#'i am lessened by it'...so true

[lord-squiggletits]

When Optimus in Chaos Theory said "Hatred may sustain you, but it diminishes me. I am lessened by it." that was so fucking deep of him

[terris-mayweather]

This is the first time I ever hit the tag limit.

Did you know there's a tag limit btw? I didn't.

reblog and put in the tags a fanfiction trope you love and a fanfiction trope you hate.

[hoseoksluna]

TIME | knj

pairing: fiancé!namjoon x oc 

genre: smut

word count: 13.0k

summary: namjoon makes your dream come true in a much better way than you ever wanted.

pinterest board: divine | playlist: time | taglist: join

warnings: basic relationship fears, oc is heartbroken in the beginning, fight, minor violence, oc has daddy issues (like the writer), namjoon and oc smoke (like the writer as well <3), family sickness, punishment, spanking, choking, hair pulling, a mention of throat fucking and squirting, namjoon has an obsession with oc's boobies, dirty talk, use of a blindfold during intercourse, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, handjob, multiple orgasms, raw sex, namjoon talks her through it, praise kink

note: i will cherish this work until the day i die. i will carry it in my heart and never, ever forget it. this might be my best piece and i don't think i'll ever write anything as good as this. i love namjoon with all my heart and i want to thank him for inspiring me to write this. if he weren't such an amazing person, such a dear person to me and if he never released cbtm, this work wouldn't be here and i wouldn't brim with so many warm emotions. i gotta tell you guys—while writing the smut, this was the first time i wasn't affected by it in a way that i normally am because i found so much beauty in their relationship. enjoy this, my loves. let me know what you think. i love you. <3

The orange light in the hotel room causes bile to rise in your throat. It exudes a zephyr of mockery, such profound air of scorn, and you feel it thumping upon its reflection on the bare skin of your arms. You want to pinch it—make it hurt somehow, cause it the same agony that’s poisoning your system through and through because in all truth, that’s all you’re left to do. 

The Eiffel tower out beyond your window, blanketed in a soft layer of snow, has begun to twinkle. The perception of how long you’ve waited for your fiancé to come back that even such a monumental structure, your dream, has descended to its sleep full of blinding light beckons gooseflesh to mar your skin and it doesn’t go away. Not when your sight blurs, unfocuses, and the stars that have latched themselves to the tower enlarge into bulbs with softened edges, a myriad of bokeh that seem to have a slither of pity for you, lessening their grandness as the falling snow thickens. Not when both of your waterlines become rivulets of tears that heat your cold cheeks, despite the burning bushes of fury that incinerate your lungs. 

Just one more hour and the twigs of flames will perforate the chambers of your heart and sweep it clean of any emotions, any feelings, any understanding for the man that took you to Paris and left you all alone in the hotel room he paid for. You thought he took you here to give you the experience of seeing something new as you’ve never been to Europe and you’ve shared with him on several occasions that it’s always been your dream to see the Eiffel tower. Especially at night when it glimmers with such pretty, pretty stars. But considering he brought you here under the pretense of doing business, you carry nothing but contempt for the strange iron structure. So much for dreaming, so much for putting trust in a man. 

There will always be the other woman. It doesn’t matter if it’s in the form of a female, of alcohol, of ignorance. In this case, the mistress is Namjoon’s company and you should’ve known you’ll have her haunting your back for the rest of the trajectory of your secret relationship with him, with Mr. President. 

You should’ve seen it coming the moment she created a realm for you to soften, privately, in and fall in love with him until your ears turned red, the petals of roses. A realm between an ordinary employee and her boss. Between the walls of unknowing people—the way he would lean in to hear you talk because in comparison to his large stature and broad proportions, made even more prominent by his short hair, you were a mere stone on the ground, an ametrine—split in half with a tendril of yellow—but a stone regardless, fearing the tip of his lacquered dress shoes stomping on you until you’re left crumbled in the dying grass, the jagged pieces of you consoled by the ruthless wind.

You were terribly afraid of him. Briefly, but ardently. A true personification of desire, whenever you had to look up into his eyes. Whenever a whiff of his oriental cologne tickled your nostrils. Whenever the allure of secrecy between you two heightened. All because he was a powerful man, on the cusp of saving you from the lowest of the dirt. Saving you and digging you back inside, left to your own decay. 

Left to. That’s the wisp of tendency in your relationship. The wisp of force that drove you to give your yes to him. The wisp of the engagement ring encased around the fourth finger on your left hand. Left to—because you’d been single for so long and your mother pined after grandchildren and Namjoon was there, a knight in shining armor, dressed in suit and tie underneath, at the very age and position to settle down. Left to—because the special attention he gave you grazed your fear of him, gently, and helped it blossom into a bush of hyacinths growing in your lungs.

It’s how you found out you were in a severe destitute of a fatherly figure in your life.

Because Namjoon paid your bills. Put food on your mother’s table. In the form of a generous paycheck, overtime pay—even though you always clocked out at five, and odd bonuses that rose in monetary value the more he spent time with you. You’ve told him to stop, asked for fairness among his employees, even though nobody liked you there and would do quite the opposite if they ever happened to be in your shoes. But Namjoon never agreed to your offer. No, he stroked your hair and told you to save that money for your mother. And because you never heard that come out of man’s mouth, you nodded, meekly. Listened. The fear of him stroking the violet petals of hyacinths in you because as of now, he owned you. Owned your life. Owned the comfort of your mother. 

All because you made the faux pas and took off your heels when you thought your presentation was done and nobody answered when you asked if anyone had any questions left. Except for that one employee who didn’t have, evidently, a sense of decency and suddenly remembered he had a groundbreaking question to ask you in regards to the matter of your presentation, when everyone else, including Namjoon, was gathering their possessions and rising to their feet. 

He had noticed your nylon-clad feet, your swollen little toes, the way you rolled the ball of your foot on the carpet to alleviate yourself of the pain. And he changed the decades-old policy of dress code the next day. Forbade all women to wear high heels. Flat shoes only—loafers, ballet shoes. Incorporated bonuses that appeared in their bank accounts that very day, demanding an instant payment. 

He paid for every woman’s shoes in his company, including you. 

You never had to go through the torment of wearing heels again, no matter how pretty they seemed to you.

And then it was easy—languid and smooth, the innocent eye contact from across the room, the constant attention, the brushing of hands when walking past each other. And then you ran into him everywhere. He was always alone, which caused you to suspect he was single, so you smiled a little more and found it the easiest thing in the world, conversing with him about everything and nothing. Put a lot more care into the clothes you wore and the daily choice of your perfumes. Not forcing yourself and not being in control of it at the same time, something in the very middle. Something so natural that allowed you to turn your brain off for a moment and let yourself be led by your instincts. 

Then, your mother got sick and you lost your smile. Spent all your free time with her, taking care of her and you never ran into Namjoon again. 

Which is why he began to call you into his office behind the pretense that he needs something from you. And perhaps he did. He needed to be a friend for you. And you needed it just the same. 

He helped you cope with the gravity of a burden regarding a sickly parent and you became his.

And you gave more of yourself to him with every fleeting touch, every secret invitation to his office in broad daylight when he had meetings to attend to but wanted to get to know you instead, get to know your dreams because he has the money and the power to make them come true. Tenderly, despite the potency, the violence of his instrument. And tenderly, he always treated you. Tenderly, he held you steady as you made it a regular thing between you and him to sit on his lap. Not straddling him, but sideways—like a little girl sitting on the lap of her father. Tenderly, he led you through new parts of your life with poetic advice and viewpoints, meeting you outside of work, intertwining his fingers with yours and reassuring you. And tenderly, he became the stable male figure you invariably needed and never knew you did. 

And tenderness is what you need right now. In this shadowed hotel room, with only your arms to wrap around your torso and a ring on your left fourth finger, a ghost of his presence, ever so lingering, but not quite here. And you clutch at your dress, scrape your fingernails along the side of your ribs, etching the words that he said to your slowly awakening form in the late afternoon before he left. 

“I won’t be long. I just have some business to attend to. I’ll be back in an hour.”

It has been more than an hour and you wonder if he’s going to miss the twinkling of the tower. It’s your first night here. You had dinner after you landed, napped, didn’t even walk around the poetry-woven city and Namjoon chose his work. You showered for him, wore the long black dress you saved up the little of your last two paychecks for and he’s not here to see it. 

You feel so betrayed. He found work in your spare time, the time saved only for you both, the time that should’ve been saved for the romance part of your relationship. All he knows is work and so do you—as the entirety of your hours spent together have been solely work-related. This vacation should have been anything but. 

You sigh, hand ready at the zipper at the back of your dress. Once he comes home, he’ll be tired. Too tired to take a walk and immerse himself in the European beauty, so you should save this dress for a better occasion, one which he’s present for. Whenever that is. If that ever comes, at all. 

The squeak of the zipper going down is interrupted when you hear the lock make a sing-song melody, a signal that someone is coming in. Your breath quivers. A twist of events you didn’t expect, but you don’t get your hopes up. You know your fiancé well enough not to expect him to be full of life and elation after a work meeting. This isn’t the first time it’s happened, but you let it slide past every time, aware that if he didn’t work so hard, your mother wouldn’t have the comfort she has. And neither would you. 

That doesn’t mean you’ll let it slide past this time. Not when he reserved his special time for you, for you both. 

Namjoon emerges out of the soft-toned yellow hall with a hand behind his back. You rise from the bed, facing him. Notice his sagged, broad shoulders, the sweat that lines his forehead and the narrow thin line that his lips are pursed in. A petulant, gray aura swathes him, despite the vibrancy of the colors of the hotel room and when he comes in, it’s almost like he absorbs them. His brows quirk at the sight of you, nearly relieved to see you dressed and waiting for him, but that expression falters once he takes in the mirror of you. The same wrinkle on your forehead stamps itself onto his and the sag of his coat-clad shoulders deepens. He stops at the edge of the bed, in front of you. Remains silent. And when you give him a few more seconds to speak and he doesn’t, your fists clench at your sides, against the linen puffiness of your dress. 

“An hour, huh?” 

He sighs and lowers his gaze. But not onto the ground. No, he lowers it onto your dress, swallowing dryly at the accentuation of your waist and the bunched up fabric at the hips cascading down, clothing you in the prosaic night of Paris, not the poetic, not the lively. He missed it. 

“You look so beautiful in this dress,” Namjoon comments and you scoff. If that’s his way of apologizing for leaving you for almost four hours, you don’t really understand it. It merely adds fuel to the flames of the indignation underneath that fucking dress. 

“Do you know what time it is?” you bite, your fingers instinctively grabbing onto the fabric of your garment for some kind of stability as your blood boils. Abruptly, his eyes flick to the window and when you follow his gaze, you discover the tower dressed similarly as you. Shrouded, entirely, in the night, clouds drifting past in place of the twinkles. Your blood is scorching hot and even though you didn’t expect him to take you to it, your stomach still drops at the disappointment that you missed the thing you looked forward to for weeks, knowing it won’t be the same tomorrow or the day after that. Your eyes prick with tears and you hate them. Don’t want to cry. Don’t want to be a spoiled brat, in fact. Not when you grew up the way you did—dreamless, poor and independent. But you can’t stop the words from rushing out. “I can see you wearing that watch that costs more than the house I grew up in and I know your habit of checking the time often, so tell me. Why didn’t you text me? Why didn’t you pick up my calls? Why did you bring me here in the first place if you knew you had business?” 

Mouth ends rounding ever so slightly, at last he shows what he’s been hiding behind his back. A bouquet of fresh, violet chrysanthemums and baby’s breath of the same muted tones. A symbol of thoughtfulness and care. The oxymoron makes you seethe and you grit your teeth. 

“I ran around the city trying to find one flower shop that was still open. I bought the first flowers that reminded me of you.” He pushes them your way, trying to get you to take them and you do, the wrapper rustling as your hands touch and electricity zaps you. Damn it. “Purple, your favorite color.” 

The audacity this man has, walking over that one word of apology, avoiding it. He takes your anger to another level and the fact that it seems to be endless makes you even angrier. Enough to want to hit him with the flowers. 

And you do. 

The flowers hover in the air in slow motion before their petals scatter around his troubled shoulders and the ruffled bed, where you sat so restlessly. Namjoon raises his arms in defense and you don’t stop, not until he grabs your arms and stills you. 

He calls you by your name, his hold on you deathly, and he shakes you, just once, in effort to bring some sense into you. “Calm down.” 

The stems from the chrysanthemums lay crooked on the floor between your bare feet and his black dress shoes. Ruined, devastated. Just like your dream. Some snapped in half, never to be whole again. Just like your heart. 

“You think some flowers are gonna bring my dream back, huh?” you snap, raising your voice, quivering in his grasp. You push at his chest, trying to get out of his clutches, but to no avail. You remain firm and unmoving in his hold. He doesn’t even budge. And once again you feel like a stone—an amethyst this time. Bigger, stronger, yet it still pales in comparison to the mountain that Namjoon is. You give very little fuck about that, however. “You knew it was my dream to see the Eiffel Tower at night. You brought me here knowing that, so I’m asking you once again why. Why did you bring me here when you knew you weren’t gonna make that dream come true for me?” 

He sucks in a breath and it looks as though he’s hanging by the edge of his composure. A thick vein bulges on his forehead and he clenches his jaw, his mouth a small button on his face. Anger. A mirror of you. But it’s not directed towards you—not at all. 

Namjoon withdraws and steps away, taking off his coat and his jacket, slinging his outerwear onto the edge of the bed. And as you simmer in the middle of the tense silence, he casually rolls his sleeves upwards, focusing his gaze, momentarily, on the action before he bores it into yours. The other sleeve gets the same treatment meanwhile he keeps the boiling temperature of your fury at a fixed degree with that stare. You want to boil over and so does he, but he doesn’t let that happen. 

The tiniest wisp of lust curls in your bloodstream, steamed by the heat, creating something dangerous. Oh, he’s playing with fire and he shouldn’t. 

All forest fires end catastrophically. The ruined flowers are enough proof of that, and yet it’s just the beginning. 

Namjoon loosens his tie a little bit, tipping his chin, and you can’t help but to ogle the slender material, his long fingers as they hook over the knot and pull it down. They way he’s asserting his dominance—the way he’s making you wait, making you tremble all fucking over by the silence and the slowness of his motions, by his stance and the clenched jaw. You hate the way it’s working; hate, with all your crumbling, stony being the pressure of your craving to get on your knees. 

Your tremor causes your fallen strap to tickle your arm and it snaps you out of the indecent daze, head swiveling to it, hand fixing it right away. You tug your dress down so it doesn’t slip down again, your plunging sweetheart neckline exposing your full breasts. 

“Why don’t you ask me what the business was about?” Namjoon challenges and it causes your head to swivel back to him, facing him. He’s sunk his hands into the pockets of his black dress pants, anticipation and tension hanging heavily in the stuffed air. 

You raise your brows. Fuck if you care about it. “Do I look like I give a fuck? I don’t wanna hear it.” 

Namjoon drops his gaze onto the ground, the clench of his jaw tightening enough that a dimple appears on the side of his cheek. For some reason you can’t really explain it aches and you don’t want to look at him anymore. You edge around him, the soles of your feet stepping on the violet petals and when you’re side by side, he stops you with one hand. 

“You’re gonna want to hear this,” he murmurs, his hold on you softening once your movement is halted. 

You roll your eyes, untangling your arm from it. “Too bad I don’t.” 

Namjoon sighs, deeply. “I’m telling you this one last time. You’re gonna sit on this fucking bed like the nice girl I know you are and you’re gonna listen to me.” 

A pulse sneaks to your sensitive parts and you furrow your brows, not liking the words he chose, not liking the way they made you feel. A half of you is torn, though. A half of you forces your body to do as he says, liking it very much. Too fucking much. “You don’t get to talk to me like this. It’s unfair.” 

“Sit.” 

That half of you wins. That easily. 

You sit on the bed and cross your leg over the knee, obnoxiously dangling your shin back and forth. The hem of your dress flutters, gains momentum when Namjoon opens the balcony door, letting the winter air in. Then, he moves over to stand a foot away from you, the stems crunching beneath his feet, his hand fishing out his pack of cigarettes and pulling one out, popping it into his mouth. Yellow, almost brownish butt. Golden Marlboros. Typical. 

Your own parts in dismay. “You’re gonna set the fire alarm off.” 

“You’re gonna get rained on, then. Look pretty in that soaking dress with the petals and all.” He lights up his addiction and the flow of your fire changes its course. Burns differently now. Burns lustfully. “You think I didn’t tell them to turn it off when we arrived? You were too sleepy. Barely knew where we were.” 

Flying while drifting through dreamland does that to you. Why it is a surprise to you that Mr. President made such a demand is beyond you. What’s more, it annoys you. His power, his influence. While it once sparked fear, you’re glad it’s lukewarm to you now. 

Sucking deeply, he puffs out the smoke, its tendrils curling around his eyes that he narrows to protect them from the sting. Your fingers, instinctively, play with your engagement ring. You’ve always loved the way he smoked. Especially in his office. Especially the way it never smelled. His attention to detail, his thoughtfulness perpetually mesmerized you. You wonder where it’s gone at the cusp of the realization of your dream. 

“I fought tooth and nail to get a deal. To make a connection. For you.” 

You scowl at him, pull your wandering fingers away from your engagement ring. What the fuck does he mean by that? 

“For me?” 

“Yes, for you. For your mother.” 

You grip the edge of the mattress at the mention of your mother, left behind on her sick bed while you’re fussy about your mindless dream. A jolt of guilt runs down your body and your scowl smoothens. You don’t think the madness disappears from your eyes. Not entirely. 

“I risked having some very powerful people knowing about us because I wanted you to have a stable place here. There’s a five star hotel that has shares in Korea. I wanted to become their partner. Get you in there. Get you another source of income. Get you a house here. For your mother. For our children. Have you commute here whenever you’d like,” Namjoon breathes out, moving his busy hand with each word, the smoke clouding the air. He takes a drag, holding the cigarette. “Come to think of it, you’d get to see this.” He points behind himself at the Eiffel Tower with his thumb. “For a week straight if you’d like. Splurge on dresses, shoes and croissants and whatnot. Have not one care in the world. You make the call and we fly.” 

From Korea to Paris. Whenever you’d like. Namjoon is the CEO of a five star hotel he built with his own hands. You’re the marketing manager, but you oversee almost everything you find time for. From banquets to room beddings, only because you enjoy it. It’s the main reason why you’re so disliked. You’re favored. And if there’s conflict of interest, there’s only one person who wins in the eyes and the final say of the CEO.

Namjoon’s hidden thoughtfulness opens in the shadows of the room and you’re stupefied. 

He wanted to partner with another five star hotel in Paris. 

For you. For your mother. For your future. For your comfort. 

For your dream. 

For your children. 

Your mouth opens and closes, but no words come out. 

How would you possibly handle having your job times two? You already have enough on your plate. Have wished, multiple times, that there was more of you cloned, who could do each job that you have to do each day. Doing that twice would be difficult, agonizingly so, but knowing your own work ethic, you’d make it manageable. You’d make do. Not for yourself, per say—but for your mother and your future children. 

Your heart constricts. Constricts so tightly that you let out a pained breath, overcome by his plan for the future, by the actions he’s willing to do for it. By the very raw fact that he spent three hours trying to make that happen—make that come true for you. 

“Namjoon, I—”

“They said no, though. No matter how hard I pushed, no matter what I was willing to risk, to sacrifice. They said no. So I made a quick phone call and forbade them from ever entering our hotel.” 

Our hotel. 

You almost sob, touched by him, but a gust of the icy breath of winter seizes you and you visibly shudder. Namjoon takes a last drag of his addiction and, putting it out on the ashtray on the confined balcony, he closes its door. But the freshness grazes you still, grazes you with the allure of this too-good-to-be-true fantasy and while it feels nice momentarily—the futile, brand new dream—you settle on the contentment that it will never come true. 

And that’s okay. You were brought up having nothing. Having someone like Namjoon intertwined with your future doesn’t change it. You don’t need to have everything. It’s enough that you’re in Paris just for the prolonged weekend, even though you didn’t get to see the sparkling Eiffel Tower up close on your first night here. That was the only dream you ever had and you can die peacefully now. Knowing the reason behind his late arrival, it doesn’t disappoint you anymore that your dream was altered. As a matter of fact, you don’t consider it ruined any longer. Not when Namjoon tried his hardest to create a beautiful future for you and your closest. You regret being mad at him, regret hitting him with the flowers and you brim with the wish to gather them, fix them, and put the little what’s left of them in a vase. Cherish them like he cherishes you. Cherish him. 

Namjoon crouches at your feet, cradling your ankle. “Your mom would’ve had a house right next to ours. Our kids would visit her everyday and vice versa. The air would’ve done her good here. The change of scenery. It would’ve prolonged her life. She’d be happy.” 

You nod, believing him, your heart untouched by the weakening fire, tender, squeezing. A mist of liquid emotion pools at your eyes. “You spent three hours trying to make that become a reality.” 

It’s not a question, but rather an expression of your procession of his goodness. Of his selflessness. And all over again, you’re reminded of the way you grew close in your relation because of your poor mother, of the way you bonded. And in place of the fire, it’s love that blooms those hyacinths in your lungs back to life. 

Your mother would’ve loved Paris. Because you know how much she loved listening to you talk about your dream when she was healthy and you were a young schoolgirl, you’re certain she would’ve fallen in love with the stark difference that lines these history-wrought streets. 

Namjoon focuses his gaze on your bare foot, fondling his thumbs over your silky skin. Your declaration of his actions loosened the heft on his shoulders and he relaxes, leaning his temple against your knee, fleetingly. When he speaks, he looks up at you. A certain light, covered in pity, flickers in his eyes. “I didn’t do it on purpose. It just took that long and I had no idea. And when I checked the time once it was over, I googled when they turn off the lights. Knew I had some time to spare, so to fix my mistake for taking so long, I ran through these streets, trying to make it up to you. I thought I’d make it in time, but you let out your frustration on me, which is understandable. I was in such a hurry that I forgot to text you. I’m sorry.” 

The coolness of the growing flower buds in you fills you with such gentleness that it’s not relief that you feel upon hearing his explanation and apology. It’s love. A profound, sinking capacity of love for the man beneath you taking on the likeness of the stone that certain energies and events of life invariably minimalized you into. 

He’s the stone and you’re the mountain. 

And when you bolster his face in your hands, Namjoon releases a breath at the touch and you find that relief streaming in him, seeping color back into his cheeks. You’ll paint them redder. Feel obligated to do so. 

“I’m sorry for hitting you. You left me alone for so long and I had so many bad thoughts,” you say, internally cringing at your neediness and you would regret uttering your admission had he not rubbed your legs in such a reassuring manner that it revitalizes your body, guiding briskness into your veins. 

“I’m sorry that I missed it,” Namjoon says, subduedly, his hands warm like the fire that burned in you, giving you back your heat that you’re lacking. He kisses the top of your knee and your breath is but a vine of poison ivy inside your throat. Such tenderness, such healing gentleness, such pity that permeates your skin. He truly is regretful that he messed up and you want to weep. He doesn’t have to be, not anymore. “What kinda bad thoughts?” 

You feel your heart rotate on its axis and you stifle back your tears, taking a deep breath to be able to talk. “I thought you chose work over me. Thought your business had nothing to do with me. Thought you left me here all alone for selfish reasons.” 

Namjoon coos, a softened emotion screwing his face—eyes enlarging and a slight pout forming on his face. A leeway for your tears to spurt onto your cheeks, unabashedly, with nothing holding them back any longer. He cups your face, like you did, and he sweeps back that rivulet with his thumb. “I didn’t, baby. I didn’t. And I’m here. I’m here with you.” 

You nod and it’s all that you’re left to do because it’s the truth. He’s here. He’s come back. And he’s sorrowful that he let those thoughts plague your brain with such a small mistake. 

“Don’t go anywhere again,” you beg, hushedly, your voice breaking. “I’m sorry you worked so hard for nothing.” 

It’s the last straw for Namjoon because he straightens his form, guides you to stand up and he sets you down on his lap, pushing your legs onto the bed—holding you as if he were holding a child. 

And that’s precisely what you need at the moment. 

“It’s not over. Pick a place and we’ll go there. Start over. With you present this time. What are you dreaming of these days?” 

Your heart swells. Nothing has been flooding your dreamland as much as Paris was. Even that seemed unrealistic, let alone a much different place. It overcomes you and, peculiarly, stops you from crying. You feel like a spoiled girl getting what she wanted after she had a meltdown and, internally, you blame Namjoon for it. He spoils you. Exudes such overtones of fatherliness that makes a way for it to happen. Most naturally. 

“Paris has always been my dream. No other city,” you say and Namjoon clicks his tongue. A smile widens your mouth, liking the way he senses your custom of modesty, liking the way he dislikes it. You laugh, softly, through your nose. “I’ll think of something.” 

“That’s my nice girl.” 

Taken aback, you clutch the side of his neck. Namjoon is bathed in the orange light and it no longer causes bile to lodge in your esophagus. No, it sparks up something else. Something very rapid, spreading throughout your body. The energy shifts and it’s you who clicks their tongue. “What did I tell you about talking to me like that?” 

You move your hand to the middle of his throat, tightening your hold around his Adam’s apple, tipping his chin. Namjoon grins, hums, wraps his fingers around your wrist. 

“What did I tell you about choking me, hm?” 

A flashback flickers across your vision. One of the last time you were intimate in bed and he was rocking your shit in missionary, using your throat as a leverage. You mirrored him, as you usually do in these endeavors, and choked the air out of him, making him come prematurely. Namjoon scolded you until your ears turned red and refused to make you come. You had to bring yourself over that edge and you managed to squirt your love and your enjoyment of fucking with him all over his body. Namjoon made sure to feed you your elated essence, but he also made it very hard for you to swallow, telling you to hold it as he drilled your throat, making it trickle down the corners of your mouth. 

