#the moment when the pieces click into place in a way that makes both elements make sense

[fictionadventurer]

Have I mentioned lately that creating AUs is the most fun thing ever? You get to take a story you love and then mash it against another type of story you love and fit all their pieces together like they're a jigsaw puzzle. You get to find all the unexpected points of similarity where the stories fit together really well, and see the places where their differences change and make commentary on the original stories/genres in really interesting ways.

And then once you fit the pieces together, you get to look at the new world you've made and see how these characters in this specific world have different conflicts and explore new themes, and you get to play with another level of puzzles as you figure out what this means for this story.

It's the most fun ever. It's my favorite game.

[frownyalfred]

I am hoping you can help me better understand something about my Zach Snyder feelings, because I know you have enjoyed his work.

I have conflicting feelings and I THINK it comes down to a different imagery language and some unnamed thing in his storytelling. It's mostly the unnamed thing I'm trying to ID.

When I describe broadly the plots, character motivation (obviously as I understand them), and events, I find myself very interested in his movies and what they have to say. Then I rewatch and I don't feel the same way. It feels dark (desaturation or whatever that filter is called), overly dramatic in a way that feels cartoonist or silly instead of meaningful, or boring and slow. There are some engaging moments some that are action some that are pretty or funny. However, few that move/engage me.

I know people often love or hate Snyder but I mostly feel his movies exist, have a few interesting elements but overall if they weren't about characters I was interested in, I just wouldn't watch. I don't hate or love it. I don't think it's the greatest or the worst.

Example of a storytelling concept that I get and liked in theory but not execution. The Martha, why did you say that name moment. Snyder is connecting Bruce to Clark's "humanity" in a way that hits Bruce in a place where he is always vulnerable and is primal/basic. When people mock this scene I have the urge to defend because I understand (in my way) what he was going for, but I can't because at no point in watching or rewatching that scene do I feel that. Even though he rehashed the Wayne's death in the beginning, then connects back to it during their fight about what his parent's taught Bruce. It still FEELS out of place and "falsely" dramatic.

That's all I can think to give as an example and not make this longer (sorry this is long). But if my descriptions click something for you as a writer and fan of Snyder, please let me know. I just don't know what it is about his storytelling and it's annoying to not understand why there is this disconnect.

Thank you for your patience, if you even get thru this, LOL.

I'm not a film major and I am definitely no expert, but I've been thinking about this ask. I agree with a lot of what you brought up, though it is hard to describe what that exact disconnect is with Snyder's films, and you'll get a million different opinions depending on who you ask.

To me, Snyder's DC films always feel like movies that were excellent plots on paper wrapped around a series of interesting and awe-inducing visuals and scores. There are scenes he does well -- one of my favorites being the initial scene in BVS where Bruce runs into the Battle of Metropolis -- almost because they feel like a separate, isolated moment in his script. There are scenes that drag, exposition dump, and feel dark and strange.

There seems to be a disconnect between him, the writer, and him, the director. He's good at both, don't get me wrong -- but there's something missing in between.

People on reddit will tell you the problem with BVS, at the end of the day, is all the plot holes or the cheesy dialogue. I mostly disagree. Especially after seeing Oppenheimer recently, I think Snyder struggles with building and maintaining the pace of his plot and the emotions he's trying to cultivate in his viewers. Continuity is key -- scenes building up on each other, revealing new layers of meaning and importance, leaving viewers guessing only on the least-obvious plot points.

He has all the pieces -- decent dialogue, powerhouse actors, amazing CGI, a script most people wouldn't laugh at on paper -- but they don't quite form a whole.

I did a quick review of some the things I like about BVS, thinking through this ask, and I think it's pretty revealing that most of those things are pieces, not overall themes.

The Battle of Metropolis flashback

Ben Affleck visually as Bruce Wayne

Lex's scenes with the Senator

The score

Kryptonite/Training scene

Lex's entry into Zod's ship

Diana

Bruce at the fundraiser

Warehouse fight scene

Alfred's dialogue

Lakehouse shots

Knightmare scene

As for the Martha scene, my inclination is that it's rarely out of place or strange when written correctly. In fics, I've seen it done very well. But Snyder doesn't use it for what it is -- a climax of Bruce Wayne's anger and misguided actions -- because he never truly brought the viewer all the way along with Bruce.

TL;DR: I don't know either. But I agree and commiserate with you on this. I still enjoy watching BVS and other Snyder films, but seeing other films -- especially Nolan's, which I'm not saying are theoretically better -- makes the difference very jarring.

[sweetvixen1996]

ok, i never read manga or watched anime, but i see arlong park being mentioned in context of nami, so i wanted to know what was it about? do you mind spoiling me? 😂

as a new live action zinami shipper i just hope for any possible zonami crumbs in the future 😂😂

Oh boy, that is a BIG QUESTION. But I'll do my best to answer

Arlong Park is both an arc, a place, and an important moment in the sorta Meta of One Piece.

As an arc, is serves as very much the climax of the East Blue Saga. It has the biggest fights, the most elaborate backstory (so far), and is an event that leads to Luffy getting his first bounty.

For Nami, in particular, it is Her Arc. It is the one where her backstory, motivations, dreams, fears, and psyche are most explored. The long and sort is that the villain, Arlong, killed Nami's mother and enslaved Nami to make him maps. With the promise that if she gathered enough money, Nami could buy her and her village's freedom. For course, he's a filthy liar, and Luffy and the others need to help step to unleash some well-deserved beatdowns.

As a location, Arlong Park is where Arlong and his crew of fishmen (and Nami) live. It is a repurposed marine base and, as we learn much later, redesigned and renamed to look like the theme park that Arlong and his friends were unable to go to as children due to prejudice against fishmen. This all factors into the much large story about cycles of hatred that exist within the large story of OP that I don't have time to get into here.

But the important thing is that it serves as a great location for the final fights of the arc, giving three different environments to use and different ways to play to the different fighters' strengths. And, considering it served as Nami's prison for so many years, seeing it get destroyed is immensely cathartic.

Now, for the meta angle... When fans of OP are trying to get others into the series, we often say, "If you get to the end of Arlong Park and still don't like it, One Piece is probably not the series for you."

This is because Arlong Park is when the series really BECOMES One Piece. It's where all the elements of the story that make it great -the characters, the fights, the backstories, the worldbuilding- really come together in full force. That's not to say the previous arcs are bad, but rather that each did a few things very well while Arlong Park did EVERYTHING well.

Specifically, the famous 'Luffy... Help me' scene has become an iconic moment in anime in general. Many OP fans (myself included) cite it as the scene that made them fall in love with the series. When watching reaction videos and people reach that moment, I can sometimes even see some 'click' in their eyes. It's the moment they GET IT!

All these years later, and this moment still makes me tear up.

As for Nami & Zoro... This is definitely an important arc to their relationship.

Zoro has spent the previous arc being rather wary of Nami (and not without cause) but when Luffy orders Zoro to bring her back, he is determined to do it -even if it gets him captured. A fan-favorite moment occurs when a captive Zoro is brought before Arlong and Nami. Despite Nami herself and Arlong swearing that this cold-hearted person is Nami's True Self, Zoro decides to go with his gut and test her.

He throws himself into the water, still tied up, and banks on Nami to save him. And she does, even though it makes Arlong suspicious. Especially after Nami frees Zoro and gives him his swords back so he can escape.

(I'm really sad we don't get this moment in the live-action series)

This has Zoro convinced she's a good person in a bad situation, yet later, when it appears Nami has killed Usopp, Zoro is once again confused about her character. It's only when Usopp turns back up and explains what happens that Zoro fully throws his swords in Nami's corner. He even sleeps through her backstory because, by this point, he knows she is good.

Hope this all helps but honestly you should just go experience it yourself because I can't do the arc justice.

[jyndor]

Cassian and Jyn are work besties having lunch in a nearby park and someone thinks they're together and they get very both get flustered?👀

(lmfao kept it in universe like a weirdo, and this is pretty much half a love letter to yavin iv my problematic fave moon. we stan a sith stronghold turned rebel base.

the other half is ~~~symbolism)

They spent the final days before the evacuation soaking in Yavin IV, using up free hours on hikes through the redwoods or swimming in the lakes a few clicks away from the Massassi ziggurats. All that history and so little of it known. Jyn sometimes thought that Lyra would have been in her element on Yavin IV.

Cassian seemed determined to show her and the others the entire moon, to share the pieces of himself he'd hidden underneath the canopies. But today Bodhi was smuggling medical supplies with Solo and Skywalker, Kay was treating himself to an oil bath, and the Guardians were attempting to commune or something with the indigenous Massassi people (Jyn was not sure how that was possible, given that the Massassi were not around any longer and had not been for thousands of years, but she trusted the Force and she trusted the Guardians even more. If they thought it was possible, then it was.) So it was just Jyn and Cassian, having a very nice picnic in the Valley.

The Alliance planned to leave before the rainy season hit in full force, so Jyn and Cassian weren't the only rebels trying to soak in the natural beauty of the moon while the weather held up. They'd passed a few others (including Kes Dameron and Shara Bey) while on Cassian's speeder bike, now parked a short distance away from the blanket Jyn had thrown onto the ground. No one was likely to return here, and a sentimental sort of mood had settled over the base. The Rebels were at war; the odds were what they were.

The valley was wide and covered in grass that looked just slightly drier than Jyn would have expected of a moon covered in rainforests and jungles - but then, it was the dry season - and in the distance a blue-gray mountain rose through murky fog. It was a hazy day, but less humid than it had been when she'd been brought to the base for the first time months before.

Cassian handed her a container with a portion of kaadu ribs and the slaw he'd spent the morning working on. Her ribs had more sauce than his did and she hadn’t even asked for it. Jyn looked away from him to hide her smile. He knew her so well.

"I don't know how you had the time to find all these places," she said when he sat beside her. "I thought you were busy taking shots in the dark," she teased. He stopping chewing for a moment to look at her - she was ashamed to see a fair bit of uncertainty in his dark eyes. She tried to throw a reassuring, if not apologetic, smile his way, and it seemed to work. Though it often felt as if she'd known him for years, there were still times that it was clear they still had a lot to learn about being friends with one another.

(Sometimes her jokes fired a little sharper than she intended, or he would mention someone who he'd forgotten she hadn't known. Learning new things about each other meant making mistakes with each other. She was especially sensitive to the mosquitos that lived near the base, and he hadn't realized that until the time a few weeks after the Battle of Yavin they'd raced each other to the marshes... and forgotten to pack bug repellent. He’d never had a friend who was so reactive to bug bites before.

And sometimes they learned new things under pressure: Cassian had a high tolerance to stims, so Jyn had been surprised to learn that a standard dose didn't work as well for him - and like her, he usually just tried not to bother with them at all.)

She wanted to be more careful with him. But old habits - her cutting words, the venom under her tongue - died hard.

His eyes cleared. "After missions I often need some time by myself to decompress and return to my own head, if that makes sense. I mean, you've done it." Jyn nodded, thinking of the times she'd switched names and wigs and accents just to find her next gig. It was exhausting to just remember who Jyn Erso was, and how she was different from and the same as Tanith Ponta or Lianna Hallick or Kestrel Dawn.

But those women had always been Jyn, deep down. Same thoughts, same convictions (even if they'd been repressed). Cassian became wholly new people.

She wasn't sure she had the faintest idea how draining that was. "I suppose I was always on, but I was always me, too."

He was staring at her, something warm in his eyes, a softening of his bearded jaw. The way she could read his thoughts writ in the crinkling of his brow, saying I see you because you are me. Nearly mirror images, running subparallel until the inevitable point of convergence; and in the aftermath of the collision: stardust.

There was sauce just beside his lip.

"Oh, you've got a bit of-" she said and wiped it away with her fingers. She felt his warm breath against her skin and his gaze, warmer still, on her face. Like a touch, like his own hands - strong, slender, calloused and always so gentle with her - brushing against her stardust cheeks, tracing the constellation of her freckles.

A pair of whisper birds flew overhead. Cassian's nose brushed hers, which was awfully convenient because that made his lips accessible, and she was about ready to throw all of her reservations out the window.

Cassian's wrist comm buzzed loudly, and Jyn pulled away with a start. “Andor,” he said, ears reddening - from the sun, of course. Jyn was certain her cheeks were burning too. Yavin’s rays were powerful, especially with the haze. She’d gotten a bad sunburn back when they’d gone to the lakes months before and hadn’t forgotten sunscreen since, but maybe she’d missed a spot.

“Hey Cassian, just landed.”

Cassian smiled. “Hi Bodhi. Back home in one piece, no chemical burns?”

"Solo’s not so bad. Say, I was looking for you and Jyn but Dameron said you were on a date-”

Jyn grabbed Cassian’s wrist and glared at the blue holo of Bodhi Rook, who looked healthy and unscathed and entirely too innocent to not be needling them. “One mission with Solo and you’ve turned into a moofmilker. You should get your head checked.”

“We’re having lunch,” Cassian added.

“Can you put Chirrut on?” Bodhi asked.

“He’s not here.”

“What about Baze? Or Kaytoo?”

Jyn frowned. “It’s just us,” she said reluctantly.

“And you’re not on a date?”

Cassian pulled his wrist out of Jyn’s grip. “Bodhi the signal out here is not great. Let’s talk later, alright? Bye now.” He ended the call before Bodhi could respond. Jyn snorted. Bodhi had personally extended all of their comms signals weeks ago. Cassian knew this, of course, and rubbed at his eyes for a long moment.

“For a spy, you’re a terrible liar.”

He peeked out at her between his fingers and then dropped his hands to his lap. He had a look so stunned, like she’d hit him over the head with her truncheons. “You, um. Jyn.” He lifted his hand, seeming overcome by something she could not perceive, and reached up to her cheek, stilling before he could touch her.

She wanted to know what had come over him. She also wanted him to touch her.

“Cassian?” she whispered. To her own ears, she could hear what she’d wanted to say to him: please touch me if I’m right, if you’re like me.

“Sauce,” he said, his voice shaking slightly.

Her brow furrowed. “What?”

“You’ve got barbecue sauce there.”

Laughter bubbled from within her, a soul-deep joyful thing, and she tugged once more on his wrist, pressing his fingers to her skin. He grinned down at her and wiped his thumb against the corner of her lip. His calloused trigger finger brushed against her lashes and her cheekbone as he dipped down and kissed her laughter into silence.

[avictimofthejazz]

A Well-Oiled Machine--Nancy & Reed

@timeguardians

Nancy’s expression, if possible, grows grimmer as she makes her pronouncement. Worried, Reed finds himself taking her elbow and guiding her to a quieter corner of the department store. Once they are tucked behind a display of ties and suitcoats, his eyes drop to the bundle again.

Nancy’s query only brings an anxiety knot into his stomach. “Yeah… I’ve got a toddler.” He confirms, eyes returning to her as he takes in how fully distraught she looks. There is being worried and then there is looking like being on the verge of a breakdown. Right now, Nancy is tilting toward the latter with surprising speed.

A few seconds later, the pieces start clicking together as she reveals the infant she has been cradling close to her chest. Automatically his hands reach out for the baby if Nancy wishes to hand it over, paternal instincts overriding the police officer’s instincts for a moment.

It is only for a moment though. Then Officer Reed’s reaction pushes Papa Reed’s reaction back into its proper place. “Of course, you cannot take the baby back to your hotel room… or New Jersey for that matter.” He agrees. “But what kind of scheme do you think you’ve stumbled on? If you just found an abandoned baby, you should have taken them to the hospital, or called the police. One of our officers could have come and picked them up for you.”

Pete and he have done those kinds of calls before, responding to people who have found babies in dumpsters or left in shopping bags on steps. The lucky infants are the ones left on the steps of orphanages—the people running those locations have to report the incident to the police but the baby already has a place to go. Kids who are just dumped end up getting hustled around a lot more.

No matter the circumstances though, all of these cases are heartbreaking. Reed dotes on his son… he cannot imagine what might prompt a mother to toss her baby in a dumpster, or leave them exposed to the elements and all kinds of dangers. Reed gets a little nervous when Jimmy wants to try and fumble his way down the stairs on the back porch on his own. He cannot imagine leaving his little man to face the world completely alone, just walking away, and being able to live with that.

He looks around the store quickly. “Tell you what. Jeanie is buying more clothes for Jimmy and redoing the kitchen. I’ll find her, and explain what is going on. Then I’ll give Pete a call—he can meet us at a diner or something, and you can explain everything to both of us.”

There has to be a reason why Nancy did not go directly to the station with this baby, and chose to come to him instead. It might have something to do with this scheme she says she has uncovered… and since she is supposed to have a SWAT officer with her for her own protection, either she ditched her guard, or a few officers are somehow implicated in her discovery. Either way, she does not seem comfortable trusting the LAPD as a whole with this information.

That alone seems like crucial information… and a very good reason to keep this situation quiet until he has a better grip on what is going on.

   Discoveries like this are way out of the teen sleuth’s wheelhouse. Willfully, Nancy follows the officer’s gentle guiding behind the wracks, whilst trying to appease the small squirming bundle. “Then I need your help,” she utters in rush of desperation. Officer Reed was the perfect man to help her. He’s law enforcement and a father which, is EXACTLY, who she needs in this moment. With a sense of relief and eagerness, Nancy gingerly deposits the babe into his awaiting arms.

“I tried to give it some milk but, I think — something’s wrong with her.” She confesses. “It hasn’t wanted to stop fussing long enough to do anything else.” The teen tries to burrow her frustration down deep enough that it can’t resurrect. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong–”

Nancy supposed the task of tending to a youngin would be easier to manage had she helped raise younger siblings. But Nancy was an only child. An only child who hadn’t very many memories of her dearly departed mother. Hannah was an amazing blessing to her family, but even she is of no use here. She stayed behind to watch over their house in River Heights.Not because Hannah wasn’t invited, she was. She stayed behind to visit with her own daughter.

 Her sky-blue eyes search the Officer’s equally as keen gaze. “I think,” and she does start her reply with utmost caution, “I think I’ve stumbled upon a baby trafficking ring in the basement of a well-known plastic surgeon—” She confides, her voce dipping conspiratorially low. You never be too sure if, or when, or who, was eavesdropping. She didn’t want to take any chances and let the man be tipped off. If there is a trafficking ring, she’s already determined that she wants to SHUT IT DOWN permanently. “I tried. Believe me. I called dispatch this morning. They thought I was some kind of jokester and kept giving me the runaround. That’s when I decided to come and find you.” She insistently remarks. Having spent a ride-along with Reed and Malloy, she learned that they were honorable officers. It was that impression that serviced her well in this moment. “And I think there’s a cop on the surgeon’s payroll.”

“Listen,” she starts, “I’ll agree to your deal, but I want in on this operation. I – I could go undercover for you—” She offers. “You and I both want to catch this creep–” Nancy wanted to be on strong footing with the arrangement before she delved any further. “And I don’t want to hear any of this – you’re a kid stuff. Okay? I’m nationally renown.” Okay. So maybe her tone was a bit more assertive than it has any right to be. Still, it is deployed all the same.

_____________

Jean is blissfully unaware of the case about to sweep her husband and his partner from their “days off”. “Jim?” She calls when she spots her lanky husband again, “don’t you think Jimmy would look darling in green? Or– or do you prefer the red - or the blue?” She holds each one up in front of their squirming toddler. Then turning her eyes back to him. “Jim? What on Earth do you have there?”

= = = = = = = = =

As soon as the baby is placed in his arms, Reed begins to rock her gently. While the movement does not stop the squirming and fussing entirely, it is enough to quiet the noises so that he can hold his conversation with Nancy. “She might just be hungry. Maybe the milk wasn’t warm enough when you offered it to her. We’ll take care of that after we get the bigger picture dealt with.”

