#I’ll hang on to that praise like a fucking life preserver

[rissynicole]

First couple months of my new job have just been me carefully crafting my very own “officesona,” and lemme tell you, she is the most awkward motherfucker in this whole damn city

[erodasfishtacos]

Just an idea for a concept but no pressure: cheating harry and y/n just finished having sex and they are cuddling (u know being all cute and I love) and Anna turns up at Harry’s door seeing if they can hang out coz they never do and he wasn’t answering his phone and she tried to just walk into his place like he did when she turned up and they were watching that movie (I’m not sure of the name of the concept) and he had to force her to stay outside and it’s really angst between them coz she gets really suspicious but eventually leaves and he just goes and cuddled in bed with y/n and they laugh about it

Disruptions

warnings: cheating, smut, brief mention of domestic violence, panic attacks, this could just be overall triggering if you have experienced trauma or family struggles.

if you enjoyed this blurb - PLEASE reblog, rec, like, and come chat with me about the fic!

—

“Puppy, yeah,” Harry murmurs encouragingly, she was almost there and she looked like an angel in the low light, “Y’look so pretty, give it t’me.”

YN whines in the back of her throat, her hips were slowly rolling forward as she sat atop of him - trying milk that friction of her clit.

“Sweet thing, c’mon,” Harry goads, gripping her waist with strong hands to speed up her languid rolls as he wants her to finish before him.

“Close, H,” YN sweetly chirps, letting him lead her motions until she’s halting and throwing her head back in bliss, lips parting and eye squeezed shut.

“There y’go, good fuckin’ girl,” He praises her before giving two more pumps before he’s releasing right after her.

As he is in the midsts of his orgasm, he hears a quiet ‘I love you’ from above him as she rubs at his chest as he rides it out.

Harry could have heard that whisper from across the fucking ocean, it has him sitting up and pulling her into a hard kiss before babbling against her sore lips.

“Puppy, I love you. You’re so perfect for me. Y’don’t even have t’wonder why you’re the only one I give it to,” He tells her confidently, panting against her mouth.

She doesn’t say anything but her smile is enough for him, he carefully pulls out and flips her on her back before grabbing a towel and wiping her down with adoration deep in his bones.

When she had just curled in to his side, pressing her bare chest against his warm skin, he kisses the top of her head, “You’re my favorite person, y’know that?”

“Harry,” She says, barely above a whisper with her face nuzzled in tight - shying away from what she really feels.

“Please baby,” He replies softly, she knows what he asking for and she will never say no to him when it comes to this.

“I know. I love you s-so much.”

“Whoa, pup. Don’t cry,” Harry chuckles sweetly, “I know, I know you do. Believe me I do.”

She nods, sniffling, she sometimes get emotional after they had intimate slow sex as opposed to the high intensity, lust-driven kind.

It’s quiet as Harry scratches up and down her back, soothing her like he always has and always will, no matter what.

He always finds inner peace when her breathing slows and her facial features relax - all worries and anxiety disappearing.

She had just let out a light snore when he hears a banging on his front door, loud and insistent, and it has YN sitting straight up in bed.

“Wha-Harry, I-who?” YN stammers, her chest starting to heave as she begins to panic from the sudden noise.

-

“Harry, you have to leave,” YN whimpers, the knocking deafening on the front door, “My mum locked him out and he’s going to break it down.”

“I’m not leaving you here alone!” He hisses back, standing up and locking her bedroom door, “Let’s go sneak out the window to my house.”

—-

Harry’s automatically furious with whoever it is, the love of his life triggered as he just knows she’s reliving one of her awful memories.

“Sweetheart, please breathe. S’okay, you know I’d never let anything hurt you. Never have, never will,” Harry coos, he’s standing up to walk to his closet, reaching up for the weighted blanket he keeps for her. “I’m gonna go see who it is.”

“Y-you can’t! You’ll get hurt! Don’t, please,” she begs, eyes wide in fear for him and his safety as she pants.

Harry wraps her like a burrito in the blanket before looking her firmly in her eye, “Remember what your therapist said for when you’re panicking. Do that, please baby.”

She searches his eyes before hesitantly letting hers close, focusing on her breathing and imaging a happy place away from here - a meadow with Harry is what she likes to think about.

Harry slips on his briefs and athletic shorts with annoyance - well absolute rage really. He’s stomping down his stairs with loud steps.

He whips open the front door to see Anna standing there with a pursed look, “Oh, look! So you are alive! What a miracle.”

Harry automatically glares at her, “It’s past bloody midnight, what are you doing here?”

She scoffs in disbelief, “You ditched me tonight! You were suppose to come to the bar with my friends and I! And then you just never answered your phone.”

Yeah, well he had forgotten because YN wanted to watch a new movie and he could never say no to YN.

“I fuckin’ forgot, shit,” Harry huffs, not moving aside to let her in as she steps forward.

“Well, I came over so we could hang out,” Her voice mellowing out a little bit, features softening as she reaches out to stroke his bicep.

All he could think about was his afraid little love upstair using her coping skills to deal with the panic Anna had set off.

“Why would I want to hang out at fuckin’ two-thirty in the mornin’?” Harry replies blandly, like she’s an idiot.

“We could cuddle? Watch a movie?” Anna suggests with a shrug, attempting to giving him a coy look, “Fuck?”

They’d never even done anything apart from a few pecks.

“S’late, I’m too tired for this bullshit.”

“How is that bullshit? It’s so fucking annoying Harry! I know if you’re little bitch of a friend wanted to do that you would!”

She was completely right.

When he hears the vulgar name being thrown at YN, he grits his teeth and says, “Watch your fuckin’ tone, I’ll text y’tomorrow, okay?”

“Fine,” Anna surrenders angrily, turning on her heel and storming back to her car.

Harry slams his door shut so she gets the hint but then automatically feels regretful as he knows it didn’t make YN feel any better.

When he goes up to the bedroom, she’s not in the bed, and Harry hears the shower going so he’s stepping into his bathroom.

It’s a glass door and he can see the beautiful form of her from behind it. There’s not steam in the room because he knows the water is cold.

Not ice cold but barely warm.

When the imagery and breathing didn’t help, usually a cold shower was next, and Harry carefully slides open the door.

“Hi baby,” He murmurs, keeping his eyes on hers and nowhere else - not wandering or curious like they’d be if she was okay.

“Hi,” She answers shakily, her eyes were a bit swollen and puffy but she was giving him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Do y’need anythin’?”

He wasn’t going to ask to come in because it wasn’t about him.

YN nods, “Will you come hold me? I-it’s cold so if you don’t want to-“

He’s already stripping, he’s hold her in the waters of Antarctica if she asked - he was so bloody gone for her, past the point of self-preservation.

Harry’s wrapping her up in his arms, trying to hide his grimace at the cold stream - colder than her usual but she rarely gets woken up like that.

Therapy had been doing wonders for her.

It may seem like it’s still an intense reaction but it had improved so much from where she had started before the help.

—

Harry had a key to her apartment and he had texted her multiple times that’s he was coming over but she must have forgotten.

She was cleaning her kitchen when he opened the door.

Luckily, he managed to duck as a plate comes hurling at him. This wasn’t the first time it’s happened - not close.

As it hits the wall and shatters, he looks up to find her guiltily meeting his gaze before mumbling out an apology.

He steps over it, meeting her in the kitchen, and kissing her nose, “S’okay, y’didnt get me. I just wished you weren’t so scared, pup.”

—

“It was Anna,” YN states against his damp skin.

“Yeah, I ditched her and she was pissed,” Harry shrugs, unbothered and coldly uncaring about the situation.

“Mmm,” She acknowledges lowly, her hands snaking around his waist.

“Please.”

It was simple, YN knew what he was asking.

Please let me break up with her.

It hurt YN just as much when she couldn’t do anything but shake her head ‘no’ and swallow harshly.

—

Whew doggy. Thoughts?

[iiraven]

Fool-Proof Plan

Pairing: Erwin x reader

Genre: fluff, comedy, smut, modern AU

Warnings: size kink, masturbation, squirting, fingering in front of a mirror, hair pulling, multiple orgasms, manhandling, degradation, praise, established relationship, slight dumbification, choking/ breath play 

Word count: 4.6K

Synopsis: Erwin’s business trip leads you to realise you’re not as sly as you think you are.

Masterlist

Erwin Smith is a man capable of absolutely everything. He’s an amazing cook, an amazing masseur, an amazing businessman, and, most of all, an amazing husband.

There’s only one small shortcoming to the person you consider to be perfect. And that’s his inability to use any form of technology. Texting is bad enough with him signing his name after every message, but it’s social media that’s your husband’s true sworn enemy. Erwin might only be a few years your senior, but somehow your grandfather can comprehend the concept of Instagram faster than him.

“So, you just take pictures?”

“Yes.”

“And people respond to it?”

“Yes.”

“Alright but why?”

The conversation is nothing new, but you find it incredibly unfortunate knowing how talented he is at photography. If you two ever go someplace Erwin knows he wants to capture, he slings his camera over his neck, leaves his phone at home (“I won’t be taking any calls today”) and makes his merry way out of the house. You often eye the phone left stray on the desk, half-expecting it to chase you out of the house for abandoning it. Sometimes, for good measure, you slip it into your own bag. Just in case.

It’s for this reason that Erwin’s business trip puts you on immediate edge.

“It’ll only be for ten days,” he had said. “Sina Corporations takes their summits really seriously…”

“Ten days?” You repeated and Erwin gave you a soft smile.

“I’ll call you every day.”

It’s not like you have an obsessive attachment to your husband (well, that’s debatable), but breaking the routine of returning home to his warm hugs, listening to his day and then complaining about your own- it’s uncomfortable. 

Erwin himself wasn’t looking forward to being away from you, away from home. Running Survey Corporations Ltd is no easy task; trying to balance the infuriating board and the long hours with his actual life is something only possible because of you. Time spent together is fine diamonds Erwin clutches onto and although he’d tried to reason with himself that it was only ten days, it wasn’t a trip he was looking forward to. He never said it out loud. But he didn’t need to. You can tell by the way Erwin’s lips linger on yours a little longer at the airport, as if to preserve your taste.

“Oi Erwin- hurry up.” Levi tries hard not to glare. But even the raven-haired man knows that being away from you puts Erwin on somewhat of an edge. You’re his rock, there to ground him when everything is chaotic, and a summit surrounded by the richest people in the world is as chaotic as it gets.

Despite it all, Erwin stays true to his promise. He calls you at least twice a day and although you could stay on the phone with him for hours, he’s often rushing between conferences and can only spare minutes of his time. Even when he does have an hour, talking to a disembodied voice (he still can’t figure out how to switch his camera back around) is not the same as having Erwin right beside you. It’s the way he squeezes your thigh when he’s focussing on what you’re saying or when he pulls you towards him so that you can lie on his hard chest which still makes you blush even after years of being together.

Because, yes, you miss his touch the most.

Not even five days in, you find yourself with your hands down your panties and a tall blond man on your mind. You’re soaked just thinking about him. His groans, the way he calls your name, the way he pounds into you as you lose your train of thought. Your fingers try to imitate his- their curve and how easily they find your soft spot- but it just feels uncomfortable. So, then you try rubbing your clit, and there’s temporary pleasure there, but not even close enough to tip you over the edge. Even your pink vibrator doesn’t cut it. You deny the fact that Erwin Smith has made you an incompetent masturbator, but you can’t keep up the lie for long and soon enough you give up.

It’s the next day that your ingenious idea kindles. It’s a fool-proof plan. A small flame that has you rushing to the bathroom for the best possible lighting. Erwin can still put his tongue to use at a distance- after all, it’s his voice you fell in love with first. To discretely push him in the right direction, you send him a few photos of yourself. Nothing too scandalous safe he’s in a meeting, but enough that he’ll gets the hint. Sure, Erwin has a couple of polaroid pictures hidden in his brown leather wallet, but he had shot those himself. You want to be a bit more spontaneous! And, honestly, at this point you’re desperate. You could swear you’re developing withdrawal symptoms: just the other day, you were actually temped to pick up a newspaper. It was terrifying.

This had to work. You can just imagine Erwin calling you, voice deep and gruff as he guides you through the process to make yourself cum as he showers you with praise. You feel giddy, eyes glued to the glowing screen, awaiting his response. Even your pink vibrator is out of the box.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t exactly go the way you had planned.

One hour after sending the photos you receive a panicked text from Hange. In the long paragraph, you understand that your poor husband couldn’t get the photos to load and decided to consult the vice president of his company who, upon simply clicking on them, saw you groping your soapy tits. Had it been anyone other than vice president Hange Zoe, Erwin may have broken his phone and quit right there. Thankfully, he only said, “I see” and then asked her where to find the smiley face Emoji.

“I’m so, so sorry Y/N!” Hange screams through the phone. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise! I could send you a picture of my boobs! I’ll go do it right now! I’m sorry! No- You don’t need to feel embarrassed! I won’t mind!”

“It’s alright Hange.” You laugh nervously. “You don’t need to send me anything, it’s really not that big of a deal.”

The whack Levi lands on her head is so hard you hear it through the phone. “Shut the fuck up four-eyes.”

So here you are now. Three days until Erwin returns, a vibrator you’ve given up on back in its box, and a husband who responds to your nudes with a smiley face.

But then Hange Zoe sends you something much better than a picture of her boobs.

The hotel that the trio were staying at- as most hotels do- has a spa. And if there’s one thing Erwin Smith adores it’s allowing himself to relax in a warm, steamy sauna. You’re not sure how Hange was allowed to join them, or how she was able to get her camera clear of fog, or how she was even able to take the picture without Erwin noticing. But you ask her no questions.

Followed by a winky-face is a picture of Erwin sat in the sauna, head tilted backwards, and eyes shut in the pure image of serenity. His arms are propped up on either side of him accentuating his biceps whilst still allowing a clear view of his sculpted body, the sweat running down his chest and abs, making him almost glisten. He’s completely naked except for the flimsy white towel across his lap which does absolutely nothing to hide his thick dick print. You shudder.

You feel like a teenager again, speechless at the sight of a quasi- naked man. Even though you’ve seen him like this thousands of times, you can’t help but fantasise about being trapped underneath him, hair falling onto his face as he loses himself inside of you. God, maybe you do have an unhealthy obsession. But it doesn’t matter. You feel even more like a teenager as you imagine scenarios of him returning home to recreate the picture before you. And with that, your mind is sedated for the next few days.

You have a fool-proof plan. Dress up in the shortest and tightest dress you own, cook your husband dinner, and then give him a blow job at the table so that he’ll never leave you again. It’s going to be just like in the movies and nothing will stop that from happening.

Something stops that from happening.

Just as you’re about to put the potatoes in the oven, Erwin calls. His flight is delayed. You whine through the phone and Erwin’s chuckle just about stops you from sulking like a child. You can be mature about this, right? He’s getting home eventually- complaining isn’t going to help at all. Patience is a virtue and yours has been tested many times before. This is, after all, nothing compared to the time Erwin tried to create an excel spreadsheet. So, you don’t press further. You simply tell Erwin that you miss him and then go find a pillow in which you scream for a good five minutes.

Erwin, on the other hand, is a lot less coveted with his annoyance. He wants nothing more than to strangle whatever and whoever is preventing him from returning to his lovely wife. In the hour journey, the entire plane can feel a crushing tension above their heads, so tense that even the child at the back seems to be holding in his tears. 

Usually, Erwin prefers to spend his flights with a book in his hands, but he’s incapable for picking up the paperback and instead stares out of the window somehow hoping it will go faster.

After what feels like hours, the tight dress has gotten too uncomfortable for you to wear and you resolve yourself to eating the potatoes alone. You still don’t take off your lingerie, though. A two-piece black set with lace detailing that makes you look like a present ready to be unwrapped. It had arrived yesterday, and you had taken your sweet time admiring the embroidered flowers and soft ribbon holding the fragile piece together because you had falsely assumed that you wouldn’t have it on for long. You had in fact contemplated stockings but by the time 11PM came by you simply wrapped Erwin’s favourite robe around your body and tried to take your mind off things. Maybe you should have opted for your own robe because as the sleeves hung from your arms and the soft material effused his smell, it managed to make you feel even worse.

Staying up late was not a foreign feeling but anticipation quickly turns into boredom and you find your eyelids getting heavy. You pause the anime you’re watching and are about to shut your eyes when you hear the faint rattle of keys.

You stumble getting out of bed, knocking your shoulder on the wall before skipping four steps at a time and tripping on the robe at least twice as you rush downstairs. Erwin is barely through the door as you call out his name and he drops his bags right there to let your rush into your arms. You feel so small, so safe, so familiar, within them, as if you’ve returned to the space where you belong. He lifts you up to let you wrap your legs around his waist, your ankles barely crossing. He smells divine, even after hours of being stuck in an airport and his hair is still soft between your fingers. You look at him and the smile that spreads across his face wipes out any hints of fatigue that might have been there just moments ago.

Erwin kisses you and it’s long, deep, and he holds you impossibly closer to him as his tongue dips into your mouth. You don’t want it to end, but Erwin pulls back and says softly, “I’m home, my love.”

You can’t help but giggle. “Welcome home.”

You return to the kiss with a hint of desperation. Tugging lightly on Erwin’s shirt, you know he notices how your core is already warm, but still, he takes his time closing the door with his foot before finally noticing your attire. You’re about to make a sarcastic comment about his obliviousness but the way he looks down at you, at the small flower of lace peeping out from under the heavy robe, the way he slowly wets his lips, he leaves you speechless.

“You’re a gift.” He smiles sweetly though his eyes darken.

“Well, you’ve been working really hard,” You mumble. “You deserve a treat.”

The effect this man has on you is unbelievable. All that anger and frustration you had pent up now crumbles at the light caress of his thumb on your hips.

“Let me unwrap you,” Erwin says. And he walks you to your room, climbing up the stairs with ease as you cling onto him. You attempt to rub yourself against his hard stomach, but one look of warning makes you stop. He’s going to be doing things on his watch, tonight.

Setting you on the floor beside your bed, Erwin undoes the ribbon and you let the fabric pool at your feet. He immediately latches onto your neck, and you gasp, tilting your head to give him better access. His hands begin to roam, fingering the delicate lace of your panties and the straps of your bra as his tongue leaves a trail over your chest. It’s only when Erwin suddenly grabs your breast that you moan, body involuntarily pushing towards him.

He looks up through thick eyelashes and his hands moves to cup your face. You’re about to beg him to touch you where you need it most, but he whispers, “you’re so beautiful.” And you’re speechless again.

You suddenly lean in to kiss him, hands wrapping around his neck and it’s messy and your breath is short. “Please, Erwin,” you say to him between kisses. “Touch me.” You can feel him smile against your lips. “Please”. And before you can stop yourself. “I can’t do it myself.”

Erwin stills and only then do you realise your mistake. He pulls back and stands up straight, towering over you and you recognises that look. It’s the one of a lion who has just found a wounded deer. 

“Oh?”

Fuck. He leans back and raises a brow expectantly and you try to look everywhere but at him. Maybe if you avoid eye contact, he’ll take it as a slip of the tongue. But your husband is not one to let things go. He’s intelligent, he knows exactly what you mean- you don’t need to speak for him to gather what happened, the image of you lying pathetically on the bed, hopeless and desperate. He smirks but stays quiet. Erwin likes it when you use your words.

“No-that’s not what I meant. I mean- you feel best and it’s just-“

You’re cut off by a hand on your scalp, pulling your hair back in one swift motion so that you have no choice but to look up at your husband dead in the eye.

“You were touching yourself whilst I was away, Y/N?”

“I-I mean...yeah…”

“I see.” His gaze is enough to make you gush. “And you weren’t able to make yourself cum.”

Your cheeks burn. It’s not a question, but you affirm it anyways. “No, no I couldn’t make myself cum.”

He’s silent for a moment and you’re not sure if it’s because he’s watching your worried face or because he’s wondering how he’s going to make that face look even more worried.

“I would feel sorry for you, but I suppose that’s what you deserve for touching my cunt without my permission.”

You gasp as he uses his grip on your hair to throw you on the bed. It’s effortless, the way his strength could so easily destroy you and yet he uses it to ruin destroy you in another way- just who you like it. Erwin undoes his tie and all you can do is gawk as he strips down to his boxers. He’s as hard as a rock and you tentatively reach out to touch him, but Erwin grabs your wrist. Without warning, you’re dragged to the other side of the bed where you’re placed to face your large floor length mirror. There’s only a moment of confusion before you understand why Erwin had been so keen on the somewhat awkward placement. He positions himself behind you and you withhold the urge to press your back against his throbbing cock.

“Don’t you take your eyes off the mirror,” Erwin commands, and you nod your head. “Use your words. Or do you need me to show you how to do that too?”

“Yes, sir,” You say quickly.

“Good girl.”

Erwin opens your legs, his hands gripping your thighs hard. You silently wish bruises bloom in their wake- it’s been too long since you’ve had your husband’s mark on you. A reminder of who you belong to. One hand stays on your thigh and the other moves to nudge your panties out of the way of your glistening cunt. 

“I’m going to show you how to touch yourself,” He says in a low, rumbling voice. “And you’re going to watch closely and learn. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes sir.”

His fingers don’t tease your folds for long. Erwin is feeling merciful, because he simply gathers the slick coating your cut before immediately rubbing your clit. The moan that leaves your mouth is pornographic. You buck your hips but the hand on your thigh moves to pin you down, your body flush against his so that you can almost feel his bearing heart. You’re engulfed by him so small as he easily manipulates your body.

Erwin is overwhelmed by the options. Look at his wife unravel below him or stare at the mirror, where you have no place to hide.

“I should be punishing you, you know.” He presses his fingers down hard on a particularly tenter spot and you moan loudly. “But I need to show my dumb little girl how to take care of herself.”

“I-I’m not- ahhh.” Your back arches and Erwin captures your neck again, sucking viciously.

As his thumb continues its assault on your clit, two fingers find your tight hole, dripping and clenching around nothing. He can see in the mirror how your body is practically begging to be filled up. And fill you up he will. But first Erwin inserts a finger and groans at the warmth that greets him. He begins moving it and although you try to understand how he is able to stroke your cunt so perfectly, your mind is fogged and all that’s on your mind is your impending release. This should be a learning experience, but it serves only as a reminder of Erwin’s miraculous hands. He slips his second finger in and your moans only get lounder.

“Erwin, Erwin- they feel so good. Your fingers feel so good!”

You can see his smirk in his reflection, just before he speeds up and you have to grab his wrist to steady yourself. His fingers slam back and forth into your velvety walls. They suck them in, and he is able to find your sweet spot every time. Every single time. Your eyes roll back, you press against Erwin’s chest and your legs shake as you cum. The mess you make, leaking all over Erwin’s hands, your bed, your thighs- you try to look away, but he grabs your face to prevent you from doing so.

“Don’t you dare look away.” His voice is low, threatening. “Look how good I make you feel. Look.”

Your cheeks are flushed and the set that had made you look like a femme fatale, just hours before, is now yet another set that has has you pliant and submissive. “It seems that I’m the only one who can take care of you,” Erwin says. And you know he’s right.

Erwin lifts his soaked fingers to his mouth and his eyes flutter shut as he tastes you. When he opens them, you swear they’ve gone a shade darker. Wordlessly, Erwin slips from behind you to kneel in front of the bed. He removes your panties and holds them up to his nose, giving them a slight inhale before tossing them to the side and lowering his mouth.

“Erwin wai-“

And before you can warn him that your too sensitive- you orgasm was too strong, it’s too soon- his mouth has latched onto your cunt and Erwin is eating you out like a starved man.

“Ah-fuck, fuck, fuck,” You practically scream.

He sucks on your clit, his tongue doing what it does best. You look down, his eyes bore into yours and you know he’s remembering every expression you make as he pushes you over the edge. Despite your trembling arms struggling to keep you upright, your hand goes to grip Erwin’s hair and all you can think about is how soft it is before you cum again. Your husband doesn’t stop this time. His fingers dig into your soft hips to make sure you don’t move, to make sure that he catches everything on his tongue. And he can feel it before you do. The steady build-up of a feeling slightly familiar, but foreign enough that you warn Erwin too late. Your back arches and you squirt in his mouth and before your eyes roll back, you catch a glimpse of what you know to be a smirk in your husband’s eyes.

You can feel the sheets soak below you so try to press your legs together in somewhat of an attempt to hide the mess, but Erwin doesn’t let you. “Don’t be ashamed now, darling.” His voice is solid, domineering. “This is just you perfect body, doing exactly what I tell it to,” He says.

He could be talking about fruits and you would still nod your head dumbly.

The power Erwin has over you is addictive, and your body seems to know it too. As he kisses your thighs, licking off whatever didn’t find its way into his mouth, you can still feel a distant ache at your core. This time, you don’t need to use your words. As you lie weak on the bed, Erwin crawls over, engulfing your form. The lion is ready for his meal. He leans down to capture your lips in a gentle kiss. “I missed you,” He says. It’s the hundredth time, but you don’t tire of hearing it.

“I missed you too.”

Erwin shifts your legs, and you can feel the head of his large cock teasing your entrance.

“I missed all of you,” he repeats. “Your smile. Your voice. Your moans.” He pauses to place a kiss on your collarbone. “Your taste.”

He’s trying to be romantic, but you know why he stalls, and it makes you unable to graciously except the compliments. Erwin loves to hear you pine for him. And who are you to refuse your husband’s desires? So, you reach your hands out towards his shoulders, attempting to make him move if only a little bit. “Erwin!” You whine, and despite your weakness, you manage to push your hips forward, finding friction against his hard cock. “Please!”

