#really living true to the high/low rule

[petrovna-zamo]

Katya’s killer boot collection

[pedgito]

𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐁𝐔𝐒 | General Acacius x reader x Emperor Geta

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summary | living under emperor geta's rule was never supposed to be easy, but he aims to make it nearly impossible, even if he has become fond of you.

author's note | i never really intended for this to get another part, but since seeing the movie and wanting to expand on these characters and possibly writing for geta on his own, i thought i would turn this into a little passion project. i know there's a niche group of you that have asked for a second part to this, and as much as i crave chaos, i hope you enjoy where i took this and know that i am all for the crazed man that is emperor geta. (can be read as a standalone, but the first part can be read here)

content warning | 18+ mdni, DDDNE - heavy dubcon (due to sex work, ect), heavy themes of abuse under the rule of a vile emperor (mention of injury, slapping, ect), normalized degredation, exhibitionism and exchange of bodily fluids, smut galore (oral, unprotected piv, ect), choking tw, death tw, use of opium poppy, drugging tw (not against reader), named side character, marcus acacius being the real knight in shining armor. this is unbeta'd so i apologize for any spelling mishaps.

word count — 8k

You live within him, it feels. 

Geta never let you stray farther than a touch, within arms distance. 

You were no longer yourself, rather an extension of him.

He prefers you naked. But, he often dresses you up in gowns; modest sometimes, occasionally leaning toward more revealing fabric—sheer lace, high slits, deep-cut necklines that accentuate your breasts and hips, the soft but tight curve of your ass. Sometimes you wondered if he liked the clothes more accessible to his wandering hands, his fingers fluttering under your gown during public meetings, even.

The men never said a word, they wouldn’t dare.

If you were given the opportunity to be away from him, it was always under the watchful gaze of his guards, and only to complete tasks he has ordered to you—fetching food when he was too lazy to leave his bed and when you were feigning the grimace in your face, itching to wander.

Your relationship is complicated in the beginning but easier to manage as you become accustomed to his personality and outbursts, learning what makes him tick. He’s easier to manipulate with sex, something you have no issue taking full advantage of.

And he fancies an audience, usually. Other servants, less privileged women that trembled in his presence, fearful that his next move would be their last, somehow comforted by your confident and guiding touch. It made no sense to not enjoy what you could while you were imprisoned here, even if Geta and his brother did nothing to soothe the discomfort they left in their wake, making your skin crawl as his fingers drifted along your skin.

Caracalla could not touch either, his brother forbade it. An eager boy, riddled with a brain-eating sickness, he was dutiful to his brother but harmful in his own ways, fickle with thoughtful choices and often making important decisions on impulse. 

They were destroying Rome, that much you knew to be true.

-

Geta’s hand guided up your stomach, his palm curling around your breasts as he squeezed, your own hand flat against his chest as you rode him with fervor in the early morning hours, dawn peeking over the warm, lilac sky. 

In this light, he seemed almost normal. Eyes drifting shut in the silence of his quarters, just you—just him, he often made the mistake of weakening his defenses like this. He growled, low and quiet as his hands traded your breasts for your hips, spinning you in an instant and pinning you beneath him, soon his hand like a vice grip on your neck as he thrusts into you with little care or regard, a string of spit connecting his parted lips as he laughed, an eerie cackle as he came inside of you, admiring the tremble in your lip as he released his grip on your throat, subtly intaking the breath you had been deprived of as he pulls away from you, falling against the mattress and pulling the silk bed sheet over himself.

You move to do the same, but he grips the sheet.

“Make yourself come,” He demands, a sneer across his face as he yanks the sheet away completely. 

It was routine, now. You part your thighs without hesitation, leaning back on your elbow to allow him an unobstructed view, a tired but amused expression on his face as you play with your clit, fingers sliding through your folds, eyes drifting shut as they often did. 

It was easier to picture him this way, brown curls buried between your thighs and the tanned-skin of his backside as he stretched out below you, rutting his cock into the sheets as he ate you like his final meal, eyes like warm honey as they peered up at you.

Acacius, sweet Acacius. 

You were thankful you could remember his face, a memory you would pray to the gods to stick with you forever, a blissful crest of pleasure as your middle finger circles over your clit in a hurried manner, heels digging into the sheets as you feel it—fuck, it’s there, right there—

“Look at me,” He leers, his hand twisting into your hair at the crown of your head, a searing pain that makes you gasp, but your eyes fly open, mouth parted in a mix of pain and pleasure, “tell me how generous of an emperor I am to be so kind to a little whore like you.”

You nod shakily, swallowing as your mouth dries, “You have given me everything, your highness. Everything. I may never be able to repay you such a debt,” It was a script, one you’ve memorized and dare not forget, “May I—” You’ve learned to ramp up the dramatics when he’s lips part in anticipation, fingers itching as his thigh as they curled, his dick twitching beneath the fabric, “may I come?”

So fucking full of himself.

Whether you did or not didn’t matter anymore, but he allowed it. Insists. Your eyes never leave him.

–

Even as you dress, again, he hovers. 

You’ve learned the proper customs and rules, always making sure you look perfect. Pristine. Scrubbing your body down so harsh and deep that it makes your skin feel raw, because if Geta noticed anything—anything at all, it would mean punishment. 

He liked lashings, but that was too exertive for him.

His handmaidens aided the swelling and cuts as well as they could, ice and creams, clever ways to cover the wounds to your face. You were starting to feel a numbness when the anger would rise and explode, only praying that he would remove his rings before doing so.

“He’s visiting,” Geta speaks as though it was a secret, squeezing your chin between his fingers before they predictably fall to your neck, squeezing in the perfect spot to make you feel light, airy, and not in a good way, “I best not get a whiff of contempt, understood?”

“I am yours, Geta,” You knew he liked the more relaxed approach, his grip easing up, “he is nothing, nothing compares to you.”

His nostrils flare, a half-hearted smirk crossing his face as he shrugs.

“I have a task for you,” Geta teases, before his finger trails toward your nose, thumb rubbing against the soft, bulbous curve and down your lips, pushing his fingertip inside, prying your lips apart, thumb tucking against the inside of your cheek as you mouth falls open, “but, not in this moment. The timing must be…perfect.”

Your eyes squint slightly—he was up to no good, that much you could decipher. 

–

He gave the other servants a look, shooing them away as you stayed on his heels, your dress flowing at your ankles, feet bare against the marble floor. He pulled faintly at your wrist as he took a seat, maneuvering you into his lap, his own legs outstretched, fingers traveling up the center of your chest before his hands curving around the back of your head, his thumb rubbing at your jawline.

“Try anything, I will kill him first. Then you.”

You smile, syrupy sweet, playing with a thin strand of his fiery locks underneath the lip of his crown.

“You worry so much, Emperor,” Your own hand covers his, a bold touch as you stare him down, “It does not suit you.”

He’s emotionless for a moment too long, fearing you may have finally overstepped, before he breaks out into a laugh, one final squeeze before he relinquishes his hold.

The General and his entourage arrive soon after your conversation, Caracalla having joined shortly before the approach of many guests—most thanking their Emperors for no apparent reason other than because they enjoyed watching people kneel before them, confessing their undying loyalty.

It was pathetic, but what you were doing—forced or not, was no better. It was much like being stripped bare, the way the others' eyes prowled, watchful of Geta’s wandering touch.

“Quite the whore you’ve acquired,” One embolden man comments, his slimy smirk coming moments later, before calling over his shoulder, “General Acacius, you must tell me where you acquire such…toys. Such a generous gift you gave.”

You smiled with faked confidence, sat in his lap, one leg draped over his own, the other dragging along the floor where it rested through his split thighs, a kneading hand dragging along your inner thigh. Your fingers drag along his own, his tongue shoving into his bottom lip and over his teeth, a tick you’ve learned meant no good, his eyes turning quickly to rage.

You could hear the deep timber of the general over your shoulder as he is called forward, your eyes never leaving Geta, even as he straightens in his throne, his palm flattening against the arm of the chair digging into your back. You slide a hand inside his robe, fingertips dragging along his collarbone, “He knows I am yours now, Geta.”

“General Acacius,” Geta greets with a poorly faked kindness, one that Acacius returns with a curt nod and the usual bow that one of higher ranking would offer, the traditions were different for townspeople, but it was still ridiculous in any manner, “I take you have good news to share.”

Otherwise, he would not be here.

“Austria will be conquered within the next fortnight, Emperor Geta,” He explains with a rigidness that oozed discomfort, ignoring the smarmy look of another nearby general, one of much lower important, but nonetheless—

“Ah, it must feel strange,” The man suddenly interjects, a finger circling the steel goblet in his hand, filled to the brim with wine, “trading whores, doing business—rather messy…”

Geta’s jaw tenses, his anger suddenly directed elsewhere.

But, as usual, Acacius knows how to defuse a tense situation.

“She was a gift to the Emperor,” The general clarifies, “for what he does with her is none of my business, I only knew her as a loyal servant,” not a whore, never had those words left his mouth.

Geta’s chest rumbles softly, his hand squeezing painfully tight at your thigh.

Your teeth clench to silence the pain, dreading his next words as they leave his mouth.

“Call her what she is, Acacius,” He goaded, “a whore—and she excels.” 

His other hand slides through the open back of your dress, slipping one fold of fabric down your shoulder as he grins, all of the lower society bystanders having filtered out of the palace by now, leaving a large group of generals waiting for Geta's official dismissal.

“Give them a show,” He boasts, shoving you off of him rather abruptly, but you quickly plant your bare feet into the flooring, steadying yourself as you kneel before the Emperor, spreading out the spare fabric of your dress to act as a temporary comfort to your knees as you work at Geta’s robe, hesitant as you peer up at him briefly, he nods slightly, but taunting, “go on.”

It wasn’t the first time you’ve performed for an audience, feeling eerily normal now—but in a room full of generals? Acacius? You could hear your heart pounding in your ears, deafening everything else around you as you split his robe apart and dragged your fingers up the inside of his thigh, his tongue peeling slightly through his lips as you wrapped your delicate fingers around his cock, watching as he hardened under your skilled touch, despite how incredibly awkward the air felt, some of the men murmuring around you quietly.

His fingers dig into your hair at the start of your scalp, unhappy with your pace as he grips, pulling you forward until you get the idea, your tongue licking slowly along the head of his cock, the reddened tip glistening with a small drop of precome. You circle around it, slow and tantalizing before you run down the length of his shaft, having memorized every ridge and vein by this point that it has become second nature to instinctively know what pulls him toward the edge faster, easier. But, he wasn’t even looking at you. He was staring through you, behind you.

He was staring Acacius down, guiding you down his cock without much relief as your eyes flutter shut when his cock head nears the back of your throat, using practiced breathing as you focus. He didn’t like it when you gagged, eventually allowing you up for air as you claw gently at his thigh, but the process is repeated over and over again until you’re tearing up, drool collecting down your neck and chest, hand still secured tightly at the root of your hair as he pulls you off suddenly, demanding a tense, “Open, tongue out,” as he comes in short, but forceful spurts against your tongue, swallowing the heady taste of him without another thought. 

He pats at your cheek lightly when you open your mouth, showing it empty.

“Stand,” He ordered, adjusting your dress back up slightly to cover your breast, chuckling underneath his breath at how disheveled you looked otherwise, hair an absolute mess and your chest slick with spit, “oh—why don’t you give him a kiss? As a thank you for his generosity.”

Geta covers himself lazily, uncaring as if a dozen or so men hadn’t just watched him come down your throat. You turn on your heels, approaching Acacius who was simmering with rage, it was subtle, but you could sense it as you came closer.

You smile softly, a silent apology as you touch him first, fingers curling around the side of his neck as you press your lips against his in a chaste kiss, knowing Geta would allow nothing more. And it doesn’t surprise you how easy it feels to fall back into his touch, the polite press of Acacius hand at your hip catching you by surprise, feeling the faint adjustment of fabric, invisible to the naked eye, but you feel it.

Geta doesn’t appreciate Acacius reciprocity, cutting the moment short.

But, Geta is more relaxed that night after Acacius departure than he’s ever been.

He’d won. 

At least, he thought so.

–

“An entire limb seems harsh,” Geta thinks, twisting the rings on his finger as you dry from the bath he had ordered you take before lying in bed with him, always wanting you perfect and clean, “maybe a few fingers would suffice as punishment.”

You keep your silence, letting him think aloud as you squeezed the water from your hair with the cloth, but eventually Geta’s hand wanders, pulling at the cloth covering your body, forcing it to drop to the ground, “What do you think?”

Your eyebrows raise in faint shock, that he was legitimately addressing you about a concern, a choice he would happily make himself—so, why? Why was he asking?

Whatever, you’ll bite.

“What did they do?”

“The general—from the other day, who had such choice words for your dear Acacius—”

“Geta, I have told you—”

“Do not interrupt me,” He seethes, pulling at your wrist, forcing you to be done with your hair and climb over him in bed, “He assaulted a maid of ours—or Caracalla’s specifically, we had caught him up in his room, trespassing, touching things that did not belong to him—”

People, he means. But, he would never be so generous.

“And, you think a few fingers? An arm? That taking away a limb would keep him from doing it again?” You clarify, rolling to your stomach as you crawl toward him, your face level with his own as you rest your head into your open palm.

“Unless, say, you suggest something different.”

“Kill him,” You offer lightly, “If you think one less appendage would teach him a lesson, your highness, I hate to speak out of term, but—”

Geta considers the thought, head tilting to the side before he slowly opens his mouth to speak, “No…I do understand. But, he is a general. It would be something to discuss with a council.”

Your fingers slide across his chest, fingertips rubbing against the small patch of auburn hair at the center of his sternum, slowly crawling up his neck, idle movement that you didn’t think about at all anymore.

“You are an emperor. The people of Rome listen to you,” He and his brother were burning it to the ground, but that wasn’t something you could stop alone, “you are powerful—and, forgive me, but watching you command a room,” It amazes you sometimes how easily it was to play into his weaknesses, a smile spreading across his face as you boosted his ego, “—it does things to a woman.”

His hand, like a magnet, attaches to your thigh to spread you out on top of him, straddling his groin, your bare pussy pressed tight against the cloth of his robe, your hands pressing into his naked chest.

“You are smart,” Geta notices, “educated—a keen eye unlike I have seen on someone of your social status, I do not know much about you.”

“You have never asked,” You reply honestly, “though, it does not matter. I am here for one reason, to serve you.” His grip shifts your waist slightly, aiding the slow, but gentle rock of your hips against his hardening cock and if you closed your eyes long enough, you could enjoy it.

“Yet, you may be of more use to me than I suspected,” Geta teases, his hands rising to massage at your breasts, casually nodding to the maid who had peeked her head inside after a quiet knock, nodding as he answered, “—yes, bring them in.”

A line of varying women filter into the room with somber faces.

And just like that, the moment was lost.

–

Geta was such a heavy sleeper, fortunately. Gently prying yourself away as he rolls onto his side, mumbling something unintelligible in his sleep as you quietly step toward the the attached room where you bathed, pulling at a loose tile in the floor where you had stowed away what Acacius had slipped into the fold of your dress, withholding for the right moment to peek.

It was a tiny scroll, rolled up with a thin string and no bigger than your thumb, your nails pulling at the slab until it pops free, quietly unfurling the curled up paper as you read what was carved onto the thin paper, an overuse of ink smudged in spots.

It listed a place, a monument he knew you’d remember and a promise that he would visit every night after the sun set for a small window in time, hoping to catch you. 

He was still trying to reach you, to provide himself as a comfort in such a time.

You had to plan accordingly, find someone you trusted enough, and convince Geta of your undying loyalty—though, it seemed that you were breaking him down. 

And luckily, you did have a maid you trusted, to a degree—a young woman of similar age, meek but unsuspecting, she often sensed your displeasement and unease, didn’t fit in like the rest of the women that bowed so loyal to the emperors. But, she was a gossip, a troublemaker like Caracalla who she served loyally. She tended to him more regularly, often dealing with his breakdowns and tantrums caused by Geta or, lately, anything. There was never a way to know when he would blow a fuse and cause more bloodshed, he was unruly. 

There was only one hour of the day when you see her—morning proceedings, food served to their royal highness, the two brothers chatting amongst themselves as everyone moved fluidly around them. Caracalla had requested fresh squeezed juice, a rather tedious task, but you sneak away with her as the opportunity arose, digging through the oranges without prying eyes.

“I must ask you a favor,” You begin in a hushed tone, rubbing your thumb over the skin of the orange, “and I will owe you immensely.”

She looks at you curious, but expectant.

“The stuff…that helps Caracalla sleep,” You hint at out of habit, paranoia getting the best of you, “I would…I require it, for Geta. He sleeps heavily, but I need…to be sure.”

“He is insatiable as of late, that act in front of the generals—”

“Irene, I am at my end, please—do you have any remaining?”

It was opium poppy, it had many forms but the one you knew most of was powder. Easy to slip into a drink, often undetectable. It was worth a shot, even if it meant your life.

“At dusk, by dinner. Is that enough time?” She answers easily, a sigh of relief breathing past your lips as you nod, cradling a few oranges in the crook of your elbow.

You had only prayed Acacius hadn’t given up hope, that he might still be lingering in the shadows in wait, hoping for a glimpse of you again.

-

As promised Irene delivers, dousing both of the boys inconspicuously as you kept watch, tainting their wine with the sleeping drug, watch as his eyes began to tire before you as you slipped a grape between his teeth, a sated and happy smile on his face. 

You hate it, but he almost looks normal. Like he wasn’t slaughtering people for entertainment and ruling like a madman—he was still young, just beyond his teenage years and into adulthood, like yourself. You wonder where things went wrong and why, that someone could be filled with such unrestrained rage and hate.

Caracalla beckons for Irene eventually, Dundus hopping from her shoulder to his as she trails alongside him to his quarters, suddenly feeling the nudging of a sharp nose into your neck, a faint sniff and a hum as Geta appreciates the flowery smell, a faint lavender on your skin.

“I need you,” He speaks against your skin, nearly sliding your dress down then, your hands grabbing at him quickly and his reaction is delayed, almost confused, “did you not hear me?”

“Let us retire to your bed,” You suggest, dragging your thumb along his bottom lip, watching as his wine-stained tongue licks at the digit, “and you will have all night to ravish me as you please.”

Thankfully, it doesn’t take much convincing. Though, he’s less coordinated than you’re anticipating, draping himself over you lazily as he kneads at your breasts, cupping your cunt over the fabric of your dress, the silk halfway down your body as you step beyond the threshold and Geta is on you without a moment to breath, peeling his clothes of layer by layer before he’s bare before you, a surprising gentleness to his movements.

He takes a seat on the side of his bed, at the edge as he pulls you into his lap, hands spread out against your spine, fingers digging into the skin and begging to make it ache, hurt, but he doesn’t have the strength, his kisses become increasingly more lazy as the opium takes hold.

Eventually, his eyes flutter as you pull back, your lips barely brushing against his as he fights the exhaustion, but eventually succumbs, falling slack on the bed as you climb off of him, leaving him sprawled out in his bare state to your valiant amusement, given the amount of times he’s taken to shame you rather than show sympathy, it seemed fair.

Sneaking out of the palace is easier than you expect, having spent endless weeks being mindful, watchful of even the smallest of things. Paths, open windows, learning the schedules of staff and guards, it was almost too easy as your feet fell against the broken pavement, the quiet footfalls following in your quick departure, praying to whatever deity above that General Acacius believed in you enough that you would fight to see him.

–

When you show, it is quiet. Dark, not a soul in sight, tugging the cloak hastily over your shoulders, sending a chill up your spine against the bare skin underneath, a small inkling of doubt seeping into your thoughts as you stare around aimlessly, wondering if you were too late.

Your frame slumps against a nearby pillar, secluded in the shadows, the cold night biting at your feet, the faint sound of hooves off in the distance, realizing just how noisy the streets could be outside of the palace—it was comforting, in a way.

“You came,” The words come from your left, behind you as your head whips over your shoulder and he’s touching you before you have time to take him in, a gentle but firm press against your clothed arms, holding you still, “you are here, dove.”

It was a tone of disbelief, like he had lost hope.

He wouldn’t tell you that he almost didn’t come tonight. It didn’t matter, because you were here.

The visceral reaction you have at his endearing name for you is like a vice grip on your heart, mouth opening to speak but words falling short.

Eventually, the tears fell.

“I am sorry, General,” You speak with a shaky timber, “I am—that act, his performance the other day—“

The general soothes your worry, dragging his thumb along your cheekbone to catch a stray tear, “That has no meaning to me, if anything, it was his mistake for allowing us so close. Otherwise, you would not be here with me now.”

You peer at him through tear-soaked lashes, feeling as if you would be snatched away at any moment, your fingers curling into his similar clothing, a cloak covering what you could assume to be a more relaxed attire, a toga that he would often where around his home, strolling barefoot through his atrium. 

“Why am I here, Acacius?”

“You must trust me,” He urges, “that when the time is right, I will come for you.”

“We could go now,” You plead, “he would never know, he does not care enough to go after me, I swear—“

“Little dove, he cares for you much more than you know,” The general counters, ���you are valuable to him.”

“He asked something of me the other night,” You speak absently, rubbing a fingertip along the frayed thread of his cloak at your eye line, “what a fitting punishment I thought would be of a man who assaulted a servant—I believe he was testing me.”

Acacius furrows his brow, “You loyalty, it seems. You are getting under his skin, I see it. He knows of your value to me and that as much as he tries, you will not be tamed. But, he is trying.”

You chew at your bottom lip quietly, a nervous tick that Acacius picked up on long ago, both of his thumbs pulling your lip away from further mutilation.

“Little one, what is on your mind?”

“I have to go back soon,” You say with an obvious bitterness to your tone, “though, I do not wish to.”

His large hand curls around the side of your face, cradling your head as you lean into the touch, warmth spreading like fire over your skin, “You will be with me again.”

He barely registers as your lips touch his, a blink and you were there, lips pressed so tightly against his own that they might bruise, leaning into him like he was the only thing keeping you upright, pulling at the fabric of his toga as his hand wanders beyond your cloak, in search of a touch.

“Dove,” He breathes at the realization of skin, “you are bare, your clothes—“ 

“I rushed,” You stare at him impishly, “I did not think, I know, but,” the general smiles, cheeks dimpling with the show of emotion as he shakes his head.

“You have me wanting what I cannot have,” He sounds somber, his hand still lingering against your hip, “I know he does not cherish you the way he should.”

You laugh softly, your stomach fluttering at his wandering hand, drifting along your public bone before the full expanse of his hand was cupping your cunt, welcomed by warmth and the sticky wet sensation of arousal that he’s been longing for, like an addict.

“General, would you like to know something?”

“What is it?” He inquires to your obvious amusement, his and cradling your head back, neck exposed slightly, thankful that the streets around you were empty.

“He likes to watch me pleasure myself,” You admit, “mostly because he cannot achieve the feat himself, but as I close my eyes I picture those mornings when you snuck under the sheets and spread my legs open,” Acacius leans forward greedily, hot breath fanning over your face as he yearns for another kiss, moving away from him tauntingly as you finish your speech, “that sweet look on your face as you taste me, thankful that you expertise was not contained to only battle—“

“Careful,” He warns, “I am not against a reminder if you continue.”

You peer over the broken set of stairs behind him, attached to an abandoned structure, eyebrows raising expectantly, “A parting gift, General?”

—

The discomfort was nothing compared to a general kneeling into the dirt and stone without a hesitation to please you, a whore, a servant—your title no longer mattered, having carried so many. 

He’s still hooded, your legs hanging over his shoulders as he kneeled against the steps, forcing you down flat against the concrete as he licked a slow line through the seam of your cunt, again, again. A teasing trace over your clit as he pressed two thick fingers inside of you, lapping at you loudly.

“Did he bed you tonight?” Acacius inquires curiously.

“Nearly,” You sigh, a high-pitched breathy noise as his pace quickens, knowing that you both were on a time limit, “he—huh—was far too tuckered to be fulfilled.”

His brows raise subtly at your choice of words.

“I drugged him,” You admit, an unexpected moan ripping from your throat as his tongue flicks over you sensitive clit, fingers digging into his cloak-covered shoulder, “seems the Emperor is not as untouchable as he thinks, and tricked by a whore—he would have a fit.”

His fingers dip into your thighs as you squeeze them together around his head, his tongue working quickly over your clit until you’re breathless and whining, feeling the rushing wave of your climax as it crashes into you, Acacius licking up the mess like a starved man.

It takes you a few moments to come back to earth, feeling a gentle tug at your hand as Acacius helps you up, readjusting your cloak over your naked body without much of a word, knowing your time with him was up.

“Wait for the bells,” He tells you, “light, delicate—look for me, I will be near.” 

You begin to speak, but are silenced with a kiss. 

A final goodbye. 

“Remember what I told you?”

Live.

You nod.

“At whatever cost, little dove.”

—

You go to great lengths to make it back to the palace before dawn, hiding behind every pillar, sneaking around corners, somehow managing to slip back into Geta’s bed without so much as a sound, his body still mostly laid out as you had left him, aside from a little rousing around.

When morning breaks, Geta wakes with an obvious grogginess to his tone, forcing his eyes to stay open.

“You stuffed me full of wine,” Geta jokes, “I cannot remember anything from our night prior.”

You’d tried to look particularly exhausted, hair slightly disheveled and the satin bed sheet askew, “It was quite a night, your highness. Such a shame,” You reply mockingly, though there’s a sweetness to your tone, almost teasing.

And if Geta suspects anything, he doesn’t say it.

It takes a day, two, silently mulling over the events.

He wasn’t a half-wit like his brother, his brain like mush beyond repair, useless by result of the infection in his loins. He was helpless, spiraling deeper into madness.

Geta had his wits about him—his eyes drag along your body, the deep swooping fabric showing off your exposed back, the soft skin and gentle slope of your spine, a look shared between you and Caracalla’s most trusted maiden.

Along with the lightness in your tone, a revered outlook, a bounce in your step that most people wouldn’t catch, but Geta—he’s just as much an observer as yourself.

He suspects, no—senses, feels, the deceit in your challenging gazes, the additional touches with an air of confidence, too cocky for someone who has been nothing more than a whore and housemaiden.

He’d always known you were particularly special; smart by means of General Acacius, knowing how to read and write and many other things that others of your station did not have the luxury to learn. And you were hard to break, though Geta had worked at it for weeks, he’d gotten you there.

Obedient, compliant, merciful. 

At least, he’d thought so.

He knows he won’t get a word out of you.

So, he goes for Irene.

-

The guards corral you at dinner, sitting silently with Caracalla as Dundus perched on his shoulder, eating quietly. They aren’t kind either, grabbing hard at your bicep as they drag you from your spot on the floor, Geta’s throne eerily empty.

Your stomach turns at the slow realization as you’re dragged down the hall, tossed beyond the threshold of Geta’s room as you stumble to the floor, groaning at the impact, head hitting the ground first as you roll over in pain, opening your eyes to an even more horrific sight.

Geta, hovered over Irene, lifeless eyes staring back as he dropped the thick cord from his hands, something he must have ripped from the curtain as one drooped down from its normal placeholder. 

There was no blood, no mess, but the light in her eyes was gone, and Geta stumbled over, crawling—hunching down to intersect your bleary eyesight as you slowly came to the realization of what was happening.

“You have betrayed me,” He announces calmly, despite the eyes of a crazed man staring straight through you, face void of any emotion, “after all I have given you.”

“Geta—“ You plead, pushing up on your palms to sit up, his foot coming in contact with your shoulder as you roll into your back forcefully.

“I AM YOUR EMPEROR,” He seethes, spitting as the words left his mouth, “YOU—BETRAYED—ME!”

And left a mess in the process, unfortunately.

