#Prelude to a Bathroom Stall Fucking

[dispatchwithlove]

Hi, friend! I would love to see your take on "#12 Sneaking away to a hidden corner to share a secretive kiss" with Jane & Garrus! <3

I'm finally answering this!! I bet you don't even remember sending this ask, lol. Thank you though, this was a fun one to write and I love getting the chance to write Jane and Garrus deep into relationship bliss. Hope you enjoy 😊

It started with a dress. 

Garrus liked when Jane wore clothes that exposed specific bits of her body. His favorites were back, throat, clavicle, waist. In that order. 

So Jane owned quite a few articles of clothing that exposed her back, large cutouts that emphasized the length of her spine, the dimples atop her flanks, the nape of her neck. He flooded affection on her when she wore them, so much that it often got them looks. 

Not that they typically cared. 

On the evening of one of the charity events Val organized, an exhibition held at the Dexiculus Museum of Arts celebrating the human form, Jane decided to have a bit of fun.

While Garrus sat at the end of her bed, she closed the closet door and put on a specific black dress. The collar of the modest sheath top rested at the base of her neck, very boring, really. The back, though, was composed of loose, separate panels that met and overlapped at her spine. Looking at it, it didn’t expose an inch of skin, but Garrus would be able to slip his hand between and beneath to warm his palm on her skin, or tickle her spine with a talon. Only someone closely examining them would notice. 

She didn’t tell him, of course. That was half the fun. Exiting the closet, she met his eye and caught his pout immediately.

“Not impressed?” she asked with a smirk, smoothing down the lace overlay on the A-line skirt that didn’t show off her ass.  

“Expect the museum to be drafty?” His ability to pull off snark and charm in the same breath was a skill. 

Or maybe she just really adored him. She gave him a sympathetic grin, imagining him melting when he discovered the little secret at her back.  

“Careful, mister, you’re acting a bit entitled,” she teased.

“I see it more like a privilege.” He rose from the bed to nuzzle her cheek, then nipped the tip of her nose. 

“Maybe if you’re good,” she pinched his mandible, “you’ll get a nice little surprise later.”

“I’m not a patient man, mela.” Face buried into the curve of her neck, Garrus wrapped his hands around her waist, subvocals rippling for her, and she was afraid later would be sooner than she’d hoped, but she covertly and tactfully patted him away.

“Come on, we’ll be late,” she said. “And the sooner we get there, the sooner you’ll get your surprise.” 

At the museum they made the rounds, talking with Castis and Cyrus (while Cyrus’s entourage of Primarch protectors watched, standing stiffer than the nearby sculptures), then Sol and Liara, then Val before she had to scurry away to greet someone important. They enjoyed some wine with Nihlus and Kasumi. 

An hour in and Garrus had come close to slipping his hand in such a way as to get a feel of her skin, but he never quite made contact. After admiring half the collection of paintings, sculptures, and photography — some bodies twisted in various stages of ecstasy, others flaunting curves and muscles in delicate or strong poses — Jane itched for her own form to be touched. 

Standing beneath Klimt’s Judith and the Head of Holofernes, stuck in Judith’s seductive gaze, Garrus once again rested his hand on Jane’s back. She’d nearly forgotten her secret when his fingertip brushed against her skin, and, finally, a sparkle lit up her spine. A quick breath lifted his chest, and he looked down at her, a gleam in his eye that said “caught you”. She told him with a simple smile that he'd discovered his surprise. 

Mandibles cocked slyly, a single talon teased her spine, whisper soft and indecently seductive in a public place. 

“Were you going to keep that hidden from me all night?” he asked, delighted thunder rolling through his voice. It sounded like a reprimand, he’d meant it to. 

That was all it took, she melted against him, hiding her ear-to-ear grin in his suit sleeve.  

A polite click behind them came from a turian, suggesting they move along, make room for someone else to view the painting; which was fair, since they weren’t even looking at it anymore.

Weaving through the crowd, Garrus’s hand stayed firm, carefully slipped beneath the delicately draping panels, pressed against her skin. 

Standing side-by-side at the feet of a ten-foot-tall sculpture, tucked into a darkened corner where an overhead light flooded from over the statue’s head to light it in a heavenly beam, Jane sighed. “Her ass is better than mine, isn’t it?”

Garrus pretended to examine the statue’s solid, curvaceous posterior. “There’s a realistic quality to it — the lifted curvature of the gluteus medius, the presence of weight in the gluteus maximus—that takes true skill and devotion to the human female form.” He turned to Jane, glanced at her backside with a quirked brow. “But I have to say I’m partial to yours.”

“I’ll pay you a hundred credits to give hers a squeeze.” 

“If I squeeze yours, would I still get the credits?”

She gave him a sultry look, parting her lips just slightly, chin tucking, a flash of heat in her eyes.

“Fine,” he said, looking like a man with suddenly weak knees, “I’ll do it for free.”

Getting exactly the reaction she expected, Jane giggled, her head rolling back as Garrus took her in his arms, guiding her body against his. Heat flushed through her. Thighs to sternum to throat. 

He slid his palm over the curve of her gluteus medius, and then gave her gluteus maximus a fleshy squeeze. 

“Stop, she said, not wanting him to listen. “Someone’ll see.”

Garrus, frustratingly and thankfully, didn’t listen, not really. He pulled her out of the warm cone of overhead light and into the darkened corner. Just as the last inch of their bodies fell into the shadow, he wrapped his hand around her nape, pulled her up on her toes, and kissed her. 

It had only been a few months since she gave him his first kiss, but he was already an expert. His flexing lips pressed to hers, his tongue snuck out to flick at her bottom lip, their warm breaths heated their mouths. His kisses were tender, bruising, and addicting. 

Shrouded in darkness, their lips moved in practiced synchronicity, murmurations delicate and devine. Their hands, though, were frantic and free, tugging at clothing, brushing favored spots. His hips, ass, keel. Her waist, back, hair. Every insistent touch was soothed by the warmth and delicateness of their lips. 

A soft moan rode a breath out of her mouth. His body pressed against hers, a weight she welcomed. Abruptly, his mouth abandoned hers and she almost cried out in protest, but his lips against her earlobe satisfied her need.   

“You’re beautiful, mela,” his words caressed her sensitive ear. He looked down at her, eyes dark with affection.  

He gave her those words so often, and yet sometimes they still caught her off guard. Still, after months together, all of his affection, all of his words and looks and touches, she couldn’t believe they were so happy. His talon brushed her cheek, and she knew she was blushing. 

Jane focused on his suit jacket, pulling at the hem and adjusting the lapel to straighten him up. It was amazing how much damage they could do in just a few seconds. 

“Can I paint you again,” he said as his talon lifted from the tip of her nose. 

Jane smiled. “Another portrait, or were you thinking something more like—” she pointed a thumb back in the direction of the erotic art. 

A little purr kicked off in his chest. She placed her palms at each side of his keel to feel it. 

“Both.” His eyes narrowed, a little mock seriousness in them. “It’s been a long time since I did nudes, though, so I’m afraid it may take a few sessions, till I get the hang of it again. Hope that won’t be a problem.” 

Before she could respond, two people meandered by. Realizing the corner was too dark and the light around the sculpture too bright for others to spot them gave Jane a little electric thrill. 

“Come on.” She took his hand. “We better get back out there before someone notices us.” 

They moved on from the dark corner and the sculpture with the amazing ass. Their next stop was a painting of a woman with full, coiled hair looking back over her shoulder, her nipped waist and wide hips gave a delicate but strong pose. The warmth in her eyes made it seem like she knew the painter intimately, or maybe an amusing secret. Maybe both.  

“Are you going to paint me like this?” Jane asked Garrus with a suggestive brow.

“No.” He paused, eyes following a figure as they walked by. “On your back,” he continued once they were gone. “Spine arched, hands in your hair. Smiling at me, just like you are now.” 

“Nude?”

His slight smile was lascivious to the core. “Of course.”

Jane’s attention only left his piercing gaze quick enough to look at the dark hallway to their left. She took his hand, pulled him past a bright “Staff Only” sign, pulled him further back to a dark spot by a closed door reading “Bathroom”, and kissed him. Less practiced this time, their mouths as frantic and desperate as their hands. 

His mouth nipping at the curve of her neck, she asked, almost breathlessly, “So the dress was a good idea?”

“Terrible.” A moan hissed past his teeth. “I want you out of it. Now.”

Jane glanced at the staff bathroom door, Garrus followed her gaze, and they smiled. 

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

Rules (dbf!Joel Series)

Series description: Coming back home was a doozie - it felt like starting anew. Meeting your dad's new best friend, however, turned your life upside down - and it was the two of you who had to set the record straight and figure out how to move on.

Music inspo: Name and overarching theme inspired by Doja Cat’s Rules, LeAnne Jones’ Can’t Fight the Moonlight & Jolene by Dolly Parton, featuring Månskin. ☁️

Pairing: dbf!Joel x afab!reader - it's my spin on the topic and theme, so I hope you'll like it. 🩷

General warnings: The reader is meant to be born in Texas, but lived overseas for around 5 years (honestly, it's just for plot convenience 'cause papi miller lived in Austin before the outbreak) | no outbreak | family relatives (coming with names and personalities + attitudes) | dad's best friend daddy joel (i don't think there's more to say to that) | he's on the hunt, baby | alcohol and drug usage mentions | alcohol consumption | sex at the bathroom stalls | tommy being a silly willy (we love him for that) | age gaps all around, baby - joel being approximately 33 (reader being 8 years his junior), putting sarah around 13 years of age and sam at 18, reader's parents in late forties/early fifties

Tagging: @missdictatorme (I FUCKING LOVE YOU, BARK)

Read more:

1. Born in the U.S.A. (Prelude) (Word count: 7.1K) 2. Dead Of Night (Word count: 10.1K) 3. ? (TBA)

[grayskies2525]

The Reluctant Reunion |M/M| Chapter 3/13

Word Count: 1,936

Felix decides to head to the restroom before the event begins. There has been a tickle steadily building up in his nose that he’s sure is a prelude to a sneeze. It’s, to his relief, a single toilet restroom, so there’s no stalls full of people who could possibly hear him. He immediately pulls  a considerate amount of paper towel from the dispenser and heads over to the sink. Once he sees his reflection in the mirror, he pauses, the paper towel held halfway up to his face. He realizes there’s a pool of clear mucus visible inside his left nostril. He, without thinking, sniffs in an effort to rid himself of the image as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, this does not have the desired effect.

Hiiiiiihhh-hiihhh-itTCHOOOOOO!

The sneeze tears straight through his throat and into the sink. He tries sniffling again.

HEH’TCHOOOOOO!

“Fuck,” he groans, hands bracing either side of the sink. He’s never sneezed like this. Holding back his sneezes has not once been an issue for him before until today. He’d always done it without thinking.

 He still somehow feels the tickle in his sinuses and he takes a deep gasp of breath before slowly letting it out. 

I am in control of my body, he thinks. I have spent, effectively, thirty years stifling sneezes. I know how to hold in a sneeze. This stupid, stupid cold will not change that.

"AHHHH-AHHHH-HeehhhHHHH! Oh my god! HeeeeeehhH!

Felix breathes out slowly, determined, out of spite at his own body at this point, to prove to himself that he does not have to be at the mercy of a fucking sneeze. 

His nose is absolutely pouring. He wipes the liquid streaming out of it away with his flannel sleeve without even considering the option of using the paper towel that’s still in his hand. He tilts his head back, gasping as he takes in little desperate puffs of air as he tries to simply stall the tickle until it just fades away. He stares bleary-eyed at himself in the mirror. Tears are leaking from his eyes, and somehow his nose is running again. The skin around his nostrils is an aggressive shade of red. He watches his nostrils flare and his chest heave as he continues refusing to give into the urge. 

HEEHHHHHhhhHEEEHHH! 

“Oh my god, why?” he groans as he continues to gasp ridiculously with his head tilted back.

Slowly, the tickle recedes. Felix continues taking careful breaths as he feels the intensity of the urge wane. With morbid fascination, he watches as his eyes and nose leak down his face.  He sniffles and hesitantly brings the paper towels up to wipe his sore, irritated nostrils. 

They immediately begin flaring.

Fuck, he has time to think, before the entire process starts over.

AhhhHHHHHHHHHH - aaaHHHH - heh - hehhhHHHHH - heehhhhHHHHH!

Why am I doing this, he wonders, as he comes to the realization that he’s essentially torturing himself. He knows he needs to just sneeze — to just let the release come already in whatever form it wants to. It would actually make the most sense to let them out now, while he’s in the bathroom, instead of in the middle of a quiet bookstore while his ex-boyfriend is speaking.

HeehhhhHHHHHHHH! HeehhhHH! 

 He’s done, it doesn’t matter anymore. He’s more than happy to be at the sneeze’s mercy. He just wants relief.  

HeeeeeehhhhHHHH!

He feels the tickle building and with hands still grasping the edges of the sink, he prepares to finally, finally let go and — 

Someone knocks on the door.

And the tickle completely disappears. 

He clears his throat before shouting “Yeah, sorry! I’m getting ready to come out,” grimacing at his wreck of a voice. He takes his wad of paper towels, shoves them to his face, and releases an inordinate amount of mess into them. He tosses them and washes his hands. He looks at himself in the mirror, winces, and quickly tries to arrange his mess of brown waves into some kind of semblance of order. Giving up on the futile task, he makes his way out.

He sees the area set up for the signing with fold out chairs spread out in rows. Sniffling, he makes his way over to one of the chairs and practically collapses into it. He knows that this is a bad idea. Agreeing to sit here for who knows how long was a monumental error and, honestly, Felix thinks he needs to rectify it. He can not imagine within any realm of possibility of being able to sit quietly in this chair during a reading, Q&A, and meet and greet. He needs to find Connor and tell him they can catch up another time — or never, as far as Felix is concerned at this moment. He’s starting to feel sick. He wants to go home and see Reggie, then curl up in bed. He can process his feelings at another time. He’ll have more time to ask Connor all the questions he’s been holding, like the ever pressing “Why the hell are you back here?”

 That all can wait. Now, the only desire he possesses is to just rest. He looks around in search of Connor, but, instead, sees Annie.

“Oh my goodness, you poor thing! How did you manage to get yourself looking even worse?” Annie asks, walking up to him, eyes wide.

“Well, I wouldn’t say I did this to myself. It wasn’t exactly a deliberate decision,” he explains, absently wiping his nose with the sleeve of his hand.

“That poor flannel. I hate to say this, but you should take it off. I can see you have a t-shirt on under it, so you’ll be fine.”

Felix narrows his eyes, tugging the flannel tighter around himself. “I don’t want to take it off,” he mutters.

Annie sighs and shakes her head. “It’s filthy, though — wait, what’s your name?”

Felix, sniffing hard, relays his name as he keeps his arms folded across his stomach.

“Okay, Felix, then. That name suits you, you know? Do you ever meet someone and just think wow, that name really matches the face!”

“No, I don’t think I know what you mean,” Felix says, rubbing his temples.

“Oh, I just mean when I hear the name ‘Felix,’ it kind of brings to mind an image of someone a little on the messy side, you know? Like, a little unkempt. Though, that could just be me. But, it’s like, when you think of the name Bernard, you’re going to probably think of an older man, maybe on the sophisticated side, right? ”

Felix glares at her and shakes his head, but then is surprised to find himself laughing. “You do realize you just insulted me?”

Annie has the nerve to look confused. “I wouldn’t say insulted, exactly —”

“You know, I don’t always go around in snot covered clothes, right?” Felix interrupts. “I mean, this is a special circumstance. I’m not that messy of a person.”

