#Stop giving it credit it has not earned

[irellia]

are people aware of the fact that Mizu is not canonically in any way shape or form.............. queer....bi.....

(quick note here because reading comprehension stays dead and people may not read the tag novel: I want bi Mizu! I hc her as sapphic! I love sapphic Mizu)

[lesbiansanemi]

Currently trying not to vomit over the fact that I essentially just lost almost a thousand dollars brb

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Retiring the US debt would retire the US dollar

THIS WEDNESDAY (October 23) at 7PM, I'll be in DECATUR, GEORGIA, presenting my novel THE BEZZLE at EAGLE EYE BOOKS.

One of the most consequential series of investigative journalism of this decade was the Propublica series that Jesse Eisinger helmed, in which Eisinger and colleagues analyzed a trove of leaked IRS tax returns for the richest people in America:

https://www.propublica.org/series/the-secret-irs-files

The Secret IRS Files revealed the fact that many of America's oligarchs pay no tax at all. Some of them even get subsidies intended for poor families, like Jeff Bezos, whose tax affairs are so scammy that he was able to claim to be among the working poor and receive a federal Child Tax Credit, a $4,000 gift from the American public to one of the richest men who ever lived:

https://www.propublica.org/article/the-secret-irs-files-trove-of-never-before-seen-records-reveal-how-the-wealthiest-avoid-income-tax

As important as the numbers revealed by the Secret IRS Files were, I found the explanations even more interesting. The 99.9999% of us who never make contact with the secretive elite wealth management and tax cheating industry know, in the abstract, that there's something scammy going on in those esoteric cults of wealth accumulation, but we're pretty vague on the details. When I pondered the "tax loopholes" that the rich were exploiting, I pictured, you know, long lists of equations salted with Greek symbols, completely beyond my ken.

But when Propublica's series laid these secret tactics out, I learned that they were incredibly stupid ruses, tricks so thin that the only way they could possibly fool the IRS is if the IRS just didn't give a shit (and they truly didn't – after decades of cuts and attacks, the IRS was far more likely to audit a family earning less than $30k/year than a billionaire).

This has become a somewhat familiar experience. If you read the Panama Papers, the Paradise Papers, Luxleaks, Swissleaks, or any of the other spectacular leaks from the oligarch-industrial complex, you'll have seen the same thing: the rich employ the most tissue-thin ruses, and the tax authorities gobble them up. It's like the tax collectors don't want to fight with these ultrawealthy monsters whose net worth is larger than most nations, and merely require some excuse to allow them to cheat, anything they can scribble in the box explaining why they are worth billions and paying little, or nothing, or even entitled to free public money from programs intended to lift hungry children out of poverty.

It was this experience that fueled my interest in forensic accounting, which led to my bestselling techno-crime-thriller series starring the two-fisted, scambusting forensic accountant Martin Hench, who made his debut in 2022's Red Team Blues:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865847/red-team-blues

The double outrage of finding out how badly the powerful are ripping off the rest of us, and how stupid and transparent their accounting tricks are, is at the center of Chokepoint Capitalism, the book about how tech and entertainment companies steal from creative workers (and how to stop them) that Rebecca Giblin and I co-authored, which also came out in 2022:

https://chokepointcapitalism.com/

Now that I've written four novels and a nonfiction book about finance scams, I think I can safely call myself a oligarch ripoff hobbyist. I find this stuff endlessly fascinating, enraging, and, most importantly, energizing. So naturally, when PJ Vogt devoted two episodes of his excellent Search Engine podcast to the subject last week, I gobbled them up:

https://www.searchengine.show/listen/search-engine-1/why-is-it-so-hard-to-tax-billionaires-part-1

I love the way Vogt unpacks complex subjects. Maybe you've had the experience of following a commentator and admiring their knowledge of subjects you're unfamiliar with, only have them cover something you're an expert in and find them making a bunch of errors (this is basically the experience of using an LLM, which can give you authoritative seeming answers when the subject is one you're unfamiliar with, but which reveals itself to be a Bullshit Machine as soon as you ask it about something whose lore you know backwards and forwards).