“If you would…let me explain,” He stalks closer, watching as you rise slowly before his hand is striking across your face, the sting almost immediate, “I—think…that you—“

“You do not think,” He spats through clenched teeth, shaking with rage as he kneels to your level again, like a rabid dog, “whores do not think, they are fucked until there’s nothing left and then they are tossed out. Like trash.”

In desperation, the words slip out.

“I love you,” You say softly—it was a careful bundle of words that you’ve never spoken before, not even to General Acacius, “whatever she has told you, it is lies.”

His silence isn’t an answer, but you took the opportunity, unsure if he was stunned or gearing to explode.

Convince him, at whatever cost.

“She knows—of my past with the general. She was jealous of me, you. She drugs your brother, you must know. And she tried it with you too, it is why I did not leave your side, why I insisted we come back to your room.”

“But, you knew—“

You reach for him, a hand circling his wrist.

“No, no,” You speak softly, “It was small things. Your speech, it was slurring. You were drifting away, almost as if you were floating. I could see it. I have seen it before, with your brother. The nights when he is unruly, she…calms him.”

“Her story is entirely different,” He challenges, “you see my issue, yes?”

“Geta,” You challenge him, reaching forward to cradle his face, surprised by his willingness to allow it, watching you carefully, “I am loyal to you—no one else. I do not know another way to show you, but I will. I will, you must—“

“Strip,” He orders, “—on the bed,”

It makes your stomach twist, but you follow his orders.

His demeanor is unreadable as he watches, mirroring your movements before he’s climbing over you in bed.

He settles on his calves between your open legs, a blanket of silence falling over as he reaches for your hand, a surprisingly gentle touch as he brings your fingertips to his cock, slowly hardening at the sight of you.

Your fingers circle his shaft as you lean up on your elbows, ignoring his intense eye contact as you drag your palm along the velvety soft skin, feeling him grow to a stiff hardness within a few minutes—it should disgust you.

It does, to a degree. It wasn’t that Geta was unattractive in a physical sense, but the mental picture was hard for you to overlook. But, for the moment, you could pretend like he wasn’t the worst human being to walk the earth.

His fingertips brush against your cunt slightly, fortunately your body has adjusted to the pleasure of such a complicated predicament. You’re sure if you tried hard enough, you could truly enjoy it. But, you’re thankful that your body connects with the severity of the situation, quivering slightly at his touch, mouth opening in a small gasp.

“Are you nervous?” Geta inquires.

You shake your head, “No—it is only, we have never…”

“Let us try something new, hm?” He offers with a grin and you nod instinctively, feeling two thick digits dip inside of you with no warning, not so much grace as Acacius would have, but it isn’t uncomfortable.

It seems Geta has his wits about him, fortunately, diminishing you to nothing but a whimpering mess after a while, some of it a little bolstered for his benefit, but the pleasure was real. 

And god, did you crave that release.

Soon, his hand is gripping his shaft, sliding between the folds of your pussy as he coats himself, mouth twitching at the sight as he speaks, “I want you to watch.”

And you do, his cock pressing into you slowly, “It is such a generous act, you see, feeding you my cock like this,” another slow push, “you should feel special, little dove.”

The words are jarring, but you try not to react. 

“It is not everyday you are fucked by an emperor,” The dichotomy to his words almost makes you chuckle, as if he wasn’t fucking you every day, sometimes even two or three times, “you should be thankful.”

“I am.” You quickly appease.

“Then thank me,” His voice was tense again, his neck flexing with the tightness to his words.

“T—thank you, Emperor Geta.”

“For?”

One last forceful push and he’s seated fully inside of you, your brow pulling together at the pressure, lips parting open, “For your cock, for making me feel so—oh,” His thrusts are careful, calculated, your head falling back at the divine angle he’s found, “for—oh, gods—so good.”

You fist the sheets in desperation, back arching up slightly, watching his jaw tense at the way your breasts bounce, his eyes darkening over time, only a shell of himself as he thrusts into you, two firms hands on your hips slowly making their way upwards, wondering if he was following the path toward your breasts before they are bypassing and going straight for your neck, his hands encircling your throat.

It is merely a second too late before your brain catches up, too overloaded by pleasure that you don’t see the definite switch, quickly going from gentle pressure to the type of force that makes your vision white out.

You choke, gasping for air as you try to speak his name, plead, anything—his eyes are locked on your face, a sick determination as your stronger, forceful blows to his chest quick become weaker, weaker, feeling yourself teetering on that edge before he’s releasing his hold, forcing you to gasp for air.

“Do you still love me?” Geta asks.

And despite yourself, you lie.

“Yes, I love you, Geta.”

He was a sad boy, you’ve come to realize, wanting love but also craving unyielding power. He did not want equals, he wanted subordinates, fans, people that would sacrifice everything in his name. But, underneath it all, Geta was just as broken as you suspected.

—

A parade of the gladiators wasn’t a normal occasion, but it was quite the event—a way of wealthy men showing off their new toys, dangerous murderous machines out for blood.

It was the entertainment before the big show, sitting in the expansive throne room underneath the colosseum as the rich drowned in wine and food, you and several other servants surrounding the two brothers, eagerly awaiting your next order.

At least, for you, it was being obedient.

It felt like a collar around your neck, his fingers tracing along the back of your spine and up, fingertips resting against your shoulder, his thumb rubbing against the column of your throat.

Geta spots him from a mile away, that trademark white against gold, gaudy armor fit so perfectly for a man like Acacius, you bow your head at Geta’s push, the footsteps approaching steadily.

Your throat ached still, eyes slightly bloodshot. He hid your face, the evidence, speaking to the line of approaching generals as they greeted the two men with high regard.

“I commend you, your highness,” A general speaks, faceless but you sneer at his tone, fists balling into the fabric of your dress, “she is so well behaved, you must teach me your tricks.”

You bite down at the inside of your lip as Geta pets your head, tilting your head to the side slightly as you close your eyes, his thumb pressing against your cheekbone.

“There is no trick,” He retorts, “my little dove is loyal, a hard thing to find in a world full of deceit.”

It was laughable, coming from the emperor. 

The moniker is an even lower blow, knowing that General Acacius was a few feet away, the white fabric of his traditional armor dragging along the ground.

“Ah, Acacius,” Geta boasts, “I hope you have come to bring me good news.”

It best only be good news.

As he approaches, Geta’s grip tightens, curling around the side of your neck as a show of dominance as his finger digs into your skin, daring you to defy him. 

The soreness is pertinent, causing you to grimace in pain at his actions, something that Acacius spots but does not acknowledge.

“Yes, our army is nearly ready, Emperor Geta,” He nods before acknowledging his brother, “Emperor Caracalla,” but Geta is not amiss to the way his eyes drag toward you for a brief moment.

“Careful,” He warns, “doves are…so sacred, yes?”

Your sideways gaze peeks through as his eyes bore into Acacius, the subtle glimpse of broken capillaries and a plea for help as you lock eyes with Acacius is all he needs.

It would be tonight—it had to be tonight.

—

He’s a horrid mess, drunk off his ass as he drags you back toward the room. His brother and he were always more rowdy after gladiator games, riding the high of an entertaining act of violence, slaughter for mere amusement. Geta nearly topples over you as he opens the door, pointing hastily toward the bed with a slurred speech, “Naked, on the bed.”

He’s heading for more alcohol, a table tucked away in the corner of the room with a plethora of choices, pouring lazily as he stumbles, the utensils from an earlier meal falling to the floor as he bumps into it, looking displeased at your state of dress. He grimaces, nose scrunching as he reaches for the knife that had clattered to the floor, twisting it in his hand to point it at you.

“You dare—you dare to defy me?” 

Your eyes squint, narrow as he jabs at you sloppily, dodging the action with ease.

“You cannot even see straight, your grace,” You jeer, watching as he gulped down the crimson liquid, remnants trailing down the side of his mouth as he threw the glass away carelessly, the glass shattering against the floor as he charged at you, pressing the tip of the knife under your chin as he backed you into the wall, his eyes capturing the similar essence of rage when you knew there was no saving him, determined to cause bloodshed no matter the consequence.

You can hear the soft lilt of bells in the distance, the sky as black as the darkened state of Geta’s eyes—if he had any humanity in him, it was gone.

“You are…broken,” You speak to him, accepting the consequence, even if Acacius failed to save you, “A poor, poor boy with no one to love him—your confidence, it will be your demise.”

The knife knicks your skin, a subtle sting.

“Are you unaware of Caracalla’s plans?” You inquire, privy to Caracalla’s incoherent babbling, often feeling like Geta’s scapegoat, the constant source of blame. It was true, Geta had never accepted responsibility for anything in his life, “You should be careful, Geta. He has a slippery hand and a temper. If given the opportunity, I am sure he would do away with you. I cannot say I blame him—you are a disgrace of an emperor, ruling Rome like it is a playground—”

His eye twitches, the slight hesitation. It gives you enough time to react, twisting his arm away from your neck and on himself, “Unfortunate that you cannot do that as a dead man,” You bite, pushing against the force of the knife, knowing that Geta had no instinct of survival, a feeble man raised in a glass house for the entirety of his life.

The blood quickly pooled in his mouth, pouring out as his body slumped. 

You had prayed it would be slow and painful, that the misery would last.

The rustling near the window pulls your attention, the city quiet and unsuspecting of the violence having just taken place, Acacius' frame obscuring the view of the stars as he climbs through the window.

“Oh, dove,” Acacius sighs, taking in the sight of the slowly dying emperor, his fingers weakly grabbing for you as he choked on his own blood, “you have made a mess.”

“I could not survive him any longer,” You admit, feeling his arm encircling your waist as he tugged you away, “—what—what is to happen now?”

“It is a fate he would have met eventually, if not at the end of my own blade,” Acacius admits, “–—come, we must go. We only have a few moments, my lady.”

Your breath catches at the words, nodding in agreement as you allow him to tug you along, met with a few men on the other side of the wall, catching you as you dropped, draping you in a thick cloak.

“General,” You breathe, sensing his overpowering frame behind you as he grabs the reins of the horse in front of you, assisting you in climbing on the creature, “where are we going?”

“Away,” He promises, “somewhere we can both be free.”

“But, your status—does it mean nothing?”

It never did, not since the minute Geta had stolen you away.

You peer over your shoulder, his eyes soft.

“I love you,” He utters, answering your question without direct confirmation.

And for the first time, you say it as you mean it, feeling the tug at your heart, “I love you, too.”

[flux1563]

The Beast Party

Another part of The Best Party

tags : orgy, sex party, squirting, ass and pussy gape, gangbang. 

Words : 11245

On a relaxing afternoon, Kim Minju, a former member of the idol group IZONE, and Kim Chaewon, a current member of LE SSERAFIM and also a former IZONE member, were hanging out together in the heart of Seoul. It had become somewhat of a tradition for the two to catch up whenever their busy schedules allowed — a comforting return to familiarity amidst the whirlwind of their separate lives.

Chaewon, true to form, was a whirlwind of energy, her laughter echoing through the cozy café they had chosen for their meetup. A free spirit with a penchant for spontaneity, she launched into vivid tales of her latest adventures, her eyes gleaming with excitement. Her stories, often filled with late-night escapades and unexpected twists, left Minju both amused and slightly horrified. As Chaewon animatedly shared the latest gossip, her hands moved like a silent film starlet narrating a scandalous drama, drawing laughter and wide-eyed reactions from her old friend.

One evening, as the two friends lounged on the couch, surrounded by takeout boxes and forgotten TV shows, Chaewon's latest idea struck like a bolt of lightning. "Remember that wild party we had?" she began, her voice low and mischievous. "What if we went even wilder? Like, really wild. We could go on vacation and throw a beast party!"

Minju's eyes widened, and she sat up straight, a forgotten chopstick slipping from her fingers. "Africa?" she whispered, her mind racing with the possibilities. The continent was a canvas of adventure, a place where their most daring desires could become reality.

Their conversation grew heated, a tangible excitement charging the air. They scoured the internet, eyes glossing over images of vast savannahs and exotic beasts. They weren't just looking for a party, but a once-in-a-lifetime experience that would blow the doors off their mundane lives.

Their excitement grew with each click, and before they knew it, their dreams of a wild African adventure had crystallized into a plan. They'd leave the concrete jungle behind and immerse themselves in a place where the rules were theirs to rewrite. Little did they know, this journey would be the catalyst for a tale of passion and debauchery that would make their previous escapades seem tame.

Minju and Chaewon took a much-needed break from their frenzied preparations and stepped onto the golden sands of a secluded African beach, the sun setting in a fiery blaze behind them.

The villa they'd rented was a modern marvel, nestled in the embrace of lush palm trees, its gleaming white walls and thatched roof whispering of luxurious secrets. Inside, the cool embrace of air conditioning and the scent of tropical flowers greeted them like a soothing balm. They flopped onto the plush couches in the open-plan living area, their laughter bouncing off the high ceilings.

"Can you believe we're actually here?" Minju said, her eyes wide with wonder. "It's like a dream come true."

Chaewon leaned back, a smug smile playing on her lips. "I told you we could make it happen. Now, let's get down to business. We've got a party to plan!"

But Minju's gaze remained fixed on the horizon, where the fiery sun melted into the sea. "But we need to take a rest first," she murmured, the fatigue of their travels finally catching up to her.

The next day, they prepared themselves for the ultimate beach day, each donning an erotic bikini that screamed of their daring spirits. Minju's was a simple yet elegant black two-piece that accentuated her curves without revealing too much, while Chaewon opted for a flamboyant red number that barely contained her ample assets. The fabric was so skimpy it was practically a second skin, leaving little to the imagination.

Their eyes met in the mirror, and Minju felt a jolt of excitement as she took in Chaewon's reflection. She'd never seen her friend look so... predatory. "You're going to turn heads," she said, her voice thick with desire.

"That's the idea," Chaewon purred, her hands smoothing over her hips. "But we need to make sure everyone's invited. Let's start with the locals. They know how to throw a party like nobody's business."

They spent the next few hours exploring the beach, their eyes peeled for any signs of life. The ocean rolled out before them, a vast, untamed sea that mirrored the wildness they sought. They approached a group of muscular young men playing beach volleyball, their dark skin gleaming with sweat. Chaewon wasted no time, sauntering over with a seductive smile. "Hey, guys," she called out, her voice carrying over the sound of the waves. "You wouldn't happen to know how to throw a party around here, would you?"

The men stopped mid-game, their gazes drawn to the two foreign beauties. The tallest one, a man named Kofi, grinned, flashing a set of perfect white teeth. "We throw the best parties on this coast," he boasted. "But we need more than just us."

Minju and Chaewon exchanged glances, their hearts racing with anticipation. "We want to invite everyone," Minju said. "Make it a week-long celebration. We've got the villa, the drinks, and the stamina. What do you say?"

Kofi's eyes lit up. "Seven days, seven nights of pure madness," he mused, a hint of challenge in his tone. "You're on. But you'd better be ready for what we bring to the table."

The two friends nodded eagerly, their imaginations already running wild with the possibilities. They had eight days to make their wildest fantasies come true, and they were going to use every single moment to its fullest. They returned to the villa, adrenaline pumping through their veins as they set about transforming the serene retreat into a hedonistic playground.

The days that followed were a whirlwind of excitement and preparation. They spent hours on the beach, soaking in the sun's kiss while they discussed party themes and guest lists. They swam in the warm waters, letting the waves crash over them as they laughed and plotted. The local market became their personal treasure trove, as they bought exotic foods and decorations that would make their event the talk of the town.

"This night gonna go wild for us," Chaewon said with a knowing smile, her eyes sparkling like the diamond necklace she'd bought from a street vendor. She lounged on a sunbed, sipping a cocktail that was as vibrant as the setting sun. The alcohol had loosened her inhibitions, and she began to dance to the music playing softly from a nearby radio, her body moving in a way that was both sensual and uninhibited.

Minju watched her friend with a mix of admiration and nervousness. She knew Chaewon's power over men, and she hoped that their plan would not only be successful but also safe. They had spread the word far and wide that their villa was open to any man who sought a night of unbridled pleasure, a promise that had sent whispers through the local community like wildfire.

As night descended upon them, the air grew thick with anticipation. The scent of spicy meat sizzling on a makeshift BBQ mingled with the sweet aroma of tropical flowers, creating an intoxicating bouquet that hung heavy over the partygoers. The DJ, a local talent they had discovered in the market, had set up his decks on the beach, the bass thumping through the sand. The lights from the villa cast a warm glow over the gathering, which grew by the minute.

Minju and Chaewon didn't know how many men had responded to their invitation, but as they surveyed the growing crowd, they realized it was more than they had ever dreamed of. Each one was a potential dance partner, a conversationalist, or perhaps even something more. They felt a thrill of excitement, their hearts pounding in their chests like drums echoing the rhythm of the night.

As the party grew wilder, so did their drinking. The cocktails flowed freely, each one more potent than the last, and the two friends threw caution to the wind, letting the alcohol dissolve their inhibitions like sugar in water. Minju giggled as she sipped from a concoction that changed color with every sip, feeling the warmth spread through her body like a lover's embrace. Chaewon, ever the social butterfly, flitted from group to group, her laughter as potent as the drinks she handed out.

The music grew louder, the beats pulsating through the night like the heart of the jungle itself. The sand beneath their feet vibrated with the rhythm, and before long, the two friends found themselves at the center of the makeshift dance floor, their hips swaying to the hypnotic melody. The men watched them with hungry eyes, their gazes lingering on the way their bikinis barely contained their voluptuous forms.

Suddenly, the DJ couldn't resist the siren's call any longer. He abandoned his decks, leaving the music to play on repeat, and strutted over to Minju and Chaewon. His movements were fluid, almost feline, as he slipped between them, wrapping an arm around each of their waists. They laughed in surprise as he began to grind against them, his muscles flexing with the beat. The other partygoers cheered, creating a circle around the trio, egging them on with whistles and claps.

The air grew electric as the music's tempo increased. The men in the crowd, their eyes glazed with lust and alcohol, began to step closer, reaching out to touch the two friends. Minju felt a hand slip beneath the fabric of her bikini top, and she gasped, her body tensing. But instead of fear, she felt a thrill of excitement. This was what they had come for. Chaewon's eyes met hers, and she saw the same hunger reflected in her friend's gaze.

As if on cue, the DJ reached behind him and untied the string of his board shorts, letting them fall to the sand. He stepped back, revealing a cock that was indeed larger than any they had ever seen. It was thick, with a girth that could easily wrap a fist and a length that seemed to stretch on forever. The men in the crowd murmured in awe, their own desires swelling as they took in the sight.

The DJ's confidence grew with every beat of the music, and soon, more men began to follow his lead. They pulled down their swim trunks, exposing themselves to the warm night air. Each cock was a testament to the raw, unbridled lust that pulsed through the gathering. The sight was overwhelming, a veritable smorgasbord of male virility.

But it was the DJ's member that truly stole the show. With a diameter that could easily wrap a hand and a length that defied belief, it stood proudly before them like a monument to carnality. The crowd's murmurs grew into a dull roar, a primal chant that seemed to resonate with the very earth beneath their feet.

The sight was both terrifying and thrilling, and Minju felt her pussy throb in response, wet with a need she hadn't realized she had. Chaewon's eyes widened, and she licked her lips, a wicked smile playing on her face as she took in the display before her. "Looks like we're in for a wild ride," she whispered into Minju's ear, the heat of her breath sending shivers down her spine.

Minju could only nod, her eyes still transfixed on the monstrous cock that seemed to have a life of its own, pulsing in time with the music. The DJ took a step closer, and she could feel the heat radiating from him, the promise of pleasure and pain wrapped up in one delicious package. She knew that she'd never be able to handle something so... substantial, but the thought of trying sent a thrill of excitement through her body.

"All of us are naked now," they murmured in unison, their voices a siren's call that echoed through the night. One by one, the partygoers began to shed their clothing, revealing their own desires for the world to see. The beach became a sea of naked flesh, each body a canvas of wanton need.

Minju's eyes were drawn to one man in particular, his cock a testament to the beauty of the African night. It was as big as her forearm, thick and veiny with a girth that had to be at least three inches in diameter. "Look at that," she whispered to Chaewon, her voice a mix of awe and apprehension. "It's like nothing we've ever seen before."

Chaewon followed her gaze, her pupils dilating with excitement. "Twelve inches lengths and three inches diameter, if it's an inch," she murmured, her hand absently reaching down to caress her own clit. The thought of taking such a monstrous member inside her was both terrifying and exhilarating. "I want to feel it," she breathed, her voice barely audible over the music.

Minju felt a tremor of excitement run through her as the man with the colossal cock approached them, his stride confident and predatory. "You'll get it soon, baby," he said, his voice a deep rumble that seemed to resonate in her very core. His eyes were dark with lust as he looked her over, his cock jutting out before him like a spear.

The other men gathered around, their tongues already out, eager to taste the sweetness that was Minju and Chaewon. They began to lick them, starting at their toes and moving slowly up their legs. The sensation was strange, a mix of tickling and pleasure that made Minju's knees wobble. Chaewon moaned, her eyes rolling back in her head as the men took turns, their tongues dancing over every inch of their skin.

One by one, the men knelt before them, their tongues flicking out to taste the nectar that was their pussies. Minju gasped as the first man's tongue met her clit, sending shockwaves through her body. The sensation was unlike anything she'd ever felt, a symphony of pleasure that had her bucking against the sand. Chaewon's eyes were squeezed shut, her body arched as she rode the waves of pleasure that crashed over her.

Their hands reached out, tentatively at first, to the men surrounding them. They touched, explored, and teased, learning the contours of each cock as if they were sacred artifacts. The men groaned in unison, their hips jerking with every stroke of the girls' soft fingers. The party had become a ritual, a tapestry of desire that wove together the wildness of the jungle with the decadence of civilization.

Minju and Chaewon's tongues danced over the velvety heads of the men's cocks, tasting the salty pre-cum that beaded at their tips. They took turns, each one eager to prove their skill, to show the others what they were capable of. The air was thick with the scent of arousal, a heady perfume that intoxicated them further.

The men groaned in unison, their eyes rolling back in their heads as the two friends worked in tandem, their mouths moving in a rhythm that was as ancient as it was erotic. Chaewon took the lead, her mouth sliding over one cock while her hand stroked another, her movements a symphony of seduction. Minju watched, her own desire spiking as she saw the effect they had on the men.

"Give us all that cock," Chaewon demanded, her voice a sultry purr that sent a shiver down Minju's spine. The words were a declaration of war on their inhibitions, a battle cry for their most primal instincts. The men didn't need any more encouragement. They surged forward, eager to satisfy the hunger in the girls' eyes.

Minju's breath hitched as she felt a cock nudge against her wetness, the tip teasing her swollen clit. It was the DJ, his member so thick it was like a battering ram at her gates. She spread her legs wider, welcoming the intrusion, the anticipation building to a crescendo within her. Chaewon, on the other hand, was surrounded by a group of men, each eager to claim a piece of her for themselves.

The man with the twelve-inch monstrosity didn't waste any time. He grabbed Chaewon's face and forced his cock into her mouth, his grip unyielding. Her eyes watered as she took him in, her throat stretching to accommodate his girth. He began to thrust, the sound of her gagging muffled by the cacophony of the party. Despite the fear and discomfort, she felt a twisted thrill, her body responding to the sheer power and dominance he exuded.

Meanwhile, two more men positioned themselves behind Minju, their cocks standing at attention. She felt the tip of one nudging at her pussy, the other at her ass, both so thick they seemed to be testing the limits of what she could handle. Her heart raced as she looked over at Chaewon, who met her gaze with a look that was a mix of terror and excitement. This was it, the moment of truth.

"Ready?" one of the men murmured in her ear, his breath hot and heavy with desire. Minju nodded, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps as she braced herself for what was to come. With one swift movement, they entered her, one after the other, filling her completely. She screamed out, the word "fuck" torn from her throat with the force of a tornado. It was more than she'd ever felt, a sensation that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

The man with the colossal cock took his position at the back, his grip firm as he guided himself into her tight, unexplored depths. Minju's eyes rolled back in her head as she felt herself stretched to the limits of endurance, her body trembling with the sheer size of him. Chaewon, on her knees beside her, watched with wide eyes, her own mouth full of another man's cock. She could feel her friend's pain, a mirror to her own, and she reached out to grip her hand, a silent offering of solidarity in their shared debauchery.

The two men inside her began to move in unison, their rhythm a brutal dance that had her body jolting with every thrust. She could feel every vein, every pulse of their cocks as they claimed her, their girth stretching her to the point of agony. Her pussy and ass burned, but amidst the pain was a blossoming flower of pleasure, a sweet agony that had her hips rising to meet them, eager for more.

"Aghh, my pussy and ass stretch so much," Minju groaned, her voice a desperate cry that was swallowed by the roar of the party. Her words were a siren's call, drawing more men to her, eager to claim a piece of the exotic beauty before them. They watched with hungry eyes, stroking themselves as they waited for their turn, the sight of her being used so thoroughly only adding to their arousal.

Chaewon's mouth was a cavern of pleasure around the thick shaft in her mouth, her cheeks hollowed with the effort of taking him in. She could feel his cock pulse with every beat of his heart, his excitement growing as he watched his friends claim Minju. The taste of him was musky, a blend of sweat and lust that she found oddly intoxicating. Despite her own discomfort, she felt a thrill run through her, a heady mix of power and submission.

Minju's eyes rolled back in her head, her body responding to the relentless pounding. She felt her orgasm building, a tsunami that she had no hope of holding back. The man with the colossal cock was a maestro, his strokes deep and sure, hitting a spot inside her that she didn't even know existed. The pressure grew, a tight coil in her belly, until she could bear it no longer.

With a scream that was lost in the din of the party, Minju squirted, the force of her release so intense it drenched the men behind her. Chaewon watched, her eyes glazed with a mix of shock and arousal as her friend's body bucked and writhed in pleasure. The sight of Minju's pussy gushing was a revelation, a display of sexual power that had the men around her stumbling over themselves to get closer.

The man with the massive cock took this as his cue to let go, and with a triumphant roar, he began to pump his seed into Minju's welcoming depths. The sensation of being filled so completely was almost too much for her, and she collapsed onto the sand, her body trembling with the aftershocks of her orgasm. Chaewon felt a wetness spread between her own thighs, the sight of Minju's pleasure triggering a climax of her own. She squirted, her pussy spraying the man who had been fucking her face, her juices mingling with the spit and cum that already coated her features.

As the first round of passion waned, the men withdrew, their cocks slick with the girls' cum and their own. The air was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, a heady mix that seemed to intoxicate everyone present. The men looked down at Minju and Chaewon with a mix of awe and lust, their seed spurting from their pussy and ass, painting the sand with a sticky, white trail. The girls lay there, panting and spent, their bodies limp as ragdolls.

"Our dreams come true, Chaewon," Minju murmured, her voice shaky with the aftermath of her climax.

"I think my pussy keep spasming," Chaewon gasped, her breathing still ragged as she leaned against Minju, their bodies sticky with a mix of sweat and cum. The feeling of the cool sand against her back was a stark contrast to the fiery passion that had just consumed her.

"Mine too," Minju agreed, her voice a hoarse whisper. The man who had just filled her to the brim with his seed looked down at her with a smug smile, his eyes lingering on the gaping O her pussy had become. His friends crowded around, their own cocks still erect and glistening with pre-cum, eager to take their turns.

One by one, they stepped up, each taking a moment to admire the sight before them. They were like animals in heat, each more primal than the last, as they claimed Minju's body with a ferocity that was both terrifying and exhilarating. She felt their weight upon her, their cocks sliding into her, stretching her until she thought she would split in two.

The men took turns, their grunts and groans mixing with Minju's cries of pleasure. Each round was a new adventure, a new level of depravity that she had never before experienced. She felt her body respond to their every touch, her pussy contracting around their cocks as if it had been made just for this. Chaewon, not to be outdone, was busy taking on two men at once, her mouth and pussy a never-ending source of pleasure for them.