“Oh, no! That’s not even what I was talking about. I just meant, you know….” Annie says, gesturing broadly at Felix’s entire body. Then, finally seeming to realize the problem, winces. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way! I just meant your hair is kind of on the unruly side and the flannel is kind of too big and the jeans are, uh, also kind of too big? And I’m pretty sure there’s, like, dirt, or paint, or something on the back of them,” she says, but pauses, once she sees Felix’s expression. “It’s cute, though! You’re cute! You’re like a big puppy. A big puppy named Felix. It works for you is all I’m saying,” she finally finishes. 

Felix wants to say —honestly, he’s not sure what to say to that, but he wants to say something. Instead, he feels his breath hitching and —

“Ngxt!” 

He stifles it into his fist, but takes another deep breath before folding forward.

“HEH-NgXT! Ahhhh- Ahh - hehhhHH - hehHH NGxT! NGxt’choo!”

All the stifling shifted things around in his sinuses, and he’s sniffling up more than he can handle and has to subject his poor flannel to yet another repulsive task. He’s pleased, though, that he had some control over the sneezes. The last one got away from him, but only slightly. He knew he could overcome the urge to sneeze loudly and forcefully; it just takes a lot of willpower. 

“Oh, Felix! I just want to tuck you into bed and bring you some tea.”

Felix sniffles and narrows his eyes. “I’m surprised you don’t want to give me dog biscuits. Since apparently I’m like a dog.”

“No! No, that is not what I said. I said puppy. A big, cute, puppy. Who should be in bed,” she says, frowning. 

This is when Felix realizes that he had, indeed, been intending to go to bed. Or, at least begin the process of going to bed, which, of course, entails going to Connor and telling him he has to bail. But he forgot because he got caught up in inane chatter with Annie. Again. 

“Listen, Felix. I’m going to grab you some tissues okay. Then you’re taking that flannel off. It’s honestly making me want to gag looking at it, okay? It’s like, a snail or something just trailed across your arm and —” “Stop! Stop, please stop. I get it. I’m grossness personified,” he says sniffling, as if he needs to emphasize his point. 

Annie smiles, then gets up to begin her quest to retrieve tissues. Felix knows he should just leave, but he does want the tissues, so he figures he’ll wait until she comes back.

Once she’s back, he clutches the boxes of tissues, desperately. “Oh my god, thank you so much,” he says, already plucking out several. “But, maybe you shouldn't have taken the whole box?”

“It’s fine. They’re just tissues, and no one even saw me take them,” she explains, smiling, but Felix isn’t sure if that’s better or worse.

“Heh-NgXT! Heh-NgXT!” 

Felix feels dizzy from sneezing so violently and back to back like that. He decides he doesn’t care where Annie got the tissues and he just let’s all of it out, only grimacing a little at how bad the sound is.

“Okay, now the flannel. Take it off. Now,” Annie says, eyeing him seriously.

“Wow, Annie, but we only just m-m-met heh-het’choo!” Felix frowns at the lack of control he had over that one, but he at least got it into the tissues.

“Oh, hush. I told you I have a girlfriend. I’m pretty sure my intentions are clear.”

Felix smiles. “Right, yeah, I think they are. You just want me out of this so you can stop looking at my gross sleeves?” he asks, already slipping off the flannel.

“Exactly! I knew you were smart!” she exclaims.

“Um, I don’t think you did. You thought I was messy. Like a puppy,” he says, furrowing his brows.

“A messy, smart puppy. Keep up Felix! Oh, look Connor’s finally getting ready to speak,” she says excitedly as she gets her phone out to, Felix presumes, to record for her girlfriend.

Felix realizes the only way he can exit this situation, now, would be to get up and leave. Felix can’t imagine a scenario where Connor interprets that as anything but rude, which, for some reason, is something he apparently cares about. So, he stays. The tickle is building back up in his sinuses. He clutches his tissue box, which sits on his folded up flannel, and he braces himself to spend a little time in hell as he already feels his breath start to hitch.

[oceanicxeyes]

The moment Tobias’ hands began to inspect him – Patrick did no motions to stop it. Let him check what was before him. Tobias wasn’t the first, nor he would be the last that wanted to feel him up. His body was the epitome of physical perfection in every aspect. Muscled enough without looking cartoonish, the right amount of body hair that wouldn’t cross the threshold of gross, that angelical face with blue eyes that could render anyone speechless if he wanted. To a demon of sin and lust – it was all about how he presented himself. His kind needed to become intimate in order to feed. To seduce, to tempt, to give everyone the dirtiest and lewdest of thoughts. Patrick knew others were more brazen. That they went for the kill like amateurs, not really wanting to savor the prelude that would lead to their exaltation. But not him. He appreciated the pleasure of the hunt. By taunting and teasing, the moment when they would seal the deal would taste so much better. Not to mention that he didn’t really like the EASY ones. There was no challenge. There was nothing to feed his ego. He could just pick a random stranger and fuck them in a dark alleyway and be done with that… But there was no fun there.

“It’s cute.” Patrick remained quiet as the other man’s hands continuously roamed his body. Almost like he was being under the attentive gaze of an artist checking for imperfections in a painting – or someone evaluating the state of a rare gem to see whether or not it was fake. And the most interesting part was Tobias pretending not to care. His movements were surgical, his gaze detached. Even the way his fingers moved was feeling a tad off. Almost like he was internally conflicted in whether to give in or keep playing it hard. Honestly, the demon would much rather enjoy if the other man kept playing it hard. It would make the moment of his downfall all the more sweet.”You are looking at me and pretending not to be interested in the slightest when we both know you want me.” Not a cocky statement – those were for those that lacked the proper backbone to live up to their words. It was the truth. UNDENIABLE.Inescapable. Black in white. Once the assessment was over, Patrick kept himself at close distance. No need to move away. No need to pretend not to be interested when he clearly was – and he did like to push all the right buttons to see how one would react. Toby was no different. He was just like anyone else he would set his sights on. Gorgeous – intriguing… and the fact that he was not working made it all the better. He could pickwho he wanted rather than have it imposed upon him via a reservation due to a fat wallet. “You almost make it look like you don’t believe my words, Tobias…” Patrick faked a pout, pretending to be wounded when he really did not care a bit whether or not his act would pass the check. He liked theses dances. People playing hard to get, actually making him have to work for a meal. If Toby was just about average, the demon wouldn’t even dignify him with a second of his time… but there was something lingering under the surface. Something that made Patrick wanting to know more. Taste more. Feel more. But the time for games was over. Patrick leaned in closer – allowing the silence to feel the void between their bodies as he gave it time for the words spoken by the other man to be processed. He wasn’t in a rush. He didn’t need to rush. Guys like that deserved all of his time and attention and not just a quickie in a graffiti covered, restricted bathroom stall. “Ever heard the expression never to judge a book by its cover?” His body sank closer to Toby’s. Chest pressed against chest, his own legs moving underwater to keep Tobias’ own legs spread open for him – but not close enough for him to feel the rest of his… naked body. Was he aroused? Partially. The hunt always got his blood pumping.”You pretend you are not all that interested but we both know that’s a lie.” Who wouldn’t be interested in him? “I bet you’re thinking about all the things this body can do. Of all the things I can do to you.” Their lips were apart by a fraction of an inch. Close enough to allow them both to feel the warmth of their breath dancing over their skin, supplanting the heat coming from the water. “It’s not fun being one-dimensional, Tobias. There’s always more than what you see.” It was applicable to him – and also to the man whose lips he wanted to kiss yet denied them both such pleasure. “Just like you. You are far more than just a pretty face that plays hard to get, aren’t you? I’ll tell you my secret if you tell me yours. Bet it’s juicy – just like your lips…”

Toby's heart quickened, a traitorous flutter beneath his ribs. Heat unfurled in his chest, spreading outward in tendrils of unwelcome warmth. He clenched his jaw, willing his body to obey. Outwardly, he remained the picture of composure - shoulders relaxed, expression neutral. Only the slight tightening around his eyes betrayed the internal battle raging beneath the surface.

Patrick's words hung between them, heavy with implication. I don't see you pulling away. Toby allowed the silence to stretch, considering his next move with careful deliberation. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady.

"Not pulling away, am I?" Toby mused, eyebrow arched. "Well then, let's have a proper look at you, shall we?"

He reached out, grasping Patrick's chin between thumb and forefinger. The touch was firm, impersonal - a butcher appraising a cut of meat. Toby tilted Patrick's head to the right, then left, up and down. His eyes raked over every feature with clinical detachment.

"Hmm," Toby hummed noncommittally. His fingers trailed down Patrick's neck, across his collarbone. He splayed his palm against Patrick's chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath warm skin. Down further still, tracing the ridges of Patrick's abdomen, the cut of his hips.

Toby's touch was methodical, almost mechanical. He catalogued each dip and curve of Patrick's physique with dispassionate precision. His hand skimmed along Patrick's bicep, squeezing slightly as if testing the firmness of fruit at market.

Throughout the examination, Toby's expression remained impassive. His breathing was measured, pulse steady. To all appearances, he might have been assessing livestock rather than an attractive naked man.

Finally, Toby withdrew his hand. He regarded Patrick with a look of mild indifference, as if the man had passed some unspoken test - but only just.

"Well," Toby drawled, "I suppose you'll do."

His tone was cool, matter-of-fact. The barest hint of condescension colored his words, implying Patrick had met some minimum standard and nothing more.

Patrick's eyes seemed to glint dangerously. In one fluid motion, he closed the distance between them. His fingers curled under Toby's chin, cradling it with surprising gentleness.

A soft laugh escaped Toby's lips, light and amused. The corner of his mouth quirked upward in a knowing smile.

"Dance with the devil, you say?" Toby's tone was playful, but an underlying edge hinted at hidden depths. "Now, that does sound intriguing. Novel, even."

His eyes locked onto Patrick's, curiosity mingling with caution in their depths. "Though I have to wonder," Toby continued, voice pitched low and intimate, "how someone who looks barely in their mid-thirties can claim such a lofty title."

Toby's fingers ghosted along Patrick's jaw, a feather-light touch. "You're an interesting one, I'll give you that. All rough good looks on the outside, but there's something... else lurking beneath the surface, isn't there?"

He leaned in closer. "Makes a bloke wonder what other surprises you might be hiding behind all those bloated muscles?"

But even as he tried to rein himself in, Toby couldn't deny the spark of genuine interest. There was something... off about the man. Something that set Toby's instincts on high alert even as it drew him in.

Toby's fingers twitched, resisting the urge to reach out and touch Patrick again. To explore further. Instead, he forced his hands to remain at his sides, fingers curling into loose fists beneath the water.

"You know," Toby mused, his tone deceptively casual, "for someone calling himself the devil, you're remarkably... human." He paused, letting the words fill the inch or so of space between them. "At least, on the surface."

[xxxrubytuesdayxxx]

“What are you doing in my bed?”

Hongjoong x Reader

Genre: Fluffy angst and a bit of smut towards the end

Word Count: 7,294

Concept: Kim Hongjoong doesn’t want to be a virgin anymore and he’s determined to get his way, even if it involves sneaking into your bedroom between tasks. 

Credits to a few prompt-lists I found trawling the internet, but I lost the links, I’m sorry :( If you recognise any, please let me know and I will do proper credits x

Masterlist

“This was a terrible, terrible idea,” you think to yourself, as you survey the ‘damage’ in the dorm. Oh there’s nothing wrong with the state of the rooms - it’s the state of the boys themselves. Because of course what the company set up as a cooking and eating game for a V Live descended into a drinking game the minute the main staff left. Yet it’s actually surprisingly easy to chase the younger ones off to bed. Which just leaves the eldest two: long-legged, sweet but slightly tipsy Seonghwa and their petite, treacherously-pretty but definitely-plastered leader Hong-Joong. Sizing up the levels of intoxication and seniority, You decide to tackle the slightly younger leader first. 

“Bed, Hong-Joong!” you attempt, mustering up what you hope is a convincing ‘eomma’ vibe. Apparently you’re not very convincing though because he just squeals and bats you away.

“Ani! I’m leader! No bed!” he objects. “Anyway, I’m want to annoy Seonghwa first,” he announces, in endearingly grammatically-incorrect English, complete with a mischievous smile, before darting out of your reach and perching himself on the arm of the couch to watch his hyung record a ‘cute’ wake-up message for ATINY.

“I will show you the cute version,” Seonghwa tells his leader dutifully, cue card in hand, before turning towards the one waiting camera.

“Ani, I don’t want to see!!” wails Hong-Joong dramatically, collapsing off the arm of the couch onto the seat itself in apparent agony, with his eyes squeezed shut. “Argh! Jebal!” he yells, clearly determined to be a massive brat about poor Seonghwa’s task. He then proceeds to make ridiculous high-pitched noises while Seonghwa reads his message out, until Seonghwa cuts him off with a soft reprimand, knowing only he can use banmal with his leader: “Ah, keep quiet.” Hong-Joong obediently stops making noises, but then smirks unrepentantly when the older boy laughs at himself and stops the reading before screaming in frustration, himself, at the difficulty of his recording, making the now-quiet Hong-Joong snicker. 

“Argh! I can’t do this!” Seonghwa laments. Noting that Hong-Joong has calmed down, he decides to ask him for some feedback on the instructions:

“What’s the difference between sexy and sensuous?” This gets Hong-Joong’s attention. 

“Sexy? Ah, you don’t know?” he replies, springing up off the couch with drunken bravado, ready to show his hyung how it’s done. He staggers over to a very confused Seonghwa, who looks like he doesn’t know whether to laugh or worry.

“Sexy is...just...you see it…” he babbles meaninglessly. “This is sexy, this is sexy. If it’s sensuous...when you see it…” then gives him a somewhat-mystifying rendition of ‘sexy’ and mumbles "that's what I mean" before drifting out of the room and towards the stairs to their bedrooms, singing to himself. Seonghwa just stares after him, at a loss, then returns to his recording in peace. You give the older boy an encouraging smile, figuring he’s probably still sober enough to get himself up to bed, and then venture up to check on Hong-Joong. Only he’s not in his bedroom. 

Sighing to yourself, you check the other boys’ rooms but then have to conclude that he’s in the bathroom, and there’s not much you can do there, except knock and call out to him if he’s still not out in ten minutes. So you head to your room, intending to get changed and prepare for bed. Only when you swing the door open, Hong-Joong is sprawled on his back, still fully dressed, in your bed - under the covers. You clear your throat pointedly.

“Excuse me, Hong-Joong? What are you doing in my bed?” you ask him, exasperatedly.

“I will try to seduce you, noona,” he tells you, in his adorably-accented, slightly off-kilter English, lovely long eyelashes fluttering coyly, as he sits up.

“Wha-I mean what…?” you stammer, assuming he’s just got his words tangled again. “Seduce?” You’re desperately trying to think of a plausible alternative, but your mind is drawing a blank from panic. Admittedly nothing innocent fits this scenario.

“Eung - yuhokhaeyo,” he affirms, nodding cutely. 

“Um...you’re drunk, sweetheart,” you tell him, sitting tentatively by his side and patting his shoulder soothingly. You want to have misinterpreted him nearly as much as you want to take him up on his offer, but, despite his avowed attempt to ‘tempt’ you, in Korean parlance, you resist. He pouts a little and flings himself back onto his back, eyes fluttering shut again.

“Chwihaji anassoyo~~” [I’m not drunk] he whines, before switching back to English, frustrated at being misunderstood, as he sees it. “I just want...have sex with someone," he tries. 

“Probably not the best time to have sex, really,” you point out, biting your lip to stop yourself from laughing, as you don’t want to embarrass him or indeed give yourself away. He sits up suddenly, opens his eyes and fixes you with an intense stare. You falter, blush and lower your own eyes, but he puts a finger under your chin and gently lifts your face to look in your eyes.