Again, that smirk. He rubs against your clit. “My, my- you’ve come twice already and want more?”

Well, he missed your voice so you suppose you should let him hear it. “Let me be selfish, please sir?” You moan. “I need you inside of me.”

His cock twitches against you. And before you know it his hand is around your neck. “Such a good girl, using your words like that.”

He pushes inside you with a groan of relief, a low sound from his throat that causes his eyes to close momentarily. 

It seems you’ve forgotten how big he is because as he stretches you out like it’s your first time, your mouth drops open and a string of curses emerges. Erwin would usually reprimand you for the foul language, but he’s too lost in the feeling of your tight cunt pulling him in. Using your neck as leverage, he squeezes tight so that he can push forward and when your eyes blur, overwhelmed with the pleasure and pain and the lack of oxygen intensifying it all, Erwin loosens his grip only slightly, and your eyes find his again. You don’t notice your mouth hanging open, too focussed on the way your body is accommodating Erwin’s cock again.

“Really big, ‘s really big, sir,” You mumble and Erwin grunts in response, his teeth clenching because he too is reminded yet again of how tight- how perfect- your body is for him.

When Erwin bottoms out, he stills for a moment, basking in your warmth and taking a moment to kiss your cheek, a gentle gesture compared to the hand still grasping your neck. Your cunt gushes despite you wincing about the pain, about his size, and soon he can’t help but move his hips. Erwin pulls back and thrusts deep. You scream him name, as you feel his cock dragging against your walls. Any idea of taking you gently has evaporated from Erwin’s brain and instead his hips snap back and forth violently, his tip kissing your cervix as he buries himself inside of you again and again.

His grunts are laboured as Erwin’s free hand pushes your leg up to your chest to allow him to thrust deeps and deeper. “Just like that- just like that, good girl. My good girl.”

The new angle has him brushing against your g-spot and you won’t last long. You know you can’t- not with him quite literally rearranging your insides. You have one hand clawing at his forearm and the other grips the sheets and you repeat a mantra of “Thank you, sir, thank you” in between your desperate moans. The honorific coming from your lips is too sweet to his ears and he’s reminded of why phone calls bother him so much- nothing compares to hearing your voice like this.  

Erwin’s hand leaves your neck only to tug your bra down, letting your boobs bounce freely as he fucks you hard. You almost complain about the loss of contact but his tongue latches onto to your nipple and before you know it, you are coming all over your husband, screaming his name. Your nails dig into his arm as he nears his own release. Erwin’s hips stutter and he moans your name before throwing his head back in pure bliss as he cums inside of you. You wish you can capture that sight forever, but you don’t think any photo does your husband justice. It’s true- this is better than anything Hange could send.

Your breaths slowly find a slower rhythm in the post-orgasm silence. Erwin watches the way your fluids pool out of you as he pulls out, admiring the own mess on his lower stomach. You wince at the sore feeling and pull him towards you. This time, he follows your command. Breathless bodies mould into each other, finding their place after too long being apart. At the back of your mind, you know you should be making your way to the bathroom, but Erwin’s heavy body lying on your chest is enough to remind you to focus on the moment. For this is where you belong.

“You know, you should be flattered, Erwin.” You nudge his arm weakly as you lay together, bodies entangled in a random set of pyjamas you begrudgingly forced yourself to change into. “No one has better hands than you.”

He laughs. “I am flattered,” he says. “I just like teasing you.”

“No- you have a degradation kink.”

“Yes, that too.”

Even as you were taking a shower together, Erwin’s subtle attempts at having you admit you couldn’t make yourself cum did not go unnoticed. You suppose it’s an ego-thing, but then you realise it’s more. The power of being the only person able to bring you that much bliss is power Erwin thrives on. And despite the money wasted on your pink vibrator, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Still,” Erwin muses and a small smile plays across his lips. “I did expect the photo Hange took to at least help a little.”

Every muscle in your body stills and your eyes suddenly widen. Oh come on. You try to tell yourself that there’s simply nothing wrong with having a photo of your naked husband, but it’s more than that. You know it. Erwin knows it. And by the way he’s smiling, you also know that plastered on your face is the guiltiest of looks. In your poor attempt to escape his gaze by turning your back to him, Erwin chuckles and shakes his head, hugging you closer.

“That’s not fair!” You exclaim.

“It’s not?”

“No!”

You try to wiggle out of his grasp, but Erwin is made of steel. Why do you expect to get away with anything anymore? Erwin Smith is beyond two moves ahead- he’s finished the game before you’ve even started.

“Did you really think I didn’t notice?” 

“Shut up!” You whine. “Why do you have to be such a smartass about it? Let me think I win.”

“Alright, alright.” Erwin chuckles and places a kiss on your forehead. “You’re my winner. Always.”

[liz-allyn]

shudder; part 6/6 [agent mobius x reader]

Series Summary: Pre-Loki series. You are one of the most dangerous variants the TVA has ever recovered, but Mobius knows what makes you tick. Five times he made you shudder, and the one time you returned the favor.

Words: 4.4k

Chapter Warnings/Tags: smut, language, soft daddy kink, sex in otherwise unsanitary conditions, writer's horribly pathetic attempt at dirty talk

A/N: Here it is guys. I struggled with this chapter a lot, also mad respect for gn!writers. I don't think I succeeded in keeping it neutral (welcoming feedback on how I can improve) so I removed that tag.

You watched a small fire crackle in the darkness of an elevator shaft, being used as a chimney. Rain spilled down the walls, running over old steel and concrete, but at least you were no longer in it.

Once you had had the strength to move off the beach, you found a footpath scaling up the face of the cliff which led to an abandoned mining post.

The population of Olympus-V had steady decline for decades, either by migration, poverty, or famine. The planet had been practically barren for years, save for some mining operations to squeeze the last of the planet’s natural resources.

It was in one of those posts where you were now taking refuge with Mobius. You sat on the ground near the elevator shaft, your clothes still soaked, while Mobius fiddled around with building a fire. You wrapped your arms tightly around yourself and tried to keep your teeth from chattering.

“You know how many centuries it took early man on Earth to figure out fire?” Mobius mused as he tended to the flames. “I mean, it’s not a competition or anything, but other civilizations had it down in like a few decades, max.”

You rolled your eyes miserably. “I got him killed, you know,” you replied, not having the energy to follow Mobius into another one of his “fun-facts-about-history” rabbit holes. You’d been quiet for a while, with Mobius having to hold both ends of the conversation. The grim tone in your voice gave him pause.

“The new guy,” you clarified, your tone flat as you spoke of your deceased partner. The last time you and Mobius had spoken, he had sang his praises. “It was only our fourth mission together and he’s dead. Because of me.”

Mobius sighed and turned away from you, “That’s one interpretation.” He dropped another piece of coal into the flame and came to a stand. “Or,” he added, “you could say he was a great analyst who made rational, competent choices and was working with the best data he had. The fact that he trusted you doesn’t make him any less responsible for the outcome.”

He idly wiped his hands on his pants, carrying on and providing no harbor for your self-pity, “I probably would’ve done the same thing.”

“No. You wouldn’t.” Your tone was icy. “Because you weren’t there.” You glared at him from across the smallish room you were huddled in, bitterness souring your voice. “You sent me away, remember?”

He let out an exasperated sigh, rolling his head slightly. “I had no other choice,” he parroted the same old response.

That wasn’t an answer that satisfied you. At all.

“Why?” you bit back with a mocking tone, coming to a quick stand. You pulled no punches. “Because the TVA told you to? Because if the Time Lords—”

“—Time Keepers—”

“—Time Fascists,” you hissed, “think that I have a crush on you, they'll zap me out of my useless existence?”

He glanced over at you, smirking with his head tilted slightly. He replied with a voice as sweet as caramel, “Are you saying you have a crush on me?”

Your shoulders dropped. “You’re insufferable.” You turned away, wishing you could find a different mine.

“Hey, considering my recent valiant and heroic efforts to rescue you,” he replied, “you’d think you’d be a little nicer to me.” You let out an exhausted sigh, but he kept going - cool as a cucumber. “I thought we had a thing going there. I mean - first, you kiss me—”

You spun on your heel. “Kiss you!?” you scoffed.

“Yeah,” he drawled. “On the beach.”

“I was resuscitating you!” you argued. “You call that a kiss?”

He shrugged innocently, a sparkle in his eyes. “Well, I wasn’t going to say anything,” he responded matter-of-factly. “But, uh, yeah - it was a little underwhelming.”

He grinned slyly. You wanted to simultaneously melt into him and burn him alive. You scoffed, shaking your head incredulously.

“What was the point?” you exclaimed. “What’s the point of rescuing me if I’m nothing but a - a tool? A blunt hammer for the TVA to snuff out anyone that steps out of line?”

The pain in your voice was unmistakable, and Mobius dropped his playful banter.

“You think I’ve enjoyed spending the last - however long it's been - hopping around the timeline hunting people who are no different than me?” Your heart ached with every word, “You think I enjoy killing?”

“No,” he answered, weighed with guilt, “I don’t.”

Your rage flared. “Then why won’t you just let me go!?”

“I can’t,” he quietly explained, eyes cast down. He wouldn’t even look at you.

Fuck this infuriatingly charming, cowardly little TVA sheep-whore.

You felt the venom pooling on your tongue. “God! You’re such a company man, aren’t y—”

“I can’t!” he raised his voice in a way that you’d never heard before, stunning you into silence. He lifted his gaze and looked at you solemnly, his expression filled with regret. His words were weak, broken - barely above a whisper. “...Let you go.”

You stared blankly at him, reading the tragedy written on his features. With his defenses down, you could clearly see every word: I don’t want to let you go. I need you, forever. You are mine and I am yours and nothing else makes sense beyond that. I’d do anything to keep you safe.

Were those his thoughts, or yours? You didn’t know anymore.

Mobius reached up quickly and loosened his tie, before deftly undoing the buttons of his shirt.

You were staring like a deer in the headlights. “Wha-Wai-what are you doing?” you blurted uncomfortably with a furrowed brow.

He rolled his eyes. “Not catching hypothermia, if that’s alright with you,” he snarkily said as he pulled off his jacket and shirt, revealing a soaked white undershirt beneath. You remembered that you both were freezing and wet. “I’m drying my clothes by the fire. We still have 10 hours and 23 minutes until we hit the radiation peak.”

Ah yes, you had almost forgotten.

Ten hours until the end of the world, or at least of Olympus-V. And because Mobius’ TempPad was unbelievably conveniently out of juice, and unable to open another Time Door, you were pretty sure you had about the same amount of time left to exist.

Mobius confidently felt otherwise. He rattled on some jargon about needing a massive source of energy to power the TempPad - something about electromagnetic waves, solar bursts, radiation of a dying star, the “sweet spot” between a steady charge and a gruesome death. You honestly stopped listening back at the beach.

You were too busy questioning his motives and your own. Were you happy that Mobius was trapped with you, about to be swallowed by the sun? Or were you furious that he idiotically ran right into an apocalypse and now you both were going to die.

He quipped that at least that technically made him a hero; maybe he’d get a plaque in the TVA cafeteria. You would’ve made some kind of cheeky comeback, but you were already dying inside at that devastating thought.

“Not to be too forward, but you should probably do the same,” Mobius added, bringing you back to the present situation where he was undressing in front of you. “You’re shaking like a chihuahua right now.”

You were about to question the puzzling thought of him being in a place in time to observe a chihuahua, but then he pulled his wet t-shirt over his head. You turned your gaze away reflexively as soon as you spotted human flesh.

Here you were - former soldier, mercenary, and spy, and fearsome hunter of the Time Variance Authority - blushing like a shrinking violet. It’s not that he didn’t have a point, it was just--fuck, he’s undoing his belt— is this real life right now?

“Don’t worry,” he scoffed flippantly. “I’ll even turn my back to preserve your innocence and sanctity.”

He was being facetious but it made you wonder if he had any idea how un-sanctified you were. Your eyes widened at the thought: Did he watch that on the highlight reel too?

Now he was pulling his slacks off, and you were tracking in real time again. He kept his promise and had his back to you, allowing you the privacy to undress. And you did.

You peaked over your shoulder to see him lay his clothes out in front of the flames. He dragged over an old canvas tarp he’d found - pieces of which he’d stripped off for kindling - and moved it to a safe proximity from the fire. He sat down in the middle of the tarp, pulling his knees up and wrapping his arms around him.

And he kept his underwear on - boxer briefs, you’d called it - not that you were trying to look below his waist or anything.

Once he was at rest, he rubbed his hands over his bare arms to create friction. You mirrored his steps one-by-one, until you were also sitting in your underwear on the canvas with your bare backs inches apart.

You both were quiet for a long time, facing opposite directions, surrounded by the cold darkness, and the sound of trickling water. You could still hear the waves thrashing and the rain bartering on the rocks outside. The crackle of the fire - the way the flame danced and dimly lit your surroundings, brought you a sense of peace. It was almost... romantic. Even if it was the end of the world.

“I know this is my fault,” Mobius declared, breaking the silence. You could hear struggle in his voice. “I know I was supposed to stay within my lane. My purpose is to preserve and protect the timeline, and that’s it, it’s just....” He sighed, and you listened carefully, hanging on his words. Was this doubt?

It sounded like he was trying to understand himself. “Something’s different now,” he explained, with a little bit of wonder and fear. “When we’re together, I feel… like I’m someone else. And I’m not who I was before. Before you.”

You quietly listened, thinking about how much you identified with what he was saying.

“My head is telling me it’s all wrong,” he said, “that I’m making a mistake. That I’m playing with fire.” His next thoughts brought the tiniest grin to his otherwise grim voice. “When I’m with you… I feel like a dope… Reckless.” The smile faded as his thoughts sobered him. “Dangerous.”

In the silence that followed, you wondered again whose thoughts you were hearing - his or yours.

“How can something that feels so right be wrong?” he mused openly - for you, the Time Keepers, and all the Sacred Timeline - to hear.

The question that hung heavy in the air had such a clear answer, of which you were certain. Your mind raced trying to think of how to respond, how to explain. You simply couldn’t find the words.

So you turned your body towards him. You reached over Mobius’ shoulder gently to cup the side of his face, and pulled him into a kiss.

It was slow and chaste, projecting every intention and emotion that you lacked the words to describe. Each time you moved your lips, you took another breath; you wrote another line of your love letter to him. He sank deeper into your kiss, as your souls tangled and caught fire.

And then you felt it.

You were positioned behind him, with his back to your chest when a burst of lightning crawled up his spine. A desperate shudder racked his body. He pulled away from you breathlessly, his eyes closed, as you both panted and glowed with the heat of the moment.

“If I didn’t know any better,” your lips curled into a sultry smile, “I’d say I was making you nervous.”

He opened his dark bronze eyes at that, drinking you in. He couldn’t help but mirror your mischievous smirk. In an instant, he snatched you up and pulled you onto his lap. You kissed him hungrily, straddling him, as his hands glided over your body.

Your mind went foggy, as any composure you had in the situation was evaporating. His lustful kisses scorched your skin as they traveled down your neck. He lifted you higher so that he could drink more of you in. You gasped and sighed at how your body reacted to him, your fingers digging into his scalp. He groaned with pleasure as he found your open mouth again, your tongue a welcoming partner.

He pulled you in tighter, your hips grinding further into him. You felt his want, hard against your body, and you felt the last of your innocence pooling between your legs. The friction made you let out an un-sanctified moan, breaking away from his kiss. The sound of your voice intoxicated him.

You were in a controlled descent backwards as he lowered you to your back.

When did you start trembling? Has it really been that long since your last time?

Your hands danced across his chest, triggering goosebumps. Even his skin wanted you. You writhed beneath him as he positioned himself between your legs. You were bursting like a firecracker with anxious need. Your hands groped him, nails gently grazing - traveling down his torso and beneath the waistband of his boxers.

He gasped as your fingers wrapped around his organ, fluttering his eyes shut at your touch. You were on autopilot, your physical need in command of your body, as you attempted to pull his stiff erection from his boxers.

Mobius snatched your hands and you froze. He pulled your arms up, grasping your hands tightly, and pinned your wrists to the floor on either side of your head. You were hit with a wave of confusion, followed by shame.

Maybe you’d read this wrong. You looked up at him, half-expecting to read an expression of disgust.

What you found was the opposite.

His eyes— gentle, dark, and focused intently on you— telegraphed a message for you to read carefully:

You were not the one in control here.

You felt the wind of butterflies deep in your core as you realized he had clear goals for you in mind. He was asking you - imploring you - for command of your body. For the record, he already had it - whether or not either of you were conscious of it.

You lay still, save for your chest’s gentle movements, as his eyes unravelled the layers of your being. Trapped in his gaze, you were stripped bare in more than just flesh.

You were time travelling again - years into the past. The pages of your chapters fell away, until you felt like a pupil again, watching your master navigating the geography of your body.

His grip softened, giving your palms an affectionate squeeze before he released your hands. His leering gaze was already gliding down your valleys, and his hands followed, letting his fingertips brush the delicate flesh of your forearms as they travelled.

All your mind could do to focus was count your every breath as his touch and kisses grazed your skin. You wondered how long it had been for him. You quivered at the thought of him planning this moment.

He took time tasting you with each kiss - down your chest, your belly, the crest of your hips. You lifted your core with his encouragement, allowing him to pull away your last remaining piece of clothing. You were finally unveiled before him. He sighed softly, mind buzzing, as he delicately spread your legs apart.

He moved so slowly with intention, relishing each moment. You were on the verge of losing it and he had yet to touch your most sensitive areas. He could feel your hips squirm with anticipation.

“I want you,” he pacified you, “more than anything.” He tenderly kissed the inside of your thigh. “But I need to know that you want this too. Without a doubt in your mind.”

You were desperate by this point, way past “willing.” Regardless, he met your eyes, waiting patiently for your consent.

You were consumed with lust. “Please,” you stuttered in passionate exhilaration. You could barely recognize your own voice, “You can do anything you want to me.”

His face twitched into a sinful smirk. “I know.” There was that confidence again. “But that’s not what I asked.” He steadied his composure and fixed himself in your sights once again. You gazed at him with a more sobered expression, giving this moment the respect he wanted.

He watched your lips now that he had your attention. “Tell me you want me to make you feel good,” he seductively implored. “Tell me you want me to take you, here and now. I need to hear you say yes.”

The way he asked for your consent could’ve put you over the edge by itself.

“Yes,” you practically moaned under your breath. It was a sinful, thirsty plea. “God, yes, please. I want you to touch me.”

That ignited his fuse.

He lowered to his elbows, positioning his arms beneath your legs. His mouth was on you, leaving you aghast at the force. It was like he wanted more than just to please you - he relished in devouring you, like a frozen dessert on a hot summer day. You jolted and gasped, more from surprise than pain. He took note anyway, and steadied his animalistic pace.

It wasn’t long until your eyes were rolled in the back of your head. You were thunderstruck, arching your body and moaning with ecstasy.

The way his name sounded each time it sprang from your lips made him drunk. Every time you uttered it, you felt him tense and groan. It was a perpetual cycle. Your hips would reflexively buck from the intense pleasure and he would just hold on tighter. He forced your thighs apart as you encouraged him to unleash more rapture on your body.

This was not a particularly new position for you, but it was good. You weren’t sure where he got the experience, but he was really, really good.

And if “Sacred-you”— “NC-17-rated,” “parental-advisory-warning-labelled” badass-you—could just see yourself now: writhing on the floor while being laid out by an older man, one whom you’d rarely seen out of a brown suit and tie. You didn’t think this man knew how to fire a gun before, but you were practically mewling for him like a kitten.

And god, he really seemed to enjoy it.

You warned him that you couldn’t last much longer. You felt the tension building inside. You wanted desperately to satisfy him, to feel him inside of you, to have him enraptured with you. But unless he slowed down, you were going to lose it right here with his mouth on you. You knew he had needs, and you began to plead with him to let you fulfill them.

You pushed down on his shoulders, begging him to let you have a turn. He pulled away, pausing only briefly.

“Uh uh,” he chastised you with a wicked grin. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

He was back on you before you could reply, this time reaching two of his fingers into your core.

Your head dropped backwards at the sensation, and now you were obscenely begging him for more. You’d happily given up any attempt at controlling what happened next, focusing solely on the nuclear fission in your body.

You blossomed for him as his fingertips pulsed on the most sensitive flesh inside inside you. Muscles you didn’t even remember you had repeatedly contracted. He impurely hummed and he lapped greedily at the fruit of his labor.

You were gasping for air, beaded with sweat, as you came down from your high. He leaned over you to witness the sunset of your orgasm. Eyes full of lust, he pulled himself free of his boxers and discarded them as he watched you.

When you glanced down to see the stunning sight of his stimulation, it re-electrified you. You pulled yourself into a sitting position on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. Your legs straddled him eagerly as he lifted your hips over his member.

The erotic sound you both made as you slid down his shaft was sinful enough to cast you both into hell. You kissed him, open-mouthed, and tasted yourself on his tongue. Now that you were on top of him, wrapped around him, he seemed more frantic and less calculated with his movement.

He was gazing up at you like a lustful teenage boy, letting himself be taken by passion. “God...” he whispered, suddenly less skilled with words. “You feel so... ah!... s-so beautiful...”

“You’re so hard…stretching me so tight,” you groaned into his mouth, and he growled in agreement, nodding his head.

He broke away from the kiss, “God - yes, ah, you’re s-so tight, baby...” You grinned excitedly as you climbed and descended his length. You moaned like a porn star as you rode him.

“I can call you that, can’t I?” he said through his own breathless moans. You glanced at him in confusion. He looked concerned. His hands braced your hips as you continued your movement. “Is that okay?”

“Wha-what?”

“The pet name,“ he explained through sighs, “B-Baby? I-I don’t want it to sound de-demeaning, or... patronizing—”

Okay. Now he was overthinking it.

“It’s fine,” you urged him to move on, growing more frustrated, but now he was babbling nervously.

“I could call you something else—”

“—don’t care—”

“—’s’important to me that you know I respect you, and I’d never—”

“I don’t care, I—You can call me whatever you want. Please, daddy… Just— fuck me…”

You crashed your lips on his, but felt his breath hitch as he tensed you immediately. You either said something very right, or very wrong. The sex had all but come to a screeching halt, as you reluctantly met his eyes.

He gazed at you thoughtfully, gears turning.

Timidly, you searched his face for judgment, for any sign of disapproval, but instead, there was a look of almost— awe.

You watched the change in him as the devil overtook him. His eyes turned three shades darker, pooling with lust. His expression of wonder melted into a devious smile. Your dirty talk awakened something in him, like he was remembering a long-forgotten visceral part of himself.

He scooped you up and laid you on your back again, pulling himself out of your body. You only had a brief time to revolt, until he sat up on his knees and he lifted one of your thighs up, pulling your leg over his shoulder. You watched curiously trying to figure out what he was doing, until he gripped your hips and pulled you downward— over his shaft.

You let out a painfully delicious cry as he bottomed out inside of you. He hungrily watched your expressions and relished in the sound of your moans.

His hand braced the inside of your other thigh, holding your legs open so that you were spread at the right angle for him. As soon as he began to thrust, you were done for.

You groaned with ecstasy. “That’s... it..,” he praised you, eliciting more cries from you.

There were no more performances. There was no more pageantry. No more room for pretending to be anyone other than who you are.

You were coming undone for him, and he watched every moment. Every dirty thought and fantasy you ever had might as well have been written on your body. He studied each line.

“Oh god, Mobius—yes,” you babbled as you squirmed.

“Yeah?” he breathed, teasingly. “Does that feel good?” You nodded frantically.

Sweat beaded down his chest as his hands roamed to find your sweet spot, and another desperate wave of ‘yes’s flooded out from your lips.

“What did you call me?” he enticed, his mouth watering for your response. “What name did you call me before?” You were struggling with words, but he wouldn’t stop until he coaxed the right one from you.

“Say it.”

You tangled your fingers in your scalp, turning your head away. He thrust into your hips a little deeper, and you cried out obscenely.

“Say it,” he repeated, more firmly this time. “I wanna hear you say it again. I wanna watch you say it to me.”

More lewd noises dropped out of your mouth, as you propped yourself up on your elbows. “Yes, please, I love what’re… doing t’ me… I need it, daddy…”

He groaned with a lecherous smile, biting his lip. “You are so good for me.”

Lust was dripping from each word as he drew them out. His honeyed, Southern accent had returned. His eyes were blown black as he cooed with praise, “You make me wanna be so bad.”

You were gone after that. Your head tilted back, crying out through another climax. He could hear his own voice—that’s it that’s it—moaning in the distance somewhere, but he was enthralled with your little pleas. The tones of your voice washed over him; he used them to quell the blaze inside.

He knew everything he wanted to do to you, and everything you wanted him to do. And he couldn’t get past the feeling, as he buried himself deeper inside of you, that this was all... familiar.

This picture of you, spread out gloriously beneath him, was impossibly familiar. He imagined a bed that wasn’t his own, and light blue cotton sheets that couldn’t have been his, and the sunlight peeking from a sheer curtain, and falling across the ecstasy-filled face of his lover that he couldn’t have ever married...

That was....you.

Your voice was echoing in Mobius’ head. You whined and whimpered, glowing with passion, signaling that you were moments away from your climax. And then he was here - on Olympus-V with you, and he felt you tighten and flutter around him.

The sight of you, writhing beneath him as you reached orgasm, pulled a deep moan from his chest. White hot light flooded his vision. His body jerked and reacted in unison, filling you with his seed.

For someone for whom time had little meaning, he was now obsessed - trying to catch and hold back each fleeting moment. He leaned forward, his body spent, and you pulled his chin down into a longing kiss.