Their juices flowed freely, mingling with the sweat that coated their bodies. The sight of Minju's pussy, stretched and dripping, was too much for the men to resist. They took turns, each one more eager than the last to feel her squirt around them, to be the one to make her body convulse with pleasure. Her moans grew louder with each round, her voice hoarse from the sheer volume of her passion.

The partygoers watched, their own desires stoked by the sight of Minju and Chaewon being taken so thoroughly. The beach had become a carnival of lust, a place where inhibitions were left at the door and every desire was allowed to roam free. The music continued to play, the bass pounding in time with the rhythm of their hips, as if the very earth was in sync with their carnality.

As the night wore on, the men grew more aggressive, their strokes more frenzied. They were like a pack of wild animals, each fighting for dominance, each eager to leave their mark. Minju felt herself become a part of the landscape, her body a battleground for their desires. Yet, through it all, she never once felt less than the queen of the night.

The men took her to the edge and beyond, pushing her to heights she had never dared dream of. Her squirts grew stronger with each round, her body a fountain of pleasure that seemed to have no end. Chaewon, too, was lost in her own world, her eyes glazed with lust as she took on more and more men.

Ten rounds, then eleven, and still they came. Each man took his turn, each one more vigorous than the last. The beach was a blur of limbs and flesh, a tapestry of desire and debauchery that stretched as far as the eye could see. And through it all, Minju and Chaewon remained the center, their bodies a canvas for the men's pleasure.

Their cries grew louder, their bodies weaker, until finally, with a collective roar, the men released their seed. It spurted into Minju, filling her to the brim until she could take no more. She collapsed, her body trembling with the force of her climax, her pussy pulsing with the aftershocks of pleasure. Chaewon followed suit, her legs giving out as she was drenched in cum.

As the twelfth round came to an end, the crowd erupted into applause. The men, their cocks now sated, stepped back, their chests heaving with exertion. They had given the girls the experience they had craved, and in return, Minju and Chaewon had given them a night they would never forget.

The two friends lay there, panting and exhausted, their bodies slick with sweat and cum. They looked at each other, the reality of what they had just done setting in. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated bliss, a moment that had surpassed any party they had ever thrown in Seoul.

Minju's eyes rolled back in her head, her body shaking as she felt another round of pleasure build up inside her. She didn't think it was possible, but her pussy was still pulsing, begging for more. Chaewon, equally spent, leaned into her, their bodies sticking together with the remnants of the men's passion.

Their breathing grew shallow, their hearts racing like wild horses as the men continued to worship them. Each new cock brought with it a fresh wave of sensation, a symphony of pain and pleasure that seemed to never end. It was as if their bodies had been taken over by some primal instinct, a hunger that could never be fully satiated.

With each new round, Minju felt herself slipping further into the abyss, her mind a whirlwind of sensation and emotion. The men's grunts and groans grew fainter, the world around them a blur of color and sound. The only thing that remained clear was the feeling of their cocks inside her, a never-ending dance of dominance and submission.

As the night grew darker and the stars twinkled above them, the men grew bolder. They pushed and pulled at her, their hands roaming over every inch of her flesh as if they could never get enough. Her pussy clenched around them, her ass spasming with each thrust, a silent scream of pleasure that echoed through the night.

The girls' moans grew weaker, their bodies no longer able to keep up with the relentless onslaught. Yet even as they reached their breaking points, the men didn't relent. They had become beasts, driven by a lust that seemed to have no end. Minju felt her vision swim, the world going dark at the edges.

Suddenly, with a gasp, she felt it. Her orgasm hit her like a sledgehammer, her body arching off the sand as she squirted once more, the force of it so intense that it sent shockwaves through the very air. Chaewon's eyes rolled back in her head, her own body responding to the symphony of pleasure.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. The men stepped back, their cocks still erect but their eyes filled with a mix of satisfaction and awe. They had taken the two friends to the very brink of their limits and back again.

Their bodies lay still, their breathing ragged and uneven, as the reality of what they had just done set in. They had given themselves over to the night, to the wildness of Africa, and had come out the other side forever changed.

"I think we should stop, it's been fifteen rounds," one of the men spoke up, his voice a gentle rumble that seemed to resonate with the very fabric of the universe. His words hung in the air, a sobering reminder that even the most hedonistic of nights must come to an end.

Minju's body continued to quiver, her pussy and ass clenching around the two cocks still buried inside her. Her squirts had turned into a constant flow, a river of pleasure that seemed to have no end. She could feel her muscles protesting, begging for respite, but the desire was too strong, too all-consuming to ignore.

Chaewon lay beside her, equally spent, her body trembling with the aftershocks of her own climaxes. Her face was a mask of ecstasy, her eyes glazed over as she too succumbed to the relentless pounding. The men had become a blur of skin and muscle, a never-ending stream of cocks that filled her to the brim.

Finally, with a collective groan that seemed to shake the very foundation of the earth, the men withdrew. The last of them pulled out of Chaewon's pussy, leaving it gaping and swollen, a testament to the night's excesses. Minju felt a pang of jealousy as she watched the cum dribble out of her friend's tight hole, her own desires flaring up once again.

The beach was silent except for the sound of the waves and the heavy breathing of the exhausted partygoers. The air was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, a reminder of the carnival of lust that had unfolded before their very eyes. Minju's body was a map of bruises and bites, a roadmap of pleasure that she would wear proudly for days to come.

Her eyes fluttered open, the world coming into focus slowly. Chaewon lay next to her, her chest rising and falling with each labored breath, her face a mask of exhaustion. The men had moved away, leaving them alone in their post-coital bliss. Minju pushed herself up onto her elbows, her body protesting the movement but her spirit unbroken.

Her eyes traveled down to her pussy, still glistening with cum, and she watched in amazement as it spasmed, releasing another stream of fluid into the night air. It was as if her body hadn't gotten the memo that the party was over, the orgasms still coming in waves even when she thought she had nothing left to give. Chaewon's body seemed to echo her own, her pussy clenching and releasing in a silent symphony of pleasure.

"Done for tonight guys, they got faint," one of the men announced, his voice a mix of concern and satisfaction. The crowd of men around them nodded in agreement, their cocks still hard but their eyes filled with a newfound respect for the two friends who had taken them on a journey they would never forget.

Minju and Chaewon were hoisted up by the strong arms of the beach volleyball players and carried back to the villa, their legs limp and their bodies covered in the sticky residue of the night's festivities. The moon cast a soft glow over the path, lighting their way as they stumbled through the door, their hearts racing from both the exertion and the excitement of the evening.

The girls were brought to a grand floor-to-ceiling bathroom, the white marble gleaming in the dim light. They were laid down gently on the cold, hard surface, their bodies shivering from the sudden change in temperature. The men looked down at them with a mix of lust and affection, their own cocks still standing tall despite the hours of use.

Without a word, one of the men stepped forward and positioned himself between Minju's legs, his cock still slick with her juices. He began to piss, the warm stream hitting her swollen clit and sending a jolt of pleasure through her body. Chaewon watched, her own desire flaring up again as she felt the warmth of another man's urine cascade over her. It was a strange, almost tender act, a communion of bodies that transcended the mere physical.

The men took turns, their golden rivers mingling with the cum and sweat that coated the girls. The scent was pungent, a potent mix of sex and bodily fluids that seemed to fill the room. Minju's body reacted involuntarily, her pussy clenching around the warmth, her squirts joining the stream to create a small pool on the marble. Chaewon moaned, her own pussy spasming as the urine hit her sensitive flesh.

The sensation was oddly soothing, a balm to their abused bodies. They lay there, letting the piss wash over them, cleansing them of the night's excesses. It was as if the very essence of the men was being transferred into them, marking them as their own.

When the last man had emptied himself, they stepped back, their eyes never leaving the girls' prone forms. The music from the party outside grew faint, the night air a gentle caress against their skin. The moment hung in the air, a tableau of desire and submission that neither Minju nor Chaewon would ever forget.

With a nod to each other, the beach volleyball players turned on the jet shower, the powerful stream of water hitting the marble floor with a sharp hiss. The spray arced over the girls' bodies, the water a warm embrace that began to wash away the evidence of their night of unbridled passion. The men stepped aside, leaving them to the mercy of the water, their eyes lingering on the two friends as they retreated from the bathroom.

Minju felt the water hit her face, her eyes still squeezed shut from the intensity of her experiences. She let out a soft moan as the warmth began to soothe her, the pressure of the jets massaging her sore muscles. Her pussy, though still pulsing with need, seemed to have finally found a moment of reprieve. Chaewon lay beside her, equally spent, her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath.

The men had been surprisingly gentle in their aftercare, their rough hands tender as they had helped clean the sticky residue from their bodies. They had worked as a team, wiping away the evidence of their passion with a thoroughness that was almost clinical.

As the last of them left the bathroom, the door closing with a soft click, Minju and Chaewon were left alone. The only sound was the steady drip of water from the showerhead, a gentle reminder of the river of fluids that had flowed between them.

Minju's body was a canvas of ecstasy, her pussy and ass gaping open like a pair of surprised O's, a silent testament to the men's unyielding dominance. Chaewon's legs were sprawled out, her own pussy and ass still pulsing with the aftershocks of their shared experience. They lay there, unmoving, their bodies a testament to the unbridled passion they had just endured.

"Wow, their pussies are still gaping," one of the men said to the others, his voice filled with amazement. The rest of the group chuckled, their laughter a mix of disbelief and admiration. They had never seen anything quite so depraved, and yet, there was something undeniably alluring about the two women's vulnerability.

The night had been a blur of pleasure and pain, a symphony of flesh that had left them all reeling. But as the first light of dawn began to peek over the horizon, the reality of what they had done set in. They had pushed the boundaries of what was acceptable, and the aftermath was both exhilarating and terrifying.

 

Minju and Chaewon lay there, their bodies a tapestry of bruises and bites, their pussies and assholes gaping open like open flowers, begging for more. The cool water from the shower had brought a slight respite, but it was the gentle touch of each other's hands that truly helped to soothe their spirits. They climbed to their feet, their legs wobbly as newborn foals, and stumbled into the massive bathtub that was part of the villa's luxurious bathroom.

The shock of the sperm continuing to ooze out of them was something they had not anticipated. It was as if their bodies were a sponge, soaked in cum and now slowly releasing it back into the world. They giggled to themselves as they slid into the warm embrace of the water, feeling the last remnants of the men's seed slide out of them with a soft plop. The tub filled with a murky white mixture, a silent testament to the marathon of fucking they had just endured.

"Did we go too wild last night?" Chaewon whispered, her voice hoarse from screaming.

Minju chuckled, her body still buzzing from the endless stream of pleasure. "Maybe," she said, her voice equally raspy. "But look at us now. Our pussies are still giving us a standing ovation."

They slid into the tub, the warm water enveloping them like a comforting embrace. It washed over their sore muscles, the jets massaging away the tension of the night. The sperm and piss swirled around their bodies, a bizarre mix that seemed to symbolize the unity they had shared with the men.

As the water grew murkier, Minju reached for the soap, her hand shaking slightly. She began to lather herself up, her movements methodical and precise. Chaewon watched her, a strange sense of awe filling her chest. Despite the pain, she felt a sense of pride at what they had achieved.

They had pushed themselves beyond their limits and come out the other side, forever changed. The soap slid over Minju's bruised skin, bubbles popping as they touched the myriad of bites and scratches that adorned her body. Chaewon followed suit, the foam clinging to her curves as she washed away the remnants of their wild night.

When they could no longer ignore the call of their weary bodies, they stepped out of the tub, the water draining away and revealing their exhausted forms. The plush bathrobes that had been left for them were like a warm embrace, the soft fabric caressing their sensitive skin as they wrapped themselves up in them. Their feet padded softly against the cool marble, leaving wet footprints as they made their way back to the bedroom, the warmth of the robes a stark contrast to the chill of the floor.

The bed was a heavenly sight, the crisp white sheets beckoning to them like a cloud. They collapsed onto it, their bodies entwined in a tangle of limbs. Despite the pain and the stickiness that lingered, they felt a deep sense of satisfaction, a bond that went beyond friendship, forged in the crucible of their shared experience. They lay there for a moment, panting and trembling, their hearts slowly returning to a more normal rhythm.

Then, the knock came.

It was a firm, insistent knock, echoing through the quiet villa, a stark contrast to the symphony of pleasure that had filled it just hours before. Minju's eyes snapped open, her heart racing. Chaewon stirred beside her, a sleepy groan escaping her lips as she too was jolted from the haze of their afterglow. They stared at each other in shock, the reality of their situation crashing down upon them like a tidal wave.

Minju's hand trembled as she reached for the knob. As she pulled the door open, she was met with a sight that was both erotic and intimidating: a sea of naked, aroused men, their eyes hungry with desire.

"We heard it was a week-long party," Kofi, the DJ from the beach, said with a wink. "We didn't want to miss our turn."

Minju and Chaewon shared a look that was half fear, half excitement. They had never intended for things to go this far, but there was something in the air that night, a primal energy that had taken control of everyone involved. With a collective sigh, they allowed their bathrobes to be taken off, their bruised and swollen bodies once again on full display.

The men's eyes were like those of hunters who had just spotted their prey, filled with a mix of awe and greed. They had seen these two women in their most vulnerable state and were eager to claim them once more. The air grew thick with lust as the robes fell away, revealing the two friends' still-dripping pussies and the marks of the previous night's passion.

Minju felt a rush of excitement and fear mingle in her chest. Her body was still raw from the previous night's festivities, but the sight of the men's hard cocks made her stomach flutter. Chaewon, ever the wild one, gave a low, guttural growl, her body visibly responding to the challenge laid before them.

With a grace that seemed almost predatory, the men stepped forward, their bathrobes sliding off their muscular frames to reveal their arousal. The room was filled with the sound of fabric hitting the floor, the gentle thuds echoing in the quiet. Their cocks stood tall and proud, a silent promise of more pleasure to come.

The first man approached Minju, his cock thick and veiny, the head glistening with pre-cum. Without a word, he pushed her onto her back, her legs falling open as if on instinct. His hands gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh as he positioned himself at her entrance. With one swift movement, he plunged into her, filling her up without a moment's hesitation.

"Fuckk, still sore," Chaewon screamed, her voice a mix of pleasure and pain as she was claimed by another man. Her body arched off the bed, her toes curling in ecstasy as he slammed into her, his cock stretching her beyond what she thought possible.

Minju felt a similar wave of sensation as she was taken by Kofi once more, his rhythm relentless and demanding. Despite her exhaustion, she found herself meeting his every thrust, her pussy clenching around him like a vice. Her body had become an instrument of pleasure, a vessel for the men's desires.

The days turned into a blur of sexual excess, each night more intense than the last. The local men took turns with them, their appetites seemingly insatiable. They had become the main attraction of the week-long party, the center of a sexual circus that never stopped. The girls' bodies bore the marks of their encounters, a tapestry of bruises and bites that grew more intricate with each passing hour.

And yet, through it all, there was a strange sense of camaraderie that had developed between them. They had become a team, each one pushing the other to new heights of pleasure, each one eager to explore the depths of their sexuality. They had discovered something within themselves, a power that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

As the week progressed, the men grew more daring in their requests, eager to claim every inch of the two friends. They had become a part of the fabric of the party, a symbol of the unbridled lust that had overtaken the beach villa. The other guests watched with a mix of envy and admiration, their own sexual escapades seemingly tame in comparison to the marathon sessions that Minju and Chaewon endured each night.

The two women had grown to crave the attention, the pain a strange comfort in the sea of pleasure. They had become addicted to the feeling of being used, of being the object of so much desire. And with each new cock that filled them, they grew more confident, more in tune with their own desires.

The days passed in a haze of orgasms and exhaustion, the two friends rarely leaving the bed except to eat or use the bathroom. Their bodies were pushed to the brink, their pussies and assholes gaping and swollen from the constant attention. Yet, they never said no.

On the final night, as the party reached its peak, the men gathered around the bed, their eyes gleaming with a mix of excitement and satisfaction. They had saved their best for last, a night that would be talked about for years to come. The girls lay there, their bodies trembling with anticipation, their hearts racing with a mix of fear and excitement.

The last man stepped forward, his cock the largest they had ever seen. Chaewon looked at him with a mix of trepidation and desire, her eyes wide with the knowledge of what was about to happen. Without a word, he positioned himself at her tight, stretched asshole, her pussy already filled to the brim by another man. With one hand, he gripped her hair, pulling her head back, exposing her throat.

With the other, he pushed into her, the head of his cock stretching her open. She screamed, her body bucking against the intrusion, but he didn't relent. Inch by inch, he filled her, his cock claiming her in a way that was both brutal and beautiful.

Minju watched, her own pussy being pounded by a different man, her body a trembling mass of nerves and pleasure. She felt a strange sense of pride as she watched her friend take the final challenge, her body stretched to its limits.

And as the night grew darker and the music grew louder, the two friends reached new heights of ecstasy, their screams mingling with the crash of the waves outside. They had become legends, the center of a sexual odyssey that had changed them forever.

As the last man pulled out, their bodies lay there, spent and used, their eyes glazed over with a look that was half-defeated, half-triumphant. They had done the unthinkable, and in doing so, had discovered something new about themselves. They had become more than just Minju and Chaewon, the roommates and idol from Seoul. They had become the embodiment of desire itself, a living, breathing testament to the power of sexual freedom.

The partygoers erupted into applause once more, their cheers a cacophony that filled the night air. The two friends looked at each other, their bodies slick with cum and sweat, their spirits unbroken despite the relentless onslaught of the past week. They had become the embodiment of sexual endurance, a spectacle that drew both admiration and envy from the crowd.

The men took turns, each one more eager than the last to claim his piece of the two exhausted women. They approached with a hunger that was almost feral, their cocks hard and insistent. The rhythm of their fucking never changed, a steady beat that had become a part of Minju and Chaewon's existence. The pain was a familiar friend now, a constant companion that they welcomed with each new thrust.

Each man took his time, savoring the feel of their tight, abused pussies, pushing deeper and harder as if trying to conquer some unspoken challenge. Minju felt a strange mix of pride and fear as she took each one, her body adapting to the relentless pace, her mind a haze of sensation. Chaewon lay beside her, her body a mirror image of her own, a symphony of pleasure and pain that seemed to have no end.

The night grew wilder, the air thick with lust and the scent of sex. The men grew more aggressive, their movements more primal as they claimed the two friends in every conceivable way. They were no longer individuals; they were a single entity of desire, a living, breathing representation of the human capacity for pleasure.

And through it all, Minju and Chaewon held on, their bodies stretched to the limit, their minds soaring on the wings of ecstasy. They had become one with the night, with the beach, with the very essence of the party. The line between reality and fantasy had blurred, leaving them in a state of perpetual arousal that seemed to have no end.

The final round approached, the air in the villa electric with anticipation. The men had saved their most extreme desires for last, a crescendo of depravity that would leave the girls forever changed. They had pushed them to their limits, and yet they still hungered for more.

The local DJ, Kofi, took the lead, his eyes burning with a hunger that was almost frightening. He pulled Minju onto all fours, her ass in the air, a silent invitation to the men who waited eagerly. One by one, they took her, filling her pussy and ass with their seed, the sounds of their pleasure a symphony of grunts and groans that seemed to shake the very walls.

Chaewon watched, her own body being used by the others, her eyes never leaving her friend's. There was a connection there, a bond that went beyond friendship, beyond any experience they had ever shared. They were in this together, two souls forever linked by the wildness of the night.

The final man stepped up, his cock the largest of all. With a roar that seemed to shake the very earth, he plunged into Minju's gaping asshole, his thrusts brutal and unyielding. She took it all, her body shaking with each powerful stroke, her eyes never leaving Chaewon's.

The tension in the room grew palpable, the men holding their breath as they watched the two friends reach the peak of their endurance. Chaewon's own climax grew closer, her pussy clenching around the cock that filled her. The room was a blur of skin and sweat, a maelstrom of passion that seemed to have no end.

And as the final man reached his climax, filling Minju with his hot cum, the two friends shared a look that was part triumph, part terror. They had survived the week, their bodies a testament to the power of sexual desire. They had become more than mere mortals, they had become goddesses of lust, worshipped by the men who had sought to conquer them.

As the last of the men withdrew, the two friends collapsed onto the bed, their bodies trembling with exhaustion. They lay there, their breathing shallow and uneven, the room silent but for the sound of the waves outside. The party had reached its climax, and as the sun began to rise, casting a soft glow over their bruised and spent forms, they knew that nothing would ever be the same again.

The second night of the week-long party had been just as intense as the first. The local men had once again claimed them, their hunger for the two friends seemingly insatiable. As dawn approached, they had been led into the bathroom, their legs shaking with fatigue. The men had taken turns pissing on them, their warm streams washing over their bodies in a strange ritual that had become a nightly occurrence.

But this time, something was different. The men didn't wait for the shower to be turned on, they didn't watch the water cascade over the girls' bodies, washing away the evidence of their lust. Instead, they simply left, their eyes filled with a mix of respect and awe. The urine grew cold on Minju and Chaewon's skin, a stark reminder of the power dynamics that had been established.

Their bodies continued to spasm, their pussies pulsing with each aftershock of pleasure. They had pushed themselves to the brink and come out the other side, their bodies no longer under their control. The men had used them, claimed them in the most primal of ways, and now they were left to bask in the aftermath.

The silence was deafening as they lay there, their breathing the only sound in the cavernous bathroom. The marble was sticky beneath them, the floor a testament to the night's events. They were alone, their hearts racing from the sheer intensity of their experiences. And yet, there was something exhilarating about it all, a sense of freedom that neither had ever felt before.

Their bodies grew still, the tremors of pleasure subsiding as the last of the men's cum oozed out of them. The bruises and bite marks stood out starkly against their skin, a roadmap of their week of excess. But amidst the pain, there was a sense of accomplishment, a knowing that they had tapped into something deep within themselves.

As the last of the men disappeared from view, Minju reached for Chaewon's hand, their fingers entwined in a silent promise. They had been through hell and back together, and their friendship had emerged stronger than ever. They had become warriors of desire, untouchable and unbreakable.

They lay on the cold marble floor, the stickiness of the cum beneath them a constant reminder of the night's events. Despite the discomfort, exhaustion claimed them, their bodies succumbing to the much-needed reprieve of sleep. Chaewon's breath grew deep and even as she drifted off first, her chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm.

The sun had barely crested the horizon when they were jolted awake by the acrid scent of urine and the sticky warmth of cum seeping from their overused pussies and assholes. Their eyes snapped open, the harsh reality of the new day assaulting their senses. Minju groaned as she pushed herself up onto her elbows, her body protesting every movement. Chaewon's hand found hers, a silent offering of comfort as they took in the aftermath of their sexual marathon.

"I think... I regret it," Chaewon 

murmured, her voice thick with sleep and pain. The words hung in the air, a stark contrast to the wild cries of pleasure that had filled the villa just hours earlier. Chaewon stirred beside her, her eyes opening to meet her friend's gaze.

Minju looked down at her own pussy, still sticky and bruised from the relentless pounding. A small trickle of cum slipped out, a silent answer to Chaewon's question. "Yeah," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "It still feels... full."

They managed to get to their feet, their legs wobbly and unsteady. The floor felt like it was moving beneath them, a gentle reminder of the waves that had crashed against their bodies the night before. Chaewon reached for the shower handle, her hand trembling with the effort. The water came on with a rush, the steam billowing out to fill the room.

"Come on," she said, her voice still thick with the night's pleasures. "Let's clean up."

They stumbled into the shower, the hot water washing over their bruised bodies like a balm. They stood under the stream, letting the warmth soothe their sore muscles and wash away the stickiness of the night. Minju looked at Chaewon, the question in her eyes. "Did your pussy keep squirting a little bit until now?" she asked, her voice filled with a mix of curiosity and concern.

Chaewon nodded, her eyes closed as the water cascaded over her face. "Mine too," she murmured. "It's like it's not finished with us yet."

They stepped out of the shower, the steam clinging to their skin like a lover's embrace. They wrapped themselves in plush towels, the softness a stark contrast to the rough treatment their bodies had endured. The bedroom beckoned, the bed a sanctuary from the world outside.

And, as if by some unspoken agreement, the villa remained pristine, the evidence of their depraved night erased as if by magic. The sheets were fresh, the floor clean, the air faintly scented with the sweet smell of tropical blooms. It was as if the very walls had absorbed their cries of ecstasy, the room a silent witness to their sexual odyssey.

Minju couldn't help but feel a twinge of gratitude as she looked around the space, her body still humming with the aftermath of pleasure. "We are lucky," she said to Chaewon, her voice filled with wonder. "The guys always clean up the room for us."

Chaewon nodded, her eyes distant. "It's like we're in some kind of twisted fairy tale," she murmured, her fingers tracing the fresh bruises that adorned her breasts. "But instead of a dragon, we have an endless supply of cock."

They climbed into bed, their exhausted bodies sinking into the plush mattress with a sigh of relief. The clean, crisp sheets enveloped them in a cool embrace, a stark contrast to the sticky mess they had left behind. They lay there, side by side, their hearts beating in sync with the gentle pulse of the ocean outside.

Minju closed her eyes, her mind racing with images of the men's faces, the feel of their cocks inside her, the sound of their moans. Despite the pain, she felt a strange sense of satisfaction, a feeling of having conquered something profound. Chaewon's hand found hers, their fingers intertwining as they lay in silence.

The third night of the week-long party had started innocently enough, with the two friends sipping cocktails by the pool as the sun set over the horizon. The local men had been more attentive than ever, their eyes never leaving the girls' bodies as they flitted from guest to guest, ensuring everyone's needs were met. But as darkness fell and the party grew more raucous, the air thick with desire, something within Minju had shifted.

As she lay on the plush bed, her body still sticky from the shower, she felt the mattress dip as the first man of the evening joined them. She didn't even bother to open her eyes, the anticipation of his touch already making her pussy clench with need. But when she felt his cock pushing against her, she was taken aback by the suddenness of it all.

Without a word, without a single gesture of consent, she was filled once again, his thickness stretching her already tender pussy. Chaewon stirred beside her, a soft moan escaping her lips as she too was claimed by another eager participant. They had become so accustomed to the constant intrusion that it almost felt natural now, a part of their daily routine.

"When did you come in?" Minju managed to ask, her voice a hoarse whisper as she felt the weight of the man's body on top of her. "Is it already night?"

Chaewon moaned with a little voice, her eyes still closed, lost in the sensations of the man's rough entry. "I don't know," she murmured, her hips already beginning to rock back to meet his thrusts. "Does it matter?"

The man chuckled, his grip on her hips tightening. "Not at all," he said, his voice a dark rumble. "You're both so beautiful, so open." He leaned down, his teeth grazing her neck, sending a shiver down her spine. "So eager."

Minju felt a strange mix of fear and excitement as she heard the click of cameras, the flashes of light piercing the darkness. She knew they were being watched, their every move recorded for posterity. It was a thrill that she had never experienced before, a heady mix of power and vulnerability. She looked at Chaewon, whose eyes were open now, the same mix of emotions swirling in their depths.

The men took turns, each one eager to leave his mark on their bodies, to claim a piece of the two friends for himself. The cameras rolled, capturing every gasp, every moan, every drop of cum that spurted from their abused holes. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoed through the room, a symphony of desire that seemed to have no end.

The night was a blur of cocks, of hands and tongues and teeth, of pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. They were drilled in every possible way, their pussies and assholes stretched beyond what they had ever thought possible. The men took turns, their faces a mix of lust and concentration as they sought to outdo one another in their pursuit of pleasure.

