally wrong about his relationship with Ed, his understanding of Ed as a person, and the depths of Ed’s feelings and despair. I think he’s also realizing that he was wrong about his relationship with Stede - he saw Stede as a romantic rival, and someone who hated him as much as he hates Stede, but given the opportunity to antagonize Izzy again and again, Stede refuses, because he doesn’t care about Izzy nearly enough. 

Izzy has misunderstood the nature of his relationship as it were with both of these men, who are, and always were, predominantly, chiefly, and only, interested in each other.

[freesia-writes]

Feel free to add any thoughts in the tags, and please reblog for a larger sample size!

Edited to add -- I should have put an option for "I only want to read the whole thing when it's finished", so maybe that goes in the "as long as they can be" option??

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Rusty | Chapter 5 | SR

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Summary - Once you sober up, you and Spencer start to learn a little more about each other. But when things get heated between you, Spencer becomes distant.

Paring - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - strangers to friends to lovers | angst | smut minors DNI

Warnings - this chapter goes into some gritty detail about a past sexual assault / rape in form of forced oral sex (please tread lightly), blood, injuries, hangovers, talk of sexuality, talk of break ups, past death of a parent, past physical abuse, swearing, tears, making out, brief suicidal thoughts, rape statistics, PTSD, brief mentions of past drug addiction, Maeve and Cat Adams, vomit.

WC - 6k

Chapter 5 - Gunpowder and Led

When the phone rang for a fourth time, Spencer felt himself relenting. It was sitting in the open palm of his right hand, vibrating against his skin. 

The first three times he’d seen the flash of his name on the screen he’d quickly looked away, ignoring the sound, ignoring the vibration. 

But it just kept ringing. 

By this time it was dark, nearing ten pm and to say he was exhausted would be stark understatement. 

After getting you back to the ranch he went straight to the stable. It took somewhere in the region of a half hour to get down from his horse given the amount of pain he was in from riding to and from town. 

When he’d finally gotten down and freed Willow of her saddle and gear, he’d limped back towards his lodge where he’d left you with the key and told you to go sit down. 

He expected to find you on the couch or maybe even on the porch still. Instead he’d found you curled up in his bed, sheets tucked up to your chin as you snored quietly against his pillow. 

A cursory glance at the room and the clothes strewn around the floor told him you no doubt wore little more than underwear beneath the sheet.  

It probably shouldn’t be such a big deal, but Spencer’s mental hang ups had only gotten worse due to his social isolation. He was more of a germaphobe now than he’d ever been, at least with regards to humans. 

Horses, he didn’t mind. It didn’t phase him at all when Willow or Frank or Wilbur ate from his hand and left behind their saliva. He didn’t even blink at having to scoop up their faeces or clean out piles of urine soaked hay. 

But humans were another thing entirely. 

The most physical contact he’d had in two years was at the hospital this morning when the nurse had fitted his cast. She wore gloves of course, which alleviated some of his anxiety towards the situation. 

But now there was a person in his bed. His sanitised safe place for which no one else had ever breached. His cleanliness extended to the point he made a habit of changing his bedsheets every couple of days and he had planned to change them tomorrow in any case. 

He would certainly not be able to sleep between those sheets now another body had inhabited them. It played on his mind as he left you to sleep. He briefly considered waking you but the damage was done now. 

He tried to occupy his mind by going about his daily routine, which was made much more arduous given his incapacity. He started by taking the three horses out to their pen so he could clean out the stable. Usually he could take all three at once but his limited movement and use of only one hand meant he had to take them one at a time. 

He hitched up their reins and one by one led them up the hill towards the large, fenced off area which was located at the edge of the ravine which ran the length of the northern side of his land. 

Willow first. Then Wilbur. Finally Franklin.

The ache in his knee and the throb in his thigh multiplied with each trip up and down that hill and by the time the stable was empty he barely had the energy left to clean it out. But he pushed on, despite the pain and despite his lack of motivation.

It took well over an hour for him to successfully clean each of their paddocks but at least it meant his three horses had longer to strut around in the field because there was no way Frank and Wilbur were to be ridden today. 

Once he’d cleaned it out, filled their troughs and replenished their water, one by one he led the horses home. By this point he had to go and pop another couple of Tylenol and sit down for ten minutes with a mug of honey and lemon tea. 

After he did much the same with his six cattle. Their own barn was part of their enclosed area, they had access to come and go as they pleased through the open door as they spent most of their time eating the grass. 

All six, four cows and two bulls, were already outside which made his job a little easier. He cleaned the barn, replenished their foods and water while they meandered of their own volition. 

When he was finished he leaned against the fence and watched them for a while, smiling a little as he thought back to that conversation with JJ. 

“And what would you do with cattle?” 

“You know, look at ‘em, pet ‘em…I hadn’t really thought about that. But I’ll figure it out.” 

Looking at them and petting them was pretty much all Spencer derived from his cattle after all. He did take advantage of their milk supply every once in a while but didn’t particularly relish the milking process so it wasn’t habitual. Mostly he just liked to watch them. 

If he had a favourite it would be Cupid. She was the runt of the group, much smaller than her companions. He had named her such for the heart shaped black splodge around her left eye. Cupid’s brother Sampson was damn near twice her size and they fought like cat and dog. 

His other girls, Daisy, Annabel and Jasmine were also much bigger than Cupid but they were all amicable with each other. His final bull, Duke, was the biggest of them all, broad and thick and the darkest of blacks in colour. He looked terrifying and Spencer had been extremely reluctant in purchasing him. 

But then Duke had looked at him with large, doe eyes and licked Spencer’s hand in such a calming manner that Spencer had instantly fallen in love with the older bull. 

He stood leaning against the fence for some time, just watching them roam about, munch on the grass, interact with one another. 

As companions he preferred horses but to just sit by and watch he favoured the cattle. He found them mesmerising for reasons unknown to him. 

They were inquisitive creatures, majestic in their own right. And something about them just utterly fascinated Spencer. 

He missed another call from Penelope throughout the day and received another text from Luke which was much the same as the other. 

He would contact someone, eventually. He just wasn’t in the head space to talk to any of his old team after the past few days. 

After completing his chores he checked in on you and found you still asleep. Not wanting to wake you he grabbed a change of clothes before limping back up to the other lodge to clean himself up. 

He could tell you’d used the shower and so had to clean and sanitise the tub before he dared use it. He’d hold off on changing your bedsheets in case you decided to stay for longer but he did feel compelled to make the bed again to his standards. 

Once clean, he ran a bath, not having the energy to shower. While the tub filled he stripped out of his clothes, groaning in pain when he had to shimmy his pants off. 

Not entirely unexpectedly, the outside of the gauze was coated in blood as was the inside of the pant leg of his jeans. 

He sat on the toilet and unravelled the soiled bandage cautiously. He had another first aid kit in this bathroom so at least he’d have a clean alternative once he was bathed. 

He used a wad of wet tissue to clean the wounds before his bath so as not to be soaking in a pool of his own blood. It smarted and he ground his teeth in response. 

Lowering himself into the tub wasn’t an easy thing to do but he managed. And once he was down he relished the feeling of the warm water caressing his limbs. 

He kept his casted arm hanging over the side and lolled his head back against the porcelain, letting his eyes flutter closed and trying to force relaxation upon himself.

It must have worked because when he opened his eyes again it was two hours later and the bath water had long turned cold. 

He checked in on you once more after his bath, ate a small bowl of cereal for dinner and made another mug of honey and lemon tea which he sat drinking on the porch with his phone in his hand as it rang a fourth time. 

He inhaled sharply through his nose, slowly exhaling as he counted to ten. His hand shook a little as he raised the device, pressed the button to answer the call and put it to his ear. 

“Hi,” he croaked out the word and awaited their greeting whilst a throb pounded at his temple. 

There was a small stretch of silence on the other end, or maybe he just perceived there to be. But soon enough a voice he hadn’t heard in months flitted its way to Spencer’s ear.

“Oh man, it’s so good to hear your voice, pretty boy.”

***

You awoke with a start, your heart hammering diligently against your chest and gasping for air. You felt like your lungs had been filled with water, deprived of oxygen. 

Your eyes shot open as you sat upright in the unfamiliar bed. You blinked into the dark room, trying to focus yourself, find your bearings. 

Taking deep breaths to try and return your breathing to normal, shapes started to form. After a minute or so ascertained you were in Spencer’s bed. 

You rubbed your eyes, an almost gentle thrum in your head and the lingering taste of whiskey on your tongue reminded you of your precious activities. 

Images of the 11th Street Bar, of Cole and Boone and Butch came back to you. Spencer on Willow’s back, yelling, swearing, fighting. 

You groaned and let your hands fall back to the bed. You’d said some things to Spencer that would be hard to retract. You’d called him out on his medication, asked him about his mental health issues, trying to pry into an area of his life which was absolutely none of your concern. 

You’d called him a jerk, a self righteous asshole, told him no one wanted to know him. You’d projected your own anger and frustrations onto him, the nice, handsome man who in spite of his injuries had mounted his horse and come to get you when you were drunk and a danger to yourself. 

“You want to be a petulant child, fine. I offered you a place to stay. I can see you’re running from something, whether it be real or imagined I don’t know. But I was trying to help you because god knows I’ve been there. And no one helped me. 

“I know what it’s like to feel as though the world has turned its back on you and I thought, hey maybe we can be of assistance to each other. But if you’re going to be like this then you’re on your own.”

It was becoming clear that you and Spencer had a lot more in common than it would seem at face value. He wanted to help you because he’d seen himself in you. You had no doubts that whatever he was running from was far different to your own demons, but nevertheless there was a kinship between you.

And you’d gotten drunk and belligerent and potentially ruined what could have been a budding friendship. 

You got out of bed in the face of your growing headache. You noticed as you got to your feet you were wearing nothing but your panties and bra. Your clothes were thrown around the room in a very haphazard fashion and you scrambled to collect them and redress. 

Padding your way out of the room, there was a light on but no one to be seen. You went to the kitchen and poured yourself a glass of water which your dry mouth was thankful for. It went some way to extinguishing the taste of whiskey left behind. 

The kettle was on the stove and judging by the steam rising from its spout you could only assume Spencer wasn’t far away. Hugging your arms around your body, preparing yourself for serious grovelling, you headed over to the door. 

Through the glass pane in the wood you could see him sitting in one of the rockers on the porch, cradling a mug in his good hand, a cell phone balanced between his shoulder and ear. You held your breath, stayed extremely still. 

“Thanks for calling Morgan, it was good to talk.” Spencer sighed into the phone, not sounding as though he meant his words at all. “You can tell Penelope that I’m okay and I will try and call her as soon as I can. Yeah sure, thanks. Bye.” 

You watched his shoulders slump as he hung up the phone, sitting back in the rocker and closing his eyes. The moonlight bathed his skin, illuminating the slight sheen of sweat on his pinched brow. 

Swallowing thickly you gripped the doorknob and opened it before stepping out onto the porch. His eyes quickly opened again and he turned his head to the side, regarding you with what could only be described as disdain. 

You hesitantly walked closer, dropping down into the chair next to his. 

“Who’s Penelope?” You couldn’t help but ask. 

Spencer let out a dry chuckle, clearly not at all surprised to find you’d be listening into his conversation. 

“A friend. An old friend.” He brought the mug to his lips and sipped the tea.

“The same friend who’s text got your back up this morning?” You sat forward, leaning your elbows against your knees. 

“No,” he shook his head, looking out into the darkness instead of at you. “Part of the reason I ended up out here was because of an ex of mine. I was in a bad place and I was, uh…not good…not good. I pushed them away, I forced their hand. It wasn’t a shock when they walked away but it still hurt. And I knew if I hung around I would never get over that heartbreak and so I came out here, partially due to wanting to put distance between us.” 

His eyebrows were furrowed in his own confusion. He didn’t know why he’d offered that information so readily to you and in a strange way it felt something akin to nice to get it out. But it also made his stomach coil, hollowing his chest. 

He brought the mug to his lips again, not being able to look to see your reaction because he didn’t want to know what you were thinking. 

“So your ex is who texted you?” You drew the conclusions, watching the side of his face as he nodded gently. 

“Yeah, that was him.” He exhaled shakily.

“Him?” Your eyebrows pinched together. “Huh, I totally missed that about you.” 

Spencer slowly turned to you, your lip curled up in a wry smile. He puckered his own lips, wondering how much of himself he was willing to give to you. 

“I’m not…I mean I am, but I'm not?” He pulled a face. “I don’t really like defining myself. I guess if you had to put a name to what I am, the closest thing would be bisexual or pansexual I suppose. But I don’t really like to categorise it.

“Sexuality is just a spectrum, right? Some days I’m at one end and some I’m at the other I guess. He was my only serious relationship but I’ve had encounters with women too. It’s funny really, as someone who usually likes to have a name for things, to put into words exactly what things are, this is just one area of my life I’ve never felt the need to define.” 

You listened intently, nodding in agreement and offering him encouraging smiles. He took another sip of tea when he was finished speaking and rolled his lip between his teeth. 

“What’s his name?” You asked softly but then followed it up with, “only if you want to tell me of course, I don’t mean to pry.” 

Spencer nodded with a deep inhale, chest puffing out as he did so. 

“Luke. Luke Alvez.” He spoke wistfully.

Your brows pinched together as a strange familiarity accompanied those words. It was the same feeling you’d had when you’d seen the latino man in Spencer’s photograph. 

“Uh, is he one of the ones in the photograph on your desk? Dark hair, goofy smile?” You croaked. 

“Yeah that’s him.” Spencer nodded sadly. 

Interesting. 

You couldn’t place the feeling, couldn’t tell what it was about that face and name that was so familiar to you. But there was certainly something to it. For now you would park the idea, circle back to it another time if needed.

“I’m sorry that you broke up. You wanna, uh, talk about him?” You leaned further forward on your elbows. 

Spencer took another sip of his tea before bending with a small groan and putting the mug on the ground next to his chair.

“Not especially, no.” He spoke as he sat back up but then… “We dated for about two years I guess, all in all. Truth be told I thought he was the person I was going to spend the rest of my life with. On our third date he told me he was gonna marry me one day. Being with him was the first time I’d ever felt safe in my entire life. I loved him, I have no doubt about that but I sometimes wonder if my feelings for him were partially formed out of trauma bonding. 

“He was an ex army ranger, most definitely still suffering some residual PTSD. I have suitcases full of my own baggage and I guess we became closer because of it. I was the first person he ever told about his nightmares he had about his days in Iraq. He was the first person I actively and freely talked to about my addic…that doesn’t matter. 

“He was like a bandaid in a way. I thought we were fixing each other's broken pieces back together but in reality we were both too far gone. And then something happened to me and there weren’t enough bandaids in the world to hold me together. And I probably destroyed the best thing that ever happened to me because of it. 

“I have no idea why I’m telling you all of this. I hate talking about myself and my past. But I guess you should know, if you were planning on hanging around or whatever at least you have a little glimpse into who I am. I’m not going to lie to you and say I’ll open up more in time if you do stick around because I probably won’t. But you’re the only person I have ever spoken to about Luke and I hope that’s enough.” 

You could see the slow swell of discomfort blossoming on his features as he spoke and you knew it had nothing to do with his physical pain but a mental one. Your heart was thumping against your rib cage, taking in each word with precision, mulling it over and storing it away. 

It was a nice feeling that he trusted you enough to tell you all of this. His confession was like a warm mug of tea on a snowy day, the sunshine at the end of a rain storm. You wanted to return the favour, to let him know how much you appreciated his candour. But much like him you kept your cards close to your chest and needed to pick your words carefully. 

“I, uh, I’ve been on my own since I was sixteen.” You sharply inhaled. “My dad died when I was a little kid, I barely remember him if I’m honest. And then my mom remarried when I was ten. The guy was a douche, a drunk, and beat my mom six ways to Sunday. As I got older I started standing up for her and in retaliation he turned his anger on me. I protected my mom from his beatings but had to pay the price of taking the brunt of them myself. 

“It was what it was, you know? It was never gonna change. A few weeks after my sixteenth birthday I ran away from home, never looking back. I got the hell out of dodge before I did something dumb like fight back. It was what I needed to do for myself but in doing so I’m sure he turned that aggression back on my mom.

“I still feel the guilt every single day of my life even all these years later. Few years back I found out my mom had passed away. Supposedly she suffered a brain aneurysm after falling down a flight of stairs. What a load of bullshit. He pushed her, I know he did. He killed my mom. If I’d stayed it might never have happened. That son of a bitch murdered my mom and I blame myself.” 

By the time you were finished a couple of tears were spilling down your cheeks. And despite his aversion to touch, despite his germaphobic tendencies, Spencer found himself leaning closer to you, cupping your cheek in his good hand and brushing at the tears with the pad of his thumb. 