His mind was spinning. His lungs were still taking deep breaths. He pulled away slowly and rested his forehead on yours, his eyes closed as he struggled to make sense of what was real and what was a dream.

“I could never let you go,” he declared, deep in contemplation. You didn’t quite understand the connection in the present moment. You didn’t remember.

“Then stay with me,” was your gentle reply.

He gazed once again into your eyes with a knowing smile. “Always.”

A/N: And I'm leaving it there. For now. Please reblog with feedback, or send me a message on your thoughts. This is my first attempt at writing in a long, long time. Also it's my first attempt at smut so be nice with your feedback :-)

THANK YOU to all of you for your wonderful comments. Please reblog for support!

@generalhugzzz @isaxbella749 @yodaboo @aloyssia @simsiddy @coloursforyourportrait

[knottaghost]

I wanted to talk about Janus and my favorite ship, it just so happens that roceit is my favorite ship (is anyone surprised?) so here are some roceit head canons:

Roman constantly steals Janus’ stuff

Janus calls Roman “princess”

Roman physically cannot comprehend sarcasm so when Janus says something like “you look horrible” he gets sad

They go on nice walks in the imagination, Roman conjures a bunch of snakes and they just vibe :3

Everything in the imagination loves Janus, more than Roman sometimes (definitely not because the imagination projects how Roman feels)

They will both belt the mean girls soundtrack just because yes.

Since Janus is self preservation, his main goal in life is to make sure Roman’s okay, so he can be very...protective at times (aka the fake snake doesn’t give a shit about you, be nice to his prince or you’ll face Remus)

Remus was the first to find out about Janus’ totally not obvious crush on Roman. His reaction was basically “break his heart, I’ll break your spine and turn you into a pretzel and eat you”

Roman is shit at self care...that’s not a head canon, that’s just a fact.

Janus will use Roman as his personal heater. He’s cold blooded and it just so happens that Roman is constantly warm so he’s very huggable

But...the reason why Roman is always warm is because of burn out. When he’s burnt out he literally burns up, it’s usually not bad but when it is Janus has to ease him back to health

Janus turns into a snake and just hangs out on Roman’s sash when Roman’s working

Janus both loves and hates attention. He will either punch you if you praise him or melt.

Roman loves attention but doesn’t get it that much. So when he and Janus started dated he’d get flustered by every single thing.

Remus hated seeing how oblivious both Janus and Roman were about each other’s feelings. So he might have once yelled “just fuck already” and embarrassed the crap out of both of them (they started dating the day after :3)

[jimlingss]

Sugar and Coffee [22.5]

Back to Chapter 22

Words: 2729 || The Ultimate Mini-Chapter of the series

“You’re working in a grocery store now?” Taehyung asks with raised brows, surprise taking hold. He never imagined his friend being a produce boy, yet it seems fitting somehow. “Isn’t working in the bakery section more suitable?”   Jimin shrugs. “I didn’t get to pick, but the job is pretty relaxed, so I’m not that worried. My manager is really nice and I’ll probably quit when I find a real position after graduating.”   “Nice, dude.” They fist pump. “Now you can buy me my deli meats all the time.”   “You’ll have to reimburse me, Tae.” The boy with his full cheeks has his eyes crinkled.   The two boys have known each other since their elementary days — where Taehyung kept stealing Jimin’s books and pencils until one day the timid latter had enough and tackled the former on the playground. They stuck together after that, finding that their personalities balanced. It would only be later until they met Yoongi in math class, Hoseok in Jimin’s extracurricular, and Jungkook during an outside volunteering event in High School.    It was how the four of them came to be, how they naturally formed a friendship over the course of time and still remain close after so many years. So Taehyung has no hesitation when his phone starts blowing up with notifications and immediately verbalizes his woes—   “Oh shit.”   “What?” Jimin abandons the game he’s playing. He’s never been good at them like the rest were.    “Yuna found me on instagram,” Taehyung grimaces. “She just added me and liked all my pics since three years ago.”   Jimin bursts out laughing much to his best friend’s dismay. “She’s the girl Y/N and Jungkook was showing around, right?”   “Yeah, that sixteen year old.”   The shorter man’s brows furrow. “Isn’t she eighteen?”   “Same thing.” Taehyung sighs despite the fact that he’s only twenty himself and Jimin muses that he often acts twelve. But he doesn’t utter his thoughts and Taehyung tosses his device onto the couch. “She kind of scares me.”   “Why?” Jimin gives a toothy grin. “She’s tiny.”   “Haven’t you heard what Yoongi said? The shorter ones are always the ones closer to hell.” It’s a fair point. “The smallest peppers are always the spiciest, am I right?”   “Fuck off, it’s about girth not length.” He ignores how Taehyung’s brows wiggle. “Didn’t she ask you out before she left?”   “Yep.”   “What did you even do? She wasn’t like that to me or Hoseok.”   “Exactly. I have no clue.” Taehyung would make a joke about he’s just naturally irresistible but this is no time to joke around. Yuna is undeniably intimidating and a serious threat to his existence. “I heard from Y/N that she’s thinking of coming here, so thank god we’re all graduating in a few months.”   “Yeah, well you might need another semester with the grades you have.”   “Bro.” Taehyung sits up straight. “You want to fight?”   He shrugs. “I’m just saying you can’t get away with a thirty percent in nutrition.”   “Fuck. Don’t remind me. I need to catch up on my readings.”   “Same here.”   Yet no one moves. They don’t even flinch.    The two should crack open their textbooks and start reading — but Taehyung’s arm only stretches to grab a controller and join the game Jimin’s in.   The night continues on as the two relish in their youth and ability to be irresponsible without repercussions. Or at least too many repercussions.

The air of the small coffee shop is tense. It is as if the four walls are closing in, but still, she’s glad that it’s a public setting. She can’t bear if it was just her and him. At least in public, there are voices to fill in the background silence and the threat of public embarrassment keeps her from crying, from having an outburst.   It’s difficult to face someone she used to care so much about. To this day, she still doesn’t know what she felt can be called love. But the fact that she has to contemplate it, she’s inclined to think that it’s not. But that doesn’t mean their short and sweet relationship was any less meaningful. He was her best friend for so long after all.   Aeri swallows hard, sipping her drink. She tries not to get the paper cup to shake so much in her clammy hands and ends up putting it back on the table when she realizes she can’t taste it well.   After another beat, she lifts her eyes to look at his and realizes that he’s been staring at her.   Aeri breaks the silence. “Why’d you call me here, Hoseok?”   “I thought it would be nice to talk.”   “About what?”   “Us.”   Closure. He came here for closure, but she’s not sure what kind of closure he wants or how he wants to shut this bittersweet chapter of their lives.   “What about u-us?” She hates that her voice breaks, but oddly enough, it isn’t as painful as it was a few weeks ago. A few weeks ago, she would’ve never been able to face him like this, wouldn’t be able to even look at him without crying. It seems like as time goes by, it becomes easier.   “I’m sorry.”   He says in a weakened tone that hurts her as well.   “Don’t apologize, Hoseok.”   “No, but I want to. I’ve been thinking about it a lot — and what we had….it was good.”   “It was.” Aeri smiles. “Wasn’t it?”   He nods, eased at her openness, that she’s not defensive or angry like he thought she would be. Like she has the right to be. “I don’t think I tried hard enough to make it work.”   “I didn’t either, so don’t blame yourself alone,” Aeri says, a tiny smile tugs on her lips. She accepts his apology. “I had my part to play in it too.”   “I didn’t want to hurt you.”   “I didn’t either. But it’s okay, Hoseok. We just weren’t right for each other.”   He nods. It goes silent. He musters a tender smile. “Truce?”   “Truce.” The girl giggles when they shake hands across the small table. “You still owe me ten dollars when I lent you gas money.”   “Oh, you’re really going to bring that up now?”   “Of course,” Aeri laughs. “Fair is fair.”   It’s hard to be acquainted with someone who used to be so much closer. Someone who has so many memories — good ones and hurtful ones. And often times the end can never be the same as the beginning.   For the rest of their lives, Aeri knows that she’ll always keep Hoseok at a distance, at an arm’s reach, for the sake of her own heart and self-preservation. But she considered herself one of the lucky ones — that they have a mutual understanding, that they can still see each other, and can still have some semblance of a platonic friendship.   She’s lucky when she knows that the two of them will never revert to being complete strangers.

Min Yoongi is a man of many things.   He is quiet, but deadly. He is grumpy and lethargic, but will go out of his way to make someone’s life miserable and has the biggest smile when he sees suffering. He had the most joy when Taehyung stubbed his toe against the doorframe, when Jimin was last place during Smash.   Most of all, he’s an enigma. Lazy, yet the hardest working. Mean and snarky, yet always willing to lend an ear and shoulder. Indifferent and aloof, yet the one who never fails to react first in a crisis.   But of all things...you never expected him to be clingy.   “So this is what you do all day?” Yoongi gestures to the clutter on the kitchen counter, the wires and gum paste rolled out, styrofoam and toothpicks, small brushes and petal dust shades. “You practice making flowers and then go home to suck Jungkook’s dick?”   “Excuse me.” You scoff. “I practice making cakes too.”   “You’re fun.”   “If you don’t like it, then leave me alone,” you mutter out of the corner of your mouth, concentrating back on the rose you’re working on. “Why are you hanging out with me anyway?”   “Because it’s you or Taehyung right now and I’d rather spend time with you than Taehyung.”   “What’s wrong with Taehyung?”   “He’s Taehyung.”   A light scoff falls out of your mouth. You know the motherfucker has a soft spot for him, but he can say whatever he wants. He’ll deny it even if you confronted him. “Want to make flowers?” you offer.   “Nope.”   Min Yoongi would rather fiddle with kitchen materials and spin around on the stool than brush up on sugar flowers, piping flowers or fondant flowers. But you don’t have the time or energy to argue.   You do, however, show off once you’re finished. “What do you think?”   He hums as he looks at your finished product. “Not half bad, I guess. I’ve seen worse.”   It’s not the greatest compliment in the world but you’ll take it especially since it’s coming from him. You’ve noticed in the time you’ve known Yoongi that he has a difficult time praising others. He always tries to work around it, skirting through the subject, never verbalizing his feelings despite being such a straightforward person.   It never fails to be entertaining to watch.   You grin. “If my relationship with Jungkook ever goes to shit, we’d still be friends, wouldn’t we, Yoongi?”   “Sure,” he mumbles while resting his elbow on the counter, cheek in his palm lazily. “But your relationship with Kook won’t ever go to shit. Kid’s too whipped for you.”   Your smile only widens. “He is, isn’t he?”   “You are too,” he says when you attempt to exclude yourself. “It’s gross to watch, but whatever.”   “You need someone in your life too, Min. Maybe you’d be less bitter all the time.” It’s not that he’s bitter, but you like to tease that he is since you know it grinds his gears. “I have a cousin of a cousin who’s around our age. Want to meet her?”   His expression wrinkles like he just bit into a lemon. Yoongi sits upright. “First of all, fuck you. I’m not bitter — I’m just me, bitch. Secondly, I don’t want to meet anyone, much less your cousin. And last of all, you’re becoming worse than Taehyung.”   “Maybe this is an invitation for you to leave then.” You grin cheekily at Yoongi and it doesn’t amuse him. It’s unfortunate he doesn’t have a soft spot for you like Jungkook does. “And don’t call me a bitch. Only Jungkook’s allowed to do that in bed.”   “I didn’t need to know that.” Yoongi’s face crumples more and he waves at you. “Just stop talking and continue what you’re doing.”   Min Yoongi is an enigma and someone you relate to the most. Often times you feel him on a spiritual level. And in spite of what he might think internally, he’s a great friend.    He’s logical, reasonable, the clarity that the whole group usually needs before they think doing dumb shit, like jumping off the roof of the dining center into a pile of snow beneath, is a good idea. He’s hilarious in a sarcastic, snarky way and cares the most when no one’s looking.   He reminds you of an older brother who will always watch your back — and he makes you glad that both you and Jungkook have him in your life.

Jungkook had a dream.   It was odd — only because it felt so real and how it still sticks into his mind hours later. Usually dreams fade away like memories of childhoods where he can’t distinguish people, actions, his own thoughts but generally what had occurred and the feeling he had obtained.   But Jungkook remembers this dream well.    It was a dream where he wobbled to the kitchen in this small house with wooden floorboards and hideous wallpaper, his home, and found you by the window above the sink. Only, you were old with gray hair and wrinkles around your face, an apron tied around your body that was shorter and more sluggish. And his own hands were wrinkled like crumpled paper, round glasses perched on his nose, his movements slowed down as he staggered.   You had turned around and complained about the damn neighbour kids ruining your garden with their littering and he had to calm you down for fear of you getting a heart attack. It was so entirely mundane, and he had never been more confused when he awoke.   “Jungkook!” His mother shouts over the phone. “Are you still here?” Her voice sounds farther away. “Honey, the phone’s broken again! I can’t hear him!”   The boy snaps back to attention. “No, I’m here! Mom? Hello?”   But neither of his parents hear him. Instead, there’s rustling and the sound of his father’s voice. “Give me that. Hello?”   “Hello?” Jungkook sighs.   “Hello?! Goddammit, I just fixed this old thing yesterday!”   “No, I’m right here!” He has to strain his voice, shouting loud enough that could warrant complaints from the people next door. “I can hear you!”   “Honey, is that you?” His mom calls out again and there’s more rustling. “Where’s the speakerphone? Oh, here. Hello?”   For the tenth time, Jungkook exclaims— “Hello!”   “Finally. I thought the phone was broken again.” Both his parents start discussing the phone issues and Jungkook nurses his headache before the conversation gets back on track again. “Have you been eating well?”   “I’ve been fine, mom.”   “Good! Your grandma’s visiting and she’s been so worried about you. It’s not good to do all that exercise and not eat well! You’ll burn all your fat and just be skin and bones!” There’s the sound of his grandma’s voice at the back that he can’t distinguish well enough to make out what she’s saying. “Anyhow, your aunt and uncle send their regards. We’ll be visiting their home this time for the Holiday season come December. Also Lia and Eunbi wanted to ask if Y/N will be coming home with you.”   “Uh.” Jungkook scratches the back of his neck. “I’m not sure yet.”   “Oh, well, do bring her, dear.”   His dad suddenly says, “Heaven knows, your mom and grandma can’t stop talking about how great she is. If she comes by, I’ll fire up the grill and we can have a barbecue too!”   “Yeah, we’ll see,” he exhales sharply.   Jungkook still hasn’t announced to his family that he’s dating you yet. If you agree to come back with him for Christmas, he’ll probably make it known to them but he can’t even fathom the many more times they’ll call if they knew. God, they would probably call you directly and he would rather spare you from their smothering love.   Suddenly a thought creeps into Jungkook’s mind. “Hey, mom. Can I talk to grandma for a second?”   “Sure! Mom! He’s here.” He can hear the phone getting passed, more buttons accidentally being pressed, and his grandma’s voice sounds closer as if she accidentally turned off the speakerphone.    “Hello? Kookie, is that you?”   They exchange the usual back and forth, asking about each other’s well-being and wishing one another good health. His grandma also tells him to bring you around some time when he comes home and how lovely you are — but he doesn’t need to hear it. Jungkook’s already long learnt that.   “Hey, grandma.” He finally approaches the question he’s been meaning to ask. Slow and hesitant, but he manages. “What was it like to grow old with grandpa?”   He can practically hear the soft smile on her face. “Oh, it was wonderful.” There’s a pause as if the aged woman is looking for a word to exactly describe her experience. Though she finally seems to be able to find it. “It was a privilege.”   A privilege.   That’s the perfect word. It encapsulates his dream entirely.    It was sad to be aged, to see you tired, to feel weighed down himself and slower than what he’s used to. But when he looked at you, he didn’t just see an old woman — he saw the snarky girl he knew of in high school, the attractive girl he daydreamed about for so long, the one he’s with now. And the one who will join him for so many more memories.   Even if it was just a dream, Jungkook’s excited to make it a reality.

[astralsweetness]

Set my soul on fire (make me wild) || Hui/Reader (M)

➣ I was originally going to write a LOT more smut (I had so much planned that I never got to!!! ugh).. Maybe I’ll have to do a part 2 or something 👀 the amount of time i spent looking at pics of his studio just so that one scene would be accurate is insane Title from the song ‘Queen of Disaster’. Very briefly proof-read, so please feel free to inform me of typos!

➣ Hui/Reader | Hui drunkenly kisses the reader without explicit consent but owns up to it bcs I’m tired of every other fic that includes this trope just glossing over it | Smut warnings include: masturbation, fingering, hair-pulling (implied), biting (mostly implied), oral + snowballing, slight pain/masochism (implied), some humiliation/degradation + some praise, referenced submissive headspace, and all of them apply to Hui lmao. Also it’s mentioned that Hui isn’t strictly heterosexual and if that bothers you then idk what to tell you

➣ “He is hanging off your every word and you suddenly feel like you have a choice to make - it’s one you don’t think about for more than a second, because you realize that you don’t need to.”

Hui knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that you had completely ruined his life just by existing in it.

It wasn’t a bad thing, necessarily. The feeling he got whenever you smiled at him, for example, was definitely not a bad thing. The way his skin tingled whenever you brushed against him was.. bothersome, but not a bad thing. The way his heart sped up and beat almost painfully hard whenever he indulged in his regular skinship with you wasn’t particularly bad, but he’d stopped doing that recently just as a preservation strategy so he didn’t die in the next year from a heart attack. (He was a naturally touchy person, and he wasn’t completely sure how he felt at having to stop that with you specifically.)

The way his mind constantly drifted to thoughts of you was starting to become an issue though, as was how he tensed up whenever you got even moderately close to him. You’d started to notice, and he had no idea how to tell you that it was happening because of that one time the rest of the boys had ‘accidentally’ forced the two of you to be pressed against one another in an elevator, and that just the knowledge that your breasts were pressing against his arm had him fighting to not get hard like some sort of teenager. He wasn’t totally sure how successful he’d be the next time if something similar happened.

Still, you were, as far as he was concerned, completely unattainable, and that in itself was a problem. He’d experienced his fair share of heartaches and heartbreaks before, but this was.. different. At least in those circumstances he’d gotten a definitive answer.

With you though, he couldn’t even bring himself to ask, had resigned himself to pining over you like a kid with a crush.

If you hadn’t ruined his life then you sure as hell had made it harder.

.｡..｡.

When Hui gets a knock on his studio door around six pm he’s not particularly surprised – lately his members had taken to dropping in to make sure he had eaten something that day. (Usually he had not.)

He is surprised to see you standing alongside Yuto when he opens the door, so he glances at the maknae suspiciously – Yuto seems perfectly innocent, but Hui wasn’t exactly sure how much of that was an act.

“Hyung, did you eat today?” The younger boy holds up a bag as an offering – it doesn’t look like the regular convenience store food the boys would usually grab for him, so Hui accepts it hesitantly.

“I was originally just going to bring food for Hyunggu, since he was apparently starving in his studio or something, but then he mentioned that you never ate either, so..” You’re looking at him like you’re vaguely disappointed, and it makes a funny feeling tighten in his chest so he pretends to be completely absorbed with looking through the bag. He’s not sure where you got the food from, but it was mostly stuff that he actually liked. “I went to a place Hyunggu wanted, but he told me what he thought you’d like from there – I hope he was right.”

“This – you didn’t have to do this.” It’s nice not being the one buying things for once, he has to admit that to himself, but he still felt a bit bad that you’d felt the need to bring him anything at all. “Thank you, though.”

“You’re right, I didn’t have to. I wanted to – just like I wanted to bring Yuto food too when Hyunggu told me he was also here.” You’ve perched on the edge of his small leather couch and he wonders if you’d ever been in here before – he honestly can’t remember, though with how hyper-aware he was of you it was pretty safe to assume you hadn’t been. Yuto’s lingering near the door quietly, watching you and he interact, and he feels like the younger is analyzing what was happening.

“Thank you for it – I should go eat it now, while it’s still warm.” Yuto’s gentle bass of a voice is almost soothing, but Hui shoots him a look anyway because he suddenly knew what was happening. His maknaes were downright masterminds when it came to plans like this, and he can’t think of any way to get Yuto to stay before you bid him a cheerful goodbye as the Japanese boy smiles at the both of you as he carefully closes the door.

“Should I go too? I don’t want to distract you or be a bother or anything.” Your question is so sincere that he just looks at you for a few moments, tries to figure out a way to say ‘Yes, you do distract me and bother me, but definitely not in the way you’re thinking’. He finally settles on a single head shake, clearing a small portion of one of his desks to place the food on.

“Did you already eat?”

“No, but I’m fine.” Your answer is quiet, and he glances over to see you gazing around his studio – he feels vaguely embarrassed, though he’s not particularly sure why. His studio is remarkably small, it’s true, but he’s not actually ashamed of anything in it.

“You’ve never been in here before?” He’s pretty sure you haven’t, but there’s no harm in confirming it. You’d been focused intently on reading the names on his soccer jerseys, but once he speaks you turn all that intense concentration on to him and his mouth goes dry.

“Nope. Not that I remember, anyway, and I’m pretty sure I’d remember that.” You’re smiling at him and he doesn’t know why that’s something you’d remember, but your smile makes him not really care about the particulars. “Now eat, Hui.”

He raises his eyebrows at the parental tone you’ve adopted but says nothing, knowing there was no way he could get out of it now – and honestly, he didn’t really want to. He was really fucking hungry, and the meat you’d brought him smelled delicious.

It’s only as he’s taking his first bite (which is excellent by the way, Hyunggu apparently had a very good taste in restaurants) that he remembers what you said about not eating and makes a stupid split-second decision. (He’s never been one to think about things like this too much before blindly doing them, which was probably a problem, come to think of it.)

“Here –“ He holds the strip of bulgogi out towards you, one hand underneath, the sound of his heartbeat a constant background theme song. “Say ‘ah’~” And it’s so easy to pretend, to act like he’s just being friendly, to tinge everything he says with a bit of aegyo – you roll your eyes at him but accept the food anyway.

It’s not easy to ignore the intimacy of an act like this, to ignore the way he’s hit with a sudden yearning deep in his chest to be able to feed you food whenever, like a real significant other could.

“Thank you, but no more! This food is for you.”

“Okay, okay.”

The silence that slips back afterwards is mostly comfortable – you seem determined to make sure he eats, so while he does so you go back to gazing around his studio. Hui feels like there really wasn’t that much to look at, but you hadn’t looked bored yet, taking in the contents of his desk and then computer monitor. He realizes belatedly that he still had the windows open for some of their unreleased tracks, but when he glances at you again you’ve already moved on from them, so he leaves them where they are.

“Are you still seeing that one guy?” It’s easy conversation, light and carefree even if the topic makes him feel a bit bitter – as much as the knowledge of you seeing other people ate away at him he knows it would bother him more if you didn’t feel comfortable talking with him about it at all. Being able to be a close friend you confided in was something he cared more about than not feeling jealous.

“Oh – no, I’m not.” Your tone is carefully disinterested, but he can see through it well enough by now. Still, he doesn’t say anything, just turns so he’s fully facing you, focused and listening. “We just had a – confliction of interests I guess you could say.” You laugh softly at your wording and he laughs too, even if he doesn’t totally understand what you mean.

“And that means, what, exactly?”

“He thought women should be submissive during sex, and I disagreed.” ..Oh. Hui’s gaze darts away as he tries to process that – it wasn’t that you talking about sex was surprising. He was used to talking with you about intimately private things like this, though that was before this annoying infatuation with you had manifested into the tiresome nuisance it was now. Still, you’d never exactly stated your.. affinities towards any one thing.

“Ah.. is that so?” He sounds much hoarser than he’d meant to, like he’d choked on something – he still can’t look at you, because suddenly all he can think about is what that meant, if it meant leather and pain or lace and sweetness, if it meant scathing words or saccharine praises.

“Are you blushing?” You’re leaning forward off his couch, grinning and trying to get a look at his face, one of your hands on his knee to keep him from turning away from you - and he realizes that yes, he is fucking blushing, and the place you were touching him felt like it was blistering with heat. “Well, at least you’re not getting all upset with me for injuring your masculine pride or whatever by being a woman who doesn’t like to –“

“Okay! Okay okay, please take mercy on me!” His slightly exaggerated whining is met with your laughter, and his face feels like it’s on fucking fire, but he can’t look away from you now that he’d accidentally met your gaze.

“Sorry – you’re just so cute when you’re flustered!” And he knows he shouldn’t take this as anything more than friendly teasing, just like whenever Hyunggu would call him ‘cute’ whenever he got scared of something, but your words still make something short-circuit in his brain and he swears to everything that you will be the death of him.

“I’m – sorry things didn’t work out with him, but you’re really going to kill me if you keep this up.” And it’s not even a lie – he is ninety-eight percent sure that if you keep talking like this without giving him time to recuperate then he was just going to over-heat and pass out.

“I should go anyway, I’ve distracted you long enough – I didn’t go too far, did I?” You’ve stood up now and are looking down at him with a worried smile, so he just shakes his head because he’s pretty sure if he tried to talk he’d say something stupid like ‘No, I definitely didn’t mind hearing you say that, and while you’re at it please tell me some more’. “I’ll talk to you later, okay? Make sure you eat it all!”

He manages a “goodbye” that sounds sort of like he wasn’t dying, waving to you until you leave and his studio door beeps to signify that it was locked again.

“For fuck’s sake..” Hui forces himself to breathe deep, tries to will some of the heat to leave his face. He really didn’t know why he was getting so flustered over something like this – he wasn’t usually the type. Was it just because it was you? Because he definitely wouldn’t mind if you preferred to be dominant?