And as the gallon of cum filled them, their bodies quivering with each new round, Minju felt something within her shift. It was no longer about the party, the fashion line, or even the money. It was about this, the raw, primal connection between flesh and desire. She had become a conduit for their pleasure, and in doing so, she had discovered something about herself that she never knew existed.

The local men had noticed their lack of vocal response and took it as a challenge. "The video is bad when you two don't moan and speak," one of them said, his voice low and demanding. The words sent a jolt through Minju's body, and she understood what he wanted. The cameras were rolling, the audience eager to hear the sweet sounds of their pleasure.

Chaewon, ever the performer, took the lead, her moans growing louder, more exaggerated with each thrust. Minju followed suit, her voice joining the chorus of passionate cries that filled the room. They spoke to the men, whispered sweet nothings and dirty words that made them growl and pump harder. It was a symphony of lust, each note a declaration of their surrender to the night.

Their lovers grew more aggressive, their strokes more punishing as they sought to elicit the reactions they desired. Minju felt a strange sense of power as she watched the men respond to their cues, their eyes glazed with need as they pushed themselves closer to the edge. She had become a maestro, conducting the symphony of their desires with her voice and her body.

The room grew hotter, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat. The men took turns filming and fucking, their phones capturing every moment of the two friends' degradation. And amidst it all, Minju couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of pride. They were the stars of this show, the center of a universe that revolved around their pleasure.

"Again, squirt for us," one of the men ordered, his voice gruff with desire. Chaewon's eyes snapped open, a look of determination crossing her features. She knew what they wanted, knew the power that lay in her ability to perform. With a deep breath, she pushed back against her partner, her pussy contracting around his cock as she forced herself to orgasm once more.

The room erupted in cheers as she squirted, the evidence of her pleasure arcing through the air like a fountain. The man filming her let out a groan, his hand shaking with the effort of capturing the perfect shot. Minju felt a thrill run through her at the sight, her own pussy clenching with envy. She had never felt so alive, so in control.

The third night had started with a ferocity that had taken even Minju by surprise. The local men had wasted no time, their cocks already hard and demanding as they claimed the two friends the moment they had settled into the bed. There was no gentle warm-up, no tender kisses or sweet whispers. It was raw, animalistic, and it was exactly what they needed.

Minju's mouth remained open, a silent scream of pleasure escaping her lips as cock after cock filled her to the brim. Each time she came, the cum of the man before spilled out of her mouth, mixing with her own saliva as she gagged and swallowed. Chaewon, equally lost in the haze of pleasure, had her face buried in the pillow, her cries muffled by the fabric.

The party had become a marathon of lust, and the two friends had become its champions. As the night stretched on, their bodies had become a canvas for the local men's desires, painted with sweat and cum. The air was thick with the scent of sex, a potent cocktail that intoxicated them further. They had transcended the limits of pleasure, each new sensation a revelation of their own carnality.

It was almost 3 AM, and yet the party showed no signs of winding down. The local men, fueled by a mix of alcohol and adrenaline, seemed to have an endless supply of energy. They took turns with Minju and Chaewon, their eyes gleaming with the thrill of the chase. The girls had become more than just participants; they were the embodiment of desire itself.

As the night grew later, the rhythm of the music grew more primal, the bass thumping through the floorboards like the pulse of a giant beast. The air grew thick with the scent of sex and sweat, a heady aphrodisiac that only served to drive the men to greater heights of passion. And yet, amidst the chaos, Minju and Chaewon remained the calm center, their bodies accepting each new partner with an almost mechanical grace.

Finally, as the first light of dawn began to seep through the curtains, the men grew satiated. They had taken everything the girls had to offer and then some, leaving them trembling and spent. With a final round of applause, they helped the exhausted duo to their feet, leading them unsteadily back to the bathroom. The cold marble floor was a stark contrast to the heat of the bed, sending a shiver up Minju's spine as she stepped onto it.

Chaewon's legs gave out, and she collapsed onto the floor, her body still quivering with the aftershocks of her last orgasm. The men chuckled, their eyes gleaming with satisfaction as they stepped over her, heading back to the party. Minju leaned against the vanity, her hand shaking as she reached for the shower handle. The water was cold, almost painfully so, but it was exactly what she needed.

The spray hit her body, the chill making her gasp as it washed away the sticky mess of the night. She looked down, her pussy still gaping, the muscles inside spasming with each aftershock. The sight of her own body, so used and abused, only served to heighten her arousal. Chaewon joined her under the spray, her eyes meeting Minju's in the steamy mirror.

They were a mess, cum dripping from their mouths and down their chins, their breasts red and bruised from the rough handling. Yet there was something undeniably erotic about it all, something that made Minju's heart race even as her legs threatened to buckle beneath her.

Chaewon leaned against her, her body trembling with the aftershocks of her own climax. "We can't keep this up,".

Minju nodded, her eyes glazed over with the intensity of the night's events. "We need to rest," she murmured, her voice barely audible above the pounding of the water.

Their legs finally gave out, and they collapsed to the floor, the cool tiles a welcome reprieve from the sticky mess that had been their bed. The water rained down on them, the coldness a stark contrast to the heat that still lingered in their loins. They leaned against each other, their bodies trembling with the effort of standing.

The men had retreated, their laughter echoing through the villa. "After they faint, they can still keep squirting and shaking" one of them said, his words carrying a mix of amazement and contempt. "Such sluts, the two of you."

[motthe]

there's no death here | robert "bob" reynolds [part 4]

masterlist | ao3

warnings: anxiety attack, depressive episode and working through really low days, self-loathing/feelings of uselessness

With the Void incident having occurred Saturday, you had one day to settle back into a normal routine before returning to the tower Monday afternoon.

The thing was, Yelena knew when to expect Bob’s low periods, and this resulted in her taking you aside as soon as you arrived.

“It’s better when he doesn't know,” she admitted somewhat guilty as the both of you talked on the ground floor of the Watchtower. You hadn't expected to be ambushed on your way in, the two cups of steaming tea now settling into room temperature. “Things come back to him sometimes, but it's usually only with bigger accidents. When they do, he spirals.”

She toyed with her gloves, steel knuckles glinting in the little sunlight seeping through the windows behind you. You weren't sure if it was some unspoken rule with Nat and her sister, but they were all about bodysuits and hard edges. And they always managed to look effortlessly beautiful.

You glanced down at your high waisted jeans and knitted jumper before her sigh brought you back to the moment at hand.

“Most of the time he’s oblivious. It's easier.”

You don't particularly enjoy the way her eyes flit up to yours. It's a look of asking, of settling.

“I promised I would tell him,” you said. “I won't break that promise.”

“I don't know what you saw in there. I don't know you.” She drew her shoulders back, power in her stance. “I know Bob. He will blame himself for whatever you went through and it will throw him into his bad days much quicker because he likes you.”

The way she narrowed her eyes had your heart twisting. Nat did the same thing when she was trying to talk you out of something.

“He's done a great job so far.” You tell her this not to cushion your reasoning but because it's true. “He's been very open about his past with all of you. Less with his childhood, but I expected that.”

You glanced down at your hands, frowning as the lack of heat passed through the cups’ sleeves. While your favorite shop brewed the best, their to-go cups didn't hold up well. The time on your watch showed you were about to be late to your meeting with Bob.

“I don't want to trigger a low period,” you continued, “but I have to understand him for me to figure out how to help him with Void. Me understanding him comes with building trust.”

“Don't let him see it.” Yelena wasn't asking as she remained between you and the elevator. “If you want to be honest with him, fine, but don't let him relive it. Keep those memories to yourself.”

The words stung. You’d been taught by the strongest to hold your ground, but against the storm of Yelena’s stare you felt small.

What if Bucky was wrong? What if I’m not helping?

You wanted to be nothing but open to Bob, but that didn't mean you'd let him see things that were going to hurt him all over again. That's why you muted the shame rooms, why you assessed what memory of yours he was about to see and made sure you both warned earth other about anything that might've slipped your mind. Things that neither of you wanted to see let alone be seen.

The first time, you couldn't very well list everything you'd been through. Now you knew better

“Was never planning on it,” you murmured, raising your chin as Yelena looked you up and down. She didn't move from where you needed to go. “It's okay not to trust me, Yelena. It's not okay to make me late. Can I go, please?”

She blew out a short stream of air, her lips barely parting as she stepped aside, arm waving towards the elevator as she looked the other way.

“Thank you. Good luck on the mission.”

As the elevator doors closed, your throat felt tight.

You sipped your lukewarm tea.

Stepping off on Bob’s floor, you found him with his back against the living room windows, head turned to stare down at the streets below. He seemed lost in thought, not noticing your presence as you went to the kitchen to reheat your teas in the microwave.

You let your mind skirt his. It was a deadly quiet thing, tucked into itself. While not unusual, it was a sign he was falling a bit too deep into the wrong train of thoughts. He'd been like this the few times you'd visited only to have Bucky shake his head at you, murmuring some excuse.

You knew about his bad days, you just hadn't been around them. The relationship was still new then and besides checking in mind-wise there wasn’t much you could do.

After Void’s attack, you knew things would change, but you wouldn’t let anything change at the expense of Bob’s comfort. Whatever was happening inside of him, you hadn't missed how easily you'd been swept into his mindscape unlike the others.

Void had wanted you there and he'd gotten you. What that meant, you hadn't figured out yet.

Opening the microwave caught Bob’ attention. You couldn't help but smile as his psyche unfurled into the space, leaving you to draw back into your own little corner.

“Hey.” It was a soft word, barely making it across the room into the kitchen. “I didn't hear you come in.”

Bob's hair was getting close to reaching his shoulders. He’d mentioned how Yelena trimmed it from time to time, sometimes Ava if she wasn't around and he desperately needed it done. If how he kept fiddling with it was any indication, you would bet he was getting to that point.

“You okay?”

You’re not sure why it surprised you that he noticed. Maybe the mask you’d practised all these years was wearing down.

“I thought you hated heights,” you said instead of answering, nodding to the windows.

“I'm getting better with them, living up here. Facing my fears.” He tried to lift his voice up on the last sentence, but he sounded like he was making fun of himself more than anything.

You took his steaming cup out to cool. “You should be proud of yourself.”

He was tired. You could tell by his smile as he got to his feet and shuffled over. He was barefoot today, dressed in some corduroy pants and the first sweater you'd ever seen on him. As he grew closer, you noticed the bags under his eyes.

“Sorry, I let our tea get cold.” It was warm and inviting in its cup again as you held it out for him, popping the lid back on. Yours was half full and barely needed ten seconds to be drinkable again. “Bad dreams?” you asked as the numbers ticked down.

He sipped his drink, chocolate strands sweeping across his cheeks with the movement. “I couldn't sleep. I was trying to remember what happened.”

“I promised I'd tell you today.”

“I know, I just…” His hand went to rub his eye, but you grabbed it, carefully bringing it back down. You held his gaze as the microwave beeped.

“You rub it when you're anxious,” you told him, turning to pop the door open and set your drink aside with your free hand. “Skin turned pink last time.”

He doesn't pull away but he doesn't try to hold your hand back. You swallow and let go.

“Couch?” you asked.

“Sure,” he mumbled, following a beat behind you.

There was a throw pillow between you. Bob took to messing with the edges of it as you crossed your legs underneath each other, finishing off your drink with slow sips.

“I know it was bad,” he began, voice wobbling in a way that made your heart clench, “I just can't remember what I did.”

“I'm going to tell you. Look at me first, though,” you asked him. He did, head tilted down and everything weighed with guilt, even those long, dark eyelashes. “I'm not upset with you. I don't hold you accountable for anything that happened the other day, okay?”

He nodded, jaw moving in a way that let you know he was chewing the inside of his cheek.

“I'm telling you because I promised,” you continued. “And because I didn't mention something that I should've warned you about when it came to my past.”

Telling him about your interaction with the Void and the shame room that had surfaced from it had been the hardest thing yet. But you did it. You sat there and laid the trauma out in the open, hands clasped in the space between your legs.

“I knew we'd run into it, but I should've told you. Seeing that would… It'd make anyone feel like shit. I should've been more open about it.”

“Please, please don't apologize for that,” Bob whispered, rubbing his face harsh enough to worry you. His fingers shook as he pulled away. “I forced you to relive that and you're apologizing to me. That's not how this should be—you should be—”

You watched his chest shudder and uncrossed your legs, leaning into the cushion between you.

“Bob,” you called softly, “I’m alright.”

“This is fucked up. You should be angry at me,” he kept on, hands going for his hair. “I make everything so much worse and you don't—you're not—fuck!”

The curse was a vehement whisper. You could feel his psyche closing in on itself, wrinkling with pressure like a vacuum sealed bag.

For all of a second, you could see those piercing eyes in your mind and a shadow hand around your throat.

“Bob, listen to me.” You were on your knees on the couch now. They brushed his thigh as you grabbed his wrists, squeezing and guiding them from his hair. “Breathe. Take some deep breaths.”

He took a long, shaky inhale as you kept a solid pressure on his hands. With his eyes screwed shut, his chest shuddered.

“I-I can’t,” he wheezed.

“You can.”

It took some time before he found the air he needed. His tea was long since forgotten on the table nearby, but you watched him focus on it, following the outline with his eyes.

When the tension eased from his shoulders, you felt confident enough to speak up again.

“If there was ever a reason for me to be angry at you, trust me, you would know. I can't hide things from you, remember?”

He slowly nodded, zeroing in on your joined hands as he blinked.

“Everything we're doing together is to keep incidents like that from happening again. We're working to a point where you feel in control and until then, I'm here to help.” You nudged his chin up with the curve of your finger, aching at how watery they'd become. “None of this is your fault.”

Something softened the distance between you and Bob at that moment. There was this raw look—one of pure, shaking relief.

You'd gone through that dark tunnel in him and come out with your arms opened wide, no different from his team. That changed things for him, you understood that much.

The rest of the day, you resumed your latest lesson, keeping things easy and allowing him some space to think.

Inspired by his love of the library, you had explained a very important part of your mental fortitude when it came to meditation. You were well aware the concept wasn't new to him—having heard about the quietest place in his maze of shame rooms. This one would be better.

You helped guide him through his happier memories like the one with the library, crushed by how few there were before meeting the New Avengers.

“What's yours like?” he asked as you watched another bookshelf pop out of existence. You were beginning to learn how particular he was when it came to them.

The room’s outline was still hazy, but it was smaller than you would've expected. The entire team would barely fit and Bob was trying to find the right amount of shelves and books to fill it before even imagining wallpaper or flooring.

I modeled it after my first apartment. It was twice the size and filled with things you'd only dreamed of buying at the time but never did out of fear of up and running again. The windows were the best thing about that place. One had a place to sit and just stare out at the city. I was able to keep one measly mint plant alive.

There was plenty more in your safe space, ones that didn't make sense being in a hanging pot. You even had a childhood stray cat wandering around the place from time to time. The real Whisk had long since passed and would never be caught dead inside. You'd tempted her with snacks forever and had never gotten her further than your porch.

“Can I see it?”

Both of you felt the hesitation bubble up. For the first time since you'd introduced yourself to Bob, you felt shy and clumsy in the connection between your mind and his.

Sorry, you hurried to say.

“No, I'm sorry!”

It's not that I don't want to show you it's just…private. And it was in the deepest part of your subconscious where nothing was filtered or neat or made for prying eyes. Which yours should be too. This is just practice. The real one you'll need to meditate on your own time. Put it somewhere deeper. You waved a hand at the murkiness surrounding you both in the small room. That's why this is tricky and not really wanting to stay put. We're not that far in.

“No, I think that's just me.” The trembling smile in his thoughts was infectious. “My imagination is lacking.”

Says the bookworm. You're shocked at the nudge he gives you and laugh into his head. How did you get good at this so fast?

“What do you mean?”

You already can mimic body movement here and pinpoint me enough to touch me. Wanda had teased you constantly for how slow you were when it came to physically finding yourself within your own mind. You're more aware. I’m jealous.

“You make it easy to follow. I feel everything you do so I just mirror it—”

Both of you jolted back into your bodies as a snap reverberated. You watched Yelena step back, clearly shocked by how strongly you reacted to the sound as Bob grabbed the back of the couch, his eyes practically rolling around his head

“Bob? You good?” she asked, her hand landing on his shoulder.

He nodded, eyes shut as he gripped the couch cushion. “Dizzy,” he mumbled.

“Maybe we were in a little too deep,” you chucked, standing to grab him some water.

“I called your names like three times,” Yelena huffed, apologetic. “We're going out to dinner.”

“How’d the mission go?” he asked, thanking you as you held out a cold bottle fresh from the fridge.

“Great. That's why we're eating out,” she chuckled, glancing up at you as you grabbed your jacket off the couch to slip on. “You're invited too.”

“No, it's okay.” You struggled to get the sleeves from being inside out. “I don't wanna intrude on team bonding time.”

“No, come,” she insisted and you froze, eyes widening as she stepped towards you. “I was being a bitch earlier. Let me buy you dinner with Valentine's money.”

“What?” Bob murmured, looking between you both.

“You were not,” you breathed. “You're just cautious—it’s fine. I'd be the same way.”

“No, I totally was and you've been helping a bunch and I don't want you to think I don't trust you because I do.” This was quite possibly the most open you had seen her since officially meeting her over a month ago. “Like, I know how cool you are. Nat talked about you and I've made no effort to get to know you.”

“I mean, I haven't really either and she did the exact same,” you assured her.

“She talked about me?” she mumbled, eyes round.

“Is this a good time for me to change?”

Both of you looked down at Bob who was trapped on the couch with either of you standing over him.

“Yes! Go change. Wear some of your new clothes we got, it's cold out tonight.”

“Okay, mom,” he teased with a wisp of a smile, scooching off the couch as you backed up to give him room. You brushed his elbow with your hand as he stood.

“You really are learning fast,” you told him and he ducked his head, coughing out a quick thanks before shuffling off. You watched him go, eyes drawn to the length of his back as his hand went up to run through his hair.

“Did everything go okay?”

You blinked, looking back at Yelena and nodding. “I think so. I'm trying to show him how to meditate in his own safe space when he's feeling overwhelmed.”

“And Void?” she questioned, whispering.

You crossed your arms loosely, glancing towards the hall.

He has super hearing, you told her. She jerked her head back at your voice in her head. Sorry. I just know he has super hearing with the thoughts that pass through his head. I don't want to worry him.

“It's getting better. I help keep him at bay when he gets too loud,” you explained, but your eyes told the rest of the story.

She nodded. “Did anything else happen with Void?”

No, but I can tell Bob’s retreating into himself a lot more. You thought it might be a sign of those bad days coming around the corner. Can you tell me more about how he is during his depressive episodes?

“He wants to stay in bed. Barely eats. We try to keep him in the main room so he isn't as shut off from everything since we all pass through there for stuff, but sometimes leaving him be and checking in around the clock is the only thing we can do.” You sensed how hopeless she felt as she explained. “He doesn't want to be treated like a child, so we try to give him his space.”

You're doing the best you can. Hopefully, Dr. Arlington will be able to help him with it. Once he knew how to spot these low periods coming, he'd be one step ahead.

“He has been a little better,” Yelena offered, picking up your to-go cups to throw away. You thanked her. “The first month, the episodes were worse than they are now.”

You've given him a home. There's lots of stress being on the streets. It made everything worse.

She nodded, turning and pursing her lips into a smile as Bob appeared from his room. You bit your lip as he fumbled with a beanie, his overcoat a nice mellow brown like his pants.

“You coming?” he asked, sunken eyes a bit lighter as they landed on you.

“Yes,” answered Yelena before you had the chance, “she is.”

It was a cold night as you all piled into a limo, Alexei begging someone to drink with him as Ava swiped through the menu of the restaurant on her phone.

“So you just live with us now, or…?”

You quirked a smile at Walker, shrugging. “Everyday but the weekends.”

“You were here Sunday.”

Bob sank lower in his seat next to you, now aware of everything that had gone down early that morning. You brushed your leg against his.

“Would've been a boring weekend if I hadn't been,” you said, holding Walker’s eye.

“What exactly is your deal though?” His hands opened where they were resting on either of his thighs, gesturing. “Just petty little mind tricks? What color am I thinking of?”

“Cool it, Walker,” Bucky warned from the head seat, eyes slim and unshaking.

You smiled as you looked down at Walker's arm, watching his smug face follow your gaze. He made a choked grunt as he swatted at his sleeve and you scoffed, letting the illusion of the spider vanish from his mind’s eye.

The car pulled to a stop outside the restaurant as he scowled at you.

“It was blue,” you said, leaning over to open the door.

Bob was smiling into his shoulder as he stepped out behind you.

You knew how quickly a depressive episode could hit, but you were still blindsided when Bob refused to see you the following day.

Yelena didn't bother with an “I told you so.” She did drag you along to the newly finished gym floor, wanting to see what you remembered from your training. This was her way of wanting to spend time with you and to really get to know you and you couldn't have been more ecstatic.

Since you stayed around the tower, you made a point to make your presence known to Bob’s mind before being thrown into the ring with the infamous assassin. He didn't say anything as you brushed by him, but it wasn't long before you were dodging fists and getting your ass handed to you on the mat.

It took a few rounds for you to get back into the swing of things. Yelena fought with a familiar style, heavier with her kicks and more likely to block than dodge. The best you got was swiping her feet out from beneath her. Everything else ended in a new bruise.

By late afternoon, you had taken to reading a book on the top floor in Bob’s alcove. Bucky and Ava were there doing research on some rising crime ring, but you weren't in the mood to stick your nose in that mess.

A text from Yelena revealed she'd gotten Bob to eat something and that he was doing better with Cucumber to keep him company.

Confused, you typed out the question before you felt Bob wavering near your psyche. You reached out to ask him instead.

Who’s Cucumber? He didn't say anything, but you got a quick flash of an orange and white guinea pig scuttling over a comforter. He seemed amused by your jealousy before you returned to your book, allowing him to trickle into your thoughts and listen as you read.

You left the tower a while after without a single word from him.

The next day, his bedroom door was open. Everyone was out and he was still in bed when you arrived, hair tangled and eyes distant.

He started to apologize when he noticed you. Shaking your head to silence him, you sat on the floor next to his bed, setting the tea you'd brought on the bedside table.

“He's so loud today,” he mumbled, old tear streaks drying in the corners of his eyes.

“Want some help?”

He sniffed and nodded minutely.

You kept your guard up when you found the writhing dark mass in his head, sweeping it up into a ball and sectioning it off for a while. The weight wasn't easy but seeing the relief on Bob’s face as you took hold of it was enough for you to bury the discomfort.

You could carry it for an hour or two. For him.

“What keeps you going?” he'd asked Wednesday. He had gotten as far as the couch, munching on a piece of toast but not really eating it. You'd brought some of your favorite broth from a place nearby in hopes he might try some. If not, more for you.

“I want to make old friends proud.” You flipped through some files from your other job, refreshing yourself on your next ‘client’ coming up. You had already made sure to leave out anything that might trigger wandering eyes. “Use what skills I have to help people.”

“Why do you care?”

It was an empty question, but you answered.

“I was in a bad spot for a long time. There wasn't room for me to stop and think about what I wanted to do.” You turned to smile at him, happy to find his head resting against a cushion and those eyes blinking at you. “I'm better now and I like helping people however I can.”

“Don't you get tired of it?” he sighed. You couldn't see auras but he felt overwhelmingly blue today—the hue that you saw when a sun glinted off a glacier. “Your job is the same thing, over and over.”

“It was,” you agreed, flipping to another page, “then I got to meet you. You're much more fun to hang around.”

“Even like this?”

You reached out to him in his head, making sure he felt your words as well as heard them. “Even like this,” you promised.

It was the first smile you'd gotten out of him in days.

Thursday had its challenges. Yelena had to drag Bob to get ready for therapy and into your car, a firm hand where you couldn't be.

At the office, you were on the other side of the wall when you felt Void flare up. Dr. Arlington has touched something sore in Bob, enough for that darkness to writhe.

By the time the session was finished, you were sweating under your clothes with a headache getting worse by the minute. Holding Void back wasn't usually so physically draining, but you'd been having an off week.

“This is pointless.”

“No, it's not,” you murmured, parking the car. You had just gotten back to the Watchtower and Bob was brooding.

“I haven't made any progress against Void. He keeps—” his hands were tense as he held them in front of him, gripping at something you couldn't see. “He's everywhere.”

“You've kept it under control.”

“Because of you!” His voice rose, leaving you to wince from the pounding in your head. “Its not me. I can't do anything against him.”

“You're the one holding him back constantly.” You kept your tone neutral as you opened the car door and walked around to get his. He scowled up at you. “If you weren't doing anything, all of New York would be caught in shame rooms. Now come on, I need some aspirin.”

As you gulped water in the kitchen, Bob paced by the window. He muttered to himself, psyche twinging and growing more and more compact. He was tugging at his hair again.

Leaning back against the sink, you eased your mind against his. He paused his muttering to glance at you but continued his back and forth. At least he had energy today.

“Wanna talk about it?”

He shook his head, pushing out a heavy breath as his hair went in his eyes.

“Your hair’s gotten long,” you said.

“I'm tired of washing it.”

“Want me to cut it?” You felt him rippling, holding too much in. “It's okay, Bob.”

“Nothing feels okay,” he admitted. “I'm tired but I don't want to lay down. I'm angry but I don't know what I'm angry at.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

You gasped as his mind expanded, nuzzling into yours like a cat into your palm. An onslaught of thoughts and emotions blindsided you.

Hold me. Help me. I'm sorry. I shouldn't be asking her for help. She's done too much already. I'm tired of this. I'm tired of me. Nothing matters. She matters. I don't want to be here but I don't want her to leave.

The first thing you thought to do was envelope his psyche with your own, holding him in a different sense, something you weren't used to. His feet finally slowed to a stop, muscles unclenching.

You let him get used to your presence around him before you slowly stepped towards him and offered your hand. When he took it, his grip shook with an intensity you'd never felt but he refused to put any pressure against your skin.

It's okay, you told him, I'm here.

He nodded, sniffing but there were no tears. He refused to let himself cry. He felt less for it and it felt like a knife to your gut.

“Do you know how to?” You hummed, squeezing his hand for an explanation. “Cut hair?”

Yeah. Well, men's hair. You tugged him towards the hall. I wouldn't trust myself with anything fancy, but I can trim it.

You had him wait in the bathroom as you grabbed a chair from the dining room and a pillow from the couch. You ran a brush through greasy tangles and wrapped a towel around his shoulders, getting him as comfortable as possible before leaning him back into the sink to wash his hair.

His eyes followed your face with every action. You pretended it didn't send your heart somewhere high in your throat as a soft playlist echoed from your phone.

You were able to breathe when he closed them, relaxing into the sensation of your fingers against his scalp. Somewhere between the suds and the rinsing, his hand found your leg and stayed there, anchoring himself.

You should move it. There should be a line there, but you knew through the connection that there hadn't been any forethought to it. He had done it unintentionally.

And a small part of you didn't want him to move his hand.

What am I doing?

It was hard. Hard because you knew what you came here to do and you were doing it—you were helping him and training him just as you said you would. You had become a pillar you'd sought to be.

Bob knew he could trust you and despite the chaos pooling under his skin, you trusted him. You couldn't find any part of you that was afraid even in the passing nightmares of Void wanting nothing more than your pain. You'd felt everything for a blink of an eye when your psyche had sunk into him.

You understood why Bob could never find the right words to describe Void. It wasn't this separate thing and it wasn't him, except somehow at the cure of everything Void was Bob.

This entire time with Bob during the week all you've felt were reflections of Void when all you sensed was the sweet man fighting, but that darkness was still in a corner. Still on that horizon, watching and waiting.

And it was desperate. It clawed at your barrier, searched for way in at every chance when you were forced to take over and hold it for Bob’s sake.

But now Void whispered. He knocked. There was a game afoot and whatever he was—a piece of Bob or not—he was patient.