The memory effortlessly brings back the pulse in your sensitive parts and you begin to crave the repetition of that filthy rendezvous. Badly. 

And so you squeeze his throat. 

Namjoon squeaks your name. You laugh, ferally. 

That is until he pins you down. Hand on your throat this time, the other holding down both of your wrist, the petals sticking to the silk of his pants-clad knees on either side of you. You didn’t even catch the movement as he did it, his strength overbearing and so incomparable to yours. But you don’t feel like the amethyst. No, you feel like a mountain connected to another, to him. Two peaks staring at each other, grinning, your laughter unfaltering, even though it’s you who’s squeaking now. 

Elated, giddy, aroused, equal, your tears sunk deeply within your skin, giving life to your rhapsody, giving it the body it needs in order to come out. 

You love it when he’s like this. And you love that he’s come back to you. 

Of course you have the means to prolong it, to tease it out of him.

“I don’t really care when it turns me on this much,” you rasp, your smile glinting in the dimmed light, arching your back until your chest kisses his. Just once. “When it turns you on this much.” 

Truth, the epitome of pleasure. The corners of your mouth widen, all over again. 

You can’t help it. 

Namjoon cocks a brow, his mouth ends following the same directions, dimples poking holes in his cheeks. “Oh, so you don’t need to be reminded?” He mimics your intonation, angling his head.

You shake yours, eyes dipping to his clefts, teeth instinctively finding your bottom lip, biting down. You feel the heaviness of his stare and it urges you to bite down harder, the tension quickening your blood circulation. And it isn’t until you meet his adoring gaze that it stops, for a mere second, scattering tingles down every vein. And Namjoon resumes the flow by pressing a chaste kiss down onto your lips, lingering there. 

“I know you’re a nice girl and that you didn’t mean it, but I have to spank you for it, anyway. Do you understand?” He whispers against those pillows, each movement of his mouth brushing against yours, making you needy for more. 

You make a face. “But I did mean it. Meant it with everything in me.” 

Namjoon laughs, endearingly. “No, you didn’t, baby. Not when you know what I’m capable of doing to you. Or not doing to you.” 

You smirk, catching onto his game. He’ll disagree until you grow so frustrated that you burst, disobeying him to the point that he has to tame you. He wants to get you to the lowest point, because the lower you dig, the bigger treasure you find—the more you stimulate the brain, the chemistry, the bigger the pleasure. Namjoon is an intelligent man; knows what the fuck he’s doing and you’re so transfixed by it that you’ll let yourself be led into his little trap that he watches over. Just to please him because ultimately, you’ll be pleased beyond measure. 

You tip your chin and trace his lips with your own. “No, I did, because I love how whiny you get. Makes me wanna bruise my knees for you, take all of you down my throat until it hurts to speak.” 

Namjoon is so awestruck by your words that his mouth parts as he gawks down at you and he moans. There it is. That’s precisely what you wanted. 

“You know,” he starts, pausing to swallow. “I had different plans with you in terms of this. Good fucking plans. But you just ruined them.” 

The precipice of what that could be hangs over your clavicles and suddenly you brim with the need to know what it was. What his smart, business brain came up with. And not only that—you want it to happen, your curiosity piqued, blaming the choice of words he used, the work-tinged colors he splattered them with. 

“What plans?” 

He straightens, setting your hands free. “Take off your dress.” 

You’re taken aback. “Namjoon.” You stress his name. “What plans?” 

“No, I’m not telling you. You’re gonna take off this dress and you’re gonna take what I give you.” 

You frown. Your curiosity won’t let up. “Namjoon, please.” 

The pretty word curls his mouth. Perhaps, you’ve softened his stubbornness. You surely hope so, but to no avail. 

He gets on his feet and swivels you onto your stomach, fingers finding your zipper and dragging it down. Being manhandled like this causes butterflies to swarm not just in your tummy, but over your arms and legs as well, fluttering all over, making your head spin and again, you can’t help the smile blossoming. In the middle of winter, spring opens in you at the touch of his dominance. 

Spreading his hands over your back, sinking his warmth beneath the skin, he leans in, mouth at your ear. “What word do you use when you say please?” 

You know what he wants you to say, but, peculiarly, you’re in such a good mood that you crave to disobey. Just for the fun of it. Just for the pain of it. 

“Pretty please?” you chirp, pursing your lips to hide the slyness of your smile. Delighted, excited. 

Namjoon pulls your hair, causing your head to tip, harshly, pain shooting up your scalp. Your tongue runs over your bottom lip, moaning almost soundlessly, only to realize that he can see you. Your pleasure wasn’t private. Not at all. Never is when he’s involved. 

You flick your eyes up at him, meeting his darkened stare, and you flutter your lashes at him, playing the stupid girl when you’re well educated by him in reality. 

Maybe you do need to be reminded, after all. Again, for the fun of it. For the pain of it. 

To distract him from his failure. Help him forget. You know how it gets to him. Deem he deserves it; deem it’s a duty of your fiancée privileges. 

“Pretty please is an addition. Something to help me have a sliver of pity for you. You seem to have forgotten who I am to you.” 

Oh, he’s a myriad of things. 

Mountain. Stability. Dependability. A most grand picture of beauty. Of intelligence. The sun and the moon, his brain cells the planets in the universe. The second heart you’ve grown over the trajectory of your relationship. The pulse of your emotions, especially the one between your legs.

He’s everything in your life while you remain your own person.

And only Namjoon would have achieved something like that. 

“No, I haven’t. You’re my husband,” you say, allure dripping in your tone, wiggling your hips, causing the fabric of your dress to ripple over your bum. 

Namjoon coos, quite pleased with the title, and he pats your behind before he grabs you by your waist and pulls you to your feet—flush against his body and the rock solid situation in his pants. You sway your hips, the gasp that slips out of your mouth goes almost unnoticed by you as you’re entirely focused on his hardness. You look down to follow the movement of his hands like a cat. They drift upwards—from your ribs, over the swell of your breasts until his long fingers reach the straps of your dress and drag them down, exposing you, exposing your arousal evident on your stiffened nipples. You could blame the cool temperature hanging in the room for it, but both of you know that would be a lie. A fat lie that your husband doesn’t deserve, not when he’s so dominant, so strict and so fucking provocative, spreading tendrils of heated life in you with each subtle touch. 

Subtle? Oh, Namjoon gropes your tits, rolling your nubs between his slender fingers, softly moaning behind you. And then he pinches them, coaxing your squeaks out and you feel that familiar, wet warmth pooling in your core, mingling with the throbbing sensation that intoxicates you. Enough for you to clasp your hands over his and tighten his hold, squirming against him, loving—loving terribly the sparks of pleasure coursing down your figure. Loving the feeling of dampness against your panties that’s nothing but evidence of the way your body savors his special attention. 

“Husband, that’s right. Your fucking husband,” Namjoon murmurs, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear, causing your head to knock back against his chest and make space for him, inviting him to continue—and he does. Places tiny little kisses down to your shoulder, where he licks the skin before he sucks it into his mouth. “But there’s something else you call me when I treat you this good. What is it? Think.” 

Those kisses and his command for the wheels in your mind to quicken alone make you give in, make you submit to his craving to call you by that filthy, rightful title. Even more so when he pinches your nipples again. You whine, feeling your neediness for more taking greater highs in your system, feeling your own body yearning to scream out that name. 

“Daddy,” you cry out, desperately, awfully. How well it fits him, how well he deserves to be called by something like that—how gratified you sense your body to be right now. No poetic string of verses could ever manage to do it justice. 

Namjoon hums, his pleasure deepening. “That’s it. That’s a good girl. I love it when you use that brain of yours.” 

You blush. A tableau unseen by Namjoon yet, for he busies himself with undressing you. Your garment gets plopped onto the mattress, your underwear along with it. A silky strip that hardly covers anything. You’re bare while he remains fully dressed and something about that turns you wild. The silkiness of his slacks, the cotton of his white shirt against your skin—such softness, such balminess, such caress for the undomesticated freedom that you profoundly feel within. You sigh at the sensation, your lingering curiosity bubbling in you, slowly rising to the tip of your tongue. 

“Will you tell me now? What you planned?” 

Namjoon chuckles, humorlessly. “You think you’ve earned it? No, baby.” He runs his hand down your ribs and your tummy, halting at your mound. His middle finger can nearly reach your swollenness and you quiver in response. “You’ve got spanks to take first. Maybe then I’ll tell you.” 

You whine, softly, and Namjoon grabs your chin and turns your head so you can look at him. A mad, mad smile adorns his shadowed, taut face and you realize there’s pent-up frustration still swirling in him. One you will do anything to help him steam off. 

Anything. 

Anything for your husband. 

And so, by your own whim, you lay down onto the bed, anticipating the pleasure of pain. Namjoon lets out a sound of approval and you sense the vibrations of his nearness as he props a knee on the bedding, flattening down a violet petal. He fixes your position, lifts your bum in the air, and he kisses your bare cheek with all the world’s affection, sucking the skin, nibbling on it before smoothing the pain with a swipe of his tongue. 

“You’re my nice girl, aren’t you?” Namjoon questions and you nod, but that’s not good enough of an answer for him. He spanks you, harshly, coaxing a hiss out of you before the pleasure draws in and you let out a breath, turning your head, so you can have a perfect view of him. Namjoon gives you another chance to fix your mistake. “Aren’t you?”

Licking your lips, you make it your focal point to be good for him. “I’m your nice girl.” 

Humming, he caresses your back to praise you. Spanks you with the same tenderness, rubbing the flesh to alleviate the faint sting. The love you carry for him grows with each brush of his calloused hand and you stifle back your needy sounds, your little whines and sobs of a small girl very seldom loved by an even smaller number of male figures in her life. 

Most strangely, it heightens the experience. 

“You’re my wife, aren’t you?” Namjoon purrs, his fingers sneaking to the place that yearns for him more than anywhere else, finding you bedewed, dripping as he rubs your folds—just touching you there without giving you any friction. 

The touch is so nice that you can’t help but mewl most happily. 

“Yes, I’m your wife, Daddy.” 

Namjoon moans, the pads of his fingers sneaking over to your clit and stroking it. You arch your back, your noises rising in volume—the wetness, the pleasure in tandem. Your body begins to shudder in reaction, mimicking his motions, the pressure coiling in the lowest of your tummy. 

“Good, good. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. You’re my good little wife, but you were bad, weren’t you? You were a bad little wife?” 

He quickens his speed, testing your focus and your mind spins again as the pressure deepens. From his words, from the very gravity of the title ‘wife’, from the very pleasure stemming from the principle of being bad, and you stutter a few times before you’re able to get out the full sentence in a perfect flow. 

“I was your bad little wife.” 

Namjoon growls, liking it just the same. “And what did you do?” 

He slows down, stalling your climax, keeping you halfway from the edge, right where he wants—the pressure of his touch light and gentle. Letting you work your brain. 

You smile up at him, from the clouds of shadows and petals you’re surrounded by. Namjoon deepens the eye contact, returning the smile. Your heart thuds in your chest. 

“I choked you.” 

Clefts of dimples—you, yourself, choke out a breath. Another one, too, when Namjoon spanks you hard, his fingers wet and sticky on your skin, the pain tingling all over your body, beckoning out more of your slick for him. 

“That’s right, you choked me, even though I punished you for it quite severely the last time,” he rasps and spanks you again, again and again. You hiss and flatten your lips to stifle it back, grasping the bed sheets to overcome that burn—and overcome your craving for more. 

You’re at a crossroad. You find yourself wanting to be bad in order to get spanked again, but at the same time you want to be good, so he tells you what he planned for you. Your fucked out brain can’t decide which side is better, but when Namjoon spanks you again—he reminds you that it doesn’t matter at all. You’re getting punished either way while the goal is to tell you. 

Such a good, intelligent husband. And you tell him. 

“You’re so good to me, baby,” you whisper, your knuckles white as you’re grasping the sheets with all your might. “I’m sorry for being bad. I’m sorry for choking you, but I love it when you spank me.” 

Namjoon chuckles, warmly, spanking your clit once in affection, drawing out your squeaks. 

Truth, the epitome of pleasure. All over again. 

Close to your ear now, he kisses your cheek, his body heat enveloping you in an embrace. “My naughty little wifey loves it when Daddy punishes her. Loves to do the bad things Daddy doesn’t like just so he spanks her. That’s it, isn’t it?” 

You moan out, puckering your lips against the sheets and Namjoon half-kisses your pout, humming against you. He lifts you up onto your knees with your torso upright and he cradles your face. Waits for your answer. 

You’re more than happy to douse yourself in that truth. 

“Yeah, I love it. I love being bad for you.” 

He descends one hand to your bum while the other wraps around your waist and pulls you flush to the hardness of his body. And as he expresses to you how much he liked your words with guttural moans, he spanks you. Again and again, your head tipped back, eyes wandering in the darkened maze of his, where you lose count of how many you’ve taken. 

“But you do realize that’s a big no-no, don’t you?” 

You nod. “I do, Daddy.” 

A hum. “Will you do it again?” 

You whisk your irises up, thinking about it while already knowing the answer in your heart. “Probably.” 

Namjoon laughs and kisses you, feverishly. Moves his mouth against yours, parts it, so he can slip his tongue inside. Plays a game of chase while both of your noises and his interlock and create a music that echoes around the hotel room. He adds a high-pitched tone into the song, yours, as he spanks you again, playfully this time, grabbing the flesh of your bum with both of his hands now, kneading it, drawing it closer until you feel his aroused length against your tummy. 

Moans, squeaks, skin slapping and lip smacking. A song of beauty that will resonate within your body, mind and soul for days to come. 

And another thing. 

“God, I love you so much,” Namjoon whispers, bringing his hands to your ribs until his thumbs brush across your nipples. 

That, too, will ring in your veins. 

You melt. Become nothing but liquid devotion in his hands. And as he begins to focus on your neck, you roll your eyes back and resound your love back to him. 

“I love you, Namjoon.” 

He sighs against your collarbone, mutedly. “You love me?” 

You sink your fingers into his short hair, kissing his temple. “I love you so fucking much.” 

When he emerges with puffy, reddened lips, you can see it on his face that he did it again. Made you say the words he wanted to hear. And so you say it again, again and again. Each time with more intensity, with more verve, embedding it into his lips, his cheeks, jawline, his chin and his neck. All skin you can reach until you stumble upon the cotton of his shirt, at which you frown. 

“Take this off. Now.” 

And he listens. Loosens his tie, places it upon the petals on the bedding. Begins to unbutton his shirt. All while staring you down. And all you can do is watch him in awe, licking your lips, hungry for him, hungry for the intelligent plan he’s keeping from you. 

Once he bends at the waist to get his arms out of the sleeves, you press on the matter. 

“Tell me,” you say, softly, despite the tension of your curiosity. “Tell me what you planned.” 

Namjoon tilts his head and light flickers across his eyes, fires of stars—the ones that twinkled on the Eiffel Tower before his arrival. You spent your entire life dreaming about seeing it when it stands right in front of you, half naked. Has been standing before your eyes for years. 

Your mouth parts at the tenderness of it all and emotion bubbles within you. 

Sizzles, ferociously, when Namjoon reveals his secret. 

“Speeding down the road to this hotel, I saw it before my eyes. What I was going to do to you,” he starts, unbuckling his belt and sliding it off the loops. Your heart thumps, violently, against your ribcage, longing to jump onto his big palms. He pauses his motions to concentrate on his words. “I was going to apologize. Tell you what happened. And then I was going to make it up to you. Undress you, keep only the shoes on you were going to wear.” He looks over to the side, where your black YSL heels have been waiting for hours to be worn. Before he even asks if those were the ones, you nod your head and Namjoon fetches them and puts them on your feet. “I was going to have these digging into my back while I ate you out. While I would transfer us to the park before the Eiffel Tower with my words.” Securing the straps, he straightens, knees on either side of yours, and grabs his tie, smoothing it out with his thumbs. “I was going to blindfold you. Make you imagine you were there with me. No one else but us. On a blanket. Describe to you in great detail what we were doing as I’d be balls deep in you. Here but there at the same time.” 

Your throat dries as you take in his words and there’s only a few words you’re capable of saying. Your eyes flick to the tie, then back up to his dark chocolate irises, wet with a glint of deep arousal, one that you feel pulsing in you just as well. You hook your arms on his hips and nod at the slender fabric in his grasp.

A man of the world’s intelligence. How attractive, how alluring. Your shadowed cloud swathes you tighter and you spill with the need to be fucked. Fucked with that smartness. That capability. All wrapped around that big cock of his. 

You need it. Won’t live if he doesn’t ruin you with it. 

“Do it,” you choke out, swallowing with great difficulty. “Please.” 

Fingers curling around his belt loops, it doesn’t go unnoticed the way his manhood twitches in the tight confines of his slacks and the sound you let out at the sight would be embarrassing if he wasn’t so endeared by it, caressing your face with his thumb, lifting it so you pay attention to what he wants to say to you. 

“Are you comfortable with me blindfolding you? We’ve never done that before.” 

Even though your trust wavered merely an hour ago, it happened so it would get strengthened at this very moment. You don’t detect any no’s echoing within you, any worries or fears, anything that would cause you to stand in the way of this endeavor unfolding. It excites you, the newness, the principle of placing not just your trust, but your control, your senses and your safety in his hands. Allowing him to proceed with his would solely mean that you deepen what you already practice in your sex life, take it to another level. And these things are of great importance to Namjoon. He never disappointed you—never failed, never missed. 

He takes care of you. Through and through. From the beginning to the end. Until you close your eyes, only to take it from the top the following morning. 

Your trust in terms of that could never waver. It’s impossible. It’s so strong, so held steadily that it would never come across your mind, even. 

And so you give him your consent. 

“Yes, I am. I’m excited to do this. I want this.” 

Namjoon strokes your hair, pressing a kiss onto your forehead. “All right, my love, but remember that we can stop anytime. I’ll take it off as soon as you say the word. Tell me you understand.” 

And along with your consent, you give him a big smile. “I understand, baby.” 

He kisses you, stealing a thousand tiny kisses more in the same lip lock. “That’s a good girl. So smart. Are you thirsty?” 

You fold your hands on your lap and nod your head. The tie slung over his broad shoulder, Namjoon walks over to the mini bar, fishes out a bottle of ice cold water and opens it for you, tipping it to your mouth, encouraging you to drink.

The coldness streaming down your stomach only enlivens your arousal and it seems as though the matter is naked to the eye as Namjoon bites his lip at the sight of you, screwing the bottle shut and placing it on the bedside table. You tug at the tie, your eyes crinkling as your smile simply can’t leave your mouth alone and Namjoon hums out a laugh at your excitement. 

“Ready?” 

Your whole figure is fluttering, of course you’re ready—and you tell him. “Born ready.” 

It prolongs his expression of lighthearted endearment. “Good. Remember to stop me when it gets too much. Close your eyes.” Obeying, the softness of the silk grazes, fondly, your eyelids as pitch-blackness encompasses you. Namjoon ties the thick wisp at the back of your head, careful not to intermingle any strands of your hair into the knot, attentive enough not to pull it too tight and not too loose either, causing you to ache for him so badly that you almost want to scream. “How does it feel?” 

Uncanny. You hear his voice and, peculiarly, it’s louder in your ears, although he’s speaking in the same volume as he was before he blindfolded you. You sense something missing from you—and it’s a feeling that you detect in the pit of your stomach and at the ends of your abruptly numb fingertips. 

You clench those digits, but the sensation remains. It is only when you raise them and bump into the sturdiness of his chest that you perceive what it truly is. 

Groundedness is what you’re missing. 

The softness of his skin brings back a sense of realness back to you. When you drift your palms up to his shoulders and hold onto them, you feel real; you feel like a person that has limbs, that has someone right there with them to look out for them because aloneness is what comes with the darkness of the sight and that is absolutely terrifying. 

You cling to his neck, causing him to stumble into you, and you sigh in relief at the feeling of his weight. He goes to lift himself up, but you stop him—tightening your headlock, pressing the side of your face against his, eating that realness as you trace your lips against his cheek, run your hand across the back of his head. 

He’s here with you and he’s not going anywhere. With that stability, you can walk further in this rendezvous because you’re not alone at all, despite the fact it’s what your eyesight is telling you. 

“It feels really strange. I need you close. I need to feel you. To know I’m not by myself,” you whisper, sensing your chest to become lighter once the truth is out. Your naivety and excitement didn’t expect this to happen, but you’re comfortable with trying this out and feel where it takes you.

“Do you want to stop?” Namjoon asks and you can identify where he roots that question on your body. Right there upon your left collarbone, where his breath seems warmer than ever before and where he begins to scatter tiny kisses. 

That thrills you—the identification of where he is, the loudness of his voice, the depth of his touch and the unusually scorching body heat he radiates as all of your other senses are heightened and you want more of it. You crave to know what it would feel like to have his tongue on your sensitive parts like this. What it would feel like to have him drilling you. 

That alone makes you shiver with something beyond excitement. With something feral and undomesticated, again. 

Another thing for him to tame. 

Your body sings to him. To the stars. To the tower. And Namjoon can hear it, incorporating his tongue into his not so chaste kisses in response. 

“No, I don’t want to stop. I want you to keep going,” you say at last, caressing the wholeness of his back, reveling in the discovery of his muscles, his shoulder blades. It feels so new, so different. You quake all over. 

Namjoon pulls himself upwards, nudges his nose against yours and you smile. “Okay, baby. I’m right here.” He kisses both of your eyelids, the right one first before the left one. You feel at one with your heart as it palpitates; feel as though you were inside your body. “Fuck, your eyelashes are so long that I can see them curled around the tie. You’re so fucking beautiful.” 

You blush, the heat of your cheeks akin to a blanket pulled to your nose. Such coziness. You hum and try to find his lips, but he’s out of reach. You crane your neck until it hurts, giving up with a huff. 

“God, don’t do that to me. That was so cute,” Namjoon husks and moans when you pull him down and kiss him at last. 

It’s at this moment that you thank the God that he mentioned for writing into the Book of Life that Namjoon was to be late and miss your dream because this kiss does more than make up for it. This kiss creates new dreams that begin to swirl within you. Dreams of the Mediterranean sea, the sand and sun rays so hot that they bronze your skin. Dreams of sultry nights, black dresses and flats for all the roads you shall walk upon while following the starlight, hand in hand with Namjoon dressed in linen of the same color. 

Dreams of Asia, but not where you first opened your eyes in as a newborn. The western side of Asia, the one you’ve never seen and never dreamed of until now. 

Your heart enlarges and you overspill with so many emotions that they trickle out of your hidden tear ducts. Newness, possibilities—for both you and Namjoon, but mainly for him. For his happiness. 

He calls your name, fearfully, but you shake your head. “What’s wrong?” 

You feel his fingers sneaking over to the knot of the tie, but you stop him. “I know where we’re going next time.” 

His breath of relief becomes the new cloud you rest upon. “You scared me. Don’t cry, baby.” 

You fondle his wrist. “Namjoon, we’re going to Turkey.” 

Silence. Then, a kiss. “Is that where you want to go?” 

A nod. That’s where your soul will escape to once you lay down to sleep. “That’s the place I’m dreaming of.” 

A kiss on your neck. A hum. “Then, that’s where we’ll go.” A stripe of his tongue down to your collarbones—you feel your slick drip down onto the bedding. “Do you remember where we are right now?” 

An inhale of breath. “Paris.” 

Namjoon sucks the supple skin above your nipple. “That’s right. We’re at the park in front of the Eiffel Tower in the middle of summer. You’re sat on my lap like this.” He manhandles you to the position he describes and you gasp, not expecting it. “My back is facing it while you have a perfect view of the twinkling lights. Can you see them?” If your memory serves you well, he’s painting a picture of reality as well and you’re so touched by it that another, secret tear rolls down your cheek. 

“Yes, they’re shining so brightly. They’re so pretty, too. You’re making my dream come true. Thank you.” 

Wetness against your sternum. Namjoon must be crying as well and the realization makes you sob. Makes you find his lips again and kiss him. 

“I love you,” Namjoon croaks out and you break, holding onto him so tightly that you clench all of your muscles. 

“I love you, Namjoon.” 

A final kiss before the continuation of his depiction of the dream. 

“Nobody is around. They’ve all gone to sleep. It’s just us, the Tower and the moon. You’re so beautiful, so lost in the pleasure as I’m kissing you like this.” He shows you by resuming leaving kisses along your breasts. “And when I do this—” He licks over your nipple, sucking it into his mouth. You whimper, flexing your eyelids at the sensation swarming in your core. “You make pretty sounds just like that, but I tell you to be quiet. We don’t wanna wake up those people and ruin the fun. And you’re so good that you listen, taking the pleasure so well.” 

He sets you down onto the bed, moves down to your tummy, placing the rest of his kisses there. 

“Then, I lay you down on the blanket. You’re naked for my eyes only and I spread your legs.” His hands follow his words, lifting your thighs and pinning them down. “I blow on your needy little pussy and you shiver so beautifully for me. I can see you shining for me, shining brighter than the lights and I give it to you.” 

There you feel it. The lick of his tongue on your clit and you shudder, moan so loudly that it reverberates down your body, the pleasure unlike any other you ever had the grace to experience. You roll your body into his mouth and Namjoon moans in tandem with you, even more so when your heel digs into his shoulder blade like he dreamed of.

“I lick your clit in circles and I feel you come alive on my tongue, so I pick up the pace.” 

You chase the movement as he does, reveling in it to the point that you curl your body, rising yourself to your elbows and grasping the nape of his neck, knocking your head back once he prods a finger into your heat. 

“I need more of it. I need to feel you around my fingers, so I stretch you out.” 