Reed does not consider himself an expert on feeding hungry babies, but he does not have to be. Jean handles those areas of their family. She will probably have some good advice for Nancy, once he catches his wife up with this new situation.

Nancy’s next statements are a good deal more interesting to Reed, both from a professional point-of-view, and a practical one. “That’s quite a claim, Nancy.” He keeps his voice level and quiet, though his pulse rate is already picking up at the mere implication of her words. “What kind of proof do you have? Besides the baby?”  He nods down toward the fussing infant in his arms.

The information that Nancy had tried to get help from the appropriate sources, but the dispatchers dismissed her brings a deeper frown to his features. The final statement that she thinks a cop is working with this surgeon is the last straw. Whatever is going on here sounds very, very serious, and warrants a proper investigation. Not the dispatchers deciding for themselves what calls should and should not be answered.

A chill runs through him as he briefly wonders how many other situations have gone unreported because some dispatcher decided not to send the information on to the proper people. They should let the professionals decide for themselves once they have spoken to the witnesses, or reached the scene of the alleged crime. The dispatchers should not make these assumptions on their own, from their spot on a switchboard.

“I’m glad you came to me then.” Reed offers her some assurance. “You shouldn’t have had to go through that with the dispatchers today. They should have sent your information to an officer, and let them make the final call. But, if there’s a crooked cop on the take, maybe it’s best that your location didn’t get blasted over the radio.”

Reed turned his attention to the baby again for a minute, welcoming the pause as a natural way to change the direction of his conversation. The minute passes, and he speaks again. “What makes you think there’s a cop on this guy’s payroll, anyways?”

Nancy, however, is already ploughing full steam ahead. Reed cannot help laughing. “Man… Street wasn’t lying when he said keeping up with you was like trying to keep a lit firecracker in its paper wrapping. This isn’t about how old, or how famous you are. First, we need to make sure that there is a case. Then we have to figure out the best way to tackle it. Maybe we will need someone to go undercover in there—and if we do, you’ll be on the list. Okay?”

Jean’s reintroduction to the conversation brings such a blast of normality to it that it almost bowls Reed over. For a second, he hovers between his roles as an officer, a husband, and a father. The sight of his son trying to escape from his mother’s need to make him test all the clothes she is looking at brings a smile to his features, but it is not as deep or bright as it usually is.

“You just know he’s going to get mud on it all in a few days, right Jean?” He gently reminds her before shrugging as best as he can with the baby in his arms. “I’d say the green or the blue… but buy whichever one you think looks best.”

It takes Jean a minute to realize her husband is holding a new baby, and he belatedly realizes that the needed explanation should have been the first thing on his mind.

“Oh… this is a baby that Miss Drew—you remember I mentioned Nancy Drew, right? The young lady who went on the ride along with Pete and me? Well, she found an abandoned baby… and thinks she stumbled in on something a bit more serious too. I’m just going to call Pete, and have him hear what Miss Drew has to say. Why don’t you go on shopping? We shouldn’t be at this too long.”    

[phantomrose96]

Old Wounds

Danny’s secret is not a secret anymore.

The lines between Fenton and Phantom have long since blurred. And it’s a common occurrence for news reporters to trip over their tongue when flagging him down, mid-transformation, for a post-fight interview. “Phanton.” “Fentom.” So often that, to most now, he is just Danny.

When Danny wants upgrades to his gear, he comes to his mother. When Danny learns a quirky new element of Ghost Zone lore, he brings it to his father. When the Amity Park Ghost Alarm is raised, he’s first on the scene with the Fenton RV right on his non-corporeal heels.

When he’s injured, Danny comes only to his friends and sister.

Jazz notices the pattern. How it is only her, or only Sam, or only Tucker who receives the late-night knock at the window glass, with her brother on the other side, corny sheepish smile on display and arm or leg or shoulder held up in explanation.

Jazz notices how hushed Danny remains, day or night, when he comes to her for first aid. How he speaks in that same hesitant muted tone as he did when all of this was still a secret. How he quiets himself in the way injured prey animals do.

Jazz doesn’t feel it’s her place to ask. Not yet, at least. Eventually. But not yet.

The window is open. Honeysuckle-sweet gusts of late-spring air swirl through Jazz’s room and tease away the sheen of sweat that has collected on her brow. She cannot wipe it away herself, not with both hands meticulously occupied in tweezering out the singed fabric from her brother’s arm.

Danny winces, and hisses, and Jazz frees another thread from its embedded hold in Danny’s burn wound.

“It’s kind of like… summer vacation when we were kids and we’d get splinters visiting Aunt Alicia’s lake house,” Jazz remarks with another careful tug. “…If we can call it a lake house.”

“Lake shed,” Danny replies, grinning through the sweat shining on his pale face. “And I think every part of that dock was an OSHA violation.” He laughs through another wince.

“Dad was the king of tweezers. I think he got out every splinter that dock ever gave me.” Jazz pauses. “I wonder why that was. Think it’s the needlepoint?”

“It’s definitely the needlepoint,” Danny agrees.

Jazz hesitates on the question lingering behind her tongue. Just a little too long. Just a little too obviously.

“What?” Danny asks.

Jazz’s hand falters. She puts the tweezers down. “Danny, I will always always be happy to help you like this. Same goes for Sam, same goes for Tucker, I know. I’m positive. But I wonder why… not Mom or Dad?” Jazz eyes the tweezers, glinting in the moonlight. “I’m just… I’m thinking how much cleaner this might be if you got Dad to do it. And Mom’s got like, wilderness survival level first aid expertise. I can’t help thinking I’m hurting you more by it being… me, you know?”

Danny looks at her, and looks past her a moment. His grin slips a fraction into discomfort as his eyes leave hers. “Maybe I just like the excuse to invade your room.”

“Danny…” Jazz waits until he looks at her again. “Are you afraid they’ll make you stop if they realize you’re getting injured?”

Danny lets out a puff of air from behind his lips. “No, never. I mean, maybe if I got really really injured they’d say something. But just getting a little roughed up? I think it’s about on par with a kid coming home from football practice with a few scrapes, at least, in their eyes. They get more banged up than me these days. I’m not worried.”

Jazz reaches for the bottle of disinfectant. She unscrews the cap to a biting alcohol smell. “…So will you tell me why?”

“Why what?”

“Why you won’t ever go to them with injuries? Ever?”

Cotton swab, pure silver under the moonlight. Jazz douses it gently, a muted glug-glug from the bottle.

“…I’m that obvious about it, huh?”

“You’re obvious about most things. This’ll be cold.” Jazz applies the swab to the open wound, and Danny hisses in turn.

“Yeah. Cold. And stingy. Cold and stingy.” After a few seconds, the tension eases out of Danny’s body. He droops a little, shoulders slumped, and Jazz pulls the cotton swab away.

“Are you ashamed of your injuries?”

“No.”

“Are you worried Mom and Dad’ll make them worse?”

“Nah. You said it yourself, those two are weird, unconventional medical experts.”

“Then why not?”

A beat of silence follows. A moment of trepidation. Awash in moonlight, Danny looks up at her, and the glow in his green eyes has a life of its own. “I don’t want them to see the injuries that have already healed.”

“Why would that be a problem?” Jazz looks again. Danny’s suit covers most everything, save now for the one sleeve that’s been rolled back. She sees what she already knew was there – what isn’t obvious to the eye not searching – threads of white ridges, puckers of skin, a faded rashy texture of what had once been an ectoblast burn. Old injuries. Long healed. Faded and fading further. “Those are all healed now. Just some scars, right…?”

Danny hesitates.

“I don’t want them to figure out how many of those scars they caused.”

A gust of wind steals the antiseptic smell from the room. Jazz sits with the silence. She thinks, and she processes.

“Oh…”

Danny straightens. “They kind of… live in this world where hunting ghosts is all fun and games, you know? Like it’s a sport, like they can just get into go-mode and jump into the fun. I don’t think they’ve figured out yet that they can—could—did …cause damage.”

Danny adjusts himself on Jazz’s bed, one leg pulled up, body angled to face her directly. He doesn’t let his eye contact wander now. “They both apologized. Definitely. Like that definitely happened, back at the start of this. But it was kind of like ‘We must’ve given you so much trouble Danny! How’d you come home every day and not bite our heads off over that?’ Like. Again. Like it’s a game. Like they’d been knocking my chess pieces over for a year and not—”

Danny falters. He raises his uninjured arm and tucks the hair away from his face. “And I don’t… want it to click for them. What I have right now with Mom and Dad is so nice… It’s so much better than I even imagined. I want it to stay like this. Forever, if possible.”

“Danny…”

“And even that actually—maybe I’m actually wrong about that. Completely wrong. About their reaction, I mean. It’s possible maybe they’d see everything and just go,” Danny deepens his voice, “‘Wow! We did a number on you, huh? Man Danny I don’t know how you didn’t just smack us over the breakfast table every morning.’ you know? Like that. Like this was all just always a game. And they—and I-- …I like how relaxed ghost hunting is with them. I actually like that it feels like a game. I don’t ever want to go back to feeling how scared and afraid and unsafe and hurt I was that first year. ...But I’m afraid of how it would feel to know that maybe they’d see that, look at it all, everything they did and the scars like the actual proof and it—if it wouldn't ever be real to them. If they'd never get that it was like that. If they still wouldn’t realize—you know? That they—if they—I don’t uh…” Danny drops his eyes, and he shrinks in on himself. “I don’t know how to explain it…”

“No I—Danny I know what you’re saying. Don’t worry. Danny, I—”

“Either answer. Any answer. I don’t want to know… I don’t actually want to know.” Danny angles himself away again, feet dropped over the side of Jazz’s bed, staring down at the hands in his lap. “If it would horrify them, then I’d be ruining all the good things I have with them right now. And if it wouldn’t horrify them—” Danny falls quiet. The breeze has stilled. The room is colder now. “…then I think I just don’t ever want to know.”

Jazz nods, and nods harder.

“I get it. I get it. That’s a good enough answer for me, Danny, I promise. I’m your first aid person, okay? I won’t ask again. Thanks for… thanks for telling me, Danny.”

"Can always trust you to bring up the difficult conversations huh? Of course that's always been your thing. Talking to you is--well I'd say it's like pulling teeth, but maybe it's more like pulling ecto-demolished hazmat suit fabric out of a burn wound."

Danny offers a sheepish grin - it's an olive branch, a request to lighten the mood. Jazz meets it with her own small grin that does not touch her eyes.

"Yeah yeah, I'm your older sister. It's my job to be a pain. Now sit still, I need to be more of a pain if we're gonna de-hazmat suit your injury."

She picks the tweezers back up. The silence rings with an echo in her head now. Jazz focuses her attention back on her task, and she finds something she was wrong about before:

There is nothing faded about the scars that web up and down her little brother’s arm. They are stark streaks of lightning, glowing silver under the moonlight. And Jazz wonders how many others—how many that flaked away and melded back with healthy skin—how many of those might still be living, lingering, a permanent part of her little brother, buried well beneath the surface…

[obeymeoasis]

Demon Bros React: MC Is Insecure

Warnings: mentions of insecurity surrounding body image, physical appearance, self-worth.

Lucifer

It was the day after a party Diavolo had thrown at his castle. You had had fun for the most part, dancing with the brothers and eating delicious foods prepared by Barbatos. 

But you also remembered how it had felt to look around the room and realize you were surrounded by gorgeous demons, not a single flaw on anyone’s face. Doubt and insecurity had begun to creep into your mind, and that feeling had carried over into the next day.

You had only talked briefly with Lucifer at the party because he was too busy interacting with Diavolo’s guests. Every time you tried to catch his eye, you noticed how beautiful whoever he was talking to was and found yourself swallowing down your greeting.

Currently Lucifer was at his desk like always, scribbling down notes and shuffling through papers. You brought him afternoon tea and sat reading in one of his armchairs to keep him company.

You had been telling yourself that you were going to ask him the question that was burning in your mind, but an hour had already passed since you first came in. You tried to distract yourself with your book but the words were fuzzy on the page. Finally, you spoke. “Luci?”

He didn’t look up from his desk when he answered, “Yes, love?”

“Do you... do you ever wish I was more beautiful?”

The scratching of his pen stopped immediately and Lucifer lowered the papers he was holding to show his face, a carefully blank expression revealing nothing. “What exactly do you mean by that question?”

“I mean exactly what I asked. Do you ever wish I was more beautiful? More attractive? As the Avatar of Pride have you ever been... embarrassed to be seen with me?”

At this Lucifer’s expression grew cold and furious. “Has someone... made you feel this way? Has someone made you feel as if you are inadequate?” You shook your head sadly and whispered, “No, just my own brain.”

“Ah, I see. Well pet, I don’t ever wish you were more beautiful because you are the most beautiful being I’ve ever seen. So it would be physically impossible for you to be more beautiful than you are now.”

You snorted. “Luci, that was so cheesy. Your brothers would throw up if they heard what you just said.” Lucifer’s lips quirked up in amusement. “Well, I’m glad I was able to make you laugh. And I do mean what I said. I’ve never once felt embarrassed to be with you; you are my pride, the source of my happiness. If anyone were to suggest otherwise, I would gladly kill them.”

“Luci, we’ve been over this. You can’t just kill everyone who is mildly rude to me.”

Lucifer went back to working on his papers but there was a gentle smile on his face. “Darling, you’ll find that I definitely can. I have a permit.”

Mammon

You were regretting tagging along to one of Mammon’s photo shoots. At first, it seemed like a fun idea getting to look at all the clothes, makeup, and jewelry. Plus, you really wanted to see what Mammon was like when he was working professionally. 

It was fun at first, you cooing over how handsome Mammon looked in his outfit and watching him get all flustered and blushy. But then the actual photoshoot started and you watched as Mammon posed with a stunning model.

You tried to not let your insecurities get the best of you. You were here to support Mammon! But as the shoot progressed you couldn’t help but start to compare yourself, keeping track of how they were more beautiful and you more flawed. 

The photographer stopped to take a break and Mammon immediately bounced over to you. “MC, did you see me? How does it feel to watch the Great Mammon in his natural element? I look good, don’t I?”

You caressed Mammon’s cheek and feigned a bright smile. “You were amazing Mammon! You look so handsome. And this is such a cool outfit!” But Mammon was somehow always able to tell when you were faking a good mood and he frowned. “MC, is something wrong? You look sad. Did something happen?”

You opened your mouth, an excuse ready on your lips, but found you couldn’t lie right to Mammon’s face. You gestured toward the model who was talking to their manager in the corner. “Do you ever wish I looked like that?”

Mammon cocked his head, confused. “Do I ever wish you had blue hair? Not particularly? Although now that I think about it, blue hair would look cool on you too.”

You sighed. “No, I mean do you ever wish I looked like a model? Sexier? Or prettier?” Mammon thought for a moment, processing your question, and then frowned. “Oh no no no. Treasure, what’s this all about? What happened?”

“Sorry Mams, I didn’t want to distract you while you’re working. I just got really low and insecure all of a sudden. Started thinking about how you should be with someone really beautiful, you know? And sometimes I feel like that’s not me.”

Clearly upset, Mammon rushed to give you a crushing hug, tucking your head underneath his chin. “MC I- I wish I could beam my thoughts into your head. That way you’d really believe me when I say that you’re so precious to me. Every day I wake up and think about how lucky I am to be with you.”

You chuckled a little. “I do put up a lot with you, don’t I.” Mammon gently smacked you on your back. “Hey! I’ve been good lately! But seriously MC, you are stunning. You are gorgeous. And it’s okay if you don’t believe me right now because- because I’ll tell you as many times as you need me to! I’ll tell you a thousand times a day! A million times!”

You tried to blink away the tears in your eyes and held onto Mammon even tighter. “Thanks Mams, I love you so much.”

“Love you too treasure. Your first man’s gonna take care of you, don’t you worry about a thing.”

Leviathan

Usually you liked watching anime with Levi; it was one of your favorite things to do together. Levi was always more happy and lively when watching with you because he was able to express his opinions freely without judgment. And you thought it was adorable how excited Levi got over his favorite characters and storylines.

Today, you were snuggled together on some cushions re-watching an episode of “The Magical Ruri Hanai: Demon Girl”. At first you were enjoying the episode, laughing as Ruri got used to the oddities of the human world. But Levi’s repeated comments about how cute Ruri-chan was, which you usually never minded, started to bother you a bit.

You took a quick glance around the room, noting Levi’s enormous collection of Ruri-chan posters, figurines, and other merch. Levi tapped you on the knee, interrupting your thoughts. “MC, you’re missing the best part! What are you looking at?”

You sighed a little, struggling to act nonchalant. “Sorry Levi, it’s nothing. I’m still watching.” Frowning, Levi paused the episode and turned to look at you. “Hey, what’s up?”

Taking a deep breath, you said “Levi, I’m not Ruri-chan.” He narrowed his eyes in confusion. “Yes... I know?”

You continued, “I don’t look like Ruri-chan. Does that bother you?”

“Does it bother me... that you don’t look like an anime character?” He repeated the question slowly, as if you had asked him the strangest question in the world.

Frustrated, you blurted out “I don’t look like Ruri-chan! I’m never going to be as cute as her!”

Levi looked completely bewildered, his eyes wide and staring at you in confusion. “B-But you are cute! MC, w-what are you even talking about?” 

Embarrassed at your outburst you looked down at the floor silently. Levi scooted over toward you so that your knees were touching and he waited until you broke the silence. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m good enough. I think maybe you’d like it if I looked cuter or acted cuter, like the characters in anime.”

Levi hesitated for a moment before quickly grabbing onto your hand, blushing furiously as he did so. "MC, I-I already think you're c-cute. Really really cute. So don't say things like that. And also, I like you because you're you! Not because you're like someone else."

"And you make me really happy. I'm just a gross otaku. I never thought I'd be able to... to find someone like you. Someone who accepts me."

He tried to lock eyes with you but blushed even harder and stared at your joined hands. "Plus, I couldn't to-touch an anime character. But I can touch you. I can hold your hand or give you hugs whenever you need it, o-okay?"

You leaned your head onto Levi's shoulder and closed your eyes, letting the peaceful silence wash over you.

Satan

You were accompanying Satan on a trip to one of his favorite stores: an antique shop that sold all manner of rare books and artifacts. The owner, Ms. Sparrow, was a friend of Satan’s and she welcomed the two of you wholeheartedly.

Today, she looked as gorgeous as she always did. Her chic pearl dress and matching silk gloves shone against her dark skin. Not a curl in her hair was out of place and even the click-clack of her heels on the floor seemed melodious somehow.

You left Satan to look at the books and went wandering off into the various aisles of the store, marveling at all the bits and bobs. In one of the over-stuffed corners you happened to find a glittering silver key on a red velvet ribbon. Taking it in your hand, you went back through to show it off to Satan, wanting to ask him what he thought it opened.

But Satan was busy chatting and laughing with Ms. Sparrow. You watched the two of them for a moment and noticed how well they complimented each other. Both had a certain poise, a kind of confidence and certainty in their movements.

On your walk back to the dorms, you were unusually quiet and Satan noticed. “Pet, is something the matter?”

You hesitated, wondering if Satan was going to find your insecurity childish. “Satan, I’m not very....elegant.”

“Yes, I know. You choked on a piece of bread yesterday. The day before that you tripped over absolutely nothing and fell down.” He smiled, expecting for you to get riled up, but it fell when he saw that you looked dejected. “Love, what is the matter? Have I upset you?”