Hui curses again, a quiet ‘fuck’ that doesn’t really encompass everything he’s feeling but seems to be the best he can manage. Fuck indeed. He was so fucked.

.｡..｡.

The next time Hui’s in his studio he does his best to forget about the conversation the two of you had had last in there, tries to forget the way his entire body had lit up when you touched his leg, tries to forget the way you’d smiled so sweetly when he fed you.

It doesn’t go well.

To be honest, he didn’t do things like this often – he was busy most of the time, and if he was in his studio then he usually had something he needed to work on instead. But being in this room less than twenty-four hours after you had off-handedly mentioned that you liked to take a more dominant approach in the bedroom had him unable to concentrate on anything else, though he had made a valiant effort for an upwards of fifteen minutes.

With an agitated huff he’s pushing his chair back from his desk with more force than necessary, moving to make sure his studio’s door was locked before taking a seat on the edge of his couch. For a moment he contemplates if he’s really going to do this, runs an aggressive hand through his dyed silver hair and then curses the tingling pain it brings that he doesn’t quite hate as much as he should in the moment.

There’s a lingering feeling of shame and a much stronger feeling of embarrassment covering his body when he reaches for himself, though it only lasts for a few moments until the feeling of the rough friction of his palm through his jeans overpowers anything else.

Hui tips his head back with a soft moan before he remembers he needs to keep quiet, bites his lip when he unzips himself so he can wrap his fingers around his cock more easily. He’s rough, impatient, wants to finish fast but also likes the slight bit of pain – he full body shudders when he finally tugs the waistband of his briefs down and feels the cold air hit him, falling back onto his forearm. He knows, for a fact, that there’s a small bottle of lube in one of his drawers somewhere, but he doesn’t bother looking for it – he’s slick enough as is, and the slight pain keeps him grounded, keeps him from getting into it enough that he wouldn’t be able to monitor his volume.

There’s a slight urgency surrounding it all that is always there when doing something like this in a semi-public place, and he gives into it this time and allows it to urge him on quicker, fucking into his fist like he was going to get caught at any second.

He wants to drag this out, wants to get this over with, wants to think about anything else or feel the need to pull up some dirty video on his phone to finish, but all he can think about is you, you, you – he wonders what it would be like if you were the one stroking him instead, if you’d take pity on him or would be ruthless, if you’d whisper sweet compliments into his skin or humiliate him with biting words, if you’d bite at his neck, he really wanted you to bite at his neck and mark him up –

He orgasms with a choked off cry, hastily shoves the back of his wrist against his teeth to try to keep quiet as his hips buck sloppily into the loose circle of his fingers. He’s never been particularly quiet, and another wave of arousal washes over him as he imagines you telling him to keep it down, warning him that you’d have to gag him otherwise. He whimpers pitifully at the thought and tries to shut his mind down, feeling overstimulated both physically and mentally.

His fingers are sticky, the warmth quickly drying on his skin, and he feels much too hot, a thin sheen of sweat clinging to his skin alongside a layer of shame. He’s not totally sure why but he feels like he’s just made everything worse, like somehow he’d crossed a line and now being around you was going to be ten times harder.

He also feels like this was inevitable though, that his attraction to you had been building for so long that if he hadn’t found a release for it somewhere then he would have gone insane.

Or maybe he’s insane now, now that he’d done something this dirty and depraved. He really didn’t know, gaze still just a bit glassy and unfocused.

What he did know was that he was completely and utterly fucked at this point, collapses onto his back and lets his aching forearm finally take a break as his eyes slide shut in defeat.

.｡..｡.

“You’re not serious.”

“Of course we are, hyung – why, do you have a problem with it?”

Hongseok is taunting him, like he always does, and Hui would usually play along and tease him back but he feels completely thrown off guard and does nothing more than blink at all of them incredulously. His lack of a playful reaction in return has Hongseok softening a bit at the edges, but Hyunggu isn’t nearly as merciful.

“What’s the problem with it? You’ve been wanting us to do something bonding like this for a while, and now we have a time to do it, a reason to do it, and someone to make sure we don’t screw it all up by doing something stupid when we’re drunk.”

“We didn’t force her, hyung, she offered when we asked.” Yuto’s trying to alleviate Hui’s concerns, but he’s way off base – still, he’s trying, so Hui manages what he hopes is more smile than it is grimace in the Japanese boy’s direction.

“We want to drink, she doesn’t like drinking, and we have a few days off because Road to Kingdom ended – what are you so worried about?” Changgu asks him, kind and sincere as always – Hui doesn’t trust him for a minute, but he can’t fight the natural urge to tell everyone what his issue was anyway. God, he hated them sometimes. (They were his family, and he supposed sometimes you just had to hate your family.)

“You all know my – my problem with her.”

“Yeah, we know you want to –“

“Date her.” Wooseok cuts Shinwon off at the last second, modifying whatever it was his hyung had been about to say – Shinwon looks both annoyed and scandalized that Wooseok had thought he was going to say anything else. Hui does his best to ignore them.

“You really thought I’d be okay with her being the one watching over us while we drank? Knowing that none of us can drink well?” He swore he could literally feel his stress levels rising – it wasn’t like he was an embarrassing drunk or anything, but he knew he had an incredibly low tolerance for it, and he also knew that if the entire group was drinking then they were just going to end up egging one another on until everyone was truly smashed.

“Well, you’re going to have to be okay with it, hyung.” Hyunggu, always the hard-ass, insists forcefully – he doesn’t say it unkindly, but he says it in a tone that brooks no room for disagreement. It’s more Kino’s voice than it is Hyunggu’s, scarily similar to when they’re in the practice room.

Hui knows he could override it with hyung or leader seniority, knows Hyunggu is watching him carefully to see if it’s actually something the elder couldn’t deal with.

He ultimately says nothing, just sighs in a way that lets everyone else know he’s acquiesced – the resulting cheer brings a small smile to his face, even if he still feels uneasy about how the planned drinking night would go. He knew that when it came to both his members and you in one building with alcohol involved there was no way he wasn’t royally fucked.

.｡..｡.

The night goes exactly as you expected it to – none of the Pentagon members could hold their liquor particularly well, which meant that after an hour and a half they were all at their limits. (It was honestly kind of funny to watch. They were all so intent on getting one another drunk that they weren’t really even paying attention to the way everyone was sabotaging each other by constantly keeping the cups full.)

Still, that meant you were mostly trying to make sure they didn’t kill or injure themselves somehow. It wasn’t too hard of a task, though you did have to threaten both Wooseok and Hyunggu to keep them from climbing on top of the only coffee table Dorm A had. You were pretty sure the glass would just shatter under their combined weight. Hyunggu had targeted you with an impressive pout after that, but he’d lost interest pretty quickly when Yuto had fallen asleep - not that you blamed him, the rapper was sort of adorable when he slept.

It also meant that when Hui got up to get water – he swore that’s what he was getting, at least – you followed him. The man was a menace in the kitchen when he was sober, you were almost afraid to imagine what he’d manage to do when he was drunk. Just his presence alone might cause the stove to burst into flames or something. He was seriously cursed.

“Why are you following me?” His question is just a bit slurred together, almost sounding more like he was incredibly sleepy instead of drunk – you figure it’s because he hadn’t had as much to drink, but you weren’t really sure. You hadn’t been monitoring how much any person drank, more concerned with keeping them alive. (They could manage to injure themselves sitting on the floor sober, so being drunk just made your job several times harder.)

“Just checking.” You murmur – he raises his eyebrows at your comment but doesn’t say anything else, turning to grab a glass from one of the cupboards. You watch him for four whole seconds before you decide he’s about to knock several of them to the floor, stepping forward to reach for it instead. Maybe you’d been wrong about how much he had drank.

“I could have gotten it..” His petulance makes you smile, doing your best not to laugh at the little “hmph” he gives you when you inform him that no, he probably could not have.

“Just let me take care of you, you big baby. At least this way I can make sure you’re getting only water.”

“That is all I was getting..” He’s still sulking when you hand it to him, face flushed from the culmination of everything he’d drank tonight. You force your gaze away when he begins to drink – even drunk off his ass he was still an infuriatingly confusing mix of handsome and cute, and you resolutely did not want to watch his throat when he swallowed.

The sound of glass hitting a bit too hard on a solid surface startles you – Hui’s set his glass down incredibly close to your hand, depth perception just a bit fucked. You want to open your mouth to scold him for the close call, but his body heat is incredibly distracting, and he’s raising one of his hands and your breath catches in your throat.

He cages you in against the dorm’s sink, one hand on the side of your neck – to angle the kiss better or to steady himself you weren’t sure – with the other bracing himself as he presses his lips to yours. He’s so ultra-hot against your body, tastes of the same fruity drink Shinwon had been pressing into his hand all evening, the metal of his belt buckle biting into your stomach.

It’s not until he gives a soft breathy moan into your mouth that you realize you’ve been kissing him back for the past thirty seconds in his own kitchen, heedless of the rest of his members in the adjoining room or the fact that he was drunk enough he could barely stand without assistance. You press at his shoulders with minimal force, missing the pressure of his lips when he instantly moves away.

“What..?” He looks immensely confused, and you feel awful for kissing him back when you weren’t totally sure he was even aware of what he was doing. “Why’d you push me away?“

“Hui –“

“You kissed me back, so why’d y –“

“I just don’t want you to do something you’re going to regret later, Hwitaek.” You hope the use of his full name will get through to him – it seems it does, in some regard, because while he chokes out a half-disbelieving and half-tormented laugh he still pauses and blinks at you slowly like he was trying to carefully choose his next words.

“You act like I haven’t wanted to do this since the first time I met you.” And oh, his voice is just a bit huskier, a bit slurred on the syllables, but he says them carefully and you know that, at the very least, Drunk Hui meant them.

The problem was that you didn’t know if Sober Hui would agree.

“You should go to bed, Hui.” You say this instead of saying all the other things crowding the tip of your tongue, instead of grabbing him by the collar and kissing him again – alcohol took away a person’s consent, and you weren’t about to take a chance to pressure Hui into doing something you weren’t sure he wanted in the first place.

“No one else has gone to bed yet..” Now he’s sulking – but this is normal, this you can deal with. You can pretend like your lips didn’t still tingle where his had been touching, can pretend like you weren’t already addicted to the feeling.

“That’s not really a valid argument considering Yuto’s fallen asleep twice already.” You counter, watching the way he bites at his bottom lip in frustration – you know it for what it is, and it still seems coy to you instead, like he’s trying to seduce you.

God, what was wrong with you? He was just pouting now, brow furrowed, and you feel absolutely pathetic for seeing his current actions as anything other than what they really were.

It didn’t matter how attractive or desirable you found him, you couldn’t in good conscience do anything while he was so inebriated.

“Come on, Hui – let’s get you to bed so I can get back to the other boys to make sure they haven’t done something stupid, like coercing Hongseok into wrestling Changgu shirtless. Again.”

“It wasn’t that stupid –“

“They literally broke a bookshelf with their bodies, be quiet.” The banter comes easily, is normal and comfortable – it’s easy to pretend like he hadn’t just been kissing you, like you hadn’t just been fantasizing about him seducing you of his own free will. His skin is warm underneath your fingertips, flushed from the alcohol, as you direct him by the bicep down the hall and to his room.

You’re rarely in here – he’s rarely in here, actually, considering how much time he spends at his studio, how often he sleeps there. Because of that his room is sparsely decorated, an incredibly faint lingering smell of the cologne he occasionally wore clinging to the edges of some of the surfaces. It’s a heady scent that you do your absolute best to ignore, because it brings to mind images of him whenever he bothered to get extra dressed up, devastatingly handsome.

He lets you guide him over to his bed with zero fuss but turns back towards you when his knees hit the edge of it, one hand coming up to caress your cheek. It’s a deceptively gentle action, and you know you should really stop him, but you don’t move when he leans in to kiss you again. Underneath the flavor of alcohol there’s a distinctive taste that is purely him, and you know if you weren’t addicted to kissing him before then you definitely were now.

When you nip at his bottom lip and he lets out a shuddering moan you realize what you’re doing, try to pull away as fast as you can – this wasn’t fair to him, when he wasn’t in his right mind – but he catches you with a hand frantically landing on your waist, dropping his head to litter kisses along your jaw and then throat. You try to ignore the way your legs go weak at the feeling.

“Please –“ It’s more of a whine than a plea, but you feel it against the skin of your neck all the same, the words dragged along your pulse-point like a searing flame. “If we don’t now, then I don’t think –“

“You need to sleep.” It takes every ounce of willpower inside of you to ignore the wetness pooling between your legs, the insistent hard press of his cock against your thigh, the way his whimper when you push at his chest vibrates along the skin of your shoulder where he presses one last desperate kiss. “We can – we’ll talk about it in the morning.” You continue to push him gently back until he’s sitting on the edge of his bed, gazing up at you through his eyelashes, flushed and looking five different kinds of wrecked. Your entire nervous system threatens to shut down at the sight and you’re not sure that you can keep your promise about talking about it tomorrow.

He’s apparently not sure of it either, expression pinched and distraught when you press him insistently by the shoulders back onto his bed. His hair is ruffled and his eyes are glazed (from the alcohol or lust, you weren’t sure), his lips slick and kiss-bruised –

You tear your gaze away and force yourself to breathe again. When you look back Hui’s thrown a forearm over his eyes, bottom lip snagged between his teeth, breathing labored.

It takes ten seconds before you’re out of the room, clicking the door shut as quietly as you can, trying to erase the imagery of tears staining his face.

.｡..｡.

When Hui wakes up it’s to a pounding head and the vaguely disgusting feeling you get when you sleep in your clothes on top of your covers. His entire body hurts and he makes the same promise he always does when he wakes up like this, the same one he’s never kept – he’ll never drink again. Or, at the very least, he’ll never drink that much again.

His whole room spins when he pushes himself up, groaning softly at the way he feels like the world tilts dangerously on its axis as he slides his legs off the edge of his mattress. It’s only because of this world-shifting that he notices Wooseok asleep on the other side of his bed, all his long limbs drawn in as close as possible, his brow furrowed in his sleep.

He wonders when the maknae had ended up here and how they’d decided on rooms while he goes to the pain-staking process of draping one of his extra blankets over the tall boy. The world is still too bright (even with his blinds shut) and every step he takes feels a bit like walking through mud, but when he sees the way Wooseok slightly relaxes after being covered it all feels worth it.

The trek from his room to the kitchen feels like it takes much longer than it should, but at the very least the suspiciously long stretch of the dorm gives ample time for his headache to shift from excruciating to manageable. He was going to find the bottle of Aspirin, take all of them, and then go the fuck back to sleep. (Okay, maybe one of those was an exaggeration, but it sure felt like he could use that many painkillers.)

“Good morning.” He almost chokes when he hears your voice, a sudden onslaught of memories causing his face to heat up – you weren’t even looking at him, busying yourself with the small skillet Hongseok kept religiously cleaned. Hui wasn’t sure if his nausea was due to the smell of food or the way all he could think about was how he had – stupidly, why the fuck had he done that – kissed you and then tried to get you into bed with him.

“..Morning.” He hopes you take his lackluster response as a product of his hangover, sliding into one of the chairs at the kitchen table so he can bury his head in his hands.

“That bad, huh? You’re going to have to learn to tell Shinwon ‘no’ when he offers you drinks, you know.” He looks up to see you placing what he assumes is an Aspirin down on the table in front of him, already turned back to grab him water. He’s not sure if he’s glad you mistook his suffering as the results of a hangover or not.

“Thanks.” He waits until you hand him the glass before he takes the medicine, downing the rest of the contents when he realizes just how thirsty he was. He can feel the weight of your gaze still on him and it makes the blood in his veins feel like ice, knowing you had to remember the exact same things he (suddenly) did.

“If it makes you feel any better, Hongseok is way worse off than you right now. I honestly can’t believe he’s such a lightweight sometimes…” Your tone is sympathetic, but all Hui feels is a slight smug happiness at there being someone else who was, at the very least, suffering more than he currently was. At least Hongseok hadn’t had the chance to do anything stupid with someone he liked last night, like Hui had. “Honestly, it’s sort of impressive.”

“Huh?” He’d stopped listening to you by pure accident, forces himself to refocus on you – which just causes his eyes to instantly lock on to your lips, face heating up because not only does he remember kissing them, he remembers what they felt like and tasted like and he has to fight to tear his gaze away. God he was so fucked.

“How many lightweights you have in your band. In a group of nine you’d think it’d be more even, but, like.. almost all of you can’t hold your liquor. It’s kind of impressive.” You’re back to focusing on whatever it is you’re cooking – he only just now notices you also have ramen boiling in their small stove to the side, the dull bubbling of the water having blended into background noise long before he’d realized it had been there.

“Are they okay?” He’s sure they are, but there’s some deeply ingrained part of him that feels required to check – the soft smile you give him in response makes him feel like he’s in high school again whenever his crush would focus on him and him alone, and he isn’t sure what to do with that feeling now that he’s twenty eight years old, so he looks down at his empty cup instead.

“They’ll be okay. Wooseokkie ended up in your room – I’m sure you noticed him.” You wait for him to glance at you and nod before continuing. “Hongseok and Changgu ended up in the same room together, which worked out well considering Changgu’s probably the only one who could sleep through Hongseok’s pitiful whining about his hangover anyway. Hyunggu and Yuto shared a room, I think – which I guess means Shinwon ended up alone. Any guess on whether he’ll be happy or upset about that?”

“It could be either.” He responds, mostly because it’s true (Shinwon’s moods were hard to predict sometimes) but partly because talking about his members was something he could easily do, something that felt familiar and normal. It felt safe and far away from the topic he didn’t want to think about. (But he was thinking about it anyway, could remember your warmth when your body was pressed against his, could remember the way you kissed him back bruisingly and made him want nothing more than for you to wreck him every day of his life.)

“Oh, right – Yanan’s in China, by the way, and Jinho’s in the military.”

“Thanks.” His response is a dry remark at the way you were trying to tease him – like he didn’t know where Yanan was and wasn’t constantly in contact with the soon-to-be actor, like he didn’t think about Jinho every single day and wonder if he was doing well. “What would I do without your incredibly timely information.”

You just roll your eyes at him and turn to the ramen – he wonders who you’re making it for before realizing it was probably for whoever woke up hungry. That realization makes a certain spot in his chest warm, and he tries to ignore it because for fuck’s sake, not now.

“I knew it was going to go badly..” He mutters to himself – you hum questioningly and he blinks, surprised you heard him and instantly trying to reach for a half-truth that you’d believe. “Drinking so much, I mean.” Not totally a lie, which meant he could say it and have it sound mostly believable. To his relief you seem to take it at face value.

A silence stretches out between the two of you – it seems comfortable for you, but he feels like his skin is crawling, waiting for the moment you spring the dreaded conversation on him. He can’t think of any more topics to bring up to stall it.

“Hwitaek.” The tone of your voice makes his heart drop into his stomach and freezes over any warmth he’d been feeling because he knows the conversation that is now seconds away from happening is going to be one he didn’t ever want to have. “I think we should talk about what happened last night.”

“What happened?” He tries to brush it off like he didn’t remember, but his voice wavers just a bit and he can’t meet your gaze and he knows that you don’t buy it for a second.

“We have to.” Your voice is soft, gentle, and he hates it because he feels like you’re trying to be as kind as possible, and that didn’t bode well for how the conversation was going to go. “Did you do what you did because you were drunk, or because you were drunk and wanted to?”

Your gaze has him pinned to the seat, his own eyes wide and brain trying to stutter through any excuse he could think of, and when that didn’t work, trying to think of some way he could play it all off as a joke, or as him just being an overly friendly drunk.

You won’t believe anything but the truth, he can tell, and he was a shit liar even when he wasn’t hungover and panicked.

“I –“ He doesn’t know what he’s going to say, probably something stupid like ‘I love you, and I don’t know when I knew that but I’ve always wanted to kiss you, I was drunk but it let me do what I always wanted to do’ but he’s saved by Hyunggu walking into the kitchen, rubbing at his eyes and looking a bit less like hell than Hui felt.

“I think I’m dying..” The maknae grumbles, and your attention shifts to him and getting him something to help his headache. Hui tries to feel relieved that the conversation had been dropped, but the look you send him once over Hyunggu’s shoulder says, ‘We’re not done talking about this’ and he feels sick all over again. He was so fucked.

.｡..｡.

It isn’t until he escapes to his studio later that day, having basically inhaled an entire cup of coffee to try to fight off both his hangover and his exhaustion, that he realizes that aside from all his personal problems with how the night before had went he had essentially pushed himself on you and then not allowed you an avenue to talk to him about it.

And that makes him feel even more sick, because there had been a chance you’d just wanted closure of some kind considering he had basically drunkenly assaulted you, and all he’d done was avoid the issue entirely when you tried to talk to him about it.

Fuck. Fuck, he was the worst.

He’d been so worried about rejection that he hadn’t even thought about the fact that you’d never consented to being kissed – or, fuck, being propositioned for sex – in the first place.

He runs both hands through his hair aggressively, ruffling it in the slightly painful way he usually did whenever he did something he wasn’t happy with – he feels anxiety sitting cold in his stomach, fear that not only would you hate him but that he’d ended up hurting you or breaking your trust in him all because he’d gotten stupidly drunk.

Pushing down the steadily rising nausea, he reaches for his phone and almost calls you, deciding at the last moment to text you a simple ‘You’re right, we need to talk’ instead. He’d already fucked up once, he didn’t want to force you into the conversation by calling you unexpectedly. As an afterthought he adds a quickly typed ‘I’m sorry I tried to avoid it before’, because despite how nervous the thought makes him, he is genuinely sorry. (Sorry for everything, in fact.)

He tries to busy himself with unfinished tracks while waiting for you to respond, listens to the same snippet of some demo Yuto had sent him six times without really ever hearing the notes, does his absolute best to ignore how one of the last times he was in here he’d ended up touching himself to the thought of you. With everything that had happened since he feels fucking disgusting at the thought of it.

When his phone vibrates he essentially lunges for it – it wasn’t like he’d been making progress on anything anyway – heart hammering in his throat as he opens your messages.

‘It’s okay. In person or by a call?’

He wants to fucking cry at how nice you’re being, at giving him the option to choose a less personal route – but he knows that you were the one who’d taken the brunt of the incident, that all he was really worried about was rejection and being embarrassed. His fingers tap out ‘I’m embarrassed, but it’s up to you’ before deleting the first part before sending. He didn’t want you to feel like he was trying to pressure you into one choice or the other at this point.

‘Knowing you, and seeing how you reacted this morning, I think you’d die if we did it in person lol I’ll call you’

He tries to fight the weak smile your text causes – you always make him smile, and this is no different, but he can’t tell if you’re genuinely okay or not through text and it worries him. You’d seemed fine this morning, almost painfully nonchalant – too nonchalant? He wasn’t sure if he was overthinking things now or not – but he’d been hungover and tired.

You don’t call right away, and he resigns himself to waiting out another five or so minutes in this sickening state of anxiety, selecting and re-selecting the exact same clip of audio over and over just so he can pretend he’s doing something, so he can try to occupy his brain.

When his phone does ring he slams his knee into the table in surprise, high-strung and nervous. He barely even feels the tingling pain.

“I’m so sorry.” He blurts out the instant he answers, muttering a soft fuck under his breath afterwards. He’d wanted to give you time to speak, but he was buzzing with an anxious and guilty energy that had him speaking before he even realized he was.

“What?” Your question sounds more surprised than legitimately confused, like you hadn’t expected him to just start talking immediately. He rakes a hand through his hair again and then keeps it there, fisted, trying to ground himself with the tiny bit of pain as his breathing speeds up.

“About last night – I’m so sorry, I just – I was drunk, and that’s no excuse for what I did, I wasn’t thinking and I’m so fucking sorry. Are – are you okay? Am I allowed to ask that?” He feels like he’s right on the verge of panicking and he hates it, because you were the victim here, not him.

“I –“ You only pause to collect your thoughts for a heartbeat, but he feels the moment stretch on endlessly, sees ninety different scenarios play out and discards every positive one immediately. “Hui, you’re – god you’re so sweet.”

“What?” It’s more of an exhale than a word, because you didn’t sound angry, or hurt, you just sounded slightly amused and grateful, and he doesn’t want to get his hopes up but you didn’t sound upset.

“You’re right, what you did was wrong and shitty, and you suck for doing it.” You pause to breathe, and it reminds him he needs to breathe, his gaze darting along one of his computer monitors without really seeing anything. “But it’s sweet of you to apologize. You should, but most people wouldn’t.”

“I should have this morning.” He murmurs quietly, fingers gripping his phone so tightly they’ve begun to ache. “I was selfish and didn’t even think about it. I really am so fucking sorry.”

“I know, Hui. I believe you. You suck at lying anyway, if you weren’t sorry then I’d be able to tell.” You’re laughing again, and he tries to join you, but it sounds weak. His entire body feels like it’s melted into nothing – he didn’t even care if you rejected him at this point, you didn’t hate him and that was good enough. “But I kissed you back, Hui. Multiple times, actually.”

“…..what?” He can’t think of anything else to say – he had remembered you kissing him back, of course he did, but it all sort of blurred together at one point and he wasn’t sure that any of it had definitively happened. “I – I know – I mean, I thought you did, but you could have just, I don’t know, been trying.. to.. get me to go away by not resisting..?” Some drunks became irate when told ‘no’, and while he knew he wasn’t one of them – and he had a feeling you did too – that didn’t mean you hadn’t just been trying to protect yourself.