You knew it was only a matter of time before you had to face him again.

“Did it feel like this?”

You blinked, pausing your snipping to glance up at the mirror and meet Bob's rounded gaze. There was light in them again and you're not sure what changed or when.

“You said you were close with Yelena’s sister and Wanda because you were in their heads a lot,” he explained. “Did it feel like this?”

“Like what?” you murmured, swiping some fallen hair off his neck and feeling a shudder work up his spine.

“Like you can only breathe when they're in the room.”

You tried to swallow but there was something stuck in your throat. You focused on the scissors, on evening out the hairs around his ears and your eyes watered because he had curly hair and you were only able to notice it now with all that weight gone.

You found your strength as you finished combing the strands into place and shook the towel around his shoulders clean of debris.

“The way we dive into each other’s subconscious,” you began carefully, “it can be overwhelming.”

He nodded, staring down at his hands as he picked around his nails. “Yeah, I-I've talked to Dr. Arlington about it a bit.”

“That's good. I'm glad you're able to be open with her.” You threw the towel into a fancy hamper nearby, almost sure of the fact it had not been Bob’s choice to have it included in the bathroom. Then again, most of it was undecorated unlike his bedroom. “That's another reason why I wanted you to see her. I want to be able to help you, but I don't want you to believe I'm the only thing that can help. Does that make sense?”

He hummed, nodding. “Sorry. It was a weird question to ask—”

“None of this normal,” you chuckled dryly. “I think a few weird questions are warranted. And you and I have to have our boundaries, especially in our heads.”

“Right.” He blew out a breath and raised his gaze to meet yours in the mirror once more. “I don't want to make you feel like you have to take care of me, you know?”

“I know.” You wrinkled your nose. “You did need a haircut, though. It was getting rough.”

The laugh that escaped him sounded like it took him by surprise. It was only then he paid mind to your handy work, tilting his head every which way to check the length.

“This is really good,” he said and you shrugged, amazed by your average skillset as well but too shy to admit it.

“You have curly hair,” you told him instead.

“It's a lot healthier now,” he explained, running a hand through the tufts. “Maybe my super powers healed my hair genetics or something.”

You snorted at that. “Okay, sure. Where's a broom?”

Bob turned in the chair, a flat look on his face. “They don't have one.”

“What?”

“Alexei made Val buy a Roomba for every floor,” he sighed.

“What?” you laughed.

By the end of the week, Bob was back in a middle ground state. He'd been working on his meditating, building that safe room of his brick by brick. You refused to see it when he offered, wanting him to have that space all to himself just as you had yours.

He'd already allowed you into his bedroom and that had felt a bit too intimate when you stopped and thought about it. But the need for comfort in Bob was high, and his room reflected that in the sweetest ways. He was doing everything he could to fill his designated space slowly but surely, large bookshelves against one wall that were in desperate need of more novels, a fluffy rug beneath a king-sized bed, and a couple of movie posters surrounding a corner dedicated to watching TV on a cozy looking couch that Tony would have burned for even being brought through the door.

Now after another week of easing back into training, you spent your time together by poking and prodding him. Bob wasn’t thrilled, but he wasn't going to question your methods. The point was to defend himself.

Now it was time for you to pull out all the stops.

“We'll make a competition out of it,” you said, sitting cross-legged ahead of him on the floor, “it'll make things interesting.”

“Is having a mind battle not interesting enough?” he mumbled, only a bit amused while picking at the rug beneath you both. It was almost the same shade of brown as his button up. “You’re gonna beat me.”

“We've practiced all week and you've been able to block me out in our lessons.” Those blue eyes shied away at the slightest hint of praise, but unfortunately for him you were full of it. “You're a fast learner, years ahead of me, okay?”

He chewed at the inside of his cheek, hiding a smile as he used his shoulder to scratch an itch on his nose. “I'm not very competitive.”

“Or you don't have the right incentives.” You leaned back onto your hands, pondering. “What's something you want more than anything else?”

He shrugged, the corner of his mouth wobbling as you glared.

“There has to be something,” you pushed, squinting atthe man as if ideas would pop up over his face.

“I have a roof over my head,” he said, tone more than grateful. “Friends, food, books—I have everything I could ever want. Minus complete control over my powers.”

“Okay, pivot.” Your hands came together, fingers fanned out as you motioned to him. “We make each other do something we don't want to do but, like, stupid fun.”

He blinked owlishly at you. “Uh, can I have an example?”

“Like if I won, I could dare you to prank Walker.”

A bubble of laughter broke from his throat. “What?!”

“First thing to come to mind.”

“I wouldn't be able to come up with a good prank.” He shook his head. “And I'm a terrible actor. He'd know something was up.”

“It was an example,” you reminded him.

“What's the last thing you would wanna do?”

You sighed, searching for something that would get both of you out of your comfort zones. There was plenty you weren't willing to do, but you had to work with Bob. Something challenging, something that wouldn't be that bad in retrospect but a bit embarrassing. He needed to expand out.

And one thing about the two of you—you hated to be perceived by a group.

“I've got it,” you said in triumph.

Bob's eyes trailed away from the window to meet yours. The smirk you sent him had him swallowing. “Okay, you've got me nervous now.”

“Loser has to sing karaoke in front of the entire team.” Bob's jaw fully dropped. You purred out, an evil mastermind in the making, “And the winner gets to choose the song.”

“Wait, can you sing?” He narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “That wouldn't be fair.”

“Oh, God no. I can't hold a note to save my life,” you swore. “Can you?”

“My voice breaks when I yell.”

“Perfect.”

“Wait, no, you've had way more experience with this. You're totally gonna win!” he argued through a smile.

“You don't even know that— Okay, fine. How long do you think you can hold out against me?”

He pursed his lips, forehead wrinkling. “Is two seconds to low?” he whispered.

“You are severely doubting your capabilities, Bob.”

“Okay,” he nodded attempting a serious look, “Five seconds.”

You swallowed your laugh and rolled your eyes. “Fine. If I can needle my way past your defenses in less than five seconds, I win.” You pulled out your phone, pulling up the stopwatch. “Close your eyes.”

He did, eyelids drooping shut as he took a breath.

“Throw up your defenses,” you told him. “There are no entrances, no exits. Your mind is only as powerful as you make it.”

“When do I know you're gonna hit me?”

“You won't get warnings in real life,” you murmured.

He nodded, a sharp breath escaping his nose as he rolled his neck and focused in. You watched the skin around his eyes crease, his fingers dig into the fibers of his pants.

Stretching your mind, you hovered ahead of him, just on the outskirts. A shark circling. You attempted a push on one side, felt his attention move. There was only a crumb of regret as you started the clock and rammed into his shield somewhere else entirely.

“Whoa! Shit!”

You drilled, energy sharpening to splinter into the barrier he'd built. Bob grunted, holding his ground well as you pooled all your strength and drove inward.

Stone. Brick. Cement. Your last push had glass shattering as you tore into his mind, hit with his shock as you tapped your phone screen.

Bob was panting as you opened your eyes to check the time.

“That was dirty,” he huffed, raising a hand and circling his head. “I didn't think there was a way for you to get behind me? What was that?”

“Its called strategy,” you grumbled, sliding your phone across the rug for him, “and I told you you were underestimating yourself.”

The timer read 15 seconds.

“Keep it PG 13,” you said, standing and stretching. His gaze followed you up.

“You don't have to—”

“Bob,” you sighed, playfully scowling down at him, “its harmless fun. Walker won't let me live it down, but it's harmless fun.”

“We need a karaoke machine.”

You hummed, shrugging. “I've already got that covered.”

He squinted, shaking his head and breathing out a simple, “Why?”

“You get lonely as a CSI agent so you pick up unusual hobbies or get drunk and make questionable orders. Next question.”

“What's up with the boxes? You movin’ in finally?”

Walker was questioning you as soon as you stepped off the elevator that night with Bucky in tow with an even bigger box. The ex-Captain America was settled into the couch, arms crossed as the TV played on in the background.

In the shared kitchen of the floor, Yelena was helping Bob with the food for the night. They both looked over at your entrance.

“Its the entertainment for the night.” You smiled as you spotted your target refilling her glass of wine. “Ava you're techy, help me.”

“I'm techy,” replied Walker.

“No, you're not,” Yelena called as she opened the fridge.

“And she didn't ask you,” Ava scoffed, pushing off the counter to meet you by the large television on the wall. You waited until Bucky had dropped off the second half before shooing him away to open the goods. “What am I looking at?” You gestured her to squat down to whisper the answer in her ear. “Oh my God.”

“Secrets don't make teams!”

“Not on your team,” you replied to Walker, passing the bundle of wires to Ava and keeping the microphones inside the box and out of sight.

The elevator opened to Alexei. His loud greeting took the team's attention off you and Ava as she fiddled with plugs and you got to work setting up the mini TV screen.

Over in the kitchen, Bob glanced up from lowering the heat of the stove eye as Yelena poked his shoulder and gestured to the women in the living room.

“You know what that's about?”

He shrugged, smiling mischievously as he strained the pasta into the sink. “Can you check on the garlic bread?”

Yelena eyed him as she shoved a heat mitt on and yanked the oven door open.

“Where's the remote?” you asked Walker this as he was sitting next to the empty table.

He gave you a pointed stare before shrugging both arms spread along the back of the couch.

“Make yourself useful,” Ava ordered.

“Tell me what it is.”

“You'll find out in like two minutes!”

A whistle from the kitchen had everyone turning to Bucky who waved the remote in his vibranium hand. You caught it as it flew across the length of the room.

“Thank you,” you chirped, changing the source and smiling as the background of the program lit up the screen.

“Oh, no,” said Walker, shaking his head and wagging a finger as he leaned forward onto his knees. “No, absolutely not.”

“YES!” Alexei shouted, holding his hands up as his laughter filled the room. “American karaoke!”

“It was actually invented in Japan,” you corrected him, fighting not to shrink as all eyes roved to you. “Trivia questions. They can come in handy.”

“I am not singing,” Walker stated.

You shrugged. “Okay.”

“What's the occasion?” Bucky asked, sipping on a bottle of beer as he walked up. You waved him over to show him the mini screen and how it hooked up to your computer.

“I lost a bet,” you answered, chuckling as Ava hummed into a mic, checking the speakers. She gave you a wink and a thumbs up.

“I'm so into this,” she announced to the room. “You better have Rhianna.”

Alexei snapped as he waved an arm at you from the dinner table. “I want to sing the, eh, the Sabrina song!”

“What?!” You shouted it through a laugh. “Sabrina Carpenter? Which one?”

“Oh, God,” groaned Walker, his head in his hands.

Dinner was delicious. Yelena really enjoyed the wine you brought, which was apparently a very rare thing as she hated wine. Ava was all over it. You managed to get Bucky to sip it before he wrinkled his nose and turned away.

Alexei was already half drunk as he told stories over the food. Walker looked like he was nursing a headache as he finished his salad last.

Bob was quiet, sticking to water and listening as he sat a few chairs over from you between Yelena and Alexei. You imagined anyone stuck next to the Red Guardian wouldn't get a word in conversation wise.

As Bucky and Walker handled the dishes, you tugged Bob over to your computer to begin the queue. Ava had texted you her songs as well as Alexei and Yelena had one but she wanted to go last. You were still trying to get Bucky to join. There was already one sitting out and you needed to see the Winter Soldier sing before you died. It felt like a bucket list achievement, at least.

“What have you chosen, my liege? Pop? Rock? Dare I say disco?”

Bob eyed you. A close-lipped smile making his cheeks puffy and adorable. “How many glasses of wine did you drink?”

“Like one and a half. Ava stole the bottle,” you chuckled. “Trust me, I'm much better with some liquid courage in me.”

“I don't doubt that,” he muttered, lithe fingers tapping away at the keyboard. You were stuck somewhere between the way his hands moved and one of those sweet curls framed his forehead before you noticed the song he had queued up.

“Bob,” you muttered.

“What?” he whispered, boyish as he avoided your eyes, smiling at the damn screen.

“Bob, that's a duet,” you hissed, jabbing your finger into his arm. “I said no pity!”

“It's not pity if I'm joining you,” he laughed, pointing towards the wireless mics in the case. “We’ll both be horrible together.”

“But you won.”

“Harmless fun,” he quoted as you passed him a microphone begrudgingly. “Also I would not be able to sing otherwise. It's better with someone there.”

Your heart was dripping down your ribcage at this point, too buzzed and warmed by wine and slate blue eyes. You needed to get a grip.

The second microphone was cold in your hands as you switched it on and double checked Bob’s.

“Are you guys going first?” Yelena was grinning ear to ear. “A duet?”

“It wasn't supposed to be. He won't let me be a loser,” you complained.

“Wait, what was the bet?” Walker scoffed, getting comfy on the couch again as Bucky started the dishwasher in the back.

“Training practice.”

“And he won?”

“Says the guy with a taco as a shield,” Bob called out.

“Which you still haven't fixed.”

“Ugh, start singing already! I hear enough of this everyday,” Ava slurred.

You brought your lips to the microphone. “You're gonna wish I’d never started singing.”

“You won't be worse than Alexei,” Yelena huffed.

As the music started every single face in the room lit up in amusement. Alexei was yelling with his fist in the air and you were this close to jumping out a window.

“Okay, I'm blue and your pink,” Bob noted, voice shaky.

“How original,” you snorted as the eight bar opening crescendoed.

“Ugh, this is gonna be embarrassing,” he breathed. Yelena cheered and Ava looked like that one meme of Leonardo DiCaprio in The Great Gatsby.

Lookin' in your eyes, I see a paradise

This world that I found is too good to be true.

Oh, fuck him, he wasn't even that bad. Maybe a little unstable on some notes but nothing like the pitchy chaos that was about to come out of you.

Shaking out your arms, you committed to the bit and let the wine do the singing.

“Let 'em say we're crazy, I don't care 'bout that!” you belted. “Put your hand in my hand, baby, don't ever look back!”

Alexei was having the time of his life. Walker had a finger to one ear, eyes squinting with the same look of pain as Bucky. Yelena was dancing and pointing and singing along and Ava was busting a lung from laughing so hard.

All of a sudden, over a badly sung song of all things, it felt like a home again in the tower.

And we can build this dream together

Standing strong forever

Nothing's gonna stop us now.

Your voices did not pair well, but Bob was smiling and stumbling through his lyrics trying not to laugh and you were cursing when your voice broke on a high note.

It was horrible and it was everything.

By the end, Bob's face was red and his eyes wet from curling in on himself laughing. You went silent for a good part of the song because Alexei was up dancing and screaming over the both of you. Bucky, the fucker, was recording everything. Screw whoever taught him how to use a phone.

“Delete that!” you shouted as the music faded out. “Live in the moment, Buchanan!”

“I'm in the moment,” he chuckled. “You're awful.”

“Fuck you, I tried to warn you all!”

“You did fantastic! Don't listen to him,” boomed Alexei, clapping you on the back. “So much raw passion. Who's next?”

Ava raised her hand, finishing off her glass of your wine. The empty bottle sat on the table next to her. “Me!”

“You've got to sing guys, come on. This is team bonding time,” Yelena said to Walker, batting a hand towards Bucky behind the couch.

“No,” Walker ground out.

“Want some whiskey?” asked Bucky.

“God, after that? Yes.”

You turned to Bob who was putting his microphone back in the case. “You weren't even that bad.”

“No, I think you were just louder.” He smiled at your scowl before shuffling towards the couch as Ava bounced up, drunk and carefree.

Hey, you called after him, waiting until his eyes met yours. Thanks. It was fun.

He nodded, swallowing and laughing as Yelena clapped at his return, pulling him down next to her and praising him.

“Which Rhianna song do you want?” you asked Ava.

“Umbrella, obviously.”

“Obviously,” you agreed, scrolling the options. “You singing the rap part, too?”

She blinked. “I'd rather not.”

“Come on, Walker. One song!” Alexei crowed.

“I said no!”

Three turns later you're all clapping as Walker puts his entire heart into Led Zeppelin’s “Immigrant Song.”

Bonus (courtesy of @berryberryrad ):

[bogleech]

Hey Bog! Just got some Venus flytraps and was wondering if you had any advice on how to take care of them, what to feed them, etc. Any help would be appreciated!

Unfortunately, I'm not good at keeping them alive! They're a tricky thing to master. All fly traps technically need to be allowed to go dormant during the winter, which means they turn black and look like they've rotten away but the root bulb is just hibernating.

Since they also get sold as novelty plants with only minimal care instructions, there's probably millions of people a year who just think their fly trap "died" and throw it out at this stage. What you're meant to do is keep them cold and damp all winter, like wrapped in plastic in the refrigerator, then bring them back out in the spring and let them revive, though I've never gotten one to come back from the dormancy myself; I think fungus always kills mine, or the area I live just doesn't get bright enough because they like INTENSE direct sunlight. The #1 rule with fly traps and almost all carnivorous plants though is that they grow in bogs, so their roots want to be completely soggy at all times. It's best to keep a potted flytrap in a slightly wider pot and fill that pot with water. But it also has to be exactly the right kind of water!

Carnivorous bog plants evolved for high acidity, low nutrient, low mineral water and that can only be replicated with either store-bought "distilled" water, water from a Reverse Osmosis device, or freshly collected rainwater. Literally any other water will just kill a carnivorous plant completely! Even water from a thriving pond or swamp if it's not exactly the right type of wetland!

A lot of people also make the mistake of thinking something like a brita water filter will work, but those don't remove enough minerals. There's also a myth that just leaving water to sit will "distill" it but that's not true either sadly! It basically has to be water that evaporated, then condensed again without ever touching any soil or anything yet. The natural peat bogs they evolved for are just big giant puddles formed from condensation and rain, without a spring or a stream feeding them. :) If fly traps don't work out for you I really find tropical sundews to be the easiest carnivorous plants! They just don't have the adorable toothy mouths is all :(

[scribescrawls]

tfone Starscream is so fascinating, bc here's an untold story there. Like, implications that he has some moral integrity, as ruthless and cynical as he is now.

Because here's the thing - there's people claiming the High Guard was pissed at Sentinel bc he made them lose their high standing in Cybertron. But the thing is... If that's true, they could easily just gain that same high standing back if they just pledged loyalty to Sentinel and his caste society. They could still be the High Guard to a "Prime" and still do the same things they do. If their moral integrity is that low.

But they didn't. Instead, they stubbornly survived on the surface, choosing to live hand-to-mouth and at constant risk of being killed by either Quintessons or by Sentinel because they're rebelling against him. Heck, even Starscream - you can't really JUST claim the reason why he chooses exile was just to maintain his leadership and power over his group. Like, he could have done that while not at the constant threat of starvation or death because let's face it - some incarnations would have him cozying up to Sentinel, still live in Iacon and maintain his privilege and comfort in any way he can, and then just find an opportunity to stab Sentinel in the back and then rule over Cybertron himself. But he doesn't. Their exile is straight up a horrible situation, but they still chose it over serving Sentinel. It just gives off implications that they aren't really as self-centered nor immoral at the start as you'd think, that there ARE some lines they won't cross. It's more heavily implied that they DID use to be a prestigious group with ideals, but repeated travails lead to said ideals corrupted over time.

YES!! You put it perfectly like I agree with everything you said and it is so fascinating the implications the movie gives us about TFOne Starscream and the rest of the High Guard in general! So many different possibilities! Rotates them in my brain like a rotisserie chicken!

I think Transformers One Starscream has so much potential as a Knight in Sour Armor with Jade-Colored Glasses trope.

For those who are unfamiliar with the trope Jade-Colored Glasses is like having the opposite of Rose tinted glasses. Basically you have or have gained a cynical way of looking at the world. Meanwhile the definition of the Knight in Sour Armor is: “The world is filled with Wide Eyed Idealists who believe in truth and justice and devote their lives to fighting for it. And then the dark, cruel and brutal world keeps letting them down. For them, Being Good Sucks. But rather than giving up on their goals, they choose to fight, not because they believe they will truly make a difference, but because it's the right thing to do…They're usually survivors who have largely given up on believing in Honor Before Reason, but still strive to be Lawful Good or as close to it as reality allows them to be. They are willing to bend the rules to save them.” (Definition taken from TVTropes)

I just think there’s something really interesting that TFOne Starscream was leader of the High Guard working directly with the Primes and the fact that he states they witnessed the Primes fall and have been doing whatever they can to sabotage Sentinel has so many unsaid possible implications. Like you don't stay in exile and commit guerilla warfare on someone in terrible dangerous conditions just for your average run of the mill leader who passed away, like there's the high possibility that the High Guard personally cared for the Primes a lot and believed in their cause. You explained it really well, that going against Sentinel does the High Guard no favors and yet they still do it. They obviously have the odds stacked against them and if they genuinely pledged their loyalty, Sentinel could have a trained fighting force with years of experience under him which they could use as their bargaining chip to get him to agree plus it probably strokes his ego if the High Guard bowed to his rule. They could have been living much more comfortably if they just sold out to Sentinel, but they don't.

I also think there’s something to think about how yeah Orion during D-16 and Starscream’s fight stopped Dee cause he firstly did not want D-16 to go committing a murder right then and there, but I think there’s also something to be said that Orion used the words and recognized that “he’s not the enemy” in reference to Starscream in this moment. And tbh at that point in time he’s not their enemy yet. The High Guard have such knights in tarnished armor vibes. (I also have some thoughts about possibilities of why they chose to follow Megatron over Optimus even if the Matrix chose Orion but this response is already really long so perhaps I will save that for a separate post lol)

[overheardatthecontinental]

Haud Ignota Loquor

https://archiveofourown.org/works/66203107/chapters/170647288

John Wick has lived more than five centuries as a vampire when he first encounters Helen Kingston. While he can't ignore the nearly-instant connection with the young grad student, he knows it can never be more than a passing friendship. The High Table would not approve of anything further and the rules are clear when it comes to turning a mortal and budding attraction isn't going to cut it. And so he is content to be her friend for as long as he can... Until the night the contract is given from the Elder himself and the expectation is clear: Helen Kingston must die. Doctor Helen Kingston isn’t certain of anything anymore. Her entire world was ripped away from her in a single instant and everything she’d believed has turned out to be a lie. Uncertain of who to trust, Helen falls deeper into the chaos that is the Underworld, associating herself with the Coven, a group of magically-inclined mortals with one job: to bring down the Elder. Killing John Wick, her former friend and almost-lover, would just be a bonus.

Prologue

August 22nd, 1485

Life flashes.

The wind is threaded with tinkling chimes and children’s laughter. He hears the sound of humming, low and familiar, even if he has no true memory of that sound. He strains his mind to hear it but, all too soon, it is cut short. Silent.

Maybe, if it hadn’t, things could have been different.

What happens next is chaos: a blur of orders and demands, too big for a child to understand. The world has grown cold as he sleeps on the floor with whatever scraps of fabric and fur he can find. 

Orphans are accepted in the Roma only in theory. The reality is harsh as the winters and he learns to fight and cheat and steal to survive. All the while, a woman snarls at him to be grateful for his life. He could have died with the rest of his family. Sometimes he wishes he had.

War is the only way out.

Legends of soldiers of fortune echoe even in the camps he lives in. He isn't stupid enough to have high hopes, nor does he imagine he will survive that life for long but survival is as much a curse as death. If he dies, at least it will have cause. Not like here, where he will surely wither away if he stays.

No one makes a fuss when he leaves. There’s only a few snide remarks that even acknowledge him when he gathers his few belongings and makes for the north.

He remembers little of his parents but he knows that they taught him to revere life. It makes his stomach turn when he realizes just how good at killing he really is. What would they think of him now?

It doesn’t take long before he is noticed by commanders, then the generals. He hears his name screamed in fear on the other side of a battlefield before he is twenty and that is when he realizes that this is all he is meant to be.

A killer.

It isn’t long after that he receives the summons to meet Ivan.

It’s even more of a blur from there.

There could be no peace after knowing Ivan. The Grand Prince makes promises of riches and land and a life that almost seems worth living, if only he keeps giving more, more, more.

Ivan sells him a vision, a glorified fairytale. That peace will come but only after war. That once everyone is united under a single banner, there will be no cause for violence.

And he’s young and uneducated and he doesn’t quite believe it but he hopes .

Foolish.

He fights until red soaks all that he owns. Until he realizes he might never be entirely clean of the blood of another. Until he tries to fall asleep away from a battlefield and realizes it’s hard to sleep without the sounds of war.

He kills and he kills.

He takes land and seizes territories and becomes more of a legend, so much so that rumors of his ruthlessness extend beyond the borders.

He has use now. Purpose. And Ivan is his Tsar. And his friend.

So he goes, wherever he is told.

He kills for Russia and for his allies.

He kills, he kills, hekillshekillshekills

The summons to England is not unexpected.

The Houses of York and Tudor are a bloody mess. But England has wealth and Ivan is in need of it.

He has not set his sights beyond the borders of continental Eurasia but he yearns to push southward.

It’s not the first time Ivan has profited from his services. It’s not the first time he’s been summoned to kill kings.

But this battle is different. While most of the soldiers of York fight like normal, there are a handful who move faster. They seem more confident, almost amused, as they slowly make their way across the field.

A short, stout Englishman sets his sights on John just as he reaches King Richard. He seems to flash across the distance, running faster than that man had any right to and their swords clash before he kicks him down and brings his sword to pierce the man’s stomach. There is a hiss and a wheeze and the enemy's stern face goes slack.

Not a minute later, Richard falls, dead by his hand, along with dozens of his knights. The Tudors emerge victorious.

But before news has reached the outskirts of the frey that their king is dead, he is struck from behind. A sword splits through his ribs and he can see the blade when he looks down.

It hurts, but mostly it just feels cold.

For a moment, he feels suspended on the weapon. Then it is retracted and he falls to his knees and then to the ground.

The ground is cold, too. And sticky with blood. Always, always covered in blood.  

He should have known.

Those who live by the sword and all that nonsense. Ivan liked to quote scripture from time to time and he… he had never learned how to read. There had never been time.

It is certainly not his only regret but it stings all the same. Maybe in a different life, he could have done more than just kill. 

He’ll never know now.

He wonders which unlucky soldier will have the privilege of telling Ivan his best weapon is gone and whether or not they’ll piss themselves when Ivan’s face contorts in rage.

That thought makes him smile, if only a little.

He hears the sounds of boots and sees a pair coming into focus in his already narrowing vision. The soldier squats down and pushes him by the shoulder, forcing him to look up.

There is an intake of breath as he recognizes the man as the short, stout, and stern enemy he had killed earlier. He can remember, in vivid detail, the clash of their swords. He recalls kicking him down and stabbing him through the stomach.

Sure enough, the soldier’s clothes are stained red in his middle but he is breathing, smirking down at him as if he’d never been harmed.

Perhaps he is already dead… That is all he can think of. He is dead and what he is seeing is not true. Cannot be real.

The man speaks to him in English. He recognizes the tone but cannot make out the words.

He's never learned anything but Russian.

He sighs then, dramatically, and turns the attention back to where he lies dying.

Something else is murmured that he can’t understand but his focus has shifted to the elongated canines in the man’s smile. His tongue trails over one.

There is a blur of movement, a sting of pain.

And then there is the darkness.

Jardani Jovanovitch is dead.

[charliegyrth]

My Former Best Friend - Part 2 of 5

Eating Off the Floor

Read Part 1 here.

I couldn’t sleep that night. Landon was on the other side of the wall. In my house. Sleeping on my guest bed.

And he was a closet-case. Did that excuse all the high school bullying? Not at all. He was like a senator who passes anti-gay legislation by day and hooks up with strangers in truck stops by night. He was the dictionary definition of a hypocrite.

Did I feel sorry for him? Sure. He must’ve lived his entire life filled with self-loathing and internalized homophobia. And I was sure his friends and family were all super bigoted, so being exposed in front of them must’ve truly derailed his life. He’d probably never be able to show his face to any of them ever again. I doubt that he had a single friend in the world.