He adds another digit, fucking you diligently, and you whine out his name, squeezing his neck, your thumb pressing the spot above his Adam’s apple. 

“But my baby is doing something she knows is making my cock needy for her. She’s choking me, making me so fucking hard for her, so I pin her hands down.” 

He rips your hand from his neck and pushes it down onto the bedding, holding it in place with his forearm as he rounds an arm around your tummy, fingers spreading your folds apart from this angle, leaning his weight on it, freeing up space for his other hand to fuck you harder. 

You plop down onto the bedding, unable to resist him. And with your submission comes your orgasm, the rope uncoiling right at the place where the pulse on his wrist thumps. 

And your dreams explode across the blackness of your vision. 

“And you come like this. On my tongue. Around my fingers and I go fucking crazy for you, lick up everything you gave me. So fucking crazy that I turn you around and take you like this.” 

You’re glad for the way he worded this part because you don’t jump when he does swivel you and licks over the red marks over your bum. He prepared you. The coolness of the petals on your skin causes you to whimper and you move your hand in effort to grab one of them. Namjoon settles between the sides of your thighs and when he sees what you’ve found, he chuckles, taking it from you, turning you halfway and brushing it against your cheek. 

You gasp, liking the heightened softness, and you purr. Seeing your reaction, Namjoon drifts it down your neck, your collarbone until he reaches the peak of your breast. And when he circles that stiffened nub—an endeavor just between you, outside of the dream—your whimpers have so much tension and opulent seductiveness to them that you feel his bare manhood twitch against the line of your bum. 

It drives you to thrash your hand until you find him, too, and you wrap your hand around his thick manhood, pumping him as he stimulates your nipple like this, your position—halfway on your side, with your leg crossed, propped on the bedding, brings friction to your clit as your body moves where the pleasure wants it. 

Namjoon breathes hard, groaning gutturally, and you could almost come like this. 

“Fuck, Daddy, it feels so good,” you whine and it causes Namjoon to turn you fully onto your back and take that petal down to your wet clit. “Oh, my God.” 

Faint, yet so nice. You tremble, feeling the petal drifting over your folds, your lips, gathering your slick over your heat. And when Namjoon rubs circles on your clit with it, the membrane of the petal so fucking slippery now that it’s coated with your wetness, his title falls from your lips like the rain that keeps those flowers alive out there in Paris. 

“Keep fucking me with your wrist,” Namjoon rasps and you moan, loving to be ordered around, loving being told what to do. 

You fix your mistake of neglecting him while lost in the new delight, concentrating on his equally wet tip as you tighten your hold, pumping him swiftly, his foreskin closing around him in tandem with your movement coaxing his growls out that envelop you in firelight, hotter than anything you’ve ever felt. 

Even gripping him you perceive to be different and as that firelight flickers vastly across the night you see, splattering it with makeshift stars that Namjoon calls to creation with each of his deep sounds, your orgasm comes as an explosion that brings color to his art. 

Purples, yellows, reds and pinks. Stars that brim with colors. Such paintwork of beauty that Namjoon strums to life on your clit and your scream gets muffled by the sheets as he turns you back onto your tummy without withdrawing his hand. 

He begins to kiss your shoulder, knowing you need a minute before he can fill you up. 

“My pretty girl, my wife,” he moans against your skin, marking you there. “I’m gonna fuck you with that petal on your clit. With the rest of them clinging to your beautiful body like that. Gonna fuck you nice and hard against them.” You whimper your vulgarities, so out of it—so intoxicated by the picture, looking forward to it. “You came so well on my fingers. With the petal. Fuck, I’m gonna ruin you just for that. And for the way you made me forget where we were.” 

You laugh and your stomach flips, love hormones coursing in your veins like the strongest drug. And you laugh even harder when it dawns on you that you’ve also forgotten. 

“I don’t remember either,” you sputter between your giggles, contagious as Namjoon laughs as well, brushing your hair back to one side to kiss your cheek. 

“How are you feeling? Has it gotten too much, hm?” 

He takes the time to check up on you, instead of picking up where he left off and, fuck, you dissolve, becoming one with the petals—no edges to you, only liquid affection. 

You’ve gotten used to the darkness. No traces of fear or uneasiness can be found trickling in your system—as a matter of fact, you can’t wait to be fucked, can’t wait to find out how it’ll feel once he’s inside you. The way he’s talking to you, constantly touching you and making it known to you that he’s present with you doesn’t let the previous disturbing feeling to sidle up to you and you’re terribly, terribly grateful. 

“I feel great. I want you inside me, baby. I’m ready.” 

Namjoon growls, biting into the skin of your shoulder until you whimper, kissing the pain away. Rubs his petal-clad fingers on your clit, prolonging your noises. The pleasure begins to build up, the colors you’ve seen stacking back on top of each other and you sigh, nuzzling your face into the sheets, most comfortable. 

He cradles your jaw, though. Makes you look forward. Augments the dream, resuming. 

“You’re looking at the Tower and I’m holding you like this so your neck doesn’t cramp up. I’m inside you, just like you wanted.” 

Namjoon merges the reality into the retelling, creating something more expanse than this world can bear and you’re awestruck. He sinks himself into your wonder, knees on either side of you as you lay flat on your tummy, your bum lifted a little, heels dangling off of the bed. 

Your eyes flutter beneath the tie as his girth stretches you and the colors you see are adjacent to the picture he paints. They blossom into shapes, swirly edges that grow into flowers and cling to the Tower like the violet petals cling to your body. Namjoon pulls out and gives you a long stroke and more flowers bloom, hanging by the lights. You lose your breath, the vibrancy of the pleasure so heavenly that you lose track of time, day and space as well, floating in that dream that the reality you thought about ripped away from you once he bottoms out. 

You can’t even hear yourself. Can only hear him as your senses wrap around him. 

“I’m not choking you. I’m not giving you a taste of your own delicious poison; I’m just holding you like this, helping you see your dream alive in front of your eyes. I look at you and I can’t help it. You’re illuminated by those lights, yet shining brighter. Kissed by the moon so much that I get jealous. Can you see that fucker up above?” 

As if he drew the planet with his finger, it appears in your vision as soon as he pulls out again and fills you in all entirety in one swift, but hard motion. And it’s now that you hear yourself scream as your clit rubs against his fingers flat against it with that collision. 

“Fuck, Namjoon, I—I can’t take it. It’s too good.” 

“I didn’t ask you if you could take it. I asked you something else,” he husks, moving his mouth against your neck. You feel your eyes rolling back underneath your closed eyelids and you moan, his hips picking up the speed. “You can take it and you will. Tell me, baby. Can you imagine that moon in your vision?” 

It’s right there, beaming at you, but you can’t focus, not when you can feel his cock in your throat. He huffs against you, overcome just the same, resuming his circles on your clit and you’re dead. 

“You’re so deep, Daddy,” you utter in one breath. “So good, fuck.” 

Soaked flowers. Stars flickering more quicker. White dots joining in, along with hot flashes. You’re face to face with your orgasm. 

“Focus, baby,” Namjoon scolds, voice straining nearing you closer, falling in step with you the more you clench your walls against him. 

“Can’t. Gonna come.” 

“Come, then,” he encourages, drilling you harder into the mattress, your clit yet again rubbing against his flat fingers. “Let go and give it to me like the nice girl you are. Come for me, baby.” 

Fireworks shoot through that picture and you cling to it as you come around him. Namjoon praises you through it all, darkening those flowers that surround it and your orgasm convulses through you, lasting as long as the flying colors bursting through the night-tinged sky. And white gushes in as he loses himself in your climax, his own triggered and he stuffs you with it, fucking you through it until the bed makes such terrible sounds that he stills, letting you milk it out of him. 

Panting, Namjoon swivels you halfway around while still buried inside you. “I’m gonna take off the blindfold now. Keep your eyes closed, baby.” 

You listen and he flings it off, kissing you, ravagedly, whimpering into your mouth. Exhaustion seeps so deeply inside you that you can barely reciprocate the energy of the movement of his mouth and with one last peck, he lets you breathe. 

When you open your eyes, it’s not the light that stings your pupils, but the exhilarated, flushed and content sight of Namjoon, his chest heaving, glistening with sweat. You blink a few times to get used to the beauty, touching him all over, spreading your love for him everywhere you can. 

“That was so perfect,” you whisper, sleepily. “Thank you. Thank you for making my dream come true. For making it better than I ever dreamed of. I love you, Joonie.” 

He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles—with bruised, puffy, reddened lips that make you weak. 

“I love you.” 

You lay like this for quite some time, stroking each other’s skin, enjoying the rest and the silence. Namjoon takes off your heels then, massaging your feet as if they were in pain and you smile down at him, fondly. 

“Like hell, I’d let you wear these to the park.” 

You laugh through your nose, your love for him blooming, and he carries you in the shower. 

You join him on the balcony later, sharing a cigarette with him, wearing matching, thick and warm hotel bathrobes to protect you from winter’s cold. You look up at the moon as you take a drag and send your thank you to God for the contended joy that clothes your heart. Namjoon pulls you in, kissing the top of your head. 

“So, Turkey next time?” he asks, inhaling your vanilla scent from your body wash that you brought along. 

You sigh and life overflows from you. “In the summer. No business, just vacation. Just us. And if business does find you there, it’ll find me, too. It’ll be different this time.” 

Namjoon presses his mouth against your forehead, sinks his words there. “I’d marry you right now if I could.” 

Tears prick at your waterline, your throat aching. “If I pray hard enough, she’ll get better by spring,” you say, voice wobbling, speaking of your poor mother. You couldn’t get married without her—it’s the sole reason why your wedding is left in the hands of fate. 

“We’ll bring her to Turkey, then. I’ll make sure to tell her to pack her hanbok and I’ll marry you there. What do you say?” 

Rivulets of tears stream down your face and you look up at him, catching the same liquid lining his eyes. You nod, your mouth rounding in a pout. 

“Perfect,” you whisper. 

Namjoon gives you the last kiss of the night, sealing that plan shut and you believe, with everything in you, that he will bring it into reality. 

You trust him. 

Forever. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist

[teatime-at-4]

Update: I was Wrong (incorrect info in red)

FLYING BARK IS NOT GONE: about the trailer animation

PLEASE DO NOT SPREAD THE IDEA THAT FLYING BARK WAS REPLACED.

THIS IS FALSE.

Flying Bark made the decision to outsource additional animation, this includes things like trailers and promos- not the actual show. this decision was made because Flying Bark is also currently working on the upcoming animated ATLA movie, and they needed to lessen their workload. Flying Bark is still handling the animation of the actual episodes and specials, they just needed some breathing room and got that by giving some of the less important responsibilities- like promos and trailers- to someone else for the time being.

the animation isn't even bad, there's no need to act like this is the end of the world and start acting like everything will be changed forever. though I will give some of ya'll the benefit of the doubt and say you probably didn't know these details, but we shouldn't have jumped to conclusions anyway.

edit: there is a post saying that Wildbarin has a deal for two seasons + specials of LMK, this was a misread, the site this info was taken from was mentioning the already existing content for LMK on Amazon Kids+. the deal wildbrain was, again, for the additional animation. Please do not harass this blog if you see the post however.

edit 2: it has been alleged that Wildbrain has been given a 1-2 year deal for two seasons + a special per leaked "legal documents" from Flying Bark, and I may have been wrong in the above edit. this has yet to be confirmed, if it comes out as true then I will be removing this post, so far I have seen nothing but the misread website however. that being said if it is true, FLYING BARK IS STILL SET TO RETURN ONCE THAT DEAL IS FINISHED. but be warned, my word is not law, and I'm not infallible.

PLEASE REBLOG AND SHARE THIS REPOST TO OTHER SITES IF NEEDED

SPREAD THE WORD

PLEASE DO NOT HARASS ANYONE FROM LMK'S TEAMS OR WILDBRAINS'S OR ANY OTHER PERSON SPREADING NEWS ON THE SHOW

UPDATE:

thank you to @anxiescape for providing more information/confirmation directly from Flying Bark

(Tweet from a director at Flying Bark)

unfortunately Flying Bark does seem to be fully parting ways with LEGO Monkie Kid due to the inability to keep up with deadlines, likely contributing to the decision to sign off the license to Wildbrain as that would make a change from hand drawn animation to puppet 2d/3d animation.

please note that the voice teams and writing teams are remaining the same, only the animation team is being changed.

that being said looking at the trailer the main differences in the animation appears to be in the dept and lighting, things that can be easily fixed and likely are only off because the are unfinished. the animation we see in the trailer is likely not the final product, and I implore fans to remain patient and respectful with our new animation team.

(but again, please do not take my world for law, I am not immune to human error)

I apologize for helping further misinformation about lmk s5.

farewell Flying Bark, you'll be missed.

[httpdwaekki]

migraine | b.c.

summary: you were known to have pretty intense migraines but chan is there to help you feel better.

wc: 1.9k

warnings: no warnings, just pure fluff, tad bit of hurt/ comfort, sweet channie as always, and in true ashton fashion far too many petnames lmao. very lightly proofread (p.s. i am in my wolfchan lover arc, need him immediately.)

a/n: omg ashton got lost in the sauce again? * gasp* shocker! yeah this took me way too long to write but whatever. i actually don't hate this which is crazy but this is self indulgent because i get some pretty intense, nasty migraines that can last a couple days and it sucks. but if you suffer from the same thing i hope this can bring you some comfort and also i recommend a gel cap that you put in the freezer. an actual game changer, trust. anyway, i hope you enjoy! remember to eat, drink water and take your meds, ily <3

*lowercase intended*

my library

(pictures are not mine! credit to owners!)

you had some pretty nasty migraines, no secret to you or chan. they last anywhere from a few hours to a few days and while there were things to help lessen the pain and pressure, sometimes you just had to ride it out.

this was unfortunately one of those times. now usually you would call chan as soon as you felt the first telltale sign of a migraine . this time however, you didn’t, you knew he was busy with work and didn’t want to interfere with that. but you were selfishly starting to regret that decision as everything you were doing did nothing to help.

it seemed like everything did nothing but increase the pressure in your head, spreading to your face. in a last ditch effort to get some sleep you put on some migraine music, pressed a cold compress to your eyes and pulled wolfchan to your chest.

the soft plushie smelled faintly of chan’s cologne, the only thing actually helping you relax. but it also made you miss the aussie man, wishing he was by your side, rubbing your temples, softly lulling you to sleep.

you didn’t even realize you were crying until you felt a warm tear drip down to your neck. you knew you had to calm down or you risk making everything worse but you couldn’t. you were overwhelmed by the pressure in your head and frustrated with nothing helping to release it.

you felt selfish and guilty but you knew you needed chan, you felt like you were going insane without him. hesitantly you moved the compress from your eyes, grabbing your phone.

despite the brightness being on the lowest possible setting, you felt a sharp pain behind your eye as the screen turned on. you unlocked your phone, clicking chan’s contact, you quickly typed out a message.

to channie <3 :

hi, i’m so sorry to ask but i really don’t know what else to do, i have a migraine and nothing's helping. i know you're working but is there anyway when you finish up at the studio you could come over? even for a little bit, if not i totally get it, just thought i’d ask, love you bug.

you hit send, locking your phone, placing it on the soft sheets, placing the compress back over your eyes. a few minutes passed before you felt your phone buzz beside you. you move the cold compress once more, bracing yourself for the light from your phone.

from channie <3:

can you call me jagi? i don’t want you to keep looking at your phone screen, love you too sweet girl.

you click his contact once more, hitting the little phone icon next to his name causing the calming music to stop, a loud ringing replacing it. this caused you to wince and quickly lower the volume before putting it on speaker so you could place the cooling pack back over your eyes.

it didn’t take long before he picked up. “hi my baby, what’s going on?” he asked softly.

“my head hurts,” you started, words slightly slurred. “it’s really bad channie.” you take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. “i’ve tried everything and nothing’s working, i don’t know what to do.” you softly cried, tears making their way down your cheeks once more.

“okay angel okay, take a deep breath, i need you to relax for me okay? i know it hurts but it’s gonna hurt worse if you’re upset.” you hear rustling in the background.

“i’m just finishing up a few things here and then i’m gonna head over, okay sweetheart?” you respond with a soft whimper, followed by a quiet, “okay.” you press the pack further into your eyes, chasing the coolness that is quickly leaving the gel filled pack.

“do you want me to stay on the phone with you till i get there?” he asks softly, packing his bag.

“yes, please.” you mumbled. “okay baby, just keep breathing and focus on me, okay? i’m gonna pick up some food on the way too, okay?” you hummed in response, rolling over, pushing the soft plushie to your cheek, breathing in the familiar scent.

“everything okay?” you hear changbin ask in the background. “yeah, y/n has a migraine, so i’m going to help her.” chan responds.

“oh no, i hope she feels better, let us know if you guys need anything.” you hear han chime in, your heart swelling at the boys concern.

“will do, thank you, i’ll see you guys later.” you hear him open the studio door making his way into the hallway.

“you still with me, jagi?” he asks softly. “yeah, i’m here.” face squished into the soft fabric. “alright sweetheart, i’m gonna mute for a bit just until i get to my car, okay?” he asks, the elevator dings in the background, signaling its arrival.

“okay.” you say sleepily. “i love you baby, i’ll be right back.” you hear him press a button in the elevator. “love you too bub.” your words slurring slightly.

after chan muted, you felt yourself slowly succumb to the exhaustion, phone positioned next to you on the sheets, wolfchan tucked safely against your cheek, you, curled up in a soft blanket .

that is exactly how chan found you about 25 minutes later as he walked in your room, the space dimly lit by the oil diffuser sitting on your bedside table. he left the take-out bags sitting on your kitchen counter, fresh compress and cold water in hand. he gently places the water on your desk, making his way over to you.

he grabs your phone, ending the call before turning off the relaxing music. he sits next to your sleeping form, gently taking the warm pack off your face. he places a kiss on your forehead before placing the fresh compress on your eyes.

you tense for a moment, before relaxing as the cold begins to relieve the tension once more. you stir awake from the sudden change in temperature. “channie?” you asked, sleep laced in your voice.

he places a hand on your hips, his thumb rubbing soothing circles to the area. “hi, my baby,” he whispers. “how are you feeling hm?” he asks, continuing the soothing motion. you move the cool pack, grabbing his free hand, in this lap, threading your fingers together before placing a kiss on the back of his.

“better now that you’re here.” you murmured, giving him a small smile. he smiled back before leaning down and placing a kiss on your forehead.

“i got you some ramen, i’m gonna go grab it for you okay?” you nodded, him standing, still keeping your hand in his. he leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead before placing the compress back over your eyes, grabbing the warm one to put back in the freezer .

he gives your hand a light squeeze before walking away. you relax into the soft mattress below you while chan goes to grab the hot soup and some medicine just in case.

he walks in with the tray, setting it on your desk next to the cold water collecting condensation on the wood below it. he makes his way over to you, sitting next to you once again, gently lifting the pack off your eyes. “there she is,” he placed a hand on your cheek, setting the compress next to you.

“hi baby.” he smiled, softly stroking your cheek. you give him a small smile back before turning your head slightly to place a kiss to his palm. “can you sit up for me please?” you nod softly before slowly moving to lean against the wall behind you.

“careful jagi.” he whispered, quickly placing a hand behind your head. “thank you, bug.” you mumble, adjusting the pillows behind you, placing wolfchan in your lap . chan stands up once more, placing the water on the tray before bringing it over to you.

“thank you, chan, you really didn’t have to do all this.” you say, guilt creeping up on you once again. he shakes his head. “nope, none of that. i’m your boyfriend, this is my job.” he places the tray on your lap, taking his place next to you once again.

“plus, i love taking care of you. if you need me, i’m there. any time, any place, simple as that.” your heart swells, you feel a lump form in the back of your throat. “you can’t say stuff like that when i’m like this, i’ll cry.” you play with the plushie’s ears before feeling a finger lift your chin.

“i love you, and i’ll always be here for you, no matter where either of us are, okay?” he said, looking into your eyes, with nothing but love and sincerity. you nod, “i love you too.” he smilled, carefully leaning over to place a kiss on your forehead.

“now, you need to eat, i got your favorite.” he says, picking up the hot soup, opening the lid, before separating the chopsticks. he dips the wooden sticks in the soup, giving it a stir before grabbing some of the noodles.

he gently blows on the steaming noodles before offering it to you, container under it to catch any dripping soup. you giggle, “you know i can feed myself right?” he frowns, pushing the noodles and container closer to you. “eat.”

you smile before opening your mouth, accepting the food he so generously offered you. a smile made it’s way onto his face, feeding you a few more bites. he placed the container back down, chopsticks resting in the soup, before grabbing the medicine and water.

“take these.” he placed them in your hand, opening the water as you dropped the pills in your mouth. he hands you the water, watching as you greedly gulp down the cool beverage. “ how are you feeling, angel?” he asks gently.

“it still hurts but i think eating and drinking definitely helped.” you smiled, handing him the bottle. “ good, i’m glad. eat a few more bites then we’ll lay down, okay?” he says, picking up the soup once more.

you end up finishing the ramen before he grabs the tray and the now warm compress. “do you want a cold one?” he asks holding up the pack.

“yes please.” you nod slightly. “okay, get comfy, i’ll be right back jagi.” you smile laying back down as he leaves the room.

he comes back, shortly after, with a fresh compress and another bottle of water. he places the water next to your diffuser, placing the compress over your eyes. he circles the bed, climbing under the covers.

he lays down, pulling you into him, placing your head on his chest. you place your arm around his wait, hand slipping under his shirt, rubbing your thumb across his soft skin.

he brings his hand up, rubbing soft circles on your temples, placing kiss on the top of your head. “sleep jagi, we can shower when you wake up okay?’ you nod slightly against him.

“thank you, channie. i love you, more than you know.” you mumble, tightening your arms around him. “i love you too baby, i’ll always take care of you, okay?” placing one last kiss to your hair.

that’s how you stayed for the rest of the night, wrapped up in each other’s arms. the pressure in your head, slowly releasing, finally able to relax.

reblogs/feedback are appreciated! i hope you guys enjoyed!

do no repost

[apricot-blossomss]

would it be okay to ask for maybe A dionysus/hermes/Apollo x Reader?

The gods just love giving reader multiple praises to the point it completely overwhelms them/pos

(seperate please!)

the greek gods showering mortal!f!reader in praise [apollo, hermes, dionysus x reader]

sfw, cw: mentions of a praise kink, not proofread

feels good to finally upload again, I hope I'll find more time to write next week!

APOLLO

There was perhaps no greater blessing for you personally than listening to Apollo sing, and once one witnessed him, they would find themselves aggreing with you. Which was why you had no objection when Apollo interrupted your little make out session on his settee to ask you wether he could play a song for you. Quite the opposite, actually. But now, you almost regretted it, because you felt like your head was about to explode.

His golden eyes were locked to yours, making you unable to turn your head and hide from the might of his words. Endless praise and adoration fell from his lips in the most beautiful melody. You suddenly realized you were crying, but you made no attempt to wipe the tears away as you were frozen in place, growing hotter by the minute. With newfound intensity, Apollo recited the next verses, lips pulled into a little smile as he flooded your poor helpless mind with words of devotion.

You couldn't do this any longer, you buried your burning face in your hands, overwhelmed by his divine love. The way each word sounded so genuine you began to doubt the very existence of the lie. Nearly shaking, you pulled your legs to your chest and whined. "Oh gods, please stop, it's too much!"

A soft coo made you look back up at him as Apollo played some closing strings and put the lyre aside to pull you into his lap, right were the lyre had sat. Hiding your face in your chest, you attempted to conceal the deep red of your cheeks. "You can't just say stuff like that," you muffled into his tunic and a soft rumble made his chest vibrate.

"Like what?" he asked, caressing your hidden face with his index finger before placing it underneath your chin, guiding your face up to look at him. "It's all true. Every time I look at you, my sunshine, I am lifted, gazing upon a masterpiece that must've been sculpted by a god. Or perhaps, you are your own artist?" Apollo allowed himself a little grin when you let out a loud whine and slapped his chest. Gently, his fingers closed around your wrist as he guided it to his lips to trail kisses up your arm.

"Your smile could rival the warmth of spring itself—it awakens my heart as surely as the season revives the earth." His words were blooming as always, masterfully crafted sentences praising you, as his lips, hushed into a soft whisper, trailed up your arm. "No lyre could ever match the harmony of your laughter. My music is a mere attempt to echo your perfection. You are as brilliant as all the stars of the night sky. Every word you speak is a melody to my ears, every thought of yours a revelation."

His lips reached your shoulder, making their way to your throat that was taken over by a bright pink tone, it felt like your whole body blushed, like the pink blossoms in spring. "You're going to be the death of me," you said breathlessly, burying your hands in his hair and keeping his head in place in the crook of your neck, so he couldn't talk any more of his charming words.

Apollo laughed into your neck, it muffled the sound but couldn't lessen the melody of it. A shuddering breath left your lips as you pulled him closer, and though they flustered you, you savored his words, remembering every little phrase to keep in your heart forever.

HERMES

Gods curse the day Hermes found out you had a praise kink. Because ever since he had realized how much his compliments flustered you, he exploited it maliciously. Humming sweet praises into your ear when you were going about your day and doing the most mundane things, leaving you blushing and spluttering as he retracted with a cackle. Giving you the sweetest compliments anytime he would find you unsuspecting, with your guard down, and utterly humiliating you as your heart would start to race and all you could muster up were weak stutters of embarrassment.

So, when he plopped down on the couch next to you, stretching his limbs after a long day of godly duties and regarding you with that cheeky, mischievous smile, you knew what ideas formed in his head, as if you were able to read his thoughts. Immediately, your flight instinct kicked in as you retreated into the kitchen as quickly as possible- though not fast enough. In the blink of an eye, the sneaky god had caught up to you and dragged you back into the couch with him, pulling you into his lap.