“God you’re sweet.” Your sudden, repeated statement is quiet, almost like you hadn’t meant him to hear it – he doesn’t say anything, doing his best to just breathe, doing his best to act his fucking age and not like some kid who needed instant reassurance. You were the one who deserved reassurance in this situation. “I kissed you because I wanted to, Hui. It’s very kind of you to be so concerned, but you’re about the least threatening drunk I’ve ever encountered. I could have probably pushed you off me with one hand – actually, I did push you off me with one hand, when we were in the kitchen.”

“I – you – you wanted to.” It’s a statement because he’s stuck trying to process this new information, because this wasn’t a rejection (he thinks it’s not, at least), because you didn’t hate him, because the way all the anxiety induced adrenaline had leeched out of his body was leaving him feeling even more exhausted than before.

“I actually wanted to tell you that I was sorry – since I kissed you back and all, but you were drunk so it wasn’t really like you were –“

“I wanted to – I wanted you to.” He says the words too fast, trips over them, but he knows you understood by the way you went silent on the other end. He appreciated the apology, really, he did, but not only did he not think it was needed, he also couldn’t stand listening to you apologize for kissing him back when he had been dreaming about this moment for way too fucking long.

And he wants to tell you that, but you’re still silent and he’s beginning to wonder if he somehow read this entire situation wrong.

“..I don’t know what to say now.” You admit softly, and he lets out a silent exhale when he realizes you’re just being shy. He wasn’t used to that side of you, but already he knew he found it adorable, just like the rest of you.

“You can’t be more embarrassed than me, if you are then neither of us will be able to talk.” He’s laughing quietly now, feeling.. not quite comfortable yet, but definitely on the way there. You hadn’t really made any declaration of love for him, but you had reciprocated his kiss, at the very least.

“Oh, you need me to be confident?” There’s a teasing tone in your voice that is more commonplace than the shy one from before, and he already knew just by the sound of it that whatever you’re going to say next is going to affect him in some way.

“It’d be helpful.”

“Then I’d say we need to try that whole kissing thing again, but without the alcohol. It really ruined the experience last time, don’t you think?” He suddenly can’t breathe again, mouth opening and then closing at your statement – not that you care about his lack of a response, since you continue without him saying anything. “It could have led to so many fun places if you hadn’t been drunk.” A pause, where his heartbeat pounds in his head and his mouth has gone dry. When you speak again he can tell you’re doing your best to keep up your confident façade. “..Is that okay with you?”

“Yes.” He says this on a relieved breath, face still hot but body covered in excited, adrenaline filled tingles. You were really putting him through an emotional workout this morning, but at this point he wouldn’t dare complain. “Please. I’ve wanted –“

He cuts himself off before he can say anything more embarrassing, about how long he’s wanted to do something like that, to hear you say something like that, how he’s fantasized and day-dreamed about it for way too long. He flushes even more when he can hear your gentle laughter on the other line.

“You mentioned something like that last night. I wanted to ask about it actually –“

“Oh, wow, I am super busy right now doing leader things, just.. so busy. I couldn’t possibly talk to you anymore, I’m just so extremely busy.”

“Jerk.” This time when you laugh he laughs with you, a real laugh instead of the weak one he’d offered you earlier. “Okay, fine, go do your suddenly important work – but I’m definitely interrogating you about that later, it’s just too interesting to pass up. Bye Hwitaek.”

“Bye.”

It’s so like you to cut the conversation short whenever he mentioned his work – you never wanted to genuinely distract him, and it was one of the things he liked about you.

Loved about you.

Fuck. Fuck.

He can’t contain his laugh of disbelief and giddiness, setting his phone down on his desk so he can cover his face with both of his hands, running them through his hair and pushing it back away from his eyes.

You said you’d wanted to kiss him. You had kissed him. He hadn’t imagined it.

You’d said you wanted to kiss him again.

His phone vibrates and he lowers his hands to glance at it, sees it’s a text from you, and already he can feel that warm, lightweight feeling in his chest just at the sight of it.

God, he was so fucked – but with how this had turned out, he really couldn’t complain at all, nor did he want to.

.｡..｡.

Trying the ‘kissing thing’ again, as you had put it to him on the phone, turned out to be a nebulous concept – not that Hui really expected anything else, but it was a bit disappointing to finally get an answer (a positive one at that) only to be unable to meet up with you again. Not that getting to text you often wasn’t wonderful – it was, and he felt the need to make that abundantly clear (though he was pretty sure you knew that, considering he actually paid attention to his phone now just so he could respond to you) – it was just a bit frustrating to finally have permission to do the things he’d been dreaming about, like kissing you, and then be barred from doing it by forces outside of his control.

As it was, it was nearing the end of the second week since the ’confession’ had happened, and he was only just now finding time to head over to your place after working all day. It was late (nearing four am, he noticed with a groan) and his muscles ached from practice and his eyes ached from composing all day but he would be damned if he’d let another chance to spend time with you slip by him without leaping for it.

“You look so attractive.” It’s the first thing out of your mouth when you see him at your door – Hui laughs the soft sort of laugh he does when he’s a bit nervous, bending to unlace his shoes. It’s not rare of you to compliment him – in fact, you usually did, because it was true and he deserved all the kind words you could heap on him – but something about the circumstances makes it feel different this time, charges the air with a sort of excited, nervous tension.

“Really? I came over right after practice, I can’t look that good..” He trails off, shy, and you look him over again. It’s true that he looks a bit tired and run down, but the dim low lighting of your entryway paints his skin golden and throws his profile into a mix of soft shadows and gentle lines, illuminates his silver hair into a gradient of golden blonde to dusky gray.

“You look good, trust me.” It’s all you can say – everything else gets stuck in your head, muddling itself before it can get to your tongue. You hope to one day be able to properly put into words just how beautiful he is to you, but you’re in no rush to do it now, you have time. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay tomorrow?”

“If I passed up on this chance then I might legitimately die.” He says it so seriously that you laugh, and the way his expression smooths out into a warm smile has your heart beating erratically. God, he didn’t play fair at all.

“Well, if you’re sure..” You take the chance to step closer to him during the slight lull in conversation – he blinks at you once, still smiling, but the smile freezes on his face when you nonchalantly place your arms around his neck. You can feel the way he’s tensed at the new, intimate position, and it’s absolutely adorable how he clearly wants to reciprocate in some way but resolutely keeps his arms at his sides. “You –“

“Can I kiss you?” He says it all in one breath, interrupting you, rushed and embarrassed but also like he craves it, like he might die if he didn’t get your permission to do so. It’s the cutest thing in the world and a surge of heat floods your bloodstream at the tone of his voice, the look in his eyes. “Please.” He tacks it on at the end, a quiet whisper, so fucking good and sweet and perfect.

“Of course, baby.” The words are barely out of your mouth before he’s surging forward to connect your lips, his hands landing on your waist and a soft sound of pleasure escaping him as a sigh. The pet-name of ‘baby’ is one you learned that he liked recently, and while it had been deliciously fun to tease him with it through text and over the phone it was something else entirely to see the way he responded to it in person, the rich sunset color of his eyes softening into something more gentle and pliant.

The way Hui kisses now is slightly different than when he’d been drunk – it’s more assured, more precise, and while it still holds that level of desperation from before there’s something a bit less rushed about it, something more confident and not as nervous as before.

There's something infinitely better about doing it this way, Hui thinks, better than anything he'd fantasized about or hazily remembered from when he'd been drunk. Every single one of his senses is attuned to you and you alone, and nothing exists outside of the two of you kissing, the weight of your arms on his shoulders, the feeling of your nails lightly scraping at the nape of his neck, the rough feeling of your clothing beneath the pads of his fingers at your hips. Your lips press and slide against his constantly before parting for a few brief seconds, and he chases the faint swipe of your tongue against his bottom lip with his own, whining when you don't instantly give in to his demands.

By the time you nip at his lip he's completely given up on leading the kiss, opens his mouth and moans high and sweet when your tongue leaves a blazing trail of pure fire in its wake. His lips are kiss-bruised and tingling, the sensation imprinting on him that this was real, you were really kissing him, he wasn't going to suddenly wake up and realize it was all a dream.

When you pull away from him he follows you for a moment, stopping only when you cup his cheek in one hand and slide your thumb across his bottom lip. His gaze is glazed and he looks so thoroughly wrecked from simply getting kissed that you feel another surge of heat flood your system.

"Good?" Your whispered question barely makes it through to him, but when it does he blinks a few times to force the haze from his mind and nods, grip on your waist tightening, grounding him. You’ve never seen someone look more adorable.

“Yeah.” His voice is slightly hoarse and you give in to the urge to kiss his throat tenderly – when he tilts his head back with a sigh you trail your lips up to his jaw. “Yeah, it’s – great.”

You can feel the heat of his skin against your face, leave open-mouthed kisses from the spot under his ear (which makes him shiver in a way that you immediately catalogue in your mind) in a line down to the collar of the light-weight hoodie he’d worn for practice.

“I wish I could mark you up here..” Your lamentations are met with a literal fucking whine from Hui, one of his hands coming up to grip unsteadily at the crook of your arm like the mere comment had made him unsteady. “Oh? Is that something you’d want? For me to bruise you up so prettily that there’d be no way you could cover it?”

He nods, not trusting his own voice, head full of fantasies where you could do that, where you’d be able to sink your teeth into him, suck dark marks into his skin that wouldn’t fade and that his members would tease him about. (But even in his fantasies his members are there, a constant, and he knows that there’s no other timeline better than the one he’s currently living in.)

“Hwitaek.” You say his name softly, wrap a hand around the back of his neck to make him look at you – his gaze is disconnected, lingers on your lips before your silence registers as he meets your eyes. “I think we should talk about what we both want out of tonight.”

“Yeah – okay, okay.” Fondly, you watch as he takes a small step back and forces himself to become more present, a bit of clarity re-entering his eyes. You notice that he hadn’t stepped far enough away that either of you had to stop touching one another though, and it makes a part of your heart warm with affection. “That’s probably a good idea.”

He lets you lead him further into your house, glances around in interest but doesn’t stop you – he thinks (hopes) he’ll have more time later to become acquainted with this place.

“So, Hui –“ He perks up at you speaking to him, and it’s so cute that you have to stop just to recollect your thoughts. He peers around your room with thinly veiled interest but keeps glancing back at you like you’re the most interesting thing in existence. It’s flattering and adorable. “Considering we’ve talked about it before you know that I prefer to be more dominant, and you –“

“Find it incredibly hot?” He finishes your sentence for you, a happy little smirk on his face at your surprised expression as he darts in to kiss you once, quick and chaste and filled with delight.

“I – I was going to say, ‘you’re okay with it’, but what you said was so much better.” You’re smiling now too, still a bit shell-shocked – really, what sort of luck did you have for an incredibly attractive and sweet guy to also be down for being submissive for you? – but definitely not complaining. You cup his face in your hands and draw him towards you again for a sweet kiss – it lingers just on the side of ‘too passionate’, but neither one of you have enough self-control to reign it back in. You can feel his flush underneath your fingertips. “How did I ever get this lucky?”

“Should I say the cliché thing about thinking the same thing?” His voice is soft, one of his hands coming up to slip underneath your own, fingers curling around your palm. “Because I was.”

“You really are a hopeless romantic sometimes, you know that?” You couple your rhetorical question with another kiss – you were one hundred percent addicted to them now, you knew that for a fact. “We should really talk about what you’re comfortable with happening tonight, Hui.”

He must not be thinking clearly (he’s not, all he can think about is you and how you keep kissing him and how it’s all he’s ever wanted in his entire life) because he says “anything” in a strained whisper, breathless and needy before anything has even happened.

“Anything?” You can’t hide the surprise in your voice, though you try to soften it at the last second – he flinches anyway, like he was embarrassed with how eager he had come across, his gaze somewhere at your hip now. “’Anything’ is a dangerous thing to say, Hwitaek. What if all I wanted to do was finger-fuck you?”

He knows you were joking – he can hear it in your voice, the way you’ve tried to lighten the mood to make him more comfortable. He appreciates it, but it does absolutely nothing for him considering the effect your words had on him. “…I wouldn’t mind that.”

“Really?” Again you’re surprised, but this time you seem slightly eager – he raises his gaze to assess the situation, and yes, you did look interested. The excited, nervous little fire burning in his core feels a bit stronger suddenly. All he can do is nod, mute in the face of your presence, your power, your effortless aura that has him sinking down gratefully onto your bed at the slightest push of your hand against his chest.

Your fingers press at him, hard, and he feels breathless when they slide underneath his hoodie and t-shirt both in one go, hitch it up to above his navel. He thinks about all the marks you could leave on him there, hidden under clothing between promotions, and the sly grin you share with him when your fingernails rake a teasingly shuddering line down his side makes him think you have the exact same ideas he does.

Those two articles of clothing are lost quickly, dropped somewhere over the side of your bed as you kneel between his legs and kiss him until he can’t breathe, a wonderful feeling that has him drifting along in hazy bliss until he realizes what you’re doing.

“You’re a bit more dressed than I am, suddenly..” He tries to make it teasing but it comes out as something soft and reverent, and your lips when they smile at him are a slash of color that he can’t tear his eyes away from. He can feel your curious fingers dipping under the waistband of his athletic joggers and he does his best not to lose his fucking mind at the connotations of it.

“That’ll come. Later. Let me focus on you first, Hwitaek.” And how could he even argue with that? Why would he argue that? He’d have time to see your body later – and to be completely honest, he was perfectly happy with seeing however much of you that you were comfortable showing him.

(Still, he thinks, as you gently push him to lie down on your bed, he hoped you weren’t too uncomfortable with showing your body. As you drag the fabric of his briefs slowly down his legs he thinks about how much he really wants to eat you out, and what a shame it’d be if you weren’t comfortable with that. Regardless, he’d find some way to pay his respects to you and your body, even if his regular go-to’s turned out to not be an option.)

“You’ve done this before?” He doesn’t sound nervous, just questioning, having slung a  forearm across his eyes. You let him leave it there for now, knowing he must feel a bit vulnerable in his current position.

“Mhm, I have – and you?” It’s almost laughable how casually the two of you are speaking, like you hadn’t just been feeling him up and wasn’t currently in the middle of warming lube on your fingers. When he nods you hum and use your clean hand to grip him under the knee, pulling it up high enough you can place a kiss on the inside of it. An amused laugh leaves him in the form of a surprised exhale at the surprisingly tender action.

“I have – don’t worry, I’m not new to all of this.” You can’t see his eyes but you can see the rest of his face, see that he’s still smiling – you keep a close eye on his expression as you circle his rim teasingly, watching with rapt attention the way the smile disappears as he tenses with a soft sound that’s not quite a gasp before forcing himself to relax again.

“With women or men?” You keep it casual, careful to keep your voice unaffected, and he laughs again but it’s more disbelieving this time, pulls his legs up so his knees bracket you on either side.

“Yes.” Hui simply answers, and it’s your turn to laugh, your free hand smoothing soothing circles into his bare hip. You think he looks absolutely beautiful like this, spread out just for you and you alone, a small notch in his brow from the way his expression has twisted as you carefully slip your first finger in.

“You’re really cute like this, all vulnerable and naked for me.” You’re teasing him, testing the waters – from the way he flushes though, the little hitch upwards that his hips make, you think you might have just discovered something fun. “Hui, do you like me talking to you like that?”

He doesn’t answer you right away, moves his arm so he can look down at you between his legs. Something about it must get to him, because he just looks at you for a moment or two, like he was trying to imprint the visual in his mind.

“You can add another.” He says instead, all breathy and soft like you’d already ruined him, wrecked him into pieces. It’s incredibly endearing, you think, dropping your gaze to where his cock sits red and shiny and untouched against his lower stomach, a small mess of pre-cum already smeared onto his skin. That was also endearing.

“I’ve barely even stretched you yet..” Your disbelieving murmur is clearly heard by him, and you raise your gaze to meet his as you test the waters with a second finger. It’s definitely tight (tighter than you would have preferred, if only for his own safety), but Hui just moans and shifts his hips more towards you, digging into your pillow as he tips his head back. “Oh – Hui the size queen, huh? Is that it?”

He laughs, but it tapers off into a sound closer to a moan than anything else. “I don’t think I’ve ever been called that before.”

“Does it suit you?” You keep one hand splayed flat on one of his hips – he’s doing a wonderful job at not moving overly much, but by doing this you can feel every small tremor that goes through his body, can feel his muscles tense each time he forces himself to stay still. “If I end up fucking you one day am I going to have to make sure it’s sized big enough to totally wreck you?” Your question is coupled with an inquisitive upwards quirk of your fingers, and he nearly kicks you in surprise at the liquid arousal that floods through his body at the feeling. (You teasingly bite at his lower calf for it, and the soft sound he makes as you press your teeth into him is definitely something you file away for later.)

“I know you’re just teasing me, but -“ He licks his lips, tries to gather his focus again as you add a third finger. It burns in such an exquisite way that it’s hard to concentrate on anything else except for the current points of contact between you and him.

“Do you want me to stop?” A pause. “Hui, look at me.”

He obeys, meets your analyzing gaze and offers a slightly strained smile as he thinks about your question – though he doesn’t think for very long, a burst of wonderful, embarrassed heat curling across his chest and through his stomach when he lets his upper body drop back down to the bed, shaking his head ‘no’.

“Oh, Hwitaek..” You sound vaguely pitying, and he hates it, but he loves it. “You’re just a little boy who likes to be teased and humiliated, is that it?”

He feels so small with you talking to him like that, like his body was three sizes too big for his skin and he was burning up from the inside out – whenever the heat becomes too much all he has to do is open his eyes and see you looking at him (you’re always looking at him, and it takes his breath away because the way you watch him makes him feel like he’s something special, something that should be treasured) and suddenly everything was okay again. It was like you were the one stoking the flames of his desire, but you could also cause that blistering heat to ebb away whenever it became too much.

He realizes he hasn’t answered you yet and frantically nods, heart threatening to dissolve into something sticky and sweet at the way your expression softens.

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but we’re not going to delve too deep into that tonight without talking about it in more detail later.” He nods, because he really does understand (despite the slight burst of disappointment) and he appreciates that you want to talk out what his limits are first. “Besides, how am I supposed to talk to you like that when you’ve been so good for me this entire time? So pretty and vocal.”

He can’t help the whine that tears itself from his throat at your phrasing – it didn’t matter what you were saying to him anymore, every single word embedded itself into his skin and worked its way through his body like an electric shock.

“Oh? Sweet boy - are you an adorable whore for both degradation and praise?” He doesn’t even bother saying anything this time, just shuts his eyes tight - he knows you already know the answer, can read him so well it’s almost like his desires were written out on his skin in black ink. “That’s so cute. You’re just so responsive to everything, aren’t you? I love that - anything I say or do I’ll get a direct response to, won’t I, Hwitaek?” You wait until he nods, his eyes still shut, before taking the opportunity given to you. Your lips press a teasing kiss into the line of his pelvis, giggling softly against his skin when he gasps above you. “Yeah, just like that. So beautiful, Hui, and all for me.”

Yes, all for you he thinks, and even his thoughts are getting mixed up and hazy now because you’ve wrapped your fingers around him loosely and he is so slick already, the feeling of your thumb swiping across the head of his cock, tracing the lines of precum down the shaft to where they’ve collected on his skin causing his entire body to twitch in a mess of stimulation.

“Oh, baby, you’re so wet for me already.” He can’t focus on anything, can’t think of anything, hears your voice through the haze like it’s faraway and he’s drifting underwater. He tries to force himself to be more present, tries to physically drag himself out of those depths, but you’re cooing at him sweetly and running your fingers over his cock softly, and any amount of shame he might have felt at having fallen so far into this headspace is eradicated by the sugar-laced kisses you press into his side.

“You really can’t keep quiet, can you?” Your voice is sweet but laced with amusement, and you can feel the way he throbs in your hand at the slightly degrading comment. “You sound like you’re going to cum just from three of my fingers – are you, baby? You going to make a mess of yourself before we even get to do anything?”

“Fuck..” Hui’s entire body feels like it’s on fucking fire, and when you duck your head to suck a bruise onto the inside of his thigh it’s all he can do to keep from crying out even louder. You were right, he couldn’t keep quiet, his head swimming and his fingers curled so tightly into your sheets that he could barely feel them anymore. “I’m –  you’re –“ He can’t concentrate, can barely speak, and he knows his words come out more as whines anyway.

“Do you think it’ll be okay if you cum now?” You’ve stopped moving entirely and his whole body feels like it’s buzzing, his hips trying to rock back onto your fingers or up into your hand with no real success as the haze slowly recedes from his mind enough for him to be able to form full sentences

“Y-yeah.” He pushes himself up onto his forearms to be able to look down at you, groan catching in his throat when he sees the way you’re peering at him openly, watching him with beautiful eyes and a graceful flush on your face, one of your hands slick with his pre-cum and the other still wickedly deep. He’d never been more sure of the fact that he loved you than this exact moment. “If – if you give me a little bit afterwards, it’ll be fine.” He knows he sounds breathless and wrecked already, but you smile so sweetly at him anyway, like he was something precious to you, and he feels like the ground and the bed he was lying on had just suddenly disappeared at the sight.

And then you’re lowering your head and wrapping your lips around him and it’s all he can do to keep his eyes open – you hadn’t eased him into it, hadn’t given him any indication of your plans at all. One moment you were asking him about his refractory period and the next you were doing things with your tongue and mouth that he couldn’t even begin to fathom, your fingers once again brushing against that spot deep inside of him that has him keening.

He’s not going to last much longer; he knows that with a sudden certainty that has him trying to warn you but is more disjointed pleas for you to not stop than they are anything else.

One of his hands grasps for your shoulder blindly when he hits his peak, fingers curling into your skin as he spills himself onto your tongue. It’s blindingly hot and you can see the way he fights to keep his eyes open to watch, brow furrowed and mouth open almost like he was in some sort of pained ecstasy as you continue to finger-fuck him through it until he’s trembling.

When you stick your tongue out at him tauntingly and show him the mess he made Hui groans from deep within his chest like you’re torturing him, sits up abruptly and crashes his mouth into yours. It’s messy and dirty and he licks into your mouth aggressively, chasing all essence of himself off your tongue and onto his own with a moan that rattles your bones. You do your best to withdraw your fingers as gently as possible but he whimpers at the feeling anyway, drops his head to begin kissing a sloppy trail from your jaw down to your neck.

“You’re so dirty..” Your head is spinning and you feel short of breath - each time you inhale his chest knocks against yours as he heaves his own breaths, though he refuses to pull away from your skin for long enough for him to be able to recover as quickly. You think you feel him murmur a soft sound of agreement to your statement against your collarbone.

As soon as you can wrest a big enough part of yourself back under control you lean back, holding him securely away with your thumb and forefinger gripping his chin. Hui looks at you with an expression of wrecked reverence, the perfect picture of debauchery, and you know that right here, right now, at five something am in your bedroom, he would do literally anything you asked – that at this point in time it was no longer your room, with the window showing glimpses of the outside world, the sounds of cars going past. This place, this moment in time, it was now something disconnected and intangible, where he had given you explicit trust (perhaps foolishly, considering how inchoate your relationship was) to control and lead him. To take care of him in whatever way you see fit.

And you know that right here, right now, in this nebulous place that the two of you occupied, you would strive to make sure he never regretted giving you that permission.

“Hwitaek.” Your voice is breathier than you expected – you sounded like you’d been kissed hard. You sounded like you were in love. “Hwitaek, you are messy and crude – you are such a dirty boy, and you’ve hidden that from me for years.” He is hanging off your every word and you suddenly feel like you have a choice to make.

It’s one you don’t think about for more than a second, because you realize that you don’t need to.

“And, Hwitaek – you are so perfect for me.”

.｡..｡. .｡..｡.

“You know something?” Hui says it casually, out of nowhere, hand still rubbing nonsense patterns into the skin of your lower back after having crept underneath your shirt some twenty minutes ago just for the skin to skin contact. He’s not focused on anything else but relaxing in his bed at the dorm with you, thoughts about producing and writing lyrics and being a leader far from his mind.

“Hmm?” Your head rests on his chest, listening to his heartbeat – it’s a comforting sound, if not slightly faster than average, and when you close your eyes you can hear it mix with the soft (and sometimes not so soft) sound of some of his boys arguing or laughing or just living somewhere else in the dorm, outside his shut door.

He still hasn’t spoken so you lift your head and gaze at him, admire his features as he looks back at you with an expression so tender you’re almost afraid to have the weight of it on you. His hair is back to brown now, cut a bit shorter than before, and you stretch an arm out to run your fingers through it lazily, watch as he leans into it but keeps looking at you.

“I think you’re perfect for me, too.” His voice is warm, probably what sunshine would sound like if it was an auditory thing, and you blink at him in confusion for a few moments before you understand what he’s referencing, press your smile into his until it turns into a gentle, surging kiss.

It’s not quite an I love you, something adjacent to it, almost there but not exactly.

And neither of you say those words yet, just smile and look at each other and press kiss after sugared kiss into each other’s skin, interlace your fingers and marvel at the way affection seems to blossom for one another in both your ribcages at the simplest of actions.

The two of you weren’t in any rush. You had time.