Much like Willow did, you nuzzled your face against his hand, closing your eyes as you succumbed to the pain. 

You briefly thought over his own confession, specifically the part when he said, being with him was the first time I’d ever felt safe in my entire life and understanding in that moment exactly what he meant. 

As Spencer held your face and continued to wipe your tears as they fell, this was the first time in your life you'd ever felt safe. 

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that.” He whispered and your eyes fluttered open. 

“You’re the only person I’ve ever told.” You confessed. “Maybe it’s true what they say.”

“What’s that?” He regarded you curiously. 

“About misery loving company.” You chuckled dryly and Spencer did the same, hand still on your cheek. “If it’s okay, I think I might hang around a while. And I promise to be of help around here, I’m not looking for a hand out.” 

“Sounds good to me. My misery for one is certainly enjoying the company.” His hand was still cupping your cheek, he couldn’t seem to bring himself to tear it away. 

All of his aches, pains and gripes had faded away, both the physical and the mental. The only thing on his mind was how beautiful you looked and how he wanted to do everything within his power to make all of your own pain go away. 

When his eyes flitted over your lips it had been an entirely subconscious action. But once they had, he found himself chewing his own lip and inching his face closer to you. You mirrored the motion, leaning further forward in your chair as your eyes started to close. 

Within seconds you felt his chapped lips ghost over your own, barely touching you as though he was testing the waters. For a moment you thought he might pull back, not dare go any further but you were grateful when his lips then crashed heavily against yours. 

A moan escaped your mouth and Spencer was quick to edge his tongue between your parted lips. You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him close to you as he deepened the kiss. 

He tasted sour like lemons and a hint of mint. You imagined you tasted like the remnants of whiskey but he didn’t seem to mind. He hungrily explored your mouth with a desperate neediness and you allowed him to. You’d allow him to do whatever he wanted. 

His hand that was on your cheek snaked around to the back of your neck and pinned you against him. His lips were rough and dry but you didn’t mind at all. His fingers threaded into your hair at the base of your neck and you moved even further forward until you were practically between his thighs.  

A muffled moan left his lips and was swallowed down in your own mouth as tongues and teeth messily moved together as the kiss grew more heated by the second. 

You sat back a little suddenly but kept your lips connected. You moved your hands to his shoulders and helped the both of you to your feet. Once standing he pushed you back up against the door to his lodge. His body flush against yours you could feel a hardness in his slacks pressing into your thigh. 

He caged you against the door with his hips, rutting into you slightly for the friction. He was hard, harder than he had been in a long time, not quite fully erect but he was certainly getting there. 

He washed his mind of any thoughts that didn’t directly pertain to you and how your lips felt as you kissed him. He didn’t want his intrusive thoughts to ruin this, he wanted the freedom to claim back something he’d lost in -

- Prison.

At the same time that thought washed over him, one of your hands manoeuvred between your bodies, over his chest, down his stomach and then finally pressed against the outside of his slacks. 

“It’s not…stop it, please? Please? It’s n-normal.” 

“He’s enjoying it! Hah!”

“It’s a-adrenaline. It happens when we-we’re excited or scared. S-sexual arousal and fear a-arousal have many of the same bodily f…please stop!” 

You felt him going limp in your hand almost instantly. And then he tore himself away from you, taking a shaking step backwards on the porch and slapping his hand to his forehead. 

You were still up against the door, panting from the lack of oxygen as you watched him start to pace, limping as he went.

“Uh, is everything okay? You weren’t, uh, enjoying that?” You asked, rolling your swollen lip between your teeth. 

“What’s wrong, Spence? What’s happening? Why aren’t you, uh…aren’t you enjoying this?” 

“I, uh, I just…I’m not ready.” 

“It’s okay, we don’t have to do anything. I’m sorry if I rushed you.”

“Spence? Did something…did they do something to you in prison?” 

“Fuck,” Spencer whined, shaking his head violently. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” 

You pushed yourself away from the door and came to his side, grabbing his shoulder to try and stop his pacing. His eyes shot up at you and he stilled, a look of terror in his eyes from your uninvited touch. 

“Don’t touch me! And don’t talk to me about that place.” 

“Spencer? You know you can tell me anything. This is a safe space, baby.” 

“Don’t touch me,” he whined, stepping out of your hold. “Please, don’t touch me.” 

“Did I miss something? What is happening?” You let your arm fall to your side. 

“I’m so much more fucked up than you will ever know.” He winced at his own words. “This is…I can’t…Friends. We can only ever be friends, okay?” 

It wasn’t strictly a question, you knew that. And even if it were it only had one feasible answer. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, wondering what on earth had happened to this man for him to react in such a way. 

You had your suspicions, it didn’t exactly take a genius to figure out why one might be so touch averse unless he was the one controlling the situation, why someone might panic when they were touched in such an intimate way. 

You would never ask though, and he would probably never tell. So instead you started to nod, taking a step back so as to give him the space he needed. 

“Friends, Spencer. Friends is just fine.” You agreed. 

He looked at you as though he didn’t believe your words but after a few moments he nodded too. 

“I should…sleep. I’m exhausted. Tomorrow? I’ll…tomorrow.” He struggled to get out a full sentence but you understood anyway. 

You stepped aside so he could get to the door and watched him open it and close it again behind you. You heard the click of the lock and within seconds the light was shutting off, leaving you standing on his porch, bathed in darkness. 

***

In spite of his mental and physical exhaustion, Spencer couldn’t sleep. How the hell could he sleep after that? 

He didn’t even try because he knew it would be fruitless. Instead he did what he normally did when he couldn’t sleep: he cleaned. 

He started by stripping the bedsheets and tossing them in the corner of the room to be washed tomorrow. He replaced them with clean ones and made the bed so neatly you’d be able to bounce a quarter off of it. 

He got a bucket of bleach water, a scrubbing brush and some rubber gloves. On his knees he meticulously scrubbed every inch of his wooden floors with his one useable hand.

The pain in his leg was excruciating from his knee to his thigh. It hurt so much he barely registered the ache in his back or the throb of his broken arm. 

But pain had been his goal. It was his own form of punishment to himself for his earlier actions. You’d been vulnerable and he’d taken advantage of the situation, almost letting himself fall over a ledge he swore he’d never go over again. 

Intimacy was not on his agenda, not now and not ever again. He didn’t need sex, he didn’t need the closeness of another body, not anymore. Not after what he’d endured in prison. 

By definition, he had been raped. By the FBI definition of the word, that is what he’d experienced. 

Oral penetration by a sex organ of another person without the consent of the victim. 

Two inmates had pinned him by each shoulder to a wall whilst he was forced onto his knees. A third had forced Spencer to perform the act of fellatio on him. 

And in his abject terror, Spencer had gotten an erection which was noticeable to them all after the third man pulled away from his mouth and ejaculated over Spencer’s prison scrubs. 

They’d laughed and jeered at the obvious tenting in his slacks which he tried to hide behind his hands whilst stuttering out his logical explanation. 

“Are you…oh my god he’s fucking hard! He’s enjoying this!” 

“It’s not…stop it, please? Please? It’s n-normal.” 

“He’s enjoying it! Hah!”

“It’s a-adrenaline. It happens when we-we’re excited or scared. S-sexual arousal and fear a-arousal have many of the same bodily f…please stop!” 

Two nights later they’d returned and one of the men holding him down the first night had forced himself on Spencer, using Spencer’s mouth as a means by which to get off. Again he also hadn’t finished down his throat but, like the other man, all over Spencer’s shirt. 

A week later, it was the third man’s turn to force himself upon their weaker inmate. 

The first time he’d considered biting the man’s phallus. But of course he knew that would cause greater retribution and he would no doubt be killed. 

But by the third time a part of him wished they would kill him instead.

In his years at the BAU he’d had to deal with hundreds if not thousands of these types of offenders. The act of one man assaulting another man in such a manner was a way to assert their power by putting other weaker, beta males in their place. 

He knew the profile, he knew the statistics. He could recite them verbatim. Fourteen percent of reported rapes were committed against men. In the US, one in seventy one men are victims of sexual abuse. Thirty percent of gay or bisexual men had reported experiencing a form of rape in their lifetime. 

For the first time in his life, statistics didn’t help him. The autonomy of being just a number didn’t stop the nightmares, the eventual PTSD. His life had forever been changed by those three men who had made the conscious decision to inflict sexual violence upon another human being. 

He could still smell them, the musky scent of sweat that filled his nostrils, making it hard to breathe. He could still taste them on his tongue, feel the frantic thrusts as they hit the back of his throat. 

The tears that had seared down his cheeks as he was forced to comply, the ache in his chest of knowing he would never bounce back from this. 

They used him for their own sexual gratification and display of dominance. They’d ruined his life for some sick and perverse power play. 

Because of this ordeal, Spencer was no longer able to achieve or maintain erections without the guilt and confusion sucker punching him in the chest. When Luke had tried to initiate intimacy after his release, Spencer had panicked, dissociated and grown violent. 

And it didn’t get any better over time. 

Luke tried to help him despite the fact Spencer wouldn’t tell him what he’d dealt with in prison. But Luke knew, without having to hear it from Spencer’s lips. 

It was obvious in the way he wouldn’t let Luke touch him unprovoked, and if Luke did touch him, specifically his genitals, Spencer froze and whatever tumescence he’d been able to achieve instantly vanished. 

Eventually Luke couldn’t take it anymore. He wanted to help Spencer but Spencer didn’t want his help. And after the younger man had grown violent, Luke didn’t think there was anything he could do for him anymore. 

Spencer had almost grown content in the knowledge he’d probably never be able to have sex again. It didn’t really bother him that much, not until now anyway. 

Your kiss had reminded him what it was like to feel close to someone, to have an intrinsic connection with another person. It had made him feel wanted and not used. It made him feel worthy of human affection for the first time in a long time. 

Your touch had not been unwanted, not at first anyway. The simple gesture of your hand outside his pants had sent a wave of pleasure coursing through his body, like a jolt of electricity. 

But then he saw their faces. Those three men who had caused irreparable damage to the very fibre of his being. Those men who had used his mouth, the same one he was kissing you with. 

His walls had gone flying back up so fast he’d gotten whiplash. But he knew now, beyond all shadow of a doubt, that he was never going to get over what happened to him at Milburn. And the pain of that realisation was more crippling than any physical ailment. 

Over the years little pieces had been torn from his psyche. His fathers abandonment. Gideon’s abandonment and later his death. Tobias Hankel and his subsequent drug addiction. 

Maeve. Cat Adams. Prison. Rape. 

Piece by piece it fell away. Little by little until there was barely anything left holding him together. The string had frayed and weathered over the years and now it has snapped entirely. 

He continued scrubbing the floor through the pain. At some point tears started hindering his vision, rolling down his face and mixing with the bleach water. 

The longer he kept it up the more pain he was in and his stomach started to coil with the extent of it. Out of nowhere a wave of nausea hit him and he was suddenly vomiting all over his newly cleaned floor. 

He continued this vicious cycle for hours: scrub, cry, vomit, repeat. 

Eventually it must have gotten too much for him because the next thing he remembered was waking up on his bedroom floor to the distinctive smell of bleach assaulting his nose. 

@andiebeaword @muffin-cup @measure-in-pain @takeyourleap-of-faith @ssa-uglywhore27 @dreatine @thebloomingeagle @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @justreadingficsdontmindme @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @spencer-reid-wonderland @kalulakunundrum @small-and-violent @voledart @katrina0-0 @bakugouswh0r3

[tlbodine]

Eat the Rich Submissions Now Open

Hey guys, remember how y'all helped get this anthology funded?

Well, now is your time to shine. Submissions are now open to the public! Check this link for the details: https://atomiccarnivalbooks.moksha.io/publication/atomic-carnival-books

Deadline is May 16, pay is 5 cents per word, 2k-6k is the sweet spot for length, genre can be anything so long as somewhere in there a rich person gets eaten in some fashion. Go nuts. I mean, read the submission guidelines and what the editors are looking for....but then go nuts :)

Have fun and bon appetit!

[epicstuckyficrecs]

Epic Stucky Fic Rec | February, March & April 2023

I'm alive! 😅 I started making a fic rec for February and March in the beginning of April and then I completely forgot about it... and then by the time I remembered, April was almost done so I figured I'd wait 😆

Should I make a new banner? yes. Will I? Maybe ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Complete

💙 Additional Information series by notlucy/ @notlucy (Modern AU, Coworkers, Sugard Daddy/Daddy Kink, BDSM | Explicit)

Proprietary Information (85K): Okay, so Bucky Barnes has a crush on Steve Rogers. The guy's gorgeous, talented and, oh yeah, the Chief Design Officer of the biggest tech company in the world. In other words: he's so far out of Bucky's league that he might as well be in a different stratosphere.

Preoccupations (6K): Steve doesn't usually pay much attention to the new hires. But there's something about this kid.

Brooklyn's on Fire (4K): Steve's turning thirty-seven and he really only wants one thing for his birthday.

Gimme Danger (6K): Bucky doesn't have time to explore his exhibitionist kink. He's very busy. He asks Steve about it anyway.

Remember You Well (in the Chelsea Hotel) (5K): Steve can't quite believe he has Bucky back. It seems too good to be true after the hell he endured while missing him. The universe, however, is full of surprises.

Close Call (6K): Bucky and Steve make it through two weeks of living together before the inevitable "first fight" of cohabitation. They (mostly) handle it like adults. And the makeup sex is killer, in Bucky's not-so-humble opinion.

To Sir, With Love (10K): Steve recognizes that his jealousy over Bucky's infatuation with one of his professors isn't rational, but that doesn't make it any less real. And, hey, if you can't beat them, join them, right? Besides, he's always wanted a tweed jacket.

Mergers and Acquisitions (41K): Steve and Bucky are going to the chapel, and they’re going to get married. Meanwhile, Peggy and Natasha…

💙 a day in the life by powerfulowl (StuckyFlangst) / @stuckyflangst (Post-Endgame Fix-It, Time Travel, Groundhog Day | 20K | Explicit): Steve Rogers wakes up on Tuesday October 30 1956, and doesn't seem to remember his life that well. Why does every day feel so familiar? And why does he keep getting visited by tall, dark, handsome men who remind him of Bucky?

The Day After, the Aftermath, or Whatever It Is That Feels Like a Hangover, Christmas, and His Birthday All at the Same Time by buckybarnesdeservestobehappy (hutchabelle)/ @buckybarnesdeservestobehappy (Modern AU | 1K | Mature): Bucky wakes the day after his thirtieth birthday with a hangover, a hardon, and a beautiful man sharing his bed.

Tell Me I Can Have It All by HaniTrash/ @hanitrash (Stucky in Wakanda | 1K | Explicit): Steve is tired of Bucky trying to push him away after he comes out of cryo in Wakanda. Rehashing the same argument brings up some new information that Bucky can't ignore, and makes him second-guess his decision to keep Steve at arm's length.

I'd Fuck Me by fandomfluffandfuck/ @fandomfluffandfuck (Evanstan, PWP | 6K | Explicit): When unexpectedly given a unique hotel room while on a Marvel press tour, Chris Evans ends up spending his evening alone, yet still making the most of his room... (Part 1 of Fuck This)

I'd Fuck You by fandomfluffandfuck/ @fandomfluffandfuck (Evanstan RPF | 8K | Explicit): Armed with nudes that contain enough raw sexual energy to cause nuclear explosions, Chris decides it's time to fucking blow Sebastian's mind... (Part 2 of Fuck This)

Captain Orgy 69 @ gmail.com by Gfawkes/ @gfawkesphoenixchokingonashes (Evanstan RPF, Friends to Lovers | 12K | Explicit): Or, Chris and Sebastian finally star in that rom-com they've been talking about.

My Heart Belongs to Captain Rogers by lavenderbucky (Canon | 3K | General): Steve wakes up late for his run, wears one of Bucky's shirts in public and goes slightly viral on Twitter. You know. Just an average day in his life.

5 Times Bucky Styled His Hair + 1 Time Steve Did It For Him by lavenderbucky (Post-WS | 8K | Teen): Steve is so happy to have Bucky back. His best friend is a little different to how he was in the 40s, but in some ways he's the exact same. But even if Bucky is his favourite person in the world, and even if Steve thinks his hair is really, really pretty, Steve's feelings for him are completely platonic. Right? Or: a love story, told through Bucky's hair.

WIP

💙 This is (not) a Ghost Story [COMIC] by PottersPink/ @potterspink​ (Post-WS | 11/31 | General): Steve moves into a haunted house. Well — everyone else is convinced it’s haunted, anyways.