You avoided his gaze. “Sometimes... sometimes I wonder if I bring you down by being with you. I feel like you deserve someone elegant and sophisticated. Someone who matches you. But I’m not. I’m clumsy and messy and not perfect, like Ms. Sparrow.”

Satan’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Ms. Sparrow? What does she have anything to with this?” He turned you around so that you were facing him. “Pet, please look at me. I love you. And I’m not with you in spite of you being clumsy or messy. I love you because you’re clumsy and messy, because those are parts of you and I love all of you.”

He leaned down to press his forehead against yours. “And why would I need someone perfect? Am I perfect? Yesterday you saw me screaming at my cup because I accidentally spilled some tea and burned my finger.”

You shrugged while giggling, “I thought it was a perfectly reasonable response.” You wrapped your arms around his and buried your face into his shoulder. “Thanks, Satan. You always know how to make me feel better.”

He reached down to give you a gentle kiss. “Anytime, love. I’m always here for you.”

Asmodeus

Asmo has a lot of fans across all his social media accounts. That was made perfectly clear the first time you went on a date with him outside. Sitting in the trendy coffeeshop, several people had come up to ask him for a picture or an autograph. He was never shy about you and always introduced you as his sweetheart, cooing about how beautiful you were. 

Some days it was okay. You loved seeing the bubbly social-butterfly side of Asmo. He was always so sweet to everyone who came up to him and genuinely enjoyed meeting new people. But other days, your insecurity rose up like a huge wave and dampened everything.

This particular day you were shopping with Asmo in a new boutique that had opened up. You were aimlessly flicking through the racks of clothes when you heard a large squealing.

Two demons ran up to Asmo, talking and gesturing excitedly. You could make out that they followed him on Devilgram and were asking if he was willing to take a picture with them. These demons were some of the most attractive beings you had ever seen. Their clothes were incredibly stylish and their hair and makeup were done flawlessly.

Looking around the shop, in all of the full length mirrors you could see the reflection of Asmo and his beautiful fans. And you looked out of place, like a puzzle piece that didn’t fit in at all. 

Tearing up, you grabbed a random pair of jeans off the rack and ran into a changing room. You turned away from the mirror, not wanting to look at yourself, and took deep breaths to try and keep from bursting into sobs. After a few moments Asmo began looking for you, having finished taking pictures. “Sweetheart, are you changing? Let me see what you’re wearing when you’re done!”

At the sound of his voice you burst into tears and your attempts to muffle the noise were futile. Outside the door, Asmo’s voice sounded panicked. “Darling, are you okay? What’s the matter? Please come outside, whatever it is please let me help you!” You hesitated, not wanting to face him, but this made him even more frantic. He started jiggling the doorknob and knocking on the door.

You opened it, afraid that he would accidentally break the doorknob leaving you trapped inside. As soon as he saw you he gathered you in his arms and began making shushing noises while smoothing your hair. “Sweetheart, why are you crying? Please talk to me, please tell me what’s wrong.”

You tried to get the words out in between sobs and hiccups. “A-Asmo, don’t you want someone m-more beautiful? Someone who-who looks g-good with you?” Asmo paused for a moment, processing your words, and then his eyes burned with anger. “Sweetheart, did one of my fans say something mean to you? Did someone make you feel like this?”

You shook your head vigorously. “No, just me.” Asmo breathed a sigh of relief at hearing no one had harrassed you and resumed smoothing your hair. “Oh, darling. You ARE beautiful. You’re stunning, sweetheart. I wish you could see the way I saw you, how adorable and gorgeous you are. And I understand that there are going to be days when you don’t believe me, when you feel like you’re not. But at least don’t go through those days alone, okay?”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak without tearing up again.

"Now, let's go get some ice cream. We can eat it while taking a bubble bath."

Beelzebub

You weren’t really sure why Beel liked you coming with him to the gym all the time, even if you didn’t exercise. He said your presence was calming and that it made him focus better, which was odd because a lot of the time you just sat on an unoccupied machine and scrolled through your D.D.D.

Today was much the same, with Beel running on the treadmill and you watching some videos. The gym was pretty empty, just a few students exercising here and there.

Your eyes drifted to Beel who was running without even breaking a sweat. His body was all solid muscle: his arms, legs, and abs looked perfectly chiseled and toned. Last week you accidentally ran into Beel in the hallway and it felt like you had smashed into a brick wall. Beel, on the other hand, was completely fine.

You began to wonder what Beel thought about your body. He could be pretty handsy at times and he wasn’t shy in his affections. But what if there was something he didn’t like? Something that he thought needed changing?

He’s never mentioned anything about exercising to you before. But you thought back to the students you had seen in this gym: all of them were extremely fit with incredible bodies. You couldn’t help but start to compare yourself to them and think that maybe you were lacking.

Just then, Beel finished his run and walked over to you. You weren’t sure what kind of facial expression you were making but it seemed enough to concern him because he asked, “MC, is everything okay?”

“Hey Beel... do you ever wish I had a nicer body?”

He squinted in confusion. “What do you mean by ‘a nicer body’?”

“I don’t know... just better. Whatever nicer looks like for you.”

Beel was quiet for a moment, thinking. “No, I've never wished for that before. I still don't know what you mean by 'nicer'. I love you. And I love your body because its yours. The only thing that matters to me is whether you’re happy. And as long as I'm still allowed to touch you, then I'm happy.”

He looked at you nervously then, biting his lip. "Am I... still allowed to touch you?"

You laughed and reached to give him a hug, loving how safe it felt in his arms. "Of course, big guy. Thanks for making me feel better. You always know what to say."

Beel flushed with pride and closed his eyes in happiness, leaning into your hand as you patted him on the head.

Belphegor

You knew you were dreaming because you were sitting in a R.A.D classroom surrounded by fellow students, but you couldn’t focus on any of their faces. They were blurry, as if someone had smudged them like an artist had smudged some charcoal.

You were at your desk, looking around the classroom, when as if on cue all of the students began to slowly gather around you. They stood there silently for a moment, unmoving, and you felt a shiver go up your spine. 

And then one by one the students began to hurl insults at you.

“You’re not good enough. Not good enough for Belphegor.” “You’re ugly, you’re hideous. “You’re unwanted, go back to where you came from.” “You don’t deserve what you have, don’t deserve good.” “You’re weak.” “You ruin others, you ruin everything.”

As they insulted you the students began to draw themselves closer, pushing and shoving to reach you. They almost made a cover over your desk as if to block out all the light. You hunched over your desk, shaking and panicking, trying to curl up to protect yourself.

One of the demons began shaking your shoulder roughly, you yelping in pain. He began yelling in your ear, “Wake up! Wake up!”

“MC! Wake up!”

You startled awake and looked around the room in fear. You were in Belphie’s bed, your pajamas sticking to you with sweat. Belphie was looking at you with concern, one hand still on your shoulder.

“MC, you’re okay. It’s just me. It was just a nightmare.” You let out a sob and buried yourself in his arms while he patted you on the back until your breaths evened out.

“D-Did you see my dream?” you asked. You were nervous about showing Belphie that weak side of you, the insecurities that had been brewing since the two of you had begun a relationship. He looked apologetic. “I did. You were whimpering and shaking in your sleep. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

He reached over, one hand smoothing your hair, the fingers of his other hand interlaced with yours. “None of what they said was true, you know.” You looked down, embarrassed. “I mean it, MC. You are good enough. You’re beautiful, you’re wanted, you deserve all the nice and beautiful things in the world, you’re strong. And most importantly, you lift others up. You lift me up everyday.”

He lifted up your hand and pressed a kiss against it. “You lifted me out of darkness. I love you so much. And I’ll gladly stay by your side, for as long as you’ll have me.”

You grabbed the front of his sweater to draw him into a rough kiss, lips bruising. “Forever, Belphie. Forever.” 

[justagirlsearchingforamuse]

If you are still taking nsfw requests, could you please write Heisenburg having some 'alone time' with himself?

"Hmm ... yeah this will have to work ... running out of options because of that stupid man Ethan Winters. The man is nothing but trouble. ... I was a fool to consider trying to work with the clown." Karl growled in a ragged breath, his hands were pressed into his messy cluttered desk and he stood slightly hunched over his desk with his eyes staring at the revised plan he had. He stared over the plan once more, he'd have to either get rid of Ethan or let him do all his dirty work and then finish him off once more. As he slumps into his chair, a heavy sigh leaves his lips at once and he takes his old tethered hat off, he's quite surprised he hasn't lost the beloved accessory. Sitting it down on his disorganized desk with papers, photos, and crumbled pieces of paper he lets a heavy breath leave his lips and tries to let peace rest in his old factory and within his soul. The sound of machinery working actively, metals bumping into other metals and the scent of dust and metal lays heavy in the air. He liked his factory. Just the way it was. Messy. Dirty. Dusty. He loved it, it was his own little home and his place to truly be himself and truly allowed to be vulnerable without the worry of being seen as weak. As inadequate, he runs his thick fingers through his straight dark grey hair, pushing some hair out of his face as he listens to the machines, the huffing, and the metals clanking together and it reminds me of something he's tried so damn hard to forget. You.

He enjoyed and relished being alone, he was in his element, he was allowed to be vulnerable but there was that soft aching in his soul that missed your soft humming or missed hearing you enter his factory. He missed the smell of you, it was warm and so heavenly to his nostrils, when you would bother trying to clean up his cluttered mess and he would try and excuse it. Try and get you to stop. Damn, did he miss you. He sits up straight in his chair, his finger rests upon his bottom lip as he forces and pushes thoughts of you out of his head, he can't bear to think about you, he can't bear to be weak again after what you did to him. "fuck" he mutters in a swift breath as his hands cover his face, he buries his face in his hands as he finds getting rid of you is like getting rid of gnats, nearly fucking impossible. He lets out an agitated sigh, nearly growling to himself before his eyes lay heavy on his desk, still cluttered and messy once again he decides to at least get rid of some of his failed plans. As he begins to grab at a few crumpled up paper balls, he suddenly stops and another sigh leaves his lips, he stops as rushed words leave his lips. "what the fuck am I doing?" he mutters as he began to try and put things back where they were, his hands moved too quickly and suddenly a photo falls onto the floor. It's a polaroid, he twists in his chair and picks up the photo and his eyes harden at the sight of what he tries and tried so desperately to forget. To leave behind. His eyes meet the sight of your face, you took what Americans call a "selfie", a short yet soft chuckle leaves his lips at your weird slang and your way with words was so unique. You smile warmly at the camera, a natural smile suits you perfectly and the light in your eyes, the natural warmth that flushed your skin, everything about you reminded him of what he lost. The family he lost. He missed what he used to once be, human. Humans have freedom, are free to be whoever and do whatever they want but a cruel bitch with selfish intentions and a knack for kidnapping took that away from him.

His face softens at your picture, he remembers your laughter echoing through the room so beautiful and unique to his ears, how you would sit on his lap and tease him with your smile, he remembers so much about you. He remembers you. He remembers the day you left, bitterness on your tongue, sharp anger in your veins and you left with horror, with tears and with nothing but pain striking your face. He hurt you. In return you left him, you left him all alone with nothing but his so-called "family". He wants to rip up your picture, burn it and spit on the image he once treasured so dearly but all he can do is look at what memory he has of you. "Damn, you don't know how much ... how much I miss you ..." Karl whispers, a deep frown curls onto his lips and he can memorize and almost catch your voice in his ears. His throat begins to get tight and his lips try to tremble and quiver before, he buries his teeth in his tongue and inhales a sharp breath to stop himself from being too ... open. He exhales slowly and sets your picture down on the desk once more, he slumps back in his chair, and memories of you circle and float around in his head. "Come on ... forget her, she fucking left you." He mutters and murmurs to himself in a whisper, sighing once again as his fingers pinch the bridge of his nose, he keeps repeating "forget her, fuck her" almost like a mantra. But it doesn't fucking work. Especially when he finds himself pitching a tent, his pants become tighter and not as loose as he prefers them to be, he lets out a little more than agitated growl from his lips at the sight. Clicking his tongue, he decides that maybe he can turn this into just another jerk-off session that is nothing more than that, he sets your picture up on a coffee cup he has and lets it sit there right in view. His tongue swirls around his lips as he unzips his pants, he slips his hand in his boxers and lets his eyes rest as he wraps his hand around his firm thick semi-hard cock. He lightly squeezes at the organ, causing him to let out a swift breath at the sensation before leaning back just slightly more, grinding his teeth into his bottom lip he begins to gradually move his hand up and down his cock. "Damn ... kinda sensitive, huh?" Karl says in a slow ragged breath, his voice rumbles, and echoes through the factory.

He wants to rush into it, he wants to imagine you with your tongue down his throat, hands exploring his body and he could imagine your chuckles after he rips off your clothes. "Fuck ..." Karl whispers, his eyebrows furrow at images of you that flash in his mind, the things he's done to you, the sheer pleasure that he's given you has him squeezing his fully erect cock. His fingers travel to the head of his cock, he squeezes at the sensitive area causing a ragged deep growl to leave his parted lips, pleasure pulsates through him and leaves him almost like putty in his hand. He swallows thickly and inhales once again, his hand begins to slowly travel up and down his thick meaty cock that pulsates, eagerly. Heavy ragged breaths leave his lips, his eyes are closed, almost like he's relaxed and at ease with his hand shoved down his pants and his mind focused on the aching problem in between his thighs. When his hand travels to the head of his cock, his thumb moves in circles around the head, slow agonizing circles that leave him almost gasping for air at the throbbing sensations that travel through him. "Damn ..." Karl groans deeply, a ragged breath soon follows as he spreads his legs wider, his hand travels up and down his throbbing hard cock, heavy ragged breaths are all that leave his lips. "Shit ... shit ..." He breaths out heavily, he whines and it fills his throat and the factory he resides in, echoing heavily through the room before a deep breath leaves his lips. "Get the fuck outta the way," Karl whispers to himself, he pushes his pants down to his ankles and his cock isn't restrained by his pants, his hand moves to his cock once again and continues to gently stroke his throbbing cock that now leaks with precum. "Gah ..." Karl gasps, burying his teeth into his bottom lip as heat begins to flood into his being, his heart throbs and pulsates in his chest, and arousal pulses through him, leaving him aching for sweet release. Hot damn ...

"Yeah, remember how you used to just worship me ... do you remember how much of a masochist you were? That look on your face though ... whenever I had you tied up and at my mercy or ... whenever you needed to be punished ... oh damn ..." Karl rambles to himself, his words are slurred and his thoughts of full of nothing but you, he remembers how you used to tease him away from his work and how good you were at making him hard in mere moments. His cock pulsates in his hand at the thought of you and he decides to kick it up a notch, his hand begins to move at a slightly quicker pace as it travels up and down his throbbing meaty cock. His cock leaks with precum that travels down the head of his cock, his thumb quickly moves against the sensitive head, rubbing and massaging that sensitive area causing sharp waves of ecstasy to rush through him. He licks his lips and a wide toothy grin curls onto his lips, a light chuckle follows soon after as short and breathless moans leave his parted lips, the heat that was once warm gets hotter and it travels throughout his body. "Yeah, you remember that. You can't forget how good my cock felt down that tight throat of yours, how you savored my seed obediently ... haah ... damn." Karl rambles once more, imagining as though you were listening to him, what follows after his words are heavy breathless moans that are pried from his lips. He uses his other hand to clutch the chair's arms as his hand eagerly strokes and massages his cock aching in between his legs. "Ah ..." Karl moans deeply, a growl at the end of that moan as he can ecstasy pulsate through him, his body throbs with arousal and aching as he selfishly takes care of himself. He was getting close.

The heat that was hot as hell was now boiling inside of him, running his hands through his hair he wraps both of his hands around his cock, eager to taste his release quicker as his face twists at the waves and waves of ecstasy that travels through him. He clenches his teeth and his eyes are closed tightly, heavy ragged raspy breaths leave his lips followed by low growls of your name that he repeated like a mantra. "Oh, fuck ...! Oh, baby ... don't you miss me? Don't you miss how I used to fuck you ... nice and hard, all night fucking long and I still have your marks on my back." He rambles in a series of heavy breaths that clouded his throat, he begins to fist his cock swift and severely as sharp powerful waves of bliss washed over him in heavy waves of heat. "Oh, fuck! Shit! Oh, shit ...!, Baby, I want you so bad ... I want you here with me ... your lips wrapped around my cock or maybe you would want to ... want to be on your back like a dog. Eager for my cock, eager to get pounded into the mattress." Karl rambles once again, a smile is curled onto his lips as he is so eager to chase after a high, eager to chase after whatever he was deluding himself into that had him believing you were there. "Oh, shit! Goddamn ...!" Karl pants out, his breaths become raspy and sound like a growl at the end of each moan that falls from his lips. His throat is tight and struggling to keep oxygen in it, heat boils within him and he's just so enamored with the thought of you and you're not even there. Clenching his teeth, he begins to drive his hips into his tight fist, his hand swiftly stroking his throbbing hard cock as he throws his head back. Waves after waves of ecstasy travel and burst through him, the ecstasy is strong, merciless, and unforgiving and he fucking loves it so much. Oh, what you do to him ...

"Shit, baby ... I'm gonna ... I'm gonna come ... gonna come so fuckin' hard.  I love you ... I love you ..." Karl rambles out in heavy ragged breaths as he continues to vigorously fist his throbbing meaty cock, his breaths are caught in the middle of his throat and when it hits him his entire body disobeys him. His body jerks, almost jumps at the tides of bliss that flood through him and he reaches his boiling point, his stomach coils and he bites at his tongue enough to make himself bleed as thick ropes of semen land onto his shirt. "Fuck, (Y/N) ...! Oh ..." He whines deeply, his hand continues to vigorously stroke his cock, shorter ropes of cum spurt onto his shirt as he desperately tries to feel more. To see you again. He'll never admit that. Never let his mind admit because he's a stubborn bastard but there's that thought in his head, he was wondering if you would've said "I love you". He wondered if you would've just smiled at him and left him again, when he catches his breath a bitter taste hits his tongue, and memories of your time together hits him like a pile of bricks. Fuck, all he wanted was to forget you. Forget that you brought him up just to leave him when he needed you most. His eyes open and he inhales a shaky breath through his nostrils, pain weighed heavy on him and that's all he can think of. The pain. Your last words. The tears. He remembers you.

[laketaj24]

Serotonin

Author’s Note: I finally finished something in my drafts after two months. I feel semi accomplished today! Taglist is open, as are requests!!!! Send them… I want them.

Pairing: Colson Baker x Reader

Warning: Smut, public sex, drinking, language

Inspo Song: Why are you here?

 The eyes searing into you from across the club belonged to Meg Styer; you knew of her well, based on Colson’s Instagram, she was the new arm piece. The well-known model had a reputation of making herself known to the exes, even if that meant starting confrontations when they were not needed. She crossed her long russet brown legs; they shimmered in gold, as did her entire outfit. You felt immediately outdone, thinking of the minimal effort you’d put into the outfit or your makeup today. Tonight's outing was not supposed to be about Colson or this new woman; it was about falling out of this fucking slump you'd found yourself in for the past month.

"It’s lively here.” Eric grinned. Straight edge, Eric.

You cringed inside; if your mother could have created someone on an app, Eric would have been him. Without a doubt, he was handsome, with dark hair, delicate features, and not a tattoo or piercing in sight. The club had been his idea, but parts of you believed he’d gotten the idea from your sister, who knew that there was no way in hell you’d sit at a restaurant and eat. You liked the action; your job called for you to sit in silence and awkward conversations; you didn't want your life to be a damper as well.