“Will you...reconsider...if I am...sober?” he asks you, carefully, still in English.

“I don’t...I mean it’s probably not a great idea, tiger,” you caution him. “Wait though...are you...what are you saying...exactly?” you correct yourself, suddenly noticing that his cheeks are flushed almost the same shade as his strawberry-bangs and his eyes are avidly studying your duvet. He hums nervously, smoothing the duvet with his hand, but doesn’t answer or even look up at you. The realization hits you as all the pieces come together. “Chyeonyo-ye-yo?” [Are you a virgin?] you ask him softly, not wanting to embarrass him either way. He nods shyly, keeping his head and eyes down and pulling at a loose thread on the duvet as his cheeks flush even hotter.

“Wow...I mean...wow,” you falter. “I’m sorry honey, I really didn’t know,” you reassure him, slipping your hand under his, on the cover, with your palm facing up. After a moment, his fingers curl tentatively around your hand and you feel a shiver of desire run through you. “Well...um...maybe we can wait until you’ve sobered up and then we can try and find you...I mean find a way to help you get...um...erm...laid,” you finish awkwardly, feeling like his innocence is being violated by the very thought of it. But then you remember he was the one who asked, so perhaps he’s not that innocent - at least of lustful thoughts.

“Laid?” he asks you now, reigniting your reluctance to contact one of the professionals the company usually engages for this kind of service.

“Er...laid is a slang term for...for um…” you stall.

“Sex?” Hong-Joong chirps brightly, looking pleased with himself and finally catching your eye, now that he feels he has something to be pleased with himself about - his English ability.

“Yeah, sex,” you admit reluctantly. “Look, Joong, are you sure about this?” you ask him.

“Ne,” he whispers, leaning towards you expectantly and closing his eyes again.

“Wow! No, no, no!” you deter him, hurriedly, gently moving him back against the headboard of your bed. “No, I meant are you sure you want me to find someone to have sex with you?” He pouts and opens his eyes - this time holding your gaze.

“I want,” he hesitates, checking your eyes, “to...to?” You nod, assuming he’s just checking his grammar. “I want to have sex with you, noona. Right now,” he tells you firmly, nodding for emphasis. You’re already shaking your head, but you stand up and pull him up with you to add some weight to your refusal of this proposal.

“No. You’re not losing your virginity when you’ve been drinking and might regret it tomorrow - or possibly not even remember it, from the looks of you,” you tease him gently. “C’mon - come back to your room and get some sleep.” He shakes his head vehemently, tossing his hair petulantly and stamps his foot.

“Kiseu-haejwo~~” [Kiss me] he whines, stubbornly refusing to move when you tug at his arm.

“It’s not happening, honey,” you sigh.

“But you call me honey,” he persists, tossing his hair away from his eyes to wink at you provocatively, and sticking his tongue out for good measure.

“Yeah. I did,” you admit, sighing again at his persistence. “But it’s just a general term of endearment, like...sweetheart.”

“Call me jagiya,” he flirts, deliberately fluttering his amazing eyelashes at you.

“Kim Hong-Joong!” you warn him in a furious whisper. He ignores you, quickly grabs your chin in both of his hands and presses his lips to yours before you can stop him. Startled, you just let him kiss you, until he teases your lips open and slips his tongue into your mouth.

“No-no-no-no-no! Bad, bad, boy!” you tell him firmly, pushing him away with both hands. He just giggles and tries again, but this time you’re ready for him and put your hand against his chest to keep him back. “Right. Bed! Right now...go!” you stammer, fumbling your words as you try to stop yourself from shaking...or wanting to feel his lips on yours again. He smirks, grabs you around the waist this time and slams you up against the wall to kiss you again. This time with no prelude, just straight up making out. You hesitate for a fraction of a second, but then push him away again.

He stops but only to lick his own lip experimentally. “Mm...you taste like fucking candy,” he teases you, with another wink, moving back in for the kill.

“What are you doing?!” you demand, stopping him again. “Behave! You’ll get me fired!”

“I won’t!” he pouts.

“You most certainly will,” you correct him. “If there was a camera in my room, I’d be packing my bags already.”

“Really?” he asks, looking genuinely worried this time. You nod fervently. “Staff have to sign contracts as well, you know,” you explain. “I’m sorry, honey. Look, let’s get you back to your room before the others start looking for you to finish that mission, okay?  He gives you a resentful, sulky look, but obediently exits your room, where you hear his dainty footsteps padding across to his bedroom and his door open and close, just before Seonghwa comes up the stairs looking for him. Trying not to panic at how close that was, you peel your clothes off and start to prepare for bed. 

*************************************************

So you really shouldn’t be surprised when he endeavours to make your job incredibly difficult the next day. Seems, contrary to the saying, hell hath no fury like a kpop idol scorned. Worse, you already have to explain the day’s schedule to eight boys in various stages of hangover hell. Fortunately, in most cases it’s more a matter of keeping them awake and attentive, but Hong-Joong’s idea of revenge is yelling things and making distracting noises throughout the entire meeting. By the time you’re on the last round of explanations and he starts to object, you throw caution to the wind and slap your hand straight over his pretty mouth.

“If you interrupt me one more time, Hong-Joong, so help me God...” you warn him, through clenched teeth. He watches you fake-innocently over your hand, while the others come around long enough to snicker conspiratorially at the sight of their leader being chastised. You remove your hand, but continue giving him a warning look, then finish explaining the schedule and shoo them all into hair and makeup, overriding their pleading cries of ‘feeling sick’ and ‘wanting to go back to bed’ with the reminder that they got themselves into this mess, and that tomorrow is a free day, so they only need to keep it together for the rest of today before they’ll win a break. 

They’re filing dutifully out of the cars, having had the luxury of a camera-less ride to the studio, Hong-Joong looking very pleased with his freshly-dyed bright blue bangs, when San and Wooyoung decide to accost you.

“What is it, Wooyoung?” you ask, eyeing a grinning San off suspiciously.

“Hong-Joong-hyung is want to have sex with you, noona” the younger boy informs you smugly, in halting English. San nods sagely, confirming this apparently hot tip. You close your eyes and sigh exasperatedly, trying not to show them that either a) you know this or b) you’re equally problematically attracted to their leader.

“Okay even if he did...which I doubt,” you begin, keeping your voice calm with difficulty. “Why on earth would he tell you two that?” you ask.

“He tell all members,” San updates you gleefully, before reverting to Korean to elaborate: “We were sharing TMI facts for games.”

“Great. That’s great,” you tell them sarcastically. “And on what planet does he think that information would be an appropriate TMI to share?”

“Oh he doesn’t...he was just really intoxicated by then,” Wooyoung giggles.

“This just gets better and better,” you marvel.

“Are you going to yell at him again, noona?” Wooyoung asks you, trying to contain his obvious glee. San watches seemingly impassively, but you can see the anticipation in his eyes. You narrow your own.

“So how do I know you two aren’t just making this up for a prank? Or to get your leader in more trouble?” you ask, pretending to be suspicious.

“Ask the others,” San shrugs. “Or ask him.” This throws you and they can sense it, which understandably deepens their curiosity and makes you panic.

"Fine. Tell him to come see me once you're done with the radio slot," you tell them, attempting to call their bluff. 

It doesn't quite go according to plan though. You’re just thinking you've maybe impressed the gravity of the situation on Ateez's leader when he interrupts you with characteristic sass, but careful to stick to jondaemal: “Noona, jebal geuman malhago kiseuhae julraeyo?” [Noona, would you please stop talking and kiss me?]. Thank God you were prescient enough to talk to him alone. You stare at him open-mouthed.

“You...what...did you hear anything I just said!?” you demand. He nods, cutely, swinging his shoulders with his hands clasped together in front of him to complete the innocent look, and shoots you a come-hither look, through his eyelashes.

“So um...if you heard me, did you understand me?” you check, wishing your Korean was more fluent for situations like this.

“Yes, I understand,” he murmurs in English, his voice husky. 

“So why…” you try, with another sigh. “Why did you still ask for a kiss?” He shrugs, pouts, pushes the toe of his boot into the leg of the couch he’s standing beside then flops heavily into it with a deeply wounded sigh. You follow suit, seating yourself on the other couch. Hong-Joong keeps his head lowered and stays silent, occasionally adjusting his eyelashes with his pointer finger until you have to ask, against your better judgment, but you feel bad for rejecting him:

“Gwaenchanaeyo, Joong?” 

He sniffs disconsolately, plays with his eyelashes again, and shakes his head with a little hiccoughing sob. Well now you feel really bad, but this is a no-win situation.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you, sweetheart,” you try, softening your voice. He nods, quickly, acknowledging your words, but swipes at his eyes with the back of his hand. You hold back a sigh of exasperation, and move to sit by him on his couch, tentatively placing your hand on his shoulder.

“Come on, Joong - don’t be like that,” you plead. “These aren’t my rules. But even if there weren’t rules...you’re so young. Don’t you want your first time to be with someone else your age. Who maybe can share the...the experience with you?” You try not to picture how it will more likely go if you arrange something for him, but push the thought away, pretending to yourself that the company can somehow make it romantic for him.

“Ani,” he sulks, head still lowered and blueberry bubblegum bangs spilling over his face. “I want you to kiss me.” He finally lifts his head and fixes you with his big, dark eyes. “Jebal,” he begs, voice breaking a little. “Only once, then I stop asking,” he bargains, in English, picking up on the subtle change in your expression. You sigh, close your eyes, and put your head in your hands, steeling yourself. You can feel Hong-Joong’s eyes on you. You can almost feel his heart thumping in his chest as he waits nervously for an answer.

“Okay,” you agree reluctantly, knowing in your heart of hearts that, despite his words, it won’t stop here. “On one condition. You are not to tell anybody ever.” He nods obediently, eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Okay then...Where am I kissing you?” 

He is already facing you in anticipation, his hands neatly on his thighs and his eyes shut so you can see those glorious eyelashes resting on his cheeks. The tiniest tracks of his tears stain his pretty face, and his lips are parted, ready for his requested kiss. But he opens his eyes at the question, confused.

“Right here,” he tells you, cocking his head to the side. You laugh softly.

“No. Where on yourself do you want to be kissed?” you amend.

“Oh…” he is a little flustered by the question. “On…” he touches his lips. “On my mouth,” he requests. You smile at his innocence. 

“Okay. Close your eyes again,” you tell him. He does so obediently and you lean across to kiss him softly, but sensuously, letting him slip his tongue into your mouth, and tangle it with yours. He wraps his arms around your waist, and you twine yours around his neck, turning your head on the side to allow him to sate his appetite on you. You only stop him, gently, when his hands sneak around towards your chest.

“There you go,” you murmur, extricating yourself reluctantly from his embrace. “Happy?” 

“Yes,” he breathes, but he looks distinctly the opposite. “Noona? I...I have to go,” he tells you. You’re a bit taken aback, but you nod to him and let him up and he darts out of the room without a backwards glance. ‘Oh boy - this is gonna be fun’ you think to yourself, before leaving the little studio lounge to go round the other boys up.

You leave Hong-Joong until last, to give him some privacy to sort out his presumably mixed emotions, but it gets to the point that you really need them all in the cars, so you have to resort to checking the private recording booths, though you can’t imagine why he would be in one of them without booking it, and of course the bathrooms - which you plan to leave until absolute last. You ask the others if they’ve seen him, but they all shrug at you innocently. Finally Yeosang remembers that he saw their leader go upstairs to the sleeping pods. Thanking him exasperatedly, you jog up the stairs and then enter the space quietly, knowing that idols use it to recuperate between scheduled events. Most of the pods seem to be empty though, and it’s only when your ears adjust that you hear Hong-Joong’s voice and feel your cheeks flush. 

At least he’s not sleeping, you reason, so you won’t have to wake him, but the sharp little intakes of breath and the quiet moans you hear make you think waking him would be infinitely less trouble. Still...if he’s with someone, at least now you won’t have to find him a date. You slide the door across, preparing yourself to chastise him at least a little, for form’s sake, but he’s alone. And boy, does he look guilty when he catches your eye. After a brief deer-caught-in-headlights moment, he freaks out completely, squeals loudly and throws himself commando-style off the further side of the little camp-bed, re-emerging adorably with the top of his face peeping over the mattress at you. 

“Hong-Joong?! Are you alright?" you laugh.  He nods and gives you cute v-fingers over his eyes and a mischievous smile. "Erm, good...what were you...wait were you just getting yourself off?” you ask him, the words spilling from your lips before you can stop yourself and wishing he didn’t look quite so delectable - kneeling up on his shins, chest heaving, with his hair dishevelled, lips just parted and eyes at half-mast and his arms awkwardly crossed across his crotch.

“U-uh...no...I was just…” he stammers, deeply unconvincingly, despite the tinkling sound of the buckle of his jeans belt dangling against the side of his leg.

“Okay, so the second car is leaving and you need to get yourself down there quick smart before it leaves without you,” you tell him, choosing to leave the subject.

“Or…?” he asks you, a little panicked. You hesitate, not wanting to give him any ideas. But it’s going to be just as awkward if you make him come downstairs with you right now. 

"Or we'll have to arrange another way to get you home," you concede. "Look, just...fix yourself up. I'll work something out and come back for you. "

***********************************************

So this is the series of racy events that leads to you finding yourself in the back of a taxicab on the way back to the dorm from Hongdae, slightly the worse for the soju, with an endearingly tipsy Hong-Joong’s pretty head in your lap, using all your self-control to ignore the tantalizing effect of the incredibly illicit kisses that he is bestowing on your stockinged thighs whilst he’s meant to be ‘resting’.

“Joong, stop it! I’m warning you,” you chastise him for probably the twelfth time since you’ve clambered into this cab together. “I cannot believe you talked the staff into having me chaperone you for a night out on the town.” You don’t add that neither you nor they would have gone along with this if they’d had any idea whatsoever of his intentions. But lucky for him, you obviously weren’t going to tell on him and you gather the other boys had his back as well. Now however, you’re not entirely sure the scope for gossip won’t kill them.

Thank God, the taxi makes it back to the dorm before he can test you any further, and you jump out of the backseat to pay the driver, before helping Hong-Joong out and guiding him inside and up to his bedroom, where he spins around in a sort of pirouette before flinging himself onto his bed with a cute giggle.

“I look pretty today, don’t I, noona?” he checks with you, preening a little. 

“Very pretty,” you assure him, careful to keep the tone of your voice neutral. 

“No, you’re teasing me, noona~~” he whines. “Say it properly that I look pretty.” He shakes his head, making his long, silver earrings dance and jump.

“You look pretty, Hong-Joong-oppa~,” you tell him, with an aegyo flourish, before rolling your eyes teasingly at him and he laughs, loudly, with his hand in front of his mouth, then hits you playfully, in that adorable fashion he has. You give up on any pretence that he’s not dangerously close to getting his way, what with your guard being down and the soju still buzzing through you.

“Are you trying to turn me on, or are you really just that oblivious?” you ask him, wryly. His eyes go wide, unsure if he’s just understood you correctly.

“Mwo?” he chirrups.

“You heard me,” you purr, leaning forward to kiss him lingeringly. He responds immediately, arms coming around you to pull you against him and lips moving against yours eagerly, before you feel his tongue searching for yours. You kiss for a while, but when he lays down and pulls you over on top of him, you stop him.

“Okay, okay,” you laugh. “I think we need to stop now, before someone gets hurt.” You stand up reluctantly, and give him what you plan to be one last kiss, tugging at his bottom lip gently with your teeth, before you pull away. He clings to you, kissing your jawline and then your neck, but you extricate yourself and stand up, making his face fall and his pretty smile merge into a pout.

“Wae, noona~?” he sulks, cute.