Countermoves by cable-knit-sweater (cable_knit_sweater) (Evanstan RPF, CATFA | 11K | Explicit): Sebastian knows about Chris Evans, has to take his shot when he sees him. Chris doesn’t have a clue who Sebastian is, aside from being a pretty guy he meets in a club. The attraction is instant, and Sebastian takes Chris home, with a little detour or two. Chris thinks it’s just a one-night stand he’ll be thinking about for a long time, cursing himself for not getting the guy’s number. Until a couple of months later, he has the first table read for Captain America: The First Avenger, and he meets him again.

💙 Whip Crack by Quarra/ @quarra (Canon Divergent, Tentacle Monster Steve | 15/? | 119K | Explicit): Tentacle Monster Steve is captured by Hydra. They send in the Winter Soldier with a bull whip to break him, but as far as Steve’s concerned the most beautiful creature he’s ever seen walked in to his cell and started waving a sexy black tentacle at him. It’s love at first sight.

💙 hey now, you’re an all star (get your game on, go play) by buckyismybicycle/ @buckyismybicycle (NHL Hockey AU | 20/? | 63K | Explicit): Boston Bruins trade notorious party animal/human disaster Bucky Barnes to the Dallas Stars, and captain Steve Rogers is not impressed when Fury puts him on babysitting duties. But, as he gets to know Bucky - really gets to know Bucky - he wonders if maybe the media has got it all wrong - very, very wrong.

Re-Read

💙 Latte Art and Slow Dancing in the Dark by deadonarrival (Modern AU with powers, Daddy kink | 89K | Explicit): Bucky is a somewhat well-adjusted former army sniper that got his shoulder blown out. He took his discharge and went home to finish school. His best friends and roommates (Nat & Clint) are CIA agents and tip him off that their local Sbux is hiring. He gets a job there and meets none other than the hottest guy on earth. So how does one get a date in the most top secret government location in the US? What happens when that guy is more than just a hot dorito and wants to give Bucky everything he wants? 

Now! That’s What I Call 90’s Slow Jams by deadonarrival (Modern AU | 11K | Mature): Steve goes home for the wedding of Becca Barnes and while he’s there he runs into his old crush. Her brother. Except now they are both hot as shit. Oh no whatever will happen.

Brooklyn by togina/ @toli-a​ (Post-WS | 8,7K | Teen): "Captain America, what’s your stance on gay marriage?“ Everyone knows that, by now. Everyone but Bucky.

[lavendertales]

Guilty pleasures: Chapter 5**

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: Joel can't stop thinking about you, and he takes things to a shameful step further. However, on his birthday, there are a few surprises that arise.

word count: 6k

WARNINGS: alcohol, male masturbation, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, unprotected piv.

AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS & MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!!!

gif: @pedrohub

series masterlist | AO3

Joel didn’t sleep a wink last night. Far too many thoughts devoured him alive.

Firstly, losing his watch in that stupid bar fight left him with a huge hole in his chest. It was his last connection to his old life, the good and warm memories that have kept him somewhat alive during the past twenty plus years. Without it, Joel felt painfully naked and afraid. He thought he’d search the bar this morning, in hopes of finding at least pieces of it.

And then there was you.

When he saw you get hurt, crunched in blinding pain, Joel felt just as tormented. He couldn’t bear the sight. The mere thought of you being hurt, regardless in which way, pulled at his heart strings.

Part of him still hates this. He hates it because you’re the first person in a long time to actually lay claim on him, to get reactions out of him that he hadn’t shared with anyone. You have the potential to break his heart, and that terrifies him to his very core.

On the other hand, reminiscing of your lovely face so close to his last night, your warm breaths tickly over his skin, and how it felt to kiss those rosy lips overwhelms him once more.

Maybe that’s why Joel’s stunned at how tight the pants confine him this morning. It’s nothing out of the ordinary—it’s basic biology, after all—but him thinking of kissing you on that porch and your figure soaked from the rain, leaning tentatively to him, isn’t helping him either.

He’s not really a man of small pleasures such as this one. Maybe if he really needs to scratch the itch, once in a blue moon, but when it does happen, he has no one in particular on his mind. He simply gets the job done, quietly and diligently, nothing else.

Yet now, as he groans and takes himself out of his pants, Joel sees you in his mind clear as the day. When he closes his eyes, he imagines your soaked figure staring at him with a certain je ne sais quoi and desire that spurs him on, encourages him to continue.

He feels guilt consuming him deeply, even as he gives his throbbing cock a first stroke, but he’s far too enthralled in his fantasy to be rational.

“Fuck.”

His hips jerk forward in an attempt to meet with more of his hand. He can barely breathe at this point, his face flushed red with all kinds of emotions. He’s never woken up so hard before, and certainly not so needy before. With each stroke along his thick length, Joel groans and huffs, the image of you still residing in his head.

He wonders how you’d feel on his skin. How you’d feel doing this for him. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he can’t think about this. It feels too intrusive, too shameful. But he keeps yearning, burning for you, wishing he’d get a taste of those fiery lips once more. He wishes he could feel your mouth on him, pressing softly against him as you take every inch of him.

His insides start to burn with each additional filthy imagery of you. He wonders if you’d whisper sweet nothings to him as he kept going, or if your own hand would trace between your legs, dipping into your soft and wet heat. He wonders how it would feel to be inside you, to touch you all over your body, to make you moan his name as he pounds into you—

Before he knows it, his strokes are rapidly increasing, building to his release.

Joel pictures sinking deeper and deeper into you while you’re rubbing your clit as pleasure crawls up his spine, sending both of you into a frenzy. He pictures your nails digging into his back, scratching at his broad shoulders as his cock is striking the sweetest spot inside you.

And then he’s regrettably panting your name in an ecstatic loop as he spills himself over his hand. Seemingly endless thick ropes of his seed shoot out of him, the buildup having been more than Joel initially thought. It takes him a while to settle, to even acknowledge the mess he’d made whilst thinking of someone he was supposed to dislike, majorly so.

But those claims couldn’t be farther away from the truth. Without his will, Joel developed a care for you that began to run deep, and it was equal parts terrifying and thrilling.

When he opens his eyes at last, you’re gone, and so is the ache in his body. His mind clears up a bit, allowing him to develop a plan for the upcoming day. But all he can think about while he cleans himself up and gets dressed is shame. It’s all he can feel, too; he should never have allowed himself to go that far. What he did… it feels intrusive, like he’d barged in on you while you were changing. Biology may be one thing, but this was something else entirely.

He decides to simply not think about it. Not until he returns to the bar to hopefully retrieve his watch.

When he opens the door, he freezes in the frame. Eyes wide and face drained of all color, Joel stares at you, too shocked to formulate any greeting.

“What—what are you—how long have you been here?” he manages to get out, his throat scratchy like sand on paper.

“I just got here.”

You’re lying. You’re lying and he knows it as much as you do. But lying is the best card to play right now. You know that Joel will inevitably drown in self-loathing and guilt if you’d ever admit that you happened to hear the groaned echo of your name as he sought some much-needed relief, by the sounds of it.

You didn’t mean to hear it, of course; you must’ve been there a few seconds, ready to knock on his door, when you heard the grunts emerging from inside. You timidly pressed your ear against the door, thinking Joel was in distress, but seconds later, you came to the conclusion that Joel was in no pain.

Not even close.

You wouldn’t admit that you heard that, never in a million years. Mostly because it makes your own head to spin and it overwhelms you too.

Joel, however, doesn’t snap at you like he normally would. He doesn’t say anything. He looks you over, noticing the fabric still wrapped tightly around your arm from last night, and when he meets your eyes, he remembers just minutes ago when he was picturing the most lewd images of you just to get him going.

He longs and burns, aches for something that is beyond his understanding. Something he cannot have, because it is not his to be had.

And it hurts. It hurts so much that it makes him angry at the world all over again.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

It takes you a bit to pull yourself together. “I uh—I came to give you this.”

You reveal his watch, carefully slotted in the palm of your hand, and Joel draws in a sharp breath, nearly on the brink of tears. He reaches for it and you put it around his left wrist with a faint smile. Your eyes then lock with his, you see guilt and appreciation both waltzing together in his brown eyes. He seems overwhelmed, exhausted, and you can clearly see the effect that last night’s had on him.

You’d be lying if you were to claim that last night didn’t have any impact on you.

“Thank you,” Joel mutters.

“You’re welcome.”

The feeling of relief that washes over him—a different kind of relief, truth be told—is unmatched. He feels somewhat whole again now that the watch is secured on his wrist again. He takes a better look at it, and his heart stills.

“You didn’t fix it,” he remarks.

“Did you want it fixed?”

“No.”

“I figured as much.”

“I’m surprised it’s still intact.”

“You got lucky there.”

“Most people, they… try to fix it. It’s just another thing that’s broken to them.”

“When it’s not.”

Joel feels speechless. He feels warmer than ever, gratitude swimming now in his veins instead the poisonous desire that possessed him just minutes ago.

“It is broken,” Joel admits. “But it’s—“

“You don’t have to explain it. Not to me.”

Then, Joel calls out your name, a completely different tonality leaving his throat this time around. The way he calls out to you, brokenly and ruggedly, you ache for the man in ways you didn’t even deem as possible.

He inches closer, his breaths steady as he stares at you. No one’s tried to even understand why he keeps a broken watch and there you are, returning it to him and fully aware of its great importance.

“Yes, Joel?” you ask.

He gulps, remembering what he’d done before and how ashamed he feels still.

“Thanks again,” he replies. “I thought it was gone. I thought… she was gone. For good this time. And I’m not—I can’t do it.”

“It’s okay. And you’re welcome.”

But then Joel frowns, the image of you going to the bar searching for his watch—or perhaps for something else and instead finding something that is so personal and intimate to Joel—causing rapid trepidations of his heart.

“How did you find it?” he can’t help but ask. “Why—“

“I noticed it was missing from your wrist last night,” you confess. “I figured it must’ve fallen or got taken back at the bar so I… went looking for it.”

The truth of it is, Joel thought about giving it up. During the night, when he tossed and turned, begging his mind to let the body rest, Joel thought that losing his watch for the first time in so long might be a sign for him to finally move on. To accept the grief and move on with his life.

But to have you at his door, returning the most valuable possession to him… this meant something bigger, didn’t it?

It had to.

He’s too overwhelmed to properly speak. He can only look at you with gratitude and a warmth that’s spreading to his limbs till all he sees, hears and feels is you.

“I should get going,” you announce.

“Right. The—thing with Ellie.”

“Mhm.”

It takes Joel a while to shift his gaze away from you, even as you’re far off in the distance. He even misses the moment Ellie catches him staring longingly.

“You’re staring,” she tells him.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

He shoots her a nasty look that’s only returned by a mocking chuckle. The sound irks him, reminds him of the lack of courage he has when it comes to you.

“You are soooo smitten,” she laughs.

“Shut up.”

“Sorry. I’m just saying, I think I know a little something about women too.”

“May I remind you I was married and had a daughter?”

“And you still can’t tell that woman you like her.”

Joel snickers, increasingly more frustrated. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Shooting practice. Don’t worry, I won’t interfere between you two.”

“Just go.”

SEPTEMBER

With all the pep talk in the world, Joel still couldn’t talk to you openly and sincerely.

Ellie was right. He may have been a survivor, but when it came to feelings, Joel was completely lost. He’s lost all practiced he had, all knowledge regarding relationships having been locked up since his divorce. He managed to take a few things out for Tess’s sake, but when she was gone too… it left a hole inside him, one that took years to finally start closing up.

And now you showed up, and he feels… less horrible. More human, more alive.

Over the past month, whenever he’s tried approaching you and showing you somehow that he did like your company after all, there was something coming up. Some of the folks in Jackson heard that Joel used to be a contractor and all of a sudden, he became their go-to when it came to building or repairing. And there have been more sights of infected and raiders, which meant the patrol group was almost always at work.

All in all, it seemed Joel couldn’t catch a break.

Which is why on this September evening, everything feels bitter. Another year has passed since the goddamn outbreak, since Sarah has been pulled out of his life so abruptly and cruelly, and another year to add to his age. That last part, Joel doesn’t mind. He never cared about growing older, not when he barely felt like he was alive.

 But in the past year, Joel did feel more alive. Whether it was his strong bond with Ellie or the simple joy of being around Tommy and Maria, he felt like he was a regular man, in a regular town, with a regular life. Like no catastrophe, no heartache ever happened.

“Haaaappy—“

“Please don’t.”

Joel glares Ellie, Tommy and Maria and the cake that Ellie carries in her hands. The more he stares at their faces and the candles in the cake, the bigger the urge to sigh in disapproval. 

“Here’s the deal,” he says. “I’m gonna pretend to enjoy this whole ordeal if you don’t sing happy birthday. And if you let me enjoy this drink.”

“But I spent an hour decorating the cake, look!”

Ellie shows him the cake up close and Joel does soften when he sees the colors on it, as well as the text: Happy birthday, you big ol’ grump.

“Yeah, you decorated it, alright,” Joel chuckles.

“Maria baked it though,” Tommy adds.

“Thank God for that.”

They all chuckle, and while Joel downs the whiskey in front of him, Maria lights the candles. He’s just thankful he doesn’t have to blow them and make a wish.

“It’s okay if we all have a piece, right?” Maria asks.

Joel nods, taking a quick scan around to make sure no one else at the bar notices a cake is being sliced. This way, he doesn’t have to worry that others might join in to wish him a happy birthday.

Then again, his fault for spending it at the bar.

“This is really good,” Joel remarks.

“Her cookin’ is one of the things that kept me around,” Tommy jokes.

“Ew, you guys, we’re eating here!”

They all chuckle, even Joel. When he looks at those three people, he feels like he finally has a place he belongs to. A family.

But when he looks around a little more, he feels like something’s missing.

Someone’s missing.

You wouldn’t be here tonight, though; how would you even know his birthday is today? And the fact that he keeps glancing over his shoulder, hoping you’d somehow pop up, is nothing but a mere testimony to the fact that he cares way more than he probably should.

When his second whiskey’s done and half the cake is gone, he starts to realize just how much you mean to him. It began way before the kiss; from the moment you pointed your shotgun at him, when neither of you flinched away, Joel saw that fire in your eyes. He saw liveliness and pain and torment in your eyes and it reminded him of himself—both the good and the bad.

“Think we’re gonna call it a night if you don’t mind,” Tommy pats him on the back.

“It’s getting’ pretty late, yeah.”

“You sure you wanna be alone tonight?” Ellie asks him.

The question surprises Joel. Sometimes he tends to forget how this cruel world had forced Ellie to mature way faster than she should have.

He smiles faintly at her, his way of reassuring her. “It’s all I could want right now, honestly.”

“Waiting for someone special?” she suggestively raises her eyebrows at him.

“Ellie—“

“I’m messing with ya!”

“Goodnight, Joel,” Maria tells him. “And happy birthday.”

“Happy birthday, old man.”

“Shut up.”

Tommy giggles alongside Maria and Ellie on their way out. Back to his solitude, Joel oscillates between buying another whiskey and calling it a night himself. Truth be told, today hadn’t been as bad as he would’ve expected. For the first time in a really long time, he didn’t feel like he was falling apart. He actually felt safe and cared for, normal.

The sentiment only made him feel more melancholic.

“There was talk of some cake.”

Joel turns to his side a little faster than he would’ve liked to. But hearing your voice in his vicinity after hours of endless praying that he could see you is a lot to handle right now.

“You just missed it,” he replies in his usual gruff voice.

You chuckle, ordering a whiskey. “That’s alright. It was a family thing. I don’t belong in that frame.”

You could, Joel thinks.

The thought scares him; it’s nothing like his usual thoughts and wishes. As he allows it to slip his mind, poison it with the happiest scenarios known to mankind, Joel realizes he’s in his head and in his feelings way too deep. He’s never imagined someone by his side, a life partner, and certainly not one who would fit in flawlessly amongst his brother and sister in law.

But both Tommy and Maria sung your praises all the time, and Ellie… Ellie was simply a sucker for you. A more feminine influence in her life could be more than a positive thing, that’s for sure.

You order two whiskeys, and Joel sighs, his cheeks burning crimson. He’s once again at a crossroads, feeling overwhelmed, yet this time it’s… good.

“Don’t need a pity party,” he says bluntly.

“That’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it?”

When his eyes meet yours, they’re twinkling with something wicked; not anger, rather something playful.

“It’s just a drink,” you shrug.

“You’re not gonna sing happy birthday, are you?”

Much to his—and your—surprise, you both chuckle. “No,” you chuckle. “Unless you really want me to.”

“I’m good.”

Moments of silence pass by between you two. Neither dares pose obvious questions, neither dares make a move when faced with such an intoxicating tension. It’s no longer anger, nothing fueled by annoyance.