His nose nudged your chin and you could practically hear the smirk in his voice. "How's my beautiful girlfriend doing today?" Ignoring your petty kicking, he giggled. "You know I'm faster than you, you know I know my way around you- though, you know, you’ve got this spark about you—like you could talk your way out of anything. It’s kind of my thing, but I think you do it better."

"You're insufferable," you sighed, though you felt your cheeks heat up embarrassingly. When his fingers trailed over your stomach, you squeaked and pushed them away, making Hermes throw back his head in a loud laugh. For a moment, you were mesmerized by him- the sound of his laugh, the bounce of his curly hair, the way his face lit up, eyes squeezed shut and cheeks pink. Then, he started talking once more.

"I used to think of myself as the best of thieves," Hermes sighed, drawing circles on your thigh. "But you outdo my trickery, love, as you have stolen my heart away from right under my nose." Don't blush, don't blush, don't blush, you thought to yourself, but you knew you were as red as a tomato by now. Stuttering out protests, you felt your stomach constrict in the best way and tried to wiggle out of his arms, a fruitless attempt.

Turning your head, you glared at him, but only got a cheeky smile in return. Hermes tipped his hat and chuckled. "Gods, you're so hot when you're mad." You gave him a deadpan stare and his smile only widened. "And so cute when you're blushing like this. Honestly, sweetheart, I think you could make everything more sexy."

In a final attempt to cut him off before you could make a complete fool of yourself (even more so than you'd already done), you crashed your lips into his. And of course, Hermes would never deny you, so his eager hand shot up to cup your face and tilt it in order to get a better angle to kiss you completely senseless on his lap.

Little did he know, you had been waiting for this moment of weakness. With his hands busying themselves with cradling your face, you jumped out of his lap, evaded his reaching arms and ran upstairs, laughing breathlessly. Of course, he could've caught up with you in an instance, but Hermes seemed determined to give you a fair chase, because when you reached the highest stair, you could hear his voice, still from downstairs.

"Baby, I think that was just about the hottest thing I ever saw."

DIONYSUS

"No cuddles with that breath" you protested, dismissing your lover's drunken attempts to wrap his arms around you. Whining, Dionysus forced himself halfway into your lap, in spite of your slapping at his chest and arms, looking up at you with dreamy eyes, glazed over by the effect of whatever alcohol emitted its odeurs from his mouth. Rolling your eyes, you attempted to shove him off. "If you want to bother someone, go and hang out with your brothers."

"Nooo," Dioynsus gave a long, drawn out protest and you found yourself lamenting how he could be a thousand years old and this childish at the same time. "You are more fun," the god pouted, squinting up at you. You complimented yourself on showing no reaction whatsoever on the outside, but your insides secretly did somersaults.

"If you want fun, why don't you throw a party?" you said dismissively, flicking his temple to which he responded with another whine. At your words, a drunken little smile creeped onto his face. "You make everything more fun, even doing nothing. I swear, you’re better than wine… and that’s saying something."

"If I'm better than wine, how come that's what you have been drinking for the last hours?" you asked with a raised brow. With a genuinely shocked expression, Dionyuss shot up and stared at you wide-eyed. "You're right. I should have been drinking you, you are so much sweeter-"

Groaning, you buried your face in a pillow, considering to suffocate yourself before he could see the blush on your cheeks. Then again, how receptive could he be, in his state? Turns out, very receptive. When you discarded the pillow, his eyes hushed over the pink on your cheeks and he cooed. "Aw, baby, do you like it when I tell you how sweet you are?"

Ignoring your stubborn but whispered 'no thank you', Dionysus threw an arm around your shoulder, continuing to brabble compliments and praises into your ear. Embarrassingly, your cheeks burned even more and the god laughed joyfully.

"Baby, the way you blush... I’ve seen people lose their minds over less."

[hrdenha]

— little love | l.hs, s.jy

synopsis: there you are in between of the two of your favorite people, so caught up in comfort that they gave after a long, tiring month. well, feeling your holes getting filled by them wasn't a bad idea either.

pairings: bestfriend!lee heeseung x reader x bestfriend!sim jaeyun

warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! twisted little story thus, twisted heejake. reader is sleeping at first. somnophilia as a consented fantasy. threesome, oral s*x, penetr*tion, kind of has corruption k*ink.

AUTHOR'S NOTE — !

since it's heetober and soon to be jake-nover (?), i decided to write polysmut (? not sure if that's what its called). lol, who am i kidding? It doesn't have any connection with hee and jake's birthday month. i just want to lessen the growing number of this blog's drafts. this smut has been accumulating spider webs since last year so i decided to finally continue and release it. well, i hope you enjoy it and pls let me know what you think. i need feedback so MUCH

There's this unknown wet yet slippery feeling that was constantly pulling you out of your dreamless sleep. Your mind was somehow groggy, your head filled with empty spaces but it's rather heavy.

The wet thing travels all over your body until it stops on top of your nerve endings. As the heavy feeling in your head was slowly but surely lifted up while you woke up so were your senses.

You felt a pair... no, not just a pair but even two sets of hands stroking your body. One has you down there while the other dominates the uppers.

A thin line between pleasure and distraught was drawn. You can't help but sigh in comfort, doing so as if it were the signal that finally blurred the said line.

You huff, eyes trying to slowly open on their own, seemingly alarmed by the new fiasco inside your head. One can even feel the dust formed on your cornea from the long sleep you just had. Slowly, albeit surely. As though, you were afraid that this fine affection would vanish as soon as you woke up.

Oh, but you were wrong.

The room was dark and silent. Still, it has a familiar inkling. There's an opened yet volumed TV in the corner thus, it was the only one that lightens the room though in a minimal manner.

Right, you remembered. It's Friday night. Heeseung and Jake decided to visit you for another movie night of the month. You recall how you laughed at Jake's corny jokes with Heeseung while all of you had your favorite food and drinks on hand. How Jake pouted, complaining you forgot about them. Of course, you responded with a peer smile, which you don't want to admit despite it being true for some reason.

You're so busy these days with your college life that you don't have the time to worry about other matters. Thus, this arrangement also takes a toll on your health. And as much as you like spending time with both of them, you can't help but fall asleep. Being in between the two of your favorite people helped you be lulled into the arms of sleep. Completely oblivious about what comes next.

As your mind processes the daily events, you hear a moan in front of you. Looking down at the sound, you saw Jake wholeheartedly sucking your breast. The sight caught you off guard though, in a good way, your lips can't help but release a mewl.

The sound causes Jake to open his eyes, looking up to meet yours, something that makes your breath shake.

The darkness and lust lurking in his eyes fight in contrast to how fluffy his black hair comes undone just above, covering a little portion of his eyes. And, the way the moonlight shines brightly just behind him, makes him look more ethereal.

Jake smirked before releasing your right breast with a pop, "Little love was finally awake! I thought you were gonna miss the party just like what you always do"

You wanted to ask, but suddenly —

A chuckle was heard from behind— at the same time, vibration rolled over your back, "You're awake, y/n?" Heeseung whispered lovingly in your ear before sucking it.

"Wh-what?" You managed to let out, demented blood flowing in your veins as the two men before you released low laughs at your reaction.

"Are you loving it? Does it feel good, love?" Jake coo-ed, humming at the end of his sentence before licking your bare nipples with his soft tongue, eyes boring into you.

"We didn't forget about the promise we made last time, little love" Heeseung whispered, taking in your scent with his eyes closed, rubbing his hands lovingly on your sides.

"We told you that we're gonna take care of you and look how we're doing well" Jake cheered while still assaulting your breast. He said those phrase unconcerned, as if there's nothing wrong to begin with.

You didn't say anything but Heeseung felt your doubts and he's determined to blur it down. "Y/N..." Heeseung whispered, and you felt like heaven just stumped on you.

Why is he calling you by your name? It should be little love, right?

You hummed in protest, courage wasn't enough for your voice to come out. Despite this, the older of the two understands it without problem.

Heeseung smiled when his eyes meet with yours. Hesitation was nowhere found everywhere on your orbs. Not one bit.

Unconsciously, you put one of your hands behind his head pushing heeseung onto yours as both of you share a messy kiss. Tongue on each other, exploring every cavern of your mouth.

"Fuck, this is the hottest scene I've seen in my life" Jake whispered causing you to cut your connection with heeseung ang look at the man who just talked.

You were sitting so well-behaved on his hyung's lap, like a pretty canvas displayed for someone with artistic eyes, waiting to be worshipped. And that someone is Jake, the one who's vocally appreciating every curve and flaw you have with deep fascination.

Heeseung's tongue brought you back to the reality of land. His clapper traveled on your neck, right hand etching fine circles on your clit. His left hand prodded on your hips keeping you intact on his lap while Jake deliciously suck on your breast, his right hand playing with your left nipples whilst his left hand caressed your body lovingly leaving you breathless.

It was fucking crazy. You were going crazy. Perhaps, that's their unsaid vow and it is definitely effective. You just can't help but want more.

"hmm— S-stop..." Both of them stared at you further observing your reaction though their hands continuously doing it's god-given work.

"Oh, really?" The younger asks, "Do you really want us to stop?" You felt him pinching your buds painfully yet surprisingly, it just made you yearn for more. "Do you really want Heeseung hyung to stop playing with this?" He whispered, putting his finger inside you. His eyes held a mischievous glint at the sound it released.

You didn't answer but the way you swallowed your objections was enough for Jake to continue his rendezvous. He smiled at you, so sweet, so innocent. A smile he always gives you on a daily basis. It made you feel safe, made you melt in their arms.

"Do you trust Seungie?" Heeseung suddenly asked peeking from your side, his eyes bare an innocent hue. "Y-yes..." A flick was felt on your clit, making you flinch in pleasure.

"Then, do you also trust jakey?" He asked once again, and this time your voice came back in an instant, letting you shout a frustrated, 'Yes!'

Both of the perpetrators chuckled, humming with their honey-glazed voices while gazing at you with lust-filled eyes. Jake lick your nipples goodbye one after another before standing up. Heeseung then pulled his hands on your cotton shorts before lifting you up like a bride.

"Let's continue this in your bedroom, little love" Heeseung whispered pecking your lips.

The next thing you knew, the older of the two gently laying you back flat on your bed.

Jake immediately abolished your stubborn cotton shorts, panties still intact while he disregard the way your tight tank top curled on top of your boobs, which he causes because of Jake's lazy antics to push it up onto your chest to soothe the burning flame on his mouth a few minutes ago.

A pair of hands folded your legs up, not sure who it is as you keep your eyes closed feeling the comfort from every soft touch they did.

"Just like that, love... relax for me" You sure it's jake pecking your forehead his hands gently pinching your nipples, his mouth working on the sweet spots on your neck.

On the other hand, heeseung affectionately caressed your thighs. leaving soft kisses from inside and out, purposely not giving your pussy the attention it needed. You're despairing, from their touch and from the fine dust of lust they wanted you to feel.

There's no doubt that the two men hovering above you, want nothing but you begging for more. And their antics just proved effective.

As heeseung's soft lips travel on your right thigh, jake was taking his time leaving feathery kisses in between your breast. You had enough, whimpering to them as your hips unknowingly lift up.

Unbeknownst to you, so did they. The two of them know how to play this game. They can be patient as long as they need it, but the wet patch on your cotton panties was getting harder and harder to ignore.

Heeseung chuckled, "Someone's impatient..."

You opened your eyes, braving yourself to look straight at both of them. "Please..." As if on queue, a single tear slid down your face then came another staining your naturally blushed cheeks.

That made the men melt on top of you. Spewing nothing but affectionate words in your ears in an attempt to coo you. They wanted this. This is the moment they desire so bad and it's finally here.

You don't know how relieved you are when Heeseung slowly pulls your panties, leaving you with nothing and completely bare. One might feel vulnerable and weak if they're bare and the other party isn't. But surprisingly, Heeseung and jake ensure that you will never ever feel that.

A soft light lighting up the room, soft sheets around you building a soft wave together with your dark brown hair. You felt like an ancient goddess, ready to be filled with love from your loyal devotees.

Heeseung part your legs apart, like someone who's parting the sea. The cold wind made contact causing you to shiver, but heeseung doesn't faze. After all, Jake's up there ensuring your warmth.

"Delicious...", he whispered looking at your folds glistening with your juice. he brought his finger slowly entering you. "And, hot as fuck"

As heeseung did his business, so did jake. He released your lips, looking so proud of how swollen they got while you lay there with your head on the edge of the bed... waiting. Jake then steps back, eyes still on you or rather on your lips. "I want to feel that little mouth you have, little love." Jake whispered, unbuckling his belt. His cock springs out, the tip slapping on his navel with pre-cum oozing out of its head. It looks angry and pink.

"You have a pretty dick, jakey..." You absentmindedly said. That made the two of them chuckled.

"Then, can you help me out with my pretty cock?" You released a shaky 'yes'. "Open wide, little love" And, you did. You opened your mouth as Jake pushed inside. He was so thick that you gag immediately even before his tip reached your throat. And when it does, you feel like you're floating somewhere.

He started slowly, pumping his veiny and thick cock in and out with affection as if he's scared it might scare you. That made you relax. You didn't know having a dick inside your mouth can make you float somewhere.

But then, someone has to pull you down to from the heavens. You flinched when suddenly you felt a tongue on your sensitive clit, teasing it.

It's heeseung, practically torturing you and your pussy from the other side of the bed.

You were so focus on pleasuring jake that you forgot heeseung had you down there. Nothing to worry about though, it's part of the plan. You just didn't know it yet.

Heeseung then had enough, you felt his presence standing up towering over you. The clanking of metal on his belt was the next thing you heard aside from the groans jake was voicing.

"Hurry up, hyung. I can't take it anymore."

The older one didn't bat an eye, instead he immediately brush his cock on your folds tainting it with your love juices. Heeseung even got cocky when he decided to slap your clit with his dick, sending waves through your body.

"A little patient, Jake. I'm still having fun..." Upon hearing it, you softly tap jake's thighs that were still rutting in your mouth. Thankfully, he understands it as jake slowly pulled out.

You lift your head, gazing your eyes to heeseung. "Please, seungie. I need you inside."

The way you fucking beg. "Fuck. Alright, love. Can't say no to that"

Heeseung then, without a word sink deep inside you. "Ugh! Fuck, heeseung!" You moaned in pleasure.

"You're so tight, little love! So. Fucking. Tight." He groaned hovering over you before taking your lips.

"Okay, you guys. I'm gonna get jealous if y/n wouldn't give me her attention now." Jake complained as heeseung released your lips. "You're such a baby, jakey." You teased looking at him as you lay your head back on the bed, your hand taking his length and pumping it before opening your mouth.

The next thing you knew, both of their dicks buried inside you. They started slow and light then gradually picked up their pace. The way heeseung thrust deep inside you made your legs quiver. Jake wasn't letting you go, either. His pretty balls slaps on your nose every thrust making your breathing limited as the tip hits your throat and his free hand travels to give your nipples some attention.

"Fuck, y/n! You're taking me so well." Jake groaned, tracing the bulge from his cock that formed on your throat.

"She's clenching me so well. Our little love is such a slut." Heeseung added. "Are you gonna cum, love? Do you want to cum?" He asked, anticipating an answer from you even though Jake's cock was buried deep inside your throat.

You didn't need to answer though, heeseung knows. That's when he started putting pressure on your lower abdomen, feeling you clenching and moaning even though jake occupied your mouth. You moaned like you didn't care. The pleasure was intense. It feels so fucking good and you can't even scream. So, you moan even if Jake hits your throat with such precision. It sends continuous vibrations to his cock that made him a moaning mess on top of you.

"Naughty" Jake whispered, his hands making it's way on top of your throat giving it a little squeeze.

The pleasure then doubles as the sounds of groans, moans, skin slapping, and cussing gets louder and louder. The room practically smells like sex. You're getting dizzy from the intense pleasure their cock was giving to you. You're getting crazier, you even swear like passing out. The pleasure on your pussy and your throat meet at the center of your body. It didn't take long to feel the bubbling feeling inside you.

"You're gonna cum, love? Cum on my cock, y/n" Heeseung groaned still putting pressure on your lower abdomen as he mercilessly thrust inside you.

"Shit!" Jake cursed feeling your throat tightening more than ever. And before you know it, you let go. It didn't took long before the two men on top of you released their frustrations inside. Jake deep on your throat while heeseung deep inside you, mixing his cum with yours.

Jake slowly pulled out before letting his body fall beside you, giving you the chance to swallow his cum before trying to stabilize your breath. Heeseung on the other hand is still buried inside you, afraid that a drop can be wasted.

You tried to keep your eyes open and your mind alert. But, your body was the one complaining. There are black dots travelling across your vision and it didn't took long before you finally black out.

-------

You didn't know how long you sleep, you're still tired but you're also loving the comfort. You silently opened your eyes, as your throat unconsciously released a hum that you regret after.

You looked around, you're still in your room but everything was changed. Your sheets are new. You don't feel sticky or sweaty just like what you always feel after sex. You're on your favorite clothes which is heeseung's clothes, which is also very big compare to you.

The door on your room opened, revealing two men walking closer to you.

"Hey, little love. How do you feel?" Heeseung asked, taking a seat on your bed beside you while Jake took the part behind him as both of them put all their attention to you.

"I-m... fine" You tried to say but your throat still hurts. It's not a surprise though knowing how intense the evens earlier. So, instead of your full voice, you just tried to whisper it, trying not to irritate your throat more.

Heeseung then look at jake with sharp glares albeit jokingly, "Why are you so harsh and intense?" He questioned the younger one before hitting Jake's thigh that was place on top of your bed. The poor man yelp, screaming as he didn't anticipate the action of his hyung

Jake then pathetically put his arms up, "I'm sorry! Can't help it. And, beside..." But then, he put it down. His face now full of mischief with that teasing smirk, "Y/n loves it. Right, little love?"

You blushed but nodded otherwise. The two men chuckled, cooing at the way you got shy.

"You did good, little love" Heeseung whispered kissing your lips and Jake with your forehead. They both smiled at you as they started to take care of your needs. That's when you realized they have a food with them this whole time.

Breakfast in bed, just for their little love.

---------

FEW MOMENTS BEFORE YOU WOKE UP

"You think we pulled it off, hyung?" Jake whispered, eyes focused on your sleeping face.

"Yeah" Jake thought the Heeseung will say something afterwards but silence wrap the room.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure so."

"This wouldn't drive her away from us right?" Jake once again, asked. His voice suddenly filled with worry at the thought that they might've scared you away. They still haven't had the chance to propose to you the idea of that relationship, so what if you run away before they do that?

Heeseung clicked his tongue, finally meeting his younger friend's gaze, "Jake, relax..." he said patting the man's shoulder. "She's the one who request this from us. She love this as much as we love it."

Jake hummed recalling how you literally beg them to fuck you at the same time.

So, we're not the only one feeling this?

You don't know how long they've been waiting to make you sit there and just beg on their knees to allow them to fuck you at the same time. How relieved and happy they are when you're thinking the same thing.

Well, The only thing is that you're drunk when you said that. But that doesn't matter. As long as they give you what you need then that's what matter the most.

"... I just know this wouldn't be the last time we're doing this with her so, your worries shouldn't be welcome here" Heeseung said, now looking at your sleeping figure.

Jake smiled, tucking your hair behind your ears. "We're ready when that happens."

"Yes, we are. We always are."

— note !

since it's heetober and soon to be jake-nover (?), i decided to write polysmut (? not sure if that's what its called). And, who am i kidding? It doesn't have any connection with hee and jake's birthday month. i just want to lessen the growing number of this blog's drafts. this smut has been accumulating spider webs since last year so i decided to finally continue and release it. well, i hope you enjoyed it and pls let me know what you think. i need feedback so MUCH

© hrdenha | 2023

[jangmi-latte]

hear me out. do NOT speak. NOT A SINGLE WORD BECAUSE HEAR ME THE DAMN OUT

i spent way too much time editing mal's eyes into crowley's face that my SEEING BALLS are tearing up and then it's making me question my damn life choices rn i hate myself sm for making this what even made me do this i don't even think the eyes are symmetrical but WHATEVER

ANYWAYS, i figured mal didn't get meleanor's eyes shape so i think he got them from levan. according to lilia, he heard levan but he saw meleanor in malleus with a mix of levan so i went okay must share traits of the parents

AND WHILE I WAS EDITING MAL'S HEAD INTO CROWLEY'S they have the same face shape or at least similar haha gets shot i'm scared AND when i placed mal on top of crowley and lessened the opacity on mal's pic it...blended way too well to crowley's body/head and i froze for a good 2 mins and went...shit

i pray. I DAMN PRAY this won't come true because i am 100% in denial but also interested in the "crowley is levan" theory but 😭😭😭 take this game away from me

[tiredfox64]

Hellooo! First of all, I love your fics, especially Tomas's. They are very entertaining and the way you write is just great ^^

This is more of a question than a request, although you can develop it further if you want.

How would the linkuei trio react to a s/o who says "I hate men... except you"

It came to me out of nowhere and I thought it was funny 🙃

There Are Exceptions

Prior notes: Hehehe I throughly enjoyed writing this. Also I forgot to say this with other people’s requests who gave me compliments but thank you so much for liking my writing! (*´∀｀*)

Pairing: Lin Kuei Bros x Afab reader

Warnings ‼️: Men

Bi-Han

These dim witted, nitwit goobers who serve your husband are too much to handle. All they know how to do is punch and kick. They have no other survival instincts that can save their asses.

It’s so tiring being the one to try to help them with whatever. A woman can only do so much.

You tried teaching them how to sew only for them to say something stupid like it’s a woman’s hobby. Forget about cooking. You have never seen someone screw up scramble eggs so much that it doesn’t even form. How the fuck does it stay watery? And why are you the only one who knows how to fold clothes? Screw steaming out their wrinkles.

Your last straw today came in the nighttime when one of the clansmen came up to you and ask the most stupidest question you have ever heard.

“Uhm, some of the men were telling me that a woman’s period was when she peels her skin every month. Is that true? Cause if it is you hide it well.” This clueless assassin…oh goodness.

You just stared blankly at the young man. It had to be a joke, right? They can’t be that stupid. Actually, you don’t want to know if they are that stupid. You walked away briskly with one thing on your mind and you had to shout it out. The moment you walk into your bedroom you slammed the door shut and screamed,

“I hate men!”

Bi-Han was already in bed, waiting for you to come around. He stared at you with that grumpy expression he always has before folding his arms in front of his chest. A low grumble was being emitted by him.

How can you say you hate men when you are married to one? One that treats you like the queen you are considered you are the grandmaster’s wife. He is also one who pleasures you till you are fully satisfied. Course, it’s more like you have to go on until he is satisfied.

“…except you.”

“Mhm, that’s right. I should be the exception here. I am the grandmaster, I deserve your full respect.” Bi-Han reminded you of his role as if he doesn’t do so every day.

“And you are also my husband,” you walked up to him and placed a kiss on his forehead, “Now would you mind spooning me for tonight.”

“After that outburst, I am unsure if you deserve it.” Now he’s just being petty.

You pouted as you changed into your sleepwear. If Bi-Han looked for at least five seconds he would have caved. But he looked away immediately to prevent himself from changing his decision. You huffed as you slipped into bed. You went on your side and pretended like you didn’t care. You did because you always lost the idgaf war.

“Please, I love you.” You said over your shoulder.

Bi-Han let out a groan before turning over and wrapping his arms around your waist. Haha you win.

You may not like men but you love this man. You like this man because he’s your man.

Kuai Liang

Why does no one think of the logical answer to something?

You go out to the market all the time so you could help feed the Shirai Ryu. It helps lessen responsibilities for your husband. But even this simple task is made difficult and stupid because of some of the venders. More specifically the men.

You asked for watermelon and they hand you plastic containers with the funkiest bits of watermelon. They are discolored and are definitely past their ripeness. Yet they all tell you it’s fine. It’s not fine! It’s not good quality! Why even cut the watermelon in the first place you can do it yourself!

You want some mangos? Well you can’t fucking have any because they don’t got it. Oh what’s that? A BUNCH OF FUCKING MANGOS RIGHT BEHIND THEM! And they tell you that those are honey mangoes you didn’t specifically ask for those. They told you no because they thought you wanted Haden mangoes. Just give the woman a fucking mango!

You’re so over those male venders. They never even help you pack the carts up.

You’re too tired went you get back to the temple. You let everyone else pack the food away without helping out this time. You can’t be bothered. You take your shoes off, step into the temple, and sigh heavily.

“I hate men.” You groaned.

You didn’t realize Kuai Liang was coming up to you to greet you. You looked up and saw his face. He stared blankly with a bit of concern.

“…except you.”

You wanted to make it right so you ran up to him, giving him many kisses and hugging him.

“What has made you so hateful, my love? Did someone at the market bother you?” He asked with concern.

Kuai Liang was not at all mad at what you said. He found it odd which meant there was something wrong. His hands went up to check if maybe it was something physical. He would hate to find out you were hurt while out. What kind of husband would he be if he can’t protect his wife?

“Many people bothered me at the market today. Some people are unfortunate stupid.” You replied.

“Perhaps you can tell me all about it in bed. I’ll make you some tea to help with the stress.” He took your hands as you both walked to the bedroom.

Kuai Liang is the kind of man you need in your life. If only the men at the market had his intelligence. Though you do like being cared for when there is any sign of distress from you. It makes you feel like a princess.

Tomas

To help train the Earthrealm champions is like trying to train a seal, a kangaroo, a bison, and a Komodo dragon to leap at least a meter out of the water. One will succeed, another will jump but not reach it, another one won’t try to jump, and the other will be too busy trying to mate with you.

They are all nice in their own way but Johnny is the worst of them all. You tell him you are happily married and it’s in one ear and out the other. Just because his marriage failed doesn’t mean yours has to.