“Did you honestly think your devious little plot would work?” you tease him. “Whatever happened to ‘I won’t ask anymore once I get one kiss,’ hmm? You’ve had way more than one kiss, Joong...it’s time to move on back to reality now,” you tell him, sadly, turning to go. He sighs his defeat, letting his shoulders sink and making you wish fervently that you could just hold him and make him feel all better. You honestly can’t think of a reason that one of the professionals the company can hire for him will make him feel any more of a man than you could right now. And just as you’re mulling it over, reluctant to take your final leave, he lets his gaze rake you from head to foot, winks provocatively, and then bites his lip with a little ‘c'mere’ tilt of his chin.

“Did you just look me up and down and then bite your lip?” you ask him, rhetorically.  “‘Cause, you know what? If you did, then, fuck the rules. We’re having sex. Right now.” This time he manages not to give himself away completely, but his eyebrows go up and he swallows hard. He rearranges himself nervously on the bed as you check his door, making sure it’s locked. When you turn your attention back to Hong-Joong, you almost have second thoughts. He has arranged himself carefully, so that his shirt is open half-way to his waist, exposing most of his chest but artfully concealing his nipples, and he's leaning back on his hands, legs stretched out in front of him to give you the best possible view. His head is tilted, eyes lowered, and his slender neck looks impossibly delicate, wrapped in a black silk choker. He smiles bewitchingly and dares a look up through his lashes when you walk over to him and sit on the edge of his bed. 

“Are you sure you want to do this, Hong-ssi?” you ask him softly.

“Yes!” he tells you firmly.

“Really?” you confirm. “Because you seem...maybe a little shy?” you try gently, putting your hand on his to try and help him relax.

“I have a little...little nervous,” he explains, bravely, in English, showing you with his fingers pinched together how ‘little’ the little bit of nervousness is.

“Oh - ginjanghaessoyo?” you check, in Korean. He nods quickly, blushing. You put your hand on his cheek and give him a light kiss. “Well, you don’t need to be. I promise I’ll look after you. And I’m sure you’ll do great for your first time. Still good?” Another nod. “Now, remember just tell me anytime if you want to stop, okay?” you instruct him. “I won’t be annoyed.”

“Okay,” he says with a bright smile.

“And you don’t need to be shy about making noise either, okay? If it feels good, you let me know and I will do the same. It makes it more fun,” you add, with a wink. He giggles, bites his lip and then nods again. “Now c’mere, you sexy little thing,” you tell him, hooking your arm around his waist to pull him closer, and kissing him lingeringly. He moans softly into your mouth and you reward him by deepening the kiss and letting your other hand stray inside his open shirt to play with one of his nipples. He gasps and then moans again, his lips still attached to yours and his tongue exploring your mouth with swiftly-growing passion. You keep kissing him, but press him back onto the bed properly, so that you can straddle his thighs. 

“Where do you want me to kiss you next?” you ask him, unbuttoning his shirt the rest of the way, and pulling it open, so that you can stroke his naked chest.

“Odiena,” [everywhere] he begs, writhing impatiently under your touch and tossing his head on the pillows in an agony of anticipation. You laugh softly.

“I can’t kiss you everywhere at once,” you object. “Give me a clue...” You let one hand stray back to his nipples, making him arc his back, then you let your other hand deliberately brush the front of his pants, making him buck his hips up to press himself against your fingers.

“Seems like you’re having trouble deciding,” you tease him, letting your lower hand run the length of his still-clothed erection but bending your head towards his chest. You don’t let him get away with it that easily though, swerving at the last second to whisper into his ear:

“Why don’t you show me what you were doing in that booth upstairs this afternoon?”

“I...I wasn’t…” he stammers, blushing and nervously playing with his eyelashes.

“You were though, weren’t you?” you say. “That’s why you ran off when I kissed you. Do you have any idea how much catching you like that turned me on?”

“Oh jinjja?” he asks, surprised, but clearly flattered.

“Mmhm,” you assure him. “C’mon...let me see your jaji...I mean it feels pretty sexy,” you tell him, curling your fingers around the outline of it through his jeans. “Besides, do you honestly think I’ve been able to concentrate on anything all day while you’ve been teasing me while looking like a whole snack with this new hair?” you ask him, undoing his belt and jeans as you speak. He giggles, then self-consciously pushes his bangs back from his face and gives you another of his very pretty smiles but then hisses through his teeth and moans softly as you release his erection from his boxer-briefs and start to stroke him.

“But it’s you who tease me now, noona,” he complains, kissing you until you’re frantic for him. “You make fun by saying me all this things,” he elaborates, his breath getting more and more shallow as you speed up your strokes and his hips follow along by instinct, a thin trickle of precum leaking from his tip and making him groan helplessly.

“I’m not teasing you, babe,” you reassure him. “Every time you’ve caught my eye today, every time you’ve shown off these lovely assets of yours,” you stop caressing his cock to run your fingers longingly over his lips, then along his clavicle and then down over his hip, making him arc into your touch again… “I’ve wanted you more and more. But I’ve known that despite every inch of me aching for you, I’m not allowed to have you. You got teased by the others for saying you look pretty today? Well I think that you look not just pretty but also hot and very sexy. But I’m not supposed to tell you that. I’m not even supposed to think that,” you murmur, running your tongue over his bottom lip and eliciting a needy whine from deep in his throat. “But I don’t care anymore, Hong-Joong-ah...I want you so badly.” You kiss him again and he responds eagerly, but chastely, making you melt at his angelic sweetness. 

After a moment, you reach for his cock again and start to pump your hand up and down it, but he flinches, so you pull back straight away, noting that his cheeks are aflame with blushes.

“Would you like to stop?” you check with him, keeping your voice soft and gentle.

“Ani, ani,” he stammers, waving his hand to show he just needs to catch his breath. “I just worry that I...will make a mess everywhere...too soon,” he attempts to explain.

“Oh! You’re worried you’re going to cum soon?” you check. He nods, embarrassed. “That’s okay, jagi…” you tell him. “We can slow down for a little while if you like?” He nods again, quickly this time, smiling at you sweetly when you deliberately use the term he had asked you for earlier. You let him fix himself up and then curl into your arms against the pillows with his head on your chest. You lay together quietly for a little while, kissing occasionally, as you play idly with his blueberry-bangs. 

You’re just starting to count your blessings, thinking he’s actually drifting off to sleep after all and you can escape, leaving both his pride and his virginity intact, as his limbs start to feel heavier and his breathing slows towards sleeping pace. But then, just as you begin to gently disentangle yourself, he hooks your leg with his to stop you escaping, rolls over to press his hips against yours and then kisses you rather too passionately. You give in straight away this time, kissing him back with a ferocity to rival his own, and wrapping your legs up around his waist.

He pulls away a little, clearly unsure how to proceed, and kneels up between your legs to watch you, biting his lip again, but this time with a truly unconscious innocence of how sexy he looks. He tilts his head on the side, and then cautiously runs his hands up your sides, apparently not daring to do more. You smile at him and nod discreetly, but he just blushes again and clears his throat nervously.

“It’s okay, Hong-ssi,” you reassure him. “I won’t bite, and I’m not going to stop you anymore tonight. Just follow your instincts. You look like you maybe want to undress me?” you suggest. “Go on then, go ahead.” You smile again, trying to put him at ease, then raise your hand to his cheek and sit up to kiss him messily. You feel him smile and then his hands come up to peel the straps of your top off your shoulders and down your arms.

“Mmm…” you murmur against his lips, shifting to allow him to undo the front of your top, then wriggling a little to help him remove the whole thing, so that you’re kissing him in only your bra and skirt. “Mmff...keep going, jagiya,” you encourage him, lifting his hand back up to your bra straps. You let him struggle with your bra while you get to work on removing his shirt properly and undoing his jeans again. You know you could help him, but you kind of sense it’s better to let him make any mistakes that he’s going to make now, while he’s in a safe environment where he won’t be judged if he’s not perfect at everything. He makes a cute little frustrated noise as he tries to figure out the clasp, but then another pleased noise when he manages to get your bra off, but you pretend not to notice and just let him have his moment, sliding the garment off, then pulling you into his arms again, against his naked chest. 

You kiss the tip of his nose, then tease his jeans carefully off his hips and down his thighs, letting him kick and yank them the rest of the way off until he’s kneeling on his bed in front of you, blushing but eager, in only his boxer briefs. You lean across and start to tease kisses from his knee, working your way up his thigh towards his thinly-veiled erection.

“Oh, jebal~,” he begs you, trying to move his leg so that you will come higher. 

“Jebal? Mwo, jebal?” you murmur, wanting him to say it. “What do you want me to do?”

“Kiss...kiss,” he breathes, still in a pleading voice.

“Kiss? I’m already kissing…” you tease him, tickling his skin with your tongue now, and allowing your lips to dance ever nearer to the bottom leg-line of his panties. He moans, much louder now, and you let your other hand dip into his waistband to just barely skim the silky head of his cock. His moans intensify and he slams his head inadvertently back against the headboard of his bed, startling you a little, but not as much as he startles himself. He winces then rubs the back of his head with his hand and gives you a slightly hurt look.

“Yah, noona~” he whines. “You know what I’m mean. I want you to please...put my...my [he gives up and opts for the Korean when he can’t think of the English] je jaji...into your mouth,” he explains in a pouting almost-aegyo tone. You kinda want to tease him a little longer, but frankly you can never resist him when he talks in pout, even when the stakes are this high. And, judging by his sparkling eyes, he knows it too.

Trying not to hurt him, you pull his boxer-briefs carefully away from his erection and lick his shaft from balls to tip like an icecream. He shudders and another long, low moan escapes his body as his hands clutch his bedsheets. You raise your head to take him in your mouth, gently moving one of his hands to place it on the back of your head and indicating he should let you know how fast he needs you to go. Arcing into you, he presses his hand against the back of your head, needing you to speed up, which you do, using your free hand to hold him steady and being careful to keep your teeth behind your lips. After an interval of his pretty moans and your jaw starting to feel it, his hips dance, and he swears under his breath, in Korean.

“Wait-stop-stop!” he yelps, trying to pull away, but it’s too late and his voice trembles into another prolonged groan as you taste his warm jizz flooding your tongue. “Oh, shibal, mianhamnida,” [fuck, sorry] he stammers, mortified. You ignore his sweet objections and lick him clean, then pull him down by your side and let him cuddle shyly into you with his face turned into the crook of your neck.

“Noona?” he asks, squeezing your waist with his arm.

“What is it, Joong?” you murmur sleepily, the soju finally settling in your veins.

“Please stay here with me?” he requests. You sigh, afraid to tell him.

“No, no - that’s too much, doll,” you try to cushion the blow with a finger under his chin and a soft kiss on his lips. “I have to go back to my room, now that the damage is done.”

“But you say...well...we are going to have sex,” he pouts.

“And we did, you little minx,” you tell him, but he is already shaking his head, cheeky.

“Ani. I still am...virgin,” he corrects you defiantly, pleased with himself for remembering the English word. 

“You’re still? Wow...you’re really going to go for the literal definition, are you?,” you laugh quietly at his sass. “Well, you may find you need to recharge a little first,” you sigh, giving in. He veritably purrs at this update and you see a devilish grin slip across his lips, though he keeps his eyes tightly squeezed shut, making you marvel anew at his beautiful eyelashes, by this stage of the evening innocent of eyelash-curlers or mascara, yet still works of art in themselves. 

You cuddle up together for another small interval, but this time you realize that you must have drifted off to sleep yourself, when you open your eyes to find the sun peeking over the horizon outside. You smile to yourself when you notice Hong-Joong slumbering sweetly, completely naked in your arms, but you’re not sure how to disentangle yourself without waking him again. You manage to edge yourself out of his embrace, get your top back on and locate your bra but when you turn to give him one last longing look, he is propped up on one arm, eyes blearily open and watching you resentfully. He opens his mouth to say something and you swiftly close the distance between the two of you, to put a finger to his lips.

“You trick me,” he whispers fiercely. You try not to laugh at his indignant tone.

“I didn't, sweetheart! I fell asleep, same as you,” you defend yourself.

“So we have sex now?” he asks you, yawning and covering his mouth politely. You shake your head at him with amused incredulity.

“We can’t now,” you tell him. “There’s no way people won’t find out. It’s morning.” He just shrugs and tries to pull your skirt off.

“I don’t care,” he informs you cheekily, switching to an attempt to remove your top when you intervene with his attempt to remove your skirt. “If we are...balli-balli...[quickly - if you go fast] then we not wake members,” he bargains.

“Okay, okay! My gosh, you’re persistent,” you marvel, drawing him into your arms and kissing him. He deepens the kiss, tugging at your lip with his teeth in the sweetest punishment as his hands work quickly to remove the rest of your clothes.

“Hey - where’s that shy boy from last night?” you tease him, but he just sticks his tongue out at you and taps your legs, making you spread them so that he can climb between them. He’s all masterful confidence until you feel his erection tickling the inside of your thighs and he pauses, on his hands and knees, looking at you nervously. You run your hands along his body and down onto his hips and pull him forward.

“Ah - there’s our shy boy! It’s okay, jagi,” you reassure him, wrapping your legs up around him and lifting your hips to meet him. He kisses you under the jawline, and lets his hands stray towards your chest, so you drop your hand down to guide his cock to rest against your already-wet folds, then give your hips a little thrust so that he slips in. He gasps and thrusts his own hips instinctively, then you grab them and pull him the rest of the way forward, simultaneously eliciting a jagged moan from his lips and sighing with relief yourself, as he slides right up inside you, making you call out his name. He moans your name back to you, then finally starts to rock his hips back and forward, his breath coming hotter and faster against your neck as his moans get louder and more urgent.

“Aigoh! Ai-ai-yuh...uh! Aiohhohh!” he vocalizes shamelessly as he gets more and more caught up in your lovemaking, until he appears to have forgotten his surroundings. You surrender to him completely, kissing and caressing every part of him that you can reach.

“Oh-uh...pokbalhaga naol got gatayo~” [I feel like I’m going to explode] he confesses as his hips start to reach jackhammer speed.

“Oh, jinjja?” you gasp. He moans in the affirmative into your neck. “Do it, jagi. Cum inside me!” you gasp. His hands force you to speed up to his pace and his lovely voice climbs high enough to definitely have caught the attention of the other members. 

“Oh shib!” he groans, his lips parted and his eyes at half-mast in a perfect mask of sexual gratification. “Oh...oh ne...oh fuck...Do you think…” he pants out “they can...hear us?”

“Yes we can!” hollers WooYoung from behind the wall, his voice indicating that he’s been wanting to object since the beginning of this latest tryst. “Please stop already! We’re happy for you hyung but honestly, we’re trying to sleep too, you know?!” he elaborates. Shaking your head at WooYoung’s lack of tact, you grab Hong-Joong’s sexy, taut ass in your hands, kiss him fiercely on the lips and lift your hips to a higher angle, letting him penetrate you even further. His hips do a final dance and you feel him cum up inside you, before collapsing next to you on his back, chest heaving and one arm flung across his face, while the other pulls you close.

“Better?” you ask him, cuddling against his side.

“Mmm....ne...much better,” he affirms, sighing contentedly. 

[letitrainathousandflames-archive]

nsfw questions for wolffe cody and fives - whichever questions you feel like answering bc I want to know the answers to all of them but that might be too much. ty!! (-ls)

Sorry for taking so long, it’s just SO many questions! But i did everything! N*FW/Lemon under the cut!

Oh if you like my writing, pls consider buying me a coffe!

Cody andFives (+Wolffe as a bonus)

Tie me, Bite me: Name a kink.

Cody: dominating/public sex

Fives: body worship (to have his body worshipped, that is)/ teasing (his partner, he likes to drive them crazy )

Wolffe: biting / rough sex

That’s Naughty: Name something you would want to try in bed, but won’t.