[cno-inbminor]

wips that i’ve sat on for too long

it has been forever since i last posted anything, mainly because things have been extremely busy!! november is always such a shit month for school and i’ve procrastinated aka dug my own grave :) but here are a few snippets from wips, some that i may not ever finish but we’ll see ahahahaha

wip 1: sakusa wip 2: akaashi wip 3: semi (ipsum exitio) wip 4: mattsun 

request for sakusa based on lover by taylor swift

he likes the world in his control, knowing that there are many elements to which he can manipulate to his liking. sakusa isn’t egotistical enough to call the universe predictable -- after all, your unexpected landing in his life took him by surprise. and two years later, he feels he’s finally beginning to understand the meaning of ‘we’ and ‘us’. 

his world is no longer just his -- it’s both of yours now. and while it scared him the first year, there was a layer of trust underneath that soothed his worries. you had become synonymous with the things in his life that made him calm -- a warm bath, a fresh loofah, a lavender candle. it felt foreign to crave your presence next to him in his bed, or at any time throughout the day. he wanted to be by your side as much as possible, as if he had a sudden understanding of how time runs out. one day, he loses grasp of his tongue when you mention going to the grocery store, and blurts out, “can i go with you?”

there’s no doubt that shock has made itself known on your complexion. he can’t meet your eyes and stews in his embarrassment for having said something so seemingly out of character. but it only takes a few seconds for a small smile to grace your lips, the one that reminds him of just how lucky he is to be loved by you.

he’s already on his feet when you reply, “if you’d like to.”

request for pt. 2 of la la lost you ft. akaashi

more often than not, you haunt his dreams.

but perhaps he should rephrase. he welcomes your presence more than anything – more often than not, he enjoys waking up remembering that you’ve visited him in the dead of night. it allows him to forget that you’re no longer with him, or that he’s no longer trying to figure out when’s a good time to call and check up on you.

the pain disappears for a little bit, and then it settles neatly in the bottom of his heart, a tiny weight in his chest. no matter how much one of his coworkers drags him out and tries to set him up with someone, they’re never you. he’s always searching for your qualities in them and he feels terrible – they don’t deserve to be a rebound at all. and though you’re not on his lock screen (because he’s tired of the questions), you continue to occupy his home screen. all of your photos are stashed into a single folder, and he has to admit he opens it more than once a day.

it’s a slow healing process – he simply accepts that he’ll miss you for the rest of eternity, that he’ll never see your smile in front of the california sun again. you were never going to speak to him again besides perhaps birthdays and holidays, but they’d never be enough for him. the acceptance is solemn defeat, so you can only imagine the mixture of surprise, panic, and bewilderment when your custom ringtone blares throughout his office.

it isn’t a figment of his imagination to see your name on his screen, and before he loses his nerve and this rare opportunity to hear your voice again, he picks up, free hand slipping against some papers, and answers, “hello?”

“hey, keiji. how are you doing?”

ipsum exitio pt. 2 (pt. 1 here)

The hand by your waist suddenly grasped your chin between its thumb and index finger, preventing you from indulging in your previous thoughts. A quiet gasp escaped your lungs as you nearly shook. Your body thrummed with nerves and desperation, hoping that Eita would just give in to the selfish desires that were causing you to not think straight. “Eita, I—” you pleaded, unable to find the right words. The man responsible for everything you were feeling remained silent and appeared unfazed, though the tightening clasp of your chin said otherwise. “Please—”

“We’re going to leave this bed and do as we planned,” he interrupted, tone deep and commanding. You were now slave to his every whim, though you honestly couldn’t find any objections to that. “And if you’re good for me…” He trailed off, moving further down until his lips hovered right by your ear.

“I promise I’ll fill you up with my cock that you’re practically begging for. You can cum as much as you like, but I’ll have you begging for more.”  

His words in combination with the faint kiss against the shell of your ear tore a whimper from your throat, wetness pooling embarrassingly in your panties as you drank in his dark vow. Your heart thrashed against your chest so loudly that you almost missed his teasing laugh – you always knew that you were somewhat submissive, but to the degree that you were feeling now? The burning determination to be nothing but the best for the man that could probably have you on your knees in a heartbeat if he simply suggested it?

As he removed himself from you – though your body ached for his presence again – and you let him pull your quivering figure out of bed, your questions were answered by the warmth that flooded your body as a result of his praise: “Good girl.”

spy!au ft. matsukawa (tw: blood and violence mentions, implied character death)

“you think with all that time spent in the gym on your arms, they’d be useful right about now,” you whisper fondly. 

“shut up,” issei grits out between his teeth. his muscles are screaming from overuse, but god help him if this is the last thing he’ll do. 

the two of you are battered and much the worse for wear, sporting matching soot marks and body developing new bruises. dried, caked blood marks the side of issei’s face and though his gloves are still intact, yours had been discarded and misplaced, probably burnt to a crisp at this point. the friction of cloth against your scuffed palms causes you to wince. but there’s nothing you can do now, hanging over a cliff with nothing but issei’s grip to suspend you. 

it’s a battle that was won for the agency, but he feels nothing akin to victory in this moment. regret washes over him instead -- why didn’t he just let that guy go, why did he feel the need to sock him in the face with everything he had, when he could’ve preserved that strength to lift you up now? 

“makki’s coming, just hang in there, okay?” he bites out. a grimace forms because his shoulder is giving out, and your palm is starting to get sweaty. issei swivels his head over his shoulder and looks for any signs of agency help, but the sound of incoming motors are too far away. there’s not enough time--

“you need to let me go,” you advise, looking down beneath you. the river is a far ways away, you can barely make it out from here. and that only means one thing. 

“(y/n), shut the fuck up--”

“look at me, issei. look at me.”

he meets your eyes and immediately detests the look of defeat in them. they’re beginning to gloss over and absolutely contradict the upward curves of your lips. this is everything he was afraid of -- all that time, all that trust, building a connection with you amidst the chaos, and for what? for it all to end in some storm of ice and fire and you into a rushing stream? 

“it’s okay,” you comfort, but the tears down your face say it’s the complete opposite of okay. your hand is slipping and you can see how torn issei is, absolutely desperate to use every last second possible. help won’t come in time.

but you can’t leave him like this, not when you haven’t had the chance to say the three words you’ve always wanted to tell him. there had never been a good time to, not even in the nights with his body over yours atop the sheets and thrown into pleasure and escapism. perhaps it’s selfish on your end to part with those words. issei knowns you well enough at this point, and just by looking at your expression again, he knows it’s coming. this was the last way he wanted to hear them.

“don’t you fucking dare, (y/n). don’t you--”

there are promptly 2.8 seconds left as the contact is reduced to nothing but hanging by the fingertips. he hears nothing but your voice and his heartbeat. this is it.

“i love you.”

and his arm feels weightless. 

[honeymoonjin]

Chapter Two

Summary: When you hear that your recently deceased grandmother left you her property in her will, at first you think that a dinky old cottage in the middle of nowhere isn’t going to mean much for you. But after spending a night there, you discover something far more valuable than the house itself: a hidden door that leads to another time, the same place but over 200 years in the past. In the late 18th Century, there is a king who will die before his 21st birthday unless you can save him. Will you help him, even if it means leaving your own life behind?

A/N: I’ll be updating this story twice weekly, Thursdays (9am GMT) and Saturdays (8pm GMT). Ask to be included in the taglist to keep up to date with the newest chapters!

The mystery man, whose name is actually Yoongi, seems surprised you didn’t see this coming. Apparently he’s spoken many times with your recently deceased grandmother, and she had planned on telling you before she went.

“Time travel,” you muse, staring vacantly at the dancing flames in the fireplace as Yoongi unhooks a small cauldron and pours out a steaming liquid into two clay cups. “Really, this is easily the most elaborate dream I’ve ever had.”

“Please, Y/n,” he instructs calmly as he returns and hands you a mug, “have something warm to drink to calm you down. This isn’t a dream. Don’t worry, you can come and go at any time.”

You just shake your head, still letting your vision haze over. “This is too crazy. How does it even work?”

He sends you a grin so small you almost miss it in your periphery. “I would imagine that the future would have more to say about science than the past. You are a scientist, no?”

You break your empty stare at look up at him, letting your fingers curl into the warm of the mug. “Well, kinda, I’m in medical school. How did you know that?”

“Your grandmother visits often. Visited often,” he corrects with a sullen look. Yoongi tips his head towards your hands. “Drink, please. I promise I’m not going to turn you into a beast or a frog.”

You smile ruefully and lift the edge to your lips, acting like that wasn’t exactly what you were thinking. After taking a deep mouthful, you let it sit on your tongue, pondering the strange tangy sweetness of the thick drink. It pours into your mouth viscous like a sauce but thins out as you swish it around and finally swallow. “What is this, anyway?”

“A tea of sorts,” he answers cryptically, waving an arm towards the shelves and shelves of ingredients. “As the local shaman, I know many basic recipes that use ingredients in my apothecary for more mundane purposes. This concoction is for clarity of mind and tranquility of heart. It will do us both good. It’s been a rather taxing few hours.”

You eye him dubiously, taking another sip of the brew. “I just got told time travel was real and am now living over two centuries before I’m even born. What have you done that was so taxing?”

Yoongi takes his own sip and quirks an eyebrow. “I changed into a cat,” he responds dryly, “which most would consider a strenuous activity.”

You gape at him. “Wait, you- You were the cat?”

“From what I heard from your grandmother, I had expected you’d be smarter. Yes, I was the cat. I figured your first instinct upon seeing a strange man in your house wouldn’t be to follow him through a secret door. I had to get you to follow me somehow.”

You finish off the drink in a large gulp. “Yeah, why did you want me to follow you through? I assume my grandmother knew about it. She asked me in her will to come here alone.”

He avoids your gaze for a moment. “The King doesn’t know it yet, but he’s going to fall terribly ill this morning and be dead by midday should no one intervene. Your grandmother believed she could save him, but as a back-up, she ensured you would be her successor.”

You stare out a tiny fogged-up window. It hadn’t occurred to you that there was an entire world outside these four walls, just the fact that you had gone back to the past was difficult enough to handle. “I don’t know if I’m cut out for this. I have a life, you know.”

Yoongi puts down his small clay mug and comes to crouch in front of you, clutching your hands with his, still warm from the hot drink. “Y/n, I need you to do this. I don’t know why, because your grandmother wouldn’t tell me much about the future, but I know that you need to do this. Please, if you don’t believe me, go back to your time. I have been told you can find out much information if you giggle.”

You blink in shock, before letting out a noise of agreement when you realize what he’s trying to say. “Google, of course. Okay, I’ll do that. And…the door will always be open? I won’t get stuck here or there?”

He smiles and pats your hands cheerily, all solemnity gone. “Of course. There’s a sort of protection spell on the portal, so that only those that have used it before may use it again. I had to open it for you this time, but in the future, you should have no problem navigating it. Please, if you need to research, do it quickly. Time flows the same in both your world and mine, so you must hurry back.”

You nod and let him hustle you up out of the chair. The small wooden door opens to your touch like he said it would, and you give him and this strange room one last glance before crawling back through.

The library certainly isn’t open this time, you figure, your phone reading just before 6am, but luckily you know one of the librarians that basically lives there. “Hey, Joonie,” you call into your phone as you park in the nearly empty parking lot, “I see your Subaru here, I know you’re in the library. Let me in.”

“Wait, you’re at the library? What are you doing?”

You approach the doors and tap impatiently on the glass, spying his shadow approaching. “Come get me, dipshit, it’s a research emergency.”

The figure picks up pace, practically skipping over to you. Namjoon’s tall form casts a shadow over you as he lets you in, and you slip inside, rubbing your freezing hands together. “Research emergency? That’s the hottest thing you’ve ever said.”

You grin and ignore him, immediately navigating your way around the university library. Historical records are on the third floor, so you rush up the stairs with a confused yet nevertheless excited Namjoon behind you.

The two of you met on the very first day of classes. You were so worried about bringing the right textbooks that you forgot to bring any pen and paper. Namjoon was sitting beside you and had two pencil cases filled to the brim. Even so, he watched you like a hawk to make sure you gave it back at the end of the lecture, and slowly over time you became like the Karate Kid and that old master. Truthfully, you would’ve failed all of your first-year courses were it not for him kicking your ass into gear. You knew he would be the one to help you here.

“Okay, Namjoon, I need records for King- Fuck, I never asked his actual name.” You curse your stupidity and come to a halt, Namjoon stumbling to avoid bowling you over. “If I gave you a year, could you give me who the King was in that time?”

Namjoon frowns at you. “How is this an emergency?”

You nod resolutely and continue on. “Good, that sounds like a yes to me. Let’s go. The year is 1743, and the King dies that year apparently.”

“Apparently? Y/n, I really worry about you sometimes. I don’t need to bother with the records, King Jeon died in 1743 from bleeding out. It was a pretty big deal at the time; he was the youngest man to ever take the throne, and because he had no heirs, the entire royal family changed. But why do you need to know this?”

You stare at him. “Namjoon, you’re studying to be a heart surgeon. Where the fuck do you get time to study history?”

He crosses his arms defensively. “A thank you would be nice. Did I save your research emergency?”

Your mind is whirring. Yoongi said he died later today, so if it’s bleeding out, that’s a pretty quick death. You need to get back there and tell Yoongi. “It does, thank you, Namjoon. You’re positively indispensable!”  

His face warms at the praise, and he gives you a quick hug, promising to catch up sometime, before you dash back out the door.

It seems that Yoongi’s been waiting for you when you return, as he leaps up immediately and shoves a pile of fabric to you. “Proper attire,” he explains, “what you’re wearing will get you noticed in all the wrong ways.”

You stare down at your jeans and tank top. That’s probably fair; you wouldn’t exactly look like someone from the eighteenth century in these. “Where can I change?”

He jerks his head towards a smaller room off to the side. “I’ve set up my store room as temporary lodging should you need to spend the night here. You can pull the tapestry over the doorway for some privacy.

You quickly do as he asks and try not to judge the clothing too hard. It’s a brown dress, thick fabric making it rather heavy, and the front is low enough to require a petticoat underneath to preserve your modesty. After returning to the main room with the skirts bunched up in your hands, you question where he got these from.

“An unlucky maiden left her laundry hanging outside overnight and I simply chose to remind her to be more careful.”

You level a gaze. “You stole it.”

“That is another way of phrasing it, yes. Anyway, enough semantics, the sun has already risen, and we need to hurry.”

TAGLIST Message me or send an ask to be added to the taglist for Sovereign, and never miss a new chapter!

@sonyeonsideupsmile  @sweetcheeksdna (I can’t seem to tag you!)  @hoodiebangtan 

[weirdthingtosay]

I am imagining my father.

As I sit here, he is alone, in his cold but beautiful small farmhouse an hour from the nearest city. His house is filled with heavy, dark-wood furniture. The floor completely concealed by Persian rugs, overlapping each other and bumped and bruised from being trodden on and chewed by dogs. Intricately oppressive golden incense burners, the kind you find in a church, swing from the lowest of the beams, vomiting scent clouds into the room at head height which never quite dissipate into the gabled ceiling. They remind me of how I would play when I was three or four, jumping up into the smog-cloud of his cigarettes, visible, always, just above me in the living room - I used to imagine it was what being in the sky was like.

His walls are lined with books, mostly history, some philosophy of science, and almost all bound in linen with gold embossed titles. He had an obsession with the Folio Society for a while, he spent all of my mum’s money (the only income, until she fell ill) on those books. We shared cheap packets of pre-stuffed tortellini between four of us for months. The same happened when he was obsessed with weight lifting, model trains, motorbike engines, guitars, mosaic making, handmade shoes, Rolex watches, pipes, bonsai trees, wooden canes, belt buckles, and Toyota XR2is. Currently his obsession is making walking sticks and leather items. Buttons, bags, collars, whips.

He has always liked canes and whips. Once he brought home a blackthorn cane, and told my sister and I it’s illustrious history, and how we should respect and fear it, and that he was looking forward to using it. We knew what that meant. He wanted to put it on the coffee table to be seen at all times, but our dog wouldn’t stop trying to run off with it so he angrily hid it behind the sofa and went upstairs to sulk and sleep. We took it out and fed it, piece by piece, to the dog. I told this story, laughing at how clever we had been and how funny it was when he couldn’t find anything as good to beat us with despite being so angry, at school the next day. The silence of my friends was embarrassing, the silence of my teachers even more so.

I went to visit him two weeks ago, for the first time in a long time. It was still too soon. He showed me his ‘workshop’, a small space between living room and kitchen which has been filled with mandrels, hammers, materials, and tools I couldn’t afford. He’s making a walking cane with a tiger’s head on it, he says a rich ‘Indian’ wants it. I’m sure this is something he has imagined. He asks me what I think of his work, this being my ‘area of expertise’ (it is not), I play along. Yes, it’s nice (it is not). Yes, I think he might be able to sell some (I do not). He asks if I want to see the whips. Sure, I say.

Leading me back into the living room, I am instructed to sit down on a deep, musty armchair. In front of it I see a tapestried footrest which he hounded me for two years to restore for him as I ‘know about these things’. I eventually rinsed it under a tap and coloured it in with Sharpies and gave it back to him, to much praise. He takes out two long, poorly made whips, one tan, one black, and hands me the tan one. As I lift it up to look, the three dogs he owns who had been resting on the floor in front of us jump up at once. They back away, quickly, hiding their tails and cowering. I drop the whip down and say “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”, my heart is in my intestines and I’m at once aware that I mustn’t apologise and I mustn’t show I understand because he will punish me for it. I became everything in the room, for a split second, I became me - the adult runaway returning to him, me - the child hiding from injury, the dog - cowering and looking up at someone they trust, expecting to be hit and trying to minimise it, and him - the old man, who knows what he has done, who knows all of this, and sees.

I pick the whip back up, he shouts at the dogs to stop their nonsense, I tell him its very good and feign inspection and approval. I go off to cook us all dinner, the oven breaks, he wails at it like it can hear him and rants and raves into the door. Eventually we eat from a  camping stove. I’m not sure how he is surviving out there. There was nothing but spices in the cupboard. Nothing in the fridge except hallucinogenic mushrooms. Eventually, I’m going, I make the mistake of looking him dead in the eyes before I do so. He cries instantly, tell me he wishes he was a monk, he wants to be locked in a cell. I make a joke about it, tell him to commit a crime then, the rent’s cheaper. I leave as quickly as I can.

A week later he calls me. He has had the most traumatic day of his life, he says. He’s crying. I’m at work but I step out into the car park to listen to him. I don’t want to. He tells me a long story about how he walked with his dogs to the bottom of his garden in the morning, just as the sun bled into the clouds (his words), and that they had begun to fight one another. He tried to break them up. They wouldn’t. He hit them all with a spade. He dragged one of them, the smallest, back into the house and passed out, eventually waking from cold. He said he went back outside, to find the last two dogs and bring them in. They are still fighting. He reckons its been about four hours. He says they all ended up in the pond. He says there’s a man inside him. He says he hit them all with a spade again. He says he had to ‘make a choice, kid, I had to choose’ the dogs were ‘going to kill each other’ and that he’s living in some kind of parallel universe ‘the younger dog or the older dog’ and he can’t get out ‘he was going to kill him I had to make a choice I chose the younger dog’ so he grabbed the spade and smashed it’s head in.

I nod, and ‘mhmm’ at the right places. I’m numb and blank in a car park, white walls from the surrounding kitchens making the sky black. It is so clear it’s like water, a black mirror, and I can see where my face should be reflected there is a solitary dog, an animal I felt I was, an animal I have been, on it’s back outside in the cold under that same infinite yet smothering darkness. I’m dead, it’s dead, we’re all fucking dead. There’s no life-as-it-was after this. There’s no forgetting how he kicked our childhood dog to death, how he dragged my mum out into the street when she had her stroke, no laughing at disposing of that cane. It’s here, it’s back. It is not the past. I am not a runaway, I’m just running in circles and now we’re all fucking dead.

I spend the next week deep in phone calls and decisions about sectioning and police and ‘has he shot himself?’s with my sister. We don’t know what to do. Why should we? Why should anyone know how to deal with this? We can’t get him sectioned, he’ll attack anyone who goes there and end up arrested. We can’t call the RSPCA, the dogs bit him when he attacked them and they’ll be put down. Something has to live through this. We ring him constantly, eventually he picks up. He’s not shot himself - good, I say (I’m not sure if it is), I can rehome the other dogs, I just have to go and get them. He seems calmer now. Maybe we should check on him, we say. And then the universe replies - and snows us in for two days. We were supposed to be driving to get the dog and to take it to it’s new owners, for a test run. They can’t make it and neither can I. In the days between these events my heart has softened. I’ve thought of taking him in, of helping him, of closing us off and of my duty and putting all of my self preservation aside - sacrificing myself to this great man, just as he’s always taught me. I phone him to tell him I’m sorry but I can’t make it today, I’m snowed in, we’ll have to reschedule. No, he says. He needs me to come down. He can’t face going outside. He wanted to bury the dog in a circle of saplings, to give it eternal life. He’s a psychopathic murderer, he says. He can’t look at the dog he killed a week ago. Can’t look at it’s ‘slit throat’. I thought it was a spade, I say. He says he killed his best friend. He slit his best friend’s throat. I have to go and move the dog. He’s phoned the college I work at and is enrolling. We’ll live within 15 miles of each other. I’m a good kid. I need to move the dog. No one else will understand. I’m the only one. I’m a good kid, not like the others. He’s got the blues. Life is hard to him.

I told him I’ll come as soon as a I can, but it won’t be this week. Maybe after Christmas. I can see the chain of events now. I opened the door again, I let him back in. He managed to get his nails in a crack and is ripping an opening. ‘You’re stupid for animals’, he used to say to me ‘they don’t have feelings, you let them manipulate you’. I said, maybe, but I prefer it this way. I’m naive. Probably, but I’ll live with that. I am dismissed. ‘Well I’m busy too,’ he says ‘the man is coming for the walking stick, I need some advice about pricing…’. I have no interest in talking to him about his walking stick, or how to apply for student loans, or how much they are, or whether I can use my contacts at the college to get him some extra financial aid. I say sorry, but I’ve got to go. After I hang up I’m wrung out. I don’t know if I’m good, or bad, or I’m broken or righteous. I know that whatever I do or say or think I’m making a choice, a moral choice, a choice with huge implications, I’m paralysed by the responsibility for something 60 years of trauma in the making, something I only have the privilege to know about because I was stupid enough to visit twice in two years.

I am imagining my dad. Waiting with his badly made walking stick for a man who may or may not be real. Filling out his student loan forms. So high he doesn’t know he’s hungry. Shuttered away from the bloated mutilated body of his dog outside the only door to his home, which he can’t pay for. So fragile but so powerful in destructive ability. I’m imagining him waiting for me to call. I’m imagining him lining up his next strategy if I don’t. I’m imagining him thinking about me, who I am, how to manipulate me. I’m imagining me, 11 years old, sitting on the step outside my house in the morning, waiting for him to arrive on his bike like he said and eventually going inside at bedtime. Me, 18, running away to an Art College in the country which would be my home and safe place for the next 10 years. I’m imagining me, six months on from now, the life I have built to escape from him, fully flayed open - bloating and stinking, because everyone is too afraid to bury it.

[ronyxfic]

Educating the Victim - Act V, Chapter VII

Pairing: Lapis/Jasper, Lapis/Peridot, Jasper/Peridot, Lapis/Jasper/Peridotk

Rating: Teens and up

Warnings/Tags: manipulation and threats.

Read it on AO3!

Educating the Victim Masterpost

(Previous chapter) (Next chapter)

CHAPTER 7: Intrigue

The most mysterious out of the four women who now regularly met for Bridge club was certainly the one sitting opposite Marigold.

Her face was often partially hidden. She wore a blue headscarf – always blue; different shades of blue, light blue, sky blue, royal blue. Patterned, sometimes. But never a colour other than blue.

She spoke with eloquence, and never too much. She never drank alcohol.

“Isn’t it against your religion to gamble with money, Azure?” Claire had asked her on one occasion.

Azure Almas had shrugged.

“This sort of money is not something I’ll lose sleep over,” she said calmly.

Marigold Diamond, whose own earnings as a trainee teacher were rather limited, could only stare at Azure.

It would be many, many months until Marigold found the courage to talk to Azure directly.

--

Rose Quartz was doing most of the preparations for the careers fair, so Marigold Diamond didn't concern herself with it too much.

Except for one thing.

It was Friday afternoon, and Marigold knew that most normal people would have left their offices by now.

Azure wasn't most normal people.

Marigold still had the phone number memorised. Still felt her heart beating loudly whenever she did this. She hadn't talked to Azure in almost precisely a year. This, and only this, was what she had left from back then.

There was a reason for that.

Marigold sighed, then reached out for the telephone. Put in the number. Muscle memory, even now.

The familiar tone echoed in her ears as she was being connected.

Azure had finished a mountain of paperwork as a crunch for the weekend. She found her old mobile ringing (at work, she carried three) and with a quick glance at the date, knew exactly the culprit. Marigold Diamond had always been an odd one. She often thought that if they spoke more, they'd possibly be friends.

Though, ever since she'd grown to be such a successful principal, Azure had reserved a little respect for her.

"Good evening, Marigold. How can I help?" Her voice was cool, smooth. Years of conversations meant she'd learnt that with Marigold, one simply had to take dominance from her. Fight it, tooth and nail, and Marigold would either grow enraged at insubordination or bend down a little to her resolve.

Azure silently prayed today she'd have opportunity for the latter.

Her blood rushed in her ears. Memories plagueing her mind.

"Azure, how good to hear your voice. How have you been?" A conversation with Azure was almost like a fight, a dance, a perfectly rehearsed choreography. Marigold felt her heart beating loudly.

"Successful as usual, my dear," Azure purred, "I've just appointed a new CEO and might be taking some leave next year. We should most certainly meet. Now. Again, how may I help you?"