“It is,” you looked around, taking everything in, including the abrasive eyes that still remained on you, but it didn’t matter once he entered the room. The black shirt revealed his entire tattoo-riddled chest, even the one of your name he’d gotten a few years back. He looked like he might be up to trying you tonight, so you had to disappear and do so quickly. “We should go to the booth you got.”

“Yeah, sounds like a good idea.”

It wasn’t a good idea; you sat uncomfortably across from the pair watching their every move while trying to suppress the need to end the date abruptly and slap the fuck out of him. Irritating you always was the one thing he did exceedingly well. Meg sat in his lap, draping her arms over his body, throwing her ass on him like she had no shame!  Did he know it was you across the room from him? Did he care? You watched as the waiter brought your third glass of tequila to the table and leaned into Eric, noticing the earthy cologne mixed with the whiskey. He smelled nice, or perhaps you were elusive to the bullshit because being near to him dulled the ache of the scene across from you.

The room to be secluded offered no privacy, so even when you felt alone, you were smothered in the thoughts of what if he saw you kiss or touch this guy- what the fuck was his name again? You uncrossed your legs, clumsily kicking the round glass table in front of you and spilling his drink but thank god not yours.

“I need some air; I’m gonna go get some.” You paused and took your glass. “I’ll be back.” The words scrambled out, and you did too, pushing up from the leather couch and not looking back to see Eric’s reaction to the awkward movements.

Too many people surrounded you, and at the moment, all you truly wanted was to hear nothing and feel nothing, even if it meant you had to get shit-faced. The stairwell didn’t have many people in it; only two women consumed in one another and Colson.

Your heart sunk once you realized it was him, from fear, dread – fucking embarrassment, maybe? He shook his head; you took notice of the three earrings in one ear while the other garnished a seat of crosses that dangled. Colson’s hair was slightly disheveled atop his head; the dark roots peeked out of the platinum blonde tapered cut. He looked great as usual. “I thought you were in for the night?” Colson’s voice carried over the music because he refused not to be heard, especially by you. He looked down at you, nursing the glass of chilled tequila. You’d acquired a taste for it over the years of being with him, Colson drinking tequila like water had rubbed off on you. “This doesn’t look like your place.”

“Did you want something?”

“Why are you here with that broke down,” He paused dramatically, raising his hand as he thought of more insults. “Tom and Jerry looking motherfucker?”

“That’s the best you can do?”

Colson drug his teeth over his lip, “Where you meet him?”

“Where’s that instamodel chick? You know the one with the plastic ass and tits? You leave her in the car just so you can go check on your other hoes, or is she in here with them?”

“Man, stop.”

“I saw her looking at me, don’t tell them about me. I’m not your concern, and I am damn sure not theirs.”

“How’d you catch her looking at you if you weren’t looking at me?” Colson’s cocky smirk sent a rush of anger coursing through your body; even when he lost, he found a sure way to find a confident victory in it.

“Bye, Colson.” Your eyes met his, remembering how blue they were. Even when he was dead drunk, they found a way to still hold onto the Colson you knew was in there somewhere. The sweet one that danced in the rain and stayed in bed with you every free night he could give -- you shook it off. Breaking eye contact with him to look anywhere but the blue crystal stare. You cut down to the ground, admiring your pumps before he turned away from you and left.

The drink was no longer cold, and the tequila didn’t even burn as you chugged down the remnants of the clear liquid. You pinched the bridge of your nose, taking a deep breath, and then leaned against the stairwell.

“Long night?” Eric cleared his throat.

“Already, I’m so sorry. Could we leave here?”

Eric shook his head yes and placed his hand on your shoulder, “Is everything okay?”

“Perfectly, fine. It’s fine.” You swallowed. The hazed state of your mind needed to be cleared, especially before you left with him. “Can I meet you upfront? I’m going to freshen.”

“It’s fine; take your time.”

 You wouldn’t take your time; the quicker you were out of this place, the better. Whenever you were in his element, your mind refused to do the right thing. You moved through the crowded dance floor, carefully avoiding familiar faces. And finally, you were at the restrooms splashing the cool water on your face. You looked yourself over, grateful you hadn’t worn makeup—the trickles of water run down your rich ochre brown skin.  Too many thoughts raced through your mind out there but not in here. It was silence, and your mind was in a stupor. For a second, everything stilled, your heart and breathing were relaxed, and everything was back to normal, that moment as everything else was short-lived.

Colson’s reflection appeared in the mirror before you. “I cannot believe you lied to me?” The door clicked behind him.

“I didn’t lie to you.” The way he casually entered the women’s bathroom to start an argument pissed you off. “And get the fuck outta here.”

“We talked earlier today, and you said you were in for the night.”

“You said you were going out by yourself, and you got a whole entourage. So, same shit, we both just single now.”

“Come here.”

“No, you don’t get to tell me to come here. You don’t get to follow me in the bathroom and talk to me about fucking lying when you-.”

Words ended when his lips met yours, he towered over you, but he didn’t mind the effort it took to get to your lips. He walked you against the wall- steadying your steps to his until he picked you up, and as if your body knew the routine, you wrapped your legs around him. Your lips eagerly kissed him back, tugging on his bottom lip before returning to take more kisses. How were you this hungry for him? You wanted nothing more than him to fuck you, rip this dress and ruin you in this unlocked bathroom. “Y/N.”

“Fuck me.” You pleaded.

He only needed the confirmation to move towards his belt buckle unsheathe his dick. There were two ways you fucked, frantic and as if you would never see one another again and then slow – ironically, they both had the same outcome. Your heartbeat matched his, strumming against your chest, and his matched yours. You loved it. There was no foreplay needed; you wanted to feel every inch of the pain he had to offer. He pushed the black dress up to your thighs, bunching the fabric enough that it revealed your pussy for him. He swiped his tongue over the pads over his fingers and swiped your lips. You were wet for him. You had been the whole night, no matter how much you wanted to deny it. He pushed the long finger into you, curling it to press the soft pad that made you squirm and throw your head back in pleasure.

He moved from the wall to the counters, not giving a fuck if someone walked in or not; he spread your legs wider for him and gripped your curls. Exposed to the world, but all you could see was him. You reveled as he slammed into your hilt deep, muted your sequel with his lips, and paused. “You missed me, didn’t you?” He whispered. “Y/N?”

“Shut up,” Your pussy answered for you, squeezing to pull him deeper as he fucked into you. He wasn’t even deep enough for you; your fingers tug on the black shirt as you thrust to meet him each time. Your skin clapped against his every time, his cock expertly hitting that spot inside of you that made you want to cum right then and there. You held it, panting as it began to build up all over your body. He knew the signals, the way your hands rapt against him, legs quivered, and your pussy throbbed.

“Up.” He said, listening to the door open behind him.

Decency had left when he started fucking you, there was no way in hell you’d stop now, and Colson possessed no fucks when it came to sex. They could watch whoever the fuck it was. He positioned you in front of the mirror, bent over for him. Colson’s heavy hand came down on your ass, and then he pushed into you arching your back before wrapping a hand around your hair and fucking into you wildly.

Your ass bounced back on him, and his moans made you wetter. Your fists clenched as you tried to steady yourself – there was no controlling the orgasm that flowed through you. Your breath quickened, your toes curled, and your eyes snapped closed as his name rolled from your tongue.

“Open them eyes.” He gave an arrogant laugh before leaning over you, pushing himself deeper and flicking his tongue over the lobe of your ear.,

Your eyes opened, and you saw yourself flushed with sweat, mouth open, and him fucking the shit out of you. The scene erotic, beautiful, and shit you wanted it again and again. “Oh shit.” You mumbled.

“You think that fucking clown ass suit gone give you this?” He laughed as he slapped your ass again. “I thought not.” He guided you back on him, taking your hips in his hands, making sure you took every inch. He was greedy himself, watching your breast bounce in the reflection of the mirror, all while hearing you echo throughout the entire bathroom. It was music to his ears. Colson slowed his stroke momentarily, peppering, kissing down your shoulder blade before increased his pace once again, and your body jolted. You ground against him, urging him to cum and the pressure built. He panted against your back for a moment and then kissed your exposed skin. “Don’t go home with him.” He whispered, retrieving your panties from his pocket. Colson lowered himself to his knees and turned you around.

“You can’t tell me that.” You whispered.

“I’m asking.”

“Are you taking her home?”

“I can drop her ass off at her place right now.” He smiled, pointing. “Shit, you can ride shotgun.”

Good memories flooded of his snarky ass sense of humor and late nights. “You’re silly.”

Colson adjusted your dress and then stood in front of you, making sure your hair and lipstick was not smudged everywhere. “Drop Chandler off and come home.”

“Fucking hell mate,” Dom’s voice did not seem shocked. “This other chick is trying to kill me out here. Y/N?”

“Dude, will you get the fuck out of here… like now.”

“Fine. I’m leaving.”

“This was-,” You step away. “Uhm, I don’t know. I’ll call you okay?”

“Tonight?”

“Tomorrow.” You clarified. “Or the next day, just give me a damn minute to breathe?”

“Bet.” He sighed. “Should I go first… so it won’t seem suspect?”

“You’re a 6’4” guy leaving the women’s restroom, you’re busted.” You chuckled.

 A/N: I through Dom (Yungblud) in there because I kinda love him just as much lol might right him too! Hope you enjoyed! Thank you! Please let me know what you think!

Taglist: @taytayize123 @supernaturalvikingwhore @jae-writes-fanfiction @bigsisbria @placeoffreedom @kyla-queen @missdforever @gottatoxicattitude @bang-kim-bap @msreshel @blowmymbackout @titty-teetee​

[nevenabadr]

50 Shades of You! Tom Hiddleston X Female! Reader

Note: This is my first ever fanfiction for Tom Hiddleston. I have not written fiction for ages. English is not my first language.

Inspiration: this is inspired by:

“I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes.”

–Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing

Word count: 2660

Warnings: Romance, sweet words, and smut–this is +21 and not for everyone.

Enjoy reading and please comment with your feedback. 💚

-------------------------------------------------------

During the summer Cambridge University was having a conference "Gothic Elements In John Milton's Paradise Lost." As you the young professor of literature, the coordinate manager suggested that the University alumnus could join for not just attending, but acting a piece of the tragedy. Amongst the candidates was the Classic department graduate and famous actor, Tom Hiddleston. 

You know that he might have scheduled issues or time conflicts, but you suggested the committee email him. To your surprise, he accepted the offer. 

 

The scene of choice was casting the devil out of hell.

On the stage during the conference eve, you did not have the perfect time to watch him, but you took a glimpse of acting from far.

He even caught your show and face attending the rehearsals.

The conference day was pressuring. You were trying to get everything right, in the middle of your so-close meltdown. A voice brought you to reality, "Hello, is this professor Y/N)?"

You turned to find the British handsome alumni smiling peacefully at you. "Yes, how can I help you?"

"Indeed, I am the one offering help." As he adjusted his glasses, I asked the committee manager to take upon some errant backstage. Maybe I can assist with the front ceremony?"

"Of course," you paused for a moment, "can you help me with the dinner's seats arrangement? My assistant is absent and I have to print and arrange them myself."

"Just show me a computer and all will be done."

Both of you took your time arranging an evening missing up some seats. 

 

"Here comes my name. You will be seated with the professors, of course!" He was busy putting name tags over the table.

"Oh! Don't remind me." You replied as if it is a conversation with an old friend and continued "the Classic department and Literature."

"They might start a war." Both of you started laughing 

"I have an idea." He took a tag from his table and moved yours next to his. "Now you will be with a friend"

The presentations finished, you had to go for the gym showers to change and wear your conference and dinner dress.

By the time you arrived, the scene from the tardy was about to be played. You took your place in the front seat.

Tom was playing Satan. He noticed that you were reciting the lines with him. He even almost smiles at you. Could not hold himself from looking at you in the front row while playing the scene of...

 

"All is not lost; the unconquerable Will, And study of revenge, immortal hate, And courage never to submit or yield; (And what is else not to be overcome?) That glory never shall his wrath or might Extort from me to bow and sue for grace With suppliant knee and deify his power, Who from the terror of his arm so late Doubted his empire[.] (I, 106–114)"

 

Your facial expressions captured his eyes, the movement of your lips and then the flame of your applause. 

At the dinner, he was interested to hear all about your work and writings. His eyes could not able to leave you.

 

By the end of the dinner, he walked you to your car, "this was lovely, thank you for tonight" 

You smiled at him, "thank you for accepting our invitation."

You shake hands and opened your car door like the gentleman he is.

"Would you like to go out with me, for a coffee? Books and coffee, maybe." He did not hesitate to ask.

"I would love to. You already have my number within the conference contact information." You raised an eyebrow and smirked.

As your car drove away, he knew he was up for an adventure.

Three months later, you are happily dating and sharing sweet kisses. He suggested a film marathon. Each week one of you chose a topic.

That Saturday's topic was Russian Literature and you had to add: "or inspired by it" 

"Excuse me, but Tolstoy has no comparison!" He grimaced

"Shadow and Bones, love!" You teased him, "it the Netflix adaption of the era" 

"After Anna Karenina, please," he sounded like an old professor.

"Alright then, deal." You tickled him and kissed his lips softly

Both of you enjoyed Anna Karenina, however, you were crying in his arms.

"That dreadful ending." 

He hugged you "Hey, Shadow and Bones will make it up to you, let me make extra popcorn." Once again, he kissed you.

He came back with popcorn that will at least survive three episodes. You snuggled between his arms.

"Look at Alexie, how he said 'Make me your villain.'" 

You were swooning as a fangirl.

"I beg your pardon, I am literally a villain," he complained

Oh! I would literally," stressing upon the last word, "let him have me"

His face was irritated and you not coming close to making love made him anxious, that you might not be ready. He never inquired about you.   

You caressed his tummy, "hey, a penny for your thoughts, sir." It sounded like one of the Jack the Ripper prostitutes, about which you have constantly been talking.

His voice evolved deeper and his eyes did not leave yours "your deepest sexual desire. What do you crave?"

Comparing to your age, you were nervous and inexperienced. "My life was spent between books. I..."

He did not let you continue speaking and took your lips between his drawing your body closer to him, uttering between his hot kisses "I am not just a villain" his lips made the earth move "I am a God" whispering against the sport skin of your nick " a king" his hands were moving down the same tomes his lips reached the line of your bosom whilst his hand slides prevailed touching down pussy and dug his fingers driving you till the edge.

"I want you," you whispered between your soft moans.

He neglected your cravings and maintained his rhythm, watching your complexion and closed eyes till you arched your back in awe.

You collapsed between his arms heavily breathing "that was extremely wonderful, but I need you"

He kissed your lips playfully. "you are a delicious girl, Y/N, but..."

You hashed him with a kiss that he pulled from "if your life was between books, I want you to write me your deepest desire."

"Darling, it was a series, Alexie is fictional." You wrapped your arms around his neck.

"Fictional or not, he is a man, you are paying for this." 

He was deadly serious "write me your longing."

You laugh "What? Like the 50 Shades of Y/N?"

He gazed into your eyes "aiming to please and punish you, darling, avenging my honour"

The next morning when you were with your family on Sunday's lunch, he opened an email titled "50 Shades of Y/A"

 

The content was as follows:

"You!"

 

He grinned to himself and determined to show her how fiction can become real.

Your week was busy. He had signed a new contract for a mini-series and was supposed to film soon.

Not replying to your email made you nervous, even went meeting for dinner. He was quiet about it. 

You checked your sent box millions of times to make sure it arrived. Still, you knew he was busy working, and you were busy with the finals coming soon.

Thursday’s dinner, nothing yet, nothing but gaggling and discussing your days and current reads. 

"Darling, we did not decide this week's marathon" 

He did not take his eyes off the menu "Are not you having a big family week, you should go" he was confident and calm. 

Deep inside you wanted to grab his neck and jiggle him, but for the lady you are and the restaurant, you were calm.

"Wonderful!"

The dinner was over; he drove you home, kissed you goodnight.

Saturday morning, a ringing at your door. Apparently, you received a package, a big one.

You kept thinking that some books might have come early from your publisher. Unwrapping it to a surprise satin 1950 coat with Ruby red entourage and black heels.

There was also a note, she recognised the handwriting:

 

"Wear nothing but this for your punishment. If other pieces were found upon your body, then fear my fury and vengeance.

Love, 

T"

 

So, it was her version of Mr Grey. But have you ever been ready to comply with anyone?"

Suddenly, a message arrived on your phone 

"Reminder, a black will pick you tonight at 8, don't disobey me, Princess."

Your heel clicked on the floor as a man dressed in an old fashion suit opened the car for you. The windows were blacked out, so you did not see where it was heading.

"Welcome, Princess," he greeted you as if you were royalty, "My master is awaiting your presence."

You took his hands. The place was carved out of one of your favourite dark fantasies, a mansion with gargoyles, dark lighting, and a vast garden.

You could not believe your eyes. Tom knew your deepest desires indeed.

But that is not the end.

The inside was as of a dark enchantment with deep red flowers and candles. The servant showed you the way to a dining room fit for a feast. Tom was not there. 

"My master requires you to await his arrival." The servant bowed and left.

You were like a child been left inside her favourite toyshop. The ornaments, the lighting, and even the shapes of the food. That aesthetic you only could dream of but never reach.

"Enjoying yourself already?" You turned to find your man dressed in a black Victorian suit. His face was shaved, shorter hair, no glasses. Just all of the handsome glory.

You took a step forward "no princess, I shall come for you"

He kissed your hand and then sat on the table's head, while it sat on the opposite side and faced you away indeed.

"Are you pleased, princess?" He raised his glass of red wine.

"Yes, my Prince." You smile.

"In here, you shall address me as your king." His eyes lit with fire, and his voice was harsh.

You played along and raised an eyebrow "my king."

"This is not a game, princess, you are my prisoner"

You dined quietly, as he did not drop his eyes from you.

"Enjoying yourself?"

You flirted "deeply, my king"

He left his chair and came closer to you, his fingers left your chain so you can gaze into your eyes.

He asked, "care for a dance?"

You smiled "I would love to."

You stepped forward and took his hand to a ballroom, just for you and him, the dark king.

The following piece of music was sensual and moving.

"The coat, princess, I want to see nothing but heels on your body,"

You obeyed the king, but for a tick. When you took it off, underneath it a short emerald green strapless corset dress tight upon the curves of your body and pushed your bosoms to their glory.

He grinned and his eyes darken "looking for further punishment, I suppose?" 

"Anything to please the king." You took his hand and kissed it. He did not expect it.

He turned furiously and the next song was romantic. He wrapped his arms around you once again, waltz, you sneaky woman, deserved joy before being punished.

Twirling you on the dance floor like the earth has no one but the two of you.

By the end, he carried you "to my chambers, little one"

You were nervous and anxious. What if he did not like what was underneath the dress?

He entered a candlelight room with a four-poster bed in the centre. The curtains of the bed were black and emerald. 

He laid you in bed, kissing your lips and playing with your hair. 

His breathing was heating against your skin.

"You won't miss that dress, will you, princess?"

He did not wait for your reply as he lifted a dagger amongst the layers of his suit and cut the corset down to the last piece of the dress.

You wore nothing else. You were lying exposed as he stood to look upon your naked curves for the first time. 

You spontaneously tried to cover your bosom and private parts.

"No, do not you dare" he was angry and you could not distinguish reality from fantasy.

You throw the rest of the dress away. Hands laying by your head and he stood there for a juncture, gazing at every inch of your body.

"Turn," he ordered angrily as if the soul of Loki took over him, "I said, turn" 

You nearly dropped tears "here my king" 

You felt the softness of his lips upon your delicate shoulders.

Kissing the line of your spine. He knows this will work like magic. You tickle from your back, now trying to lick you, taste you, slap you.