Well, Vogt has covered many subjects that I am an expert in, and I had the opposite experience, finding that even when he covers my own specialist topics, I still learn something. I don't always agree with him, but always find those disagreements productive in that they make me clarify my own interests. (Full disclosure: I was one of Vogt's experts on his previous podcast, Reply All, talking about the inkjet printerization of everything:)

https://gimletmedia.com/shows/reply-all/brho54

Vogt's series on taxing billionaires was no exception. His interview subjects (including Eisinger) were very good, and he got into a lot of great detail on the leaker himself, Charles Littlejohn, who plead guilty and was sentenced to five years:

https://jacobin.com/2023/10/charles-littlejohn-irs-whistleblower-pro-publica-tax-evasion-prosecution

Vogt also delved into the history of the federal income tax, how it was sold to the American public, and a rather hilarious story of Republican Congressional gamesmanship that backfired spectacularly. I'd never encountered this stuff before and boy was it interesting.

But then Vogt got into the nature of taxation, and its relationship to the federal debt, another subject I've written about extensively, and that's where one of those productive disagreements emerged. Yesterday, I set out to write him a brief note unpacking this objection and ended up writing a giant essay (sorry, PJ!), and this morning I found myself still thinking about it. So I thought, why not clean up the email a little and publish it here?

As much as I enjoyed these episodes, I took serious exception to one – fairly important! – aspect of your analysis: the relationship of taxes to the national debt.

There's two ways of approaching this question, which I think of as akin to classical vs quantum physics. In the orthodox, classical telling, the government taxes us to pay for programs. This is crudely true at 10,000 feet and as a rule of thumb, it's fine in many cases. But on the ground – at the quantum level, in this analogy – the opposite is actually going on.

There is only one source of US dollars: the US Treasury (you can try and make your own dollars, but they'll put you in prison for a long-ass time if they catch you.).

If dollars can only originate with the US government, then it follows that:

a) The US government doesn't need our taxes to get US dollars (for the same reason Apple doesn't need us to redeem our iTunes cards to get more iTunes gift codes);

b) All the dollars in circulation start with spending by the US government (taxes can't be paid until dollars are first spent by their issuer, the US government); and

c) That spending must happen before anyone has been taxed, because the way dollars enter circulation is through spending.

You've probably heard people say, "Government spending isn't like household spending." That is obviously true: households are currency users while governments are currency issuers.

But the implications of this are very interesting.

First, the total dollars in circulation are:

a) All the dollars the government has ever spent into existence funding programs, transferring to the states, and paying its own employees, minus

b) All the dollars that the government has taxed away from us, and subsequently annihilated.

(Because governments spend money into existence and tax money out of existence.)

The net of dollars the government spends in a given year minus the dollars the government taxes out of existence that year is called "the national deficit." The total of all those national deficits is called "the national debt." All the dollars in circulation today are the result of this national debt. If the US government didn't have a debt, there would be no dollars in circulation.

The only way to eliminate the national debt is to tax every dollar in circulation out of existence. Because the national debt is "all the dollars the government has ever spent," minus "all the dollars the government has ever taxed." In accounting terms, "The US deficit is the public's credit."

When billionaires like Warren Buffet tell Jesse Eisinger that he doesn't pay tax because "he thinks his money is better spent on charitable works rather than contributing to an insignificant reduction of the deficit," he is, at best, technically wrong about why we tax, and at worst, he's telling a self-serving lie. The US government doesn't need to eliminate its debt. Doing so would be catastrophic. "Retiring the US debt" is the same thing as "retiring the US dollar."

So if the USG isn't taxing to retire its debts, why does it tax? Because when the USG – or any other currency issuer – creates a token, that token is, on its face, useless. If I offered to sell you some "Corycoins," you would quite rightly say that Corycoins have no value and thus you don't need any of them.

For a token to be liquid – for it to be redeemable for valuable things, like labor, goods and services – there needs to be something that someone desires that can be purchased with that token. Remember when Disney issued "Disney dollars" that you could only spend at Disney theme parks? They traded more or less at face value, even outside of Disney parks, because everyone knew someone who was planning a Disney vacation and could make use of those Disney tokens.

But if you go down to a local carny and play skeeball and win a fistful of tickets, you'll find it hard to trade those with anyone outside of the skeeball counter, especially once you leave the carny. There's two reasons for this:

1) The things you can get at the skeeball counter are pretty crappy so most people don't desire them; and ' 2) Most people aren't planning on visiting the carny, so there's no way for them to redeem the skeeball tickets even if they want the stuff behind the counter (this is also why it's hard to sell your Iranian rials if you bring them back to the US – there's not much you can buy in Iran, and even someone you wanted to buy something there, it's really hard for US citizens to get to Iran).