Cody: Having sex in a non-secluded area. Cody likes to play with the idea of being seen, butall in a calculated manner. Actually getting caught is not in his plans – whoever catches wouldn’t be able to consent, and he doesn’t want to expose himself or his partner either. But ugh, he fantasizes about it.

Fives: Being talked down to. The idea turns him on to a degree, but the dehumanizing treatment from Kamino made him iffy at the thought in the same measure. He feels like he could maybe try it with a partner with whom he feels really comfortable with, but he’s not sure.

Wolffe: Going really  hardcore. Leaving marks all over his partner, biting them to the point of drawing blood and fucking them roughlyuntil they can hardly even think about walking anytime soon. Wolffe cares too much about his partners to go this hard though, and he would need to trust them enough to know they would use their safeword whenever it became too much. He has his fun roughing them up and pampering them with lots of aftercare anyway,so why change what’s working?

That’s Nice: Name something you want to try in bed and will.

Cody: Definitely adding toys to the play. He wonders if he can convince his partner to have a vibrator in them while he has the remote to make it go faster/harder while they’re out in public. Also, having his partner wear a cute collar.

Fives: He thinks rope play will probably be pretty damn fun. Give him plenty of power totease his partner into insanity while they can do nothing but whimper and beg for him. Oh yeah, he’s definitely getting some rope in 501st blue.

Wolffe: He will never – ever – admit to being curious about the idea of handcuffing his partner. Nope, nope. I guess it’ll be up to them to find that out. But moons, he would love that.

Self Torture: What do you like to masturbate to?

Cody: The thought of fucking someone against a window. In his imagination, there is norisk of getting caught for real, so… ;)

Fives: the sight of his moaning, quivering partner as they ache for him in bed. If he’s alone, then… holoporn videos. Boy likes to have visual stimulation.

Wolffe: he likes to think of the very few seconds before he comes, and the sight of the aftermath of sex on his partner – their skin reddened from spanking and his come trickling down between their thighs. Hmmm.

Wine and Dine: Is it important to have a nice prelude before having relations?

Cody: oh yes. Especially if it can include vivid descriptions of what he’s willing to do tohis parner while they’re still innocently dining out. He can’t get enough of the sight of them blushing and biting their lip. Makes the anticipation almost unbearable.

Fives: Yes! A lovely date night really sets the mood. Also, this boy talks. He loves to describe everything he’s doing and feeling even during foreplay, and he will love if his partner is willing to do the same. Also, he can just kiss for hours,and he’s a sucker for having his partner on his lap while they kiss.

Wolffe: Of course. A nice night out – or in, with a movie, popcorn and a blanket. Lots of foreplay, not only to set the mood but also to pepper his lover with kisses and set some ground rules – what is okay and what isn’t, agreeing on a safeword, where he likes to be touched, where he doesn’t, etc. Everything he can do to get his partner to feel comfortable and cared for.

Sweet Kisses: Are you a good kisser?

Cody: Yes he is. He especially enjoys kissing his partner between scenes where he’s being particularly dominant, so that he can shift from being bossy/cold to being affectionate and loving. Expect long, deep kisses that make you breathless.

Fives: As mentioned before, this boy loves kissing. He is a very playful kisser, so beready for lots of playful biting on your lips and kitten licks over your neck. He likes to press himself hard against his lover and touch them while he kisses them – squeezing their ass and whispering the most delightful filth close totheir ear. He is particularly proud to being able to get them off on occasion just by taking his sweet time kissing them and rubbing himself against their crotch.

Wolffe: He is! His kisses are not at all restricted to your lips though. He loves kissing his lover’s body, especially if he has their permission to leave marks on them. Expect a map of hickeys and bites all over your back and shoulders – he keeps the gentler kisses to your neck so that you won’t end up covered in visible love bruises. When it comes to kissing on the lips, he likes his partner to be more active; suck on his lower lip and give him lots of tongue to make him melt against you.

Tasty: Chocolate? Whipped cream? Do you use food with sex?

Cody: It’snot his thing, really. Cody thinks food and sex don’t really go well together.

Fives:Whipped cream sounds like fun. When Jesse gives him the idea earlier, Fivesgets home the very same day with two cans of it and a wicked grin to hispartner. He doesn’t have a preference regarding who gets to have some creamover their skin and who gets to lick the other clean – he just wanna play.

Two’s acrowd and three’s a party!: Have you participated in a threesome? Any more than three? Would you beinterested in inviting more people?

Cody: oh,moons, someone to watch him and his partner in action, and join them if they want to. Now that’s a dream come true. Hewould check with his partner first to make sure they’re ok with it but, ohhh,yes. Threesome? Foursome? Why not? He can even add some toys to this party. Justthinking about it makes him horny.

Fives: Heckyes, it sounds like fun. He would love to have more people to play with, and towatch his partner with them. More people to kiss and touch and fu-

Wolffe: He’snot at all interested in bringing another person to his bed, unless it’ssomeone both him and his partner know and trust very much. Still, it’s strange.He’s so used to pouring all his attention to his lover – how to share it andnot make anyone jealous or uncomfortable? He needs some time to think this through.

Swinger: Ever traded partners before?

Cody: If it’speople he knows and trust, why not? It’s a wild thought, fucking someone else’spartner, it’s really arousing for that matter. Sign him up.

Fives:Teasing someone else’s partner until they are begging for him? Oh, hells yes!

Wolffe:Having sex with someone else’s partner would feel weird for him – even if theyagreed with it, he would feel like they were cheating. And having someone elsefuck his partner? No, thanks.

BJ: Swallow or spit? What do youprefer?

Cody: Havinghis partner swallow is one of his favorite “punishments” for when they’remisbehaving. Personally, Cody prefers to spit. He’s not very fond of the aftertaste.

Fives: Ohhplease swallow, it’ll drive him crazy. Fives enjoys swallowing as well, so herelates to the pleasure of watching his partner swallow too.

Wolffe:Making sure his partner has previously agreed to, Wolffe like to not give themmuch of a choice in the matter, having them deepthroat him right before heorgasms and watching them swallow down. Personally, he likes to swallow too.

PornCollection: Do youwatch porn? Do you make your own porn?

Cody: Hnnnng,if his partner agrees to being filmed it’s such a turn on to make his own porn.He keeps the video just to rewatch and jerk off once before deleting it – he doesn’twant to take risks keeping it around and having someone find it.

Fives: Hewatches porn, yes, mainly when he masturbates or when he wants to set the moodin a special night and give his partner some ideas; “c’mooon, that new positionlooks like fun! ;)”

Wolffe: Notreally his thing. It looks all too fake in his opinion. Also, none of those “roughsex” videos show any sort of aftercare afterwards. Ugh.

Vibrator: Use any toys? Have a favorite?

Cody: Remotecontrol vibrators. They’re so much fun, and getting caught risk-free! Also,collars and paddles. Gotta discipline his naughty lover, doesn’t he?

Fives: ropeharnesses look lovely on his partner, do they count as toys?

Wolffe: Not afan of toys, except for maybe the handcuffs.

Tempo: Sweet and slow or hard and fast?

Cody: It’s usuallya buildup, sweet and slow first, and when his partner “earns it” they might getsome nice hard and fast. He’s more fond of the sweet and slow bit though.

Fives: whatbetter way to get them aching for more than sweet and slow? If they want thingsto go faster, they better wrap their legs around his waist or straddle him andtake charge ;)

Wolffe: Hardand fast, though he’ll most likely make sure to have his partner climax atleast twice, so it’s not that fast after all. He can give all the sweet andslow loving during aftercare.

SecretLover: Describesomeone you lust after. No names!

Cody: Someonebossy who carries themself with a serious, stern posture. The thought ofreducing them to a babbling, begging mess while a vibrator hums inside them turnshim on so much.

Fives:Someone playful and funny, that will enjoy being played with and will groan infrustration while he pushes them closer to the edge.

Wolffe:Someone serious whom he can trust to respect his limits and their own and willknow better than to overdue themselves. Someone he can trust enough to let thembe in charge of safewording out when things become too much.

WashingMachine: Ever do itin a weird place before?

Cody: Abathroom stall at the 79’s. Not ideally comfortable, but really arousing.

Fives: A civilian’s home during a relief mission. They were one of thepeople in charge of receiving the supplies sent by the republic and one thingled to another. It was really fun.

Wolffe: His office desk; the desk ended up being pushed 3 feet ahead fromwhere it used to be during the, um, interaction, and he will not provide anyfurther details on the matter.

Sheets: Are silk sheets sexy?

Cody: Yes.

Fives: Tooslippery, he can’t get a footing. What’s up with those things anyway?

Wolffe: Hedoesn’t care about what are the sheets made of, unless this means it’s easierto wash come off of them.

ThongSong: Do you likesexy lingerie?

Cody: yes! Especiallycorsets and garter belts. They look so sexy…

Fives: he’s reallyinto lace, especially the very sheer variety that lets him see everythingdespite his lover being still dressed.

Wolffe: yes,especially when his lover wears them without letting him know. Nothing hotterthan undressing them to be met with a tiny thong and lacy bra.

Flavor: What’s your orientation?

Cody: Bi/Pan

Fives: Bi/Pan

Wolffe:Bi/Pan

(we’re in my headcanoncity, bitch, and everyone’s bi/pan here)

Turn On: Name a turn on.

Cody: Havinghis partner strip for him.

Fives: Watchinghis partner masturbate. Also, getting pegged, but you didn’t hear it from him.

Wolffe:Making his partner come right before he comes too.

Turn Off: Name a turn off.

Cody: Worktalk. He’s “commander cody” all day long, and he’s in charge of the whole clonearmy. When he’s in bed, he just wants to be Cody.

Fives: Quickies.He likes to take his time.

Wolffe: Don’tstare at his scar, don’t bring it up. He doesn’t like to think about it, muchless remember how he got it.

Frequency: How many times do you haverelations in a week?

Cody:Ideally, every other day. Since he’s always busy during work days, he can onlyget some on weekends. He’s very salty over this.

Fives:Ideally, every day. Ugh, when will this stupid war be over so that he can meethis lover every day at home?

Wolffe: Everyother day would be nice, but he doesn’t mind waiting for the weekend. Makes himeven more horny, and the release more intense.

Heart andSoul: Is loveimportant when you have sex?

Cody: Hesupposes it makes a difference, yes. Especially because you can get to knoweach other better and make sure to do everything your partner likes to makethem happy.

Fives: Yes. Well,if not love, at least some kind of connection. To know what they like, what aretheir hobbies, who they are, etc. He thinks it’s important to see his partner –and to be seen – as an individual, not just some pretty face.

Wolffe: Definitely.He almost exclusively sleeps with people he’s been dating, or at least people hasknown for a while. Sex feels very vulnerable to him, and he won’t allow thisopening to just anyone.

GoodMorning: Do youpartake in morning sex?

Cody: yes,especially to reward his partner for their lovely performance on the previousnight.

Fives: he’sreally lazy in the morning, so maybe not intercourse itself, but he wouldn’tmind at all giving some sweet oral to his lover under the blankets.

Wolffe: yes,particularly some very slow, sweet and gentle sex. Less hair-pulling and moreneck nuzzling. Hmm.

FrenchMaid: Do youroleplay in bed?

Cody: Heckyes. He loves the role of ‘master’ so that he can boss around his partner. Healso loves to have them act coy and innocent to make it all more enticing.

Fives: Hewouldn’t oppose to that at all. Sounds like fun.

Wolffe: He’snever done it, but if his partner wants to, he’ll be up for it.

Mood: How do you create the mood?Favorite atmosphere?

Cody: Afterdining and chatting and lots of kissing, moving up to the bedroom and dimmingthe lights usually set the mood, but Cody really enjoys asking in a whisper ifhis partner has been “bad”.

Fives: justwatching some holos after dinner and then pulling his lover over his lap andkissing them passionately over and over until they can’t keep their hands offeach other.

Wolffe:usually when he kisses his partner and looks into his eyes saying “I want you”in a growled whisper it’s more than enough to get the mood going.

 Takeout: Do you and your partner “eat out”often?

Cody: yesss,especially when he wants to reward them for behaving nicely. Also, there’snothing better to prep them for penetration than some good oral.

Fives: 69,anyone? To him, there are few things as delicious as eating out a lover whilethey do the same to you. Also, as Cody said fingering + oral are great ways toprep your partner, and so far he’s gotten nothing but compliments over the wayhis goatee feels against his partner’s crotch.

Wolffe: yes, paired with some love bites to their inner thighs. Helikes to keep his shaving up to date because he likes to eat them out for along time, and he doesn’t want to give them stubble burns down there.

TrouserSnake: Does sizematter? Is it big?

Cody:Honestly, he doesn’t think it matters, not any more than how ones uses it (and howthey use their hands, and their voice, etc.). It is, by most standards, on thelarger side – the original blessed them with some nice genes when it comes to that.

Fives: Maybe?He does get some nice compliments on his girth. No need to give any additionaldetails here, since Cody said it all: Jango’s genetic material came with thatbonus.

Wolffe: Itdoesn’t matter to him, especially since he can make his partner come with hishands alone. He’s glad about, hm, his size though, because it sure isentertaining – and very arousing – to watch his partner struggling a bit to getall of him in their mouth.

Meow: Shaved or natural?

Cody: shaved.He thinks it looks cleaner and sexier.

Fives:trimmed. He’s too lazy to shave, but he doesn’t want to look like he doesn’tcare.

Wolffe: hedoesn’t mind shaving if his partner says they like it better that way, but mostof the time he keeps it loosely trimmed. It’s so annoying to keep having toshave it over and over.

Gossip: Do you sleep and tell?

Cody: He doeslike to share his stories with Rex or Fox, but he will omit any details aboutwho his partner was or what they looked like. He doesn’t want them to end inthe GAR gossip mill, that’d be rude and wrong.

Fives: Nope.He lets the hickeys on his neck do the talking, and he’ll have the mostannoying smug face for the rest of the day.

Wolffe: No.These are private matters, and no one needs to know about them. He’s not astarry-eyed shiny anymore.

FirstTime: Who was yourfirst time with?

Cody: Acharming civilian he met at a night out with his troopers. They were verygentle, which was great because Cody was trying to pretend not to be nervousabout it.

Fives: Acivilian he would meet at the 79’s every other weekend to talk, dance and makeout with. One day they asked him if they’d like to go to their place, and whyin the moons would he say no? By the time they got there, he was the oppositeof his cocky, talky self: all shy and asking for guidance. The civilian was verysweet and took things slowly, and it was great. Fives still has an openrelationship with them.

Wolffe: A nat-bornsoldier from the army. They met once during an assignment and they really hitit off while talking about annoying droids and amazing generals. Wolffe andthem dated for a while, and his first time with them was amazing. They’re nottogether anymore, but they’re still friends, and that means a lot for a manlike Wolffe.

Keep itDown!: Are you loudwhen you make love?

Cody: the realquestion is: can he make his partners be loud while they make love? And theanswer is a long, drawn-out, moaned “yes”.

Fives: loudand wordy. “You like that, huh?”, “Hnn, you feel so good…”, “Yeah, darling don’tstop” as well as plenty of groans and moans.

Wolffe: “loud”is not the word, he’s more… noisy. Grunts, growls, rich purrs, hissed curses.Hmmmmm….