He flipped you to face him. You were sobbing. He could hear it under your moans.

"You are not a princess, you are not a queen."

He wipes her tears from her cheek "you are a goddess and I am your slave."

You giggled between your tears, wrapping your arms around his neck "my king"

"Your, slave" As his voice became softer, he hushed you with a finger.

He kissed every inch of your body. You were playing with his short blonde locks.

"Let me worship your bosom, my goddess" he kissed, licked and played with your nipples and cupped your bosoms gently.

Kissing down till he reached your pussy, "Let me worship your temple" as he licked your clitoris.

You were moaning loader now

“Not this time, my king I want you inside me."

"Alright, as the pleasure of my goddess, I shall obey." 

He adjusted his weight on you and asked, "wider for me, my goddess of beauty" 

You opened for him as he enters you for the first time. You let out a loud breath "are you alright" he took your hands between his.

"Continue, my king."

He is just thrusting himself gently inside you. Your moans filling the room 

"I am a villain, a king, a god, and a man"

Your hands were free to run along his back as he continued, "a man, no, a slave for my goddess"

You were moving with him and moaning louder, "my king, what else?"

 Thursinting himself harder and moving with a faster pace.

"My goddess, the sculptures of beauty," between his breathing and moaning "Da Vinci would not be able to capture your grace"

You were kissing as your nail dug inside his shoulders.

His last whispers as moving himself inside your pussy which was clutching around his manhood. He moved with pace, as you rocked your lap against him

"I will live in thy heart," kissing your lips as you bite his lower lip between your steamy breath. "Die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes.”

He was going faster now and you were in tremendous awe and your skin was heating up with your pleasure.

"Look at me goddess" you were closing your eyes as you become close to you your orgasm "look at me," he ordered 

"I love thee, Tom," you said as your pussy was clutching around his manhood and trembling underneath him. His enormous climax followed your orgasm. 

You were shaking. He used his hands to keep himself from crushing you with his weight.

He rested his forehead on yours till both of you caught your breath. Gently took you between his arms as resting on his side "and I love thee, Y/N"

kissed you and as you were falling asleep, yet muttered, "I made you my villain, did not I?"

He giggles, "I beg your pardon, your God, King, and lover"

You kissed for the last time of that night and snuggle between peacefully each other's arms.

----------------------------------------------------

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[nctsworld]

meet me at the borderline

☆ jaehyun x reader | dance au | enemies to lovers | smut | 4k   

→ summary: although you and jaehyun are rival dance team captains, you two end up talking with your bodies in the dance studio one evening. → warnings: smut, fingering, oral sex (male receiving), table sex, mirror sex, some praise kink, swearing, some angst → rating: explicit → notes: part of a longer fic that i yearn to write one day, but until then… this is what y’all will receive 

→ gif created by me, please don’t repost or share without credit!

It’s 8pm on a Friday night at the university’s main dance studio. Everyone on campus is either attending frat parties, at the clubs downtown, or at home, so you’re taken aback when you walk in and are greeted by the one and only Jung Jaehyun. 

He immediately stops dancing and hurries over to his phone on the floor to turn off the music playing. The panting dancer holds your gaze through the wall-sized mirror and takes off his cap for a moment to wipe his sweat away before putting it back on. 

“I was here first,” he states firmly with a squint of his eyes, anticipating for you to leave, but Jaehyun knows to expect less of you. With your backpack slung over your shoulder, you stride into the room, hearing the door click behind you, and cross your arms with a shrug. 

“Did you book the studio for tonight?” 

He tenses, “No, I didn’t, but—” 

“If you don’t have another excuse for me to go, don’t be such a baby and I’ll make sure to stay out of your way.” 

The dance captain eyes you sauntering towards the back corner of the room, setting your backpack down. As you sit on the floor and begin to change shoes, he appears in front of you.

“Look, I’m trying to practice the set for the competition. I hate to be a dick—”

“No, you don’t; you love being a dick.” With a bitter, wide smile, you look up at him, still putting on your sneakers.

Jaehyun glances up for a second, as if in deep thoughts, with pressed lips. He then raises an eyebrow and nods his head side to side. 

“Perhaps, but anyway, I didn’t bring my headphones today and we shouldn’t even be seeing each other’s choreo before the show—” 

“Well, good news,” you stand up and begin to tie up your hair. “Unlike you, I brought headphones, so you can practice in peace. Oh, and I hate the sight of you and your flat ass, so I won’t even look at you dancing. We good?” 

You fold your arms once more. From one captain to another, you hold his stare, not wanting to back down from this mere fight. All you want is to get in some practice before the weekend with a proper mirror, is that too much to ask for? 

It takes some time, but the opposition yields to you, tilting his head to the floor and grumbles under his breath. As he walks back to his side of the room, you’re surprised he backed down so easily without a snarky response. Maybe Friday nights were his off days too.   

“At least I have an ass,” Jaehyun’s holler echoes against the walls. 

Ah, you spoke too soon. Placing your headphones over your ears to drown out your surroundings, you start your usual warm-up. Shortly, both of you dive into your separate worlds of melodies and movement. 

About half an hour later, you’re sitting cross-legged on the floor for a water break and set your headphones aside. You take a sip from your bottle and go against your word from before, indulging in a glance at the other dancer in the room.

Even though Jaehyun is an ass (and lacks one),—and you’d never tell the following to his face—he’s still a pretty sight to see, especially when his shirt occasionally rides up to flash his abs. 

When he catches on that you’re taking a longer break than usual, he pauses his music.  

“Were you practicing your set too or were you freestyling?”

Caught off-guard by his conversational piece, you squint at him coming closer to you. You could answer honestly, but opt to hold your ground against his seemingly innocent question. 

“Why do you care?”

He scoffs, “Cause your footwork’s a mess, like always, and if you, as a captain, dance like that for your piece, I can’t imagine what your whole team looks like.” 

Your nose twitches prior to the clenching of your jaw. You’re fully aware of your weak points when dancing, as most dancers are, but to have the audacity to bring it up unprovoked? You slam your water bottle against the floor, the echo reaching all ends of the room, then stand to match his stance. 

“Well, you’re one to talk.” You stomp your way over, closing the empty space in between, and are now only a few steps away from him. “You’re tense with all your upper body movements. You’re like a hard stick from the hip up. It’s like you have no control over your core—”

“Whoa, hold on,” he holds a palm up and rushes to lift his shirt up. “Look at my abs and tell me I don’t have a good core.”

You’re definitely looking, a little longer than you should because you’re finally getting a close-up glimpse of his abs, and they’re the type that you could wash clothes off of. But it’s not like you haven’t seen abs in your life nor do you want to stroke his ego, so you maintain your demeanor and roll your eyes. 

“I didn’t say that. I said you have no control over your core.”

Jaehyun lets out a huff. You can’t detect it, but it’s laced with a tinge of disappointment over how unfazed you are. He frees his shirt and jogs over to his phone. A few scrolls later, he finally blasts music that you’re fairly certain isn’t part of his dance team’s set for the competition (you may have also gone against your other word and listened to what he was practicing to, but only for a little bit). 

“Fine, I’ll show you.” 

At this point, you’re amused because never in a million years you’d expect Jaehyun freestyling in a room alone with you. He starts off by feeling the sharp beats and flowing rhythm of the music and when he has a handle on it, he makes a deliberate effort to add body rolls, chest pops, and more in his freestyling to lay out his case. 

While taking mental notes, out of habit, you’re grooving along with him too with modest rolls, head nodding, and taps of your feet. He can tell you’re holding back, but Jaehyun smiles, basking in how you seem to be enjoying this from the smile reflected on your face as well. 

When he stops, he cocks an eyebrow at you, awaiting for your new verdict.

“Maybe you’re not as bad as you were before.”   

He grins, hard enough that his dimples show, and you dig a hole to hide away the underlying flutters of your heart. 

Still an asshole, but a cute asshole.  

“Now, show me what you got, Captain,” Jaehyun crosses his arms with a nod.  

You’re shaking your head, not wanting to be judged by Jaehyun any further.  

“Unless... you’re scared that I’m right about how shitty your footwork is?”  

If there’s anything stronger than the fear of judgement, it’s the power of spite. 

The song’s already onto the next, but the melody flows easily through you. Similar to Jaehyun, you place emphasis on your footwork, being conscious of switching your weight between the balls and heels of your feet and slowing your moves in order to be more sharp, more clean, but all the while purposefully hitting the beats and giving meaning to the moves. 

Your body’s out of control, owning all the floor space around you. When your body leads you to end up in front of Jaehyun, you snag the hat off his head and put it on. While you stick your tongue out in response, he’s laughing, thinking how you look better with it on than him, and he realizes how he’s never seen you in this element. 

“My footwork still shitty?” you ask, still dancing. 

“There’s room for improvement,” Jaehyun breaks his fixed stance, now beginning to dance along with you. “But you’re not that bad either.” 

Soon enough, you two are entangled in an unspoken dance battle, trying to one up the other with harder, stronger, better movements than the opponent. The moment Jaehyun drops his breakdancing skills, you bite back with your own strengths—fierce, sensual motions and dare to invade his personal space, in hopes he becomes flustered. 

And he does, because he freezes at the sight of your bent ass, which is practically against his hips, and how your fingertips ghost the floor, then you shoot straight up and roll into his body. You lean your head back onto his shoulder, glancing up at him with shallow breaths, restless from the ongoing battle. 

“Care to beat that?” you whisper, suddenly aware of your hands tugging the fabric of his track pants over his thighs. Your chest heaves, and Jaehyun’s drawn to the view in his proximity. 

Despite his crude ogles, he’s super conscious of ensuring that his hands are not touching you, fearing he’s reading the situation wrong, that perhaps this was only due to the adrenaline and anger you’ve both pented up over time. It’s not as if you’d ever want him, even if he was the last man on Earth.

Although you can’t read his mind, Jaehyun’s absolutely right. 

So why do you inch closer to his face?

Time slows as he begins to meet you halfway. Both of you are breathing in sync, hearts beating almost as one. You turn to grasp the crook of his neck, while he steadies you by your waist.  

However, when your lips crash into his, time speeds up and it feels like it’s slipping away. All your movements are rushed as if it’s the last thing you’ll ever do. The kissing—open-mouthed, hungry, and needy—doesn’t falter anytime soon. 

When you drop your touch from his neck, he runs his hands through your hair before caressing your cheek, deepening the kiss with more pressure. You’re sighing, humming into each kiss, and as Jaehyun pulls away to kiss your neck, you’re melting, knees feeling weak amidst your soft moans and eye rolls. 

Not wanting to actually melt in front of him, you tug at his shirt in between kisses, prompting him to follow you towards a small table on one side of the room. Once you’re there, you sit atop the table and continue kissing Jaehyun, who’s standing in between your spread legs. The handsome figure reverts back to kissing your neck, but this time feels adventurous, letting his hand snake under your t-shirt and grasp the side of your stomach. He embraces the smoothness of your bare skin, adores how you feel with every contact.   

There’s not much thinking happening, just lust coursing through each of your bodies. The lust distorts you so much, you don’t hesitate to take off your shirt and toss it to the floor. Jaehyun takes in your beauty for a brief second, before he follows suit and takes his shirt off too. His mouth captures yours again, while his hand kneads your ass and tugs you closer to his hips. 

Throughout his kisses that span all over your body, your hands roam and grip the entirety of his toned upper body. Almost instantly, you feel what you can only assume is his growing hard-on pressed against your core, causing you to moan.

“Can I finger you?” Jaehyun asks the filthy question with a certain air of courtesy, leaning his perspired forehead against yours. You nod fervently and squeak a simple, “Yes.” 

As you stand to get rid of your shoes and to wiggle your panties and leggings off, you notice Jaehyun laying the t-shirt he was wearing on the spot where you sat. He answers the confusion plastered on your face. 

“These tables are used for everything in this building; you never know what could be on them.” 

Today truly marks a day where you’ve never seen this many sides of Jaehyun before, but you don’t let yourself dissect the moment for too long. Since you still have your sports bra on, you opt to strip it off too, and jump back onto the table.  

Because you’re completely naked in front of him, Jaehyun takes more of his sweet time to bask in the sight in front of him, unsure if he’ll ever see you like this again. 

“Are you gonna keep staring,” you cusp his chin, forcing him to look into your eyes. “Or are you going to finger me?” 

“I’ll do what I want when I want to,” he seethes along with your name. Without warning, his fingers hover under your exposed warmth, making you gasp. 

Jaehyun chuckles deeply, “You’re dripping wet for me and I haven’t even put my fingers in yet.”

His fingers continue to painfully tease you, rubbing long, horizontal lines back and forth across your folds.

You bite your lip, fuming, “Jaehyun, stop teasing and put them in already,” 

“Tell me I’m a good dancer.”

You sigh a half-chuckle and roll your eyes prior to muttering, “Fuck you.” 

The tease dips his fingers just slightly into your sex, then pulls out right away. And again, and again. You’re getting more frustrated by the second, pouting with piercing eyes. Jaehyun always liked it when he had an upper hand on you during arguments, but he likes it even more like this.

“Tell me I’m a good dancer, and I’ll put them in.” 

“Fine,” you scowl. “You’re a good dancer, but you know that alre—fuck.” 

He plunges two digits deep into you, and your walls clench in gratification. 

“You’re right. I know I am, I just wanted to hear you say it.” 

You want to kiss the smirk off his face, but instead, you’re leaning your head back and gripping the edge of the table, reveling in the sensation of his fingers filling you. The music from his phone may be still playing, but all Jaehyun can focus on are your heaven sent moans and the way your body writhes, all due to him. 

With his free hand, he trails his nails lightly down the spine of your back, making your sex pulse around his fingers even more. He palms the middle of your back as he begins to plant kisses on your clavicle, down your chest, then on one of your nipples. The label of a tease sticks with him. He dabs his tongue lightly here and there, barely traces a circle around your tip. 

When he decides you’ve had enough, he puckers his lips tight and his cheeks become sunken. And when he’s not sucking, his tongue flicks as hard as the suctions, like strobing lights. You react in a frenzy, hands reaching towards his hair, to stuff and tug them between your fingers.  

“Oh, God, Jaehyun...”

When Jaehyun takes your other breast into his mouth, your moans tether further as he also increases his fingering pace, causing you to grip onto his hair harder. You fear that it might be too rough, but then again, he deserves a little pain for all the fights you’ve had.  

“You’re so fucking wet,” he growls, still with your nub surrounded by his teeth. He maintains his rhythm, enthralled with the obscene sounds of your pussy taking his fingers. 

Feeling a little conscious, reasoning that his hand must be drenched with your juices, you stutter, “S-sorry.” 

“No,” he pulls away from your mound, shakes his head, and pulls his hand from your back to caress your neck tenderly. “It’s fucking hot.” 

Jaehyun kisses you with intensity, the speed of his wrist never relenting. You can’t even properly kiss him back because the pleasure is overwhelming, so much that if moans were a shade of paint, yours would be splattered all over the studio’s walls. You reach your peak with cries of his name, your honey glistening over his fingers. 

After he pulls them out and you’re coming down from your high, he runs over to his backpack and rummages through it. Your eyes flicker, noticing the little silver package in hand. Jaehyun wastes no time in coming back to your side. He places the condom next to you on the table and strips off his clothes in record time. 

Before he has a chance to open the condom, you jump off the table to grasp onto his wrist, gesturing for him to lean his backside against the table. He’s in awe as you drop to your knees in front of him.  

You stroke his hardened length, admiring his size, but waste no time in tasting him to avoid Jaehyun’s potential banter about how big he is. However, he’s not even in the right mindset to do so; he’s in a trance, stuck on everything you’re doing. 

Subconsciously or not, everything’s a competition with you two, so you showcase what you’re capable of doing with your tongue. Like him, you begin to be a painful tease, only giving small kitten licks on his cock. Then the next laps of your tongue are broad, but gradual.  

Wanting to see everything you’re doing, he holds your messy hair in a makeshift ponytail since the hair tie you had on must have flown off during the former scenes. Jaehyun grunts sharply as you ease him into your mouth, the warmth welcoming and encircling him wholly. After you bob and swirl your tongue concurrently, giving him a sneak peek of what you’re able to do, you stroke him lackadaisically and meet his eyes.  

“Now, you tell me I’m a good dancer,” you command.  

A brief chuckle escapes from above, “I don’t think you’re in the same position to ask me of that.” 

You challenge his words by taking his possession within your mouth once more. Holding him by the base to cover the area your mouth can’t, you jerk your head fast. With each bob and each swipe, more and more of your saliva covers Jaehyun’s desire. The slurps are so loud, so lewd. His face trembles and his grip tightens on your hair, the pleasure rising within him sooner than expected. 

“Okay, okay. You’re a great dancer—fuck, fuck. Slow down. I don’t want to come just yet.”  

You pull away, an extended line of your spit mixed with his precome draws out from your lips. Perking an eyebrow with a smolder, you light up your wrist rapidly. “Do you mean it?” 

He’s breaking apart from your actions, baring his teeth and grimacing. “Yes, yes. I fucking mean it.” 

With a smirk, you immediately drop him from your hand. He drags you upward into a mad kiss, in retaliation for the edging. Breaking apart from one another, you hurry to your original spot on the table. Jaehyun eases the rubber onto his cock and tugs you by your hips, having your ass laid on the very end of the table. 

He raises your legs up, to be partially extended in the air and engulfed around his body. You have one elbow perched on the table and one hand on Jaehyun’s shoulder. Jaehyun stabilizes you by having a grip on the fold behind your knee and hustles to line his possession up with your sex. The moment it is, his hand meets your waist and he inserts himself fully into you. 

Your back arches from his girth hitting you. Both of your moans expel, mingling with each other. He thrusts experimentally, testing the waters to see how you like it. Determined, deep thrusts. Shallow, swift thrusts. A mix of both. 

It didn’t matter, because you cry in ecstasy either way.   

Being aware of the music still playing from his phone, he wonders if he can plunge into you to match the beat. The current song was electronic and bass-heavy, making it difficult for him to truly match it, but your broken whimpers and name-calling don’t object to the fast thrill. 

God, he can feel the way your pussy contracts against his inches. 

“You know,” he pants heavily. “If I didn’t have good core control, I wouldn’t be able to do this.” 

It takes a bit of effort to come up with a response. All you muster up is, “N-not necessarily,” before you lapse into your elation. 

As you emit your endless moans, you spot your reflection in the wall-sized mirror. The sides of your bodies are parallel to it, and your eyes can’t tear away from the spectacle of you getting fucked by Jaehyun from another angle. It’s unbelievable how fit he is, but you see every flexed muscle and tendon in the mirror—from his neck to his ankles. 

“Do you like watching me fuck you?” 

His gaze confronts yours in the mirror, and you whimper with barely a bounce of your head.  

Jaehyun’s thinking about how beautiful you are, but he holds his tongue back. Rather, he grasps the nape of your neck, pulling you in for another kiss, except the kisses are hardly materialized because your lips are constantly parted. Your hot breath fans against his face and he’s attentive to how close you are to him. Not just physically, but beyond that too. He can’t explain it, but it’s as if you’re under his skin. 

He knows this will inevitably end, it has to, but he also knows he’ll want you again.  

Jaehyun’s officially hooked—to your taste, to your scent, to your air, to your everything.  

And he’s not the only one who feels that way too.  

You inform Jaehyun that you’re nearing again, and he readies himself for his own little death too. Once you disintegrate, he kisses you for the last time, followed by spurts of his seed, releasing himself into the condom.  

The two of you are heaving, sticky messes. Regardless, both of you hold onto each other for a little bit longer. Eventually, you must withdraw and you do.   