But when a sovereign currency issuer – one with the power of the law behind it – demands a tax denominated in its own currency, they create demand for that token. Everyone desires USD because almost everyone in the USA has to pay taxes in USD to the government every year, or they will go to prison. That fact is why there is such a liquid market for USD. Far more people want USD to pay their taxes than will ever want Disney dollars to spend on Dole Whips, and even if you are hoping to buy a Dole Whip in Fantasyland, that desire is far less important to you than your desire not to go to prison for dodging your taxes.

Even if you're not paying taxes, you know someone who is. The underlying liquidity of the USD is inextricably tied to taxation, and that's the first reason we tax. By issuing a token – the USD – and then laying on a tax that can only be paid in that token (you cannot pay federal income tax in anything except USD – not crypto, not euros, not rials – only USD), the US government creates demand for that token.

And because the US government is the only source of dollars, the US government can purchase anything that is within its sovereign territory. Anything denominated in US dollars is available to the US government: the labor of every US-residing person, the land and resources in US territory, and the goods produced within the US borders. The US doesn't need to tax us to buy these things (remember, it makes new money by typing numbers into a spreadsheet at the Federal Reserve). But it does tax us, and if the taxes it levies don't equal the spending it's making, it also sells us T-bills to make up the shortfall.

So the US government kinda acts like classical physics is true, that is, like it is a household and thus a currency user, and not a currency issuer. If it spends more than it taxes, it "borrows" (issues T-bills) to make up the difference. Why does it do this? To fight inflation.

The US government has no monetary constraints, it can make as many dollars as it cares to (by typing numbers into a spreadsheet). But the US government is fiscally constrained, because it can only buy things that are denominated in US dollars (this is why it's such a big deal that global oil is priced in USD – it means the US government can buy oil from anywhere, not only the USA, just by typing numbers into a spreadsheet).

The supply of dollars is infinite, but the supply of labor and goods denominated in US dollars is finite, and, what's more, the people inside the USA expect to use that labor and goods for their own needs. If the US government issues so many dollars that it can outbid every private construction company for the labor of electricians, bricklayers, crane drivers, etc, and puts them all to work building federal buildings, there will be no private construction.

Indeed, every time the US government bids against the private sector for anything – labor, resources, land, finished goods – the price of that thing goes up. That's one way to get inflation (and it's why inflation hawks are so horny for slashing government spending – to get government bidders out of the auction for goods, services and labor).

But while the supply of goods for sale in US dollars is finite, it's not fixed. If the US government takes away some of the private sector's productive capacity in order to build interstates, train skilled professionals, treat sick people so they can go to work (or at least not burden their working-age relations), etc, then the supply of goods and services denominated in USD goes up, and that makes more fiscal space, meaning the government and the private sector can both consume more of those goods and services and still not bid against one another, thus creating no inflationary pressure.

Thus, taxes create liquidity for US dollars, but they do something else that's really important: they reduce the spending power of the private sector. If the US only ever spent money into existence and never taxed it out of existence, that would create incredible inflation, because the supply of dollars would go up and up and up, while the supply of goods and services you could buy with dollars would grow much more slowly, because the US government wouldn't have the looming threat of taxes with which to coerce us into doing the work to build highways, care for the sick, or teach people how to be doctors, engineers, etc.

Taxes coercively reduce the purchasing power of the private sector (they're a stick). T-bills do the same thing, but voluntarily (they the carrot).

A T-bill is a bargain offered by the US government: "Voluntarily park your money instead of spending it. That will create fiscal space for us to buy things without bidding against you, because it removes your money from circulation temporarily. That means we, the US government, can buy more stuff and use it to increase the amount of goods and services you can buy with your money when the bond matures, while keeping the supply of dollars and the supply of dollar-denominated stuff in rough equilibrium."

So a bond isn't a debt – it's more like a savings account. When you move money from your checking to your savings, you reduce its liquidity, meaning the bank can treat it as a reserve without worrying quite so much about you spending it. In exchange, the bank gives you some interest, as a carrot.

I know, I know, this is a big-ass wall of text. Congrats if you made it this far! But here's the upshot. We should tax billionaires, because it will reduce their economic power and thus their political power.

But we absolutely don't need to tax billionaires to have nice things. For example: the US government could hire every single unemployed person without creating inflationary pressure on wages, because inflation only happens when the US government tries to buy something that the private sector is also trying to buy, bidding up the price. To be "unemployed" is to have labor that the private sector isn't trying to buy. They're synonyms. By definition, the feds could put every unemployed person to work (say, training one another to be teachers, construction workers, etc – and then going out and taking care of the sick, addressing the housing crisis, etc etc) without buying any labor that the private sector is also trying to buy.