[artificialqueens]

[run boy run] this world's not made for you (Branjie) - PinkGrapefruit

A/N - we made it to episode 8! thanks to @freykitten betaing this mess and as usual, all characters are my own interpretations. I’m going to apologise in advance incase the formatting is messed up. Lets do this, enjoy! x

summary: it’s episode 8 when the roles reverse

*

Brooke Lynn is panicking. It’s a change from the usual, he notes. He adds it to the Filofax in his brain like you would add something to a shopping list, the act surprisingly casual for the situation. The air must be getting lost on the way to his lungs because they are empty as he is dry-heaving in a bathroom somewhere in a studio in California. It all seems too foreign; the location, the smell of paint on set walls -  but not the anxiety. That feels oddly familiar, creeping around him like the ghost of an ex-lover. It fits him like a glove or those worn socks you only throw away when they’re more hole than cloth.

He is panicking and he is disassociating from his surroundings. His entire world feels like he’s looking at it through the bottom of a glass. It’s semi rotated, haphazardly zoomed in on if he looks for too long and in all honesty, he does not feel like he is there. When he rests his tear-stricken face on the cool porcelain, the redness of his cheeks reflected in the shiny white, he feels like he is watching himself from the outside. He thinks back to his conversation with Vanjie, tries to picture his own happiness in the moment - just like his therapist taught him. He remembers what Vanessa said to him, ‘Bitch count to 25, if not 30. My ass had to count to 40 the other night. Don’t freak yourself out.’ If he thinks hard enough, really tries to place himself there, he can hear the candour of her voice, the way their pet names rolled of her tongue like caramel.

He takes a deep breath in.

He closes his eyes and tries to focus on her. He picks the wrong image.

He realises that all that is doing is increase his heart rate, he tries to think of something calmer.

He settles on his favourite part of the conversation.

‘Who are you gonna do’

‘I think I’m going to do Celine Dion’

‘Celine Dion’

‘Yeahhh’

‘Is that your final answer?’

Take a deep breath

Her laugh.

The way she fell onto him, grounding him.

The weight of her head on his shoulder.

That stupid cap.

That kind of cute cap.

That kiss on the cheek that just made him melt.The speed of it. Like she was afraid everyone would see, which was hilarious because they were all watching in the mirror like the voyeurs they are. If he’d looked up, he knew he would have seen Nina’s big dumb face with her big dumb smile, cheering him on.

The quiet hum of the razor

The quietness of Vanessa’s voice.

The way she is only quiet with him and it is nice and calm and pure unrefined Jose because that’s what he needs in the moment so that’s what she’s going to give him.

The honest to god good advice she gave.

The look of pity and fear in her eyes when they realised they might lipsync against each other.

don’t cry

deep breath

try again

The way she looked at him when she knew he had fucked up and they hadn’t even started.

deep breath

How she’d held him, watched him split apart at the seams and boldly held him together because god what else was she supposed to do. He fell apart in her arms and she supported him through it until he could stand without feeling like the ground was about to fall from under him, and he loved her for it. With a heart-bursting, gut-wrenching love.

The way she looked when they both realised he would be in the bottom. He could have all the confidence in the world in her, but they both knew what he’d done was irredeemable.

The way she looked when he slayed the runway. When he walked for his life as a prelude to the lipsync. When he’d tried to retroactively fix his mistakes. When Ru and Michelle had gagged, truly gagged.

The way she looked when she found out Brooke was going to lipsync.

The way she looked when she found out she wouldn’t be.

The look of genuine, pure unadulterated joy on her face when him and Yvie were both declared safe.

deep breath

Lift your head from the stall door.

Try to remember why you’re panicking in the first place.

As he reaches twenty-five, mind coming together to form a semi-coherent thought, the entrance to the bathroom opens. ‘Baby,’ calls the voice belonging to the short shadow peeking under the door. It’s a voice he would recognise anywhere and as he pushes open the stall (which he realises was never locked to begin with) he drinks in the man ahead of him. Her skin is a warm colour under the harsh lighting and it reminds him of hugs and the smell of sandalwood and apple cider. Her mouth is still outlined in a reddish nude and despite the lack of glitter in his outfit, her face glows a pleasant gold. Even in his haze, he thinks she is beautiful.

He struggles to find his footing, somewhere between a baby giraffe and a child on the ice, he grips the wall until he finds a standing position. All the grace and poise beaten into him by years of ballet appear to leave him as he stumbles on his way to the sink, cranks the faucet onto the highest pressure (cold of course) and attempts to wash the tears and sweat from his face. She just watches, waits. She knows what he needs and he is grateful for the lack of crowding. Brooke wants all of the oxygen he can get and he swears half the air is sucked out of his lungs whenever she gets too close.

Once he’s deemed himself clean of all the evidence, when his cheeks aren’t streaked with mascara and tears, when his eyes are no longer red and puffy - he slowly walks over to her. He is testing his balance, trying to remember how to put one foot in front of the other, like he did before the hurricane struck. When he reaches her, he engulfs her in a hug. Her head burrows into his chest and he gingerly rests his own forehead in the crook of her neck. She smells like freshly baked cookies and a well-lit fire. Like flannel blankets and stability. The hug feels like his home, and he hopes he can keep coming back. He needs to keep coming back to her.

[terselylove]

Maybe You’ll Never Be The Same After An Abusive Relationship And Maybe That’s Okay

Hiding my favorite benzodiazepines – Xanax and Klonopin – in lipstick tubes and vitamin bottles, the false calm they’d bestow upon me and then the fog. How hard it was to stay away from single-edge razor blades and sharper things. The constant hunger. The trash always in need to be taken out, full to the brim with empty glass bottles of one thing or another. Our dog sensing the hurricane brewing in the pit of my stomach, licking my hands, my legs, my face, knowing the imminent deluge was a dangerous thing; more anxious than me, maybe. Never sleeping before 3 in the morning and always waking up before 8. My makeup scattered across thebathroom counter, my hair on the walls in the shower, my eyebrows in need of plucking, how I no longer cared to make everything perfect for him. The ends of neon colored straws dipped in white in my cosmetics bag, in the silverware drawer, at the bottom of my purse. Condoms we didn’t use hidden in his glove compartment. The way my body folded in on itself when he touched me. Cursing the building we lived in when the shower wasn’t burning enough. Wanting to throw myself into the pyre. Wondering where I had gone. Mourning who I was.

These are the things I remember most from the final year of our relationship.

They say your body knows things before you do. It’s the way that we explain away the fact that our bodies understand love before our brains do – love at first sight if you believe in that kind of thing. It’s also the way we perceive danger, a reptilian inheritance, the way our bodies warn us against would be predators.

I remember the first time my body tried to tell me something.

During our relationship, he only ever touched me as a prelude to sex, or during, never after, and never just to be affectionate. I can’t think of a time he ever grabbed my hand, kissed me for no reason, held me by the waist, caressed my arm, or ran his fingers through my hair. I was always starved for touch, always starved for love, for anything, really.

I think it was a Saturday afternoon, we had plans with friends later that day, but we were already drinking some tequila concoction my father had taught me how to make. In retrospect, I was drinking far more than anyone ever should, back then, and using alcohol as a coping mechanism to ignore my misery and keep playing my role in the life I’d subjected myself to – dutiful, loyal, faithful, pretty, devoted, forgiving, girlfriend.

The kind that woke up earlier on weekends to have his breakfast ready by the time he got out of bed. The kind that washed the stains out of his shirts without him having to ask. The kind who sat uncomfortably on the couch in a tight top and skinny jeans because he hated seeing her in sweats; hair always blown out and makeup done. The kind who tried to perfect a recipe for some dish or another until it was to his liking. The kind who wrote his business proposals, made his appointments, and refilled his prescriptions. The one who bit her tongue in half and swallowed it to avoid being cut into ribbons by his anger. The one who was never allowed to be herself. The one who took his shit and still got on her knees when he said when.

There I was, sundress and bare feet padding around the kitchen, pretending this was love, refilling his drink and pouring more liquor into mine. I walked over to hand it to him, and when he reached out with two fingers to trace along my cleavage, I flinched and jerked back, not in surprise, but in the kind of way your body reacts to something it is terrified of. In that fleeting second, my body rejected everything that was him. I realized what I had been in denial about for so long. One small graze of his fingertips did more than any years of cheating, emotional and mental abuse, gaslighting, manipulation, and putting me down ever did. I didn’t know who the man I’d given so much of myself to over the last few years was. I never had. All I knew, in that moment, all I wanted so badly to ignore, was that whoever he was, there wasn’t a single bone in his body that was good. Not only was I trying to push back the fear I felt, but I was swallowing my disgust.

When he asked what was wrong, I told him I was just jumpy from late nights and a lack of sleep and kissed him on the cheek. I had known in my very core for a long time what my mind was just then allowing itself to accept as fact. I was still trying to dismiss the truth. I was still hoping it was I who had reality skewed. I wanted to be wrong because I didn’t know if being right said more about me or more about him. I wanted to be wrong because even the revelation I had that not only was this a bad man but that I didn’t love him anymore, wasn’t going to be enough to make me leave.

I stayed for a year after seeing him for who he was and recognizing what he was doing to me. Opening your eyes isn’t enough, neither is reaching your threshold of pain. I’ve been asked why I put up with so much, why I allowed so much to happen, but abusive relationships are as hard to leave as any other. Harder, even. You always think, That would never be me. I’m out the minute this or that is done or said to me. You couldn’t possibly know what it’s like until you’re there. It’s different for everybody: it can be for financial reasons, the fear that they may do worse if you leave, because you share kids, or a million other possibilities of reasons. But the two common underlying things in any case are that you have been brainwashed into believing that you don’t deserve any better and that this is as good as it gets, and that you keep hoping the person you fell for and that they made you believe they were, in the beginning, is still inside there somewhere. I knew I hated him, I knew he got off to my pain, and I knew whatever I had blinded myself into believing was love wasn’t love, but I also knew I wasn’t going to leave. It wouldn’t be that simple for me.

I crushed up a Xanax and lined it up next a line of coke at 3 in the afternoon, cut the end of a straw, and told myself I could do this.

And so began a cycle of bad habits and a spiraling into one of the darkest eras of my life.

We headed out for a pub crawl with some friends a bit later that day. That entire evening, my whole aim was to just numb myself. I kept trying to shove my thoughts into a shoebox in the back of a closet deep in my mind. Truthfully, Ignorance is bliss had been my motto already for quite some time, but it wasn’t going to work for much longer. I remember going into the bathroom stall with his friend’s girlfriend, feeling thankful when she produced a bag of the white substance from her purse, and thinking, Maybe I won’t feel anything when he fucks me later.

He did – fuck me. I felt nothing but my mind retreating, my body folding in on itself, me somewhere outside my own flesh. I had never felt cold like that before and I never once felt warm again after. For the first time in our relationship, I appreciated the fact that he never looked at me or held me after. I felt anger, rage, disgust, hate – as much toward myself as him.

I didn’t sleep at all those late hours and that early morning. I suddenly understood the cause of my unexplainable stomach issues, why I would break out in hives often for no reason, why no medications were helping my anxiety, why I couldn’t fall asleep, why I couldn’t stay asleep, why I was constantly exhausted. For a long time, my body and I had been living in a state of hypervigilance.

On any given day, I was nervous about what mood I would find him in. Which one of his personalities was taking a sip of the coffee I had prepared for him that morning?

It was a labor to even have a conversation with him sometimes because I had to be careful in molding it and skirting around subjects that were sensitive or that we disagreed on. He was adept at making me feel intellectually inferior to him, whether I didn’t share his belief or point of view on something, or just to make himself feel bigger. He would sometimes quiz me on certain topics, eager to find something to educate me, lecture, or correct me on. Then there were times when he became angry when I expressed an opinion that differed from his. I remember him leaving me at a restaurant once and making me walk in the rain because as a feminist, according to him, I didn’t need him to pick me up from the front of the building, in fact, he said that I didn’t need a ride at all. Once, discussing politics after the bar, he threw his drink down in the kitchen and left the apartment. I, the blind fool that I was, ran after him to the parking garage, and he refused to come back home until, in his words, I would “agree to shut the fuck up.”

It wasn’t just that, I couldn’t express my feelings, either. He would go into rages, cut me apart with his anger, or punish me in some way if I ever expressed how I felt, especially when it regarded him or our relationship. He would make me believe that my feelings weren’t valid. He would make me feel like I felt how I felt because I was mentally imbalanced. He would insist that I was either thriving on the drama, or that I was insane. Somehow, when I was the one who had a right to be angry or a right to be hurt, he would come out the end of it being the offended one, and I would be the one doing the apologizing.

If he did or said something to hurt me, then I was too sensitive. If he lied to me about something and I uncovered that lie, I was the problem for not trusting him in the first place or for sabotaging his attempt at protecting me from the truth. If he cheated on me, I was to blame – I had put on weight, I had been making him feel suffocated, I had been acting “too depressed”, I pushed him to it in some way, or I had put it out into the universe by not wholeheartedly trusting him.

When his tactics were less effective and I stood more of my ground, or when I challenged him more, he would threaten me with breaking up or suggest that we should take a break. It always worked because he had this way of making me feel like I should be thanking him for being with me. He made me believe I was lucky for having him. I believed every single label he ever put on me: crazy, dumbass, fat, weak, insecure, needy, too emotional, too sensitive, irrational, psycho, idiot, bitch, ungrateful, not good enough. He said as much as he thought he was the only person in the world that could ever put up with me. I was so broken down mentally that I actually felt grateful to him for loving me. Not that I love you were words he used often. No, I only ever heard that when he wanted something, when he had been caught cheating again, or when he wanted to reel me back in.

When I made him mad, stood up for myself, wrote something about my past or something that painted him in a bad light, saw people he didn’t want me to see, spent some time away from him and enjoyed it, he would give me the silent treatment. He’d suggest I go stay at my parents’ and I wouldn’t hear from him for days. When I tried desperately to get into contact with him, he would accuse me of being unhinged and suffocating and obsessed with him.

It was one of his favorite things to do, to make me feel like I was crazy. He took things I had trusted him with and used them as ammo. He would use my struggles with mental health to back up his theories about why I was acting the way I was, or thinking the way I was, or feeling the way I was, or to make me believe I was inherently irrational. I think he actually enjoyed making me feel insane and making me doubt reality. I was afraid of being alone sometimes. Things would move around the apartment from their original place, or something I swore I put somewhere would end up being somewhere else, and I constantly would get phone calls from blocked numbers. Looking back, I am positive it was him doing both things.

He would accuse me of doing or saying things I never did, so vehemently that I doubted my own sanity. On mornings after a night of drinking, he’d accuse me of having blacked out or embarrassing him in some way, when I was sure I hadn’t done either. He made the people in our world believe that I was the problem, while he painted himself as a sweet, charming, devoted guy who could tolerate this crazy girl with emotional issues. It was a lie I believed, too.

I was lucky, I thought. Who would want someone sad and unstable and not beautiful? This was the narrative he insidiously fed me.

He constantly commented on my fluctuation in weight, pushing me to lose pounds, and even went as far as making me feel guilty when I ate certain things and telling me what I should and shouldn’t eat. I dropped weight to the point where it didn’t look good on me, so I decided to put a bit more back on, I was still at my fittest, but he wasn’t happy with it, he told me I had looked better months prior and I could drop it again.

See, he liked me better smaller – physically, mentally, and emotionally.

He wanted to have 100% of me. He wanted all of me without giving me any of him, and while making me feel like he didn’t need any of me. The truth is, he couldn’t function without that control and power he had over me, my heart, my time, my body, my mind.

I didn’t recognize his behavior and actions as abuse, not only because it’s common for the victim not to until they’ve gotten away from that situation, but because I had previously been in a relationship where the abuse was more physical, so in my mind, what he was doing to me wasn’t abuse. I didn’t even register that anything was being done to me.