The tension in the room seems to shift as you both begin to catch your breath, like everything that just happened was a dream. You don’t regret it, neither of you do, but reality blankets over. You’re the first to reach for your clothes and begin to put them back on. Jaehyun peels off the condom and follows your footsteps. 

“This stays between us,” you express from afar, averting his eyes.  

“And it’s only a one-time thing,” Jaehyun adds, but is immediately unsure if he should’ve said that.

“Exactly, it’s like you read my mind.” 

Your chest clenches for a beat as the words come out of your mouth. You shake your head, trying not to think about it.  

“Are you going to stay in the studio a bit longer?” 

Reading his question as a simple inquiry, you don’t pick up the hopefulness in his tone nor do you see the look in his eyes.  

“No, no. You can finally get the studio to yourself. I’ve had enough practice for the night.”

Already dressed, you hurry to grab all your gear and stuff it into your backpack, prepared to leave. You’re practically out the door in an instant as you mumble your good-bye.

“I’ll see you around, Jaehyun.” 

While you’re walking home, Jaehyun’s still sitting on the floor of the dance studio with his hat in his hand, remembering the way you looked with it on.

At the same moment, you’re both trying your best to stop thinking about the other. 

Keeping this a secret between the two of you, you could do. If your team knew what went down, the best case scenario would be that you lose captaincy. The worst case was that you wouldn’t be a part of your team anymore. However, in either case, your best friends, who were also on the team, would likely question your loyalty and dedication, wondering why you’d ever do such a thing in the first place. The same applied to Jaehyun. 

Seeing Jaehyun again was inevitable. Your teams often collided during practice hours and sometimes fought for the studio. Although it’d be awkward, it’d be manageable. At least, you hope it would be. 

But the only thing neither of you could truly promise, nor did you two desire, was keeping this as a one-time thing, especially now, when you’ve had a taste of each other and yearned for more. 

One more month until the competition. 

What more could possibly happen between you and Jaehyun until then? 

[lightsovermonaco]

His Good Sweater: Chapter 18

Masterlist

Thanks to @acollectionofficsandshit for being my bestie and beta reading! This would have never happened without her ❤ Make sure you read Roman Profile, set in the same universe!

Word Count: 7.6k

Abu Dhabi holds a special place in Pierre's heart. The food is great, the views are spectacular, and there is always plenty to do to keep him busy. Night races are some of the more exciting races too and Pierre appreciated the variety.

Coming into the final race of the season, Pierre holds on to seventh in the championship by a few points. Perez sensed the usurper creeping up on his seat and had cranked it up to eleven. 

Exams had kept you in London for the race in Brazil, where Pierre had finished sixth and Checo DNF'd. You had managed to fly out for the weekend in Saudi Arabia, where Perez had finished fifth and closed the gap to Pierre to only four points behind. 

If Pierre didn't finish ahead of Perez this weekend, he was fucked. And he was at the distinct disadvantage of his good luck charm being absent, stuck in London finishing up your final few exams of the semester. Two weeks without seeing you coupled with barely hearing from you had worn on him. It wasn't purposeful on your part but Pierre's stress was already compressed like the suspension on his car. Stray an inch too far over the racing line, hit a curb too hard and it was liable to snap, sending bits and pieces flying.

Pierre checks his phone for the millionth time as he waits to check in to the hotel. Wednesday was late for this many crew members to be arriving. His main concern though was that you hadn't responded to the text he'd sent you upon landing.

"Look lively, will you?" Max claps Pierre on the shoulder and he slides his phone into his pocket. "It's the last race of the season. We get to go balls to the wall and leave it all out in the track. And here you are looking like a kicked puppy."

"Easy for you to say," Pierre starts, grinning at his friend. "You clinched the title weeks ago. You don't even have to race this weekend if you don't want to and you'd still win."

"Doesn't mean I won't be shooting for a podium."

Pierre rolls his eyes. "Yeah well we can't all be so lucky, can we?"

"Next year you'll be playing with the big dogs." Max hands the receptionist his ID, says a few words and turns back to Pierre. "Looking forward to having you as a teammate again. It was fun for those couple races and I'm sure you'll be a challenge now that you've found your groove."

"You're gonna jinx it if you keep talking." Pierre laughs, praying that it covers up the old wound Max's statement picked open. Pierre hated the idea of moving back to Red Bull but he didn't have much choice. He was still contracted to one of four Red Bull branded seats for next season. A promotion, at the very least, would help him showcase his talent and further cement his value. If he had to spend any longer than that with the team, ripping out his hair was a real possibility.

"Wasn't someone supposed to be with you this weekend?" Max quirks a brow. "Where is she?"

"In London." Max bringing you up doesn't help the pit forming in Pierre's stomach. Win or lose, seventh or eighth, Red Bull or Alpha Tauri, come Sunday Pierre wanted you at his side. Interview requests were bound to roll in either way and Pierre would need someone to ground him, a task much easier to accomplish if you were physically at his side.

"Too bad." Max clicks his tongue and takes his room keys from the receptionist. "It's gonna be a fun weekend."

"I don't think-"

Pierre's vision goes dark at the same time someone whispers, "Guess who?"

Pierre sucks in a breath, spins on his heel and wraps you in a hug in one smooth motion. You laugh as he lifts you off your feet and presses kisses to your cheeks. 

"What are you doing here?" He grabs both suitcases and tugs you aside. His room can wait.

"Tost asked me to come." Your grin is contagious, its twin appearing on Pierre's own cheeks. "He said that since you were flying out from Milan on your own there was an extra seat on the jet, so if I got myself to Nice I could fly out with the Red Bull boys."

"Seven hours trapped in a tin can with Max, Yuki and Checo?" Pierre rubs his chest. "I've got heartburn just thinking about that."

"It wasn't so bad," you say, finally giving him a proper kiss. "Yuki and I just played games on our phones the whole time. And I beat Max at Scrabble."

"How many Dutch words did he try to use?"

"Mmm, about half the words he tried were definitely not English."

"Yep, sounds about right." Pierre throws an arm around your shoulders and leads you back to the reception desk. He pays for an upgraded room when you aren't looking- though when you're assigned a suite there's not much higher you can go- and slips the woman behind the counter an extra bill for good measure.

"I could use a nap," you note, leaning against Pierre like you'd otherwise fall over. "I didn't get much sleep last night."

Pierre checks his watch. "We've got time for a nap."

"We?" Your raised eyebrow is question enough. Pierre smiles and swipes his key card once you're in the elevator with him. He hadn't looked at the price of the room but he was positive it was more than he'd spent on a single night in his entire career, considering it occupies an entire floor of the swanky hotel.

"It's date night," Pierre says simply. Initially his plan had been to invite Charles over for a game of Fifa but the Monegasque wouldn’t fault him for cancelling at the last minute. "We're in one of the most luxurious cities in the world and I'm going to show you off every chance I get. The restaurant down stairs is to die for."

Your attempt at nodding along with what he says is thwarted by a yawn. "Sleep first, eat later." Seeing as it was impossible to deny you, Pierre simply drops a kiss to the crown of your head.

"Wait until you see our room." The way your eyes light up when he says our room makes him want to say it again and again just to see you sparkle.

"I know you upgraded it, Mr. I-think-I'm-sneaky." You uncurl yourself from against his arm when the elevator chimes. "How much did it cost?"

"A few extra pennies."

The stainless steel doors open directly into the suite. The living space is dominated by a curving crescent of full length windows overlooking the cerulean harbor and the jagged steel of the city skyline beyond. Suitcase forgotten, your jaw drags along the floor as you toe off your shoes in favor of sinking onto one of the half moon couches situated around a low coffee table.

"Did you get some sort of bonus you didn't tell me about?" Pierre sees your inner engineer cataloging the chandelier dripping crystals over the carved dining table and the pattern of the black veined marble flooring. "This cost more than a few pennies."

"I didn't really look at the price so it's possible," he admits. In the end it was worth it to see you like this, happy as a pig in mud. Pierre was in his element at the track you were in yours in beautiful buildings. For all Pierre cared you could be sharing a dingy room at a motel; it would still be five star worthy with you there. 

Every once in a while though, you deserve a bit of pampering for all you put up with. Late nights and months apart wasn’t easy on either of you, but you stuck by him. And when the day comes that Pierre retires or loses his seat, you would be the one there to comfort him. Spending frivolous amounts of money to see you smile was nothing in the grand scheme of things. 

In Pierre’s world, money is temporary, you are forever.

"Well I have half a mind to tear into you for spending so much on a room we won't spend all that much time in," you start, your star-speckled gaze landing on Pierre, "the view is too pretty to be upset about."

"Mine isn't half bad either." You laugh, tucking an errant hair behind your ear. You both know he isn’t referring to the glittering bay or the expensive furnishings.

"Up," Pierre demands softly, holding out his hand. Your hand is warm and dwarfed by his long fingers but you barely seem to notice. The heart in his chest pounds for no discernable reason as he leads you down the narrow hall past doors leading to what he can only assume are bedrooms and bathrooms, to the one at the end of the hall. Based on his mental floor plan this one has the best view, if he's guessed correctly.

Your breezy oh confirms his hunch. You stutter at the threshold, coming up short behind him to bathe in the beauty of the sea, dotted through with white sails. Sunlight twinkles off the waves and if he breathes deep enough, he can almost smell the salt.

"Come on," Pierre says with a chuckle, urging you to fall into the fluffy down of the bed with him. You follow reluctantly, too enamored by the sights to pay any real attention to how Pierre arranges your limbs to his liking, your head resting on his chest and your joined hands laying atop his stomach.

"How about that nap?" He murmurs, running the fingers of his free hand through your unbound hair. 

You sigh and snuggle in closer. It was rare that Pierre had the opportunity to steal moments like this during a race week, when he had nothing better to do than tangle himself in you.

"I'll tell you a story." 

Just as he expected, you leap at the offer. "Can you tell me the one about the time you and Charles got in trouble when you were karting?"

Normally he opts for something fictional that allows him to embellish the details to fit his narrative. Pierre loved spinning tales rife with laughter and intrigue but he also didn't mind indulging your curiosity.

"Yeah, I can tell that one. Let me set the scene. It's midnight on a Friday at a little track outside Rouen. Two gangly teenage boys, one French and one definitely, positively not French, have nothing better to do than get themselves in trouble…"

**********

Fans began whispering when Pierre set foot in the lobby. The price of stardom was high and had taken years to get used to. Some days the bombardment of people asking for photos and autographs overwhelmed him to the point he was desperate for an out. Most people respected his boundaries and when they sensed it was too much, they backed off. Other days it was simply too much and he would mumble excuses and book it out the door.

The pressure increases tenfold when he steps into the lobby with you on his arm, the pair of you dressed to the nines. He clocks a group of women- clearly tourists based on their body language- perched on a sofa the minute their low murmurs turn into excited squeals.

Pierre mentally braces for you to stiffen or stop altogether but you do neither. You carry on unaffected, either ignoring them or completely oblivious to the women who do nothing to hide their pointed stares.

"Table for two please." You smile at the restaurant host and then at Pierre. You must not have noticed the fans then. You were getting better at coping with the photos and whispers, although your smile usually became forced the longer it dragged on, the polar opposite of you currently beaming at him.

Pierre's shoulders sag a bit when you're led to a secluded table towards the rear of the dining space. Privacy wasn't a luxury he was often afforded. With his back to a wall of windows, there were fewer angles for people to approach from which was a small comfort.

Apparently you find sitting across from Pierre unacceptable because you shuffle your chair to his side of the table before plopping down in it. Pierre shoots you a questioning look but keeps his mouth shut. Inquiring after your motives didn't tend to end well for him.

Instead he leans over to kiss your cheek, relishing the blush his lips coax to the surface.

“It all sounds good,” you say, scanning the menu. “You’ve been here before, I take it?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah I have. It’s all wonderful.” 

The fans from the lobby remain in the blurred fringes of his vision. Pierre does his best to focus on the waitress explaining the specials. He tunes in automatically to the fan’s heavily accented English as they argue with the host, vying for a table as close to Pierre as possible.

Their phones remain out as an annoyed waiter tries and fails to coax the gaggle of girls into ordering something. Pierre drags a hand through his hair.

Being the center of attention usually doesn't bother him. Coping with the spotlight and the scrutiny that accompanies it is second nature; if the press conferences at Spa in 2019 had taught him anything, it was the importance of a solid poker face. Fame is new to you though and interactions with polite fans make you nervous. Having your picture taken without permission and splashed on social media? Forget about it. Pierre didn't care to find out how you'd react.

"Don't be nervous." You lay a hand on Pierre's thigh. The touch is enough to temporarily pause his bouncing leg. "You're going to do amazing this weekend. All you have to do is finish in front of Checo and you're golden."

How you haven't noticed the girls giggling mere yards away is beyond him. The last thing he wants to do is ruin this perfect, beautiful moment of bliss. You look gorgeous with your painted lips and that sinful black dress that he doubts can be comfortable based on how it hugs your curves like water. To top it off, the pride in your gaze is something to behold, making it impossible to doubt himself when you so clearly and openly believe he can conquer the world.

But it's better to tell you now versus you finding out on social media later. "That's not what's bothering me."

"Oh?" You sit straighter and set the menu down. "What is it then? Because if it's Horner, I have no problem marching in there and chewing him out. Birdy will back me up."

Despite himself, Pierre can't hold back his smile. "Where did all this confidence come from, hmm?"

"I'm learning," you insist, nodding your head firmly. "I'm growing as a person and you should be proud."

"I never said I wasn't." Maybe you'd spent the last month at university interacting with racing fans on campus. Perhaps being exposed to endless questions in a setting you controlled was the key. "Did you take a course in confidence at university?"

You scrunch up your nose and laugh in the most adorable way. Pierre's heart lurches at the sight, regardless if it was him you were laughing at.

"No, but I did make a few new friends that have a habit of pestering me about you." You jab a finger in his side for good measure. "It helped, I think. I don't look for cameras as much anymore. You're my focus now, not paps that may or may not be lurking in bushes."

"I knew it." Pierre is slightly impressed that he'd hit the nail squarely on the head. "I figured there had to be someone at uni responsible for helping you out."

You shrug and purse your lips. "I guess we'll have to see how I handle this weekend. I mean, there's bound to be press trying to corner me, what with the stakes and all. But I think I can take them." You raise your fists in front of your face and Pierre has to laugh. 

“Throw a punch like that and you’ll break a finger.” He takes one of your clenched fists in his and untucks your thumb from under your fingers. “That’s how you make a proper fist. And you hit with these knuckles here- make sure you distribute the blow across all four, or you’ll be hurting.”

“Regardless,” you say, jabbing the air a few times, “The shock factor of having little old me in their face ought to be enough to earn me an advantage.”

Pierre finishes the lap to circle back to the topic at hand. "How about we test your confidence?” 

"Okay," you say, dragging out the 'a' until it hangs in the air between you like a spider's web. 

Pierre rakes a hand through his hair and nods to the girls a few tables away. "They've been taking pictures since we sat down. I'm sure they'll be all over Instagram in an hour, if they aren't already."

You steal a glance at the table in question under the guise of grabbing something from your purse. You hum, contemplating how to go about responding. Pierre is almost certain you'll ask to head back upstairs where it's just the two of you, no cameras or outside influence to ruin your night. His wallet is already out under the table, ready to leave a hefty tip for putting up with your drink-and-dash.

“We aren’t doing anything interesting,” you point out, swirling the knuckle’s worth of whiskey in your glass. “Why do they feel the need to document every passing second?”

Pierre lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “It’s just what some people do. If you’re uncomfortable we can go.”

“Who said anything about leaving?” You scoff, the corners of your lips turned up in a teasing smile. “I figure the best course of action is to give them something worth photographing.”

“What do you-”

Pierre’s yelp is decidedly unsexy when you yank him forward by his tie and attach your lips to his. Caught entirely off guard, he flounders for a moment before he catches himself and sinks into you. One hand on your cheek and the other creeping up your thigh, Pierre slides his tongue over the seam of your lips. You don't hesitate to obey the silent command.

He should be embarrassed. He should be contemplating the consequences of this kiss being splashed across tabloids the world over. He can’t bring himself to care, not when you’re the only release he needs and something as simple as a kiss sets his skin alight and causes any sane thoughts to trickle from his head.

Nothing matters. You're kissing him and your hand is a few inches below his hip on his right thigh, burning a brand that he prays leaves a puckered pink scar. Your scent and your mouth and your unmistakable hiss of pleasure saps the worry from his limbs. He's floating up off his chair, lungs filling with helium as you steal every last molecule of oxygen from the room.

Just like that, Pierre is the one that's roaring to leave for an entirely different reason.

Your hand on his jaw keeps your lips a hair's breadth apart as you whisper, "Are they staring?"

A blissed out nod is all he manages. Thoughts evade him and speaking is utterly out of the question when your lips are within striking distance. He surges forward for another kiss, heavier on teeth than on tongue. He makes sure to hold your lower lip between his teeth longer than necessary, putting on a show now that you've given him permission.

"Pierre," you murmur, using the hand splayed on his chest to push him away. The whine that escapes him is wholly unintentional. Thankfully it's low enough that only you hear, pressing a finger to your sinful lips.

"Down, boy." You extricate his hand from the dimpled flesh of your hip and place it chastely in his own lap. "We've accomplished what I wanted to."

Saying you tossing a wink over your shoulder at the intrusive fans isn't the hottest thing he's ever seen would be a lie. Pierre needed to be sure to thank Daniel's girlfriend the next time he saw her for whatever the hell she said to finally bestow you with a healthy serving of self-assurance because this new you is an entirely different entity, one Pierre intends to explore at the next opportunity.

"Problem solved." You brush your hands together and Pierre half expects to see dust clouds in the air like you'd just finished a woodshop project. 

Pierre's brain is operating on a ten second delay. So really, normal operating procedure when he was in your vicinity. "I don't think we've accomplished everything I'd like to get done."

"We have a dinner to finish first." You pick up your menu and resume browsing like you hadn't just forcibly ripped his appetite for anything other than you right out of him. "The salmon sounds good, don't you think?"

"You sound good," Pierre mumbles under his breath and picks up his own menu. God, he'd love to let his fingers drift to the apex of your thighs. You’re always cute when you squirm. It was so simple to do too, all you needed was a brush of his knuckle to your center and you'd be gasping.

"Are you ready to order?"

The soft-spoken waitress bursts Pierre's bubble. She brings fresh drinks and jots down an order of two salmon fillets and leaves with a smile. 

How Pierre has managed to make it this long without fucking you is beyond him. From the moment you surprised him in the lobby, his limbs have been thrumming with energy. And now your surprise kiss had been the pebble that preceded an avalanche of feverish longing. Those red painted lips would look better wrapped around his-

The pointed toe of your shoe digs into his calf. "Quit staring."

"Either you let me daydream or you let me take you upstairs,” Pierre quips back, licking his lips before he can catch himself.

"Can we get through one date without you mentally undressing me?"

Pierre dips his grin in a vat of lust, his words dripping with waxy promise. "No. Not when I know that as soon as we're alone, you'll let me do what I want."

"And what about what I want?" Your pouted lip does absolutely nothing but push his mind further in the gutter. 

"Your wish is my command." His hand floats under the hem of your dress to graze along your core. And there it is, that sound he would swim across oceans to hear, your chastizing gasp of surprise. 

The cross way you whisper his name is a thing of dreams. No one else's name sounded like that on your tongue, that honor is reserved solely for Pierre. The two breathless syllables are more exhilarating than standing on the top step. The rush of adrenaline that accompanies them is ten times what he is rewarded with when passing a world champion on track. He'll give it all up to hear you repeat it when you're pissed or lonely or tired- he just wants your voice echoing in his ears like a broken record.