What's even more true than this is that our taxes are not going to reduce the national debt. That guest you had who said, "Even if we tax billionaires, we will never pay off the national debt,"" was 100% right, because the national debt equals all the money in circulation.

Which is why that guest was also very, very wrong when she said, "We will have to tax normal people too in order to pay off the debt." We don't have to pay off the debt. We shouldn't pay off the debt. We can't pay off the debt. Paying off the debt is another way of saying "eliminating the dollar."

Taxation isn't a way for the government to pay for things. Taxation is a way to create demand for US dollars, to convince people to sell goods and services to the US government, and to constrain private sector spending, which creates fiscal space for the US government to buy goods and services without bidding up their prices.

And in a "classical physics" sense, all of the preceding is kinda a way of saying, "Taxes pay for government spending." As a rough approximation, you can think of taxes like this and generally not get into trouble.

But when you start to make policy – when you contemplate when, whether, and how much to tax billionaires – you leave behind the crude, high-level approximation and descend into the nitty-gritty world of things as they are, and you need to jettison the convenience of the easy-to-grasp approximation.

If you're interested in learning more about this, you can tune into this TED Talk by Stephanie Kelton, formerly formerly advisor to the Senate Budget Committee chair, now back teaching and researching econ at University of Missouri at Kansas City:

https://www.ted.com/talks/stephanie_kelton_the_big_myth_of_government_deficits?subtitle=en

Stephanie has written a great book about this, The Deficit Myth:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/05/14/everybody-poops/#deficit-myth

There's a really good feature length doc about it too, called "Finding the Money":

https://findingmoneyfilm.com/

If you'd like to read more of my own work on this, here's a column I wrote about the nature of currency in light of Web3, crypto, etc:

https://locusmag.com/2022/09/cory-doctorow-moneylike/

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/21/we-can-have-nice-things/#public-funds-not-taxpayer-dollars

[shadykazama]

Sun Wukong/The destined one (mostly relationship) headcanons!

The people have spoken and the people crave monkey business. So let's get down to it!

❤

Post journey Wukong is a wiser, stronger monkey, but don't let him fool you he's still a trickster at heart.

When you first meet, he has you refer to him as 'Great Sage'.

Earning the right to say his given name isn't so much a big moment as it is just him beginning to care for you. You slip up, whether it be because you were sick or injured or just not thinking, and he doesn't correct you. In fact he kind of likes it.

He doesn't make a big deal out of it, but if you watch closely you can see his tail twitch and his eyes lost in thought.

One character flaw you'll have to deal with, even when you're just friends, is Wukong thinks he knows what's best. He's old and wisened and POWERFUL; if he thinks he knows something will be best for you, he'll do it without so much as telling you.

Credit to Hanibalistic! Their one shot about Wukong and stealing an immortal peach for a mortal reader was perfect and exactly how I think he'd act! That impulsive, "I care about this person and will do what I think is best for them regardless of the consequences or their opinion" is very... him.

Hey, we all have our flaws. (Just don't tell him that.)

On the positive side, he wouldn't let a scratch befall you. At some point you'll stop instinctually defending yourself because of how safe you feel with him. Which is heavily ironic considering how often he himself will put you in dangerous situations just to pull a prank.

But besides your poor heart from getting scared so often, you have nothing to worry about. Wukong won't leave room for even one mistake to slip by him.

Expect him to never call you by your name, almost ever. He chronically tends to call people by titles or nicknames. From calling the tang monk, master, or how he'd call Bajie 'idiot' for most of the book- just expect something. He'd only refer to you by name if he were really serious.

Something I personally find really funny that isn't represented in many medias with him is that he's OLD. He's old as hell and he knows it. In the book he'll often refer to basically everyone as 'nephew' or 'little brother' which is oddly endearing and also really funny.

I feel as though most people don't utilize how heavy he is- even in movies and stuff. His staff is like thousands of pounds! You aren't moving him unless he wants you to. God forbid you end up cuddling. Even while resting I never think he'd put his full weight on you, but you'd definitely be stuck.

Will never refuse to help you, but will tease you endlessly for needing it. "Helpless little thing aren't you?"

His love language is gift giving and acts of service.