And I certainly wasn’t his friend, that’s for sure.

But I’d be true to my word. I’d help him get back on his feet. In a month, I’d kick him to the curb and never have to deal with him ever again.

My only comfort (and it was a big comfort) was the sense of catharsis I felt. Is that the right word? I think so. Seeing him at such a low point in his life gave me a deliciously wicked thrill that (mostly) outweighed the anger.

My walls were thin, so I could hear him throughout the night, tossing and turning in bed. After a while, I could even hear him talking to himself. “Landon, you f*ggot. Stupid! Stupid!”

At the sound of those words, I slowly drifted off to sleep.

That didn’t last long, though. Just past four in the morning, a loud crash from the kitchen woke me up.

I jumped out of bed to see Landon crouched on the ground with a tray of lasagna lying face-down in front of him.

He looked up, horrified. “Joey! Joe. I’m sorry.”

“Were you stealing my food?”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “I know that’s against your rules. I’m so, so sorry.”

I’d lost track of all the times he’d apologized to me since he arrived. Every single “sorry” felt good to hear.

“I took you in and you’re already taking advantage.”

“I know! I’m terrible.” His eyes were tearing up. “I haven’t eaten for two days now. Just that cheesecake. I, um, thought I’d take a couple bites. I was going to tell you in the morning.”

He stayed on the ground. I felt a weird sense of power standing over him.

“If you have to kick me out, I’ll understand.”

“Eat it,” I said. The words surprised me.

They surprised him, too. “What?”

“Well, that whole tray is ruined now. I’m not going to eat it, and I don’t want to throw it in the trash. If you’re that hungry, go ahead. Eat it.”

“You want me to…?”

“Yes.”

He looked at me with the same weak, scared expression that he’d seen on my face hundreds of times before. Slowly, he lifted up the tray, and all the lasagna spilled onto the tile. He looked at the pile of food—spread out like a murder scene—then up at me. He couldn’t believe what I was asking of him.

Very slowly, he reached into the pile and pulled out a handful of cold lasagna. He slid it into his mouth and swallowed with an audible gulp.

Then he started to stand up.

“I don’t think you’re finished,” I said.

He crouched back down, eyes wide.

“I spent hours on that lasagna. I was really looking forward to eating it tomorrow, and I will not let it go to waste. Keep eating, Landon.”

I’d never felt more powerful in my life.

Landon reached back into the pile and grabbed another handful. He shoved it into his mouth and swallowed, barely chewing. Then he kept going.

Soon, he’d eaten six bites. He looked up at me, his eyes begging me to let him stop.

I just glared.

He continued, eating as fast as he could. He wanted to get this over with. Eventually, the main pile of food was half its size, but there were still chunks spread across the floor.

“What do you think?” I asked. “Do you like my cooking?”

“Uh huh,” he whimpered.

“Great. Continue, please.”

As he sped up even more, pushing through his disgust, he started getting messy. The sauce covered his chin and splattered against his shirt. He paused every few bites to look up at me, to see if I’d finally had enough. Then he kept going, gulping down a new handful every few seconds.

I thought about being pushed into lockers. Crying in the school bathroom. Hearing his friends whisper in the halls. Trudging to school, dreading what he would do to me next.

All that white-hot humiliation felt like it was leaving my body and entering his. I know this makes me sound awful. Even in the moment, I felt like a monster. But I stood my ground, waiting, watching, maintaining a blank expression.

Landon started to moan, not from the humiliation, but from the sheer amount of food. I was so focused on him eating off the floor that I didn’t consider how much he had to eat. This was enough lasagna for six people, and I was making him eat all of it himself.

He started to slow. His sauce-stained hand cradled his overloaded stomach.

I almost ended things there. Almost.

“Wait one second,” I said.

A look of hope flashed across his messy face, but that was short-lived.

With a spatula, I gathered up the rest of the fallen lasagna and pushed it onto a plate. About one-and-a-half servings left. While Landon remained on the floor, I microwaved the food for a minute and then placed it on the kitchen counter. Still only lukewarm, still clumped together in a messy pile, but at least it was more palatable.

I’ll never forget the look he gave me as I handed him a fork and told him to sit at the counter. It was gratitude! Even though I was still punishing him, he was actually grateful that I’d shown him a bit of kindness.

He got sauce handprints on my counter, but that didn’t matter. He ate the rest of the food like a human instead of a dog. Still moaning from fullness, though.

When he was done, I took his empty plate and set it in the sink. “Go wash yourself up.”

He wordlessly obeyed. While he was in the bathroom, wiping off the sauce and finally seeing his pitiful reflection, I cleaned up the kitchen. Before he came back out, I went into my room and immediately fell asleep.

Read Part 3 here. You can find all my stories here.

[lvmimis]

cw: gods au. fem!reader and izuku are both gods. violence and torture alluded to but not extensively described. angst.

War does not exist in the heavenly realm; at least it hasn’t existed for the last few thousands of years. 

Your father, God of Heaven, God of All Things, really, will credit himself for the relative peace and harmony the celestial realm enjoys, but you know that this is a stasis that is enforced with a heavy hand. The immortals that live in this sprawling kingdom know what lines not to cross, what ties to hold dear, as no one wants to undergo the same destruction as befell the universe as they know it again. 

You were too young to remember the bulk of the tragedy and what gods and goddesses were killed, only to become part of cosmic dust, and your father avoids all serious mentions of the matter, your mother reigning silently by his side. You are the only one of your father’s many children that is born of a true goddess as well, and for this reason, you have special privilege, and it is your only resort at this very point in time.

Your forever beating heart pounds as you glide your way through the skies, passing through the thick dense storm clouds that surround the portion of your realm that holds prisoners, and as you pass through the light of the sun barely reaches the ground. Storm winds and lightning crash at the heavenly soil incessantly, rain, then hail, then more thunder and lightning, to remind you that this land is intentionally barren and inhospitable. It matters little to you because the man you call home exists in this practically abandoned fortress, and you must see him. 

The guards are surprised to see you, but are not bold enough to alert your father that you are here. This isn’t the first time, and it won’t be the last.

You hate them.  You hate every single one of them, and you wish you had been granted just a fraction of your father’s power to harm every one of them that touched a hair on your love’s head, but there’s nothing you can do, so you move forward without so much of a word of acknowledgment and they part quickly, standing aside to let you through, knowing that as much as you trample upon the rules of your land, your heavenly father dotes on you regardless. They would much rather not be on the receiving end of his anger, lest they end up in the prison they guard themselves.

You march, head held up high, to the very last cell, in the back of the castle. There is a barrier that surrounds it with magic thick and potent enough to fry a limb to bits and turn it to dust, with a tiny break in the gold veneer to place a plate of food or a cup of water. It’s frigid, even for your body that is meant to be resistant to low and high temperatures, and it’s even darker than the rest of the castle and even the outside perimeter, but despite it all, you can still make out the soft features of your lover’s face.

He’s battered and bruised, wounds in different orientations than you last saw them. A right eye barely opens, but he recognizes you as soon as you come and kneel just millimeters away from the barrier, using the last of his strength to raise his head up high, the last of his ability to give you a warm, comforting smile.

“You came again.”

He can’t ask you to stop coming anymore so he’s decided to indulge himself into appreciating your visits. Any time he’s asked you to leave you’ve wept more, so now he smiles to limit your tears, to hopefully help assuage the pain in your chest.

“Izuku…” you whisper. Your hand wants to reach out to him, but you know, having once tried, losing the tip of an index finger in the process and having to wait weeks for it to regenerate, making sure your father could not see that you were harmed. 

Tears well up in your eyes again, endlessly, as you watch him, poring over every inch of his battered body. He’s sitting in a heap, no longer dressed in brilliant robes like gods should always be, only covered in torn rags, aimed to cover his unmentionables and nothing else. For decency, the guards would tell you, but there is nothing decent about reducing a god to a prisoner, beating him repeatedly for months, then years, in preparation for his ultimate punishment - stripping of his immortality. In that way, he’d live out a meager human life, hoping for luck to be on his side for less than a hundred years, and suffering the toils of hunger, weakness, fragility, fear, fatigue and heartache.

The god of compassion with no compassion left for him. 

“How I wish you would stop weeping for me,” he says, but his voice is still light despite the gravity of their content. He inches closer despite the weariness in his bones and the clang of the unnecessarily cruel golden chain on his neck sickens your stomach. Nothing is broken, for now, but his exhaustion is more than physical. Mentally tired despite his refusal to stop smiling, he makes his way close enough that his nose nearly grazes the barrier that could kill you both. You want to comfort him, to push away dirty, matted verdant curls from his forehead, and wipe dust and grime off of his beautiful face and kiss his swollen lips, but just like every other night for the past three years, you hold in your desire and pull back instead.

Hidden in a pocket within your gown is a satchel. You pour powder into a small patch of fabric, and before he can stop you, as he always does, pull out an enchanted knife, one that can actually cut through your skin, made of the same substance that stabs into his side repeatedly when he is being tortured, and slice right at the back of your forearm. Blood, silvery and thick, drips into the powder, as well as a couple loose tears running from your cheeks and you mix with your finger into a paste. He watches you as you inhale and exhale, then push it into the small hole meant for feeding, towards him. 

You don’t tell him it’s for his wounds, but he knows. After all, his virtue is compassion but your blessing is life.

“Don’t injure yourself for me,” he insists.

You shake your head.

“I want you out of here,” you croak out. He sighs.

“I’ve sinned against heaven,” he reminds you for more than the hundredth time. If he could, he’d reach out and take your damp cheek in the curve of his palm. His eyes remain soft, the light in the green ever present despite the incessant torture.

“You did what you were born to do. Be compassionate.”

He lets air blow from his nose in an exhale and smiles. His legs cross and he holds his head a little higher, attempting to be strong for you, despite the fact that every part of his body aches.

“I interfered in another god’s sacrifice.”

Your father’s sacrifice. Not only is this an affront that is the most severe of your lands, he managed to upset the highest being of the realm.

“He’s wrong,” you insist. Izuku doesn’t say that he knows, he doesn’t have the same safety you enjoy. There’s another conversation you’ve had before that comes to your mind, the one from the very first time you stormed into this prison, demanding he explain himself, angry at the victim.

“Why did you do it? Why couldn’t you let it go this time? How many times do you-”

He interrupts your hysteria, voice cool and even. 

“They prayed to me.”

You’re caught off guard, but the steadiness in his eyes make it clear that there’s no reasoning with him, the same way there’s no recourse.

“But what about me?”

You watch him swallow thickly, and he speaks assuredly, but this time his voice cracks, and you can feel the same twang in both of your chests.

“I know you understand me, my love.”

His execution is coming up soon, and you’ve been dreading this moment. You don’t know how to help him escape losing his immortality, but with your begging and pleading, his soul will not be destroyed. Perhaps as a human, you could find a way to live with him again, you could love him.

But he won’t remember these eons you’ve spent together. Will he still love you, head turned up to the sky, or will he pray to you for intercession like a regular mortal, not knowing that he knows you like the back of his own hand?

He asks you how your day was instead, to distract you, and while nothing you’ve done is worth hearing, he still insists you speak and forget that he’s spent every last hour in suffering, his only reprieve this moment with you. 

You rush through this conversation - answered prayers, begged your father on his behalf, looked for loopholes in the celestial tomes, nothing. You don’t ask him how he spent his day, and he doesn’t tell you, because it will only make you angrier. 

He asks you not to come witness his death.

He asks you not to come anymore at all.

“Izuku, I need to know the moment you leave this realm. To follow you.”

This is the part of this conversation that always manages to make him angry.

“You’re wasting your time,” he argues.

“Time is meaningless to us, and you know it.”

You hate that he sounds like the humans he wants so desperately to save. To this, his brow furrows, and you remember that time will soon mean something. He’ll be born to some mortal, he’ll grow, he’ll age, he’ll die, and you will not change.

“It will soon matter to me,” he says, finally. The tears well up again, and you bite your lip. Anger bubbles inside you yet again, just as fiery hot as it has every single day since he was sentenced.

You want to storm out, despite knowing you’ll be right back here tomorrow.

You rise to your feet.

“Why?” you ask again. “Why?”

Izuku looks up at you.

“She asked me for help.”

“Millions of people ask you for help every day. Why her? Why when you were warned so many times not to interfere in the Gods’ plans for humanity?” you ask, bitterly. “You could have ignored it, just this once.”

Izuku pauses for a moment, looking at the cold ground before him before deciding on whether or not. Your lip wobbles and your hands clench, and your eyes practically glow with unbridled emotion.

Finally he decides to speak.

“She cried out for mercy, and she looked just like you.”

[cherriegyuu]

memories of us | lsm

pairing: seokmin x f!reader - soulmate!au summary: every night seokmin dreams of his past lifes, when he met and fell for his soulmate countless times. genre: fluff, angst word count: 11.9k warnings: reader has really low self esteem a/n: this is not, in any way, connected to elevator. both stories are centered around soulmates, however the rules are different. in elevator people carry marks that vanish from their bodies once they meet their soulmate, here is the bond is created by eye contact. i hope you enjoy it :)

Today, when I woke up, the first thing I thought about was you, but that’s not something new. You’re always the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last one before I go to sleep. My mind is consumed by thoughts of you the entire day. There’s not a single minute when you don’t make your presence noticed,  even if you’re not really here by my side. The funny thing is that I haven’t met you yet and somehow you are the only one in my mind. 

I started to dream of you when I was sixteen. At the time I had no idea of what was going on, I didn’t know what Memorous were, and I couldn’t even phantom why I was dreaming of an older version of myself. I was young and the naive teenager version of me thought that it was something everyone goes through. Ah, maybe these are memories from my past lives. I was right about that part, but I didn’t know the length of what was going on with me. 

It was only a month later when I told anyone about it. Because those dreams were something no one ever mentioned around me before, so I was afraid to speak about them. What if, because of those dreams, people started to label me as a freak? I had already a very negative reputation, so to say, I didn’t want to make it worse. When I finally mustered the courage to talk to someone about it, I figured that I should tell my mom about it. She was a mother, my mom, and like all moms she would probably know what to do. 

She didn’t. 

For a while, she just sat there and stared at me, not like I was a freak but as if I had become a stranger. I was no longer Lee Seokmin, her eldest son who on most days seemed like the youngest. I saw her eyes change that day, from a mother who loved her son to a woman who didn’t know who the boy in front of her was.  

It was also the first time that someone told me that I was cursed.  

None of us could be sure whether I was cursed or not, but she said it with so much belief that I knew that it had to be true. 

I don’t think I have ever felt so alone. Before my mother said those words to me, those words that would be forever stuck in my brain, you are cursed, Seokmin, and there’s nothing any of us can do to change that, I used to be normal - or as normal as a sixteen-year-old hyperactive boy could be. But the second those words were uttered, released into the world, something inside me changed.   

I think that the best way to describe it would be a click, I felt a click inside my heart. There’s no other word I could use to describe it. 

After everything that happened in the span of minutes, I changed. I started to be more restricted, no one else in the world knew about the dreams or about me being a Memorous. My circle of friends got smaller and smaller. What if, by accident, I told one of them something about the dreams, about you? That couldn’t happen. 

In reality, I didn’t have many friends. You know, the kind you tell secrets to and are really close to. Those were the kinds of people that I wanted to avoid at all costs. I wasn’t a loner, though. I had people I could hang out with, people that I would go to a bar or a club with, but I liked to be alone. 

It’s weird, isn’t it? I had friends but I wasn’t actually friends with any of them. I wasn’t a loner but the thing I enjoyed the most was being alone. 

When I turned eighteen and high school was finally over, I moved away from home. For two years I saved every cent that I could, my main goal was to just leave. I studied my eyes off in school so I could get into a university that was as far away as possible from home. I needed to get a scholarship so I wouldn’t need to ask for help from my parents. 

Doing those two things made me feel somewhat proud of myself. It was like I was telling them see just because you think I’m cursed doesn’t mean that I can’t do what I want. 

 Let me explain to you how the dreams work: every night I dream of you, no exception but every night is a different life. 

This is how Memorous must live. I remember every single thing about our past lives, all the details that people usually forget about their lives. I remember them, more or less. I know what you were wearing on April 18th, 1811; I know what was the first word you said to me in Madrid, it was a curse by the way; the first time we bonded.  

Sometimes it feels so real that I think if I look by my side, I’ll see you there. That couldn’t be true, I haven’t seen you in this lifetime - I would never be able to let you go if I had. 

There’s a trick about being a Memorous though. Once I fall asleep and dream of a different life everything I dreamed the night before vanishes and I can’t remember anything. At first, I thought that it happened like that because sometimes we forget about the dreams we have. It was as if it simply vanished from my mind, and I could only remember it when I dreamt of the same life again. It’s like a selective memory kind of thing. 

You know, the feeling of a dream being so real that you could either wake up in panic or just really happy and satisfied? 

For me, every dream was like that. If I held your hand in my dream, when I woke up I would still get the feel of your skin against mine; if we fought for whatever reason I would still feel the sadness and the anger lingering in my body. 

When I understood what was happening, I started to write down the dreams, every little detail that I could remember. Slowly I started to find a pattern in the dreams, slowly I learned to tell the lives apart and so I started notebooks. It’s a little weird, I know, but I had to keep track of our lives. Maybe, at some level, you might think that I’m crazy or that I��m a stalker. But could it be considered stalking when it’s my own life? 

I can’t wait to meet you.  Although I haven’t actually met you or even seen you this time around, I feel like I have known you all my life. Is this the feeling we’ll get when we finally meet, this feeling of fullness? 

I wonder if you feel that too. 

Out of all our lives together I have a favorite one. I mean, it is expected, isn’t it? After such a long time of living countless lives, every day being a different person - although I’m ultimately the same - we are bound to have a favorite one. 

If I do say so myself that life is very much Shakespearean. Okay, so imagine this: two families who were very powerful but were opposites and hated each other with a burning passion. And there you have it. Sounds very much like Romeo and Juliet, doesn’t it? Maybe if it happened a couple hundred years earlier, in England, then maybe I could say that we actually inspired him, but we happened far too late. 

You know, I still remember the first time I saw you that time around. I think that maybe that bond was the strongest one we’ve had, probably because we were supposed to hate each other. The idea of an unexpected bond between two opposite families is kind of thrilling, isn’t it? 

We met at a party. Because our families couldn’t even stand to be in the same space together, mostly our dads - why is it always the dads though? -, they send you and me to represent the families. As you can probably imagine, we had no idea of what the other person looked like. 

So, there I was walking inside this immense ballroom, and you were the first person I saw. Looking at you I just knew that you were out of place, that kind of environment wasn’t one you felt comfortable in. At that point, you weren’t looking at me but when you finally did, it was like the entire world stopped. I felt my heart thump inside my chest, but I could feel you too. I saw as you went wide-eyed. You took a step closer to me but then, realizing what you did, you took a couple of steps back. For the entire night, we didn’t approach each other but my eyes never left yours, as yours never left mine. 

We followed each other through the night.  I got angry, really angry, when someone wanted to talk to me because all I wanted to do was look at you. Whenever my feelings changed, I would feel yours changing too. You felt mostly curiosity. How could this man, someone you had never seen before, catch your attention in such a way that you couldn’t look at anything or anyone else? 

Back then it wasn’t like today, you know. The bond happened more quietly, or maybe we only thought it did. Though the bond is something that has been around since the beginning of time, we only found out about it much later in life. I suppose that back then we still didn’t know much about it. Maybe the change everyone felt around a couple that was bonding was there but because we didn’t know what it was supposed to be we just overlooked it. 

Back to the story. 

You were the first one to make a move to leave but I couldn’t let you go, no way. I followed you out and much to my own surprise you were waiting for me, because somehow you knew that I had to go after you. We didn’t say much, just promised to meet each other a couple of days later. 

From that moment on, things took off, or as much as you could possibly expect from a couple in the early nineteen century. We would always meet each other. Everything was exciting because no one could know about what we were doing. Besides the whole ‘my family hates yours’ problem that we had, there was also the problem that both of us were promised to other people. You were supposed to marry a young Duque and I had to marry the daughter of a rich family. If we were against it before, imagine what it was like after we found out about how we felt for each other. 

Our happiness didn’t last very long. We were careless and, although we were trying to hide it, we weren’t as stealthy about it as we liked to imagine. 

It’s needless to say that when our families found out they were far from happy. They didn’t try to kill us or anything that dramatic, but they started to rush things. Your marriage that was supposed to happen only a year later was set to two weeks later; mine was happening in a few days. Of course, neither of us accepted that. 

On the night before my wedding, I felt something trying to pull me. It was like my legs were moving on their own and I saw myself walking out of the house and into the city. I found you there, all alone in the middle of the street, staring at the church I was supposed to get married in. I realized then that the sadness I felt was only partially mine, a lot of it was coming from you. I didn’t really understand how it was possible for me to feel everything that you were feeling but I knew that there wasn’t another explanation for it. 

You couldn’t control your emotions and tears were running down your cheeks, you tried hard to push them aside, but it was of no use. The more you tried to make the tears stop the more they fell. I couldn’t control myself by then. You were afraid when my arm went around you but once you knew that it was me you turned in my arms. The tears that ran down your face were no longer out of pain and hurt, they were because we were finally reunited. 

We ran away. We didn’t take anything with us. There was no time to go home and get clothes, or say goodbye. We were sure that if we were together then everything would be alright. Because we had each other nothing in the world nothing could hurt us. 

That's… that’s as far as the dreams go. I’d like to think that we had a happy ending. 

 Two years into college I finally understood what my mom meant when she said that I am cursed. 

You see, the dreams I have at night are just fragments, tiny little pieces of an entire puzzle. I could only see a day or a week, at most. But the thing is that I only saw us young, meeting, starting the bond, falling in love. Not once did my dreams show us a little older, getting married, having kids, or even if things didn’t work between us. I never dreamed of those things. 

At first, my guess was that the dreams were trying to show me a way to get to you, find you in a world that’s filled with billions of people. That wasn’t the case. 

One night I dreamed of you dying. I woke up in despair. Instead of the sweet dreams, filled with warm touches and whispered words, I faced images of you surrounded by blood, a lifeless body in my arms. 

For a while I wanted to make myself believe that it was just a nightmare, that it would eventually go away but I knew it wasn’t that simple, nothing ever is. 

I kept seeing the same thing for days and every day it got worse and worse. It got to the point where I stopped sleeping at all. Every time I closed my eyes I could see your body on the ground, eyes wide open. I knew that it wasn’t true, but I felt like you were looking at me, like you blamed me for your death. 

I searched it up. If the same thing happened to other Memorous I wanted to know how to make it stop, if I could even do something like that. From task number one I had problems. 

For one, Memorous doesn’t like to be clear about it, we are heavily judged by it because no one understands what it is like to be one. Most people just think that we are making a fuss over nothing, that knowing what your soulmate looks like, what that person likes and dislikes makes it much easier to find the person you are supposed to bond with. What they don’t know is that, like everyone else in the world, people’s taste, personalities and all else changes. In one of your lives, you were a dancer, the stage was your home, and being watched by people was something you thrived off of but in the next one you were a shy girl who couldn’t bear the thought of people looking at her (this actually happened, just so you know). 

Second, there aren’t many Memorous in the world. We are considered an anomaly, there are very few of us. I believe that we will only be able to understand why we are born this way when a scientist is born as a Memorous. 

But not everything is a lost hope! God bless the people who aren’t scared to share their stories because they want to help other people. I found this post, on a very weird and hard to find website, saying that there is a way to break this ‘curse’. That’s the good news. The bad news is that it’s not up to us to end the cycle. Well, technically it is but it’s not a choice that we can make. It’s confusing, I know. 

Apparently, the only way for us to stay together for a long time is if both of us are born Memorous, meaning that you and I must know our past lives. The one who wrote the post was a young boy, claiming that it was his grandparents’ story and that both of them were still alive and fine. 

It’s not much but at least it’s something. I can’t help but wonder if this time around you already know who I am. 

I saw you today, or at the very least I thought that I did. I looked at my right and you were right there! Your eyes went anywhere but me, it was like you were purposely trying to avoid me. I went after you, called after you (even though I don’t know what you’re called in this life). It seemed that you were running away from me, though I’m sure that wasn’t the case. How could you run from someone you don’t know? 

On days like this, I think I’m starting to lose my mind. The dreams are starting to feel more real than ever, and I don’t know what to do. Is it because we are getting closer to each other? Maybe we are in the same city? I hope so. 

I’ve hoping for something, just a tiny signal, for the longest time. Was today it? I think about seeing you, how the dreams are now just a repeat of all the first meetings before, how every day when I wake up I have a feeling inside my heart telling me that we are getting closer to each other. 

Are we? Does this mean that we are getting closer? 

Maybe this is the universe’s way of letting us know. Because our lives, all of them, have been so messed up that this is fate’s way of apologizing for all the crap that it put us through. 

I’m going to find you soon. Hopefully, wherever you are you’re also looking for me and that will probably make our lives that much easier. 

You closed the journal and put it aside. You managed to hold yourself back while reading, you didn’t want the tears in the back of your eyes to fall on the pages, the precious pages that told your story through Seokmin’s eyes. 

It had been hard to come to terms with the idea, the fact, that he was your soulmate but over the years you became more and more used to it. Your lives were too different, your backgrounds complete opposites, and yet - somehow - you were it for each other. 

The first time you saw him on TV, you clearly remembered how you felt. It was as if someone had just punched you in the chest. On the other side of the tiny screen was the boy - now the man - you had been dreaming about for years of your life. You never thought that you would find him, especially so soon but then again if you thought about all your dreams, both of you seemed young - maybe even younger than your 25 years. 

You stayed away from the TV for about a month after that, but you knew that it wouldn’t last much longer than that. The entire time Seokmin was in the back of your mind, always making sure that you wouldn’t forget him. That was simply something that would never happen, you forgetting about him - even if that was one of the many things that you wanted to do. Eventually, you found yourself turning the TV on again, watching every single program, every video, and buying any magazine that featured him. 

Thinking back at it, you felt sort of stupid for doing those things and not just trying to look for him. You were right, your soulmate was Seokmin but your own insecurities were holding you back. Out of everything you had, there was one problem you considered to be major: you had nothing to offer him. 

You were the kid no one wanted, the kid that had been tossed into an orphanage at the age of eight, and no one had gone back to take claim. Like a monkey on a tree, you moved from house to house without a chance of staying, even the prospect of making friends didn’t exist. 

Growing up you always dreamed of meeting your soulmate, imagined the way you would finally meet the other person. In your mind you were always the hotshot, someone who could make anything happen with a simple word. As you got older you wanted to just live a decent life but all you had was a shitty rented apartment in a sketchy area of the city, a shower that didn’t run with hot water, and were living paycheck by paycheck. 

That wasn’t the life you wanted, it was a life that you were almost embarrassed over. How could you ever share a life with someone when you could hardly sustain yourself? That wasn’t possible. 

But then it happened. You got dragged by your friend to go to the TV station and watched as Seokmin recorded a program. Jun said that he wouldn’t notice you, that you would sit far in the back, and you could put your bangs down and cover your eyes so there wouldn’t be a single chance of the bond happening. 

It was a lie, you knew that. Jun lied straight to your face, and you let yourself fall for it. You couldn’t say no to him, much less to his kids. Hana was so excited about it. Watching Seokmin on TV was her favorite thing in the world, more than dancing or watching cartoons. He’s pretty and funny, my soulmate has to be just like him, she said. It was funny and endearing to watch. Sometimes you just wanted to meet Seokmin because of her, because she was so in love with him. The day you decided to take a step forward was also the day you took eleven steps back. 

“Are excited?” Jun bumped his shoulder into yours and smiled. 