“Look, Joel,” you start eventually, “I’m sorry I asked Tommy about your birthday. Clearly it’s a sore spot, and… I realize today might be a lot for you.”

“You’re surprisingly understanding.”

“I can be a nice person.”

“Yeah, when you don’t talk.”

You chuckle into your glass, a dozen other shameless thoughts dancing inside your mind.

“Ask me nicely, maybe I’ll keep my mouth shut,” you tease.

Joel is very much on the edge. All it takes is one glance from your side, one word, and you can tip him over, lay claim over him completely.

When he turns to you, his mind is emptied of all words. Coherent ones, that is. He can’t think of anything reasonable he wants to say to you, when this morning he had plenty. You empty and fill him, all at once, and the more he looks at you, the more his body burns alive with an unbearable heat.

“I—“he starts, realizing he has no idea where he’s headed with that.

He doesn’t know to tell you what he wants. In all honesty, he’s not sure himself about what is it that he wants. Weeks ago, when shame abandoned his body and he took himself in hand whilst thinking of you, it seemed simple: just relief. Something momentary to take the edge off.

But now you’re here. You’re actually here, next to him, and it’s consuming him.

“What do you need, Joel?”

You voice changed too, he remarks. It’s almost lewd in that low register, and even the simple way you say his name has his cock twitching to life in his jeans. It’s surreal and suffocating to have you this close, to be so consumed by your presence, and to not act upon it.

“Let’s not talk,” he almost groans, trying to adjust himself to a more comfortable in the seat.

“Okay.”

Joel doesn’t break the eye contact, and neither do you. But when he leans in, tentatively stealing glances at your lips, you follow his lead with your heart in your throat. You gasp right into his mouth when it finally presses onto yours, the sensation that of vague familiarity, yet as thrilling as something new. It is new in a way—the way he opens his mouth to devour yours, the way you let it happen and the craving that arises from it, it’s simply magnetic.

It takes you a while to realize you’re coming short of air, and that technically you’re still at the bar. When you pull away, Joel looks as ravished as you and damn, if you don’t love that look on him. Just the idea that you could ruin, weaken him in this way is raising your blood pressure.

“You better not say this doesn’t mean anything,” you warn.

“Wasn’t going to. I was gonna say maybe we should head elsewhere.”

You can only muster a nod with your head before following Joel out of the bar. There’s people watching you leave, probably whispering their shock upon seeing the infamous Joel Miller share a kiss with someone and then rush out of the bar, but frankly you couldn’t care less about any of that. All you care about is Joel grabbing hold of your hand into the night, guiding you to his private quarters. You can pretty much guess where you’re headed with all that, but you’re not prepared. You heart’s beating so fast you think you may have a heart attack.  The anticipation is killing you, and yet you crave more.

It feels like no matter what will happen, there’ll never be enough Joel for you.

When you finally arrive and Joel shuts the door behind you two, the look in his eyes is dark, filled with an insatiable hunger. You would’ve expected him to pounce on you but instead, he seems to be taking his sweet time in admiring you.

“Still in the no talking zone?” you ask with a gulp.

Joel contemplates because he does want to hear you, just not really in that sense. He wants to hear the sounds you can make for him, he wants to hear your whimpers and you begging for him, lest he’s overwhelmed at the moment.

“Joel, whatever you wanna do… it’s okay,” you try to reassure him. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“I’ve done enough waitin’.”

Those are the last you hear from his side. Then his lips collide with yours once again, the kiss rough and needy as Joel is right now. You don’t mind, not one bit; you relish into it, enjoying every shaky breath and every grunt you take from him when you grind into him. Joel is not really a possessive man, not when it comes to love at least, but after having spent years in this manic and cruel world, his views have changed a little. And now, in this moment, he wants to have you in every imaginable way. Mentally, emotionally, physically, Joel Miller wants you to be irrevocably his.

He presses you onto the mattress on the bed, peppering kisses along your jaw and neck. One of your hands rests on his broad and muscular back, the other playing with a few locks of his hair. Joel seems to grunt as if in pain, so you pull away, searching his face.

“I’m sorry,” you immediately whisper, feeling awfully sensitive.

Joel struggles to regulate his breaths as he stares down on you, an animalistic instinct roaring in his chest. Yes, he wants to have you completely, but he also needs to feel safe and to make you feel safe with him.

“Spread your legs for me,” he mutters.

You do as he instructs, incapable of doing anything to the contrary. Your body follows his voice like a siren to its sweet prey, willing to succumb.

Your legs part, making room for him to grind in between as he works to undress you. It seems he particularly enjoys doing that so you let him. You let him remove each item of clothing, one by one, till you’re writhing naked under him. In return, he lets you undress him, and you marvel at the wonder that is his sturdy body. You trace his chest and belly with your hands, feeling under your fingertips each ridge, each closed up scar that makes him the man you care so annoyingly much for.

Joel shudders under your touch. It’s not uncomfortable, but it is intimate. It blows his mind that he can feel so weak just by being naked under your beautiful eyes, and yet it’s all he can imagine wanting—ever.

He wastes no more time and dives in between your legs, his tongue licking up and down your folds, earning a moan from your side. Your nails dig into his scalp, playing with a few locks of his hair as he starts eating you out the way a starved man would after days, weeks of painful hunger. His free hand presses onto your belly, thumb rubbing on your clit as his mouth goes to town on you.

“J-Joel—“you moan, head backwards in ecstasy.

He hums right into your cunt, the sound vibrating straight through you. Your breaths turn into little gasps the more he eats you, and when he boldly inserts two fingers inside you, the moan that leaves your throat is louder than anything Joel’s ever heard.

He grins. Even as his mouth fills up with your arousal, dripping to his chin, he grins with delight. Knowing he’s the cause of such lustful sounds builds a desire within him that begs to be let out.

“Joel—f-fuck—“

You are the most decadent and incredible meal he’s ever had in his life, and while his patience is running thin, Joel also wants to take his time with you, properly enjoy this moment.

After all, it’s still his birthday. He should have at least one good celebration in this fucked up world, shouldn’t he?

“Joel, please—“

His fingers thrust faster while he lifts his head from in between your legs to meet with your eyes. Your figure is hazy, drowning in lust and relief, while his is smeared with your juices and admiration.

“What do you need, baby?”

“Need you inside,” you breathe.

“Just a bit longer.”

It’s been so long for you that any of Joel’s touches, whether tentative or intentional, kneading your flesh between his fingers until it spills out and reddens, is maddening. He picks up the pace of his fingers, and you grab his arm so tight your knuckles turn white. Joel keeps his eyes on your figure to capture the precise moment you crumble and let go of all your inhibitions.

“Right there—“you murmur, barely breathing now. “Right there, yes—“

When you come, it’s messy and electric; you spasm under his touch, on his fingers, exploding into a million of pieces. You bite on your lower lip till you taste blood. You don’t want to scream his name, not when you don’t feel him properly, yet his name hangs from the tip of your tongue, begging to be released much like your orgasm.

While you settle down, Joel takes his fingers and licks them clean, all under your shocked eyes.

“Knew you’d taste fuckin’ good,” he teases.

You reply with silence. What can you say to that? You’re too weak to think straight. All you can think about is him, the feeling of his body near you and the way it makes you tremble with a debilitating ache.

You see his cock hardened, nearly weeping; it’s as if it begs for your attention and with the whiskey floating in your veins and you still reeling from your orgasm, you’d love nothing more but to take him in your mouth, make him feel as good as he made you feel.

But you notice Joel’s hand curling around his cock and stroking himself a few times. He’s seemingly holding his breath, grunting with each stroke, and you can’t help but feel flattered. It’s a biological reaction, to be sure, but the tiny, dark voice at the back of your head grins from one ear to the other knowing he can barely touch himself because of how turned on he is. You figure that if he keeps going, he won’t be able to hold on and fuck you properly.

And Joel knows it too; which is why he holds one of your thighs in place and lifts the other at a better angle, and pushes himself inside you. He fits the reddened tip past your soaked lips in one languid motion, and you both gasp and shudder at the contact.

“Shit,” Joel huffs. “Feels so good—‘n tight.”

He pushes all the way in, allowing you to get used to him first. It’s a tight squeeze; maybe it’s Joel’s length and girth, maybe it’s the fact that it’s been a very long time since you’ve allowed anyone this close to you, or a mixture of both. What you do know with certainty is that you feel snug, so full with him, and so intoxicated by his presence.

“Joel?”

“Hm?”

A few curls bounce from his forehead as he stares down at you, just as winded as you are.

“Move.”

“If I go too fast I’m—I need this t-to last.”

You cup his cheeks and pull him down to meet with your lips again, kissing him deeply, yet slower than before. It’s a reassuring kiss, a movement that, ironically, allows you both to breathe and truly live in the moment without any fear or restraint. Joel kisses you back in the same manner, melting under your touch and twitching inside you.

He starts to thrust, slowly and cautiously, his tongue diving into your mouth. Your kiss is sweet, nothing like he knows you, but he embraces it. He grunts when he sets a moderate pace, and you only break the kiss to moan and whisper his name. Seems it’s the only word you can pronounce as Joel moves steadily inside you, his cock reaching the deepest spot, just where you need him the most.

“Shit,” he cusses under his breath.

There’s thousands of things you could tell him: how great he feels, how much you’ve wanted this, how long you’ve thought about this and that your yearning for him has been nearly debilitating, and yet all that come out are a few moans and a faint whisper of his name.

Joel doesn’t say anything either. He finds that words are futile. Surely you must know what’s on his mind, how he feels. It’s out in the open now, isn’t it? It’s evident from the way he thrusts into you, the way he allows himself to be vulnerable and intimate with you, and the way he just makes love to you. In his mind, he’s pictured this plenty of times; it was almost always something rough and fast, something to take the edge off and messy, but this is entirely different. It feels better, too.

“Fuck, baby, I’m—I’m gonna—“

You kiss him again instead of replying some verbal response. Joel appreciates it, and sloppily kisses you back. The kiss turns into a series of whimpers and pathetic noises of neediness. It’s only then, towards the end when his insides start to burn as a warning, that Joel slams his hips into yours, moving faster, needing to reach that peak of ecstasy he’s been chasing since the first time he got off by thinking of you.

Your hand traces between your legs and you frantically rub your clit in hopes of achieving the same goal. You hear your own heart thrumming in your ears, running low on breath as you keep rubbing, the feeling of Joel’s cock slamming into you absolutely maddening.

“C’mon, baby, cum for me… c’mon,” he grunts.

One, two thrusts more and he’s there. Joel comes and moans your name, sweat dripping down his back, forehead and neck, his cock twitching inside you as he spills his release. While he’s trying to climb down from his high, you still rub yourself and finally, seconds later, you come as well, clamping down on him. The only sound in the whole house is merely a high-pitched Joel that comes from your mouth, rugged and scratchy. The sound is primal, almost, and it triggers something animalistic in Joel; deep, deep down, he wants everyone to know that he’s the one making you scream this way, causing you to moan uncontrollably.

He’s utterly lost in you; your scent, your sounds, your body, the look on your face… all of you. You have such a hold over him, he doubts he even belongs to himself anymore.

Joel pulls out slowly, manically admiring the mess your bodies created out of sheer desire. Once he’s done, he searches for something to clean you with. He presses a cloth over your core, gently tapping, and you feel so sensitive, still aching, craving. You admire him all the while, your post-coital smile fading once your needs are sated and your mind returns to its usual concerns and whatnot.

You debate whether you should soil this wonderful evening, this act of intimacy that transpired between you two. But he cannot not know. Truth be told, this has been on your mind for weeks, a worry and a secret that needed to be revealed sooner or later.

You figure that now since you’ve both calmed down a little, this might be the ideal moment to ease him into it.

Joel covers you with a blanket, crawling underneath it too. You’re surprised when he wraps one arm around you, pulling you close so that your head is resting on his chest.

“Sex and aftercare? I feel so spoiled,” you joke.

Joel chuckles, the sound warming your chest. “I’m a gentleman at the end of the day.”

“I can see that.”

You fear the words that are about to come out of your mouth, but you know they have to be said. And if you were to wait for Joel to be in a better mood, this is the best opportunity you’ll ever get.

“Still got that shootin’ thing with Ellie tomorrow?” he asks out of the blue.

A gateway.

“Mhm.”

“Do me a favor, maybe don’t mention this. She already gets a kick out of teasin’ me about you.”

You frown, albeit your amusement. “She teases you about me?”

“She thinks I’m—smitten.”

You lift your head to stare at him, and when you meet his eyes, they seem softer, twinkling in a way.

“Are you?” you ask shamelessly.

He chuckles yet again. “Just don’t tell her, will ya?”

“Wasn’t going to open the lesson with ‘guess what I did last night’. Don’t worry.”

You gulp, feeling guilty. Stop, you tell yourself. There’s no need to feel this way. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just something you know.

“Joel?”

He turns to you, removing a few strands of hair from your face. You shudder, cuddling up to him more in hopes of diminishing the impact that your confession might have.

“I know about Ellie.”

A moment of silence ensues, so painfully thick you could cut it with the sharpest blade. Joel pulls away from you slightly, a frown creasing his forehead now.

“You know what about her?” he asks.

It’s a lie. You both know it, but Joel still fights with all he has to protect Ellie’s secret.

“I know she’s immune.”

You can hear Joel’s breaths hitching and you can feel him tense and clench under you. He shifts farther away from you, but you grab hold of his arm and stare at him, begging.

“This is what you’ve been doin’?” he grunts. You can hear the hurt in his voice. “Getting close to us so you can figure out things about her?”

“Listen to me! I meant what I said. I don’t want to hurt Ellie. Or you.”

Joel does listen; he lets you play your part, a bit curious as to how you’ll play this out.

“I know about her because I’m immune too."

previous | next

[justagalwhowrites]

Beskar Doll - Ch. 5: Burn it to the Ground

When a Mandalorian and his cargo are on a mission, try not to get in their way. A continuation of Beskar Doll Ch. 1-4 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Female Reader

Warnings: Slavery, Torture (victim totally deserves it though), canon-typical violence. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ only.

Length: 6k

The Mandalorian drove, guiding the speeder deftly through the clogged skies of Coruscant. You were glad he was the one behind the wheel, you’d never been very good at piloting anything. Sosha was the pilot. So was Dagres. They could get you through any dogfight but you could shoot their way through a column of stormtroopers…. 

You shook yourself mentally and brought yourself back to the present, looking at the man beside you. It was strange, seeing him outside of his armor. He cut an impressive figure, tall and broad and intimidating. You doubted anyone would try to pick a fight with either of you tonight. 

Seeing him in this helmet was disconcerting. He could hide less in it, the lack of seal making it so more of the sounds of him just living came through. Grinding teeth, soft sighs, small catches of breath - it was exposed and you couldn’t help but listen for it. You liked the reminders of him being there, of his existing as a mortal being and not some impossible thing carved from metal. You wondered what he looked like. Was his face as hard as his body or was there softness to it? His desperation to help his brother’s daughter made you think there must be softness in him somewhere, it had to show through somehow. In his lips or the tilt of his head or his eyes. It would at least be in is eyes. What color were his eyes? What color was his skin? 

He maneuvered onto a quieter skyway and you sat up straighter, your heart pounding against your ribs. It had been years since so much had sat squarely on your shoulders. You couldn’t fail. There was far too much at stake. 

The Mandalorian brought you to the lush platform of what looked to be a palatial apartment, a line of speeders ahead of you waiting to go in. You looked at him. His hand gripped the shifter of the speeder, you could see his knuckles straining against the fabric of the gloves. You put a hand over his. 

“It will work,” you said quietly. He turned to face you. “We’ll get her.” 

The speeder quickly made it to the front of the line, a young man in tight clothes cut to accentuate his muscles offering you a hand out of the speeder. You took it, smiling at him, but he wouldn’t look at you, keeping his eyes on the ground. Enslaved. You took note. 

You waited as Mando got out of the speeder and you smiled adoringly up a him, taking his hand in both of yours and pressing yourself into his arm. 

“Welcome,” a woman smiled broadly at you both. “We are so glad you could be here tonight. Please let us know if there’s anything in particular you’re looking for.”

Not just a dinner then, you reasoned. The girl was probably here. You had to get her out before someone bought her. You had to get them all out. 

“Come on love,” you guided him toward the front door, observing how other pairs interacted. You could easily tell who were equals and who weren’t. “Let’s find the perfect one for you.” 

There was a short line at the massive front door, all sleek glass and metal and two stories tall. Another man dressed in revealing clothes stood by the door, a data pad in hand. The Mandalorian looked at you. You gave his hand a squeeze, pressing yourself tighter against him. You could do this. 