He's impulsive with words, but look at how he treats you and you'll see how he cares.

Considering his connections, expect to have the world at your fingertips. He'll never leave you wanting, you'll always be satisfied. There is no gift beyond his reach. Just be careful what you ask for, because he WILL get it one way or another.

He is a king, a leader- it's basically second nature to be serviced, and that's why it's so important how he acts toward you. For you, he stays vigilant, ready to catch you if you fall or feed you when you're hungry. For you, he'll carry you in his arms if you're tired. For you he'd put himself in servitude.

Monkeys also show affection to one another by grabbing at each other for attention, and grooming one another's hair.

I don't think he'd have any trouble getting your attention, he's very vocal! So he'd focus more on your hair. Don't be surprised if he randomly starts combing through with his fingers or just playing with it. It's calming for him, and another form of affection.

You've changed him for the better... And for the worse. He happier, more content and occupied (which is good for everyone). BUT, should you ever disappear or get stolen from him he would surely devastate heaven and earth to get you back. The last thing anyone needs is another, more wrathful, Wukong rampage.

Expect to get shown off at every convenience! You're his king/queen and he'll make sure everyone knows it.

You have the BIGGEST wedding. And I think the best part would've been the Chuangmen, which is a wedding game tradition, usually meant for the groom to prove his loyalty, devotion, and desire to marry the bride by completing tests made by her bridesmaids. There are a ton of really interesting Chinese wedding traditions that I would recommend reading about, but with the sheer power of Wukong, these challenges in particular could've been absolutely ridiculous!

Wukong isn't jealous, no that would be ridiculous, he has nothing to fear. That by no means doesn't mean that he doesn't get offended on your behalf. He's gotten upset at not being greeted properly, there's no way in HELL he doesn't get pissed if someone were to flirt with you. They're lucky if all he does is kill them.

Feel free to make fun of him for not being able to swim. He'll absolutely make you regret it, but do it anyway it'll be funny.

Am I the only one that thinks he'd be great with kids? 🤚

Like COME ON- the dude probably helps take care of the baby monkeys on his mountain. He tells them cool stories to get them riled up. Will lay down and let them play with his hair while you read or sing to him.

Give this man kids I dare you.

That's a topic for a different post 😌

Likes kissing you on the top of the head, will also lay his forehead against yours just to be close to you.

These two designs I really like for him! Y'all let me know in the comments which version is your favorite <3

💙

The destined one may look like Wukong, but they're certainly different in... most areas.

Being selectively mute makes things a good share more difficult to communicate with him than Wukong, but it has it's charms.

You'd just been... tagging along with him. He didn't mind, unlike the wolves and undead he'd been beating through, you proved no threat to him.

He figured you would just leave on your own- or die. But by some miracle even he didn't understand, you stuck by him through rain and dust storms alike. By the time you made it to the New West he felt obligated to keep you around.

For the first time since you started following him, you were actually in danger. And to both of your surprises, he dropped what he was doing to protect you.

Don't bother asking him why. Whether you do, or simply tell him thank you, he'll just wave you off. But you notice him walking closer to you than normal after that. No longer were you left to catch up with him while he sprinted off; he'd keep stride with you now, glancing at you every now and then.

He CAN talk, and he probably surprises you the first time he does. It's not even for something important. It's just one fateful night where you happen to decide to mess with his hair. You'd pull away after a moment and he'd rumble out a little, "Don't stop."

Now that you KNOW he can talk, it's even more annoying when he refuses to answer you.

He finds it amusing when you get frustrated with him about it. He can't help it. The whole time you're grumbling or ranting at him, he's just staring at you with his stoic face... thinking about how cute you are.

Feel free to give him a name. Not like he'll argue with whatever you pick-

But really, please call him something other than "the destined one". He'd never really needed a name before, but he'd treasure whatever you decide to call him.

He probably has a nickname for you too, he just only says it in his head...

Will click his tongue at you to get your attention. (Absolutely does the 'tsk tsk tsk' thing people do to call their cats)

Speaking of getting your attention- ^ remember how monkeys show affection by just kind of grabbing each other and squeezing and pressing their head against each other?

Yeeeeah. He's a touchy monkey. He won't ask for affection, so he kind of just does it himself. Will rub his head on you, not unlike how cats or rabbits do to mark things they like. Except he's just doing it to be affectionate.

Gets cuteness aggression and WILL just grab you.

If it wasn't obvious, his love languages are physical touch and quality time.