He could be the kind of person your silly heart would fall for if there weren’t any soulmates. Jun was essentially a good person, with a heart made of gold and filled with so much love that his kids would never go a day in life thinking that he didn’t love them. 

“No" yet another lie. 

You were excited, a little too excited. Or maybe your excitement was actually just fear. Fear that the bond might happen, fear that Seokmin would be disappointed in who you were, fear that maybe your dreams would come true. 

“You said that Seokmin is pretty” Hana called out. 

A moment of weakness that you regretted. 

“Handsome, honey. Boys are handsome” 

She repeated the word a few times as if trying to memorize but everyone knew that she would just keep calling boys pretty. 

“Why are you carrying her around like she’s three?” 

Hana sighed and hugged Jun’s neck, her head on his shoulder. 

“I’m daddy’s little girl” 

Jun looked like he was about to cry and Hanbin just groaned, his sister’s act wasn’t something that he was too fond of. You could only smile at them. They were almost too cute for you to handle. 

You were one of the first people to get in so there were still a lot of empty spots to choose from. The second you and Jun started to move towards the back Hanbin and Hana protested.  Of course, they didn’t want to sit in the back. Besides being kids, and too short to be able to see anything, both liked Seokmin so being too far away was not something that they wanted. In the end, you caved. You couldn’t say no to two kids who were doing the puppy eyes at the same time. 

As minutes went by and the studio got filled with people you started to get nervous. You ran your sweaty hands on your jeans trying to get them dry, but it was useless. Every person who walked inside made your heart skip a beat because you thought that it could be him. It never was. The scared part of your brain told you that it was a good thing, that maybe he wouldn’t show up at all, but the other part, the one that wanted to see him in person just once, told you to just wait a little longer because he was going to show. 

You waited, for over an hour and there was no sign of him. You knew that in this kind of event it could take them a while to get everything sorted but you were told that it shouldn’t take long once you all went inside. 

“Stop,” Jun said, his hand on your arm “Don’t overthink it" 

He was smiling at you kindly. It was the kind of smile that was supposed to calm you down and reassure you and yet all it did was make you even more nervous. 

“What if we bond?” 

“Then you’ll deal with it later” 

What if I don’t know how to deal with it? 

When people started to scream you looked up and saw the host walking in. He talked for a couple of minutes, made a few jokes trying to be funny and then he introduced Lee Seokmin, a TV personality. The crowd went crazy, there was a girl behind you screaming so loud that you thought you’d go deft. 

Seokmin walked in, his characteristic smile in place, as he waved at the audience. 

Seeing him in person made the world slow down, even your own heart. Instead of going crazy, your heart nearly stopped, as the sight of Seokmin put you at ease. Your hands were no longer shaking, you didn’t feel like trying to hide yourself anymore. In fact, seeing him made your soul scream at you it’s him, what are you waiting for? Your soul was begging you to go to him. After all, it knew him, because despite being apart for years it recognized him immediately. 

And then Seokmin looked at you. 

His eyes were on yours as he stood frozen there. You could feel him everywhere. He was shocked, surprised, caught off guard, hopeful, and just so happy. His happiness was contagious because inside you felt happy too. You wanted to stand up and hug him, stay as close as possible to him. The fear you felt for years was momentarily forgotten in the back of your mind. 

Your legs moved before you could even realize what you were doing. You stood up and walked to him, stopping only a couple of steps away from him. You felt his heartbeat like it was just under your skin. Being so close to him made your body tingle in the best way possible. Your entire being was begging you to just take another step, just one closer to him, just so you could touch him and feel him all around you. 

When Seokmin moved forward, his hand raised ready to touch you - just like you wanted to do - you took a step back. Suddenly the realization of what could happen came crashing down around you. Your dreams, and images of Seokmin lying lifeless on the floor that had been engraved in your mind were unexpectedly in your eyes. You could see it coming, your downfall, and the things you dreaded the most, happening. 

“I…” 

Seokmin wanted to say something, anything, but he didn’t know what he was supposed to. What words could he possibly profess that would make the fear running through your body go away? 

“I’m sorry, I can’t do this" 

Turning around and walking away from him might have been the hardest thing you ever did. 

You tried your best to keep living normally but it was close to impossible. Every second that went by you were reminded of Seokmin, of the broken look on his face when you walked away, of the way he felt like he had somehow done something wrong. And he felt unloved when it was supposed to be just the other way around. Even before the bond, before you had the chance to look at him in the eyes, you already had feelings for him. Perhaps it was because you knew that you were supposed to love him, you knew that once you met him your feelings would be unstoppable, or it was just because he was charming. 

And just how charming he was. 

You didn’t know one single person who disliked him, someone who would flat-out say that there was nothing good to like about him. Everyone loved Seokmin, his easy smile and friendly eyes pulled everyone in. 

“Until when are you going to keep avoiding him?” 

Jun had become the personification of what was happening inside of you. You wanted to meet Seokmin, desperately. You wanted to find out where he was and just go to him, introduce yourself, and just talk to him. Everything seemed so simple inside your mind, and in Jun’s as well, but it was so far from it. 

“You’re just avoiding it, you know that” 

“So, what if I am? I’m sorry if I don’t want to see my soulmate die!” 

You weren’t angry at your friend or even Seokmin, as he would feel sometimes. You were just angry at everyone else, at the world, at destiny, at anyone in the world who decided that it was a good idea to make you see your soulmate die every night. 

“I know that, but wouldn’t it be better if you could spend some time with him? Let’s say that you’ll have six months together, that’s it. No more and no less. Don’t you want to be with him for as long as you possibly can instead of keep hiding in here?” Jun moved his hand showing the lounge of his dance school “Think of all your past lives, about how happy you were because you were with Seokmin. In this life too, shouldn’t you be able to feel that kind of happiness?” 

Jun was the only person who knew that you were Memorous and he was also the only person who would say that there was nothing wrong with it. You aren’t cursed. If you ask me, you are one of the lucky ones. I would anything to have more memories with Seol. He was also the kind of friend who wasn’t scared to say that you were messing up your own life, that you were doing something wrong. Most days he would act like the dad you never had. You were grateful for him, for having someone so eager to make sure that you were happy. 

“Here’s a wild scenario” Jun smiled at Hana, who was running to him, as he stood up “Seokmin doesn’t die" 

His words left you speechless as you watched him move away from you. 

When you got home that day Seokmin’s journals were waiting at your doorstep. 

Reading Seokmin’s words was much like reading your own. Since you started to have dreams, you thought that you were the only one who felt like that, like the only one who didn’t have anyone else to run to. Yes, both of your lives were very different, the place both of you came from was also different. But looking at it or wasn’t all that different. 

His words and the way he described his feelings for you were the things that made you take a deep breath and go meet him. 

I know that you are scared, I can feel it but please reconsider it. I’ve been waiting for a moment like this for a very long time and I would like to believe that you have too. I’ll be in the city for a few more days so let’s meet. If you don’t come to me, I will go to you. We can’t run away from this. 

Seokmin. 

Somehow you found yourself getting out of your tiny apartment and going towards Seokmin. You knew just how much he could feel your nervousness and yet he tried to stay calm so you could feel at ease too. The entire time, since you left the TV station, you could feel him in your mind and it was like he was talking to you, trying to convince you to meet or just to be comfortable with the idea of him. 

At times you could swear that he was talking to you, his voice clear in your mind. It’s okay, you don’t have to worry. It was like Seokmin himself could read your thoughts. Of course, there were moments when he would feel that spark of fear, and anxiety but most of the time he was in complete control of his emotions. He was doing that for you, there was no mistake, so you felt childish for being all over the place and guilty for bombarding him with emotions that you couldn’t fully grasp. 

That was one of the many reasons why you decided to go to him. His words had been the main reason, but you also wanted to put your heart in peace. From the second you walked away from him your heart had been heavy. It was the kind of emotion that was impossible to verbalize, the only word that could possibly come to mind was lost. Your heart was lost. You walked around feeling like there was a huge part of you missing, your eyes looked for something, someone, that was never there. 

It was like that until you got his journals. Although you didn’t feel whole you could feel that a little piece of you was back. Perhaps it truly wasn’t a part of you, instead what could be the missing was a piece of you never found before. 

The missing piece had always been Seokmin. 

You stopped in front of his door, your hand closed into a fist just an inch away. 

The truth was that everything you felt, every tiny thing, could be summed into just one word: fear. You were scared. 

For years you saw Seokmin die in your dreams, he died in a new way every night. You saw, more times than you could count, the life left his eyes as he took his last breath. Sometimes you would just hear about it from someone, just words thrown into a conversation – words that always managed to break your heart. It never mattered how you found out, it always happened suddenly and unexpectedly. 

Whenever you and he were settling into a life together, when you allowed yourself to love each other freely, it happened. You always thought that your love for him, as his for you, worked like a time bomb. And the moment the bond was made was when your time started to run out. 

The only thing you thought about was how if you never made the bond then Seokmin would be able to live a long and happy life. It was okay if once, just once, you didn’t find your soulmate. As long as Seokmin got to live, you were fine with whatever life threw at you. Many people went through life without ever finding their soulmates but that didn’t mean that they weren’t happy. It just meant that they had to find other ways to be happy. 

“Just, please, knock on the door” 

You turned around, startled by the sudden presence behind you, a voice that you had memorized a long time before meeting the person to whom it belonged. Seokmin was there, looking at you like he had just walked out of some kind of sappy movie with his hair a mess and a hoodie that was at least three sizes bigger than him. 

“How long have you been there?” 

He smiled at you then making you feel like your insides were melting. Seeing him was like making the bond all over again. Your hands were sweating, your heartbeat out of control, slow, fast, and slow. The air around you was heavy and the tension between the two of you was almost palpable, like a thin sheet separating you and him. 

“Long enough to know that you’ve been hesitating, for at least, five minutes” 

How was it possible for him to be so calm when you felt like your heart was about to combust? Having him so close to you made your entire body shake. You almost wanted to take a step back before you fell to your knees. It was like your legs were barely there to support you. 

“I want to say so many things but I’m afraid that if I do, you’ll run away again” 

You shook your head at him. This time around you weren’t leaving or running. You had made it this far, there was no way you were backing down. Somehow, seeing Seokmin in front of you made you feel stronger like you could fight the entire universe just because he was right there by your side. He wasn’t doing anything, but he looked at you like you were everything that he had been waiting for and then some more. 

“I came so that we could talk” you tried to smile in reassurance, for him or yourself you weren’t sure “Do you want to do this here or somewhere else…?” 

“I think that it would be best if we had some privacy” 

You took a step aside to let Seokmin open the door to his hotel room. 

You had always been scared of people, not of what they could do to you in the spot but of what they could cause in the long run. From a young age, you learned that you were alone and that the people around you never really wanted you there. For the foster homes you went through most of your life, you were just a way to get easy money; for your first boyfriend you were just a pity bet; for your high school friends you were just the girl they let hang out with them in exchange for assignments; for your parents, you were just someone, something, that they could easily toss aside when they finally got bored. 

All of those things left deep scars on you. Though you did your best to cover them, they were always there right under the surface. You always smiled at people and made sure to tell them that you were perfectly fine even though you weren’t, even though all you wanted was to curl into yourself and let yourself feel all that pain. 

Jun had been the first person to get through to you, the only one who had stayed long enough for you to think that maybe he was around you because he actually liked you and not because he wanted something from you in return. 

It was true that Seokmin was your soulmate, that once the bond is made someone can never really walk away from it. You knew all of those things, like a book that you were constantly reading. Knowing something is completely different than doing it. The insecurities, always in the back of your mind, screamed at you louder than any belief or hope. Your brain always told you that someone like Seokmin, someone who had everything – and anyone – he could possibly want, would never stay for someone like you, bond or no bond. 

“Do you want something to drink? I can get you anything you want” 

Seokmin opened the door for you and pointed at the couch in front of it. As you had expected his room wasn’t just room, it was like a goddamn apartment – hell it was bigger than half of the houses you went through as a teenager. 

“I… it’s fine. I’m fine” 

Seokmin knew that you weren’t fine but chose to stay quiet about it, he knew that it wasn’t a good idea to tell you just how much of you he could understand. It wasn’t only because he could feel every tiny thing coming from you but also because you were like an open book, filled with words begging to be read. 

“I got your journals,” you said “I also read them” 

Your words made Seokmin sigh in relief. He thought that if you saw his journals, and read his feelings, you would be able to understand how desperate he felt, how much his feelings had been all over the place – despite him trying to remain calm. His feelings mirrored yours very much, almost in every way. 

“Because you shared yours with me, I think it’s only fair if I do the same with you” 

He looked up at you, surprise all over his face as you handed him the small box you had been carrying. 

“I’ve dreamed about you, for the past ten years, too. Every night I saw you and fell for you, every version of you” 

The surprise Seokmin felt, the happiness, and the relief that ran through his body the moment he saw you at his door was almost completely gone when he heard what you were saying.  He wanted to think that maybe he heard it wrong but the look in your eyes assured him that he hadn’t heard it wrong. Your words had been loud and clear, ricocheting inside his brain. 

“For how long you have known about me?” 

Your heart was breaking, shattering into tiny pieces when you saw and felt the change in Seokmin. He held the box with your journals like it weighed a thousand pounds, his face was contorted with something that you couldn’t decipher but his feelings were clear, like the sky on a starry night. Seokmin felt betrayed, hurt, and unwanted, all things that weren’t true. 

“Since you started, around the same time, since I was sixteen as well” you whispered. 

Seokmin felt his heart drop all the way down to his toes feeling sick to his stomach. He had always wanted to find you, from the day he understood what his dreams meant he looked for you – everywhere and anywhere in the world. You were the reason why he even started to work in TV, he thought that if he got a job that required him to talk to a lot of people then it would be easier to find you. But the idea, now the fact, that you had always known about him but even then, decided not to look for him, not to take a step away from him, was like a slap to his face. 

“Do you know that I tried to look for you everywhere? I nearly went crazy. Every day since my dreams, the memories of us, started I searched for you. While you…” he scoffed like the world had played yet another sick joke on him “You knew who I was but you never…” 

He couldn’t bring himself to say it; thinking about it – feeling it – was already bad enough. Seokmin didn’t want to voice it, if he did then everything would become that much more real, too real, more heartbreaking than anything else in his life up until that moment. 

The dreams crushed his heart every morning when he woke up. Seokmin felt his heart die a little inside his chest for the life he never got to live with you, for the words he never got to hear from you, for seeing the bright light leave your eyes time and time again. But ultimately those dreams were just that: dreams, memories of a different period in time, of a different life that although felt real, it no longer was. 

“I was afraid, Seokmin…” 

“I know that you were! I felt it, with fiber in my body, I knew that you were scared, terrified that for some reason I wouldn’t love you. I knew all of that like it was my own fear” 

The despair he had in his voice was felt in your body, every tiny cell. You hated that he was feeling like that, that your first ever encounter with him – a proper one – was only worth a fight. That was not how you wanted things to go. You thought that if you ever met him things would run smoothly but the reality of it was far from your expectations. 

“Like you, I am a Memorous” you had to say it, you needed Seokmin to hear your words just once “The first time I saw you, like you are right now, was on TV but it was so fast that I couldn’t be sure. I was on the bus, passing by a TV store. The next day I stayed in front of the same store the entire day, waiting for that brief second of your face for hours. When I finally saw you I cried, right there in the middle of the sidewalk because I just felt so happy to see you, to finally find the boy that I had seen so many times before, the boy I loved so blindly, even though I have never met before. 

“But the dreams… they are alive inside my mind. I don’t forget them like you do. My brain stores them like they are memories of this life, all those feelings were as real as if I lived them this time around. I thought about all the times I saw you die, and I couldn’t live through that again. I couldn’t let that happen to you, not after I saw you. I only knew you from the screen of my tv but my feelings were already so strong. I wanted the bond to happen, you can’t doubt that for a second, but I was scared. I would very much rather live knowing that you were somewhere out there, living a happy and long life than having you live a short one with me” 

Your words were more than enough to make Seokmin stop. Until that moment, his mind was flying all over the place but the second you opened your mouth he couldn’t bring himself to be angry anymore. Those feelings, the fear of seeing your other half – the one you were supposed to be with – die, was one he knew very well. He often wondered what would happen when he finally met you. 

The first time he saw you, he had been over the moon, he felt you and everything else. He felt the pull and your desire to get closer to him. To say that Seokmin was surprised when you ran away was an understatement. He didn’t truly understand everything that was happening inside of him, the unthinkable mix of you and him made him feel dizzy because he couldn’t set you apart. 

He could finally understand the things you did but it didn’t mean that he liked them. 

“I think it’s going to be a very long night” 

Seokmin read your journals in front of you, and it didn’t feel embarrassing. Those journals, your words, had been written for him and for him only. While you wrote down your dreams you thought of him, of how he would read them one day and how much you wanted him to. 

You spent the entire night in his hotel room. You talked for hours and hours and suddenly the subject wasn’t as heavy anymore, both of your fears momentarily forgotten, and you were simply enjoying each other’s company. 

Seokmin was everything that he seemed to be, but he was also that much different. His bubbly personality was still there, fully out in the open for everyone to see, but there was also a shy side to him - one that not many people knew about but it was cute to watch. More often than he would like to admit, Seokmin would trip over his words, insecure about what he could and couldn’t say to you. The ice is still very thin, it’s making me nervous he said at some point in the night. 

You had scooted closer to him or maybe he got closer to you, how it happened didn’t really matter. You found yourself sitting on the couch with your knees pulled to your chest as Seokmin quietly played with your fingers. 

Just having him around you felt like a dream but the moment his skin touched yours? It was like fireworks exploded under your skin, like every single nerve in your body was suddenly awake. You could feel him everywhere, like he was not just the man in front of you, but he was also part of the air, like he could be all around you whilst staying in the exact same spot. He gave you calmness, a sense of peace and security. Things that up until that moment no one had been able to give you, not even yourself. 

“I really want to kiss you” you whispered.  Seokmin’s fingers stilled in yours and something sparkled in his eyes as he looked at you. The moment was suspended in the air as if it wasn’t neither here or there, as if time itself had stopped and all the attention was now on the two of you and the way you were feeling in that very second. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to look away from him, you didn’t want to. It was the first time, in your entire life, that you craved someone’s touch and presence. With Seokmin you wanted that and so much more, everything that he had to give, you wanted. 

Feeling like that for someone after only knowing them for a couple of hours was impossible, the kind of thing that you would never expect to happen, the kind of thing that you would laugh at because something like that couldn’t exist. But with you and Seokmin, nothing was as it seemed. 

It was true that you had only known him for a little while but just in this life. When you looked at him you saw traces of the many different people that he had been in the past and because of that, it was like you fully knew him. That wasn’t the case, and you knew that, but even so, the feeling of reconnection still existed. 

Seokmin inched forward, his eyes focused on your lips, as he interlocked your fingers and pulled you towards him. There was one second of hesitation, one tiny second that felt like an eternity before his lips finally pressed on yours and then it was pure magic. 

Seokmin had to leave a few days later and you hated the idea of having to see him walk away. It wasn’t final, you knew that, but it hurt all the same. He had stayed in the city for you far longer than he was supposed to, his phone always blowing up with text messages from people concerned about his whereabouts when in reality he had been locked up with you inside your apartment. 

On the contrary to what you previously thought, Seokmin didn’t care about your tiny apartment, about the fact that you had been to more foster homes than what you were willing to admit, or about the fact that you didn’t have a degree. I like you for you, not for the baggage that comes with you. 

You sat at the airport for hours after his flight departed, the emptiness growing inside of you as the seconds ticked away. 

Seokmin felt the same way. He wanted to stay or for you to just go with him, but he didn’t dare to ask. He knew that even though you didn’t think much of your life, you liked it. You loved to be a receptionist at Jun’s school, loved being surrounded by the kids, loved the city you lived in, and you were a little proud of yourself for being your own person and living your own life - even though you would never admit it. He got into the plane with a heavy heart, but he had to figure things out. He had to find a way for the two of you to be together. It was uncertain of what the future held for you. You could be together for just a year before one of you died or your entire life was still ahead of you. The not knowing drove him crazy. 

 Three weeks apart was all he could take before he found himself boarding a plane to the other side of the country and breaking a few contracts while he did so. You called every day, facetimed whenever there was a chance and texts were always a constant but just that wasn’t enough. 

Due to the distance, the constant pull to you only grew stronger and the grasp he had of your feelings, how Seokmin could tell exactly what was going on with you, was slowly disappearing. It wasn’t that you were learning to control what he could and couldn’t see. Once the bond is made the newfound soulmates need to stay close to each other, it’s physically and mentally tiring to be away. He noticed that you sounded more exhausted on the phone, as your eyes nearly closed when you talked on Facetime. 

All those things pulled him to you, yes, but Seokmin also wanted to see you desperately. 

He didn’t tell you that he was coming to see you, he wanted to make it a surprise. The entire flight he felt just how happy you were, probably because you were at the dance school with the kids, but he also noticed your worry, because he hadn’t answered his phone in a few hours, as you tried to push it as far back in your mind as possible. 

The long see-through glass walls of the school allowed Seokmin to see you inside. He heard your laugh before he saw you, the sound had been imprinted in his mind like the type of song that just gets stuck. And then he saw your profile looking at the little boy in front of you lovingly. When you smiled, he thought that his heart would explode inside his chest. 

Seeing you, even from far away, was like going home after a long time. The feeling of calmness, the feeling of finally being able to breathe properly. Just looking at you made him lighter in a way that he couldn’t exactly put into words. 

The kids were the first ones to see Seokmin. The little boy you talked to gasped, and his eyes went wide. All the other kids had the same reaction, some of them pointed at him while others just went back to what they were doing before. 

You stood frozen in place and watched Seokmin walk from where he was to the door. You had to make sure that he was really there, that it wasn’t something that you were imagining. If it wasn’t for the cute selfies he sent you stored in your phone, you would be sure that meeting Seokmin and everything else that happened after had been nothing but a dream. It wouldn’t be the first time you wished for a life that could never have. 

You got up and took a step away from the kids before walking as fast as you could - nearly running - towards him. He met you halfway, his arms reached for you before you collapsed into him. 

You sighed in contentment and relief when you felt his skin against yours, when his warmth enveloped you. Everything else was forgotten and it no longer mattered. 

“You’re really here,” you said against his neck. 

His chuckle ran through your entire body and he tightened his arms around you, pulling you as close as possible to him. 

“Half a country away is too much" he murmured. 

You stayed in place for minutes, long enough for one of the kids to get bored and call out your name a couple of times. One of them ran inside and got Jun, because the little boy thought that Seokmin might be holding you for too long. 

“This reunion is great and all but it’s weird for the kids” 

At the sound of your friend’s voice, you let go of Seokmin but you didn’t go too far. Three weeks had been long enough, you would take whatever few moments with him that you could get before he had to leave again. So you stayed by Seokmin’s side, your fingers interlocked with his. 

“Seokmin, this is Jun” 

“I was the one who gave him your address, how else do you think he would send you his journals?” 

Seokmin looked at you, with surprise in his face. He hadn’t expected you to tell someone about it, about his journals, or about anything at all. From the moment he saw you, and even from the journals you wrote, he knew that you were the kind of person who didn’t tell those around her much about her life so it was a surprise that you had talked about it with someone. 

“It’s good to see that things worked out for you,” Jun said, he looked at the watch on his wrist before looking back at you again “Go on, take the rest of the day off” 

You shook at head, pointing at the kids behind him - who were already making a fuss all over the place. 

“I still have a few more hours to go and you need help with the kids” 

Jun just rolled his eyes when he took a few steps closer to you and Seokmin, pretty much pushing out of the door. 

“I’ll let you know that there was a time when I managed this place just fine without you” 

 For the rest of the day, you walked around town with Seokmin. He held your hand the entire time, letting it go just to put his arm around your shoulder, either way, he always had his hands on you. You didn’t mind it, in fact, you liked it a lot. The idea of always being close to him made your heart flutter in impossible ways, made you imagine what life would be like when you finally got to be with him for more than a few hours at a time, it made you wish for a future when you would be able to see him every day and talk to him and just be around him. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Seokmin said when you reached your neighborhood. 

“That could be dangerous” 

During the time you and Seokmin talked on the phone, he told a lot about his childhood and there was one thing that was clear to you: he was an unpredictable kid. His ideas were always crazy and so unnatural for a child. When you were in foster care you thought that the other kids were crazy, but they were just reckless, Seokmin was wild. 

“I should have never told you those stories,” he said with a sigh, a tiny smile on his face “I’ve got this job offer, here in the city. It’s not like what I do now but I think that it could be fun and I’ll try to make it work as much as possible. If I do take it, we’ll be closer to each other” 

You were shaking your head before he was done speaking. Seokmin changing jobs, and doing something else that was not what he wanted initially was a huge no. 

“You’re not moving here” 

He sighed again and took your hand in his. 

“I know you’re worried about my job, but I only started to do it because I thought that it was the easiest way to find you. I can do something else, anything else, if it means that I can have you” 

You turned to look at him, your hand squeezing his. His words assured you, more than anything in the world. Hearing those words was the only thing you needed. 

“Remember how I told you that Jun’s soulmate mom is a social worker? She told me that there is this University, not the most prestigious one but a university nonetheless, that is more likely to give out scholarships. A couple of months ago I took the test to get in and I got the results a week ago” 

Seokmin nodded at you, not really understanding what you meant. Truth be told, he was a little hurt. The second he mentioned it you were already denying it, like the mere idea of having him close to was repulsive. He knew that couldn’t be the case, knew that those things never reached your heart but even so, the feeling of getting rejected was there. 

“I got in. I have to move there in the next few weeks or so, to settle in and find my way around town” 

“Where… where is that?” 

You laughed and kissed him quickly. He looked way too cute with the confused look on his face. 

“I didn’t ask for your address just to have it, Seokmin. I want to be close to you so I was looking for a place near yours but also close enough to the university” 

Before you even done speaking Seokmin already had his arms around while he placed quick kisses all over your face, making you laugh. 

Moving away was harder than expected. There weren’t many things that tied you to that place, but the few things that did make it heartbreaking. 

Just as you predicted, telling Jun was easy. Your friend, like always, had been supportive saying that he had your back in all the choices you’ve made and the choices that you would come to make. 

His kids were a completely different story. When you told Hana about it, she started to cry, tears running down her little face and sobs escaping her lips. You knew that it was going to be hard to talk to her, but you didn’t think that it was going to be like that. Hanbin was easier but you knew that he was also feeling it. 

“Will you call us every day?” 

“I’ll call you every Sunday morning,” you said pinching her cheeks “We all know how much your dad loves Sunday mornings” 

Jun groaned but he still had a smile on his face. 

“Why do you hate me?” 

It broke your heart to leave all three of them, but it was something that you had to do, not only because you wanted to be close to Seokmin but because of yourself. The change was something that you needed to do in order to move your life forward. 

Moving day wasn’t as terrible as you expected. Seokmin had helped you move all your stuff, boxing everything to perfection. You didn’t have much you wanted to take with you but even so, everything you owned had been labeled and wrapped. 

Somehow Seokmin had managed to convince you to just move in with him. You tried to deny him at first. It didn’t make any sense; you had just started something with him and suddenly you were putting your toothbrushes together. That was way too fast. “We don’t know how much time we have together so why waste it by being apart?”  You tried reasoning with him “What if I can’t stand your habits and you hate mine?” To what he just said, “I’ll love all of your nasty habits and I’ll be the perfect prince, so you’ll have nothing to complain about”. 

It all ended with a heated make-out session on your couch. 

Seokmin was feeling edgy. He was supposed to be home hours ago, he knew that you were worried but restraining yourself from calling him. He loved his job, he really did, and it was amazing that he got to keep it and be with you at the same time, but he hated days like those. He hated the late-night shootings when he had to be away - especially when he could feel how worried you were - and he didn’t even like to think about when he had to do something out of town. 