Kenshi is alright he just has stubborn. He believes it’s nerves that wins fights. If that were true why does he keep failing to you. And when he is not going against you he’s going after Johnny’s throat. You get it, Johnny won’t give back Sento. But now is not the time to bust his ass.

Kung Lao just gets on everyone’s nerves. You have never seen a bunch of monks ready to implode and strangle someone. Don’t forget that you almost lost your head because he flung his hat in the wrong direction. All you got back was a small ‘sorry’ before he took his hat and ran off.

And Raiden…he’s fine. He’s done no wrong.

Yet no matter what you always have to return and help the fools. You give and give and what do you receive? Hell!

You are exhausted when you return home. You don’t talk to anyone you just go straight to your bedroom. You let out a groan the whole time and when the door closes you let that groan become words.

“I hate men.”

Tomas was already waiting for you in the bedroom. He was walking up to you to hug you until he heard those words. He looked concerned and even a little sad.

Well he’s a man, do you hate him? Did he do something wrong? He hopes he didn’t, he doesn’t want an unhappy wife.

Your attitude immediately went away at the sight of Tomas.

“…except you.”

You ran into his arms and hugged him tight. You could never hate a man like Tomas. He is your husband after all. You picked a good one compared to all the other men that you have seen.

“I’m guessing they upset you again.” He asked.

You nodded. The day is already over you don’t feel like talking about every single stupid thing that they did. Tomas understood and hugged you tight.

“Do you want me to beat them up?” He whispered jokingly in your ear.

For once today you laughed. He always manages to bring a smile to your face. You wish you could let him but that would be a bad decision. Though it’s funny to think about. He was just happy to hear that wonderful laugh of yours. It just shows that he’s a good man to you. He can turn a frown upside down and make you see the good in men. Or at least the good in him.

After notes: Can you tell I got pissed off with Kuai Liang’s part? That shits a little too true. Those instacart tik toks be crazy. Here’s a little experience of when I hated men: one didn’t take no for an answer for YEARS. He still can’t take no even from other girls. But most of the men I know are good. Alright enough yip yap I must march on. Adiós!

[furybymoonlight]

Power

Pic credit: LFC

Warning/Genre: romance, fluff, tiny tiny angst, slightly suggestive scene in the end

Pairing: Trent Alexander Arnold x OC/Reader

“You have so much power over me…sometimes it kind of scares me.”

Author’s Note:

As usual, apology in advance for all errors since I am not a native.

Trent rubbed his eyes, walking groggily along the dimly lit corridor of his house. He had been asleep when he suddenly woke up, reflexively reached to the other side of the bed and found his girlfriend missing.

“Babe…are you here?”

He entered the quiet living room. Finding it empty, he continued to seek her from room to room with no avail, when he noticed something through the grand window of his living room.

The lukewarm summer night wind greeted him as he stepped out to the patio. He found his baby girl lounged on the outdoor sofa, holding a cup of coffee in her hand. She smiled as she saw him, putting the cup on the coffee table before sliding to the side to make way for him. Sitting beside her, he drew her to him, making her sit sideways on his lap. He hated having distance between them, no matter how short.

He kissed her softly before smiling at her, one large hand cupping the side of her face. She smiled back at him again, but a hint of melancholy adorned her beautiful face. He frowned, muscled arms tightened around her midriff. Something was not right.

“You should be sleeping….what is going on angel?”

She nuzzled him on the cheek before tracing the worry lines on his face, down to his nose, then to his plump lips. As always, her heart fluttered inside her chest whenever he was in the vicinity.

“I love you.”

She said softly to him and she felt the tension in his body lessened, but not gone.

“and I love you…so what’s wrong?”

It was hard to think with her securely wrapped in his arms. Everything felt so perfect for her, he was so perfect for her, so right, too right, that she feared when the ground finally shifted, she would just fall into a deep abyss and never resurface. She was a planner, she had a great career and she felt like her life was mapped out. She wasn’t used to feeling like this…like she was not in charge of her life.

“You have my heart Trent…and I’ll do anything for you…you know? I just…don’t know what I’d be without you…if you leave me...”

She felt instantly cold at that possibility. She kissed him then, fleetingly, as if just wanted to assure herself that he’s still there with her.

“You have so much power over me.... sometimes it kind of scares me.”

There, she said it. She sighed and closed her eyes. Great, now she sounded like those clingy whiny overly dependent girlfriend character in those tv soap operas, which she hated by the way. The calling of her name in his deep low voice made her open her eyes.

“Princess…I am not gonna leave you...besides, if the table turns, you think I am…what? I’ll be just fine without you?”

“Well…not in the beginning, but eventually…I mean…you’re Trent…you have everything in life, world class football player, the whole world knows who you are, people worship you, dub you generational talent, you even have a mural in this city, honestly.”

The scouser couldn’t believe his ears. He had loved her for what felt like forever, she was a part of him, air-level essential to him, didn’t she realize that? He cupped her face between his palms and looked straight at her.

“Baby…football is a large part of my life…it’s true, and I know I am blessed to live this life...”

He kissed her then, suddenly felt he needed to convey his emotion in more than words. Pressing his forehead against hers, he looked into her eyes and continued.

“You said I’m living my dream and that’s true as well…but having you by my side is part of that dream. Baby girl…football is my present but you, you’re my present and my future. I love you...to the moon and back.”

“You do?”

Her eyes brightened with love and affection as dimple appeared in her soft cheeks. His heart skipped a beat. It didn’t matter how long they had been together, she would always have that effect on him. He pressed her against him, though they were already as close as they could be, and claimed her lips in a fervent kiss.

She was his and he’d always be hers. She said he had so much power over her? Well, she ruled him, completely. His eyes darkened as he considered the possibility of living without her. It was unthinkable, and the length that he’d go to for her was limitless, he’d even give his legs, and more, to keep her safe by his side.

“Of course I do baby…”

He whispered against her lips, which were now swollen due to his ministration. His palm slipped beneath her t-shirt, caressing the smooth skin of her back. His lips tugged into a naughty smirk as he felt her shivered beneath his touch, the worry in her eyes gone, replaced by pure passion.

“I can of course, perform a demonstration…to fully convince you.”

He devoured her mouth then, all the while carrying her back to their bedroom and proceeded to do exactly that.

End Note:

Wrote this because I just need to escape the gloomy situation of LFC transfer window yet again.

Hope the boys win today!

Anyway please check out my other Trent fics:

See Me (Now)

Master of Assists

Thank you for reading <3

So….thoughts? :3

[0-kbelle-0]

KC: The more code I go through, the more I start to wonder. Am I a fool to believe they would change? Even so.

KC: To make them change fully, I'd be denying them their nature, One similar to mine, one I still struggle with. My child, we are very much alike.

KC: Rather funny, I want them to live a peaceful life, yet I can't seem to settle myself. How hypocritical of me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It seemed Bloodmoon's thrist for blood was more ingrained into their base code than KC had originally thought, this would prove to be quite a challenge to undo, just as engrained as his Kill code was, it appeared their drive ran just as deep, an apple doesn't fall far from the tree after all.

But, that wouldn't stop him, maybe he could still find a solution, if not a true removal, he could tone it down, less a necessity and more something to be controlled and supressed. Alas, that was rather hypocritifal thinking on his part, for KC hadn't truly given up killing, he could only restrain his own code so much. He had been slaining, though he swore to make sure he was only targeting individuals who truly deserved it.

KC couldn't help but see so much of himself in the twins, that thinking led him to believing, maybe, they'd be willing to follow his footsteps, killing those who lurk in the shadows he once called home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Annnndddd page 3! Seems bloodmoon's code is a bit harder to work with then KC though, bummer, but! Hey, that just gives pops and his kid more bonding material!

But ye, KC hopes that if he can at least lessen bm's thirst, it can make their lives easier, but, he understands that they enjoy killing, so, maybe he and them can have the best of both worlds, Just gotta see how it plays out!

Previous page here

[theoddest1]

Regarding Alastor's backstory and how he rose to power in Hell... it just kind of feels out of character to me.

Because he's more like someone who puts in the work for what he wants, because it would feel more rewarding than just asking for it on a silver platter.

Now, I can understand him making the deal if it was around the time he first arrived in Hell and tried to rise up, only to get curb stomped by demons stronger than him and did worse things. And he makes the deal to feel in control again like when he was alive, that I can understand.

But the leak just... completely destroys Alastor's character AND his role in the story.

If I were to write his character, I'd make it where he never really asked for such things because the thought of asking anyone for help was absurd and breaks his already set idea of himself. [outside of the spirits, he asks for help and protection though he sees then more as tools than gods.]

To him, being a Fawn was completely out of the question. No longer will he be under someone else's egregious, yet sloppy, thumb. He pulls the reigns, and so he shall always do so. This also plays a huge part in how I believed he performed his radio host persona when alive.

"Amongst the people, I am the announcer, the charismatic showman, the one who provides the latest news and tales to tell. I have made the stage and set the standards so no man, woman, or child could ever hate or doubt me in a world made against people who look like me. So how, then, would I be touched? I am no ordinary man, I am their star in their night sky, and they don't even see me! Hah! All they see is tale after tale, horrors that they had no rhyme or reason to believe could bleed into their realities. Yet, without a single thought, the one who marks each harrowing inclination that rattles within is the one who made sure each drop of blood stained their perfect white cloth. Oh, how I LIVE for the spectacle, and they live for me."

This is how I viewed him. Meglomaniac, who is assured in his strength, who doesn't think he needs to make deals, or feel threatened when another powerful foe comes to face him regardless if he were dead or alive during this encounter [He is too assured of his self worth to care about what another strong enemy thinks of him]. He is all about being "alive" in the moment and in control. He does what he wants and sees no hope in his well-being, and with that, he manages to at least gain wisdom in being honest with himself. He knows he's a shithead and understands that what he has done was with no remorse or care because he gave up on being a kind soul long....loooong ago. Someone made sure to seal that fate for him. Why should he care what people think when he already has a stubborn viewpoint of himself? It is what it is.

EDIT: I forgot to add that I also made this one of major reasons for why in Hell he is made into a buck/deer. It is a reminder of what he hates most: an animal known stereotyped as docile, a perception he once wore before he turned to a life of crime. This form is a mockery of his ideals and his self-image.

But nah, the show instead has him as a piss baby spouting modern terms like a braindead Twitter user losing an argument over subjective material. He feels far more insecure and irritable, making whatever rule he set up about his smile feel more like cope rather than a well-rounded point. He smiles, yet his irritation and need to prove himself lessens its impact. He laughs, yet will turn around and cuss at someone all cause they think his name for the Hotel is trash rather than making a confident witty comeback. He asserts "dominance" but the way he does this is by using pure force alone and barely any mi d games, making it feel as though he isn't truly as clever or well thought out as he had hoped. Everything we have seen of him in the show destroys what little he had in the promotion of the pilot AND the pilot. He was more witty and charming back when Ed was still his VA on Hunicast. A true waste of a potentially well-made character.

[blessedbucky]

we tried the world, good god, it wasn't for us! (part 5.1)

pairing: autistic!satoru x suguru x autistic!reader

word count: 12.5k (why do i yap so much)

summary: a bunch of traumatized teenagers try their best to keep their world from collapsing.

tags: autistic!reader, autistic!satoru, bisexual!reader, bisexual!suguru, bisexual!satoru, mayhaps some poor coping mechanisms, maybe some codependency, loss of virginity, fingering, vaginal sex

beautiful people who asked to be tagged 💕: @ichikanu, @iceheartsice, @anders-is-being-a-simp-again, @honeydew-cheesecake

author note: JUST BEFORE PREMATURE DEATH ARC WHO READY! like the summary says, this is just a bunch of dumb teenagers making reckless decisions because they're also traumatized as fuck and mentally ill. there some really messy and complicated feelings reader has for Satoru and Suguru that's trying to be processed.

chapter links: 1, 2, 3, 4.1, 4.2, AO3

[YEAR THREE]

[PART ONE]

A cherry blossom slowly flutters down from a branch and lands square in the center of Suguru’s forehead. Not that he knows this because he sprawled out on the picnic blanket and was asleep not even ten minutes later. And yet, despite how much he sleeps, the place under his eyes seems to be getting darker and darker. You pluck the blossom from his forehead, careful not to touch and wake him up accidentally. You’re worried about him. Sometimes, in the dead of night when you’re alone, you’ll worry yourself sick.

Something cold and wet presses your forehead.

“Plum Fanta,” Satoru announces. After you take the bottle from him, he shuffles to plop down on the blanket next to you. “Eh? Is he seriously still asleep?”

You nod slowly. “It seems like all he’s been swallowing lately are high grade. You know those are the hardest on him.”

“Just on his stomach, though, right?”

Until last year, you naively thought that, too. Back in your village, when he swallowed them, he would nap after, but he always told you that it was to sleep off the stomachache. Maybe that was true. Now…it’s different. Everything is different. You naively thought that your lives would settle after Zen’in Toji. You knew it would never be the same, yes, but you thought it would level out.

You were wrong.

“I don’t know, Satoru. If I had to spend almost every single day swallowing something fouler than words can describe, that might take a toll on me, too.”

“Sorry,” Satoru mumbles dejectedly.

You sigh. “It’s not your fault, Satoru.”

“I feel like I could be doing more. Maybe I can volunteer to take on more assignments so there are less on his plate.”

“That’s not your responsibility, Satoru.” You take a deep breath, resisting the urge to get snippy. You shouldn’t take your bad mood out on everyone else. “You’re human, too. The truth is that you’re both stretched thin.” The grip you have around the bottle tightens. “I just…wish things would change. It shouldn’t be like this.”

Satoru tilts over until his head is knocking against yours. “How else would it be?”

“I don’t know. Not this, though.” Absentmindedly, you pick at the label of your soda. “This just isn’t a sustainable system. I wonder how many Special Grade sorcerers there have actually been, but they just couldn’t reach their full potential because old men sent them off to die.”

“Maybe you’re just not cut out for this line of work, Sketch,” Satoru poses.

The sting of that reality is lessened by his flippant tone. It was meant to be a tease. But a sting is a sting. “Everyone doesn’t need to keep reminding me of how weak I am. I get it, alright? I know I’m useless, but I’m trying to—”

“Give it a few years and you’ll literally be able to control minds. It’s never been an issue of strength with you, Sketch. It’s just that you’re…soft.” He pauses. “Gentle.” Then, he hooks his pinky around yours. Turns his head ever so slightly so his lips brush against your temple on every word. “You’re so worried about everyone else that you’re not taking care of yourself. How much sleep have you been getting?”

“I haven’t given it much thought,” you lie. You’re averaging about four hours a night, probably. “No sleep isn’t a new thing for me, though. I’ve always had trouble with sleeping.”

“Oh? Me, too.” He pokes you hard in the side making you squeak and flinch away. “Why are you on my case, then?”

Feeling petty today, you sink your claws into his sensitive spot which is to say that you dig your fingers right into the nape of his neck. “Because I’m not the one frying my brain twenty-four seven with my cursed technique,” you hiss.

Satoru hisses back at you, the two of you like a couple of feral alley cats. Neither of your drinks are open yet, so they end up rolling off somewhere on the blanket while you two start tussling. Trying to get hands on the other’s most sensitive spots. You have a height disadvantage, but you have sharp teeth, damn it. There’s an outraged squawk from Satoru when you first bite him, but it gives him permission to get dirtier with his tricks. So, the bastard rolls you both over off the blanket, pinning you under him, right on top of the grass.

“No,” you whine pathetically when he holds your cheek against it. “Satoru, bugs can get in my hair! It’s like thousands of tiny needles stabbing me!” A little dramatic. It’s more poking and itchier than anything else, but you still hate it. “If you don’t let me up, I’ll throw all your melon soda stash in a pond!”

“Oh, yeah? Well, I’ll return those oil pastels that I got you!”

“Idiot, you can’t return those! You got them last year and they’re almost used up!”

He blinks. “Oh.” In the blink of an eye, his expression is very serious and concerned. “Do you need new ones?”

And have him spend that much money on art supplies again? Absolutely not. You’ll use those things until they’re specks and then never speak of it again. But you don’t tell him this because you take advantage of the distraction. With a powerful buck of the hips, you manage to throw him off to the side, rolling over with him so you’re straddling his waist and quickly reaching for his neck. He grabs your wrists before you can, worry replaced by outrage at the presumed cheating—or so you think he sees it that way, but honestly, it’s Satoru.

“Satoru? Squid?”

Both you and Satoru freeze, turning your heads, staring wide-eyed at Suguru. His legs are crisscrossed and he’s rubbing at his eyes, scowling. His hair is almost completely out of the bun which only makes him grumpier because it’s probably sticking to his skin now. It’s actually a really warm day for spring, an omen of the summer to come, and you’re under the sun. All of you have thrown off blazers and you even took off your leggings—making the sin of the grass even more unforgiveable in your eyes, but you have a grumpy Suguru to deal with now.

Suguru, annoyed, goes on to ask, “What are you doing?” His eyes drop lower, to something behind you. There’s a look in his eyes. Angrier than simple annoyance. Then, he tells you, “Your ass is out, Squid.”

Oh. Right. Skirt.

No wonder Suguru is so mad. You’re probably embarrassing him. Face hot with shame, you try to move away, but Satoru digs his fingers into your thighs.

“Don’t let him embarrass you, Sketch! You’ve got a nice ass!”

You knock Satoru right in the stomach.

When you make it back to campus, you announce that you’re going back to your room to take a nap. Yu wanted to eat at an actual restaurant instead of konbini snacks and none of his upperclassmen can say no to him, so you’re mentally exhausted already. Suguru said the same. Shockingly, Satoru didn’t follow after you two, but he has a lot of energy today, so it sort of makes sense. Anyway, Suguru follows after you to your room.

Suguru picks up the book he’s currently reading off your desk, opting to just keep them here now. He says that there’s never enough peace in the boys’ dorm to focus on reading. As soon as his back is against the headboard and he’s settled, you crawl in next to him to put your head in his lap.

“I’m sorry for embarrassing you like that earlier,” you apologize quietly. Suguru hasn’t even opened his book yet, but it’s been on your mind since earlier. He stares down at you, puzzled. “You were angry when I was wrestling with Satoru, right? I know it’s probably a hassle—me not knowing how to act in public, even after all this time.”

“What? No. That’s not—” he takes a deep breath. Presses a thumb to the center of his forehead. “How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t care about things like that? I wasn’t mad. I just woke up and you know how I can be. I’m sorry for giving the wrong impression.”

Suguru is lying. You may not be able to read people well, but you’ve had Suguru by your side since you were six. You know his tells like the back of your hand. Doesn’t he know that? No. The bigger question is why he’s even lying to you in the first place. Is it because he doesn’t want to hurt your feelings? That might be it. You’re sensitive. You cry. You…maybe Satoru was right, after all.

“Should I quit being a sorcerer?”

He puts the book down on the mattress, a little harder than necessary. “What did Satoru say to you?”

“Why are you assuming that Satoru had anything to do with it? Are we first years again?”

Suguru says your name harshly.

You turn your head away, glaring at the wall. “We were worrying about you. I said I wished this stupid system would change and he…I know he was joking, but he asked if I was cut out for this line of work and…” You trail off, bottom lip wobbling. That, that reaction, makes you angry at yourself. Crying? And for what? “I don’t think he’s wrong.”

He repeats your name, quieter now, less aggressive. When he places a palm across your forehead, you look up at him. “Do you want to quit?”

“I…I like that I help people. It’s more than I’ve ever thought I was capable of.”

“Do you want to quit?” Suguru repeats. “Remember what we promised. Wherever you go, I’ll go.”

You close your eyes, sighing shakily. “You can’t keep letting me hold you back.”

“I’m not letting you do anything. I want you by my side.”

“I know you do, Suguru,” you whisper sadly as the tears finally fall, slipping from the corners of your eyes and leaving a trail down your temples. “You really would fall behind if it meant staying with me.” You open your eyes, meeting his gaze as you have a horrifying epiphany. “Are you sure you’re not just holding onto me because you’re afraid of change?”

“I’m not Satoru!” Suguru shouts. He squeezes his eyes shut, hands moving to clutch at the blankets. Quieter, he goes on to say, “I don’t care about strength. I don’t.”

You lean up from the mattress, scoffing bitterly. “Yes, you do. The stronger you are, the further from our shitty hometown you get. Don’t act like it’s just out of duty that you’re here. We’re here,” you correct quietly. “We want to be more than our parents told us we’d be.”

“My parents have nothing to do with this.”

Yeah, sure they don’t. Maybe Suguru isn’t even consciously aware of it, but you see it. All those little details add up. The way that no matter how furious he is, he’ll never raise his voice or hand. The way he shouted just now is the loudest that he’s ever been. Meanwhile, his father was boisterous and explosive. His appearance is as neat and clean as he keeps his room, the opposite of how his mother kept their home. He has a sense of duty that his parents never had.

“Well, mine do,” you mumble miserably. “I wanted to prove that I wasn’t the simple, stupid girl that’d never be able to take care of herself without help. And where am I now? All I did was trade my parents for you. The only difference between here and home is you don’t complain about taking care of me.”

“You’re definitely right about being stupid.” He runs a hand through his hair, more agitated than you’ve seen him in a really long time. “It’s amazing, how you see things in such a…transactional way. How can someone be so empathetic yet apathetic at the exact same time? Is it really that hard for you to believe that you’re the most important thing in my life?”

Before you’ve even had a chance to process, Suguru is up and storming out the door.

You burst out into tears after Suguru left. When you got it all out, it left you numb and physically exhausted. Your mind, though, would not settle. So, you’ve been curled up under your blankets all throughout the day. As the sun is setting, there’s a tap against your window, but you don’t move. You can sense who it is, anyway.

Since your back is to the window, you don’t see him, but you hear the thump as he kicks his shoes off and the clatter of his sunglasses against your desk. Just wanting to be held as soon as possible, you skip the questioning if you’re good to be touched stage and roll over on your other side when he slides into bed. You meet him by wrapping your arms around him and bury your face against his chest.

“Oh, man, it must’ve been super bad if you’re this cuddly,” Satoru teases, trying to bring levity to the situation. “Wanna tell me why you and Suguru are fighting and how I got roped into it because he was mad at me, too.”

Ugh. Leave it to Suguru to be like that. Either drop something so fucking profound like he did to you or throw up a wall between himself and everyone else like with Satoru. You really don’t want to talk about this more because you’ll be forced to admit that what Satoru said hit a little too close to home and potentially hurt his feelings. But you know Satoru and he won’t let it go, so it’s either let him hear it from you or Suguru.

“I asked him if I should quit being a sorcerer and it got out of control.”

“Aw, Sketch, seriously?” See? Exactly what you wanted to avoid. “I was joking.”

“I know you were, Satoru. I’m sorry that my brain is stupid and runs the wrong way with things.”

“Oi. Don’t call yourself stupid. It’s not stupid. I get it.”

You huff. “No, you don’t, Satoru. Thanks for trying, anyway.”

He laughs in such a carefree way, so completely at odds with what he says next. “What? You don’t think I feel left behind? Just because I’m the strongest physically doesn’t mean I’m strong in any other way that counts. I’m as jealous of you as much as I look up to you, y’know?”

You lean away from him abruptly, blinking in shock. “Jealous? Of me?”

“Yeah! I mean, everyone loves you, Sketch. Well, they love Suguru, too, but he doesn’t struggle with the same stuff that you and I do, so that’s why I’m more jealous of you than him in that way. You can connect with people, even if you don’t understand how they work. You’re really kind and caring. You know how to talk to people and, yeah, yeah, I know you said it’s because you just learned to study and copy people, but so have I and I still suck. You’re sad right now and all I can do is talk about myself. I don’t know how to comfort anyone. I don’t know how to reach out to Suguru after what happened. I’ve been selfish and leaving it up to you.”

Leaning up on an elbow, you push some hair away from his forehead, trying not to let your eyes linger on the little scar off to the side. “It’s not for nothing, Satoru. Some people aren’t good with talking, but you make up for it in other ways. Sometimes, being here physically is more than enough.”

Briefly, he looks away from your gaze, cheeks getting dark. “You’re doing it right now. Comforting me when it should be the other way around. Maybe Sensei is right. Maybe you do coddle us too much.” But his expression softens and that makes you feel a little better. Jeez, maybe making people happy is your comfort. “Sketch, I don’t know what to do with you. I constantly move back and forth between wanting to tell you to leave so you’re safe but wanting to keep you close by my side because I don’t know what life would be like without you in it.”

You smack your face against his sternum, not wanting him to see you cry. You’re on the verge of it. After trying to swallow down the lump in your throat, you grumble, “Why are you and Suguru dropping such heavy things so casually?”

“Eh? What did he say?”

“That I’m the most important thing in his life…”

“Oh. Yeah, okay, that’s true. You’re the most important person in my life, too.”

“What about Suguru? Shoko? The underclassmen?”

“You’d think you’d have learned how I think by now. When I say you, I mean you and Suguru. You’re like a package deal inside my brain. You’re both equally the most important people in my life.”

There must be something terribly wrong with you because hearing something like that isn’t supposed to be breaking your heart.

***

I’m sorry for hurting you.

You’re the most important thing in my life, too.

You had physically written down your apology and slipped the note under his door the next morning. It felt cold to send it as a text. You left it at that, too. It was your olive branch, and he would act on it when he was ready is what you told yourself. You didn’t want to pester him, as much as it killed you to not have any contact with him at all.

It’s been a week now, and Suguru still hasn’t talked to you.

And, yes, you respect his privacy, but…you’re leaving for the Kamo clan compound. The higher-ups decided that it’s finally time for you to work with seals. For the last two weeks, they’ve had an expert working with you on learning them. This wasn’t part of the deal, but what are you supposed to do? Tell them to fuck off? You stamp down your irritation by reminding yourself that this prevents the strengthening of cursed spirits or outright outbreaks. It means less work in the future for fellow sorcerers.