Doesn't need help putting armor on, but if you want to help he won't stop you. (The closeness makes his heart beat fast)

If you were ever both in a bad spot- being threatened and not in a place to put up a good fight, he'd cover your body with his and bare his fangs at whatever was trying to hurt you guys to intimidate it. (It probably wouldn't work- but it's an instinctual response.)

If your feet got cold in the snow in the New West he'd pick you up and let you rest on his back for awhile.

Likes when you rely on him like that, it makes him feel stronger. And besides it just "being his destiny", knowing you'll get hurt if he loses helps him focus during fights.

Terribly jealous individual.

The glare he would give someone is straight up deadly. Watch out for how his tail flicks around when he's irritated too 🤭.

Absolutely adores the sound of your voice, it could bring him out of a coma fr.

Doesn't mind being little or big spoon, he just likes cuddling. Wraps his tail around you when you do.

Always always makes sure you eat before he does, even though he's the one doing all the fighting.

Will let you win play fights (most of the time).

Hearing him laugh is the cutest thing ever I swear- It probably took you off guard the first time you manage it.

Doesn't know how to take compliments.

Probably short circuited the first time you complimented his appearance.

Very gentle, slow kisser. Likes having you in his lap, but will grab cheeky kisses every now and then too. Will tilt your chin up when you kiss, every time.

Art by @marcu-bug

[kesujo]

Compensation

Happy Birthday Taeyeon!! :D

Word count: 9k

The positives of being selected as Taeyeon’s partner for a two-person performance for her upcoming concert tour: you know your talent is being recognized, you get to perform in front of tens of thousands of people, you get to do a two-person performance with Taeyeon, and most of all, you get to have these one-on-one sessions with the beautiful, talented, sexy KPop star.

You don’t know why she chose to wear the shirt she was wearing, what essentially amounts to a normal white T-Shirt that comes up short on her right side, baring that half of her stomach, but you are thankful for the pleasant feast for your eyes. What makes the window into her abs an even more mouth-watering sight is when, occasionally, her pink sweatpants slide down her slim waist and reveal what look to be upper hem of the black underwear she’s wearing.

The negatives of being selected as Taeyeon’s partner for a two-person performance for her upcoming concert tour: an added amount of pressure to be perfect, potential for backlash and hate comments from obsessive jealous fans, additional nerves from having to perform such risqué moves with such an alluring woman, and worst of all, how terrible you feel for keeping Taeyeon so late because of all the mistakes you are making during this practice session. It’s eating at you so much that not even the sight of the top part of Taeyeon’s black underwear, even more visible than before, can rejuvenate you.

While you’re beating yourself up every time you have to stop and correct your mistakes, even the ones you’ve made already, Taeyeon remains patient. You honestly feel Taeyeon is completely justified in yelling at you; in fact, you are sure that if the choreographer for the dance was able to make it, she would be chewing you out. You can see the exhaustion on Taeyeon’s face, too: at the beginning of the session, she greeted you with a warm smile and a voice full of energy. Now, the rate of her breathing can be seen in the visible rise and fall of her chest, sweat from her forehead glistening off the pale light of the studio, her lips permanently parted to help her catch her breath.

The only credit you’ll give yourself is that this is the first time you’ve done a two-person performance with such a high-profile partner, and one that’s as damn attractive as Kim Taeyeon is. However soft her skin appears in pictures, however well-defined her curves have seemed to have developed in the last decade or so, it all is amplified by a thousand while in her presence, while your hands are tightly clasping her hands, her arms, or occasionally, her exposed waist. Normally, you might’ve thanked the Lord for giving you this chance to be so up-and-personal with an idol you’ve admired for so long, but today, it only serves as a distraction and further frustration towards yourself.

“Five-minute break?”

“I can keep going.”

“Well, I need a break.”

“Oh.” You feel yourself flush a little. “Er, yeah, sure.”

She offers you a small smile before turning around, heading to her bag leaning against the wall of the practice room. You try not to stare too hard at her retreating figure, but the view of her thin waist that curves outward to her rather shapely romp is so captivating that, when she reaches her bag, you’re barely able to snap your eyes back onto yourself.

There is no time to rest. Sure, Taeyeon still looks incredibly good despite being so clearly fatigued—in fact, she’s a different kind of attractive with her slightly disheveled appearance—but seeing it is what keeps you rooted in place. Taeyeon has earned the right to rest; you, on the other hand, have not.