You move his hand a safe distance down your thigh, nearly at your knee. Pierre gives your leg a sharp squeeze. "Can we please get our dinner to go?"

"Not tonight. You can wait, mon amour."

The French rolls off your tongue awkwardly but Pierre will be the last to complain. Your encyclopedic knowledge of which buttons to press when had come back to bite him in the ass.

"That's not fair." His pout is a mirror image of the one you turned on him earlier. "You can't use my own language against me."

You pat your pockets as if searching for something and shrug when you come up empty. "I don't see a rulebook anywhere."

Reminding you what happens when you tease him shoots to the top of his to do list. "I'll play if you wanna play, ma chérie. Don't bite off more than you can chew."

"I think you're forgetting who usually wins off track."

Pierre can't help it. He takes advantage of his superior reflexes and surges forward to claim another searing kiss. You did normally win and it wasn't for lack of trying on his end. No matter the tactic he employed, you generally got the better of him. Not that he minded.

"Why don't you come here?" He purposely grazes his lips to your ear as he speaks and grins when a shiver runs down your spine. 

"Because we are in public," you hiss back, though the way your head tips to the side betrays you. Pierre's nose touches the underside of your jaw and you struggle to find your breath.

"We should eat." A self satisfied smile splits his face when he notices your heaving chest and wild eyes. 

"When did our food get here?" Pierre did that. He got you so worked up that you blocked out your surroundings so thoroughly that you hadn't heard the clink of plates. Pierre wears that fact like a badge of honor.

"A minute or so ago. Remind me again who's winning?"

"We may be even," you relent, adjusting the skirt of your dress. Yeah, even isn't the word he would pick, considering how flustered you are. It's a good thing Pierre has learned to eat with one hand because he doesn't plan on moving the arm currently slung over the back of your chair anytime soon. His finger traces the letters of his name on the bare skin of your shoulder. Whether you realize what he's writing or not you lean into him as you eat, falling in closer with each lemon-scented bite.

"Excuse me?"

You don't bother to look up but Pierre does. Disappointment washes over him when he is met by one of the fans, apparently deeming now to be the appropriate time to approach him, while clearly on a date, in the middle of a meal.

"I'll be happy to take a photo once I'm done." Sometimes passive aggressiveness works best with people like this, who have no regard for personal space. "Right now I would prefer to be alone, thanks."

"Oh, right." The blonde giggles, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "You two make a… cute couple?" The end of her sentence turns up and your fork falls to your plate.

Pierre tucks you a little closer to his side, both possessive and reassuring. "We know."

Your discomfort is plain, the way you curl in on yourself making his heart hurt. But you surprise him by taking a deep breath and turning to the woman with a smile. 

"If you'd let us finish our meal, I would appreciate it. We can stop by on our way out and chat with you." Sylvie would be proud of that answer. Diplomatically phrased and said with a smile that negates any negative connotations.

"Of course." The blonde's smile is sickly sweet. To Pierre she adds, "Good luck on Sunday."

Pierre nods. The woman's rude behavior didn't warrant a verbal response. She mumbles a feeble goodbye before slinking back to her friends. If nothing else at least their whispers died down, put out by his behavior. 

Pierre loves his fans. Without them he wouldn't have a sport to compete in, and of course he appreciated their endless support. Stopping for photos or autographs had gotten him in trouble with Marko multiple times for being late to meetings that usually turned out to be pointless anyway. As a whole, their enthusiasm gives him an extra boost on Sundays and lifts his spirits after a bad weekend.

And then sometimes there were people like the blonde woman that had interrupted his dinner. Those people he has far less tolerance for. Basic manners were imperative to Pierre giving someone the light of day, otherwise he saw no need to waste time and energy on them.

"All good, ma chérie?" Pierre rubs your shoulder, hoping it'll stave off any anxiety.

"I'm good," you confirm with a nod of your head. "Let's finish up and go to our room."

Pierre presses a kiss to your temple and scarfs down the remainder of his meal in record time. He flags down the waitress and hands her his card, leaving a substantial tip when she returns with the check.

“Can you distract that table?” Pierre asks, aware of how unusual the request likely is. “I’d like to get out of here without making a scene.”

“Of course,” the waitress says with a warm, sincere smile. Pierre waits until she loudly announces, “Excuse me? Your card has been declined, do you have another method of payment?”

Neither of you can contain your laughter as you stumble through the lobby. In the sanctity of the elevator, Pierre wraps his arms around your middle and molds himself against you. "You look especially gorgeous tonight."

"You're not too bad yourself." One of your hands finds the nape of his neck, guiding his face to the crook of your shoulder. Pierre takes the invitation at face value and nips at the sensitive skin. Your hum goes straight to his cock, twitching against the swell of your ass.

"I win," you purr, tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging. 

For once Pierre is glad to be in the world's slowest elevator. Since he's already lost, he might as well lose in style. He spins you to face the mirrored wall. And because he knows it'll make you tremble, he trails his hand lazily over your throat to grip your jaw.

A low moan leaves your parted lips. Pierre studies your reflection, from your hands gripping the railing to the skin dimpling beneath his fingers. 

"Fine, you win this time. But I think you and I both know, I'll come out ahead in the end."

**********

Waking up to soft kisses will never get old. Thirty years from now when Pierre was retired and you fell asleep each night with his arms around you, you'd still yearn for the brush of his lips to your cheeks, neck, and shoulders to rouse you from the violet shores of sleep.

"Good morning," you mumble, a sentiment which Pierre echoes with his gruff, sleep tinged voice. "Sleep well?"

"Best sleep I've ever gotten. You tired me out last night." You both grin at the reminder. Fueled by a slight tinge of jealousy after the women at the restaurant made eyes at him, you had refused to let him tumble into bed until well past midnight, when you both were well and truly exhausted. Thursday is press day, nothing strenuous that he couldn't afford to be a little sore for.

Pierre rolls to straddle your hips, lips capturing yours for a proper kiss. The taste of freshly brushed mint makes your skin tingle when he tugs your lip between his teeth.

"It's too early for that." You throw your arms around his neck and urge him to bend his elbows until he falls atop you. It takes him a moment to snuggle in, his head on your chest and his arms sliding under your middle. 

You're convinced that ten minutes in this position can cure any ailments, physical or mental. The weight of your soulmate pressing into you, forcing you to focus on breathing instead of whatever might be bothering you. It's easy to forget about the outside world when everything you require to be happy is wrapped around you like a blanket.

You stroke a hand over Pierre's hair until his breathing evens out, only rousing him when the sun peeks over the harbor. Amiable silence fills the space as hues of orange and pink paint Pierre in swaths of color. Suddenly you're seeing him for the first time, completely enamored by the angles of his cheekbones and the sharp cut of his stubbled jaw. The golden hour of dawn shines on it's golden boy, his lashes brushing his cheeks as he turns towards the warmth calling him home.

"Pyry and I are going for a run soon if you'd like to come with us."

You cringe. Running used to be fun when you were in school, but seeing as you hadn't properly trained in years you doubted you could keep up with a pair of professionals. "How about you text me when you're back and I'll come to the gym with you? It looks fancy, if George's snaps are anything to go by."

Pierre trails kisses up your sternum, over your neck and only speaks once he's reached your lips. "Looking at other men, are you?"

"Shut up," you laugh, shoving him off you. "I'll have you know it was a rare shirt on picture, thank you very much. I don't need to see George shirtless ever again."

A satisfied, "Good," rumbles from Pierre's chest and he stands to stretch the lingering sleep from his limbs. Clad in nothing but a pair of white four inch inseam shorts and with his back to you, you grin as an idea forms. You scramble forward before he can process you moving and smack his ass so hard he yelps.

"Gotcha!" You devolve into a fit of giggles as he rubs the spot you hit, whining about you taking advantage of his distraction.

"You like it," you tease, and Pierre remains strictly pouty for two whole seconds before he breaks into a grin and nods. "Now put on a shirt and get downstairs before Pyry calls you and you get reamed for being late again."

Pierre leans down for one last kiss before rushing off to the lobby. Waking up before the sun leaves you plenty of time to laze about if you choose to. Kicking your butt into gear seems like the better option so you drag yourself out of the relative warmth of the sheets and shuffle to the kitchen in search of coffee. 

Apparently the suite came fully stocked with a handful of different freshly ground blends, and much to your delight you recognize one of your favorites. You scroll through the room service menu on your phone while it brews. Without a doubt Pyry would rope you in to whatever workout he had planned for Pierre, albeit giving you a watered down version of what he gave the driver. Regardless, it would still be grueling and you needed to fuel up.

A hearty breakfast of fresh fruit and cinnamon sugar oatmeal shows up at your door ten minutes later. You're just finishing up when Pierre's snapchat comes through and you nearly choke.

Come on down baby

The sweaty, shirtless selfie that accompanies the caption is wholly unnecessary. Pierre's stupid tongue sticks out and the fingers of one hand are tangled in his hair. The muscle of his bicep is perfectly flexed, an obvious but appreciated attempt to rile you up. You shamelessly screenshot the photo before it disappears to save it for later.

You change into a simple set of leggings and a loose t-shirt and head to the elevator, curating your music queue on the way down.

The outdoor gym overlooks a pool of the same crystalline blue as the sea not far beyond. A few Alpha Tauri and Red Bull team members you recognize occupy a handful of machines. You wave at the ones you recognize, including Alana- she was a sight for sore eyes. You make a mental note to catch up with her at some point today, as you're sure to cross paths again.

Pyry spots you before Pierre does and waves you over. "Start stretching," the fin orders, "I'm glad you dressed for the occasion this time."

"I've learned my lesson." You plop down next to Pierre and lean into a stretch to stage whisper, "He drives you this hard?"

"Get used to it." Pierre shoots you a grin that sets you on fire. He's got a shirt on now, which means he only took it off earlier to send you that snap. Tease.

Any other time you'd chide him for his behavior but this weekend you let it slide. Tension has been brewing since the moment you spotted him across the lobby; simple things tip you off to the stress winding up in him. If flirting could offer him a small amount of release, then so be it, even if it was torturous for you to see him like this and be unable to do anything about it.

"If you two can't get through this without making heart eyes at each other I'll separate you," Pyry warns, pushing at your shoulders and helping you stretch a few more inches. You hide your wince and laugh, leaning into the slight burn.

"Sorry coach," Pierre chimes in, "I'll keep my hands to myself, don't worry." He accepts Pyry's hand to be pulled to his feet. Bouncing on his toes he throws a few punches at the air and catches your gaze over his trainer's shoulder.

"Definitely not you I'm worried about."

As Pyry says it, you blow Pierre a kiss. You quickly tuck your hands behind your back when Pyry's head whips around. Your cheshire grin gets you off the hook and Pyry just points to the stationary bike in silent command. At least he was going easy on you.

Headphones pumping a Pierre curated playlist, you lose track of time as you cycle mile after mile. Pierre sparring on the fringes of your vision helps distract you from burning muscles. Sweat soaks his black tee and is absorbed by the waistband of his oddly patterned orange and white shorts. No matter how incessantly you tease him for his fashion choices, he never fails to amaze you for how well he pulls it all off.

Lost in the music and the incredible view, it takes you a moment to realize Pierre's lips aren't just moving silently. You yank out an ear bud and blubber, "What did you say?"

Pierre's breathless laugh is accompanied by a shake of his head. He half curls in on himself, hands on his hips and mouth agape as he tries to catch his breath. The image stirs memories of the last night, when he was panting just like that but with nothing obscuring you from drinking in his godlike muscled body.

"I said," Pierre starts, walking over to kiss your cheek, "I need a shower before press. I'm going upstairs. You can stay here and Pyry can take you through some more-"

"No thanks!" Pyry shrugs off your immediate refusal. Training top tier athletes and training you sat at polar opposite ends of the spectrum and often times the Fin pushed you farther than you thought capable. You'd like to be able to function tomorrow, thank you very much.

The elevator ride to the suite is filled with salted kisses and wet touches. A breadcrumb trail of clothing leads from the stainless steel doors to the glass encased shower. There's not enough time to worship Pierre like you'd wanted to but he sighs when you run a soapy cloth over his body. Your lips follow the suds, leaving light kisses to the tender muscles. By the time you pour shampoo in your palm and lightly scratch at his scalp to work it into a lather, he's practically purring.

Media appearances are a necessary part of being a driver. Pierre usually handled them well enough on his own and occasionally with Sylvie's help when she could be bothered to get off her phone for a few minutes, but having you with him is different. You pride yourself on reading him well enough to know exactly what he needs. Some days, when the press isn't a pack of rabid animals, he returns to his driver's room and needs nothing more than a quick kiss to have him righted. On days when the pack of piranhas descend to feast on the bones of a bad session or the whispering of drama, a delicate touch is required.

If your suspicion proves right, today would be the latter. Being ahead of the frenzy might take the edge off when Pierre got in the thick of it.

When the tap cuts off, you step out and wrap Pierre in a fluffy towel. His smile communicates how grateful he is- and that he knows what you're doing.

You hand him a stack of Alpha Tauri branded clothes and sit on the foot of the bed. "Do you want me to come to the paddock with you?"

Pierre pauses with his shirt half on. "If you don't mind."

"Of course I don't mind." You pluck a few of his rings from the nightstand and hold out your hand. "You have to complete the look."

"What would I do without you," he murmurs, slipping one on his pinky and one on the thumb of his opposite hand.

"Probably be ridiculed for your lack of fashion sense."

**********

As a driver's girlfriend, you had come to grips with being relegated to a background role when it came to team events. You have to ask Sylvie to repeat herself twice before her words sink in.

"Come with me to the media pen," the woman grits out. Apparently Tost intended to have some fun torturing the woman before he fired her at the end of the season. Hopefully whoever Pierre got stuck with next was a bit more personable than Sylvie.

"Pierre told me to wait here," you say, gesturing to the garage buzzing around you. You were a rock and the mechanics were the stream, parting around you without a care in the world. You were barely a blip on their radar, everyone too honed in on their tasks to pay you any mind.

"And now I'm telling you to come with me. The other wives and girlfriends are in attendance and it'll look odd if you're not there too." Clearly, Sylvie didn't like the idea. And any idea that pissed Sylvie off sounded like a good one.

"I know the way," you say and breeze past her. Your feet follow the familiar path to the cluster of reporters crowded around metal gates, keeping the drivers in like caged animals. It was fitting, considering how often people referred to the sport as a traveling circus.

Pierre is already knee deep in an interview with one of the more popular journalists in the bunch, Will Buxton. Careful to stay out of the lens, you lean against the guardrail to listen in. So far it seems to be going well, Pierre's laugh brings a smile to your face.

"So, Pierre." Will shifts on his feet, pausing to create a sense of drama. "Your seat for next year. We know you'll be in Alpha Tauri or at Red Bull. Only a few points separate you from being demoted right back to eighth in the championship, which would officially relegate you to keep your seat at Alpha for the upcoming season. Are you worried about a mechanical problem or an accident stripping you of your chance to prove yourself and leaving you stuck where you are?"

Your stomach sinks. Buxton knew how to phrase a question, you had to give him that. Each word had been carefully chosen to elicit an emotional response from Pierre. You hate seeing him backed into a corner, forced to answer the same questions again and again, helpless to prevent it.

"Well first of all I'd like to stay that I'm not stuck at Alpha." Pierre shifts his weight and you exhale. Buxton's poisoned dart had missed its mark.

"Given a few years of development I know we could have a really competitive car. But it's more so that I'm ready to move up, fight with the leaders now instead of waiting. I'm in my prime and I don't want to let that pass me by.

"So no, I'm not worried about things that are out of my control. My team has given me an amazing car this year and I'm not concerned about mechanical problems. Things out of my control aren't worth my energy. There's nothing I can do about it so I don't even give it thought. I'll focus on my driving and pushing my limit- if an accident happens, I'm just a passenger."

"Well said." Buxton nods and turns away, effectively dismissing Pierre. As soon as he's out of the camera's view he's reaching for you and you meet him halfway. Sylvie trails after you as Pierre leads you through to the Alpha garage.

"Five minutes until your briefing," Alana says the second you enter. "And hey girl. Don't think I've forgotten about that sweater I loaned you. I still want it back!"

Your friend doesn't leave any room for rebuttal before heading for the conference room, presumably to set up whatever presentation she had created. Sylvie had disappeared too, leaving you as the only one for Pierre to focus on.

"You think I can do it?" He asks quietly, playing with your interlaced fingers.

"I don't think." You tilt his chin up so he's looking at you. "I know. And I'll be right here when you cross that line on Sunday and bring home points. You've got this, baby. Don't doubt yourself now."

"Pierre!"

Your grip on his chin prevents him from following the voice, not that he would if he could. You shoot him a raucous grin, "Red Bull colors would look pretty good on me, huh?"

Pierre's smile is brighter than all the stars in the sky. "Anything with my name on it will do.”

@seasidetom @flashcal @limp-wrist-max @sunshinesewis @lifeofzoemichael @ninuffi @perfectfantasies22 @lamboleglerg @ladyperceval @0forgottenparadise0 @evie-pr @avsensio @ninuffi @lu-morningstar @ggaslyp1 @swiftyhowlz @xeniarocks @teenwaywardasgardian @saintandrea-droidsmuggler​

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future updates!

[highsviolets]

INTERVIEW NO. 1: RACHEL @djarinsbeskar

hello hello! i am so happy to announce that rachel — aka the immense talent that is @djarinsbeskar — has agreed to be my first interviewee for this new series! thank you to rach and to each one of you for all of your support. to read more about the project, click here, and to submit an author, click here.

| why rachel? |

Rachel captured my imagination from the first time we interacted as mutuals-in-law. She’s bursting with energy and vivaciousness, with a current of kindness just underneath everything she does. Her work is no exception. Oftentimes gritty, raw, and exposing (in … ahem…more ways than one), Rachel challenges her readers to dig deeper into both the story and themselves. Her smut brings a particular fire as it’s laced with need, desire, and mutual trust that leads us deeper into the characters’ identities and how physical affection can mimic other forms of intimacy. She’s a tour de force in this fandom and an absolute joy.

| known for |

Engaging with and encouraging other authors, cultivating inspo posts, attention to world building & character development

| my favorites |

Stitches

Boxer!Din

Full Masterlist • Ko-Fi

| q & a |

When did you start writing? What was that project, and what was it like? Has that feeling or process ever changed over time? Why?

I can’t remember a time I wasn’t writing. I was an avid reader, as I think most writers are—and I remember, after picking up Lord of the Rings—that I could live so many lives, experience so many things, all from the pages of a book. I could make sense of the world through words and ink and paper. And it offered me a level of peace and clarity I wanted to share with others. So, I started writing.

My first project I remember to this day, was a short story about a dog. I had been so heartbroken when I learned that dogs were colourblind. I must have been about seven or eight at the time, and I was fixated on this idea that dogs couldn’t see the vibrant hues that made the world beautiful. It was something I wanted to change—and with all the righteous anger of a child not getting their own way, I sulked over the fact that I couldn’t. Until I wrote it down.

“How do dogs see colour?”

And much like my writing today, I answered myself.

“Dogs don’t need to see colour. Dogs smell colour.”