So, you head to the smoking area that you’ve been avoiding the last week. A text to your new partner, Kento, informed you that Suguru wasn’t in his room, so there’s only one other place that he’ll most likely be. And, sure enough, Suguru is there. Hunched over a little, taking long drags of his cigarette, staring out at nothing.

“Suguru?”

Blinking back to awareness, he turns his cautious gaze on you. “Hey.” It’s not exactly a cold welcome, but definitely not a warm one, either. That’s fine. You won’t take long.

“I’m leaving for my special assignment now,” you tell him as you fiddle nervously with the aglet of your sweatshirt. Suguru doesn’t immediately respond. He ducks his head down instead. What else could that be but a dismissal? But you did what you came here to do. “Okay,” you whisper. “I’m going now.”

Suguru doesn’t let you get far. He suddenly lashes out, snatching your wrist and yanking you back so suddenly that you almost trip over your feet. You stumble back, spinning around to try and get your bearings, and catch yourself on his shoulders. Your face is very close to his and his amethyst eyes are…the best you can come up with is that they’re sad.

Instinctively, you stroke a thumb over the dark circles under his eyes. “What’s wrong, Suguru?”

“Squid,” he starts quietly and cups your cheek. “If I was selfish and asked you to stay a sorcerer, stay with me on this path, would you?”

You sigh. “Forget what I said. I was being stupid—”

“Stop,” he interrupts. “It’s not…don’t say that about yourself. I know this is hard on you. I worry about you as much as you do about me. Not because you’re weak, but because you have a gentle heart.” It’s intense, the way he’s looking at you, and you have to dart your eyes away. “But I need to do this, and the only thing that’s keeping me sane is you. This is a lot to drop on you, I know, but it’s how I feel. So…will you stay?”

“I’ll stay,” you mumble while reaching out to touch his face, too. “It’s not selfish. I understand. This is something we both need to do. I just haven’t found my place in the world yet, but I will.” You smile softly as a reassurance. “I think things will be easier when we graduate.”

“Yes,” Suguru agrees. “When we graduate.”

***

“Leave it to you to cry during a horror movie.” Satoru is laughing as he keeps stroking your cheeks with his thumbs, trying to catch all your stray tears.

Through your sniffling, you tearfully defend yourself, “I didn’t expect the mother to sacrifice herself like that! And then…then, her spirit was stuck in that building!” He’s still laughing, the asshole. “Stop it! You’re being mean! I can’t help what does and doesn’t make me cry!”

“No more Sketch. Only Crybaby.”

You give him a wobbly scowl before you lean forward to smack your forehead against his sternum. His laughter dies down to snickers, and he shoves you away by your forehead. When you’re looking him in the eye, you pout and demand, “I’m sad. Let me have your last Pocky.”

“What? No way! It’s choco banana and I don’t have any boxes left around here!”

That has you pouting more. “Just buy more.”

“I don’t wanna go all the way to the konbini!”

“You can literally teleport now, Satoru.”

“I’m not that exact with my locations yet!”

“This is not how you treat a lady. I’m in emotional distress.”

“No, you’re manipulating me now.”

Oh, to hell with this. You throw yourself to the side to snatch the box with one single Pocky stick left inside. Satoru dives after you with a cry of outrage, his fingers closing around yours at the exact moment that you get a hand around the box. You try to yank yourself out of his grasp, but he won’t let go. You manage to roll over without losing your hold on the box and try to shove your knee up in his stomach as a dirty trick.

“Yeah, you’re so upset!” Satoru snaps while trying to squirm away from your knee as much as he can. “You’re a dirty liar—” he dodges a knee to the groin with a yelp. “A cheater, too! What happened to my innocent Sketch?”

“You emotionally devastated her with a sad horror movie! This is the price you pay!” He’s right, though. You’re not as sad anymore because you’re grinning. Giggling as you two roll around on his bed, trying to get control over the box. It must be an infectious thing since Satoru’s pouting slowly makes way for his own smile.

Things get a little too rough, though. Both of you skirt too close to the edge of the mattress and you go rolling off. Satoru isn’t winning any awards for gentleman of the year since you’re the one that ends up slamming against the floor. His sunglasses are askew, his hair is a mess, but he’s straddling you while proudly shaking the box. Little does he know that it’s crushed to the point where the plastic package is poking out and you can catch a glimpse of yellow.

You lash out, stealing the package from the box and quickly ripping out the Pocky stick. Satoru squawks, scrambling too late to yank it away, and then stares down at you in disbelief after you shove the end coated in candy in your mouth, smirking smugly around it.

“Cheater!” Satoru accuses again.

Your only answer is to tilt your chin in challenge. This is Gojo Satoru, of course, and he can’t not take that bait. The stick nearly slips from your mouth that goes slack when he hunches over to snatch the other end of the stick between his own teeth. He gives a savage grin.

Someone clears their throat.

Both of you turn your heads, but there’s enough of a delay that the Pocky stick finally snaps, and you end up with most of the good part. Satoru leans back on his haunches, crossing his arms over his chest while munching grumpily. “Nanamin,” he whines loudly and more annoyingly than usual. “I lost the last Pocky because of you!”

Kento is looking as stiff and uncomfortable as he did in his first year, something that you thought he was past with you, at the very least. “Pardon my interruption,” he says directly to you. “Sensei is asking for you, Senpai.”

“Ugh,” you and Satoru groan in unison.

“Did you turn the report in after our assignment at the Kamo clan?”

You open your mouth to confirm because, yes, you did…but maybe you didn’t? Shit. That’s right. You were trying to figure out how to word it without implicating your weird attachment to cursed energy. So, you snap your mouth shut, teeth clacking. Kento frowns in disappointment. “Senpai, that’s very unlike you. Are you sure you’re not being negatively influenced by Gojo?”

“Rude!” Satoru huffs. “Sketch was probably so eager to get back to Suguru that she forgot. They got over their little lover’s quarrel right before you guys left.”

“A quarrel that you caused,” you mutter under your breath. Then, your brain processes, and you sputter. “Damn it, Satoru, it wasn’t a lover’s quarrel! Don’t give Kento the wrong impression!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Finally, Satoru rolls away from you, dropping on his ass so you can freely move. “Get going. It’s about time you get a lecture from the old man.”

Kento watches you and Satoru with a weird expression on his face before he walks away.

***

The second that the bulge has slipped down his throat, you’re holding out a stick of cinnamon gum to Suguru. He takes it, trying to smile in thanks, but it comes out as a grimace. You don’t ask him if he’s okay because you know the answer already. The only thing that hasn’t changed is your immediate wishing that you could take some of this blowback for him. Wishing that he didn’t have to taste them the way he does.

When it’s you two on the case, you don’t need to use a veil. That cursed spirit wasn’t going anywhere. Besides, it was using an old department store as a hideout, and the only people who snuck inside the building were fellow teenagers on dares. You see their names in graffiti as you two head toward the staircase.

“Is sneaking into haunted houses romantic?”

Couples were the curse’s preferred prey. For a higher graded curse, it becomes a better hunter, becomes pickier. You can understand the appeal that a spirit might have in couples. It’s double the fear to feed on—a human’s fear for their own life and for their lover’s. What you don’t understand is why a couple would put themselves in that situation in the first place.

Suguru chuckles. “Not particularly, but romance is subjective, I suppose.”

Still skeptic, you lowly agree, “I suppose…”

Your tone isn’t lost on him. “I know you don’t have much experience in the way of it, but you have to know that much. Why do you sound so suspicious?” With his longer legs, he’s automatically in front of you. So, he stops at the top of the staircase, forcing you to do the same. “Were you being romantic when you did whatever it was to make Nanami ask me if you and Satoru are dating?”

You hum. “I didn’t think Kento was one to make assumptions like that.” Also, why did he go to Suguru to ask that? Weird. “It wasn’t anything like that, jeez. We were fighting over the last Pocky stick.” You pause then admit, “Well, I guess it could’ve looked like a compromising position. He was on top of me and was trying to take the Pocky with his mouth. I think it might’ve been like a weird game of chicken.”

He snorts. “Or it was Satoru trying to get you to kiss him.”

And then it…slips out. “I doubt he’s interested in doing it again.”

In the silence of the building, you can hear Suguru stop breathing. Just for a moment. There’s no emotion on his face when he quietly asks, “Do what again?”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. There was a reason why you didn’t want to talk about this with Suguru. You didn’t want to make things weird between the three of you. Suguru’s kneejerk reaction is to be protective. Who knows what he’ll do to protect your virtue or whatever. You can’t imagine how he’ll react when he hears that Satoru hasn’t brought it up because Suguru knows you well enough to figure out that it makes you…upset or…confused or…you don’t know.

Stomach tying itself in knots, you try to figure out the best way to put this. “It…it’s not a big deal! He, um, maybe sort of kissed me—” Suguru’s face twists. You start scrambling. “It was that day when we agreed he was high! So, yeah, he probably doesn’t even remember! That’s why I’ve never brought it up to anyone! I don’t want to make things awkward! None of us want to deal with me acting like…like a needy girlfriend or something! Not like we’re boyfriend and girlfriend or anything!”

Then, Suguru asks a question that hits you like a punch to the gut. “And…how do you feel about Satoru?”

How do you answer that? Seriously? How do you answer that? The idea of trying to compress your enormous feelings for them into a neat package is…overwhelming. It makes you want to cry. Or it might be this confrontation that’s making you panic. You have been actively avoiding this conversation. There’s a place in your neatly organized mind that’s wild and unmarked. It’s too daunting, always making you turn back in defeat before you even start to think about it.

“The same way I feel about you,” is your answer. Simultaneously enough of an answer and not. They are equal in your heart and mind, but what they are is unidentifiable.

Suguru doesn’t believe you and tries to call you out on it, “So, what? You’d let me kiss you?”

“Yes,” you blurt automatically. You’re afraid to back down. If you do, you’ll be forced to think about this more. You want this awful conversation to be over already.

Suguru, eyes narrowed, takes a step toward you. “Really?”

There’s a lump in your throat that you try to swallow down, but you stand your ground. “Really.”

Another step. “Right now?”

“Right now,” you confirm breathlessly because he’s so close to you now that a deep breath would brush your chest against his.

Another game of chicken, you can’t help but think as he cups your cheek. Those eyes that stare down at you are challenging you, but there’s also more. Something wild. Desperate. You wonder how he can be so calm, but when he hunches over, and his face inches towards yours, you can feel his quick, shallow breaths against your skin. You briefly clutch at the front of his blazer before splaying out a hand, desperate to feel the rapid thump of his heartbeat under your fingers. His other hand reaches down to wrap around your wrist—maybe for the same reason.

Dazedly, moronically, you point out, “There’s…you have gum…”

His throat bobs. You think it’s nerves, but then he sticks out his tongue to show the gum is now gone. Right. Okay. Okay, okay, okay. He’s serious about this. You’re serious about this, you suddenly realize. Because he touches your cheek, and you lean into it. Your eyes have never left his mouth.

And it’s you that closes the distance.

It’s so similar and it’s also not. You know to tilt your head to the side a little when your noses bump, and then they’re slotting together like what happened with Satoru. Heat rushes throughout your body again, too. But Suguru’s hand feels so much bigger and skitters down to the side of your neck, taking up so much space that a finger is behind your ear. Cinnamon explodes across your taste buds when his tongue slips past your lips.

Someone’s ringtone echoes.

The two of you tear yourselves apart. Suguru looks beyond irritated, leaving you self-conscious, but he’s pissed at his phone because that is what he glowers down at when he pulls it out of his pocket. He actually snaps when he answers his cellphone with a harsh, rude, “What?” Blood is rushing in your ears, and you press your hands against your scalding hot cheeks. You can’t hear what’s being said on the other end. “Yes, it’s been taken care of. We apologize. We thought there was another spirit,” he lies in a clipped tone. He presses his thumb to the center of his forehead. “Okay. We’ll be there shortly.”

Oh. That must’ve been the manager. You forgot that you texted her that you were done. Has it really been long enough for the manager to get worried? You don’t even want to check. You know you’ll get all flustered, thinking about how you spent all that time kissing Suguru.

Holy shit, you kissed Suguru.

Holy shit, you kissed Satoru.

Holy shit, you kissed them both.

***

“Holy shit, you kissed them both.”

“Gojo, of all people,” Utahime adds with no small amount of disgust.

You knock your head against the table, sighing heavily. If you tried to brain yourself right now, would they stop you? “Very helpful commentary, Senpai.”

“I just thought you had better taste, is all,” she mumbles in response.

Shoko laughs—relishing in your misery, most likely. “You told us, so now what? Are you wanting advice? Need help picking between them? Because I’ll also say you shouldn’t choose either of them.” You straighten up, sighing again, putting a thumb to the center of your forehead. “Hey, who did it first? You or Geto?”

You blink. “Huh?”

“The forehead thing.” She demonstrates by pressing a thumb to her forehead and pulling an exaggerated angry face. “Are you just now realizing that you do it, too?”

“Oh.” You stare down at your hand, genuinely shocked. You’ve never been consciously aware of it, but, yeah, you do actually dothe same thing as him. When did it even start? Which one of you started it? Was it you or was it him? “Um…no. It’s…I think it’s been this way since we were kids.”

Utahime’s nose is scrunched in distaste when she asks, “So, are you in love with them?”

“How would I even know?”

“How would you not?”

Shoko clucks her tongue, visibly irritated with Utahime. “Don’t make her feel bad. It’s not like you’ve ever been in love.” To have Shoko take that tone with Utahime is a shock. Your eyes dart to Utahime whose jaw is clenched and grip tightened around the coffee cup. This…tension between them…that’s new, right? You’re not imagining it, are you? But then Shoko turns back to you, gaze softening, as if nothing just happened. “Do you feel differently about them than anyone else?”

“I…” You know the answer. Deep down, you know it’s different with them. So…why can’t you admit that? There’s something that’s blocking you from accepting the truth, that has you skirting away from that place in your heart. For some reason, it seems unfair. You don’t know to who or why. Maybe you’re mistaking unfairness for wrongness. Shoko said it was okay to love more than one person, but there’s still that mental block in your head. You’ve been conditioned to love only one.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself if you keep thinking that hard. Calm down. You don’t need all the answers now,” Shoko tries to assure you. “There doesn’t even have to be an answer, either. This doesn’t have to mean anything at all. Just because they were your first, you don’t have to make these important. I didn’t.”

“Oh. You kissed someone?” That’s new. Definitely new. The last time you checked, when the school year first started and you two were catching up, she said that nothing happened in the way of her love life. She’s never admitted to it outright, but she’s been crazy pining for Utahime.

“Yeah.”

“How come you didn’t tell me?” It’s been busy, you haven’t seen each other much, but you’re a little hurt that neither she nor Utahime told you. Because it had to be Utahime, right? Then again, why is Shoko being so callous when discussing the kiss? She cares a lot for Utahime.

“Because, like I said, it doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

Utahime’s head is ducked down, but you can see her profile. If she glares any harder at that cup, it might shatter. Shoko, putting her elbow on the table and settling her chin in the palm of her hand, is feigning indifference. But there’s an air about her that tells you she’s anything but apathetic right now. Also, she’s now watching Utahime carefully.

The tension has you cringing. This is a delicate subject for everyone, so you’ll be the one to put a stop to it. “Maybe we shouldn’t keep talking about this—”

“Aren’t you gonna ask me who it was, Duck?”

“Why don’t we wait until we’re back on campus—”

“Mei was my first.”

It all comes crashing down. Literally. Because everything on the table clatters and tumbles over when Utahime lashes out to snatch Shoko’s wrist, her knee bumping against the underside as she moves. Her eyes are wide with panic. “Your first kiss, right?” Shoko’s mouth thins. “Right?” Still no response from Shoko. She’s resolute in her silence. Utahime’s anxiety is so palpable that your rises along with hers with every passing second that her question goes unanswered. “Right?”

Shoko snaps and yanks her wrist back from Utahime. “What does it matter to you?”

“It matters if you did this just to get back at me because I didn’t do what you wanted when you were drunk!” Um. You…feel like this has suddenly become a private conversation that you should not be hearing. You sink down in your seat a little. “Were you drunk when you went to her, too?”

“I’m not a slut, Utahime.”

“I wasn’t implying—”

“Not everything is about you!” Shoko shouts, the loudest you’ve ever heard her be. It startles you and Utahime. And Utahime drops down in her seat, shrinking as Shoko slams her hands against the table and rises to her feet. “You rejected me! You made it clear you don’t think about me the same way! Why do you care about what I do with who? And you’re so self-centered that you think I did it to get back at you! Give me a break!” Shoko storms away, grabbing your wrist and tugging you along as she snarls, “Let’s go, Duck.”

For the entire trek back to campus, Shoko hasn’t spoken. Neither have you. You’re not sure how to talk about it. So, you’ve watched her work through two cigarettes. You’ve also seen her blink back tears or scrub at her eyes with a sleeve. It’s when you’re on the way up the stone path that you finally decide to speak.

“Do you want to stay with me tonight?”

Shoko barks out a laugh. “And fight with one of them? No thanks.”

Heat crawls up the back of your neck. You should’ve known better than to think Shoko wouldn’t figure it out. “They don’t spend the night with me when they’re both on campus. They sleep with each other instead. Suguru has an extra futon in his room.”

“Yeah. I can’t imagine both of those giants fitting on a bed together.”

You fiddle with some lint in the pocket of your hoodie. Do you want to talk about it is on the tip of your tongue, but you bite it back. Instead, you press her with, “So…sleepover?”

“Sure.”

“No alcohol, though.”

“Such a dutiful citizen.”

“Because I don’t have a technique to heal the suffering that I put my body through. Just because you can do these things doesn’t mean you should.”

“You can look away from the corpses. I can’t. Sorry that I wanna have some fun to forget about the fact that, one day, it’ll be one of you on my table next.” She curses, drops her cigarette to the ground, and smashes it with her shoe. “Sorry. I’m sorry.” She rubs her forehead. “That went too far.”

It’s true, though, isn’t it? You’ve never thought about it, but with her technique…she could heal any ailment. She can’t reverse aging, but everything else is free game. She doesn’t throw herself into danger like the rest of you. She can live a long life. Time is a luxury for most sorcerers. It’s a dauting reality to face so young. Still, when you die, that’s it. One day, Shoko will be left behind.

How lonely must that be?

“You could be a normal doctor,” you whisper as you take one of her hands in yours. “You can walk away from this life after we graduate. You can save people instead.”

“I appreciate the concern, Mama Duck, but it’s okay. If I wasn’t around, you’d be dead already from a brain bleed. I want to keep all you idiots alive as long as possible.” She squeezes your hand back, grip unbearably tight. “I think I’ll actually take you up on that sleepover invitation. I wanna be the little spoon.”

“Ugh, fine.”

***

In the seiza position on a cushion that’s probably worth more than your childhood home, you and Kento wait to meet with your escort today. The room you’re in is beautiful, decorated with a mural of a pond with elaborately detailed dragonflies. You itch for your sketchbook. You never had the chance to see this the last time you were here. The party was held somewhere else.

“It’s still so hard to reconcile the fact that he came from such a serious and distinguished clan.”

You bite back a smile. “Kento,” you try to scold.

Kento simply shrugs in response. For someone that lectures Satoru so much about the blunt way he speaks to people, Kento can be pretty ruthless in his own assessments. He’s of the mindset that sugarcoating words is unproductive, especially when it’s in regard to jujutsu. It can get people killed, in his opinion. You agree wholeheartedly which might be why you get along so well with him.

The sound of footsteps approaching has you straightening up. Three people enter the room, all with matching white hair and blue eyes. Duller than Satoru’s sparkling eyes, you notice. At the front of them is the current head of the clan. Satoru’s…great-uncle, you think he told you and Suguru? What was his name again? Did Satoru even tell you? Satoru spent more time gossiping than actually introducing.

His great-uncle was the strongest in the clan until Satoru came into the picture. He’s more obsessed with strength than even the Zen’in clan—which is a lot, Satoru said. Before Satoru’s birth, his great-uncle went behind his wife’s back, knocking up mistress after mistress, desperate to produce a child with the Six Eyes. So, when his brother’s bloodline was the blessed one, he grew more and more bitter.

Same thing happened with the Zen’in recently, actually, Satoru had mentioned that night of his birthday party. Or so the rumor mill says, anyway. Someone got knocked off the throne when they had some non-sorcerer kids. Our clans hate each other, but we suffered the same fate. Well, it was a blessing in disguise for my clan because they get me, but my great-uncle probably wouldn’t agree.

Satoru’s great-uncle might remember you because he coldly says, “You came all the way here for nothing. I did not authorize this. We don’t need some girl poking around in our personal collection as an experiment. I tried to call Gakuganji, but he didn’t answer. Tell him that the next time he makes decisions on our behalf, there will be consequences.”

“Big talk from someone that’s running on borrowed time!”

Everyone else in the room—Kento included—sighs in aggravation at the sound of Satoru’s voice. You, however, perk up when you watch him stroll into the room. He sprawls out next to you rather than his fellow clansmen, casual as can be. It’s infectious, because you find that the tension in your body is slowly bleeding away.

“Satoru,” his great-uncle starts through gritted teeth, “did you know about this?”

“Yeah,” Satoru answers boredly. “You geezers keep yapping about how I need to be more involved in clan business if I’m gonna be the head soon. So, I handled it for you.” A vein throbs on his great-uncle’s temple. Satoru zeroes in on it. “What’s got you so cranky, old man? My gramps says it’s been years since anyone’s been in our stash, so who knows what shape all those seals are in?”

Ah. His great-uncle has been posturing. You don’t know how the hell Satoru has been able to handle all these complicated rules and customs and interpersonal relationships. And you thought it’d been bad with the Kamo. You’ve heard of the Gojo ego, but the Zen’in are supposedly worse. You’re not sure you have the mental fortitude to deal with all this.

“You should remember your place,” his great-uncle hisses. “You’re not of age yet. You have no authority—”

“Nah, old timer, you need to remember yours.” Satoru rudely points a finger, clearly mocking the man. “What are you gonna do, huh? Fight me? We know who’ll win that. You’re just keeping the seat warm for me.”

Right. This is getting out of hand. “Satoru,” you speak up. “You’re being very rude right now.”

Satoru turns his head to pout at you. “Aw, c’mon, are you seriously taking his side?”

“You’re being rude,” you repeat because, no, you’re not taking his great-uncle’s side. This is just getting uncomfortable. All you want is for this to be over with as soon as possible.

Satoru groans loudly, like the drama queen that he is. “Fine. You’re lucky that I like you so much.” To his great-uncle, he declares, “I’ll escort them around the place. If anything goes wrong, the strongest sorcerer will be there. It won’t, though. My Sketch knows what she’s doing.”

My Sketch.

Did he have to say it like that? And in front of his family, no less?

The Gojo keep their collection deep inside the estate, in the basement. When you visited the Kamo clan, it took a lot to convince Kento to leave you alone. In the end, you succeeded when you told him that you can’t mask his presence so it would only agitate the few fly heads locked inside a cage. You assured him that if something went wrong, he’d sense a surge in cursed energy, and that you’d be okay because, as previously stated, you can hide yourself.

Kento stays at the top of the staircase that leads down to the basement. Satoru is suspiciously agreeable to staying behind and hands the key over without a word of complaint. Even Kento is skeptical, eyeing Satoru with the same wariness that you know is on your face.

You should’ve known he was only biding his time.

You’re distracted when he slips inside the room with you. The caged fly heads are off to the side of the room. You don’t need them. Never have. Their agitation is a warning sign that somethingis leaking inside here, though. Actually, it might be more than one something with how much cursed energy is festering in here. None of the seals are quite at their breaking points yet, but it’s enough that someone should worry.

Frowning to yourself, you mutter, “Does no one check in here?”

“No, not really.”

Something…very weird happens.

This ability of yours, you’re still testing out. You never thought of it as something to be aimed until Satoru forces your attention on him. There’s no other explanation for why you didn’t notice his overwhelming cursed energy before. And when you do, you get smacked in the face by nervousness. But it’s not…yours. Oh, this is weird. Because, somehow, you intrinsically know that this doesn’t belong to the fly heads, either. It’s diluted, not as potent as if it were your own, but it’s…cleaner than if it came from a cursed spirit.

“Why are you nervous?”

Satoru’s mouth parts and the smirk falls from his face. Suddenly, he yanks his sunglasses off, staring at you so intensely that you know he’s using the Six Eyes on you. His eyes widen before he rushes forward to take you by the shoulders. “Stop before you give yourself another brain bleed, idiot!”

Oh. Yes. Closing your eyes, you become increasingly aware of your body. Not only is your head throbbing, but blood is dripping from your nose. Definitely not as bad as that day on campus when you broke that old man’s hip, but still bad. Satoru’s hands on your shoulders are quickly becoming the only thing keeping you upright. He steadies you when you wobble dangerously.

“Hey,” he mumbles after a few silent moments of you catching your breath. You blink owlishly. “Are you resonating with cursed energy now?”

You wipe blood away from your nose with the hem of your sleeve. “If by resonating, you mean I can feel it then, yes, I can.”

“Thought it was weird when I watched you put the fly heads down,” he remarks while tapping his chin in thought. “Also, makes sense why you were all shifty when you told us about Ryomen Sukuna’s finger, too.” As with all new things, he’s immediately intensely interested, so he hunches over to lean his face in close to yours. “What does it feel like?”

“Sure, ask the person new to this.” You roll your eyes before taking a step back. Your heart is already about to burst from his scare. You don’t need your brain overthinking the closeness by wanting to kiss you again. Ugh, great, now you’re thinking about that. “It’s…emotions. I don’t know if that’s what it actually is or if that’s what my brain is translating it to, but that’s the only way I can describe it.”

“How does it feel?”