As you begin practicing again, your attention fades away from Taeyeon and towards fighting against the sluggishness your limbs from hours of repetition and intense physical activity. By yourself, you feel better about nailing the steps and movements, but hearing the music in your head as you dance is different than dancing with the music actually playing which is different than dancing with the music and in tandem with Taeyeon.

Pound the movements into your muscles. Do them again and again and again until your limbs shift into place on their own after each step.

“Kaiser, you should take a break too.”

You shake your head. “It’s ok, I’m fine.”

She frowns, the beckoning motion of her hand catching the corners of your peripheral vision. “Come! Let’s watch the choreography video again together.”

Hearing that causes you to stop. “Yeah. Sure.”

You aren’t being lazy. Watching the choreography video again is a productive use of your time; maybe you can glean something from this viewing, or maybe Taeyeon can point out something that will help you.

Math, science, literature, English, all of them are subjects you never really understand. Dancing, however, is different. In school, even with tutoring, your test scores were never any good, but with dancing, everything makes sense. Learning choreographies, even the more intense, complex ones, has always come pretty naturally to you. No challenge you ever faced was something a night’s sleep couldn’t fix. You figured doing a two-person choreography wouldn’t be much of an issue, not that you were ever going to turn down a chance to be performing alongside Taeyeon.

What you hadn’t anticipated is how different two-person choreographies are compared to both group choreographies and solo ones: the important part of group choreographies is to flow with the entire group, and make sure the unit as a whole look as one, while solo choreographies allow for more freedom and freestyling but also greater attention to detail, as any mistake will be easily noticeable as the focal or sole performer. A two-person choreography seems to mix the most challenging parts of both types: it requires the attention to detail of a solo performance while also demanding the conformity of a group performance. Being one of two performers, not only will your mistakes be noticeable, but it will also mess up the flow of your partner; additionally, you needed to pay close attention to your partner, especially since the main attraction is Taeyeon, meaning it’s also on you if she decides to improvise a little bit or happens to make a mistake, meaning you need to know the choreography better than Taeyeon, and also, since she’s the singer and focal point for the audience, you need to make sure that everything you do makes her shine, and also…

“Are you ok? Do you need more water? I brought an extra, if you want it,” Taeyeon turns to the side, reaching into her bag and pulling out another plastic bottle.

You start to shake your head, but having her just about pushing the bottle in your hand gives you no choice but to accept it. “Thank you, Ms. Taeyeon.”

Hearing that, the idol lets out a chuckle. “Still insisting on using honorifics?”

You hang your head. “Sorry, I’m just … it doesn’t feel right to say … to do otherwise.”

“No, it’s ok! Try it. ‘Taeyeon’.”

You can feel her expectant gaze, and with how close she is to you, you can only hope the flush on your cheeks isn’t too obvious. “Um … er, ok, Taeyeon.”

Her face lights up. “Yeah! See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

This is just her being nice. She doesn’t mean anything further by it. You’ve read somewhere that people tend to overestimate how attracted someone is to you the more attractive you perceive the other person to be. You’ve heard stories from your dancer friends that Taeyeon is among the kinder idols in the industry, but experiencing it first hand, could you even be faulted for getting the wrong idea?

After watching the demo through, you’re ready to get back up, but Taeyeon motions for you to stay seated. Confused, thinking she perhaps wants to watch the video again, you sit back down, but instead, she says, “You’re still sweating so much, drink some more water, you hardly touched it.”

“Ah,” you feel like you can’t even drink water normally though, especially when she’s so close and when she’s watching you so intently. And, sure enough, the swig of water you take spills the water all around your mouth, down the sides of your face, and directly onto your shirt. “Mmm—!” you quickly put the water bottle down, using your free hand to wipe your face while you swallow the water, “—ah, sh—…”

Your embarrassment peaks higher when Taeyeon lets out a small giggle. “No need to rush, I’m not going to confiscate the water bottle I gave you.”

“Ah, right, sorry…”

Taeyeon silently lets you clean up and then stands up when you’re done. “Ok. Ready?”

You internally take a deep breath and nod. Get your shit together. There’s no time to be all shy and red-faced like some lovestruck maiden. You have work to do. A lot of work. “Yeah.”

The two more hours of practice you two manage to get in are a bit more productive, but it’s still mostly you making mistakes, you fumbling and missing the beat and incorrect hand placements and footwork. Taeyeon, with her infinite patience, doesn’t complain, remaining understanding up until she decides to call it, citing it being past midnight already.