And so, I wrote a story, about a puppy being brought on different walks by its owner. And with every new street it walked down—colour bloomed with scent. Colours more beautiful and vibrant than we could ever hope to see with our eyes. And it gave me solace and helped me work through an emotion that – granted was immature and inconsequential – had affected me. To this day, I still smile seeing dogs sniffing at everything they pass on their walks. Smelling colour. It gave me the key to my favourite thing in life. I don’t think my process has changed much since then. Much of what I write is based on a skeleton plan, but I leave room for characters to speak and feel as they need to. I like to know the starting point and destination of a chapter—but how they get there, that still falls to instinct. I think I’ve found a happy medium of strict planning and winging it that suits me now—and hopefully it will continue to improve over time!

When did you start posting your writing, and on what platform? What gave you the push to do that?

I mean, fanfiction has always been part of my life. I think anyone who was growing up in the late 2000’s and early 2010’s found their way to fanfiction.net at some time or other. The wild west compared to what we have now! My first post was for the Lord of the Rings fandom on fanfiction.net. It was an anthology of the story told through the eyes of the steeds. Bill the Pony, Shadowfax—it was all very innocent. That was probably in 2010 when I was fifteen. I had been wanting to share writing for a long time but was worried about how it would be received. I didn’t really have a gauge on my level or my creativity and – one of the many flaws of someone with crippling perfectionism – I only ever wanted to provide perfection. That was a major inhibitor when I was younger. By wanting it to be perfect, I never posted anything. Until that stupidly cute LOTR fic. It was freeing to write something that no one but me had any interest in, because if I was writing for myself then there was no one to disappoint, right? And that was all it took. I had some pauses over the years between college and life and such, but I’ve never lost that mindset when it comes to posting.

What your favorite work of yours that you have ever written? Why is it your favorite? What is more important to you when considering your own stories for your own enjoyment — characters? fandom? spice? emotional development? the work you’ve put into it? Is that different than what you enjoy reading most in other people’s fics?

I don’t think it’ll come as much of a surprise when I say Stitches. While not original, I mean—it follows the plot of the Mandalorian quite diligently, it is the piece of work I really hold very close to my heart. Din Djarin as a character is what got me back into writing after what must have been five years? He inspired something. His manner, his personality—he resonated with me as a person in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time. And gave me back a creative outlet I had been missing.

It’s funny to say out loud—but I wanted to give him something? I spent so long thinking about his character that half my brain felt like it belonged to him—how he reacted and responded to things etc. and of course, like every dreamy Pisces—I wanted to give him love and happiness. So, Stitches came along. Personally, when writing—it’s a combination of characters, emotional development and spice (I can’t help myself) and when we can follow that development. With Stitches, it’s definitely the spice that is the conduit for development—but I adore showing how the physical can help people who struggle to communicate emotions too complex for words.

I don’t usually read for Din, as most people know—but I do enjoy reading the type of work that Stitches is. Human, damaged—but still with an undercurrent of hope that makes me think of children’s books.

You said, “much like writing today, I answered myself.” Could you talk about that in relation to Stitches?

So, I’m endlessly curious, it has to be said. Especially about why people are the way they are. Why people do A instead of B. Why X person’s immediate thought went to this place instead of that place. And I’m rarely satisfied with superficial explanations. One of the most exciting parts of writing and fanfiction especially, is making sense of that why. There can be countless explanations, some that are content with what is seen on the surface and some that go deep and some that go even deeper still.

Stitches is almost a – very long winded and much too long – answer to the questions I was so intrigued by about Din Djarin, about the Mandalorian and about the Star Wars universe as a whole. I often wondered what happened to people after the Rebellion, the normal people who fought—the people in the background. What did they do next? Did some of them suffer from PTSD? What was the galaxy like right after the Empire fell? That first season of the Mandalorian answered some of those questions, but I wanted to know more. So, I created a reader insert who was a combat medic—and through her, I let myself answer the questions of what happened next.

Regarding Din as a character, I wanted to know what a bounty hunter with a code of honour would do in certain situations—what made him tick, what made hm vulnerable. I wanted to explore the discovery of his identity. Din Djarin didn’t exist after he was taken from Aq Vetina. He became a cog in a very efficient machine of Mandalorians—and it was safe there. I wanted to see what – or who – might encourage him to step into his own. Grogu was that person in a familial sense, but what about romantically? What about individually? There’s so much to explore with this man! So many facets of personality and nuances of character that make him so gorgeous to write and think about.

Talk to me about the Din Djarin Athletic Universe. How does Din as all of these forms of athlete play off who you see him as in canon?

The Athletic Universe! How I adore my athletes. Despite being in a modern setting, I have kept the core of Din’s character in each of them (at least I hope I have!). I like to divide Din’s character into three phases when it comes to canon because he’s not as immovable as people seem to think he is. We discussed this before, how I see Din as a water element—adaptable, but strong enough that he can be as steadfast as rock. But I digress, the first phase is the character we see in the first episode. Basically, before Grogu. There’s an aggressive brutality to Din when we see him bounty hunting. He works on autopilot and isn’t swayed by sob stories or promises. He has the covert but is ultimately separate. Those soft feelings he comes to recognise when he has Grogu are dormant – not non-existent – but they haven’t been nurtured or encouraged. This is the point I extracted Boxer!Din’s personality and story from.

Cyclist!Din on the other hand—is already a father, a biological father to Grogu. And his personality, I took from that moment in the finale of Season two where I believe Din’s transformative arc of character solidified. He was always a father to Grogu, but I do believe that moment where he removes his helmet is the moment, he accepts that role fully in his heart and mind. And that is why I don’t believe for a second, that removing his helmet was him breaking his Creed. In fact, I believe it was the purest act he could do in devotion to his Creed—to his foundling, to his son. The Cyclist!AU is very much the character I see canon Din having should Grogu have stayed with him. This single dad who isn’t quite sure how he got to where he is now—but does anything and everything for his child without thought. It’s a natural instinct for him, and I like exploring those possibilities with Cyclist!Din.

You also said, “he has the covert but is ultimately separate.” What does it take for him — and you — to get to that point of being ‘not separate?’

I mentioned this above, but one of the biggest interests I have in Din as a character is his identity. He’s a Mandalorian, he’s a bounty hunter, he’s the child’s guardian but those are all what he is, not who. I think Din is separate while being part of the covert because he doesn’t know. I don’t think anyone can really be part of something if they don’t know who they are or, they struggle with their identity. It’s curious to me—how you can deceive even yourself to mimic the standard set for the many. In the boxer verse, he identifies himself in relation to his boxing—and every part of his outward personality exhibits those qualities. But when he’s given a softer touch—an outlet of affection, and comfort—we see the softer side of him surface. It’s very much the same with Stitches Din. Identity is like anything, emotions—relationships, bodies. It needs nurturing to thrive, an open door—a safe space. At least, that’s what goes through my mind when I think of him.

Who is your favorite character to read?

Frankie because there are so many ways his character can be interpreted and there are some stellar versions of him that I think of at least once a day. Javi because he reminds me of kintsugi-- golden recovery, broken pottery where the cracks are highlighted with gold. I also adore reading for Boba Fett, Paz Viszla and the clones!

Is there anything else you want your readers to know about you, your writing, or your creative process?

Hmm... only that I am quite literally a gremlin clown who is always here to chat Din, Star Wars, literature, book recs and anything else under the sun! I like to hear people's stories, their opinions etc. it helps me see things from alternative points of view and can truly help the writing process! Other than that, I think I can only thank readers for putting up with my ridiculously long chapters and rambling introspection. Thank you for indulging me always! ❤️

[michiigii-writes-mysme]

Today will be a depraved, Unknown kind of day~

Fandom: Mystic Messenger

This is during Ray’s route, so spoiler alert, I guess?

And technically an AU considering I added an element to her room…

July 10th - Ice Cube Cool Down - Mr. Saeran x MC

Mr. Saeran was in a terrible mood. The sweltering heat of the day could irritate the most patient of people, and since his change, Mr. Saeran was anything but patient. Since noon, he had been stomping around the grounds, between angrily pounding at his keyboard and yelling at other believers. When he finally made his way to the specially locked room, none of the other residents of Magenta envied his Toy.

The girl flinched when her door crashed open, but when she saw who it was, she didn’t move from where she was on the bed. She was lying on her side, admiring the wilting flowers on her table and trying to ignore the gnawing feeling in her stomach, trying to forget the stifling heat of the windowless room. He hadn’t allowed her breakfast or lunch, and while she hoped he would bring something for dinner, she knew the best she could hope for was stale bread and tepid water.

“Uggh, it stinks in here,” the white-haired hacker growled, passing a hand over his face, “The heat makes the stench even worse…”

He means the opposite. He means the opposite, she thought to herself, her mantra since her darling Ray had drowned in green elixir, He doesn’t mean it. He doesn’t mean it.

Mr. Saeran slammed the door behind him, locking it securely. The girl on the bed slowly sat up, noticing that he was holding a glass of something.

“Are those…ice cubes?” she asked, her voice hoarse as the question made its way past her cracked lips.

“What if they are?” he sneered, stalking across the room to her.

Before she sat up completely, his hand was around her neck, pushing her back down onto the bed.

“You thought I would bring you a treat?” he spat, “Stupid toy! It’s so hot, it must have destroyed what little brain cells you have! What makes you think you deserve ice?”

He hauled the girl by the hair to the centre of the bed, and reaching to the bed posts, Saeran pulled out two lengths of leather that had seen good use since he had made her his plaything.

“Ray, wait-“

She tried to slow him down, grabbing at his wrists, but she was so weak from hunger, he easily swatted her away. Even with one hand holding the cold glass of ice cubes, he made quick work of tying her wrists with the leather, pinning her down to the bed.

“How many times do I need to tell you, Toy? Ray is gone. He’s left you and now you’re mine.”

“What are you going to d-“

Stifling her mouth with his hand, he glared at a spot just behind her ear. He never looked her straight in the eye, she noticed; whenever he accidentally did, he would get even more unstable and abandon her in moments.

And, curse her pathetic heart, she didn’t really want him to go. He might be rough with her, but he never actually hit her. And even if he wasn’t really her Ray, she still wanted him close. There were moments in between the screaming and throwing items around her room, where he would pause, and she would get glimpses of…something. He wasn’t Ray, anymore…but the monster that he became wasn’t really him, either. There was something more in Saeran, and she wanted more than anything to reach out and draw him to the surface. And she couldn’t do that if he left her alone.

Saeran frowned when he saw there was no place to put his glass, then with a cruel grin balanced it right in the centre of her chest, on her breastbone just beside where her curves began. It was cold! Too cold! His hand muffled your gasp, but his lips curled higher when he saw your eyes widen and your legs spasm in shock.

“What, Toy? Doesn’t that feel so much better than the heat?”

Taunting her, he ripped the front of her dress open, buttons flying across her bed, exposing the rest of her body as he tore the dress completely open. He tugged her bra down, releasing her breasts, and cupped one in a greedy, possessive grip. His hands were still cold from the glass; again, she gasped, but they could both hear that the sound wasn’t completely born from pain.

“You filthy girl,” he sneered, squeezing her breast and easing another moan out of her, “I only wanted to chill you, but you’re actually enjoying this?”

She shook her head to deny it, then flinched when a freezing drop of condensation slid down the side of the glass, splashing against her skin.

“Bad girl,” he growled, releasing her mouth and taking an ice cube from the glass, rubbing it against his bottom lip pensively, “You know you should never lie to me.”

She opened her mouth to maybe deny it, or beg for mercy, but as soon as her lips parted, he pushed the ice cube into her mouth. Instinctively, she closed her lips, her teeth clicking around the ice before he could try to take it away. It was life-giving water and she could almost cry at how refreshing it was.

But Saeran hadn’t wanted to show mercy; he had wanted her silenced, and he had succeeded. His hands moved to play with her breasts, her nipples already erect from the cold. One was a little shyer than the other, much to his disapproval. He took another ice cube, the glass ever balanced on her chest, and traced a lazy circle around her areola; she whimpered at the intensity, but his eyes darkened as he watched her nipple perk up.

“You may be a useless fool, Toy, but it is fun to make you squirm,” he muttered, dragging the ice cube over her tip.

She wanted to cry out, but she would risk choking on the cube in her mouth. She wanted to turn away, to ease the sensation even a little, but then the glass might tip. So, she stifled another yelp, her legs twisting this way and that, trying to subdue the heat that was pooling between them.

He finally released her other breast, but to her chagrin she saw him take another ice cube from the glass. He was running it through his fingers, as if trying to figure out what to do with it, while he continued to torture her nipple with swipes of ice. She wanted to shut her eyes, to not watch what he would do to her next, but when she tried it, every touch and every icy drip felt even more sharp and intense. Better to watch and expect the teasing, she decided, turning her agonized gaze back to her captor.

She relaxed a little when Saeran popped the ice cube into his own mouth. He must be hot, too, she knew; maybe now that he had something to drink, he would calm down. Instead, he lowered his body against hers, his mouth coming down to latch around her nipple. She gave a choked cry, fingers clawing at the open air, unable to break free from the leather straps at her wrists. She felt his icy tongue tease her sensitive nub, then suckle while the ice cube played in his mouth. Wet warmth and freezing cold played at both her breasts, exquisite torture that made her head spin. It wasn’t until he pulled back that she realized she had been screaming; the ice cube in her mouth had disappeared without her realizing it.

“Shut up!” he snapped, putting both half-melted ice cubes into his mouth, then shoving your lips against his. A rough, bruising kiss, and when her lips parted, both pieces of ice slipped through; again, she was silenced.

Through a thick, hungry and lust-filled haze, the girl could hear the glass tinkling again, and sharp cold surprised her just above her bellybutton. Saeran moved down her body, sweeping the fresh ice cube left and right across her stomach, distracting her so she never felt him remove her damp panties. It wasn’t until the ice cube was at her mound and he had hooked her thighs over his shoulders that she realized what he was going to do.

“Nnn!!” she tried, legs spasming, but deep down, she wanted him to keep going, and he was very determined to splay her legs open for him to feast.

He rested the ice cube just over her pearl, close enough that she could feel the cold, but not enough that it would hurt her. Even he knew that an ice cube on her clit would be too much for her, especially in the dripping, needy state that she was already in. Her breath quickened in anticipation; she couldn’t see it, but she could feel a drop of melting ice already starting to slide down. Her eyes squeezed tight, feeling tension mounting as the icy water slowly grew bigger and bigger, teasing towards her clit, the sense of almost being touched making her head spin. Whether she wanted it to drip and sting her with its coldness, or whether she wanted to avoid the overwhelming sensation, she wasn’t sure.

Then, just when she should she couldn’t take it anymore, Saeran buried his face into her pussy, sloppy as he spread cool, melted water wherever he could feel wet velvet against his tongue. He didn’t try to be neat, or have any modicum of finesse; he wanted her to feel everything, both painful and pleasurable, and he wanted her to feel it now. With every twist of his tongue, every drop of icy water, even his fingers as they greedily pushed into and writhed in her core, he wanted to tear ecstasy and need and moaning and rapture out of her. Even as he felt her buck and try to break free of him, he devoured her, head shaking back and forth as he hunted for her release.

He wanted her to feel the intensity that he felt when his eyes met hers. He wanted her to cry. He wanted her to gasp. He wanted to hear her beg him for mercy as she screamed his name.

He wanted her shattered and undone and unable to function without him.

So he suckled and nibbled and impaled her on his fingers, never relenting until his goal was achieved.

—————

Hours later, he stood over her, her spent body curled up on the bed. He had pulled the blanket over her bare form, the starlight the only witness to this tiny show of kindness that she would never remember.

It had been such a hot day. But she had refreshed him.

And yet, already he craved more of her.

“…disgusting,” he grumbled, pulling his clothes back on, “Pathetic fool…”

He stalked out of the room, refusing to look back, to examine her sleeping face, to watch her dream and breathe easy.

Refusing to acknowledge that he wished he could stay with her.

—fin—

[serenityseventeen]

Vernon (최한솔):

-----------------

genre: lime, oh lime

pairing: boyfriend!vernon x reader

a/n: Surprisingly, contradicting the smiley weather, right now as I'm writing this there's a night thunderstorm. Shuddering thunder, lots of wind, and heavy rain… + I need some more movies to watch… + OMG PLEASE LOOK AT HIM!!! VERNON HANSOL CHWE!!!

-----------------

Your head was resting on Vernon's shoulder, both of your eyes glued on the movie playing on the large theater screen.

The seats were a wine color and the only light was from the screen. Vernon's lap held a red and white striped bucket of yellow & white popcorn. Your hands were intertwined with each other.

“Are you enjoying the movie?” You asked quietly, not to disturb anyone else who was watching, even if, to be frank, the entire place seemed to have less than 100 people filling the seats.

“If I were to be honest then not really,” Vernon replied, chuckling a little bit. “The movie isn't bad and the elements of it seem good, it's just not my type of movie I guess.”

“Same here… well, we can't just leave, can we?”

“We probably can, but it'll feel like a waste of money. At least know what happens in the movie while we're at it.” Vernon suggested. You agreed but to you, the movie was nothing interesting. You paid attention to the point only to find yourself dozing off.

“Did you not get enough sleep?” Vernon asked turning his head toward you and down slightly to see you.

“I suppose…” You actually got more than enough sleep. You removed your head from your boyfriend's shoulder and looked at him. “You said it was boring right?”

“Yeah but I understand it enough to keep watching,” Vernon replied.

The scene of the movie at that moment turned down the lights. It was a dark scene where the main characters are walking in the night together while flirting. Your eyes met with Vernon's despite almost being unable to see him.

Your hands found his face. He gave a small chuckle. You know he was going to say something more but you didn't let him, placing your lips on his. Your eyes were shut, unable to distinguish whether the dark scene had passed.

This wasn't something that Vernon would do. He didn't like kissing in public areas, though it did occur to him that he wanted to kiss you in the theater. Vernon quickly closed his eyes and began to kiss you back. It was the first time he did something like that with you in public.

It wasn't just because of boredom that you kissed him. Being beside him for so long, the smell of him became almost addictive, making you want to completely devour him. However, when your hands dig in his hair and his hands make their way behind your back, you only figured that the opposite was occurring.

Vernon wanted to get out of his seat and kiss you harder. It was either that or he wanted to take you out of your chair and place you onto his lap. It made him wish that you two had chosen to watch a movie at a theater with beds instead of chairs.

Vernon took the popcorn on his lap and placed it on the empty chair beside him. He looked away for a moment to make sure the popcorn didn't spill, then almost immediately placed his lips back onto yours. He still wasn't completely sure why you had suddenly wanted to kiss him but he didn't want to push you away.

The light from the screen began to brighten again as the dark scene of the night turned into day. Birds began to chirp from the screen.

Jun, who was sitting behind the affectionate couple was in complete disgust, his face judging. Jun threw some pieces of popcorn into his mouth and tried to focus on the movie, but his eyes couldn't help but dart down at the couple in front of him.

Before, since it was dark, he could not see the young couple's faces, but now, he started to realize something. It all clicked when he saw the ring on the male's pinky finger as he rubbed his lover's back.

Jun smirked, holding his laughter. Jun took a few pieces of popcorn from his bucket and began to throw them one by one.

Vernon felt popcorn hit his head. He broke off the kiss and turned around to see where it came from. You also turned and saw Jun.

“Hey~! Don't do that, other people might see!” Jun said in a whisper voice, still smiling playfully.

Vernon was in shock. He sat down on his chair but turned to look at Jun.

“Hyung… how long have you-”

“I watched the movie too, I just didn't realize it was you two!” Jun replied.

You greeted Jun politely, before turning around, embarrassed.

“You didn't record, did you?” Vernon asked skeptically, with an uneasy smile.

“Just watch the movie this time!” Jun said throwing another piece of popcorn.

“Hey! You're making a mess!” Vernon said, partially sounding like he was whining.

-----------------

-serenityseventeen