“What? For the seals about to break?” He nods. You shrug. “Depends, but mostly…giddy. No, that’s too positive. These are cursed objects. It’s that kind of excited that you get when…when someone that you don’t like gets what’s coming to them. Some of them are angry, like they’re pissed that they’re sealed and are waiting to make everyone’s life hell.” You turn to look at one of said objects. “Most of the ones in here are angry, by the way.”

“Eh. Everyone’s a hater.”

“Satoru,” you start with a deepening frown. “I’m going to strengthen these seals, but you really need to talk with your clan about checking on these more often. There’s no excuse for the shape these are in. I know most of your relatives have Infinity, but not all of them, right? And what about the little kids that I saw running around earlier? Seriously. This isn’t safe.”

Satoru picks up on your seriousness and, for once, doesn’t try to brush it off. “I didn’t know they were this bad,” he mumbles.

“I know. You do have an excuse because you’re in Tokyo.” You scrub a hand across your face. “Forget it. I already got a lecture from Principal Gakuganji about keeping my opinions to myself. Apparently, the Kamo clan was offended when I left. They said that I, and I quote, shouldn’t meddle in the affairs of clans.”

“Well, as I’ve already established today, I am the Gojo clan. I’ll bully the geezers until they assign someone to check in on this place more often.”

You shake your head. “You’re so lucky that you have the bite to back up your bark. If not, your clan would overthrow you in a heartbeat because of your shitty attitude.”

“That’s so mean!” Satoru whines.

“It’s what they call tough love. You need to take things more seriously—”

“I did!”

“Partially, but you’re still down here, distracting me from doing what I came here to do.” You cross your arms over your chest, shooting him an unamused look. “Unless you have something serious to talk to me about, will you leave me alone so I can work on these seals? I don’t need a babysitter. Is that why you were so nervous?”

Satoru’s face scrunches up briefly before he smooths it out by forcing a smile. “Heh. Yeah. Sorry. I’ll…just…” He points over his shoulder toward the door. Your brows furrow, confused by his behavior, but you’ll have to ask him later when you’re done with this. He turns, takes a few steps toward the door, but then stops.

“Satoru?”

Satoru takes a deep breath before he whirls around and stomps back over to stand right in front of you again. “Why’d you tell Suguru that I didn’t remember it?”

Okay, you’re just genuinely baffled now. “Uh…what?”

“I remember the kiss.”

Wait. Why does he look so betrayed? Is he seriously about to pin this on you? No. Absolutely not. Offended that he’s offended, you hiss, “You never said anything to me! What was I supposed to think?”

“I didn’t say anything because you didn’t say anything! You’re supposed to be the one that’s smart about emotions and stuff!”

“Huh? I’m sorry, but do you know who you’re talking to? Suguru is the smart one when it comes to that, idiot! Besides, when was I supposed to bring it up? As soon as you came back from the dead didn’t seem like the best time! And I hardly ever see you anymore! And…and how do I even bring that up?”

Satoru scowls. “I don’t know! We don’t even have to talk at all!”

“Then, why are you so upset?”

“No! I mean—” he groans loudly, frustrated by his inability to express himself. “I liked the kiss! I want to do it again!”

The confession comes at you like a sucker punch. You don’t expect it, and it leaves you wide-eyed and breathless. Your body is still burning up, yes, but it’s not because you’re pissed anymore. No, this asshole has you all flustered now, to the point that your mouth opens and closes because you can’t figure out what to say.

Weirdly, what ends up coming out of your mouth is a sheepish, “I liked it, too.”

It’s amazing, how much Satoru perks up. You can almost imagine the dog ears raised high and tail wagging excitedly. His cheeks are flushed, but he grins. “So…can we? Again?”

“Um. Sure. But—”

Satoru doesn’t wait to hear whatever it is you have to say. As soon as you give him permission, he’s reaching out for your face, and hunching over to smash his lips against yours. In his eagerness, your teeth catch his lip the wrong way, and his blood smears across your bottom lip. You can’t help but laugh, a little delighted that he’s so excited to kiss you again. The thought of finishing up in here with the seals floats away when he starts kissing you right.

Just a few kisses, you swear to yourself.

It ends up taking thirty minutes to pull away from him.

***

July is sweltering.

“I’m melting,” you announce to the room morosely. Suguru, a fellow starfish that’s sprawled out on the floor in front of the box fan, grunts in acknowledgement. You fling your hand over, lightly smacking it against his chest. “Get my pencil. It’s on the bed,” you demand.

Suguru snorts. “Excuse me? Where’s my Squid with her good manners?”

“The manner part of Squid’s brain fried from the heat. You get needy Squid now. And Squid wants to draw but needs her pencil to do that. I’ll draw whatever you want. No commission fee, either.”

“How benevolent,” he drawls sarcastically. “You have hands. Get it yourself.”

“Please?”

“Seriously? It’s right there. You’re closer to the bed.”

“But I’m melting.”

“Squid.”

“I’m a squid puddle.”

Suguru is laughing quietly, a beautiful sound that seems so rare these days. “I spoil you too much.” And yet, he rolls over on his hands and knees, so seems like you’re the real winner here. “Too hot to move but not too hot to draw,” he continues to playfully complain.

Suguru clambers over, hovering above you. His knees bracket yours in, he has one arm next to your head and uses the other to fumble around on the mattress for your pencil. You smile apologetically when he scowls at you, coming up empty. Even with his long arms, the pencil must be further away than he can reach like this, and he’s disgruntled about it. You can’t blame him. It is pretty hot. So, Suguru gets on his knees totally, sitting back on his haunches.

The thing is…the thing is…that when he moves around, he sets one knee between your thighs. Oh, this is familiar, you think to yourself with no small amount of panic. Before you can move, though, his knee is already moving higher to press right against your core.

It’s an instinctive thing, pushing back against his knee, chasing that feeling. Just as you lowly whimper, your brain catches up to what you’re doing, and you cover your mouth but it’s too late. That sound is already lost to the ether. Above you, Suguru freezes, eyes slowly widening, arm hovering there in the air.

Ignore it, ignore it, ignore it, your brain screams in some desperate hope that he’s become telekinetic and can pick it up. You are, of course, not lucky like that. And, slowly, Suguru drops the task of getting your pencil completely and moves down to hover over you on his hands and knees. You can’t quite hold back the flinch when his hands drop on either side of your head, keeping you pinned there with no way to escape without resorting to violence.

You might have to resort to violence.

“Squid,” he sings in that sickly sweet tone that he always uses before he teases you. Is he really going to make this worse? Shoko was so wrong. Suguru doesn’t have a crush on you and now he’s probably disgusted by your reaction. If not disgust then he’s, at the very least, feeling awkward. “What was that?”

You resist the urge to cover your face. That’d make you look guilty. You can get away with no eye contact, though. After all, that’s not out of the ordinary for you. “Nothing!” Oh, yes, that was so smooth. You’re a moron.

He raises a brow. “Really? It didn’t sound like nothing to me.”

“I…um…my back hurts from being on the floor for so long!” Yes, yes, that sounds like a reasonable excuse. You can run with this. “Here. I will get the pencil. Then, I’ll get the futon! Because y’know, my back is killing me, but I still want to stay low to the ground with the fan and where all the cold air is,” you rant nervously.

Shockingly, Suguru allows you to squirm out from underneath him. You might not completely be out of the clear yet, though, since he’s watching you so intently that you even feel his gaze on your back when it’s turned to him. You do what you said you would—grabbing the pencil and dropping it on the floor by your sketchbook before you go to his closet to grab the futon sitting on the top shelf.

As soon as you settle down on the futon, you sprawl out on your stomach, and nervously start to scribble in your sketchbook. Just little doodles and random patterns. Anything to make you look busy. You’re desperately hoping that the shift back to something normal will make him forget what just happened.

You know better than that, though.

Geto Suguru is like a dog with a bone when he wants something.

It doesn’t matter that you’re on your stomach now. Suguru crawls on the futon and moves back over you once again. There’s no point of contact, technically, other than his hands that grasp your wrists to stop you from sketching.

“Suguru,” you complain with a huff. “Get off me.”

“Not until you tell me the truth,” he declares.

You turn your head to the side, glaring at him with one eye. “I did. Now, can you stop being weird?”

Then, Suguru is shooting you one of those…stupidly handsome and infuriating cocky smirks. “Oh, so I’m the one that’s being weird? That’s rich coming from the person that tried humping my leg.”

Jerking your head back around so he can’t see your face, you give an outraged shout of, “I was not doing that!”

“You weren’t, huh? So, you wouldn’t mind if I…”

It gets suspiciously quiet, then. You’re on edge, waiting for an opening that doesn’t come. What does happen is that Suguru shifts around and, horrifyingly, his knee starts to slide up between your parted thighs. You try to snap them shut too late and it just ends up sending his knee bumping against your pussy yet again. You’re prepared for it in that you can bite your lip to hold back any noises, but not so much for the way he’s actively rocking it against you now.

“Suguru, stop!”

When his response comes, it’s right by your ear, and you’re seriously shivering now. “Not until you tell me the truth.”

“You know what it really is! Why do you need me to say it?!”

He’s grinning, you just know it. “I don’t want to presume…”

“It’s turning me on, okay? Are you happy now? You’re such an asshole! Why are you teasing me about something that my body does? This is a completely normal reaction! What if I started rubbing up against your dick, huh?”

“Who said anything about teasing, hmm?” Suguru’s mouth brushes against the shell of your ear. “And you don’t even have to do that much to make it hard. It is right now. Just from hearing you moan like that.”

…eh?

“Do you want to feel, Squid?”

The gears in your brain spun so hard that they blew up. They’re melting away. Nothing is left in your skull. That must be why you nod. It’s a simple thing, when he presses his weight down and that hard thing touches your ass, but the breath rushes out of you regardless. You fist the fabric of the futon, warming up, waiting for him to do something more. He doesn’t. You’re not sure what you expected since he just asked if you wanted to feel, not if you wanted him to start humping you.

“See? Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

It’s out of you without a thought. “What are we doing right now?”

Suguru doesn’t say anything immediately. He lifts away enough to grab your hip, squeeze, and then nudge as a silent order to roll over. You think about not doing, about running away, but…he…he’s turned on, too. So, you relent to his silent request and move to lay flat on your back. You blink up at him owlishly, waiting.

“Ever since that talk, the one where you told me to hold out until graduation so things can get better…I’ve been thinking.” This thing he has to say is making him nervous. His eyes skitter away, his cheeks are darkening, and his voice has the tiniest wobble to it. “Do you remember what we swore to each other after we graduated middle school? We were skipping stones.”

It takes you a few minutes to remember something from what feels like a lifetime ago. He rudely doesn’t say anything else to help your memory along, either. Finally, you remember it since there was really only one noteworthy conversation from around that time, right before you came to Tokyo.

Hey, if we’re still virgins by the end of high school, want to take each other’s virginities?

Surely not…that isn’t what he’s talking about, is it? Just the thought of it has your stomach twisting and heartbeat kicking up a little higher. To verify that that’s really what he’s referring to, you remind him, “We haven’t graduated yet.”

“As good as,” he whispers.

Ah. So…yeah. You guys are really having this discussion. Right. Okay. That’s…fine. But because you are how you are, you get boggled up in the details. “We have seven more months left.”

Suguru leans down, face hovering over yours. His long, dark hair that he didn’t bother to put in the usual neat bun falls like a curtain on either side of your faces. Almost as if you’re both being hidden away from the world. “Are you planning on losing your virginity to anyone else?”

Your throat clicks as you swallow. This conversation suddenly seems very…weighted. “No,” you whisper. F

“What’s the problem, then?” Amethyst eyes sweep over your face, heated in a way that you’ve never seen before. It’s a contrast with the almost hesitant way that he reaches up to hover next to your cheek in question. “This isn’t meant to pressure you,” he adds solemnly.

With a tilt of your head, you bump your cheek against his hand in silent permission to touch. “I know it’s not.” You do, truly. No lie. You’re a little overwhelmed, but it’s not necessarily bad. It’s…unfamiliar. “If anyone was pressuring, it was me. That was a weird thing to force a promise over.” Your brows knit together. For some reason, Satoru flashes across your mind, but interest in kissing isn’t the same as interest in having sex. Which is why you’re shocked that Suguru is bringing this up. “You’d seriously be okay with losing your virginity to me?”

Suguru smiles, small but genuine, and says your name and then, “It’s you.”

It’s you.

There is so much trust in that. Simple yet enough to shift the world ever-so-slightly. Things aren’t going to ever be the same, you realize, before recognizing that things have never been the same since last year. It’s you, he declares, and it’s true but so much more than that for you. It was always going to be you.

Curiously, you reach up to touch his cheek, as he does yours. Your thumb brushes the darkness under his eyes. The angles of his face are sharper, as obvious as the fact that he’s losing weight.

“Will this make you happy?”

Suguru’s gaze brightens with the impending mischievous comment. “Well, if you’ve had an orgasm, I’m pretty sure the answer to that question is obvious, Squid.”

“Not many, actually,” you casually admit. “They’re kinda lackluster.”

“That’s…really sad.” Then, he smirks smugly. “I’ll make your orgasms amazing.”

“That’s a pretty bold declaration for a virgin to make.”

“You have some nerve using virgin as an insult like that when you’re a virgin, too.” His eyes narrow playfully. “I’ll know my way around your body better than you’ll know mine.” You raise a brow, curious where that confidence comes from. “I’ve seen a JAV or two.”

“Pervert,” you intone.

Suguru doesn’t take the obvious bait meant to throw him into a tizzy. “I’m being honest with you. You’ve never had an issue with that before. What don’t we know about each other, hmm?” Yeah, okay, he’s got you there. “So, do you want to do this? It’s okay if you don’t. This doesn’t have to change anything between us.”

“You never answered my question. Will it make you happy?”

“Doing anything with you makes me happy.”

“Okay. If it makes you happy then it makes me happy, too.”

Then, for a long time, there’s no words spoken.

In a way, you think that this was always going to happen. For the last ten years, you’ve shared everything with each other, so why would you not give your bodies to each other? There’s no judgement as you slowly strip down. There never has been. When you’ve borne your heart and soul to someone, seen the darkest parts of them and shown yours in return, nakedness seems like such a trivial thing to fuss over.

Between the kissing and leaving marks along one another’s necks and shoulders, your hands slide lower. At some point, you think he whispers something like, it’ll hurt less if you’re wet. And like that very first time that you felt true desire, this is so wildly different from when you touch yourself. He’s clumsy, unable to stick to one place in his curiosity, fingers gliding over your clit and then dipping down to slip inside you.

It’s a stretch. Stinging and painful with how much larger and longer his fingers are compared to your own. But the constant pressure on your clit has pleasure winning the war against pain. You fumble to keep your hand wrapped around his stupidly big dick, but the thoughts are quickly flittering away.

You’re not even sure how you manage to rub enough brain cells together to breathlessly ask, “Do you have a condom?”

Suguru freezes. “Uh…”

Ugh. No wonder Utahime says that men only think with their dicks. What does that make you, though? Because the halt of his fingers makes you whine and scramble to keep this pleasure going as long as you can. “Just…make sure to pull out before you come. Okay?”

He nods enthusiastically. “Okay.”

Something interesting builds inside you. Not an orgasm, but an ache. A gnawing hunger to fill the emptiness inside you. It must be inside him, too, because he murmurs, “I’m putting it in now, okay?” You nod as eagerly as he did. He kisses the place behind your ear. “Tell me if it hurts too much. I mean it, Squid. We can stop whenever you want.”

“I know,” you reply quietly. Then, you gently yank on one of his bangs, making him lean away a little to look down at you with a raised brow. “The same goes for you, too. If you want to stop, say so.”

Suguru’s expression softens so much that it makes you a little shy again. You try to turn your head away, but he tilts it back with a hand on your cheek and kisses you again. With all the things that you two have done so far, this is what makes you the most breathless. Kissing him always does. And just because you can, you place your hand over his heart, reassured to feel that his heart is beating as fast as yours is.

Fingers, you figure out, are nothing compared to that thing between his legs. It hurts, you’ll admit it. More than the twinges from before. It’s an easier glide than any of the times you’ve tried fingering yourself and you think that might be because you’re so wet, exactly like Suguru said. You bear down on instinct when he starts to press in. He hisses through his teeth, immediately pulling out.

You blink open your eyes. “Huh?”

Suguru’s cheeks are so red. He refuses to meet your gaze which is a rare thing indeed. “Sorry. You’re…you were squeezing me really tight. And…um…it’s…hot inside. And…wet…”

You giggle nervously, understanding that he was about to come. “It’s okay. You’re big, I’m tight, so this is good. It’s good for both of us if you go slow, right?”

“Right.”

For most of the time that he’s pushing inside, you’re kissing. Suguru will inch inside you a little further each time before abruptly pulling out. Each time he does this, he lasts a little longer, and you relax a little further. It starts as a painful stretch, shifts to more of a pinching, and then gets sore. The soreness, though, slowly becomes dulled against the blossoming pleasure.

By the time his pelvis is pressed to yours, you’re slipping your arms under his, clinging to him and begging, “Please don’t pull out this time.” Both of you are breathing heavily, soaked with sweat. “Please, Suguru. I know you’re not trying to tease me, but that’s how it feels now. I can’t stand how empty I feel when you leave.”

Face buried in the crook of your neck, Suguru breathes a sigh of relief. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? I’ve been going slow for you.”

“You didn’t catch on from the noise?”

“Did we not establish how important communication is here?”

That was meant to be a reprimand, but it sounds like there’s a smile in his voice. You won’t be able to maintain the eye contact long, you think, but you want to see his face. Just for a little while. So, you grab a fistful of his hair, giving a slight tug. Suguru reacts in a way that you definitely don’t expect. He moans and maybe unintentionally bucks his hips. Your grip gets tighter and the nails of your other hand dig into his back.

Suguru leans on one elbow, avoiding looking at you while he gently grasps your wrist, pulling it away from his hair. “Let’s not do that again,” he suggests hoarsely.

“You’re really struggling with this.” He scowls and you shake your head to it. “It’s…kind of a compliment. Am I that hot?”

He laughs quietly and strokes the high of your cheekbone with his thumb, suddenly looking so unbearably soft. “Squid, I’ve dreamed about this since we made that deal at the river. You’re beautiful. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen since I was six years old.”

This unknown emotion in your chest swells to the point where it’s unbearable. It’s a confession that you can’t handle. “Please,” you whisper, unsure what it is that you’re begging for.

Suguru takes the plea as one to move. He does. A tentative, unsure rolling of his hips. Your forehead lolls forward, pressing against his shoulder. It feels as if you’re about to burst out of your skin. The heat and pressure building inside you like a bomb. It all adds up, the little things. The brushing of fingers over nipples, the digging of nails into skin, the intertwining of your limbs, the breaths you feed each other when you kiss.

On the precipice of orgasm, Suguru moans loudly in your ear. Then, he pulls out, the warm ropes of his release coating your pussy and inner thighs. He doesn’t even catch his breath before his fingers roughly stroke your clit, throwing you over the edge with an arch of your back and fingers clutching at the fabric of the futon.

Suguru collapses on top of you, both of you giving an oomph. Your nerves are like livewires, so when he rests his cheek above your heart, it’s like you can feel his breath wash over your skin. You feel the need to say something, but he rests an arm over your bare waist, grips you tight, and kisses the spot above your breast. With a tilt of your head, you see his eyes are closed. His face is flushed, skin shining, but he looks…peaceful.

Yes, this is peaceful enough.

[4veslil]

Oneshot | Friends Made In Strange Places | Aegon Targaryen II

A/N: Another Oneshot from my Ao3 and Wattpad accounts, the last three I have posted are my faves and probably the few I have that have been completed or exited the idea stage haha

SUMMARY: (Female) Reader is the maid/nanny for Aegon's children, and while you watch over the princes an unlikely friendship forms.

TW: Minor Character Death, Loss, (Class) Discrimination, Abuse of Power, Depictions of Alcoholism, Mentions of Incest, Mentions of SA (because no, I'm sorry, you can't like a character and just erase all the shitty things they did, it WILL be addressed in this oneshot)

★ MASTER LIST HERE ★

WORD COUNT: 4,999

The Red Keep was still, the night had cast a blanket of its mercy. It hid the guards in shadowed corners and allowed the court to sleep. They were tucked away in their beds, their dreams taking them to a peaceful realm. Only you, a single maid was not allowed such a night, made to watch over Maelor as the Queen slept. He was ceaseless. Nothing seemed to work, not the feeding, the burping, the changing, the small bounces or the soft songs. You feared he had colic. After all, he seemed to cry incessantly for no reason at all.

You continued to bounce the child, lifting him to your shoulder as you looked out over the King's Landing. At least not all were captured in dreams, many were awake but too far to see. You could glimpse at the small lights from houses but not a soul. In the darkness of the chamber, you felt the only being alive, trapped in torment as the baby refused to settle.

You hoped by laying Maelor down and rubbing his tummy that soon he'd find peace, feel the comfort of the cot to finally, sleep. Tears pricked your eyes.

"Please" you murmured, breaking the quiet of the chamber with your silent plea.

No wonder the Queen Mother made you, not Queen Heleana, comfort the child. He was not even yours yet the stress felt no different. He was forever restless, nothing could calm him. You considered feeding him again but that felt no use, he had eaten not long ago. Perhaps, you smirked, he was a true Targaryen, wilful and torturous when he wanted to be. But he was but a baby, it was funny musing to pass the time.

Once again a lullaby left your lips trying to soothe the child. Your mother had sung it to you in the Riverlands. You had not seen her for years, her health becoming poorly and you too busy to visit. Your sister said it was an affliction unlike any she saw.

Your singing grew louder at the memory- a whisper that carried across the chamber, your hand rubbing the child's tummy to the rhythm.

"Why is he not asleep?". You shot up, immediately, turning to the voice. The wails of Maelor did nothing to quench the fear filling your stomach, you hoped he could drown it so it wasn't clear on your face.

"Your Majesty" you bowed, being quick to pick up the child afterwards. It wasn't out of comfort, no, Maelor had now become your own meat shield. You had heard what he'd done to Dyana and that would never become you. Close you held him to your chest and bounced lightly.

"How long has he been crying?" His voice was unusually concerned. You didn't think the King cared much for anything unless it was his cups or whores.

"All night. Nothing seems to settle him, Your Majesty"

He nodded in contemplation and stepped closer. You were rooted to the ground. Soon he reached you in a few quick steps and plucked the child from your arms.

It was like magic, with a few simple bounces, pats on his back and soft soothing escaping his lips, the child's wails began to lessen. It was like the King was a baby whisperer. The child knew when fire and blood were near.

"How... how?" You could only say, your eyes wide with shock and a pained relief.

"He is my child, he knows it is me" he whispered.

"But I tried everything, I have always taken care of him... Your Majesty", you nearly forgot his title.

"Maelor is fussy, spoilt. He will cry until I am here. I was late"

You soon came to the realisation, after sifting through your memories, that this was the first night you were the last to hold Maelor. The King did indeed care for the children, coming every bedtime to settle the child into his cot. All the while, you would clear the room of toys and his old day clothes.

"I never noticed, Your Majesty. I apologise" you bowed.

"Do not worry, even as King many do not pay attention to me"

"I am sure many do, Your Majesty"

The King chuckled, shaking his head with an almost sad smile. Not only did you realise he was rocking the child in his arms, but his feet were pulling on and off the floor. Once again in his cups you assumed.

"You smallfolk, still know nothing of this Keep" he said aloud in the barest whisper. He refused to meet your eyes, they were fixed on the child.

You didn't understand what had caused this bout of honesty. Before you had pictured yourself becoming Dyana, you knew how to escape that. But handling the spoken sorrows of a king, was something you were unprepared for.

"Tis my duty to care for your children. Not think of court matters, that is not my place Your Majesty"

"Of course, all none the wiser while we burn" he smirked sardonically.

"Are we to burn, Your Majesty?", your lip trembled at the words. You were pushing too far, eventually, he would find disobedience among the questions. Perhaps cast you out the Keep for insolence.

The King shrugged, a small shift of his shoulders. Too much like a child. "Perhaps, perhaps not. None of us wants to but maybe it is inevitable"

"Do you fear it, Your Majesty?"

The enquiry hung in the air. This was the moment it would all come crashing down. Your bags would be packed by dawn and onto the streets you would be cast. You walked a path so unpredictable, so treacherous, but you couldn't help yourself. There was a vulnerability in the King that had to be addressed. You doubted with the Queen's sensitive mind and their Mother's lack of emotional comfort that the King had someone to talk to.

The King has no friends, only followers, you once heard. And the phrase couldn't be truer now.

"The stranger comes for us all" he quoted with a mocking tone. The Queen Mother's pious voice was not lost on you.

"Not always, sometimes he's merciful"

"You think death can be a mercy?"

You had to tread carefully, "I have had yet to suffer to truly feel so. But in other's suffering, my family's, the darkest parts of me fear it's the only way"

"Would you willingly go to the stranger, four your family?"

"I love my family, I do. But I hope to be honest with my King. I would never be without a fight. I have too much to live for Your Majesty"

The King nodded, seeming to contemplate the thought, surprisingly considering your words despite your station.

"You are dismissed" he finally spoke amongst the silence.

And you didn't think twice before quickly escaping from the child's chambers. Your heart was thrumming in relief while it momentarily throbbed with regret. Something about the king was almost- no, it was pitiful. You couldn't help but look back and capture those eyes. They spoke of a pain far greater than you had realised.

You hoped soon he would find solace somewhere. Not just in his cups, or in whores, but in genuine company.

-

The next night you had returned to the nursery after tucking Jaehaerys and Jaeheara into bed. They had separated the two from baby Maelor due to his wails, endlessly echoing throughout the keep until the King came.