"A new CEO, you say?" Marigold said smoothly. "Well, I do hope he or she is up to the task! Could anyone ever truly replace you?" Thinking of one of Azure's employees would be running the company felt a little strange to her. It was Azure's company, her accomplishment. Nobody else would be quite the same.

"Oh, she's spectacular. Reminds me of you, ravishing, powerful… ruthless." Azure smirked a little. "You'll meet her at the careers fair. I am, as it's pretty obvious, quite taken by her."

"Still playing your old games, then, I see?" Marigold said. "So who is she? Do I know her?"

"Oh, you may! She used to go to your school. Said she had a lot of fun with her sister there." She tapped a pen on her desk. "The name Aurora sound familiar at all?"

Oh.

Aurora had mentioned that her sister worked in a games company. Marigold had never asked about the details.

"I've heard of her," she said smoothly. "You're still going after the young ones, then."

It's not like I'm any better.

She allowed the thought for half a second, then viciously pushed it aside.

"What can I say?" Azure wasn't about to let anyone make her feel ashamed. Her voice grew a little more husky. Challenging. "I can't help enjoying the taste of fresh berries. Unlike you, it seems. Still got any of your usual brew around?"

"I quit," Marigold said. "For good this time." Being drunk would be really nice sometimes. Most of the time. Marigold saw it as a personal challenge. And she never lost a challenge.

"Oh, my, back with the church programme, I see. How's that going, dear?"

"I was never not with the church programme. Pay attention, will you?" Her religion was a sore point. Marigold hated and admired Azure for the way her religion just seemed to come naturally to her, while Marigold herself struggled so much.

"Now, now, Miss Diamond. Let's not get all agitated. It's been a while since I've seen you. You know people nowadays, enjoying new things. I didn't want to presume." Azure could feel Marigold's anger bubbling away and secretly loved it. "How long have you been sober for?"

"Since before Christmas." All Marigold had were flashes of memory. Unanswered texts to Aurora. Coldness staring her in the face every time she left her office. Marigold still had no clear answer as to what had driven Aurora away.

"Oh! Any prompting to that?" Azure’s tone was sweet, comforting. Genuinely curious. But still more powerful. She needed to get Mari to bend over, or the fair would be hell.

"Not that it's any of your business, but I had medical concerns." A flat out lie; one that nobody would be able to pick up on. Except perhaps Azure.

Oh, and Azure could tell right away. Yes. This would be a way to get Marigold to bend down to submission. If she felt like lying, Azure could play her. "Oh, that's so terrible! I'm very sorry to hear it - you should've let me know, I would have visited you to wish you well. Oh, I could get you with my private medical team, I'm sure they wouldn't mind if I chipped in. Quite expensive, this whole self preservation business, isn't it?"

"I have enough to provide for myself, thank you." The last thing Marigold wanted was Azure's pity. Azure pitied the people she saw as beneath her.

"The offer will always be on the table. And with your liver, I really wouldn't be surprised, my dear."

A trap. One Marigold knew to avoid. "Hence why I quit."

"Mm. I see. That's fair. Forgive me for caring about you, you know I still do." Not a lie. Azure’s tone was warmer. "So. Careers fair. I am still invited, right?"

Marigold's heart did a little flip-flop when Azure said she still cared about her.

"Yes, that's why I called. I was going to give you the exact dates and the arrangement so you can prepare."

"Oh yes, of course. Always good at that, aren't you?" She gave Marigold a little praise and fetched her other phone to find the calendar app. "Go on then, tell me."

"It's in March, just before Easter." It always was. "The sixteenth. It goes on the entire day, starting at nine. You can set up from eight."

"As usual, then." Azure smiled. "I have you down. Is there anything else?"

"Hmm. Heard anything from Roxy lately?" Azure wouldn't have. Marigold hadn't. Roxy had vanished years ago.

"Nothing whatsoever." Azure frowned. "None on your end, then?"

"Not for years." Marigold showed no emotion. "Has she ever done this before?" Azure had known Roxy longer than Marigold.

Azure gritted her teeth, losing herself a little in the sudden upset. "No. She never did this before."

"Calm down, Azure, she might still come back." Unlikely by this point. Roxy could be dead for all they knew. But getting upset wouldn't solve anything.

"I'm fine." Not this again. Marigold knew she needed time when it came to losing people. "I just miss her."

"I see. I can hang up if you need some time alone." It was almost taunting.

Azure nearly gasped. The indignity. "No, no. I'll be alright."

"If you're sure." Marigold sighed. "I miss her too, you know."

"Sure," Azure said. They'd all been there at one point. Closer.

Azure hid her eye bags under her hands before realising no one was watching. "I'll be calling you about things for the fair."

"Good. I'll speak to you soon, Azure." A pang of regret was pushed aside. Marigold knew that associating with Azure more again would be dangerous. She kept it to a comfortable once a year, even though a very large part of her wanted that life back.

But, like with the alcohol, she needed to stay strong.

Azure hung up. She cast her expression down and sighed. This wasn't good. Marigold couldn't see her be sad at all; if she did, it would make interactions… difficult.

The line clicked, and Marigold let out a deep breath. It almost sounded like a sigh.

Her heart was still beating fast. It would only be a few weeks until she would see Azure again.

--

This time, Lapis had asked Jasper before bringing Peridot home. Jasper, clearly remembering what happened last time Peridot had visited, had easily agreed.

So here they were on their way again.

"How was your day, Peri?" Lapis asked her companion.

"Oh! It was alright. Everyone's getting kind of excited about that careers fair - they're actually starting to care about their grades, too!"

"That's good!" Lapis had heard who would be at the fair - yet again. "I'll be taking that day off. They don't particularly need me at the fair and there aren't any lessons."

"Oh!" Peridot gave a little frown. "You don't do an English stall?"

"They'll have people from outside coming in. Publishers, writers, the lot. They don't need me. What am I even gonna tell them - how to fuck up your life so bad that you have to become a teacher because it's literally the only thing you can do?" She shrugged. "Oh, here we are," she then said, getting out her keys to unlock the door.

Peridot gave her a look, but couldn't quite summon the words to respond with. She only placed her hand on Lapis' back and quietly mumbled, "Being a teacher ain't so bad. I got you guys."

Lapis didn't show her surprise. It was rare that Peridot initiated touch, but this wasn't the first time it had happened. Their lunches together seemed to have made Peridot trust Lapis.

Instead, she just smiled. "I'm glad you see it that way. Are you looking forward to seeing Malachite again? She's missed you!"

"Oh, most certainly! I'd love to touch her again. She's just so cool! I asked my mom if we could get one and she only said yeah to guppies." Peridot then took out her phone and showed a tank with two little freshwater fish. "That one is Clod. And the other one is Robonoid. I most certainly did not name them."

"Aww. Cute! But Malachite's better." Lapis opened the door carefully. "A-ha!" Malachite had betrayed herself, and Lapis quickly caught her before she could run outside. "Little bugger," she said fondly. "Come in, come in."

She was still holding Malachite and was about to close the door when she suddenly remembered something. "Oh, damn."

Peridot eagerly bounced in, looking at the lizard with wide eyed curiosity. "The big, pretty girl is here. Hello!"

"Yes. Can you hold her?" Lapis didn't wait for an answer before thrusting Malachite at Peridot. "Jasper?" she called.

"Yeah?" came the reply from the living room.

"Ah, good, you're here. Um." She turned to Peridot. "Awkward situation. I forgot my laptop at school, and I kind of really need it do do work over the weekend. So I need to go back."

Peridot gave a sad look to Malachite. "That's not good. I can come with you if you want?"

Lapis considered it for only a moment, but then sighed. "No, it's okay, I'll probably get there faster by myself. No offense." She hesitated, then grabbed Peridot's wrist and pulled her into the living room.

"Jasper," she said, "I've gotta go back to the school to get my laptop. You be nice to Peri, yeah? Don't hurt her. You'll regret it."

Jasper nodded. She was very calm. "I won't, Lapis. Come back soon."

Peridot seemed oddly alright about the arrangement. "That's okay! Now I get to hang out with two cute girls. Isn't that right, Malachite?"

Jasper raised an eyebrow at Peridot.

"But the other cute girl is just leaving," she pointed out, looking at Lapis.

Lapis rolled her eyes. "Don't get up to anything silly while I'm gone." And then the door fell shut behind her and Jasper was alone with Peridot.

"You can set her down," Jasper said, nodding towards Malachite. "She doesn't like being held for too long."

Peridot blinked, "Oh! I didn't know that. Sorry, you go and run now!" She watched Malachite scamper under the table and gave Jasper a bright beam. "Wow, thanks! I wouldn't have wanted her to be upset."

"That's alright." Jasper was watching Peridot closely. Lapis wasn't here. What... exactly did Lapis expect them to do?

"Do you, um. Want something to drink?" she offered clumsily.

"Oh, sure!" Peridot nodded as she tore her gaze from the lizard and looked at Jasper. "I don't mind! I'll have whatever you're having."

"Okay then!" That was simple. Jasper got up and opened the fridge to pull out two beers. "This okay?" she asked, holding it out for Peridot.

Peridot cocked her head. She didn't really drink. At all. Ever. "Uh. Haven't had that one before, but sure! I trust you!"

Jasper cocked her head. Had Peridot really never had beer before? Oh well - there was no real reason not to let her try it. At the very least, it would be funny. Jasper opened hers. "Cheers," she said before taking a large gulp.

Peridot seemed delighted at Jasper's new kindness and took a sip before her face knitted into a deep frown. She looked at the bottle. Then at Jasper. Then at the bottle. Then at Jasper's half empty bottle.

Jasper watched.

"Don't you like it?" she asked when Peridot frowned. "It's okay, I can get you something else."

"It's... the worst thing I've ever had. Why would you consume this... odd... bread flavored carbonate?" Peridot slid it back. "I'm in awe of your talent. And iron stomach."

Jasper gave a deep rumble of a chuckle and picked up Peridot's beer. "It's an acquired taste," she admitted. "We have some juice as well, if you'd like."

"That seems much more pleasurable." Peridot gave a tiny nod, utterly unaware of any innuendo.

Jasper narrowed her eyes.

Peridot didn't seem to mean anything of it.

Jasper gave an odd little smile. "You know, sometimes I can actually see why Lapis likes you so much."

Peridot tilted her head. "Oh yeah, she said she did. I like her a lot, too. Ever since you had that word with her, she's been very kind. It's so nice of you guys to have me back again."

Jasper opened the fridge.

"Hmm, we have... orange juice, apple juice... coke. Tap water, I guess." She cast a look at Peridot.

Endearing, she was.

"What kind of apple juice?" She peeped over. "Are the apples on the carton green? Because that's the only kind of apple juice I like. "

Indeed, they were. Jasper took the carton out and got a glass for Peridot.

"You have a thing about colours, eh?" she asked matter-of-factly when she passed the glass to Peridot.

"Colours. Textures. Smells." Peridot shrugged. "That's human, isn't it?"

"It's normal to have preferences," Jasper said. "But people don't tend to colour-code their food." She sat down, next to Peridot this time rather than on the other sofa. "But hey, people are different. Nothing wrong with different." She should know; after all, she was different from the norm in so many ways.

Peridot looked at her with wide eyes. "You think... it's okay?"

"Being different?" Jasper laughed. "Have you seen me? I'd have to hate myself if I didn't think it was okay. Not that I don't."

"But you're... just fine! You're not like me. I'm... You wouldn't get it." Peridot sighed, but then offered Jasper a smile. "Thanks, though. You're really kind, too, Jasper!"

Jasper sighed. It stung.

But yeah. She wouldn't get it.

"I try." She didn't look at Peridot.

Peridot's foot accidentally brushed against Jasper's as she sipped. "I don't think someone like you would need to try hard to be nice. You seem like a good person."

Jasper jumped at the sudden contact.

She dug her hands into her hair.

Not now. Fuck. Not now.

Lapis wasn't here. Lapis wasn't here.

"Y- yeah." She didn't even really register what Peridot had said.

Peridot noticed right away and furrowed her brow. "Oh, I'm sorry! I don't like some touches, either. I can get you some water! That helps me with sensory overload."

"O- oh. Sure." Jasper had trimmed her nails only a few days ago; she regretted it now. She had to work so much harder to feel pain. Pain grounded her. Calmed her.

Her breathing was harsh, laboured. Heart beating loudly. Not now, please, not now.

"Oh. Oh, here. Come with me. I don't want to just leave you here. Unless you can't move." Peridot did something Lapis seldom did. Her voice was quiet. Calm. Sensitive. Smooth and cool enough to be level. She outstretched her hand.

Jasper's body expected Lapis.

Instead, she got soft words. No touches.

And - it didn't get worse.

Jasper closed her eyes. Tried to breathe. Loosened her fingers a little.

Peridot gave a tiny smile. "See. It's okay. Everything's okay. Nothing to be scared of, alright? Would you like me to sit back down?"

Yes. Yes. The panic subsided. Jasper found that she could breathe.

She nodded.

Peridot gently sat beside her. Her size meant that she barely moved the couch. "Is there... anything I can do to help you, Jasper? I would like to help."

Peridot. It was Peridot. Lapis wasn't here.

Jasper breathed.

"I'll... be fine," she said softly. Miraculously.

"May I touch you?"

"That... would actually be appreciated," Jasper said.

Lapis had never asked.

Peridot softly curled her arms around her. "That frightened me. A lot. Are you sure you're going to be alright?" She smelt of apples and mint. It must've been her shampoo.

"Yeah. Sorry. It kind of... happens all the time." Jasper let her hands drop. Opened her eyes. No blood. No pain. "How... how did you do that?"

Peridot gave a little titter. "Whaddaya mean?"

Jasper narrowed her eyes. Did she... really not realise what she'd just done?

"It's almost impossible to get me out of an attack this quickly," she said. "I didn't even hurt myself. Lapis can't do it and she knows me better than anyone."

"I get it a lot. It's just about giving your head some time to realise that everything's alright. She doesn't do that?"

"She... has her ways. Lets me ride it out." Jasper shook her head quickly, almost like a shiver. "I... uh. Sorry you had to see that."

She looked at Peridot, who was still hugging her.

Cautiously, she hugged back.

Peridot smiled into the hug, as if she'd barely received contact in a while. "It's okay. Like I said. I get it. You even caught me during one."

"Really?" Jasper tried to think. Huh. "In... the bathroom that one time?"

"Yeah. Lapis called me 'special'. I... don't have a lot of good connotations with that word."

"Oh." That was... absolutely understandable. "You should tell her. Or I could, I don't mind. She doesn't want to hurt you, you know."

"She hasn't, since you spoke to her. Like I said, I like her a lot now!" Peridot then shrugged. "But I appreciate it, too. You're pretty cool, yanno."

Jasper huffed. "You just don't know me well enough." She was sure if anyone was to ask Lapis, the last word Lapis would use to describe her would be 'cool'.

"But you're actually in a relationship and you have things in check. It's a lot cooler than living with your mom or still being a... well, Virgin for anything. "

A smile. "Lapis told me you'd never kissed someone. Guess that's actually true, then?"

Peridot looked down, shameful. "I've been told anime makes it look much more exciting than it actually is."

Jasper laughed.

She couldn't help it. Peridot was so cute.

Okay, no, she could definitely see why Lapis liked her so much.

And because her brain was still slightly messy from her panic attack and because Peridot had still not stopped hugging her and Jasper had stopped having any kind of filter for what was appropriate or not, she asked, "Do you wanna find out?"

The blink was almost childlike. "Well, duh!"

"Okay."

She was probably going too far.

She didn't care.

Gentle fingers tilted Peridot's chin up at her. Jasper leaned in. Hesitated, just so Peridot could pull away if she wanted to.

Peridot's eyes widened. Oh. She hadn't expected Jasper to offer one at all. It had been entirely hypothetical. But she didn't pull away. She let herself taste Jasper.

Even if Jasper wasn't green.

A soft smile.

Jasper kissed Peridot gently, briefly, then pulled away.

Peridot's face was bright red.

"So that's that, then." She licked her lips and looked up into Jasper's cat-like eyes. "Wow. Thanks."

Jasper chuckled.

"You're welcome."

She looked up when she heard the door being unlocked.

Peridot suddenly snapped back into reality. "You're... in a relationship. That was cheating."

Jasper shrugged.

Lapis let the door fall shut behind her. "Jasper? Peridot? You both still alive?"

Peridot's face turned into the deepest blush and she attempted to scramble away from Jasper's arms.

"Hey, it's okay." Jasper loosened her arms, but gave Peridot the option to stay anyway.

Lapis came into the living room and saw them, still suspiciously close.

She narrowed her eyes.

"What... have you two been up to?" she asked.

Jasper flashed her a smile. "Well, I didn't hurt her," she said.

"Lapis, oh my stars, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I shouldn't have done that!" But Peridot didn't leave those arms. She couldn't.

"Done... what?"

Lapis looked at Peridot. Then at Jasper.

"Jasper, what did you do?" A flash of threat in her eyes. Jasper would recognise it. Peridot wouldn't.

Jasper tensed up.

"Uh," she said. "Cuddle?"

Peridot was an awful liar. "Yep. We did. Absolutely nothing. That was. Uh. Something cosmically new for me. Nope."

Lapis saw through her immediately, and the guilty look on Jasper's face was confirmation enough.

"I can explain," Jasper said quickly.

Lapis stared her down.

"Okay then," she said. "Explain."

Jasper swallowed nervously.

"I had a panic attack," she said. "Peridot got me out of it. It was... it was crazy. I didn't even hurt myself. I -"

She saw Lapis's face and fell silent.

"Liar," Lapis said.

"It's true. Okay. We kissed but it was only because I told Jasper that I didn't know what it was like and she asked me if I wanted to know what it was like and I was like... yeah, of course I do but then we started doing it and wow your girlfriend kisses really good, nice catch, but the rest of it is true!"

"No, no," Lapis said. "She lied about having a panic attack. You're not even bleeding, Jasper. You should know better than to lie to me."

"No, I-"

There was no point. Jasper sighed and looked down.

"I... I helped her, though." Peridot's voice began to warble. It was as if she was internalising Lapis' anger at Jasper.

Lapis's gaze was fixed on Jasper. A million thoughts running through her head at lightning speed.

"She did, Lapis," Jasper said softly. "If you don't believe me, can you at least believe her?"

"You..." Lapis stopped, scoffed. "You manipulated her into lying to me."

Jasper laughed out loud despite the tension. Just from the sheer absurdity of Lapis's accusation. "You know I'm shit at manipulating. Peri is shit at lying. That's the stupidest thing you've ever said. And here I thought you were smart."

Lapis's eyes narrowed.

"Peridot," she said, eyes still on Jasper. "Can you give us a moment alone?"

Peridot gave a firm squeeze to Jasper and then sighed. "Sure. Lemme know when it's okay to come back."

Jasper avoided Lapis's eyes until Peridot was gone.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

Lapis sniffed, her face projected a scowl terrifying enough to shake an ocean backwards. "Go into the bedroom."

For a long moment, Jasper thought about resisting. Challenging Lapis.

But she remembered too well what had happened last time she'd angered Lapis. Better not make it worse.

Without a word, she got up and did as Lapis said.

Lapis gripped the set of keys in her pocket, her knuckles white and fist shaking. As she followed her into the bedroom she said only one, cold word. "Strip."

"Lapis..."

Resistance, Jasper knew, was futile. Reluctantly, she took off her top.

Lapis cold only glare with disgust. "Shut up." She grabbed the chains at the bed. They wouldn't hold Jasper down forever. But they'd teach her a lesson. "I thought we agreed. Your terms. You were mine and I was yours. Are you so dense you forgot your own agreement?"

Jasper looked down. Hair fell into her eyes. "I had a panic attack," she said softly. "She was there. She calmed me down. You... you know how I get after panic attacks."

"That's bullshit. If you'd had a panic attack, it wouldn't be possible for me to communicate with you right now. You turn fucking crazy."

Jasper looked up. Met Lapis's eyes.

The chains held her back. Jasper knew she could break out of them if she wanted to. She struggled.

"She calmed me down," she said. "She caught me right as it was coming and calmed me down. She's better at it than you!"

Lapis only managed to catch herself an inch away from Jasper's face before she'd made contact. "Don't you ever say that again," she hissed. She then backed out. "Stay here. Don't make noise or I'll be back to gag you. I need to deal with my guest."

Jasper hissed, but stayed silent. Struggled. Lapis had about five minutes before Jasper would be out.

Lapis knew this. She closed the door behind her. "Peridot?"

Peridot was hiding in the bathroom. Hands under a cold tap as she counted her breaths. She heard Lapis and found herself not yet ready to move. "I'm here!"

The bathroom. "Are you okay?"

"Just cooling off! Be right... I'll be right there." Her voice dropped off lamely as she dried her hands.

"Alright. I'll be in the living room."

She sighed heavily. Decided to check on Jasper, quickly. Said nothing as she tightened the chains. She needed more time.

When she finally took a seat on the sofa in the living room, Malachite scampered up to her. Lapis picked her up.

"Looks like you're just about the only one I can depend on around here, hm?"

Malachite stuck out her tongue.

Peridot soon returned, looking tearful. Her face was pale. "Lapis. I'm so, so sorry. I honestly never meant it to happen. I barely knew what was going on. I'm sorry. I hope you can forgive me for that."

Lapis looked up. Her expression softened.

She put Malachite down. "Come here," she said. "It's not your fault, and I'm not angry at you. Jasper violated an agreement we had. I don't blame you."

Peridot seemed taken aback by the calm. She smiled at it and eagerly bounced over. "You really don't? Oh, that's so good. I was so worried you'd hate me and was getting ready to pack my bags and move my mom to like Japan or something so that I can teach physics there instead of facing you."

Lapis laughed. "No, no," she said. "Can you tell me what happened, though?" Just so she knew just how much she needed to punish Jasper.

"She asked me if I wanted to kiss and I misunderstood. I just thought it was hypothetical. She seemed to be a little off, too. I got so worried."

"She didn't actually have a panic attack, right?" Lapis asked. There was no way.

"I don't know. I guess so? No one would just pretend... would they?"

Lapis frowned. "It doesn't make sense," she said. "She didn't even like you that much."

"We cuddled, though. And she was really nice to me. Gave me a beer, too. It wasn't very nice."

None of it made sense. None of it.

"I'm really sorry, Peridot," Lapis said. "This must all be so weird for you."

"I liked it!" Peridot gave a smile. "It felt nice. But I'm sorry if it hurt you. Where is Jasper, anyway?"

"Timeout," Lapis said without missing a beat. "She should be back here in, ah... two minutes? Give or take."

"Oh. I guess that's... wait, why did you punish her? It's my fault, too. You should be angry at me!"

"She broke the rules. Not you."

"Oh." Peridot frowned. "I suppose. I'm still sorry."

Lapis shrugged. "Apology accepted, I guess. I'm gonna get Jasper. Be right back."

She got up and made her way to the bedroom.

Peridot watched her leave and picked Malachite up. The second she was sure Lapis had left, she pressed her lips at its scaly forehead. So. That was kissing.

Jasper had almost gotten out of her shackles.

Lapis didn't help her, just watched as she struggled.

"Can you tell me what the fuck is going on in your primitive brain?" she challenged. "First you hate Peridot, then you manipulate her into kissing you by faking a panic attack? What the fuck, Jasper?"

Jasper avoided Lapis's eyes. "I didn't fake anything," she said. "Or manipulate - she's - she's cute, is all."

Lapis rolled her eyes. "Fine, whatever. But you'll pay for this later. You can come back through now."

Jasper managed to get out of the chains. She rubbed her wrists.

"Was that really necessary?" she complained.

"Shut up."

Lapis didn't wait for her before returning to the living room.

Peridot looked up from the iguana. "Hello, again. I'm still in total admiration of this small beauty."

"As you should be." Lapis smiled warmly. "Well, now that Jasper's made all of this sufficiently awkward, should we actually... do something? You wanted to learn how to cook, right?"

Jasper shuffled into the room after Lapis, looking suitably chastised. She wouldn't meet Peridot's eyes.

"Yes! I'd love to learn." Peridot beamed. "Oh, hey again, Jasper. Back from doin' time?" She attempted at a faux cool finger gun.

Jasper looked like she'd been slapped.

"Yeah, I'm... gonna go back to the bedroom," she said. "Bye."

"Oh." Peridot frowned. "See you around!"

"Come back, Jasper," Lapis said, oddly gentle. "This isn't something you should run away from."

Jasper's eyes flashed. She reached out and grabbed Lapis's arm in a crushing grip.

"And what do you know!" she snapped. "You're thinking I manipulated her! You don't even believe me when I tell you I had a panic attack!"

"Jasper," Lapis said, her voice carefully controlled, but laced with fear. "Let go of me. Now."

Jasper didn't loosen her grip.

"Guys. Please, stop it!" Peridot had finally had enough. "Who cares if she did or didn't? She's okay. That's all that matters."

Jasper froze. Lapis turned to Peridot.

Jasper's hands fell to her side, limp.

"Sorry," she muttered.

"So," Lapis said to Peridot without reacting to Jasper's words, "what do you suggest we do to fix this?"

"I... I guess..." Peridot swallowed. "Let's take it methodically. The issue is that we kissed, yeah?"

"Yes," said Jasper.

Lapis shot her a look.

"It's a bit more complicated than that," she said.

"Then maybe elaborate?" Peridot suggested, kindly. "So we're all on the same page."

"We kind of... had an argument a few weeks ago," Lapis said. "And came to an agreement. Jasper, you remember what it is, don't you? Why don't you tell her."

Jasper sighed heavily.

"I'm all yours," she said. "You're all mine."