“Good evening, miss,” the young man said, barely looking up at you. Enslaved, too. Higher station than the one at the speeders but subservient none the less. “Names?” 

“Duraan and Amira,” you said, smiling coquettishly. You turned your attention to the Mandalorian, running your hand over his chest, and waited for the man to tell you that you weren’t on the list. His hand slipped from your grasp and went around your waist, pulling you tightly to his side with a small grunt. Your eyes widened for a second. You hadn’t expected him to play the part that well, you were impressed. 

“I’m sorry miss,” the man said. “Your name isn’t on the list.” 

Mando looked down at you as you looked back toward the man, your face falling a bit. 

“Oh no,” you said, voice lightly flirty with a hint of apprehension. “I’m sure I responded to the invitation…” 

“Do you have your invitation?” He asked. Your face fell a bit more, eyes darting to the Mandalorian before quickly moving back to the man at the door. You put your hand over Mando’s at your waist, holding it to you so he wouldn’t take it away as you leaned away from him to speak closely with the door man. 

“I didn’t have a place for it in this dress,” you smiled flirtatiously before letting the mask slip, letting the fear that was actually gnawing at you show as you lowered your voice. “Please… I can’t afford another mistake, I’ll do anything…” 

His eyes softened, buying your act. One slave asking another for mercy they were able to give. He gestured to the door. 

“Enjoy your evening, Amira, Master Duraan,” he said. You straightened, pressing yourself back against the Mandalorian’s side, your hand going back to his chest. He gave the man a stiff nod and you passed through the entry. You’d made it inside. Now for the hard part. 

Mando guided you to a darkened corner, his grip on you loosening as you drifted into the shadows and watched people milling around. You left a hand on his chest as you surveyed the area, trying to read the connections between people, see if there was anyone who looked to be in charge. 

“We’ll need to talk to some people,” you said quietly, looking around. “If I start speaking a language you don’t know, give me two squeezes, I’ll translate to Basic for you. It’s what I would do in this position, anyway.” 

“I think she’s here,” he said, voice low. You nodded. 

“I think so, too,” you said. “I think a lot of them are. We need to get them all out before…” you stopped. 

“Before they’re sold,” he finished for you. You shook your head. 

“Before I burn this whole fucking place to the ground.” 

*** 

You were in your element here, moving through powerful people, smiling flirtatiously, switching languages deftly to gain favor, quickly assessing who had been bought and who did the buying and flattering them appropriately. He could see why the Rebellion had found you so valuable and how you’d managed to get on the bad side of at least a few Imperials. 

“It sounds like I might know just the item you’re looking for,” the older man with two women - more girls, they had to be younger than you - you’d been talking to said. “There’s a lovely little thing here, a bit young for my taste but…” 

Din had to stop himself from gripping your hand so tightly that he hurt you. Everything in him was screaming at him to get you out of here. You were still recovering, everyone here wanted a literal piece of you, he’d watched as hands had reached to touch your hair, your arm, your stomach. 

“Well if you don’t train them young, you don’t end up with a creature as lovely as this at the end,” a new man appeared. He was tall, older, eyeing you as though you were something he could claim. Din slipped his hand around your waist, his fingers splaying wide against your stomach to touch as much of you as he could reach and pulled you to his side sharply. You glanced at him, an instant of concern flashing in your eyes before you smiled at the new comer. You offered him your hand and he took it, pressing his lips to the back of it before running his thumb over your skin. 

“It’s true,” you smiled. “I was raised to fulfill my master’s every need, what better life is there than that?” 

“I would so love to experience that kind of skill for myself,” the man’s hand slipped from yours and traveled up your arm to your chest, his palm brushing your breast as it moved up to your throat. Din growled, pulling you back from him. The man looked surprised and your eyes darted to Din before going back to the man, smoothing over his error. 

“My master doesn’t like to share,” you said flirtatiously. “But forbidden fruit is all the sweeter…” 

“I’d just like to see a display of the expertise of the training,” the man directed his words to the Mandalorian now. “It sounds like you’re interested in one of my stock, and I like to ensure my most valuable pieces end up in the right hands.” 

Din stiffened. This was the man who had taken the foundling. He glanced to you, wondering if you’d caught it too. 

“In that case,” you leaned into Din, your leg curling seductively around his as you gazed pleadingly into his eyes through the helmet, willing him to understand. “Would you be OK if we went to play? I’m sure this gentleman would be happy for you to watch.” 

“I can be obliging,” the man looked at the Mandalorian. His hand tightened on your waist before he gave you a single, stiff nod. 

You made a slightly giddy-sounding noise before unfolding yourself form Din’s side and slipping your hand into his. You gave it a gentle squeeze before gesturing to the man. 

“Please,” you said, voice sugary sweet. “Lead the way. And… make it private, if you can. I’d hate to be interrupted because we get a little too loud.” 

The man quirked a brow at you and you followed him, the Mandalorian’s hand firmly in yours the whole way. His gloves were thinner than he was used to and he pressed two of his fingers inside your wrist, feeling your pulse. Your heart was racing. The man led you to an elevator and the three of you climbed inside. He pushed a button and it began to race upwards. 

“Holding events like this in your home has its perks,” he said, turning his attention back to you. 

“It helps when you have the home for it,” you said, leaving your hand in Din’s but leaning toward the man. “Do you have space to keep all of the stock on site? We’d love to take a look before we commit…” 

“Every item tonight is here,” he nodded. “Including the one that sounds like it would interest you. She really is a lovely thing, dark hair, light eyes, tenacious. She’ll train up well.” 

You glanced back at Mando, who gave an almost imperceptible nod. It sounded like her. 

“Did her parents sell her?” You asked, fingers straying into the man’s graying hair. “I know they sometimes have regrets, come try to get them back. My master would like as few complications as possible.” 

“She was orphaned,” he replied. “Taken in by a cult for a bit. Believe me, she’ll have no one looking for her.” 

Din’s stance stiffened and you squeezed his hand harder. 

“Once I get a chance to see what you’ll make of her,” his eyes trailed down your body, lingering on your chest. “I can take you to see her.” 

The elevator slid to a stop, doors opening. 

“Then there’s no time to waste,” you bit your lip and he looked at you for a moment longer before leading the way. 

The Mandalorian memorized the route back to the elevator, taking note of everything you passed. There seemed to be no sign of anyone else on this level. This man was too trusting. No one had put him in his place in a long while. It was time for that to change.

He opened the door to a huge bedroom, sweeping ceilings and a huge bed. There was a balcony out the windows, looking down on the city. Din closed the door behind you and you turned and pressed yourself to the front of him, your lips near his ear below the helmet. 

“Panel, window side of the door,” you said in a breathy whisper. He could feel your shape against him. “Check everything he tells me.” 

You made a show of running your hands down his front, planting a kiss on his chest before heading toward the man who stood, waiting for you, in the center of the room. 

“I had to promise my master that I’ll take care of him later,” you said, practically slinking toward him. You reached him, your hand snaking up his stomach to his chest as your body pressed against his side. Din could see your breasts flush against him, watched as the man reached down and groped your ass. He fought to not rip you away from him. “He is such an important, busy man. Would you like to see how I help him relax?” 

“Very much,” the man said, practically salivating. You smiled, slipping away from his side and fetching a chair from the corner, bringing it behind him before reaching up, taking his shoulders, and pushing him down into it. 

“Good,” you leaned in, pressing your lips to his ear. You left him there and he watched as you gathered ties from the curtains around the windows leading to the balcony, collecting them in your hands before going back to him. “He really loves when I’m in control so he can just sit back and enjoy. Would you mind tying your legs to the chair for me?” 

You lay the ties on his lap and slipped the top of your dress down, sliding your arms free and moving it down your body as the man watched, agape, while he rushed to obey your request, binding himself to the chair. The dress pooled at your feet while he was leaned forward, staring at you. You tightened the ties at his ankles.

There was an almost sheer corset on below the dress and Din could only see you from the back but he could see your strength now. Your body was slender but the muscle was clear, especially as you stood taught and ready. You reached forward, slipping your hand below the man’s chin and lifting it until his back was against the seat. You went behind him, binding his hands behind the chair, giving Din a look as you did. It was pleading, asking him to know when to step in and when to stay out of it, like you were asking him to read you. He gave a nod, standing near the door, a sentinel. 

You came around to the front of the chair, smiling at the Mandalorian before turning back to the man bound in front of you. He had to hand it to you, he’d never gotten a quarry to tie themselves up quite like that before. 

“So,” you said, voice sultry as you stalked up to the man. He looked up at you, lust clear on his face. He had no idea. “You’re a powerful man who can do powerful things.” 

You straddled his legs before you lowered yourself onto him, pressing your body into his, your head on the man’s shoulder, lips on his neck. Din ground his teeth. “Yes,” he moaned, already breathless. 

“And you decided to trade in flesh,” you said, your teeth by his ear. The man frowned. This wasn’t quite what he was expecting. “Interesting.” 

“It’s a…” he swallowed, looking slightly nervous now. You nipped his ear. “Lucrative profession. And the flesh trade, as you know, is better for the people involved that many seem to believe. Those we trade come from nothing, squalor, they would starve and die if it weren’t for me…” 

“Is that why you stole a girl from the Mandalorians?” You asked, your lips still beside his ear. The man froze. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” his voice shook. 

“Oh,” you leaned back, running your hand over his face. “I think you do.” 

He started straining against the ties then, but you pressed yourself more firmly into him and grabbed him by the hair, pulling his head back and exposing his throat.

“No no,” Din could hear the smile in your voice. “I’m not done with you yet. Maybe I’ll untie you when you give me what I want. Which is the girl you stole. So tell me, where is she?” 

“I don’t have any stolen girl,” he said. He looked around you to the Mandalorian, eyes desperate. “Please…” 

“Nope,” you released his hair and grabbed him by the face, your fingers digging into the flesh of his cheeks as you jerked him around to look you in the eye. “Don’t look at him. Look at me. I’m doing you a favor, see, if I left you to him you’d be dead already. With me you have a shot so I expect all your attention to be on me. Now. Tell me where she is, or I will kill you.” 

“If I tell you, you’ll just kill me anyway,” he said, tearing up. 

“Maybe,” you nodded slowly. “But if you don’t, I’m going to make you hurt.” 

His eyes went wide, his chest rising and falling quickly. You slipped your hand into your corset and freed the knife, holding it in front of him. 

“Now, you have three options,” you said. “Option one, you resist and I bleed you until you’re dead on the floor of your pretty bedroom and then we go find the girl ourselves. Option two, you resist, I cut parts of you away and break you before you tell me what I want and beg for a death that I may or may not give you. Option three, you tell me what I want to know and maybe I just give you a sedative to keep you quiet until we leave, maybe I kill you quickly. Part of me really wants to get out of here quick. That’s what’s best for the girl and it’s definitely best for you.” You pressed the knife into the man’s arm slowly, pushing it in as he screamed. You clamped a hand over his mouth, shushing him. You waited for his screams to ease before you spoke again. “But it ruins my fun. I like making bad men hurt. So, by all means, draw this out. Don’t tell me where the girl is. Let me take it from you piece by piece.” 

You removed your hand from his mouth and sat back, watching as he panted for breath beneath you. After a moment, your hand found his face again, patting his cheek sharply. 

“Hey,” you said, drawing his eyes back to you. “You look at me, pay attention to me, give in to me. Tell me, where is she?” 

He hesitated and you sighed, clamping your hand over his mouth again as you twisted the knife in his arm. You waited until the screaming turned to sobs before you removed your hand, cupping his face gently. You stroked his cheek, almost like you were soothing him. 

“I know,” you said softly. “It hurts. But I could end it for you. You’re a rich man, right? You have bacta?” 

“Yes,” his voice was thick as he nodded. “I just need the location,” you touched him so gently. “Just tell me where she is.” 

“Sublevel three,” his body went limp and he slumped against you. “She and all of them are on sublevel three, she’s in cell 322.” 

“Mando,” you glanced over your shoulder and he went to the panel. He found proof of there being a sublevel at all and that the layout looked like it was likely prison space or servants quarters. He gave you a stiff nod. 

“I promise she’s there,” he sobbed. “Please, the bacta… it’s in a panel by the bedside for emergencies…” 

You gave Mando a look and he went to check, finding the panel and opening it. He gave you a nod again. 

‘“Good,” you said quietly, pulling the knife from his arm. He whimpered as you stood, going to stand behind him. 

“My arm, please,” he tilted his head back to look at you. You frowned down at him. 

“Oh,” you sighed, putting the knife to the man’s throat. “The bacta wasn’t for you.” 

With that, you slit his throat and watched as the blood poured from him before you dropped the knife, your body trembling. Din moved for you fast, catching you before you collapsed as you gasped for breath. 

“We have to keep going,” you looked up at him as he held you to his side. “See if there’s a blaster in here I can use…” A tear slipped down your face. “Fuck, I hate doing that….” 

“Let’s get you dressed,” he said gently but you grabbed his arm and squeezed. 

“Not yet,” you said. He frowned but didn’t question it. You pulled yourself from his grasp and went to the drawers beside the bed and began to go through them. He grabbed the bacta, pocketing it where he could. It might come in handy before you made it out of here. You found a blaster but immediately dropped it on the bed before running to a trash can in the corner and vomiting, using the wall to hold yourself up. You hovered there for a moment before you wiped your mouth on your hand, your breathing calming. You nodded to yourself before going for the dress, purposely avoiding looking at the body tied to the chair. 

“You’ve done this before,” he said quietly. You nodded, tears still stinging your eyes as you slid the gown back up your body. He looked down at the man. “He deserved it.” 

“Doesn’t matter,” you said, wiping your eyes  and steeling yourself for a moment before stalking after the gun again. “Let’s go, sublevel 3.” 

He looked at you. He tried, for a moment, to think of a way to finish this that got you out of here now. Getting you out a side door, onto a speeder and telling you to take the Razor Crest into orbit. But he couldn’t protect you then, which felt worse. You sprinted for the door while he thought, blaster in your grasp. He ran to your side, taking your hand gently and leading the way to the elevator. 

The trip down felt long. Your breathing was shaky but you kept your eyes straight ahead, your fingers flexing and straining around the grip of your blaster. Din ground his teeth. He had no idea what was waiting on the other side of this and he felt dangerously underprepared. If it had just been him at stake, that would be one thing. But it wasn’t. It was the girl and it was you. 

“If we get separated,” you said, looking up at him. “Where do I take the girl?” 

“Nevarro,” he replied, meeting your gaze. You nodded. “Let me out first, use me for cover, free as many as you can.” 

You didn’t get a chance to respond, the doors sliding open to the sublevel. It was dim, the only light coming from the glow spilling from the cell doors. 

“What are you doing here?” An armed man approached the elevator. Before you could answer, Din stepped in front of you and shot him. He dropped where he stood. 

“It can’t be that easy,” you said, almost to yourself, looking at the Mandalorian. There was a weariness in your eyes he hadn’t seen before. You hadn’t just done this before, you’d done it many times. And you hated it. 

A blaster bolt whizzed past his head and he turned, shooting almost before he really saw anything at all. 

“Dammit,” you said, ducking behind the wall of the elevator. 

“I’ll give you cover,” Din said. “I won’t let anyone hurt you…” 

“I need to open the holds,” you said. “Just cover me for that.” 

He gave you a stiff nod, steeling himself before stepping into the fray, a shouted “go!” Almost thrown at you. You dove from the elevator and ran, away from the oncoming guards and down the other hall. He hated not being able to see you, not knowing where you were, if you were even still alive. He kept shooting, holding off however many there were from reaching you, until the holds opened with a hiss. The guards froze, looking around. A woman, young, not much older than you, stepped out of one, her eyes wide. 

“You’re free,” Din said. She looked from him to the remaining guards. The Mandalorian kept his blaster raised. “Go.” 

She nodded and ran, the guards moving again, closing in on Din as you came up behind him, a gentle hand on his back. You stepped around him, firing into the guards, striking one who dropped where he stood. It seemed to have been the final straw, the handful of remaining men fleeing. 

“We need to find 322,” you said, stepping over the body of a guard before taking off at a run down the hall, others emerging cautiously from their cells and starting to run. He almost lost you in the press of people, dozens suddenly pouring out. He caught a quick flash of your gown as you ducked into one of the cells and he pushed through to you, stopping in the door with his blaster at the ready. You were kneeling before a girl who was cowering in the corner, her long, dark hair a curtain around her body. “It’s OK,” you said, your voice quiet and gentle. The same hand you’d used to twist the knife in the girl’s kidnapper reached out to softly stroke her hair. “I know, it’s scary. It’s OK to be scared when there are scary things happening. We don’t have a chance to be brave if we’re never afraid. Do you think you can be brave right now for me?” 