An old friend and ex-lover I had been confiding in about certain aspects of my relationship bluntly asked me at one point if he had ever hit me. I said that he hadn’t, not really, no. All he had done was slam me against the wall and then punched said wall. Did that even count? I had been through worse – it was how I excused a lot of what I put up with. It was why I was blind to the fact that he was being mentally, verbally, and emotionally abusive. It was how I overlooked the times he did become physically violent. He had thrown things, he had slammed doors hard enough to rattle the walls, he had broken things, he had punched walls, he had manhandled me, he had pushed me, he had put his hands on me hard enough to leave faint marks behind, and I had seen his eyes go completely black, witnessing him physically and internally restraining himself from acting out towards me. That was violent behavior. He may have never hit me across the face, kicked me, punched me, or pulled my hair – he may have had enough control to never strike me – but the damage he did to my psyche left me as black and blue as if he had done any of those things.

Coming out of an abusive relationship you realize the biggest thing you were robbed of was not your dignity, your time, or your heart, but yourself – who you were and all the things that made you so uniquely and extraordinarily you. You lose yourself like following footprints in the sand, looking up, then down again, to find everything wiped by the tide like nothing was ever there. You may come close to some resemblance of your former self, but you never again revert to the person you were before. No amount of time, healing, or therapy, leads you back to who you were. You are irrevocably changed.

I have insecurities I never had before about who I am as a person, the way I see things, and my appearance. I was left with a rollercoaster of a battle with body image issues. I used to be this exuberant and confident girl who believed in her power and beauty, and who went after what and who she wanted. I doubt myself now, and become paralyzed by the fear that I am not good enough. I don’t see the best in people anymore, and that used to be one of my favorite things about myself. Now, I doubt the good that I do see, I become skeptical of it, I am mistrusting, I wait for the other shoe to drop. I am all too comfortable becoming physically intimate with someone, but sabotage any possibilities of emotionally connecting with anyone. I am jaded.

These are all things that I’m working on, and I know I’ll overcome them all one day, but there will always be a part of me that is tender that won’t let me forget; I’ll always have an inner voice inside me telling me to be careful. The thing that makes me saddest of all is knowing I don’t have it in me anymore to be as giving and generous as I once was. I can’t love again and give my all.

Maybe that’s okay. Maybe my all should always be given to myself and only myself. Maybe only then I can reconnect with even a few of the broken little pieces of who I used to be.

[stevenstamkos]

We need fluff STAT!! Dealer's choice on pairings or lack thereof. Here are some prompts: a pet shelter volunteer notices they've got a repeat visitor - do they need help adopting a new doggie, or are they just there to look 👀? Or how about a ruined first date/somebody in the pairing doesn't even know it's a date. Or? Or. Somebody has a seeeecret admirer and gifts keep showing up in their locker. Said admirer knows *way* too much about them and their peculiar preferences/habits.

You get a THREE IN ONE DEAL bc I LOVE YOU (and Bolts tumblr)

1. Pet shelter volunteer, Brayden/Val

Volunteering at the pet shelter is easy, it’s fun, and it means that Val gets to be surrounded by cute faces all day. Like the Shetland mutt that he’s grooming right now in preparation for her new owners.

“Hey, your repeat’s back.”

Val continues to brush the Shetland’s coat, ignoring Braydon even as something inside him perks up at the news. The dog stands still and patient for him, licking her nose, tail swishing.

Braydon is still hovering in the doorway. “Val, your repeat visitor is back.” He gestures to the Shetland. “I’ll take her, you take him.”

“Fine,” Val says quietly. He hands Braydon the brush and heads to the front of the shelter, toward the guy awkwardly hanging out by the fake hydrangeas.

Brayden - E not O - jumps when Val materializes next to him. His hair is a mess, like he’s been running his fingers through it repeatedly, but the smile he flashes Val is as sweet as it’s been every time he’s come around. “I was starting to think I got my days mixed up and you weren’t volunteering today,” he blurts out and then immediately blushes.

“Wednesday, I’m here.” Not that it wasn’t already obvious, him being here. Val gets a little stupid sometimes around particular shelter visitors, okay. It’s a fault he’s willing to live with.

“Yep. You are.” Brayden’s smile widens, sharp little teeth flashing, because the universe is a fucked up place that exists to torture Val.

“You ready to adopt today or still looking?”

“I’m still looking.”

That’s what Brayden has been saying twice a week since he showed up here a month ago. Val sort of wonders what he does, since he apparently has a ton of spare time to hang out at pet shelters cooing over dogs.

“Right. Follow me.”

Brayden would make a good pet owner, Val thinks, if he ever makes up his mind about adopting. The dogs love him, and his hands are gentle as he plays with them, eyes closed and smile infectious as he lets them lick his face. When he smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkle a little.

(Val is carefully not thinking about how much he might miss seeing Brayden twice a week, hovering over the hydrangeas.)

“The Shetland, did she…?”

“Adopted this morning, yeah.”

He wonders if he is imagining the look of relief on Brayden’s face. Probably too much to hope that this boy cares about the animals as much as Val does.

“That’s good,” Brayden says. “I’m happy.”

“Me too. Her new owners look like they’ll be good to her.”

The spotted dog in Brayden’s lap whines a little and licks his chin, startling a laugh out of him.

Val kneels so he can give his favorite German shepherd mix a good belly rub, watching as Brayden scratches under his spotted puppy’s chin, a thoughtful look on his face. Brayden’s voice is quiet when he speaks. “I just, you know, didn’t feel ready yet. Figured looking wouldn’t hurt though.”

“It doesn’t,” Val says quickly. “No rush, whenever you feel ready.”

“I think I might be now,” Brayden says.

Val stands, brushing off his knees and helping Brayden up. The puppy is still in Brayden’s arms, and he clutches her tightly as she squirms, tail wagging furiously.

“So um, I wasn’t sure if I felt prepared, and I kept coming up with reasons not to just come in here and you know. Cause like, I’m a little new to this, I’m new to Tampa, and I wasn’t sure if I could handle it. And I - I travel a lot. For my job. Sometimes a week or more at a time. So I might not be home a lot. And I thought, maybe it’s a little unfair - ”

Val nods along. “To leave your dog alone.”

“Yeah, exactly, and - Wait.” Brayden pauses. “Wait, not the dog.”

“Not the dog…?”

“I’m doing this all wrong.”

Brayden puts down the spotted dog, who immediately flops onto his feet and begins chewing the bottoms of his jeans. Brayden gently nudges her away. Val waits patiently.

Brayden takes a deep breath, hands disappearing deep into his pockets. He gives Val a nervous smile. “Look, d’you wanna go for coffee for something?”

What? That’s…not really what Val expected him to ask. “What?”

“I just um, I was wondering if you wanted to go out…with me.”

Like, a date? Val blinks a few times. His mouth moves on automatic. “I get off at four.”

“Great!” The look of relief that breaks out over Brayden’s face is very nice, even as a part of Val is still processing what just happened. “It’s 3:30, I can stick around until you get off. There’s a nice coffee shop nearby, we can grab a snack or something.”

Oh god, this is like a date. Val mindlessly bends down and scoops up the nearest dog, mostly so he can hold onto something while his mind tries to put together the fact that Brayden - cute, young, energetic, earnest Brayden - just asked him out. As a prelude to…what? He doesn’t want to hope. “That sounds good.”

They smile at each other stupidly for a while, Val still clutching one of the dogs, until one of the other pups rolls into his ankles and reminds him of where he is.

“Right. Are you actually going to adopt one of our dogs though?”

The blush lingering on Brayden’s face deepens as he scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “I uh, wasn’t really looking at the dogs when I came in the past couple of weeks. I mean, they’re cute dogs! But um, I was sort of not really paying attention to them. So I might need to come back and look some more.”

Which, you know. Is totally fine by Val.

2. First date, TyJo/Kuch, TyJo/Pally/Kuch

As far as first dates go, Kuch considers this one a probable-success, even though they’ve just sat down. The wine is poured, the waiter is politely attentive - “We’re just waiting for one more.” - and Tyler is looking flushed and interested and very pretty. He is nibbling happily at the chocolates Kuch got him, making pleased little sounds and all sorts of amazing faces. Things are going well, mostly, until Tyler brings up their missing companion.

“Wonder what’s tied Pally up tonight.”

“Prep for tomorrow’s game.” Kuch smiles as he thinks. “I was late for our first time. Guess it’s Pally’s turn to be late first date.”

He doesn’t notice when Tyler stills. “Late first date?”

“Yeah, you know. But he gets better, promise! He will be on time for the second date.”

Tyler’s jaw drops a little. “This is a date?” He looks completely bewildered, his voice shooting up a few decibels. A couple heads turn in their direction.

Kuch feels his smile drop off his face, replaced by the deep frown he gives the beat reporters when they ask him stupid questions after a loss. “You didn’t know?”

“That this is a date? I didn’t think…”

“Дерьмо́ [shit].” He didn’t know. Kuch covers his eyes with his free hand. He can feel the tips of his ears burning, the blood rushing hot to this cheeks. Okay, probable-success was maybe too early, too optimistic.

“Nik, are you okay? I’m confused, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Kuch says roughly. “This is fine. Um.” He stands up, blindly putting his napkin on the table. “Be right back.”

He walks very quickly to the bathroom, carefully not looking over his shoulder at where Tyler is probably still trying to figure things out. The men’s room is nicely decorated, all polished chrome and marble with elegant touches. It’s exactly suited to Kuch’s tastes, but he barely looks around as he locks himself into a stall to hyperventilate a little.

Tyler didn’t know this is a date. Tyler probably thought - what? That this is just a very nice, black-tie, high-end Triplets dinner? Bring your linemate to dinner night?

He hears the door open, tentative footsteps on the tiled floor. “Kuch? Nik, are you in here?”

For a wild second, Kuch considers hiding out in the stall for the entire night. But he’s not a coward at heart, and that would be stupid anyway. These dinner reservations don’t come easy. He reluctantly unlocks the door and steps out.

Tyler’s face is apologetic when he looks up at him. “Were you freaking out in there? I was afraid you ran out of the restaurant.”

“And left you alone? No.”

“Yeah, I was hoping you didn’t do that. It would’ve been embarrassing, getting dumped at the altar on the first date.”

Kuch isn’t sure what “dumped at the altar” means, but he can guess what Tyler is saying. “Sorry. Need to think.”

“It’s fine. I’m sorry I yelled.” He steps closer, smoothing down Kuch’s tie where it had gotten rumpled in his distress and fixing the lapels of his suit jacket. “I was just surprised about it being a date, that’s all.”

“Pally said ‘Come to dinner at the fancy restaurant with us and then we will go home together.’ What did you think it was?”

“I thought it was like, teammate bonding! Dinner and videogames! You two are dating already, what was I supposed to think?”

“Pally likes you.” Kuch watches as Tyler’s eyes go wide with interest. “I like you,” he adds slowly.

“Really?”

“You are pretty.” He shrugs, trying for nonchalant and probably missing by a kilometer. Thankfully, he has a pretty good poker face, though linemates - you never know, they can probably read him better than the reporters. “Pretty face. Pretty hockey.”

“Oh,” Tyler says, and then he’s dragging Kuch in by his tie and messing up his suit jacket all over again.

When they stumble out of the bathroom back to their table, Pally is sitting there fiddling with his cutlery and looking over the menu. He looks up as they approach, and his eyes light up when he takes in their disheveled appearances.

“Did you get started without me?”

“Little bit,” Kuch mutters. He is fairly certain that he missed a button, and one of his cufflinks is missing. Those were expensive.

Tyler points an accusatory finger at Pally. “You’re trying to date me too!”

“We both are,” Pally tells him patiently.

The wine glass closest to Tyler gets emptied before he takes his seat. When he does though, his face is pink and a little sheepish. He waits for Kuch to settle into his own seat before he speaks. “Again, sorry about freaking out.” His words are directed at Kuch. “I was just surprised.”

“Good surprised or bad surprised?” Pally asks.

Kuch smooths his napkin over his lap and tries not to let his eyes linger on Tyler’s flushed neck. It would probably torture him all night, wondering if the pinkness is from blushing or from beard burn.

“Good surprised. Mostly. Didn’t think I had a shot, since you two are,” Tyler flaps his hands at the two of them, which Kuch thinks is supposed to mean “together” but could really mean anything. “But I mean, I’m interested.” His eyes are bright and excited.

“Good,” Pally says, and then he reaches across the table and finishes buttoning up Kuch’s shirt.

3. Secret admirer, Heddy/Stammer

The first gift is a membership card to an exclusive golf club near Steven’s home, addressed to him: Steven Stamkos. It’s nice, because Steven hasn’t gone golfing in a month, and - well it’s not like he can’t afford to, but this is a nice reminder, and the membership card in general is nice. He wonders who left it in his stall.

It could be a once-off, except two days later after a routine off-day practice, he finds a Lightning-themed pizza cutter still in its box, resting on top of his shinguards.

Steven has a lot of Lightning stuff, accumulated throughout nine years with the team. He doesn’t have a Lightning pizza cutter though, and he takes a moment to marvel at the tiny perfect logo stenciled on the handle. The end of it has a hilarious mold of his face.

“Pizza at my place tonight?” he asks the room at large.

Most of the boys have their own plans, though Victor and Jo are both free for the night. As Steven is confirming the time, Stralsy sends Jo a strange look, and then Jo is suddenly tripping over his words.

“Actually you know what, never mind. I have to Skype Nate tonight.”

“The Avs are playing tonight though,” Steven says, but Jo is beating a hasty retreat, so it ends up being just Steven and Victor. Which is just fine in Steven’s opinion. They eat and chat and play some videogames, and then Victor sleeps over on the couch even though Steven told him that it would throw out his back.

A week later, he gets a Star Trek-themed ornament for his rearview mirror. It’s perfectly lovely, because he secretly loves Star Trek, and he openly loves his car. He hangs it up immediately and Victor makes a nice comment about how well it goes with his car.

Then his favorite cheat food that he doesn’t let himself eat. Mini Donuts from the Mini Donut Factory aren’t part of his diet plan, but he loves them so much.

“I shouldn’t be eating so many,” he tells Victor guiltily between bites as he offers the box to the rest of the boys.

“Cheat food,” Victor says simply and helps himself to one.

So far, all of the gifts have shown up at his stall in Amalie, so Steven figures the gifter must be someone who works in the building. But three days into their West Coast road trip, he walks into the Ducks’ away locker room to find a blue bundle wrapped in plastic underneath the S. Stamkos 91 plaque.

The material is soft against his fingers as he rips open the package. At first he thinks it’s a blanket, but as he unfolds it, he discovers that it is a onesie. A Lightning onesie, with a zip that goes all the way up to the hood and the team logo on the chest.

It fits him perfectly, of course.

“Why are you wearing a onesie?” JT asks when he comes into the room.

Steven spreads his arms. “You like it?”

“Yeah dude, I totally need to get one like that. Looks comfortable.”

Steven spends the rest of the road trip wearing the onesie in his hotel room, claiming jealousy every time one of the boys tries to chirp him about it. And almost all of them do except the Russians, who don’t speak much anyway.

Victor never does either. He looks Steven up and down the first time Steven answers his hotel door in it, but he doesn’t say anything, wordlessly offering a box of takeout with a smile.

“It’s comfortable,” Steven says, which is kind of unnecessary because Victor isn’t judging him.

Victor nods. “You like it.” It’s not a question. This is why Victor is Steven’s favorite.

They watch a few episodes of House Hunters together, and then Steven tells Victor about a wedding he’s been invited to a month from now. “Better dig up one of my nicer suits,” he jokes. He has a lot of nice suits. Steven likes to think he’s a stylish guy.

When they return to Tampa, there is nothing in his stall from his secret admirer for the next two home games. He tries not to feel disappointed about it.