"And do tell, who was it that wanted that sort of rule in the first place?" Lapis said.

Jasper swallowed.

"I did."

Peridot thought for a moment before turning to Jasper. "Why did you kiss me? Just because I wondered what it was like?"

Jasper didn't like finding herself under such scrutiny. She looked away.

"Answer her," Lapis said.

Jasper let out a heavy breath.

"I don't know. I wanted to."

"Despite the contradiction... Hm..." Peridot went back into thinking. "Thank you for being honest. Lapis. How do you want to move on?"

With Peridot guiding the conversation, Jasper found that her breathing remained even. Anger didn't bubble up quite as quickly. She didn't want to hurt Lapis quite as much.

Lapis noticed as well. A quick look from Peridot to Jasper, then back to Peridot.

She considered Peridot's question.

"I'm willing to let it slide," she said. "Under one condition."

"And that is....?"

"I get to kiss you too." A devilish grin.

A little more cautiously, she added, "If you're okay with that, of course."

Peridot spluttered a surprised cough. That was the last thing she'd expected. "What?" After... all this? "I mean, sure, I'd be okay with that, but... what?"

Jasper looked up.

Lapis shot her a glance.

"She violated the agreement," she told Peridot. "So I get to do the same. Isn't that right, Jasper?"

"Y...yeah." Jasper nodded hesitantly. "It's only fair."

"If it'll fix things." Peridot looked nervous. "Golly. No kisses for twenty six years and then boom! Two people in one day. Nice one for Peridot."

"It's kind of how we do things," Jasper said.

"Yeah," Lapis agreed. "Remember how I told you this wasn't exactly a normal relationship? But anyway. Jasper?"

Jasper pouted. "I don't get to watch?"

A stern look from Lapis, and she gave in and left.

"I don't mind if she watches." Peridot shrugged in good humour and then flushed. "This is all kinda new to me."

"You might not, but I do," Lapis said. She crossed the room and sat down next to Peridot. "It's okay," she said. "We don't have to do anything if you don't want to."

Peridot nodded. "I'd like to kiss three pretty people." Her voice turned into a whisper. "Don't tell anyone but I gave your little Malachite a smooch, too."

Lapis laughed. "Malachite isn't a people, though. Even if I treat her like she is." And with that, she curled her arms around Peridot and leaned in to kiss her.

This was much different. Lapis wasn't as soft. Her lips weren't as plump but Peridot found herself actually kissing back and actually... enjoying the feeling. Before she knew it, she had a soft hand on Lapis' waist.

Lapis smiled at that. Pulled Peridot closer and deepened the kiss. Her heart was beating loudly. This wasn't Peridot's first kiss like Lapis had hoped, but it was still amazing.

Peridot blushed as she allowed Lapis more in her mouth and grew confident enough to touch her hair. She'd wanted to touch it for a while.

Aside from green, she was also very partial to blue.

Lapis reciprocated, ruffling Peridot's hair fondly before drawing back, breaking the kiss. She kept close to Peridot, though, still touching her.

"How was that?" she asked softly.

"I liked it. I liked it a lot. Thank you." Peridot gently touched Lapis' cheek before withdrawing.

Lapis smiled.

"Jasper?" she called.

Jasper poked her head in.

"You can come in," Lapis said. Jasper did, then stood by the door, looking sheepish.

"I want to make a new rule," Lapis told her.

"Rules are good!" Peridot nodded. "As long as they're sensible."

"What's your rule?" Jasper asked.

Lapis grinned smugly.

"We both can kiss Peridot anytime we want, as long as she wants it too," she said.

Peridot audibly gulped. "Oh. Oh. I wouldn't mind that."

"Yeah," Jasper said. "I'd be okay with that too."

"It's a deal, then!" Lapis said and, on impulse, kissed Peridot again. Because she could.

Peridot was taken aback once more. She didn't touch Lapis again, not with Jasper there. But she closed her eyes. This felt good.

Jasper watched and found, oddly, that she didn't quite know who she was feeling jealous of.

She marveled at the situation, though.

Lapis broke the kiss with Peridot and then grinned at Jasper. Got up, put her arms around Jasper's neck and kissed her too.

This was great.

Peridot found that... she liked to watch. She liked to see them happy. She felt satisfied with helping them resolve before things got ugly.

"So," she said when they broke off. "Dinner?"

Lapis laughed softly. Even Jasper was smiling.

"Yeah," she said. "Let's make dinner."

> Act V, Chapter VIII

[foxcroft-rpg-blog]

Congratulations, Elle! Honestly, I am in awe at your app. The whole part about checking the date on the newspaper when he saw Hazel’s name on the front page was just so subtle and the best way to add a little more weight to the direction Logan is going in. I know you’re going to do great things with Logan, and I really can’t wait to see where you take him. 

Thanks again for applying! Please create your account and send in the link, track the right tags, and follow everyone on the masterlist as soon as you can. Welcome to Foxcroft! 

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name: Elle

Age: 24

Preferred pronouns: She/Her

Time zone: GMT

Activity: Since I have a fulltime job, I will set my activity at a solid 6/10. Sometimes I will be more active and other times I’ll be less (if it comes to the point where I’ll need a hiatus I’d of course update the admin right away). Additionally, I pride myself in always trying to keep up on the dashboard even when I can’t post a reply every day.

Anything else?: Not more than that I am so incredibly impressed by this creation and am so excited to see it open.

IN CHARACTER

Full name: Logan Lockwood

Date of birth: September 26th ( LIBRA )

How long have they been in Foxcroft: His whole life. Logan was born in Foxcroft, in a white villa with a grand porch ( Suburbia ), and have never really truly felt the need to leave the quaint town. Until now.

Sexuality: Heterosexual

FC change: /

MORE

How do you interpret this character’s personality? How will you portray them? Include two weaknesses and two strengths. (2+ paragraphs)

LOST ( - ). Beautiful boy with a golden smile, bruised knees and knuckles from days on the field and a charming smile to spare for all –– during high school. & once graduated charming smile still glued to his lips but there is a hollowness in his eyes and a need to find a purpose that isn’t there. His mind never focusing enough on anything to become something MAJOR. He had once had no worries in his life, having always been blessed with love and purpose, but once graduated he faltered. It is devastating what a lack of purpose can do to a person, causing for worry and doubt about ones abilities and goals. It was then that Logan, for the first time, started doubting himself. After years of hearing that he was BLESSED, AMAZING and FANTASTIC he had now fallen down and come to the realisation that he wasn’t so special after all ––– & it hit hard.

HOWEVER, delightful CHARISMA ( + ) was still his greatest achievement. Something that could never be taken from him. Even if he indeed feels LOST he will not let his charm falter, and in that there is a certain strength. Logan’s strength is not in finding a purpose, but in his ability to not let his worries spill out and affect others, and in that sense he is SELFLESS ( + ) in the not so traditional sense. Yes, Logan is selfish in many ways but is it not selflessness that causes for listening for real to the people pouring their hearts out to him. He listens and nods, sometimes even offers a comment or a kind word. Instead of showing complete disinterest. But, in this so-called selflessness there is a NEED TO BE NEEDED ( - ) which is why he listens, which is why he loves when he gets to listen and be there. Behind the bar, pouring drinks and hearing people pour their souls out Logan feels a sense of purpose, and it has become oh-so important to him to be there, to hear these things.

Until, until, until ––– a man with a somber exterior settled down by the bar, drank until he could not see straight and said that HE DID IT. The three words echoing in Logan’s mind ever since. He had always been so carefree, this golden boy of Foxcroft, but now there was a shadow lingering around him, thoughts he wished to push away. For even if he doesn’t know what the man has done, there is a question he both want answered a not. After all, a body turned up in the swamp not long after.

STRENGTHS ;; CHARISMATIC, SELFLESS, TALENTED WEAKNESSES ;; NEED TO BE NEEDED, LOST, FLIGHTY, PRIVILEGED

How did this character react to the death of Hazel Abrams? Adam Foxcroft? (1+ paragraphs)

HAZEL ABRAMS. He sees the name on a huge poster. Curiosity brings him to pick up the newspaper on the stand. He remembered the girl. Had seen her around ( it was such a small town after all ) and Logan was quite sure he had seen her look Dominic’s way once or twice, but he hadn’t actually talked to her. However, there was her name calling out to him and he picked up the newspaper. MURDERED. The cold shiver running down his spine caused for thick brows to furrow and he quickly went to the cashier, paid for the paper and excited the shop. Eagerly he devoured the news, and then ––– the date. They said she was found in the swamp.  & then, faint memory resurfaced I DID IT. The man’s words echoing in his mind, never to fade. Was this what he had meant? || Logan reacted first with interest, then with shock and then with a faint hit of realisation that he cannot completely comprehend –– for he has no evidence, no means to point out the man who once sat at his bar and said I DID IT. Hazel Abrams death affected Logan Lockwood more than he thought it would. Not because he knew her, but because he perhaps had a run in with her murderer.

ADAM FOXCROFT. Amelia’s younger brother, he had seen him mucking about Foxcroft with his friends. Wondered about the loneliness in the great Foxcroft Manor far away from the town. So lonely, but Logan did not reflect much on it. It had been years since he had talked to Amelia, anyway, so why should he worry about her brother ( a brother he had once viewed in a lighter light ). But, the DEATH of one Adam Foxcroft shook him, more than he thought. A year after Hazel the Foxcroft boy was murdered. A second murder within a year, a linked murder ( the police said ) and Amelia’s younger brother nonetheless. Logan was shook that something like this could happen in Foxcroft not only once but twice, two murders within a year, and it was that which caused him to ( for the first time ever ) think about a life outside of his beloved town. || Adam Foxcroft’s death affected Logan by causing him to worry about the town and his own life, but also, it caused him to think about Amelia for the first time in years. A simple worry for a girl he had once briefly known. It also, caused for Logan to stop seeing Foxcroft in a rosetinted light. This town was more than it seemed, and the people within –– perhaps not who he thought.  

How do they see the town and its people? Think about the different groups of people and prejudices the town holds about them. (1+ paragraphs)

Logan has a soft spot for Foxcroft. It’s the town that always loved him, and in a way that is where much of his self-confidence came from. He had always been praised –– star-player on the lacrosse team and charming, people hanging off his every word. He had loved the attention and he had been privileged, and as many know –– privileged people are often blind to injustice. When Logan was younger he didn’t think much about the different social groups in Foxcroft nor which part of the town that people grew up. He was much too focused on the game, his own title as star-player and himself. To be honest, Logan hung out with the people that also were into lacrosse, those people who hung around the lacrosse people and so on. Too focused on the game and his own bubble that he didn’t see the others. However, as age often does he came to see more of the difference between the social groups within the town as he got out of high school. No longer a star-player on the field but a bartender Logan has noticed the difference between people and also heard the words the different groups say about one another when they don’t think anyone can hear. However, Logan doesn’t do much but shrug at simply because he is privileged enough to be deemed a charming golden boy and therefore never have had to deal with anything particularly tough in his life, like prejudice against him.

To Logan, Foxcroft will be the town that loved him, but now that the town is not what he once thought it was ( a MURDERER on the loose ) there is one small whisper in the back of his mind, a whisper that soon will grow loud enough for him to hear and it seems like it is telling him to OPEN HIS EYES.

Please include 1-2 possible plots your see for this character (1 paragraph brief explanation for each)

DIRECTIONLESS, AGAIN. With the somber words spoken by the man visiting the bar, and the two murders, the purpose that Logan found in listening to peoples problems have started to feel more like a painful obligation than something he wants. Causing for him to shy away from the purpose he finds in it, and simply not wanting to listen. Flighty and indecisive, I do think it would be interesting to have Logan go down the path of being directionless AGAIN if he stopped listening to people’s problems, because he was afraid to hear the horrible truths they might keep within ( the man, the Abrams murder, echoing in his mind ). If he were to go down this path, I believe that Logan would become more closed off, his famous charisma dimmed and he would not be the shining beacon of light that he might be assumed to be in the present. & I find it particularly interesting because right now, Logan is at a crossroads in his life. One path would cause him to FIND his purpose and STICK to it, whereas the other is basically running away from the sort of purpose he has found in a fight for a sense of self-preservation –– a fear to hear what people hide.

SHAPE UP. This plot, is mainly, contradicting the first but can also be intertwined with it. This one being based in someone telling Logan to SHAPE THE FUCK UP. Telling him that he cannot be young forever, for in a sense his behaviour and lack of direction comes from a wish to not fully grow up. He needs someone to tell him the harsh truth, to CHALLENGE him and to make him THINK instead of  letting him get off easy by being charming. Someone who asks the right questions. & this can also be not only one but several people. People from his past and people in his immediate future. Someone who dares to challenge and to simply tell him, that he cannot keep doing this anymore. It is time to stop playing around.

PROTEGE. During the short time that Logan coached the lacrosse team his wings spread and hovered over the young Dominic Loveless. He cared for the boy, seeing a lot of himself in him and cared for the boy. Wanting him to succeed and believe in himself, and not end up like someone like Logan himself, a lost man-child who haven’t grown up and haven’t found what he truly wants in life. Ever since seeing Dominic’s name in the papers after Hazel Abram’s death he couldn’t help but feel like he failed his former protege. & with a want and need to be needed, Logan have considered reaching out to the boy. Hoping that he will run into him. Wanting to be there for him, again. Much because he wants to save him from his own fate, and much because he sees it as his own redemption. It is both selfish and selfless.

WRITING SAMPLE

There are two options here, and you only need to complete one.

Option #1: Provide links to two paras. They will serve as samples to your writing and help the admin decide on your application. These samples can be starting paras, self paras, or in the middle of the action. Context is appreciated, but not necessary.

PARA SAMPLE #1 :: ALECTO CARROW. Self-Para.

I’m copy&pasting it as I have it in my drafts ( it’s from an old app ) and thus never posted it. If there are any questions about that I can always send you the link.

               unceasing anger fills her veins, the restlessness in her bones only enhancing the sensation of fire scorching her veins. NOT GOOD ENOUGH, the sentence haunting her, playing on repeat with each failure to produce the spell correctly. a victim to her own vices, she was a woman demanding her freedom even if she was a victim to her own whims. often letting venomous fangs bite down into the neck of her unsuspecting victims. “ Don’t you dare so much as breathe, ” she screeches. turning around as the door to the empty classroom opens revealing familiar figure, amycus. “ ––– What do you want? ” the question more of a demand than an inquiry. and she notices that his knuckles are bloodied & bruised ( as they always were ). her fury simmering underneath the surface, ready to snap at him for disturbing her even if a slight hint of worry traversed over her heartstrings. “ Fuck off, I- ” he swears at her. beginning a sentence she cuts right off. “ ––- Leave. ” & a loving sister would have held his hands and kissed the bruises upon his skin, but she doesn’t. too wrapped up in her own failure and panic for the coming exam. not having time for his needs nor his words, not truly caring for his answer as she turns her back to him.

[ had she always been this cold? ]

               “ i swore i saw the pearls here… where are the pearls–– ” their mother’s frantic steps around the estate unnerves her. the knowledge that their father will soon let harsh word ring through the house, followed by a woman’s tears, causing for an innate need toburn, to break, to destroy. & she knows that her brother will not be in his bedroom tonight. instead he will watch over the broken woman who had birthed them and made them victims to their own fate. perhaps she should mourn this woman whom her brother still calls madre but alecto’s heart was hardened long ago. selfishness laced into her bones with the constant worry that she was NOT GOOD ENOUGH. her brother would have to be the perfect son, the caring ( in her eyes ––– weak ), the one doing what she refuses to ( can’t ) do. instead she greets him with coffee come morning, pushing the cup over the table in silence, refusing to meet his gaze.

                                                                                                [ no she hadn’t. ]

            shoulders heavy with the weight of their name C A R R O W. the watchful eye of her grandfather & father always following her wherever she walked. she was the diamond in their crown and even if her brother was the heir she was the one to carry their name to greatness. “ You could reach far, Alecto, there is something in you, ” seeds of ambition planted in her heart by the age of six, when cornelius praised her first display of magic ( a tantrum leading to the breaking of glass ). he would nurse her determination, honed it into a useful trait rather than one to be frowned at, & she looked at him with wonder, with adoration. his praise rarely reached her, but when it did, when he pointed out similarities between them she could sense her cold heart moving. the grandfather becoming the father figure. whereas the man who created her, fed her with coldness. never a loving embrace to be found, instead only a frown followed by a sharp comment. “ Don’t you dare bring shame to our family, ” his cold stare a constant reminder that she was NOT GOOD ENOUGH. her heart beating out the phrase into her veins. reminding her that she would not nor could reach up to their impossible standards. her temper both her greatest trait yet also her worst enemy.

–———-

                                “ I wonder sometimes if I  s t o l e  your heart in the womb to leave you so fucking COLD, ” her brother throws vile words at her in a fit of anger & she greets him with laugher. not the kind where you enjoy a good joke, but a cold laugh causing hearts to wither & die. because she deems his words as truth. her heart was indeed stolen from her far before she had the sense to mourn it.

PARA SAMPLE #2 :: SIRIUS BLACK.

Also an old self-para writing sample. I can send you the link to the whole app if you would prefer it.

They call him Dionysus as a cigarette dangles from his lips. His eyes searching the crowd for a new conquest, a new game, and when he finds her lithe body moves in her direction. Charming words falling of eloquent tongue as smirk grows upon his lips. “You are so beautiful”, he breathes close to her ear and when her soft blush spread over porcelain skin Sirius cannot help but let his smirk grow wider. Throwing himself into the game, ever seeking for resistance yet never met with it as the popular boy he has become. A bad boy in the sense of a rebel leaving home with dark messy hair hanging down to his shoulders. Dangerously handsome and enticingly unattainable is he. Forever keeping himself at a distance and seducing girls of muggleblood to reach reaction at home. He knows how they talk and look, his cousins and brother, as he lets a soft kiss land upon muggleborn’s skin in the Great hall, and when he comes home for Christmas words rain over him. “You are a disgrace to this family”, and more vile words follow him as hexes are thrown after him and even if he could make it easier for himself Sirius throws himself into the game.

They call him Adonis as he strides through corridors and holds himself like a God descending from Olympus. The scars upon his mind and heart not visible to their eyes, only his handsome features and royal appearance. He is the disowned heir, the boy your mother warned you about, and with a devilish grin he throws himself into the hunt of hearts. But there is more to him than the broken hearts he leave behind him, a hole in his heart refusing to get filled and a longing to die for the good in the world. His mother’s word echoing in his mind of his wretched mind and disgraceful behaviour. “Don’t you dare to leave this house, Sirius Orion Black” How he damaged the family name with his connections to muggleborns, and he shouts at her that she is a vile woman with abominable thoughts and beliefs (it earns him a scar over his back from a hex). “You disgusting mudwallower” Walburga Black was not known for her soft heart but her vicious mind, and it is with this woman Sirius battles every time he is at home. Yet, he continues his behaviour as if he is begging for her to throw him out and toss him to the side. He hates her, this mother of his, and to make her hate him further creates vicious smirk upon young lips.

A reputation once tarnished can be destructed a million times more and with the smirk of a devil he will indulge in the most carnal of sins once more. It is this that Sirius indulge in as he breaks free from the chains placed upon him. He fights against the ageless beliefs of a family regarded as royalty and tarnish their name in the process. Their hatred of his  behaviour bringing him vile joy, and the lengths he will go to make them detest him even more, seemingly, have no limits. Not caring about the hurt he places upon torn brother Sirius does what he wants as he swears never to be like those he hates so much. Judgment in his voice as he shouts “Keep your narrow mind, mother, but you have no power over me”. He leaves Grimmauld Place 12 in haste, blood dripping from gaping wound but a content smile upon bruised lips. Free from the taunts of the mother, no chains placed upon his hands to shackle him and conform him into what they want him to be.

When Mrs Potter opens the door and sees the broken boy with a dangerous smile upon darling lips she lets him in, telling him he can stay for as long as he likes and he nods not letting any words fall from lips. Instead he lets his eyes shine with the gratefulness he cannot form into words to this woman who is everything he wished his mother would’ve been.

EXTRA [THIS SECTION WILL NOT INFLUENCE ACCEPTANCE]

How would you feel about this character dying?: I would completely fine with it granted it makes sense to the character and the plot, of course.

Why did you choose this character?: It might sound cliché but he CALLED OUT to me. Glancing through the biographies his was the one that stood out, that caught my attention and when I shut down my computer he was still there in my mind. I feel as if so much can be done with his character and the fact that he is so utterly lost but then, not –– It is fascinating. I feel as if his character is so much more dynamic than what some might think at first glance. He is more than a lost golden boy without a sense of purpose. He has a depth, that I cannot wait to fully explore ( if given the chance ).

Extras: (pinterest boards, mock blogs, aesthetic posts, drabbles, etc.)

How did you find us?: The LSRPG-tag.

Pinterest: Here.

[saaniaayy]

SILENCE (short story monologue)

I sat there twiddling my thumbs. Back tracking the whole 34 minutes that had just passed. What had just happened? Every time I came to a clearer flash back it would be interrupted by her banging on the door or screaming another absurd claim. She continued to scream past the door, with Nay following quickly behind tugging on the end of her kameez.

I had gone downstairs for breakfast; mamma was on the phone. I continued to search the fridge for food, while she told khala all about how she’s preparing to make the house pretty, for the guests that will be visiting Abbu after the surgery. I noticed she was making something fresh, so I crept to the stove top to get a look at what had drawn me to the kitchen in the first place. I asked her if it was ready to eat, she said yes. Continuing her conversation with Khala, as she praised Khala’s sons for their career choices; she asked me if she should make rice. “yes please” I responded. Then she told me it would be about 15 min. Starving, as this was my breakfast. I headed for the pantry to grab a cookie and a glass of milk. Nay came running towards me, demanding that the cookies were hers alone. Mamma came at me and smacked the cookies out of my hand “DON’T give her any cookies” – dumbfounded by her quick change in mood, I said “I wasn’t, it’s for me” she then followed up her command with rage in her eyes “I told you, you look like an elephant; you don’t eat the cookies either”.

At times like these it was easier to tune Mamma out. But I made an active effort to understand what the hell had just transpired to make her so mad. I asked her “what just happened? Why are you so mad?” as she frantically tried to hang up on Khala, her face turned red, as she balled a fist at my face and told me I was a “piece of shit”. I asked again “WHAT just happened? What did I do?” – still trying to disconnect the call, she whispered in fury “you damn elephant cow, don’t fucking eat anything. I’m looking at girls that are thin and dainty and pretty, and here comes my daughter the elephantress”. I asked again confused as I was “WHAT JUST HAPPENED?!”. Mamma waved her face at me, motioning a slap in the face, “get the hell out of my face you fat fuck”.

Coming back to now, sitting in my room, hearing her scream insults through the door, banging on the door every once in a while to let me know she’s still there. I sit here still and unmoved. I’ve been hearing things like this from her for years. For as long as I can remember, Mamma has been unhappy with me. Another bang at the door, coupled with “you’re the reason your dad has to get surgery; the whole world knows it. You killed your grandpa, and now you’re killing your dad!”. As I sit here, I keep thinking to myself, “why can’t I get it right?”

When I was in highschool, I had this vision of myself being older and having it all. And by all, I don’t mean monetary values. I mean being happy, content and satisfied with myself. But here I am, 24 years old, sitting on the floor of the room I’ve had since I was 11, in the same place; questioning my existence overall. I picked up my phone to message Nasir, but his words echoed in my head the same time my mother yelled them through the door “you’re a curse in my life!” Nasir has said those words to me exactly the same, many times before. He complains that I don’t let things go, but its hard letting repetitive things go. Even if I wanted to, my mind threw an immediate flashback at me. Reminding me that I’ve been told these words before, by him specifically.

As my mother yelled profanity at me through the door, while Nay quietly followed and observed her every twitch and curse, I knew that Nay would not be respecting me ever as an older sister. My mother kept claiming (through the door) that I keep searching for happiness, but I won’t find it unless she’s happy with me. But I wasn’t looking for happiness anymore, I’m just looking for silence. You know the kind where you’re in a crowded room, and you hear silence. And every once in a while when someone stops to say hi, you nod and smile. I want my life to be still. I’ll take the sadness, if it just comes with silence. I closed my eyes and pictured the future Mamma so passionately claimed I long for (one with Nasir); I pictured myself sitting in the middle of his mother’s floral décor, he’s yelling at me, calling me a piece of shit, and telling me I’m a curse, as my two children watched from a distance. I open my eyes, and I close them again; now my children yell at me, as I sit helpless in the floral décor that had been preserved ever so gently over the passage of 4 decades.

If it wasn’t for religion, I would have committed suicide a long time ago. I contemplate it every night. Every night I think, I should clean and decorate my room, so Mamma is able to let mourners in with ease, when they come to visit to pay their dutiful respects. I think about how I would do it. Maybe jump off a building, my mind races every night, on the endless possibilities of the things I can do. But then I don’t trust to leave Naila alone with my parents. She’s reckless, she’s selfish, she’s self absorbed. But I know that once I’d have done it, the curse that I brought forth with me, would be demolished.

I snap back to reality as my phone rings. It’s Nasir. I stared at the screen, letting it ring, flashing the picture of us two from 2 years ago on it. I seemed happier then. He was more in love with me than he is now. I was more in love with me than I am now. Somewhere along the way a part of me fell. And I kept trying to walk on without that part. Now I’m unfinished and bleeding, and I have no one to blame but myself. For leaving a piece of me behind every so carelessly, thinking I wouldn’t need it. I’m not happy. But that’s okay, because who’s really meant to be right? I just want silence, whether I’m able to smile and nod or not.

��?+cC