This time his crying wasn't as loud but he was so restless you couldn't help but swaddle him. You didn't hear of the crown swaddling their children like this, so tightly bound in a scarf their limbs were trapped against their bodies. You only ever saw them in long baby clothes wrapped in delicate fabrics, their arms and legs still free to kick. You hoped it would settle him to sleep, cast the child back to a time it was safe in the Queen's womb.

"He looks like a loaf of bread" The King chuckled, his eyes crinkling and smile wide like a jokester. You had made way to rise but his hand gestured you to stay.

"He is swaddled Your Majesty, hopefully, he will sleep better this way," you remarked, looking back down at the child. His eyes were still teary and his mouth contorted to release a powerful wail that never came, silent amongst the night.

"It seems you have discovered his weakness, why does it work?"

A King who is impulsive, reckless, and sinful, you wondered what turned him to question. He did not seem a man for curiosity if it was not amongst the Street of Silk.

"If you wrap them tightly they feel like they're in their mother again, where they were once safe and sound", the back of your finger ran down the child's cheek. Another cry threatened to blast from his lips as you shushed Maelor. 

"It's a shame we cannot remember it like them" he nodded, and slowly he stepped closer. Almost cautious, making your hair stand on end.

"Is that jealousy I hear Your Majesty?" you quipped, trying to dispel your nerves; forgetting who stood before you despite speaking the title.

"Are you not jealous?" He countered, his brow suddenly stern with venom. You knew to tread carefully, you did not know what he was thinking.

"How can I miss something I've never known, Your Majesty?"

"Many people do. Money, power, women. They'll never have it yet crave it"

"And because of that, you think they're lacking?", your eyebrow quirked.

"Do you not lack in life? A wet nurse with no child, no husband, no power" he smirked, his tone full of mocking.

Your heart stopped, or the pain in your chest felt it did. Your gut had been punched, a wave of anger sifted through you that was uncontrollable, and the only thing stopping you from boiling over was the child in your arms. He was still a King, no matter what you saw the night before, he would always look down on you. No conversation could remould the chain. Change the way of things.

"I have a family that loves me, food in my belly, a roof over my head and work to keep me busy. I am lacking in nothing Your Majesty, I have everything I need"

"Because you do not know more than a small, meagre life. Never getting what you want"

"It is better than watching you drown your sorrows despite everything you have" you suddenly snapped and aback the King was taken. His poison lost on the truth you had spoken.

"You know nothing about me," he growled, stepping closer, his hand on the back of your chair, lowering himself face to face. His stark white hair had cast a curtain around you; there was nowhere to look but him, and you could not tear yourself away.

"Neither do you. I bet this is the longest conversation you have had with a woman without spreading her legs" You stood firm, you wouldn't show him weakness. It could mean your head but a part of you pitied. There was still a boy clawing for power and adoration behind those eyes.

"You think you are funny"

"Oh the funniest Your Majesty"

Your eyes were locked, battling in a silent rage.

"Why do you not fear me?" He uttered from the tense silence, breaking the atmosphere.

The words were lost on you, still lost when he gradually pulled away with the child taken into his arms. While you gnashed your fangs at one another, Maelor had found sleep among the chaos.

"I will take my leave, Your Majesty"

And with that, once again you fled.

-

"You are a strange woman" he sounded from the doorway, leaning against the frame as you looked over Jaehaerys. The boy had come down with a slight fever, nothing the measters couldn't tend to but, they insisted someone sit tight.

"Strange in what way Your Majesty?" you sighed, preparing to tolerate his presence after last week.

You had not spoken since, only coming into his presence so he could settle Maelor into bed. He could not manage a word between you before you ran to your cot.

"You come back" The King shrugged, his arms still knotted at his chest. You felt something brewing.

"Where else could I go Your Majesty?"

"There are many duties you could take up"

"Like your cupbearer?" You bantered with an edge. The King stalked further into the chamber, coming behind your chair. He fixed his hands to the corners of it, leaning close to your back.

"That does not sound too bad my lady"

"I am no lady" you shook your head.

"Then what is your name?" you hesitated for a moment. To disobey would be a great offence and you already offended too much.

You told him in a quiet whisper, hoping it evaded his ears. But the smallfolk achieved little victories in King's Landing. It echoed from between his lips with a slight slur.

"You are drunk Your Majesty" you came to realise.

"Never more than usual" he huffed.

"Still, what if you fell?"

"Is that a threat?" He chuckled lowly, his mouth suddenly at your ear.

You refused to lean away, refused to show weakness, and said that he had a chance of winning.

"It is an educated guess from knowing men too fond of their cups"

"I am not most men"

"No, you are the King. Even more, reason to be wary"

His hand came to curl a lock of your hair around his finger, his pull was so delicate but too close. "You speak so well for a wet nurse"

"My father was an educator, he spoke well and in turn, so do I"

He tugged slightly on the lock, and your head came into contact with his temple. It was too close for comfort but you swallowed the unnerving twang in your stomach. You assumed it to be an element of disgust but were surprised to feel your heart pull. How long had it been since a man played with your hair? Spoke to you so softly? Bantered back and forth with you? How long had it been since you felt wanted?

"Such a strange woman..."

"Should I thank Your Majesty?"

"What for?" You could feel the quirk of his brow against your head.

"For not demanding my attention but earning it?"

You did not hear an answer, did not see his mouth slip open to respond. Only the small, meagre coughs from Jeahaerys called your ears and onto him you focused. Not the King standing perplexed behind you.

Yet still, it was on that night, one so quiet and strange. For the first time in a long while, you admitted in the deepest cracks of your heart, you wanted something.

-

When you opened the door to Maelor's nursery you were surprised to see King Aegon sitting with the child on his chest. For the first time in two weeks, he was settled before you acted.

"You have overtaken my duties Your Majesty" You smiled quietly, it barely ghosted over your expression.

But he remained still, his eyes cast down. Or so it seemed. As you crept further you came to realise the King's state. When asleep like this he simply appeared as Aegon Targaryen. There were no drunken words, unsteady feet, no emotional rampage.

Your feet were delicate across the stone floor until you crouched slightly to gaze at his face closer. His features were still boyish, no longer contorted with stress and sorrow. His hair was strewn across his brow, short threads of silver like cobwebs- soft and delicate.

Without thinking, your hand came forward and brushed them aside, barely skimming across his pale skin. You hoped to stay like this for a little while longer but the contact snapped his eyes open. It was instinct that his hand seemed to trap your wrist in his grasp.

"What are you doing?" He grumbled, his grip becoming tighter. Your expression winced in pain, rippling fear across your body.

"I-I apologise, Your Majesty, forgive me" you stuttered.

"Who gave you the right to touch me?" He grimaced.

"Nobody Your Majesty, there... there was a bug" The lie was terrible, absolutely unbelievable and with the quiet laughter that rang out, you knew he knew it too.

"You think I am stupid", he threw your wrist from his grasp.

"I think you are merciful"

"Another word for weak" he scoffed.

"Mercy is only available to those with power"

He contemplated the words for a moment before standing, in quick succession he placed Maelor down and turned quick on his heels.

"Follow me" Aegon commanded resolutely, your position offered no chance to refuse. You were trapped but a bigger part of you remained curious.

Was this how Dyana fell into his snare? Goading her with comforting words. Did he play with her hair too? You thought.

You traced your steps behind Aegon, small and unsure until you reached his chambers. It was coming, you were sure of it. The guards at his door looked upon you with pitying eyes as you could only cast yours down.

Inside it was just as you heard, barren of the late King's possessions, littered with cups half drunken and yet to be taken away. You could hear him refusing it. Wine stains yet to be scrubbed from the floor littered the stone. The guards pitied you, but your own was reserved for Aegon.

He poured himself another cup, you recognised it as Dornish. The previous Lord you had worked under had a fine taste for it.

"You can call me Aegon in this room" he announced, extending a cup toward you. You took it with trembling fingers and thanked him. Only accepting the drink to hide the shakes that fluttered your limbs.

"I could not Your Majesty" you fretted.

"It is an order, you would not disobey your King, would you?"

"No, your Ma-" you looked up to see his eyes bore into you as the title hung from the tip of your tongue, "No, Aegon" you corrected.

"Marvelous, now! Let's drink"

"Excuse me Your- Aegon, why am I here?", Aegon paused the cup's movement, the rim just licking his lip.

"I am in need of a drinking buddy and honest companion"

"I am sure you have many of those at your disposal"

"None as pretty as you. Now drink, I insist"

Your cheeks blared a deep pink, heating your face to a degree your previous lover couldn't muster.

Unlike in his children's chambers, Aegon appeared more free than ever. Only in the nights did you spy on the King or keep his company, in those moments, there was a sadness riddled within the man too deep to weed out.

Your lips pressed to the rim of the cup before finally taking one gulp. Aegon's eyes of disapproval encouraged another, then a third before finally, he was pleased.

It was strong but unlike anything you had tasted before. It was spiced, not too dry and had a sweetness to it that lightened the mood.

"It is good Aegon" you complimented and for once, a genuine smile stretched upon his face.

"I knew you would enjoy it! Now come, come see" he gestured to the balcony. You felt like you were being dragged around like a child so excited to show you his toys. He was not a child in any way, but the desire for approval was apparent as Aegon pulled back the curtain with a proud, twinkling eye. Over the balcony King's Landing was alive, from here, there was much more to observe than from the nurseries.

"It's-"

"Amazing right? It is the day of rest tomorrow, I used to sneak out on this night" Aegon confessed with a giddy smile.

"I remember celebrating such nights" you shared with a small smile, "my family and I would head to the nearest tavern, unlike most, it was more... family friendly"

"You can guess I never had that. My Mother is too pious, Aemond too serious and then Heleana... well you know Heleana" he chuckled.

"She is a wonderful mother" you complimented.

"If only a better Queen, a better wife, a different woman"

"Do you not love her?" The territory you tread in was dangerous but Aegon relaxed at the question. It was as if he had been waiting for this moment for lifetimes. For someone to ask how he felt.

"Who can love a sister like a wife? It's...", he didn't have to finish.

"How old were you?"

"Fifteen... it is not so bad though, she does not care if I run away to the Street of Silk"

"Would you want someone to care?", you feared there was no coming back from this. You had given the King someone to confide in, would he ever let that go?

"Who knows" he huffed. "What of you? Did he run? Get cold feet before the altar?"

"Something like that, he passed the night before. He had engaged in a scuffle on the road. One punch and his head landed on a rock... he never woke up" Your tone then filled with mourning, despite how you tried to dampen the embers of grief flickering. Every time his face came into your mind you couldn't help it.

"Nothing works out the way we want it to" he huffed, leaning across the balcony. You followed suit, hoping the wind would dry the tears brewing.

"Smallfolk and King's alike" you commented before you clinked your drinks together, never taking your eyes from the kingdom below. "Where would you be now if you could?"

"Essos" he responded in a beat.

"Why Essos?", Aegon didn't even need time to ponder it.

"It is the furthest I could be from this shithole"

You hadn't drunk in a while, the wine had made your lips loose and you couldn't help but giggle at the foul language.

"Why not ride away on your dragon, who could stop you?",

"Have you seen Vhagar? My brother- the cunt that he is- would have me back on that throne before I could step out the Keep"

"Sounds like they need you" I nudged. The contact was sudden and free of thought- impulsive. It was too comfortable but Aegon only shook his bowed head with a smile.

Was this the man who hurt Dyana? Was this lost man truly a King that had caused such suffering? When thinking about it, it was easy to see. So starved of affection, of guidance, master to his whims so easily achieved. None of it was surprising. It was not easily forgotten, not forgiven, but easily understood.

The air changed in moments. Contorted into a silent understanding. You had grasped Aegon's mind in the palm of her hand so easily. He was a man so easily brought to his knees.

"Do you need me?" His tone had shifted so easily, lilting and calm. He sensed the wave that had come upon you.

You shrugged and downed the rest of your wine in two gulps. "I don't need much Aegon"

"Then do you want me?"

You played with the cup in your hand. The dangers of involving yourself like this was insurmountable. Absolutely hysterical. But you allowed yourself to ponder the idea. If you allowed yourself, what would come of it all?

You had not known the touch of a man for years and alone in your cot you slept dreaming of wanting, having the chance to want instead of being chained down by need. And just like you, Aegon stood there needing something to ground him, to offer a chance at respite. He was a broken man and perhaps, you could pay your pain forward.

"As long as you need me, I will stay by your side", the grin that curled at his lips was remarkable, warming your heart too quick to recall how cold it once was.

"Well then!" He clapped as he rose, "You need a refill and cheers to your promotion as my new drinking buddy"

You didn't know what to say, it all happened so fast but the response was spoken before you could catch it, "I would be honoured Aegon"

He raised his cup and handed you another when he returned it to the balcony. No longer were his eyes pitiful but bright and somewhat hopeful. It was a jarring change but one you welcomed nonetheless. At this moment, it felt perhaps something good could come of this. Perhaps, something could be changed.

"To friends found in strange places," he grinned,

"Indeed my King-" you agreed as your cups cheersed, "as long as it is wanted"

Aegon's hand then, once again, found itself in your hair, closer now as his finger twiddled and curled a lock around it. "As long as we want it"

And with that quiet admittance, you raised your eyes to his. Knowing that somehow, two suffering souls had found each other across oceans and chains of being.

[trendywaifus]

I see we are all collective losing our shit for zzz women 😍😍 my head is full of fantasies about watching porno with Anby and trying one or two things with her

🙏🏽 cw: fem! reader, 69, oral fixation, fingering, nun crazy

“ um, anby. .when you said you wanted to watch a film, I didn’t think you meant. . .this? “ you stutter, brows raised in surprise, watching two naked women laid down on a queen-sized bed sensually grinding against each other. the sounds of groans and breathy moans gradually thicken the atmosphere of anby’s bedroom. you want to rip your gaze away, but you can’t. you found the porno shamelessly hot. the women switched positions, one stayed on her back while the other positioned her pussy over the woman’s face. wait—was she going to sit on her face? the girl on top lean her body down until she’s facing the bottom girl’s pussy.

your jaw drops open; are they doing the 69?

the whole time, anby’s observant gaze glance between you and the porno. she eyes the flustered expression plastered on your face. even she could tell you were into it despite the redness sinking into your cheeks. wordlessly, she leans her frame into yours, resting a hand on your thigh to steal your attention. the hand on the thigh is typically a romantic gesture used for starting intimacy. “ a-anby, what are you doing? “

“ do you want to try what they’re doing? “ the android asks bluntly, you blink multiple times with prized astonishment. “ i-i. .is this why you picked this shit to watch with me? to try some things with me? “

“ yes, isn’t it better to watch pornographic films with your partner to add ‘excitement’ in the bedroom?”anby questions with a curious look on her features.

“ whoever told you that is a freak. you must of somehow gotten it through inter-knot search or something. “

“ i did. “

you shook your head, subconsciously leaning backwards towards the mattress while anby gradually crawls over you. “ next time, give me a heads ups. “ you whispered, wrapping your arms around her body. anby says nothing and closes the distance between you and her. her soft lips are pressed firm against yours as she settles between your legs. the ongoing sounds of moaning in the background makes your belly twist and turn with embarrassment. sensing your heart beat thumping faster, she abruptly locks her lips with yours sloppily, parting her lips open to deepen the kiss. teeth clash together and a surprised noise rumble in your chest. her hand snake around your head and holds it in place. the sweet taste of vanilla pudding she had earlier fills your tastebuds as her tongue messily lick at your bottom lip and force its way inside.

anby’s hips roll against yours, half-humping you into the mattress. her tongue swirls around yours hungrily before exploring your hot mouth. albeit sloppy, how long has she been watching these pornos behind your back to be doing this? your chest tightens due to the lack of oxygen so you take quick breaths through your nose. anby sucks on your tongue, erratically licking around, and actively trying to shove her tongue down your throat. you grasp her shoulders and ripped her away from the drawn-out heated kiss; a thread of saliva breaks off on your lips and chins.

“ e-ease it girl, you were practically trying to devour me whole there. .“ you panted heavily, staring into her half-lidded eyes, a twinge of desire swirling within them. she blinks, tilting her head at you with confusion. “ am i not expressing how much i want you, (name)? i read that acting on desperation shows your partner how much you want them? “

by now, the film has already ended. you let out a heavy sigh, recomposing yourself. “ th-that’s true but. .—you know what, were you paying attention to the tv earlier before this? “

“ yes, i was. “ she replies blankly, her grip behind your head not lessening.

“ l-let’s try that position. “

“ you mean. .? “

“ yeah, anby. “

anby sits up right, attempting to pull her black t-shirt over her head, you stop her. “ don’t undress all the way, just your pajamas and everything else below, i’ll do the same, pretty girl. “

she complies, pulling her lime green pajama pants down and shimmying out of them and dropping them somewhere on the floor. you do the same with your pajama bottoms. “ now, do what the top girl was doing. hover yourself over my face while you hover yours on. .my pussy. “ you felt embarrassed to say that explicitly.

“ okay. “

she positions herself backwards while you continue to lay down. her pussy hovers over your face, you can feel it’s heat touching your skin. your toes slightly curl when you feel anby’s hot breath fanning against your wet heat. your forearms curl around her plush thighs. a wandering question finds itself at the front of your mind—even if she’s an android, can she still cum? “ you’re okay like this, anby? “

“ i am, can i start now? “

“ mhm. “

without wasting time, the tip of her tongue slide down your moist folds. anby does it in a side by side motion, her head slightly following the direction of her tongue. the taste of your juices floods her artificial tastebuds. “ you taste sweeter than i expected (name). “ she mutters, her words hot on your pussy. her wet lips circle around your pulsating clit and unintentionally suck hard at it. your legs jerk, a gasp runs off your tongue. you grip her thighs tighter.

you bury your face into her cunt, licking at her entrance. anby’s thighs twitch, otherwise no reaction. you tease her slit, prodding at the small opening before pushing inside. anby’s breath hitches and her thighs tense as you fuck your tongue into her. “ (n-name). . “ she groans softly, pulling away from your clit to focus more on the hotness of your tongue stroking her walls. “ i-it’s hard to continue wh-when your tongue is. .” theres a change in pitch in her seemingly emotionless voice.

“ i-it feels hot but good. .? “

you slip your tongue out and press the slimy muscle flat against her clit. her hands holding your thighs grips harder on them. “ does it, pretty girl? “ you pepper her pussy with messy kisses, smearing your drool all over her folds. mwah, mwah, mwah. is all your girlfriend hears and the wet noises of your tongue playing with her damp folds. a shockwave of pleasure courses through her, she grits her teeth. she grinds herself on your tongue, attempting to chase the addicting feeling she just experienced.

“ m-more. .” anby utters, sounding uncharacteristically more and more desperate as you spend time eating out her pussy. your middle finger circles her twitching entrance. “ i’m gonna put a finger in, doll. “ and you do just that, sliding it in with ease due to your slippery tongue prepping her. anby’s toes curl with pleasure as she feels your digit sinking into her hole, stretching her out a few more inches than your tongue did.

“ relax f’me. there we go, i don’t want you to be uncomfortable. after all, i still want an answer to a question i have in my head. “ you voiced softly, kissing her clit while her walls ease around your finger.

“ a-an answer to what question? “ she asks breathlessly.

“ if androids can cum. “

[oliviaischillin1204]

hands on experience (tickletober day 3- "prank")

word count: 1,221 words

this was intended as a seasonal fic (you'll see what i mean lol) but i'm glad i got to finish it!

Roman rose up without any warning. "I'm in trouble!"

The other sides all looked at him. He seemed deceptively happy about what he just said.

Logan, after a beat, slowly closed his book. "Alright. Let's hear it."

"Are you okay, kiddo?" Patton asked, moving towards him.

"It's a prank," Virgil chimed in. He hadn't moved from his position on the stairs, eyeing Roman with a distinct suspicion. "It's April Fools' day, remember?"

"Correct on both accounts, my fine fearful friend!" Roman said. "It is April Fools' Day, and I am in the middle of a prank-- but not on anyone in this room!"

The other sides looked at each other before Patton asked a wary, "Who... is the prank for, Roman?"

The prince opened his mouth, but no words came out as another side appeared in the room.

"Ah," Roman said instead, eyes sparkling, "good morrow, Janus! To what do we owe the pleasure?"

Janus, for all intents and purposes, seemed almost surprised to see the other sides as they were to see him. His eyes flicked around the room somewhat frantically.

"Oh, goody," he hissed, "more people. Exactly what I wanted, Roman, thank you."

"Janus?" Patton asked. "What's up, kiddo?"

Clearing his throat, Janus tried to straighten up, but there was something off about the way he was holding his hands clutched against his chest. He breathed deeply, then winced, like even that was too much movement.

"Our... lovely Roman," he gritted out, "decided it would be oh so funny to... alter... my gloves, for this ridiculous 'holiday'."

"You don't like April Fool's Day, Janus?" Logan asked.

"Not when the joke's on him," Virgil replied. His lips were beginning to quirk up. "I don't know what Princey did, but if you hate it, I love it."

Patton made a wounded noise. "Wh- no, guys! If Janus doesn't like being pranked, he shouldn't have to be!"

"Kinda think you don't really understand pranks, Pat," Virgil said. "You're not meant to ask for permission before you do it."

Janus shot him an icy look. "Well in that case, I'm sure you won't mind it the next time Roman decide to enchant your clothes to--"

He froze, the human side of his face going darker.

"Roman." Logan said. "Do I even need to ask if that's true, or should we just skip to you telling us what you did to Janus' gloves."

"Nothing permanent, nothing scarring, and nothing you wouldn't approve of, Teach." Roman smirked at Janus, who looked like he was trying to murder Roman with his eyes. "Why don't you tell them, Janus?"

"You--"

And then Roman snapped, and Janus screamed.

"No!" He gasped, clawing at his gloves. "Enough! E-nough-- nahahahahaha!"

Logan raised an eyebrow. "Ah. I see. I do approve."

"Fuck off," Janus spat, but the impact was greatly lessened by the desperate giggles falling from his mouth. He moved like he couldn't control his body, his torso desperately wiggling back and forth and his knees buckling. Through peals of laughter he tugged desperately at the edges, but whatever magic Roman had done clearly meant those gloves would only come off when he was ready.

"Oh, my gosh," Patton whispered, enraptured. "You gave him tickle gloves!"

"Lined with a thousand invisible feathers, all programmed to move according to body heat and hand movement," Roman said proudly. He shot Janus a sidelong look, grin widening. "Or when I tell them to, of course."

"A breheheheak!" Janus squealed, stamping his feet on the ground. "Plehehehease!"

"No, hang on, Roman, I don't think I get it," Virgil said gleefully. "Why don't you explain it to me again? Much slower this time, please."

"Why certainly, Virgil! You see--"

Janus kicked Roman in the shin.

"Fuck!"

"A break you bitch!" he shrieked.

"Come on, Ro, let him breathe," Patton said, although he was clearly enjoying the show as much as any of them. Roman hemmed and hawed, but acquiesced, snapping his fingers again.

Immediately Janus clutched his hands to his chest again. "You bitch."

"You said that already." Roman clearly wasn't offended, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. "Now, they've heard my side, Janus-- how do you feel about the gift I got for you?"

Indignation flicked across Janus' face. "Oh, yes, what a marvelous gift, transforming one of my favorite accessories into a-- a death trap."

"Inaccurate," Logan supplied helpfully. "We can't die."

"Y--" Janus sighed. "Thank you, Logan."

"You know, I'm a little bit surprised," Patton said. "I never really thought about hands being very ticklish before."

"Oh, Patton, you've been missing out," Virgil said. "Janus' hands are super ticklish. Especially the backs, it makes him fucking nuts."

Roman nodded. "I believe he once described the sensation to me as 'electric tingles from his nails to his elbows'. It sounded absolutely delightful, frankly, so I thought I'd give him a little gift!"

Janus clicked his tongue but made no further comment; he couldn't-- even when he kept as still as possible, the gloves still radiated a buzzy ticklish energy that ran across the thin skin of his hands and set his nerves alight. It took all of his energy to not laugh again, settling for taking shaky breaths and shifting back and forth on his feet.

"You've made your point," he hissed to Roman. "Change them back now, please."

He didn't have to argue anymore: Roman snapped again, but as Janus flinched again in anticipation of the oncoming tickles, he was instead faced with the tingles ceasing entirely. He blinked, and Roman shrugged.

"You said please," he said pleasantly.

"... I said please earlier," Janus grumbled, face flushed. Belatedly he yanked off his gloves, shaking out his hands and rubbing them together to dispel the leftover tickles.

"Oh, here, let me--" Patton reached out a hand, but Janus shrank away, hissing furiously.

"Woah!" He put his hands up placatingly. "I was just gonna hold your gloves for you, kiddo. I didn't mean to scare you!"

"No, you--" Janus started, then stopped. He looked around the group. "Why is everyone looking at me?"

"Oh, shit, you're jumpy," Virgil laughed. "We're not gonna do it again, dude. You can chill."

"Indeed," Logan said. "The prank was amusing, but you wanted it to stop, so it did."

Janus felt wrong footed. "Of course. I knew that. Obviously."

"Wow, that was really clever, Roman," Patton said. "Oh! Can you do a prank on me next? But don't tell me what it is! Just tell me when it's about to happen and what I should do to make it work."

"You got it, Padre." Roman winked, and one by one all the Sides sank down until it was just him and Janus. The latter was staring at the wall, pretending he couldn't feel Roman's pointed stare.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

Roman smirked. Wordlessly he held out his hand, and after a few long beats, Janus shot a hand out and place it in his palm.

"That's what I thought," Roman replied smugly. God, he was a bastard. Janus should tell him that. Except it was kind of hard to talk now that Roman's fingers were scratching gently along the back of his hand, what with the giggles freely falling from his lips again.

"If you wanted a more hands-on experience, Janus, all you had to do was ask."