The girl peered up at you through her hair. You smiled softly. 

“What’s your name?” You asked. 

“Layari,” she sniffed. 

“Layari?” You repeated back. She nodded. “Well, Layari, that is a beautiful name and a strong name and you seem like a beautiful and strong girl. My name is Amira. I’m here to bring you back to your dad. The big, scary man over there? He’s a Mandalorian, just like your dad and just like you, he’s just in disguise. He’s here to get you there safely.” 

“My daddy?” She sniffed again. You nodded, smiling a little bigger. “I miss him.” 

“I know, Darling Girl,” you slipped into Bothese as you brushed her hair back. “And he misses you, too. Can I take you to him? I can carry you.” 

She considered you for a moment before holding her arms out. You quickly scooped her into your arms and pressed her face into your shoulder, cradling her head as her arms and legs went around you. Your mouth was a thin line, looking at Din. 

“We have to move,” he said, leading the way. 

*** 

Your adrenaline was so high you almost didn’t notice the weight of the child in your arms, too focused on getting her through the maze of hallways and out of here. She was shaking but clung to you tightly. This part you didn’t have a plan for. You’d probably need to steal a speeder and then it would just be a race against time to see if you could make it to the Razor Crest and jump before someone caught you. 

You could breakdown then. 

It had been years since you’d had to torture someone like that, every time it made you sick to your stomach. You hated it, you hated yourself for being so fucking good at it. You hated that you felt bad for the people you hurt and killed because you knew, like he’d said, they deserved it. You’d never hurt someone who hadn’t deserved it but it wasn’t lost on you that you were good at hurting people. Good at lying, killing, extracting information. What did that make you? What could the Mandalorian possibly think of you after that?

You clutched the girl to you, following Mando to the elevator. He pushed the button to the floor you’d entered from and you swallowed, hard. 

“Are you hurt?” He asked. The girl didn’t respond and you went to nudge her to see if she’d talk, but he shook his head. “I meant you. Are you hurt?” 

“Oh,” you said, surprised. “No, I’m OK. You?” 

He nodded his head, readying his weapon again before he looked back to you. 

“If you have a chance to get out with her without me, take it,” he said. “Nevarro. You can trade in the quarries there, get a decent bounty, you can keep the ship…” 

“Don’t say that,” you said sharply. “You and her are getting out of here, do you hear me?” 

He’d obviously noticed that you’d left yourself off that list but didn’t have the chance to fight you on it as the elevator doors dinged open, revealing a party that was still in full swing despite the chaos below and the death above. He looked to you, almost like he was asking for permission. You gave him a stiff nod, and he started shooting. 

He was aiming only for people you’d spoken to and you’d identified as slavers, people screaming and starting to run. You followed behind him, in death’s shadow, sheltering the girl from the chaos and the violence, humming soothingly in her ear. A shot hit the Mandalorian, throwing his shoulder back, making your eyes go wide. He stuttered for a moment but pressed on, his mortality showing for only a moment, clearing a path for the door. 

People rushed outside, scrambling to find speeders to flee but he kept shooting those he could reach. You looked around, spotting a speeder and running for it, shouting a quick “Mando” over your shoulder as you rushed the girl over. You deposited her in the back and he leapt into the driver’s seat, working to start the engine. You turned to go back to the house but he grabbed your wrist. 

“We have to go!” He yelled. 

“Go!” You yelled back, ripping your arm away and running back inside. 

It was still chaos, people bleeding and screaming. You spotted someone you’d flagged as a slaver earlier and shot them, not waiting to see if they dropped before you made your way to the first control panel you saw. You manipulated it as you had the ones downstairs, checking to make sure all the potential slave quarters were unlocked. Then you stepped back, shooting the panel with your blaster, a spray of sparks going everywhere. You looked around and spotted some fabric - heavy curtains - that looked like it would burn well. You ripped it down and dragged it over. Wincing, you thrust your hand into the ruined panel and grabbed a fist full of wires, pulling them out of the wall, hoping against hope that you weren’t going to be electrocuted. You knew basically nothing about technology, you’d be utterly useless when it came to maintaining a ship or building a droid, but you could make something spark. Or you thought you could. You pressed the curtain to the exposed wires and turned your face away as you shot the panel again, a fresh spray of sparks flying. A few of them landed on the curtain and ignited, the fire spreading quickly over the fabric. You dragged it near a potted plant and toppled into the flames which grew to engulf it. Without bothering to admire your handiwork, you ran to find a speeder, leaving the place to burn. 

Mando had gotten the speeder going and was waiting for you, hovering over the walkway, all pretense gone. 

“What were you thinking?” You demanded, climbing in. “I told you to go!” 

“I wasn’t leaving you there,” he snapped, maneuvering the speeder the second you were inside. You climbed over the front seat and into the back to find the girl, curled up and crying. 

“You’re OK Layari,” you said, putting an arm over her. Mando drove, flooring it, sending you back in your seat and making your breath catch in your throat. A blaster bolt flew past your head and you ducked, covering the girl’s body with your own. 

“Mando!” You yelled. “Aft shots!” 

The speeder swerved and then dove, the movements sharp and jerky. You could hear the blasters as you pressed your body against the girl’s, ensuring she was protected. 

You couldn’t see where he was going, could’t see him at all, couldn’t see anything but the floor of the speeder and the girl’s shaking body as you pressed your head against hers. Eventually, you felt the craft crash into the ground and skid to a stop. You flinched, holding Layari closer until you were sure you’d stopped moving, before arranging her so her arms and legs were around you and you could run with her. The Mandalorian was already out of the speeder, standing between you and any oncoming attack, blaster ready as the people chasing you caught up. He followed you up the ramp as you heard blaster fire. You set the girl down and watched as he walked backwards up the ramp, blaster in front of him, unflinchingly firing. And then, he dropped. “NO!” The sound ripped from your throat before you had a chance to recognize it and you ran for him, blaster in front of you as you fired blindly. You slammed the ramp button on your way and it started tipping back as you ran for him. You grabbed him under his arms and dragged him up the ramp and into the hold, blaster fire glancing off the metal of the ship but thankfully missing you and the man in your arms. You looked at him, blood leaking from the side of his chest. You grabbed a handful of his cape and looked to Layari. She sat where you’d left her, hands over her ears as she cried. 

“Layari,” you said, as gently but quickly as you could manage. “I need you to be brave one more time. Can you come hold this to his side? I’ll get us out of here and get us to your daddy, but we have to save him, can you do that for me?” 

She nodded before she got up and ran to you, taking the cape from you. You put your hands over hers as you heard blaster bolts hit the side of the ship and pressed down onto the Mandalorian’s ribs. 

“Hold it just like that, OK?” You said. “You’re doing great, Layari, keep doing that until I come back.” 

You sprinted for the cockpit and scrambled up the ladder, starting the launch sequence before you even sat down. 

“Razor Crest,” the com crackled to life. “You have not been cleared for take off.” 

You muted it, barely having a chance to strap in as you flipped he final switch of the sequence, hearing the engines ignite. You guided it into the atmosphere, hoping there weren’t fighter pilots on your ass next. You’d never win that one. 

You quickly programmed the shortest jump you could think of while the ship rose into the air and executed it the second you were clear of the atmosphere, only staying in hyperspace for half a minute. It should be enough to ditch anyone trying to tail you. You paused and then set the next jump, this one taking you toward Kashyyyk. The second the jump began, you ran for the hatch to see if the Mandalorian was alive. 

A/N: I kept forgetting to ACTUALLY POST this. Hoping to remember to pick up the reposting cadence again now but if you want a lot more of this fic right now, it's on AO3 through chapter 33 here. Thank you all for reading and interacting! Love you guys!

[spotsandsocks]

✨ 2023 writing round-up ✨

Tagged by (and I might have missed some people sorry) @exhuastedpigeon @jamespearce9-1-1 @heartshapedvows @thekristen999 @jesuisici33 @daffi-990 @hippolotamus @wikiangela

Links to all 23 fics I’ve written which I’ve just realised coincidentally matches the year maybe I shouldn’t work on that Christmas fic after all 🤔 All under the cut cos that’s quite a few and your dash does not need to be bothered by that! 😆😆 I will forget to tag someone I know it, so if I do I didn’t really and you’re tagged too cos you’re wonderful

💕💜💕Thank you to each and everyone of you who talks to me, tags me, supports and encourages me, reblogs and likes. Sends asks and questions and prompts and love in my direction. Thank you for sharing your time, talents , your words and creative skills with us all. You make my days brighter and more fun. I adore you all and wish you all a happy kind and peaceful 2024. 💕💜💕

January

Home Wanted 6k established Buddie new pet based shenanigans 🐀🐁🐀

Could Have Should Have Would Have 3k my biggest hit this year angsty then sweet

Who You Gonna Call? 9k Eddie calls Buck and works out how he feels

February

This Must Be Love 5.7k fluffy valentines fic featuring pea puns 🫛

March

Just another minute 1.2k 6x10 spec

No Place 8.4k coma!buck spec fic with a few similarities to what we got actually

It's Such A Feeling 1.8k couldn’t remember but apparently hand appreciation fic that gets smutty 😉

April

Date Night 2k I got stuck on bus for almost 3 hours and this happened - surprisingly popular considering I had no plans to write it until traffic hit!

The Answer I Needed 2.4k Buck is always there for Eddie 5plus 1 across time till love strikes

Always There 1.6k Tía Pepa sees all at Christopher’s birthday party

May

Everything But (temptation) 4.7 5plus 1 of Eddie being a flirty tease and driving Buck crazy

Worth the wait5.7 same fic but from Buck’s perspective

July

Good Knight Sweet Prince 167,316k ahh my best beloved started in 2023 and finished this year. I adored writing and sharing this what turned out to be epic length fantasy au. Knights princes dragons thwarted love and a happy ending what can I say if that’s your thing give it a go.

Let me stay by your fire (for nothing warms me like you do)4.5k couldn’t let go of mediaeval theme so knight Buck this time coming home to his blacksmith friend Eddie. Oh and bees. 🐝

August

Something Worth Staying For 21k an enemies to lover (although not really enemies) small town newspaper au where Buck turns up and Eddie hates him until he doesn’t. Featuring my real life computer disaster 😆

Tied To You From The Start 13.4k a challenge I took on and did rather well if I say so myself 😆😆 paranormal mysterious shenanigans. Buck in peril and on the run Eddie trying to save him from his own self sacraments and hot sex.

September

The Comfort of Your Hands 2.9k inspired by an anon talking about Eddie running fingers through Bucks hair. No plans for this one it just happened and again was well received. Maybe I should stop planning fics and just see what happens.

October

The Price of Love (is high) 7.7k autumnangstfest drama. I put them both through it. All past traumas coming back to cause trouble.

Your heart or mine? Yours every time 3.6k a hungry vampire!Buck and Eddie get stuck in a lift … things occur

November

100 word fics added a short fic to this little collection i actually love doing these. It’s a great challenge

Only one answer 590 couldn’t remember.. had a look and went oh yeah that was cute. Proposal fic in under 600 words

In my defence I was left unsupervised 1.3k Buck gets bored with sissors Eddie likes the results … who could resist buzz but Buck… not Eddie it seems

Nov/Dec

The Lost and The Found wip 5/10 48k this was not meant to be this long but guess what.. got carried away and plot is plotting and demands around 100,000 at least in the end I suspect. 5 chapters out number 6and 7 before Christmas this counts as 2023 doesn’t it? Come join me for the ride

@daffi-990 @shortsighted-owl @monsterrae1 @rogerzsteven @hippolotamus @loserdiaz @the-likesofus @stagefoureddiediaz @yelenasbuddie @hoodie-buck @buddierights @bekkachaos @thekristen999 @ronordmann @caroandcats @spaceprincessem @disasterbuckdiaz @heartshapedvows @underwater-ninja-13 @wildlife4life @wikiangela @thewolvesof1998 @exhuastedpigeon @weewootruck @giddyupbuck @housewifebuck @honestlydarkprincess @pirrusstuff @elvensorceress @jesuisici33 @eddiebabygirldiaz @jamespearce9-1-1 @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming @wh0re-behavi0r @princessfbi @jacksadventuresinwriting @ci5mates @katries @megsvstheworld @like-the-rest-of-la

[star-my]

born as a tiger

Pairing: Min Yoongi (Mad King) x OFC (Lee Hoyeon)

Rating: T | WC: 5.8k | Ao3 | My Fics Masterlist | Masterlist |

AU: Daechwita AU, Arranged Marriage AU, Historical AU, Royal AU

CW: implied unhealthy/abusive parental relationship, OFC has Trust Issues & implied C-PTSD, Yoongi & Yoonji star in this fic, Namjoon cameo, Jackson Wang shows up (does not throw a party but is cause for one), Jackson goes by Gayi, empty threats of violence but as a love language, sword fighting but friendly, I think that's it, lmk if I should update this

Summary:

Lee Hoyeon trembled at all the thoughts flashing through her head as her carriage pulled up in front of the infamous Changdeokgung palace. Peering out through the window, she was unsettled to see how clean the stone courtyard was, the cool taupe a far cry from the dripping red she’d half-expected after tormenting herself with thoughts of her fiance’s atrocities. All the gossip she’d heard from the maids and guards back home in Dongjak Kingdom was now front and centre in her mind.  The carriage slowed to a gentle stop and the door opened, courtesy of the footman. Hoyeon took his hand, hoping hers wasn’t trembling too noticeably, and took her first step on the grounds she would be empress of in three weeks.

A/N: - this idea lay dormant for a year and a half and suddenly resurrected in the middle of reading a webtoon at 10 pm so here I am answering the author’s call of nature 😭 (*spongebob voice* fOuR mOnThS lAtEr: bless the ATZ hyperfixation for me wanting to get something out of my brain to make more room for the ot8 brainrot and this WIP was the sacrifice it chose)

I did some research for this fic, such as the Changdeokgung palace truly existing (of which I used in my moodboard), the chrysanthemum tea vs plum tea debate, and Yoongi’s sword apparently being called a hwando, etc. Any inaccuracies are mine and I apologize. Please feel free to point them out :)

There was supposed to be some smut but the muses refused. I may add it in the future or post it in a second chapter.

Thanks to the lovely @lunarelles for betaing! Any remaining mistakes are my own <3 Enjoy! 

D-22

Emperor Min Yoongi of the Dalseogu Empire was a force to be reckoned with. His subjects trembled in fear when he was whispered about–even his fellow rulers kept a wide berth around him when they met at diplomatic events. He’s a monster, they said. His reign was written with the blood of his subjects. He was nicknamed the Mad King for a reason–not that anyone would say his unofficial title to his face.

The day after the seventh emperor of the Dalseogu empire was crowned, he killed half of his court. Only a select few officials remained unscathed from the Mad King’s bloodbath. Even the families of the officials he killed were not all exempt – wives, concubines, and children being wiped out by his sword. The Dowager Empress and the Second, Third, and Fourth Prince had all died that day, making it the second most bloody day the Empire had seen since its inception.

Lee Hoyeon trembled at all the thoughts flashing through her head as her carriage pulled up in front of the infamous Changdeokgung palace. Peering out through the window, she was unsettled to see how clean the stone courtyard was, the cool taupe a far cry from the dripping red she’d half-expected after tormenting herself with thoughts of her fiance’s atrocities.

All the gossip she’d heard from the maids and guards back home in Dongjak Kingdom was now front and centre in her mind. 

The carriage slowed to a gentle stop and the door opened, courtesy of the footman. Hoyeon took his hand, hoping hers wasn’t trembling too noticeably, and took her first step on the grounds she would be empress of in three weeks. 

A contingency of guards marched out from the front gates of Changdeokgung, a swish of brightly-coloured silk in their midst. Bowing to Hoyeon, they stepped aside, revealing the silk as the crown princess, the Mad King’s twin sister, Min Yoonji.

“I’m glad you made it here safely, Princess Hoyeon,” greeted Crown Princess Yoonji familiarly, as if this was their hundredth meeting and not their first. “The emperor was out often the past couple weeks ensuring the bandits would not attack the carriages. I imagine you’re rather thirsty and tired. Would you like some tea?”

“Tea would be lovely, thank you, Crown Princess.”

“Please, call me unnie, we are to be sisters in a few weeks.”

“As you wish, Crown Princess.” Hoyeon followed the princess to the quarters prepared for her stay before she wed the emperor. 

This whole situation was most bizarre. The crown princess had been rumoured to be a fierce warrior–much like her brother, the maids had gasped as Hoyeon eavesdropped. Yet here she was, dressed in silks like any other respectable lady of the court and pouring the fragrant tea with a natural elegance Hoyeon had practiced for days to attain.

“So, are you excited for the wedding?” asked Yoonji, refilling their cups with the most delicious blend of tea Hoyeon had ever drunk.