They’re hosting St. Louis for their third home game in a row, a back-to-back, and Steven is a little more tired and a little more sore than usual. He arrives early and dresses blindly for the game, pulling on his shoulder pads and taping his socks. It’s only when he’s reaching for his helmet that his knuckles bump against a small black box.

It looks like a jewelry box, one that would house a ring or something. His heart thumps unsteadily. The mystery gifts are nice, and he’s been poking around trying to find out who they’re from, but he hasn’t figured it out yet. And he doesn’t think he’s ready for that kind of commitment.

Inside the box are a lovely set of cufflinks engraved with his initials. The cufflinks aren’t outrageously expensive, but they are very nice, so they couldn’t have been cheap. Steven stares down at them, mind blank.

“Something wrong?” Victor asks. He finishes taping his stick and picks up his gloves.

“I just…the gifts. You know I’ve been getting gifts over the past weeks, right? The onesie and the mini donuts and the golfing membership. And these.” He shows Victor the cufflinks. “I don’t know who it is, and I don’t know what to do.”

Victor’s eyes are clear and blue when he looks at Steven. “Maybe they’re shy. Let them come to you. Don’t rush it.”

But Steven can’t stop thinking about it. There doesn’t seem to be a pattern to the series of gifts he’s received over the past few weeks. Some are silly and fairly cheap like the pizza cutter, some almost too nice for a mystery gifter. The one common factor is that every one of them is thoughtful and was chosen specifically with his tastes in mind. Whoever is sending them must know him, and well.

He plays like crap that night, but Kuch turns it on like crazy and Vasy is playing his heart out, so they scrape by with a 5-3 win over the Blues.

There’s nothing in his stall for another two weeks, despite Steven camping out in the locker room for hours at a time, trying to do a little bit of spying. He begins to let his guard down, and then he finds the Rays tickets. There are two.

The room is empty, the boys having cleared out quickly after practice for their pre-game naps. Steven carefully picks the tickets up, heart thumping.

“You don’t have to use both, if you don’t want to,” comes a soft voice behind him.

It’s Victor, hovering awkwardly by the door, his Tampa Bay Rays hat pulled over his eyes. Steven swallows.

“That was you. All the gifts.” Victor nods, a slow confirmation, and god, Steven has been so blind this whole time. “Why?”

“Why do you think?” Victor is keeping a healthy distance between them, giving Steven space to bolt. Because that’s classic Victor, thoughtful and patient and understanding, and at the heart of it, Steven’s best friend for years.

He looks at the two tickets in his hands, thinks for a long moment about the parade of gifts that showed up in his stall, each one picked with utmost care for him. It’s obvious what the answer is.

“You’re coming with me, right?” he asks, gesturing with the tickets.

Victor smiles and walks closer, closing all that distance between them until they’re standing chest to chest. “Only if you want me to.”

“Yes,” Steven says, easy as anything. “Of course.”

[terselylove]

Maybe You’ll Never Be The Same After An Abusive Relationship And Maybe That’s Okay

Hiding my favorite benzodiazepines – Xanax and Klonopin – in lipstick tubes and vitamin bottles, the false calm they’d bestow upon me and then the fog. How hard it was to stay away from single-edge razor blades and sharper things. The constant hunger. The trash always in need to be taken out, full to the brim with empty glass bottles of one thing or another. Our dog sensing the hurricane brewing in the pit of my stomach, licking my hands, my legs, my face, knowing the imminent deluge was a dangerous thing; more anxious than me, maybe. Never sleeping before 3 in the morning and always waking up before 8. My makeup scattered across thebathroom counter, my hair on the walls in the shower, my eyebrows in need of plucking, how I no longer cared to make everything perfect for him. The ends of neon colored straws dipped in white in my cosmetics bag, in the silverware drawer, at the bottom of my purse. Condoms we didn’t use hidden in his glove compartment. The way my body folded in on itself when he touched me. Cursing the building we lived in when the shower wasn’t burning enough. Wanting to throw myself into the pyre. Wondering where I had gone. Mourning who I was.

These are the things I remember most from the final year of our relationship.

They say your body knows things before you do. It’s the way that we explain away the fact that our bodies understand love before our brains do – love at first sight if you believe in that kind of thing. It’s also the way we perceive danger, a reptilian inheritance, the way our bodies warn us against would be predators.

I remember the first time my body tried to tell me something.

During our relationship, he only ever touched me as a prelude to sex, or during, never after, and never just to be affectionate. I can’t think of a time he ever grabbed my hand, kissed me for no reason, held me by the waist, caressed my arm, or ran his fingers through my hair. I was always starved for touch, always starved for love, for anything, really.

I think it was a Saturday afternoon, we had plans with friends later that day, but we were already drinking some tequila concoction my father had taught me how to make. In retrospect, I was drinking far more than anyone ever should, back then, and using alcohol as a coping mechanism to ignore my misery and keep playing my role in the life I’d subjected myself to – dutiful, loyal, faithful, pretty, devoted, forgiving, girlfriend.

The kind that woke up earlier on weekends to have his breakfast ready by the time he got out of bed. The kind that washed the stains out of his shirts without him having to ask. The kind who sat uncomfortably on the couch in a tight top and skinny jeans because he hated seeing her in sweats; hair always blown out and makeup done. The kind who tried to perfect a recipe for some dish or another until it was to his liking. The kind who wrote his business proposals, made his appointments, and refilled his prescriptions. The one who bit her tongue in half and swallowed it to avoid being cut into ribbons by his anger. The one who was never allowed to be herself. The one who took his shit and still got on her knees when he said when.

There I was, sundress and bare feet padding around the kitchen, pretending this was love, refilling his drink and pouring more liquor into mine. I walked over to hand it to him, and when he reached out with two fingers to trace along my cleavage, I flinched and jerked back, not in surprise, but in the kind of way your body reacts to something it is terrified of. In that fleeting second, my body rejected everything that was him. I realized what I had been in denial about for so long. One small graze of his fingertips did more than any years of cheating, emotional and mental abuse, gaslighting, manipulation, and putting me down ever did. I didn’t know who the man I’d given so much of myself to over the last few years was. I never had. All I knew, in that moment, all I wanted so badly to ignore, was that whoever he was, there wasn’t a single bone in his body that was good. Not only was I trying to push back the fear I felt, but I was swallowing my disgust.

When he asked what was wrong, I told him I was just jumpy from late nights and a lack of sleep and kissed him on the cheek. I had known in my very core for a long time what my mind was just then allowing itself to accept as fact. I was still trying to dismiss the truth. I was still hoping it was I who had reality skewed. I wanted to be wrong because I didn’t know if being right said more about me or more about him. I wanted to be wrong because even the revelation I had that not only was this a bad man but that I didn’t love him anymore, wasn’t going to be enough to make me leave.

I stayed for a year after seeing him for who he was and recognizing what he was doing to me. Opening your eyes isn’t enough, neither is reaching your threshold of pain. I’ve been asked why I put up with so much, why I allowed so much to happen, but abusive relationships are as hard to leave as any other. Harder, even. You always think, That would never be me. I’m out the minute this or that is done or said to me. You couldn’t possibly know what it’s like until you’re there. It’s different for everybody: it can be for financial reasons, the fear that they may do worse if you leave, because you share kids, or a million other possibilities of reasons. But the two common underlying things in any case are that you have been brainwashed into believing that you don’t deserve any better and that this is as good as it gets, and that you keep hoping the person you fell for and that they made you believe they were, in the beginning, is still inside there somewhere. I knew I hated him, I knew he got off to my pain, and I knew whatever I had blinded myself into believing was love wasn’t love, but I also knew I wasn’t going to leave. It wouldn’t be that simple for me.

I crushed up a Xanax and lined it up next a line of coke at 3 in the afternoon, cut the end of a straw, and told myself I could do this.

And so began a cycle of bad habits and a spiraling into one of the darkest eras of my life.

We headed out for a pub crawl with some friends a bit later that day. That entire evening, my whole aim was to just numb myself. I kept trying to shove my thoughts into a shoebox in the back of a closet deep in my mind. Truthfully, Ignorance is bliss had been my motto already for quite some time, but it wasn’t going to work for much longer. I remember going into the bathroom stall with his friend’s girlfriend, feeling thankful when she produced a bag of the white substance from her purse, and thinking, Maybe I won’t feel anything when he fucks me later.

He did – fuck me. I felt nothing but my mind retreating, my body folding in on itself, me somewhere outside my own flesh. I had never felt cold like that before and I never once felt warm again after. For the first time in our relationship, I appreciated the fact that he never looked at me or held me after. I felt anger, rage, disgust, hate – as much toward myself as him.

I didn’t sleep at all those late hours and that early morning. I suddenly understood the cause of my unexplainable stomach issues, why I would break out in hives often for no reason, why no medications were helping my anxiety, why I couldn’t fall asleep, why I couldn’t stay asleep, why I was constantly exhausted. For a long time, my body and I had been living in a state of hypervigilance.

On any given day, I was nervous about what mood I would find him in. Which one of his personalities was taking a sip of the coffee I had prepared for him that morning?

It was a labor to even have a conversation with him sometimes because I had to be careful in molding it and skirting around subjects that were sensitive or that we disagreed on. He was adept at making me feel intellectually inferior to him, whether I didn’t share his belief or point of view on something, or just to make himself feel bigger. He would sometimes quiz me on certain topics, eager to find something to educate me, lecture, or correct me on. Then there were times when he became angry when I expressed an opinion that differed from his. I remember him leaving me at a restaurant once and making me walk in the rain because as a feminist, according to him, I didn’t need him to pick me up from the front of the building, in fact, he said that I didn’t need a ride at all. Once, discussing politics after the bar, he threw his drink down in the kitchen and left the apartment. I, the blind fool that I was, ran after him to the parking garage, and he refused to come back home until, in his words, I would “agree to shut the fuck up.”

It wasn’t just that, I couldn’t express my feelings, either. He would go into rages, cut me apart with his anger, or punish me in some way if I ever expressed how I felt, especially when it regarded him or our relationship. He would make me believe that my feelings weren’t valid. He would make me feel like I felt how I felt because I was mentally imbalanced. He would insist that I was either thriving on the drama, or that I was insane. Somehow, when I was the one who had a right to be angry or a right to be hurt, he would come out the end of it being the offended one, and I would be the one doing the apologizing.

If he did or said something to hurt me, then I was too sensitive. If he lied to me about something and I uncovered that lie, I was the problem for not trusting him in the first place or for sabotaging his attempt at protecting me from the truth. If he cheated on me, I was to blame – I had put on weight, I had been making him feel suffocated, I had been acting “too depressed”, I pushed him to it in some way, or I had put it out into the universe by not wholeheartedly trusting him.

When his tactics were less effective and I stood more of my ground, or when I challenged him more, he would threaten me with breaking up or suggest that we should take a break. It always worked because he had this way of making me feel like I should be thanking him for being with me. He made me believe I was lucky for having him. I believed every single label he ever put on me: crazy, dumbass, fat, weak, insecure, needy, too emotional, too sensitive, irrational, psycho, idiot, bitch, ungrateful, not good enough. He said as much as he thought he was the only person in the world that could ever put up with me. I was so broken down mentally that I actually felt grateful to him for loving me. Not that I love you were words he used often. No, I only ever heard that when he wanted something, when he had been caught cheating again, or when he wanted to reel me back in.

When I made him mad, stood up for myself, wrote something about my past or something that painted him in a bad light, saw people he didn’t want me to see, spent some time away from him and enjoyed it, he would give me the silent treatment. He’d suggest I go stay at my parents’ and I wouldn’t hear from him for days. When I tried desperately to get into contact with him, he would accuse me of being unhinged and suffocating and obsessed with him.

It was one of his favorite things to do, to make me feel like I was crazy. He took things I had trusted him with and used them as ammo. He would use my struggles with mental health to back up his theories about why I was acting the way I was, or thinking the way I was, or feeling the way I was, or to make me believe I was inherently irrational. I think he actually enjoyed making me feel insane and making me doubt reality. I was afraid of being alone sometimes. Things would move around the apartment from their original place, or something I swore I put somewhere would end up being somewhere else, and I constantly would get phone calls from blocked numbers. Looking back, I am positive it was him doing both things.

He would accuse me of doing or saying things I never did, so vehemently that I doubted my own sanity. On mornings after a night of drinking, he’d accuse me of having blacked out or embarrassing him in some way, when I was sure I hadn’t done either. He made the people in our world believe that I was the problem, while he painted himself as a sweet, charming, devoted guy who could tolerate this crazy girl with emotional issues. It was a lie I believed, too.

I was lucky, I thought. Who would want someone sad and unstable and not beautiful? This was the narrative he insidiously fed me.

He constantly commented on my fluctuation in weight, pushing me to lose pounds, and even went as far as making me feel guilty when I ate certain things and telling me what I should and shouldn’t eat. I dropped weight to the point where it didn’t look good on me, so I decided to put a bit more back on, I was still at my fittest, but he wasn’t happy with it, he told me I had looked better months prior and I could drop it again.

See, he liked me better smaller – physically, mentally, and emotionally.

He wanted to have 100% of me. He wanted all of me without giving me any of him, and while making me feel like he didn’t need any of me. The truth is, he couldn’t function without that control and power he had over me, my heart, my time, my body, my mind.

I didn’t recognize his behavior and actions as abuse, not only because it’s common for the victim not to until they’ve gotten away from that situation, but because I had previously been in a relationship where the abuse was more physical, so in my mind, what he was doing to me wasn’t abuse. I didn’t even register that anything was being done to me.

An old friend and ex-lover I had been confiding in about certain aspects of my relationship bluntly asked me at one point if he had ever hit me. I said that he hadn’t, not really, no. All he had done was slam me against the wall and then punched said wall. Did that even count? I had been through worse – it was how I excused a lot of what I put up with. It was why I was blind to the fact that he was being mentally, verbally, and emotionally abusive. It was how I overlooked the times he did become physically violent. He had thrown things, he had slammed doors hard enough to rattle the walls, he had broken things, he had punched walls, he had manhandled me, he had pushed me, he had put his hands on me hard enough to leave faint marks behind, and I had seen his eyes go completely black, witnessing him physically and internally restraining himself from acting out towards me. That was violent behavior. He may have never hit me across the face, kicked me, punched me, or pulled my hair – he may have had enough control to never strike me – but the damage he did to my psyche left me as black and blue as if he had done any of those things.

Coming out of an abusive relationship you realize the biggest thing you were robbed of was not your dignity, your time, or your heart, but yourself – who you were and all the things that made you so uniquely and extraordinarily you. You lose yourself like following footprints in the sand, looking up, then down again, to find everything wiped by the tide like nothing was ever there. You may come close to some resemblance of your former self, but you never again revert to the person you were before. No amount of time, healing, or therapy, leads you back to who you were. You are irrevocably changed.

I have insecurities I never had before about who I am as a person, the way I see things, and my appearance. I was left with a rollercoaster of a battle with body image issues. I used to be this exuberant and confident girl who believed in her power and beauty, and who went after what and who she wanted. I doubt myself now, and become paralyzed by the fear that I am not good enough. I don’t see the best in people anymore, and that used to be one of my favorite things about myself. Now, I doubt the good that I do see, I become skeptical of it, I am mistrusting, I wait for the other shoe to drop. I am all too comfortable becoming physically intimate with someone, but sabotage any possibilities of emotionally connecting with anyone. I am jaded.

These are all things that I’m working on, and I know I’ll overcome them all one day, but there will always be a part of me that is tender that won’t let me forget; I’ll always have an inner voice inside me telling me to be careful. The thing that makes me saddest of all is knowing I don’t have it in me anymore to be as giving and generous as I once was. I can’t love again and give my all.

Maybe that’s okay. Maybe my all should always be given to myself and only myself. Maybe only then I can reconnect with even a few of the broken little pieces of who I used to be.