The drive back home felt endless. He broke God knows how many speed limits, and crossed a few red lights. He didn’t know why he was feeling like that, he knew that there wasn’t anything wrong going on at home. You would have called him in case something happened, he would have felt something change. 

But at times he couldn’t help but feel anxious. 

It had been four years. Four years since you found each other, since you started your life together, probably the four happiest years of his. But whenever he wasn’t expecting it, whenever Seokmin started to feel comfortable again with his life and you around him, his dreams would come back to haunt him. Instead of seeing you, in the past, he saw you as you were in this life. He saw the woman he loved, more than any of his dreams could have let him know, die in front of him, in his arms. It was always like that, you had a smile on your face, a tear ran down your cheek and you said that loved him. 

On nights like that, he would search for you. His arms moved directly to you and pulled you to him as quiet sobs escaped his lips. You always cried with him on nights like that. You didn’t have those sorts of dreams, but his despair and fear ran through your body as if they were your own. 

That night was just like that. The whole day he had a sickening feeling in his stomach. Like the world was telling him that something was bound to happen. The one thing that had somehow calmed him was how at ease you were during most of the way. 

Seokmin walked inside a house in darkness, the light in the hallway the only thing that could possibly tell him that there was someone home. You always did that for him when he had one of his late nights. 

You were sleeping in the bedroom, so Seokmin tried his best not to make a sound. But he knew that all his efforts were useless when he walked out of the bathroom to find the bedside lamp on and you looking at him. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you” 

You sat up and smiled at him, shaking your head. It was a good thing that he had woken you up. Your sleep wasn’t peaceful, no nightmares or dreams but although you were asleep you still had that weird feeling of being awake while sleeping. 

“It’s fine, I actually have to talk to you about something” 

Seokmin wouldn’t like what you had to say to him, in fact, you were pretty sure that he would probably hate it. 

“I talked to your sister today” the words left your lips in a quiet whisper. 

Seokmin stood still, his eyes focused on you, but his mind was somewhere entirely. He finally understood why you had felt so anxious and nervous during lunchtime and why he was feeling on edge the entire day. 

“We’re not doing this” he shook his head. 

“Seokmin it’s been 12 years, you’re going to have to talk to them at some point” 

You reached for his hand at the same that Seokmin scoffed at you. 

“You haven’t talked to your parents in 22 years and I don’t push toward them” 

Seokmin regretted his words the second he said them. He watched as you tried your best to control your emotions and not let him feel just how hurt you truly felt about his words. You pulled back the hand you reached to Seokmin and tucked it under the blankets. 

“I did try to look for them, Seokmin. I found them. It went the same way as it did when I was eight years old. They didn’t want me” 

You never told anyone about that, it wasn’t the kind of thing that you liked to talk about. To be honest you didn’t even like to think about it. 

A week before you moved in with Seokmin you searched for your parents. With Jun’s help, you managed to find them, quite easily. They still lived in the city, in the same house you lived in for the first eight years of your life. All it really took to get a hold of them was to find the documents they filled when they left you in the foster house. Your meeting with them didn’t last long, less than five minutes and they didn’t even invite you in. All the conversation was done at their doorstep. “We can’t do anything for you, we’re not parent material,” they said to which you answered, “I’m no longer a kid who needs care and protection”. 

For them to suddenly find their inner parent wasn’t something that you wanted or expected but you thought that they could, at least, be part of your life but even that they refused. They only showed some kind of interest when you mentioned Seokmin and just by looking at them, you could tell that their interest was more on what Seokmin brought with him than for you. 

After that you never mentioned them again, never allowed Jun to talk about it again, not even thinking about them was allowed. 

“Just because people bond doesn’t mean they become good people, Seokmin. It just means that there’s someone out there who won’t judge your choices” 

“Babe…” 

Seokmin crawled on the bed towards you, his arms going around you and tangled his legs with yours. 

You stayed quiet for a while, unmoving. That was your favorite place in the world, his arms. Even if you had just some kind of argument with him, even if you were hurt by what the other person said, you never turned your back on each other. 

“I’m afraid if I let them in again the same thing will happen. I can’t go through that again” 

You turned in his arms, facing him. 

“They were probably just afraid Seokmin, the things people say about Memorous aren’t nice. Maybe they were just afraid to lose their son. Your sister did sound really sorry on the phone” you ran your hand on his cheek “You’re thirty years old, the feelings you had at eighteen are not the same and you certainly are not the same person. Maybe we could try talking to them, and if it doesn't work, it doesn’t” 

“Thank you for reminding me that I’m old” 

You giggled against his chest, which made Seokmin kiss the top of your head. 

“You’ll only be old when our kids kids go to college” 

Something in Seokmin’s eyes changed, all the anger and laughter from just a second before suddenly disappeared. He rolled on the bed, so he was on top of you. 

“Are we talking babies now?” 

You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed your way up from his collarbone to his lips. 

“You’ve been lacking in that department lately, husband” 

He pulled your hands away from his neck and presses it against the mattress. 

“I’ll be sure to make it up to you, wife” 

taglist: @wonwooz1, @ryuwonieebae, @sobun1est, @mirtaspace, @feat-sun, @wonvsmile, @belladaises, @mhlsymlysn, @immabecreepin, @uniq-tastic, @miriamxsworld, @aaniag, @k-drama-adict, @maiamorrrrrrrrrrrr, @roguesthetic, @sofix-hc7, @@scarlet789, @moonlightgrleric, @r6njunlv, @mixling-blog, @cinnamongirl127, @haowonbins, @valgracia, @shuabby, @slut4donghyuck, @manutuankim

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[findmeinthefallair]

The timing that I chose to start on Jentry Chau vs. the Underworld --

-- is rather interesting, considering that I'm aching like nothing else to start physically leaving this culture behind in a week and heal from it, while the show kicks off with Jentry - a Chinese girl like myself - having to return to where it all started.

I don't speak about this stuff often at all but I have ended up where I am (after leaving my birthplace of Australia at age 2)...through the odd mix of being brought up in a place where diversity is celebrated and which has (in my opinion) the world's best cuisine due to being such a melting pot, yet people don't acknowledge and celebrate the uniqueness of an individual person. While both individualism and collectivism have their pros and cons, we have to take the good from both to form healthy family units and communities.

It's been overall lonely here in what I call my not!home, since the collectivistic tendencies to stick to tradition remain really strong. People form judgments about you too quickly, since open-mindedness is not a quality that is made a priority at all. This means that anything that deviates from the norm being met with skepticism, being dismissed and minimized. The education level about autism and ADHD is also still very low and there's still a noticeable stigma surrounding those conditions along with mental illness.

It's so weird because my parents spent their 20s and 30s living in Western countries. They chose to raise us to have mostly Western mannerisms, yet at their roots they still parented us in the authoritarian Asian way which caused the trauma. There's literally an entire subreddit, AsianParentStories, detailing the kind of wounding that people like me receive from generational trauma. We're also in the minority here because English is our first language: it's not the norm in Malaysia, and the standard of English here has deteriorated more and more since around the time I was in high school.

It's been a really bad match for my neurodivergence and queerness that Chinese culture unfortunately emphasizes a particular kind of stoicism and "saving face". It's left me with a lot of trauma since an unspoken rule is having to moderate how much you emotionally express yourself. Thus, you can imagine how I've been treated whenever I've had what I much later realized were autistic meltdowns, shutdowns, overstimulation, and RSD: in this case trauma truly begets trauma.

I've never felt like I fit in here, haven't had success in dating because the hard choice I make each time is to never dilute or snuff out who I uniquely am. I'm not even sure how much people's true selves are snuffed out in more collectivistic societies. When it comes to collectivism, it seems like someone like me has to dampen myself, to become boring and dull in order to be taken seriously.

It's gotten so bad that I kinda forget most of the time what my ethnic identity is. The only positive things I've believed I can take from the culture are very yummy food recipes and being given money at gatherings because I'm still single (the red packets, or "angpow"). There's a sort of shame, and I only learnt 500-600 words of Mandarin in classes in the past half year in a begrudging manner, only so that I can know just enough to minimize being shamed by those in the culture who are fluent.

Anyway, I may not be Asian-American yet I felt this so much?:

She's been comfortable forming her new life in boarding school and friends in Seoul, and she dreads going back to where the trauma started.

Plus I couldn't help but internally smile when seeing familiar aspects of my own culture reflected back at me:

The background art and animation is absolutely gorgeous.

It might be wiser timing for me to wait till I've flown down under next week, set up in my mom's friend's house in her cozy guest bedroom, and then rewatch the pilot ep and properly watch through the show. Having plenty of physical distance from Southeast Asia and (finally) being reunited with cold weather is likely to make the watching experience as comfortable as can be, since some themes in the show might be quite close to not!home.

And I cautiously hope that the instigating incident of trauma in Jentry's life:

can be a powerful metaphor for being othered. Because I've been othered hell of a lot in my life here, with the minority stress adding up over the decades till it's majorly affected my mental health.

Being here is only going to be a positive experience once I return here as a visitor/foreigner, after I plant new roots in Australia. It's come full circle where I get to give it a shot going back there, which I hope is something that will be for good.

Anyway, representation matters

[quinnzarek]

“PLOTTING ESCAPES SINCE '98; SURVIVING ONE SCENE AT A TIME”

INTRODUCING…

NAME: Quinn Margery Zarek

GENDER & PREFERRED PRONOUNS: Cis Woman {She/Her}

AGE: 26

BIRTHDAY: December 13, 1998

SEXUALITY & ROMANCE: Bisexual - Biromantic

COUNTERPART: Kirby Reed - Scream

FACE CLAIM: Katie Douglas

OCCUPATION: Attendant at the Tidepool Drive-In, where she handles everything from rewinding reels to scaring off teens making out behind screen three. On the side, she runs Final Lines, a cult-followed horror movie analysis podcast that's half cinematic theory, half post-trauma processing.

HOMETOWN: Bayridge, IL.

CURRENT RESIDENCY: Mango Bay, Palmview (Since June 2024)

CHARACTER PLAYLIST: HERE. (WIP)

UP NEXT: “COTTON CANDY” BY YUNGBLUD

BIOGRAPHY: TW MENTAL ILLNESS, DEATH, DV, DRUG/ALCOHOL USE

Quinn Zarek grew up in a rustbelt town where everything felt a little too close — too many eyes, too few exits. Bayridge, Illinois: the kind of place with a Walmart, a bowling alley, and secrets that never stayed buried. She was raised in a two-bedroom ranch house on the edge of town by her older cousin Justine, a tough-as-nails trauma nurse who became Quinn’s legal guardian when she was just seven, after her parents were killed in what police called a “domestic dispute gone wrong.” Quinn doesn’t talk about it. What she remembers are the sounds - a door slamming, a gunshot, the silence after. Justine never sugarcoated the world for her. Their house was strict but safe, filled with first aid kits, VHS horror flicks, and late-night emergency room stories swapped over microwave ramen. She taught Quinn how to suture a cut, how to scream with purpose, and how to take care of herself without needing anyone to save her. Quinn found her escape in horror. While other kids were scared of monsters under the bed, she was memorizing final girls - the ones who ran, who fought, who lived. Her bedroom walls were plastered with posters of Halloween, The Descent, The Craft, and Suspiria. She’d rewind kills to study the special effects. She found comfort in controlled terror, in knowing when the scream would come and that she'd be okay after. But real horror doesn’t follow rules. When Quinn was seventeen, a string of murders swept through Bayridge. A masked killer targeting people from her high school. One by one. Quinn survived - barely. The last girl standing, drenched in blood and breathing like her lungs weren’t used to it. The media swarmed, true crime junkies called her a “badass,” and the town started whispering. Some blamed her. Some wanted her autograph. None of them really saw her. She fled Bayridge the day after graduation, never once returning. Over the next few years, Quinn lived in five cities across two states, taking odd jobs — bookstore clerk, projectionist, film archive assistant — all while pouring her grief and sharp-eyed genre obsession into Final Lines, the podcast she started under a pseudonym. She never showed her face. Just her voice: smooth, low, haunted and sharp. A year ago, burned out and blinking on the edge of collapse, she drove south until the gas ran low and the sky smelled like salt. Palmview was a coincidence - or fate. She spotted the Tidepool Drive-In off the highway, flickering to life like a ghost’s open eye. She took a job there on impulse. Maybe it was nostalgia. Maybe it was the idea that if fear could live on a screen, so could healing. Now, she’s the girl who threads reels at dusk, who disappears between screenings, who walks home with her keys between her fingers. Most people just think she’s quiet. Some think she’s intense. No one suspects she’s been hunted. Or that she still carries a switchblade in her boot and a voice recorder in her coat pocket - just in case. She still calls Justine once a week. Never for long. They don’t talk about the murders. They talk about deadlines. And dream sequences. And if Quinn’s sleeping through the night yet. She usually lies. But the podcast keeps growing. The Unquiet - her loyal listenership - still don’t know her name. And Palmview doesn’t know what she’s running from. Yet.

EXTRA-EXTRA, READ ALL ABOUT HER!

MBTI: ISTP - The Virtuoso

Enneagram: 6w5 - The Guardian (with survivalist instincts)

Temperament: Choleric-melancholic

Astrological Vibe: Sagittarius Sun, Libra Rising, Taurus Moon

Personality:

Quinn Zarek is the kind of person who walks into a room already knowing how to get out of it. Hyper-observant and instinct-driven, she doesn’t miss much - tracking microexpressions, reading the emotional weather, and clocking exits like second nature. It’s not paranoia; it’s pattern recognition, honed by experience and a gut instinct that’s saved her more than once. She’s private to a fault, revealing only what she chooses to - and even then, it’s curated. The version of her you hear on her podcast Final Lines is sharp, compelling, and just intimate enough to feel real, but in person, she’s all half-smiles and evasive wit. That wit, by the way, cuts deep: Quinn’s humor is dark, dry, and surgical, often used to test people rather than entertain them. Beneath the snark lies a profound understanding of grief and absurdity - not that she’d admit it. Loyalty, for Quinn, is sacred but hard-earned; trust even more so. She assumes most people are hiding something, because she is too. Brilliant and incisive when it comes to horror films, cultural commentary, or spotting patterns in chaos, she intellectualizes her own trauma to keep it safely distant. But despite her avoidance, she’s grounded in the physical world - practical, tactile, and always moving. Whether it’s splicing film reels, fixing a busted projector, or flipping open a switchblade with steady hands, Quinn lives through her senses. Flickering light, gravel underfoot, the hum of old machinery - this is where she feels real. She utilizes sarcasm as a defense mechanism. Despite her outward confidence and sharp senses, Quinn is private to a fault - she keeps her true story tightly locked away and is reluctant to let others get close. This tendency to self-isolate can make her seem aloof or guarded, sometimes pushing people away before they can truly connect. Her reliance on instinct and suspicion sometimes borders on mistrust, making it hard for her to fully relax or believe in others’ intentions. This internal barrier can cause loneliness or emotional isolation, even if she doesn’t readily admit it. Quinn navigates social situations with a careful balance of alertness and control. She quickly reads the emotional temperature of a room and adapts accordingly, but she rarely drops her guard entirely. She is selective about whom she lets into her circle, and when she does engage socially, it’s often with a dry sense of humor and an underlying sharpness that can intimidate or intrigue. Quinn is not the type to seek out large groups or be the center of attention; she prefers meaningful one-on-one interactions or small, trusted groups. Among friends, Quinn is loyal and protective, though she may still maintain some emotional boundaries. She’s the kind of friend who notices when something is off before anyone else does and often knows exactly what to say - or not say - in moments of crisis. However, her reserved nature means she doesn’t always share her own struggles openly, which can create a dynamic where she supports others more than she allows herself to be supported. Friends respect her for her reliability and insight, even if they sometimes wish she would let her guard down more. Romantically, Quinn is cautious and deliberate. She doesn’t rush into relationships, preferring to test the waters thoroughly before letting someone in. Once committed, she is intensely loyal but expects trust and honesty in return. Emotional vulnerability is difficult for her, so her partners must be patient and understanding, able to hold space for her without pushing too hard. Quinn tends to protect herself through a veneer of control and independence, so a romantic partner who can meet her on her level - offering steady support without trying to “fix” her - is crucial. Deep connection for Quinn grows from shared trust, mutual respect, and emotional safety.

Headcanons:

Swears she can recite the entirety of Halloween, backwards

Has a survival kit (Red Vines included) stashed in the trunk of her car at all times

Known to chase teenagers away from the drive-in with a prop machete

Loves to pull pranks and scare those she works with or deems as friends

Quinn’s favorite comfort food is microwave popcorn - she says it smells like “safety and suspense.”

Quinn’s handwriting is neat and precise, but she doodles tiny skulls and bats in the margins of her notebooks.

She hums suspenseful melodies from horror films when she's stressed/anxious

SHE CANNOT DRIVE STICK

[tc-doherty]

I finished this particular character design episode. Everything was drawn on different sheets of paper and I was originally planning to actually cut them out, but I ended up just "layering" the different parts digitally. Still, it was a cool way to explore the different layers of their outfits. It doesn't quite fit together perfectly but it works for this purpose!

This one's a little bit long so I'm going to put the actual art under the cut and just tag the art tag list: @bloodlessheirbyjacques @magefaery @hakbot @tryingtimi

and also @importantdestinydefendor since I said I would! (sorry it's on the other blog lol)

Mioritza

Mioritza is a conduit, somebody who has magic and provides it to other people. He generally works through/with Balfour, his official mage partner.

Conduits have to follow a lot of specific rules and moral precepts in order to not lose their magic (some of which probably aren't true, but it isn't worth the risk of finding out which ones are). He isn't allowed outside except for official and ritual purposes, so all of his clothing is pretty fancy.

He also wears a lot of layers because the act of continuously providing magic tends to mean that conduits have low body temperatures and get cold very easily. It's illegal for any town over a certain size to employ only one conduit because it's a job that's very hard on the body, and can easily kill them if too much demand is put on one single person.

I wasn't really sure which version of his outfit I like the best so I kept more of them. Options!

Balfour

Balfour is the mage who is officially linked to Mioritza (the matching earrings/rings are part of that link). He is required to be present for some ceremonies, but generally mages work outside of cities, so they really only see each other occasionally and have a very professional relationship. Mages use magic offensively against demons and other monsters, but he is also capable of using a sword and spear.

Opposite of conduits, mages (who are continuously receiving magic) tend to have high body temperatures and overheat easily. Balfour in particular is also very no-nonsense person. He wears what he needs to wear for official purposes, but when he's out on his own his clothing is much simpler.

Faolan

Faolan is from a freehold, villages of people who live outside the protection of magic as well as the control of the church which directs it. Although he has the same constitution as Balfour which renders him able to receive/use magic from conduits, he generally looks down on them and would not have had anything to do with Mioritza if he hadn't reached the limit of what he was capable of achieving on his own.

He uses a sword and the bow and is very well versed in the sort of folk remedies that freeholders use to protect themselves from demons.

His clothing is generally simple since the freeholders tend to be poor/have more important things to do. But he also still owns some things which are quilted or embroidered.

Also all the shading on his fur lining disappeared when I scanned it u__u

[residentdormouse]

OC in Fifteen (or Less)

Thanks for the tag, @watermeezer. Sorry I've been sitting on this for a while. Didn't realize it was in my drafts til I went to post my chapter update. I really need to start getting back to interacting on here outside of living in the Gale Dekarios tag... Ah well, suppose the yearning rats know what they want...

Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

Sooo....

I've got one main OC that kinda just goes everywhere (the Stand, original worlds, Baldur's Gate), so Hayden Flynn it is:

"You'll have to excuse my ignorance, not exactly a local."

"Just because he is what he is, doesn't make him a threat. Only his choices would do that. You do make some pretty questionable choices sometimes, though.”

“Yeah, I'm apparently an open book…"

"Hey, I don't think life is going how anybody imagined it would. But it doesn't mean we can't make the best of what life is now. If you need somebody to listen, well, just know I'm here."

"Ok, so I'm gonna sound bat shit crazy right now but..."

"I'm just trying to make sure I'm not imposing! Stop letting me babble on like an idiot."

“It's what he said… I’m afraid of who I was, failing at who I am, and I’m not able to help anybody… just wasting energy on dead men.”

"An ace can be high or low, y'know. You can decide when you play that hand."

"Woah there, pot, I know I'm a kettle here too, but uh, I'm using magic for healing. And maybe to catch a buzz. It's not like I'm flying around here eating people or some shit. Let's just keep things in perspective, kay?"

"I would have remembered none of this if you all didn't choose violence first. And that. That's called karma, my friend, and she is quite the bitch."

“I don't think you want to be the bad guy, but that's just a gut feeling I'm having. Like to think I'm good at reading people, especially stuff they're not trying to advertise. Besides, what's to lose? I look like an idiot asking for help from an unlikely source. What does it matter, in the grand scheme of things? I have to try.”

This is the first time I'm here, yeah? Maybe it's time for a monkey wrench in the gears?"

And I don't believe it would be a true representation with at least including:

"Fuck off, Flagg." (It's a staple.)

No-pressure tagging: @cxttlefishcxller, @darknightfrombeyond, and OPEN TAG for anybody who wants to join in! (Like I said, out of the game, and barely leave the Gale tag...)

***IF YOU'RE READING THIS FROM THE BG3 FANDOM, AND YOU WRITE, PLEASE CONSIDER YOURSELF TAGGED! @ ME AND THROW OUT SOME OC/TAV LOVE.***

[dragonsarecool]

Febwhump Day 17 - Power Instability

A/N: A mentally unstable Dukat is a very frightening thing indeed. Too bad Sisko can't go anywhere without him. Set during 'Waltz'.

Blood kept dripping in front of his eyes, and he wiped the laceration on his brow irritably. He refused to take his gaze off of Dukat, who was comfortably perched on a nearby rock face, for fear that he may lunge at him while his back was turned. The bloodied pipe he'd just spent half an hour slamming into Sisko's body was clutched in his hands, a slight smile across his face as he cleaned away the evidence.

He knew he was living on borrowed time. Eventually, Dukat would become impatient or bored with him. He would become a liability instead of an asset.

He just wasn't sure how much longer he was going to be useful.

"You brought it on yourself, you know."

Seriously? Just when I thought Dukat couldn't sink any lower. "Just like all your victims, I suppose."

"'All my victims'. It always comes back to that, doesn't it? All my crimes. I'm such a monster, such an evil man," Dukat held his arms up as he mockingly proclaimed, "Behold Benjamin Sisko, supreme arbiter of right and wrong in the universe! A man of such high moral calibre that he can sit in judgement on all the rest of us."

Sisko could feel the last threads of his patience withering away. He was secretly proud of himself for having not torn Dukat's head off any earlier. "What the hell do you want from me? My approval? Is that what this is all about?"

Dukat simply smiled in response, and it made Sisko even angrier. "You want me to give you my permission to cause more suffering and death? Well, if that's what you're after, you might as well pull out that phaser and end this right now, because I will never give it to you!"

"Good! I like this," Dukat chuckled before his demeanour rapidly shifted, pointing aggressively at Sisko as he began to yell. "No more pretence! No games! Just you, me and the truth."

"What do you know about the truth?" Sisko snapped bitterly. "You bend the truth into whatever shape suits you."

"Judge Sisko hands down another ruling! But where is his evidence?"

Sisko took a moment to consider his options. His attempts to dissuade Dukat from pursuing this topic of conversation had failed; his captor's mind was clearly set on obtaining some sort of approval, or forgiveness, for his actions.

If he wanted to ensure Dukat would keep him alive, it appeared he'd have to become involved in this 'kangaroo court' of his.

Judge Sisko would have to provide a verdict that the accused found acceptable.

This is a very dangerous game to be playing. But it looks like I have no choice.

"You really want to do this?" Sisko's voice was low.

"Yes!"

"Right here? Right now?!"

"YES!"

"Alright then!" Sisko's body shook furiously as he stumbled to his feet, never breaking his steely gaze from Dukat's face. He tried to ignore his trembling hand as he formed it into a fist. "Let's do this then! Right here, right now! You were Prefect of Major during the Occupation. True or false?!"

"True."

"And you were responsible for everything that happened under your command. True or false?"

"True!"

"So that means that you are responsible for the murder of over five million Bajorans on your watch!" Spit flew from his mouth as he screamed at Dukat. "True or false?!"

"False! I tried to save lives during my administration!"

"Where's the evidence?!"

"Evidence?!" Dukat roared. He turned to the side, talking to someone that Sisko couldn't see. "He wants evidence! By the time I became Prefect, the occupation had been going on for nearly forty years! The planet still wasn't ready for full scale colonisation, but the Central Command wanted the situation resolved, and they didn't care how it was done."

He watched in silent horror as Dukat launched into another rant, pacing around the cave in an irritated fashion. Every few minutes he paused, tilting his head to listen to his hallucinations before continuing as if nothing had occurred. One by one he talked Sisko through his interventions and desperate attempts to establish peace with the Bajorans. All Sisko could see, however, was an invader attempting to justify his regime of hatred and terror.

It was almost as if he was begging for validation.

Any hope Sisko had of being rational with this man, or escaping from him, was quickly disappearing, much like the light from the dying campfire. Dukat became lost in a flurry of tears and ferocious rage. He howled and cursed the Bajorans, gesturing at the stone surrounding them with a new level of contempt.

He had to leave now.

[moorheadthanyoucanhandle]

BANANA REPUBLIC

Now in theaters:

Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes--Generations after the death of Caesar, the chimpanzee who founded ape civilization, apes live in clans along the California coast, around the grown-over ruins of human civilization. Our young hero Noa (Owen Teague) is part of the Eagle Clan, a sort of peaceable low-tech utopia that practices fishing by falconry.

Trouble arrives in the form of a raiding party which abducts the Eagle Clan while Noa is away. He follows, along the way picking up a scholarly orangutan, Raka (Peter Macon), and a waiflike human, Mae (Freya Allan). Noa eventually finds his clan enslaved on a beach, under the rule of Proximus Caesar (Kevin Durand), a swaggering monarch complete with crown and throne, demanding in blustery rhetoric that his throng of subjects pay him obeisance outside his palace, a rusted shipwreck.

Proximus claims authority in the name of Caesar the Lawgiver, but Raka has already taught Noa that his tyranny is an outrage to the true Caesar's egalitarian traditions. What Proximus really wants, it turns out, is to open the massive door to an underground seaside vault full of old human technology and all the potential power that any potentate could want.

This fourth of the latter-day Apes movies is, one might say, the ape-iest of them, the one most immersed in an established ape culture and with the most meager human presence. Directed by Maze Runner veteran Wes Ball from a script by Josh Friedman, it's also the most modest, in blockbuster terms; the cast is made up largely of journeyman TV actors mostly unfamiliar to me. The only name player I recognized was the always reliable William H. Macy, as a human bookworm who's teaching Proximus the follies of human history, often to the King's uproarious laughter.

It's a moody, evenly paced adventure that borrows not only from the original Apes series, especially 1970's satirically seething Beneath the Planet of the Apes, but from other mythic sources including Star Wars and The Lion King. And it's admirably unsentimental, with characters seemingly ripe for redemption that aren't redeemed and alliances that don't warm into friendships. The atmosphere is bitter but bracing, and the film has a heart of hard but noble honor.

It's difficult, these days, for many of us to see any movie about autocratic rule, or the undermining of democratic values, or the allure of "strongman" leadership, as anything but a political allegory for our times. The mangy, orange-furred ape tyrant "Skar King" in the recent Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire, for instance, seemed like little more than a heavy-handed, though entertaining, political cartoon. But if Proximus was intended as a stand-in for our current would-be sovereign, I have to say, his high-flown language and historical curiosity make for an overgenerous caricature.