Hoyeon nibbled on her lip, debating how much would be prudent to tell the crown princess. She was lovely and welcoming, but she was also the emperor’s sister. How was she supposed to say she was scared out of her wits and had been for the past several days, since her father had announced her engagement to the Mad King at a state dinner with no warning whatsoever. That she’d tried to learn what she could about her new empire and husband-to-be, but all she had gleaned was that she would be lucky to survive six months as the empress? What could she say, I almost looked forward to this when my father first announced this, so that I had a chance to finally be free from his tyranny, but now I wish I was back with the devil I know?

Deciding the last train of thought had the most truth she could pluck from and spin into a plausible half-truth, she replied, “I was surprised when my father mentioned the alliance to me, but I am pleased to be able to support my kingdom in this way. I will do my best to be a good empress to Dalseogu. I noticed the absolutely beautiful scenery as I made my way here, and it is a lovely empire.” Just ruled by not-so-lovely people, she thought, then ignored the stab of guilt at the mental insult to Yoonji, who’d been rather good so far at calming her nerves.

Yoonji smiled at the compliment to her empire. “I’m so glad you think so! I know it can be a bit…sparse, to some, but I think there’s a wild beauty to the land.”

One of her maids stepped forward to whisper in her ear. Yoonji looked at Hoyeon apologetically. 

“Duty calls, I’m afraid. I’ll leave you to rest now. I know my brother was looking forward to greeting you, but something came up that he couldn’t ignore. He’d like you to join him for tea tomorrow afternoon.”

“Of course, I will be there. Thank you, Crown Princess…unnie.”

Yoonji’s glare softened at the casual honorific. “Lovely! Rest well, Princess Hoyeon.”

The crown princess and her entourage left, leaving only Hoyeon and her maid, Jina. 

“That seemed to go well, Miss,” offered Jina as she began to unpack and brush out Hoyeon’s nightclothes.

Hoyeon groaned, collapsing onto her bed with her hand flung over her eyes. “Appearances can be deceiving, Jina. I can’t afford to trust anyone here, no matter how nice they are–especially the emperor’s sister!”

“I hope she can be a true friend to you here, Miss.”

“Thank you, Jina.”

D-21

“It’s a pleasure to serve you, Princess Hoyeon,” bowed the maid provided by the palace, named Sora. 

“Thank you. I’m sure Jina will appreciate your help in navigating the palace until she becomes accustomed to our new accommodations.”

“I’ll do my best, Princess.”

Sora and Jina chattered away, becoming fast friends, as Hoyeon chewed anxiously on her thumbnail in the corner. 

She learned that Sora had a younger sister, Soha, whom she was very proud of for having recently become a full-fledged palace maid. The head maid was tough but caring once a maid proved herself, and Sora was sure Jina would win her over in no time. There were a couple guards who were insufferable flirts, but they were still respectful. Jina’s best course of action would be to ignore any flirtations and not respond to the provocations. 

Hoyeon finally jumped up from her seat, startling the maids from their conversation. “What time should I be prepared to go for tea with the emperor?”

“If we start now, you should arrive just after the emperor’s meeting finishes, Princess,” replied Sora. 

The maids did their best to dress Hoyeon up in her favourite hanbok, pinning her hair with a gold hairpin the emperor had gifted her via her father, and using cosmetics to accentuate her features.

“You’re a little pale,” commented Jina as she patted some pink onto Hoyeon’s cheeks. 

“Do you blame me?” she retorted. “Sora, is there anything I need to be aware of when I greet the emperor?”

Sora paused from folding a discarded robe. “I don’t think so. Emperor Min doesn’t insist on many formalities if it’s not a formal event. I believe Soha will be serving the tea, so if you need anything, you can ask her to find me, Princess.”

“Thank you, Sora.”

Jina and Sora fell in behind her, Sora quietly directing her through the maze of corridors to the room the emperor was waiting in for her.

She smiled at the guards outside the doors. “Is the emperor available?”

“Unnie!”

Hoyeon turned to see a girl bearing a tea tray. She bowed to her before turning to Sora.

“Unnie, the emperor is still occupied.”

“Do you think he will be long?”

“I don’t think you will wait long,” reported the girl, who Hoyeon assumed was Soha. “Princess,” she bowed again before entering the room.

A loud voice escaped the open door, followed by the distinctive sound of a slap.

A minute later she ran out, tears flowing down her face as she passed Hoyeon and her maids.

Hoyeon stared in trepidation at the girl. What had happened to make the emperor slap her? She’d barely had time to do anything. This didn’t bode well for her.

“Show Princess Lee in,” called a voice. The guards opened the door.

Hoyeon took a deep breath and stepped forward, keeping her eyes on the next step she was taking.

She paused when she reached a low tea table, droplets of tea scattered across its surface. She could see the emperor’s robes across from her and a tea set shattered on the floor to her right.

So that was why Soha had run out. Why was it broken?

“Your Majesty,” she bowed, hoping it was low enough.

“Your Highness,” he greeted in response. “You may stand.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Her eyes flicked up to his face quickly, then back down to hide her surprise.

He had a scar across his right eye, from his eyebrow to his cheek. She’d thought the rumours were just that–rumours. Who had ever heard of a king with a scar?

She supposed with a reputation like his, he didn’t have to worry about naysayers attempting to depose him.

She’d been so surprised at the scar and hadn’t wanted to be caught staring that she barely remembered his other features.

She chanced another glance and found him staring at her.

“You can look at me, Princess Hoyeon.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” She peeked up under her lashes.

Was it possible for a scar to heighten his appeal? He had shockingly blond hair pulled back into the typical sangtu, thick brows, a nose that she couldn’t believe the first adjective she thought of was ‘cute’, and pouty lips. Overall, he was rather attractive. 

The benefit to marrying a young emperor was that he was surprisingly handsome, but it also meant he was less likely to die soon. In all honesty, Hoyeon expected him to outlive her.  

She hadn’t met his eyes–his look had been far too calculating. If there was one thing she knew about court politics, it was to never show your fear when someone was around. 

“You arrived much quicker than I expected, Princess Hoyeon. I hope your travels were smooth.”

“Yes, thank you. We had no trouble at all. My father said it was better to arrive sooner lest we be waylaid and made late.” He was just thrilled he could finally get some use out of his useless only child.

“Crown Princess Yoonji said that you were an interesting companion at her tea yesterday.”

I knew she’d tell him about me.

“As was she, Your Majesty. I look forward to getting to know her–and you–better.”

“Good,” said the emperor, clearly pleased. “The crown princess is pleased to be able to help you become accustomed to the Dalseogu Empire. I will be busy with all the things that must be finished before the wedding, so I imagine you will be seeing her often.”

“I’m pleased to hear that, Your Majesty. May I ask you a question?” Better to find out now how lenient he will be towards my impertinence.

“Go ahead.”

“Why did you approach the Dongjak kingdom for an alliance?” Why me?

“It is advantageous for both our lands to have the trade deals this alliance will forge. Dongjak and Dalseogu have not always been at peace, so this was a good way to cement it.”

Slightly surprised that the emperor had actually given her an answer, she nodded. She hadn’t had the slightest shred of hope that he would give her some secretly romantic explanation, such as he’d seen her at some event and been so taken by her that he had to have her. All she was good for was strengthening her kingdom’s ties as one of its most important representatives. 

The guards opened the door and let in Sora, carrying the replacement tea set.

She poured the tea quietly and served their cups to them, then retreated to the side, assuming an at-ease position.

“Please sit,” directed the emperor, settling himself on his cushion. Hoyeon followed his example, making herself as comfortable as she could sitting opposite an unknown volatile man no one could rebuke.

The tea was delicious, stronger than what she was used to back in Dongjak, but she found its tart flavour pleasant. 

“This is exquisite tea, Your Majesty.”

He inclined his head. “It is plum tea. I believe Dongjak more commonly uses the chrysanthemum flowers for their tea.”

“You are correct, Your Majesty.”

Tea with the emperor went fairly well, although Hoyeon caught his considering gaze upon her several times. It unnerved her, wondering why he was taking so much interest in his political bride. 

She didn’t like it.

D-20

Hoyeon giggled, finally somewhat relaxed around the crown princess as the older girl spilled stories about her maids’ and guards’ dramatic dynamics and relationships. 

“Don’t tell the head maid I told you this,” Yoonji leaned forward, finger to her lips. 

Hoyeon’s eyes widened as she bit her lower lip, nodding quickly in agreement. She knew that the maids were one of the biggest and best ally teams she could have on her side in the palace, and she wouldn’t dare do anything to harm her chances of gaining connections.

“So, what do you think of my brother, after your tea with him yesterday?” Yoonji relaxed onto her cushion, pouring herself another cup of what Hoyeon wasn’t completely convinced was just plum tea. 

Her teeth dug further into her lip as she considered how to answer. The siblings appeared fairly close for being possible throne rivals–especially considering that Yoonji had survived the Mad King’s bloody beginning–and she couldn’t speak freely. The princess was a skilled politician, however, and would surely catch on if she lied and began praising the man.

“I find His Majesty…intimidating,” she said slowly, gauging how Yoonji took that ambivalent opening.

Yoonji nodded, motioning to continue with her finger. “He certainly knows how to make himself understood.”

Understatement of the dynasty, thought Hoyeon. 

“He’s…rather good looking. I was surprised,” she mused. Realising Yoonji had raised her eyebrow at her, she went on hastily. “Just that I hadn’t heard anyone speak about that when they discussed the emperor! I had very little information on His Majesty to go off of. I suppose the men that met the emperor were more focused on his character than his countenance,” she snorted, a little self-deprecatingly, glancing up to see if Yoonji would take the bait and either consider her a little simple and romantically-minded or expound upon her open-ended question to know more about her fiance’s personality. 

“Well, I suppose I agree that my brother is rather good-looking,” Yoonji mused, sipping her tea. “I’ve been told often that we appear quite similar.”

“Indeed, that was one of the first things I noticed. You’re both attractive and there’s certainly a family resemblance between you two. By the way, is there anyone you think is good-looking, unnie?” she asked curiously, hoping she wasn’t overstepping.

Yoonji shook her head. “There are several tolerably handsome ministers and princes around, but their personalit-”

A knock sounded at the door to the crown princess’s tea room. Yoonji nodded at Hoyeon in apology, excusing herself to speak quietly with the maid waiting at the door, bringing a message from the emperor. 

Yoonji’s brow furrowed slightly, then smoothed as she turned back to Hoyeon. “The emperor has requested an audience with me, and he wishes to see you after my visit. Would you like to come with me now?”

Hoyeon nodded, setting her tea down and getting to her feet. She still wasn’t entirely sure she had the palace layout memorised, and Jina was currently being interviewed by the head maid, leaving Hoyeon friendless and ally-less if Yoonji also left her behind. 

“I’d be honoured to join you, Your Highness.”

The two young women headed as briskly as nobles could to the emperor’s throne room, where he remained after a meeting with his ministers earlier. 

The guards saw the duo’s approach and opened the tall doors in anticipation of Yoonji’s entrance. Hoyeon chose to remain outside, though the doors remained open, giving the siblings privacy and taking advantage of the moment to prepare her nerves to see her fiance again. She’d relaxed in Yoonji’s quiet company, but reverted to her stiff princess behaviour on their walk here. 

Shaking her head at her rapid closeness with the princess, she straightened her skirts anxiously. For all she knew, the siblings were in there right now discussing her pathetic surface-level attraction to the Mad King and how quickly she’d come to confide in the princess.

Shifting on her feet, she cursed her father once again for removing anyone who’d appeared close to her, making her a prime target for spilling her innermost thoughts when she met someone who appeared to listen. Reminding herself it had only been two days and Yoonji had not yet proved if it was safe to trust her, Hoyeon twisted the jade ring on her finger as she waited.

A loud cry came from Yoonji, giving her deja vu. With an inner sigh, she inched forward, straining her ear to make out what the siblings were arguing about. 

Silently, she watched Yoonji, who appeared unafraid to talk back to the emperor. Was it because she was his sister? He wouldn’t retaliate? Something else? She needed to know everything she could.

“I’m getting married?!” cried Yoonji, clearly. “In two weeks?! Without you telling me first?!”

Hoyeon froze. Her newest ally and possible future friend would be leaving the palace? Was it because they were becoming close? Had Yoonji done something warranting being sent away? No, it was probably just another business transaction, like her marriage was to be. 

Calming her anxious thoughts, Hoyeon shuffled a little closer, wondering who the groom was.

“No, you are leaving Dalseogu in two weeks. You are getting married in a week to Emperor Wang Gayi.”

“You arranged a marriage for me? With the Wang Emperor?!”

“Yes, I did, and you will marry him. That’s an emperor’s order, Min Yoonji.”

“You gave me no choice? I’m so mad that you interfered with my relationships,” Yoonji said flatly, turning and exiting via the hall behind the throne area. 

“Your groom will be here by tomorrow morning,” the emperor informed her, barely raising his voice. Facing forward once again, he motioned Hoyeon to approach him. 

“Good afternoon, Princess.”

She bowed. “Good afternoon, Your Majesty.”

“Good afternoon, Your Highness. Would you like some tea?”

“No, thank you. I just came from having some with the crown princess. I suppose she will be busy now with her wedding preparations, so I am grateful that I could have these past few days to get to know my sister-in-law.”

“I apologize if you feel that my sister’s wedding takes precedence over ours,” the emperor said, surprising Hoyeon. “I wished her to wed soon and thought that now would be best since most of the preparations for ours are already complete and can transfer to theirs. Emperor Wang has to return to Kowloon soon and I wanted him to take Yoonji with him.”

“I am not slighted at all, Your Majesty. I wish the royal couple all happiness and longevity. May I ask why you requested to see me after the crown princess, Your Majesty?”

He stretched languidly, rising to his feet and sauntering down the steps to his throne. “Am I not allowed to wish to see my fiancee?” he asked, approaching Hoyeon. 

“Y-you are, Your Majesty.” Biting her lip, she forced herself to remain standing tall and not move back.

He paused two arm lengths away from her. “I would like to see you every day before our wedding, if you are available.”

“I believe I will be, if that is what you wish.”

He tilted his head, scanning her head to toe. She lowered her gaze to his feet, hoping she hadn’t mussed her clothing since Jina left her at Yoonji’s tea room. 

“You seem rather nervous.”

Who wouldn’t be, being the focus of one of the continent’s most dangerous men?! Hoyeon shrieked internally. Well, it appeared the emperor was more perceptive than her father, so lying was off the table. “I suppose I am. We have only met once, and I am unchaperoned. I do not wish to cause any damage to either of your kingdoms if there were negative repercussions from this event, Your Majesty.”

He hummed, taking a step back so that his black-clad feet were no longer in her vision. “The doors are open and there are plenty of guards and other staff around, Princess. But, if it would make you feel better–Chief Advisor Kim!”

Barely repressing the flinch at his sudden shout, Hoyeon turned to see who the emperor had just summoned. A tall, handsome man rushed in, arms full of scrolls and books, a pair of spectacles sliding down his nose. He pushed them up, a scroll fluttering from its precarious spot under his elbow. 

Hoyeon stooped without thinking, catching the runaway parchment and handing it back to the man, who flashed a thankful smile at her, dimples appearing in his cheeks. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

“Princess Hoyeon, this is my most trusted advisor, Kim Namjoon. He will be our chaperone,” the emperor said shortly. 

“I’m honoured to meet you, Princess. Congratulations on the wedding.”

“Thank you,” she nodded at him and turned back to her fiance, not wanting to spend his patience with her over another man. Still, his behaviour was unlike anything she was used to. The Mad King was her enigma, and she only hoped it wouldn’t take too long to figure him out. 

D-17

The sound of metal hitting metal drew Hoyeon’s attention from the flowery bushes she was admiring, turning towards the walled courtyard ahead of her.

Jina stopped by her side, both somewhat behind one of the pillars by the entrance, watching the two men in front of them slash at each other, silver swords glinting in the sunlight.

The emperor’s distinctive blond hair gave his identity away, and Hoyeon watched his graceful power with an open mouth, seeing first-hand her fiance’s prowess with a blade.

The other man was about the same height, with short brown hair and a slimmer sword than Yoongi’s. He held it with a careless ease that belied years of training, evenly matched with his opponent. 

Their blades clashed, sun rays reflecting off their entwined blades and blinding Hoyeon. She sneezed unexpectedly, interrupting the men’s moment. They bowed to each other, sheathing their blades and walking in different directions–Yoongi towards her and the other man towards Yoonji, whom Hoyeon just noticed was standing at the other side. 

Hoyeon bowed, greeting the emperor. He nodded back at her, taking the damp cloth his attendant held out to him and wiping his face and neck down. The neckline of his black robe gaped a little, affording Hoyeon a glimpse of smooth pale skin and subtly defined musculature. She blushed red, glancing away quickly to watch Yoonji, who had attained her own sword. 

The emperor followed her gaze, leaning his hand carelessly on his hwando pommel. “That’s Emperor Wang,” he confirmed her suspicion carelessly. “Would you like to make a bet with me?”

“A bet, Your Majesty?” Hoyeon flicked her gaze to him in confusion.

He nodded towards the couple. “On who will win their spar, Yoonji or Gayi.”

“They will spar?” Crown princess versus emperor, fiancee versus fiance?

The two moved towards the now-open sparring area in the middle of the yard, raising their blades to the opening position. 

“They have both trained for years. I’m curious myself about the outcome. So, what do you say, Princess?” The emperor leaned towards her, breath brushing her cheek. “Will you bet with me?”

“Very well, Your Majesty. What are your terms?”

He leaned back, studying her in mild surprise. “Hm…you must answer three questions I ask of you fully and truthfully, when I wish.”

That’s all? Like I could lie to you anyways. “Alright. I will hold the same terms, for the sake of fairness. I bet that the emperor will win.”

Hoyeon felt the weight of his gaze on her. “Not my sister?”

She shook her head. “I saw some of the emperor’s prowess when you two were fighting. I have not seen the princess fight, and the emperor surely has more experience, being on the battlefield.”

“But he will be tired since we were fighting before this,” Yoongi pointed out. “And I have fought with the princess. So, our bet. We each bet three complete, truthful answers about any topic we are asked about by the other if they win–you if Emperor Gayi wins, myself if Crown Princess Yoonji wins.”

“I agree to your terms.” Hoyeon shook the emperor’s hand, feeling his long fingers and calloused palms against her bare skin for the first time. He was warmer than she had expected; somehow she’d anticipated a cold-blooded, rigid man. 

He let go of her hand and she swiftly tucked her hands into her sleeves, feeling the ghost of his palm against hers. Focusing on the duo facing off in front of her, she did her best to ignore the warm presence brushing against her side. 

Yoonji was better than Hoyeon had expected, never having seen a female warrior before. Some of her moves looked similar to the emperor’s, but some were distinctively hers. She seemed to be having fun, however, a large gummy smile forming on her face as she parried the emperor’s strikes and danced into his space, making it more difficult for him to evade her attacks. 

Her opponent also seemed to be having fun, a smile growing on his face as they sparred. 

Hoyeon was glad the two were getting along, albeit in a more violent way than she was used to. Given what she knew of the crown princess’s personality, she was curious how the couple’s relationship would progress.

“The princess is quite good,” she said without thinking.

The emperor hummed in agreement. “I trained with her often. She is one of my best generals.”

Hoyeon whipped around in surprise. “The crown princess is your general?”

He nodded, dragging his eyes from the fight to her face. 

“Then why–” Hoyeon bit her lip, realizing her curiosity could be taken as insolence.

“Continue,” the emperor prompted her curiously. 

“Then why are you marrying your general off to the Kowloon Empire?” she asked quietly. He still appeared to have heard her, as he replied.

“The emperor and my sister have been in love for a while now. I will be saddened by my best general, advisor, and companion’s absence, but it is beyond time for her to have her happiness.”

Hoyeon blinked. Was the emperor…sentimental? And what was that about the marriage argument the other day?

“But…I understood the princess was against the marriage?”

“Not at all, she was being sarcastic. ‘How dare you marry me to the love of my life? Alas, I am ordered to spend time with the only man who makes me happy.’ Like that.”

“Oh.”

“Are you slandering me behind my back, Your Majesty?” Yoonji approached the two, her fiance behind her, carrying their swords.

“Is it slander if it’s true?” he retorted. “It seems my bride has not yet grown accustomed to your strange sense of humour. Now tell me, who won? I have a bet on the line, here.”

Realizing she’d been too distracted by the emperor to see who won, Hoyeon looked to Yoonji, who had what she now realised was a faux-betrayed look on her face. 

“You had better have bet on me, brother.”

“Of course I did,” he replied smugly. “So, I won the bet?”

Yoonji’s fiance spoke up. “No, your lovely fiancee did. Congratulations, Princess.”

“Damn, I should have bet on Gayi.”

Yoonji smacked her brother’s arm for his comment. “You are lucky I’m leaving the palace, Your Majesty.”

Hoyeon watched the siblings banter with wide eyes. The emperor was so relaxed and unlike his Mad King persona today. Which was the real one?

“It’s okay, Princess,” commiserated Emperor Gayi. “No one understands these two’s strange relationship, either.”

“I can behead you, you know,” threatened Yoongi. 

“You better give me his empire if you do,” Yoonji poked his stomach.

“Not if you keep touching me, I won’t!”

“OR,” interrupted Gayi, “you can not behead me and Yoonji can begin her reign over my empire peacefully as my empress!”

“But then I’d still have to hear you talk about my sister,” pointed out Yoongi. “It would be a lot quieter if your head was removed from your shoulders.”

“Say something!” Gayi looked at Yoonji, who sighed.

“Yoongi, don’t kill my fiance. It wouldn’t be a lot quieter because you’d then have to hear your sister talk about how much she missed her dead fiance instead…and your fiancee wouldn’t like you to kill her new ally, I guess.”

Yoongi looked at the bewildered Hoyeon. “Hm. It’s better to remove two nuisances at once, I suppose. I shall endure this next week for the princess’s sake, I suppose, since she won our bet.”

“How generous, Your Majesty,” Gayi and Yoonji bowed formally after the emperor, who left with an eye roll at their antics. 

Yoonji straightened once he was gone and turned to Hoyeon with a smile. “Do you want me to show you to the archery range?”

D-13

The wedding of the Emperor of Kowloon and the Crown Princess of Dalseogu went off without a hitch, which relieved some of Hoyeon’s worries. It was exactly the same as it would be for her and Yoongi, so she had a chance to mentally prepare. There wasn’t too much that could go wrong, thankfully, so as long as she didn’t faint next week, she should be in the clear.

Spending time with her fiance the past week and a half, as well as with his sister and her fiance, helped relax Hoyeon. He was courteous, surprisingly soft-spoken in private, and less menacing than she had been prepared for. Slowly, she began to wonder if the rumours had been exaggerated, as royal rumours tended to be, and if she might in fact be safe in the Dalseogu empire. 

Then came the day of her wedding, and all Hoyeon’s nerves returned full-force. Yoonji had left for Kowloon with Gayi, unable to stay for the wedding, and only Jina was there as someone she could rely on.

Her father had sent a witness to his only child’s wedding, too concerned over possible attacks to come himself. Hoyeon snorted as she read the letter his delegate had handed to her, dropping the paper to the table carelessly.

So he could send his daughter to live in the empire, but couldn’t come in person to celebrate her nuptials, the entire reason he would be safe visiting? Well, it wasn’t like she’d expected anything from him, but it still pinched in her heart. 

Jina brushed her robes out smoothly, stepping back and giving her a reassuring nod. “It’s time, Your Highness.”

D-Day

The entire ceremony was a blur, Hoyeon too focused on not making a mistake to take in anything else. She had the vague sense that the atmosphere was overcast, but nothing more than that.

The celebration feast was similarly unfocused, for slightly differing reasons. Yoongi, her new husband (what a strange thought), was right beside her at the head table, paying rather unnerving attention to her. 

Small bites were all she could choke down under his scrutiny, though he did his best to keep her dishes full. Hoyeon was a little confused when he kept adding delicious-smelling dishes to her immediate reach. Any other day, she’d be happy to try the new and intriguing dishes, but with the nerves in her stomach and the eyes on her chopsticks, she couldn’t choke down more than a few bites, something she bemoaned.

Toasts and cheers were continually offered by the celebrating ministers and nobles filling the hall, gallons of alcohol flowing freely. 

Hoyeon grabbed her goblet, draining the dregs in a couple gulps, coughing a little at the afterburn. Yoongi’s scrutiny became heavier, his warmth overwhelming her as he leaned even closer to whisper in her ear. “Are you alright, Your Majesty?”

Hoyeon hiccuped. “I’m perfectly fine, thank you for your concern, Your Majesty. Just thirsty.”

His expression told her he didn’t fully believe her, but he leaned back, letting her breathe easily again. She turned away, patting her burning cheeks with the back of her hand. 

It really should be illegal for someone to look that handsome up close. She considered her previous fears that he would behead her within six months and revised it to worry that she’d be overcome by his beauty within six months instead. 

A sudden weight on her hand made her look down from picking up individual grains of rice with her chopsticks.

Yoongi’s hand rested on hers, his thumb caressing her pulse point. Her heart skipped a beat at the simple touch. He didn’t look at her anymore, thankfully, but his hand stayed on hers the rest of the feast.

Her eyes darted between his profile and her chopsticks several times. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad being his empress. 

General taglist (open): @bangtanwritershq @kayleefriedchicken @otome-wandering + (@moni-logues you seemed intrigued when we sprinted so I hope this is okay :] )

Divider by @bunnysrph | Moodboard photos from Pinterest/Google, edit is mine :]

[iznsfw]

Paint Your Own Story - Commissions

Yes, the Taey trap worked! Now you have to read this! ;)

Thanks to my old-ass laptop finally dying (RIP), I am opening emergency commissions so I can earn on the side to buy a new one for work and still be able to give my siblings allowance.

So, requests are closed and are now only available through commissions. I'm sorry for the inconvenience!

How Can I Help?

You can leave a tip through my Ko-fi or commission me!

What & How Can I Commission?

There are currently ten slots for commissions. You can commission me for any adult female idol through the link below!

You can commission:

https://ko-fi.com/thenightisstillyoung/commissions

A fic (3k-6k words) [$27]

This is an average-length smut in which there's little space for extra idols, kinks, and so on. Only one idol can be featured in this.

Taboo kinks like *nc*st and p*ss are available as an add-on for $18!

To commission, go to my Ko-fi link and order this in the commissions page, then DM me on my tumblr iznsfw and send me a filled out form of this:

> Tumblr username: > Ko-fi username: > Kind of commission (full-length story or mid-length story): > Idol/s (add-ons available for more than one idol): > Plot: > Kinks (add-ons available for t*boo kinks): > ___ reader insert (female/male): > Extra notes:

A full-length story (7k-10k words) [$55]

This focuses on plot but has a lot of smut. It's a longer piece and will take more time than expected to be released.

More than one idols featured are available as an add-on for $5!

Taboo kinks like *nc*st and p*ss are available as an add-on for $18!

To commission, go to my Ko-fi link and order this in the commissions page, then DM me on my tumblr iznsfw and send me a filled out form of this:

> Tumblr username: > Ko-fi username: > Kind of commission (full-length story or mid-length story): > Idol/s (add-ons available for more than one idol): > Plot: > Kinks (add-ons available for t*boo kinks): > ___ reader insert (female/male): > Extra notes:

What Are Your Commission Limits?

No underage.

No scat, poop, or vomit.

No beastiality.

No MMF.

No noncon.

What Should I Know Before Commissioning?

It may take some time depending on the length of your commission, my personal life and schedule, and the first-come-first-serve basis. NO REFUNDS.

While I might see your real name and email address, I promise full confidentiality as long as you promise mine. Your name won't be mentioned as the commissioner if you don't want it to be.

Thank you!

[sugaryapplepie]

👛 Official Commission Post 👛

Hi y'all! I tried to open commissions before but this time I'm gonna do it in earnest. UPDATE: While things are stabilized at home, there is a surgery that I've been looking to have that will help alleviate a lot of pain for me. The quote I have for $1,475 is out of date by now, so I'll post an official goal later (insurance isn't covering it). FANDOMS I WILL WRITE FOR: BG3, LMK My OCs x Reader/OCs is also something I'm willing to do!

Interested? DM me here or message me on Ko-Fi! Completed commissions can be viewed on my Ko-Fi. Here is a currency coverter for those who don't use USD! DRABBLES/SCRIBBLES: Per Character (not including yourself/OC): $3 Fluff: $4 Light Angst: $8 Medium Angst: $10 Heavy Angst: $12 Light Gore: $6 Medium Gore: $8 Heavy Gore: $10 Light NSFW: $8 Medium NSFW: $12 Heavy NSFW: $17 PERSONALIZED HEADCANONS: Fluff: $2 Angst: $3 NSFW: $5

If you want a specific length, prices are like so:

500 words for $5

1k words for $15

2k words for $25

3k words for $45

4k words for $55

5k words for $75

6k words for $80 Looking for a writing editor or proofreader? Prices for that are the same as above!

!!!CONTENT EXAMPLES UNDER THE CUT!!!

Canon x OC Angst Headcanons: (x) OC/Self-Insert x Canon Headcanons: (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) Themed Reader x Canon Headcanons: (x) Yandere!Canon x OC: (x) Yandere!Canon x OC Headcanons: (x) My OC x Reader x Canon: (x) My OC x Reader Headcanons: (x) (Non-Romantic) Canon & OC: (x)

[dragonfly0808]

For some reason I decided to check the updates, like- when I updated chapters and stuff like that

And I found that…

Season 1 took me 5 months to complete (from the last days of January to June)

Season 2 took 3 months (June to September)

And season 3… season 3 is bordering on 10 months…

I think that tells you all you need to know

I STARTED SEASON 3 ON FUCKING OCTOBER! WHAT THE FUCK?!

I swear it was supposed to be about 40 chapters like seasons 1 and 2 and now we’re about to reach 60 FUCKING CHAPTERS

HOW DID THIS EVEN HAPPEN?!?!

WHAT IS MY LIFE?!

Also- like- most of the chapters in seasons 1 and 2 are about 3k or 4k words long… in season 3 I’m pretty sure at least 15 chapters pass the 6k length… I have… issues…

Burning Ashes? 134, 655 words

Blight of the Phoenix? 142, 527 words

A Withering Pretense? 230, 646 MOTHERFUCKING WORDS- AND WE’RE NOT EVEN DONE!

… oh well…

[psychedelic-ink]

Are you longing for a unique fanfiction journey where you're the protagonist? Look no further! I'm here to offer a personalized storytelling adventure like no other.

With my services, I'll create a custom story just for you, making sure you're the star of the show. Whether you're into shipping fiction, character x OC tales, selfshipping, or even general fiction without romantic elements, I've got it all covered.

I'm well-versed in various genres and embrace all sorts of storytelling, including both spicy and darker themes. I absolutely love delving into alternate universes (AUs) to bring your story to life.

Just give me the scoop on your desired plot, and the more details you share, the better! I'll expertly craft your story, centered around your chosen characters or even yourself.

Don't worry, I'm familiar with a range of fandoms. However, to make sure I'm aligned with your interests, please feel free to reach out with any fandom-related questions.

I had a commission post before but decided to make a new one since it's been a while since I ever mentioned I take commissions on this site. I'm going to be moving soon which is why I'm revising my commission post. Reblogs are appreciated and thank you so much in advance! 💜

**Details under the cut!

To request a commission, you can DM me from tumblr or if you have my discord, you can reach me from there as well. You can also commission from fiverr if you wish to do so! Please provide a brief overview of what you want, its requirements, and any specific details you'd like to include.

and if you wish to see examples of commissioned work here it is!

2k-3k words : 35 USD

4k-5k words : 45 USD

6k-7k words : 55 USD

with each 1000 words 5 USD will be added!

+ I’m accepting payment through paypal or you may order from my fiverr! 

I usually require a percentage of the total cost upfront before I start working on your commission. Once the project is complete and you're satisfied with the final result, the remaining payment can be made. Payment methods will be discussed upon commission confirmation.

Absolutely! In the end, this is your story, and the more details the better! Your input is valuable in creating a piece that matches your vision. Feel free to share any themes, ideas, or guidelines you have in mind, and I'll work with you to bring them to life.

Turnaround time depends on the complexity and length of the project. I aim to provide a realistic timeframe when discussing your commission. If you have a specific deadline, please let me know, and I'll do my best to accommodate it.

Yes, definitely. Once the fic is complete, I'll share it with you for review. You can suggest any revisions or changes you'd like, and I'll make sure the final piece aligns with your expectations.

I'm sorry, but I do not allow sharing of commissioned work on external platforms, including websites or social media. This policy helps maintain the exclusivity of the work for the client who commissioned it. If you have any questions or concerns about this, feel free to reach out to me.

Absolutely, you can choose to keep the commissioned work private if you prefer. Alternatively, if you grant permission, I can share the work without disclosing your name. In either case, rest assured that any shared content will be clearly identified as a commissioned piece, upholding transparency

Feel free to reach out through DMs. I'm here to answer any further questions you may have and guide you through the commission process.