As you pack up, you can still see how heavily Taeyeon is breathing, and from how sluggish her movements are as she packs up, your guilt starts to consume you even more than it already has.

“Get home quickly and get some good sleep, ok?”

It’s those well wishes, that you don’t even feel you deserve, that push you to say, “Taeyeon, um…” she turns around, a smile on her albeit weary face, “…I’m so sorry for today. I just kept messing up and wasting your time, and now, because of me, you’re going home so late…”

“Oh no! No need to apologize! I made a lot of mistakes too!”

It’s funny that she says that because you honestly can’t recall a single mistake that Taeyeon did. Is it because you were too consumed with your own mistakes to notice Taeyeon’s, or is she just saying that to be nice? In your mind, at least, the answer is pretty clear. “Is there anything I can do to make it up to you? One of my friends works at a spa with really good reviews, I can ask them to give you a really nice discount, or maybe I can treat you to a meal, or…”

You trail off when you see Taeyeon pursing her lips, clearly pondering something. You let her think for a second, but the second becomes ten, which becomes thirty, which becomes a minute, and while you’re hesitant to interrupt her thought process, the silence is starting to eat at you. “…did you think of something?”

“Hm?” Taeyeon’s attention shifts back to you. “Oh! No, sorry. I was just … you really don’t need to think like that, Kaiser. It was good practice for me too, and a good workout! I’ve been staying at home too much these days.”

“What were you thinking about? I want to help, in any way possible.” Taeyeon seems a bit hesitant, so you push further. “Please. It’ll make me feel better.” Wait… “Sorry, that makes it sound like I’m being selfish, but I really do want to make it up to you.”

“It…” Taeyeon trails off again, but this time, the silence doesn’t last longer than ten seconds. “…if you really insist, then…”

“I do. I insist.”

“…then, maybe, there is something you can help me with?”

“Of course! Anything!”

Taeyeon sets her bag back down, and while you’re questioning what she’s doing, walking back to the center of the room, she indicates for you to follow her.

Well, it’s not like it matters what she wants me to help her with.

So, you also set your bag down and follow her, stopping a few steps short of the idol, who is situated in the middle of the room.

“These days, I’ve been so busy, I’ve hardly had any time to myself.”

“Oh…” You only become more confused. Does she want you to cheer her on? You, who is essentially a stranger to her? “…I’m sorry to hear that. That must be rough.” Does she want you to pay her back by being her friend? Because that’s ‘payment’ you are more than willing to offer.

“It’s ok. It’s maybe a good thing, since I’m usually at home, by myself, whenever I don’t have any work.”

Just when you think you’re starting to understand things, Taeyeon throws you this curveball that lands you squarely back on square one. “Oh. I see.” You’re absolutely stumped. You want to be empathetic, but it doesn’t seem like she is seeking it.  You thought she might’ve been seeking companionship, but that doesn’t seem to be exactly right, either. Or maybe it still is? “Um, well, that’s…” it didn’t sound like that, though. Unless Taeyeon usually pokes fun at herself like this as a kind of coping mechanism for her loneliness? Should you play along? Is that too impolite?

“Sorry, I don’t mean to be so obtuse. What I’m trying to say, is that it’s usually hard for me to find time to meet people when I’m busy, and when I’m not, it’s hard to find motivation.”

Oh, so she is asking for companionship. But then … why not someone else? Namely, someone of her gender? “That sounds really lonely.” You don’t want to overstep your boundaries though. If it happens that you’re wrong and you offer to be friends with Taeyeon, whom you have only met sparingly over the last two weeks, the last thing you want to do is for her to be uncomfortable with your advances and start to have second thoughts about this partnership.

“It is…” her eyes slowly drift to you, and for some reason, a chill runs up your spine. Why that is, you’re unsure, “…so, I was hoping that you could help me with that.”

Was this real? Was Kim Taeyeon—the Kim Taeyeon, industry legend, globally famous, withstanding the test of time by routinely being noted as among the most popular female idols even now, asking for your companionship?

Wow … how jealous must her fans be? How jealous must your fellow dancer friends be? You’ve heard many stories, good and bad, from people in your industry about their interesting or unique interaction with various idols, but very rarely do you hear stories about idols seeking companionship from their backup dancers as Taeyeon is. All that hard work, all that—

“It’s been so long since I’ve had my pussy stretched out properly, after all.”

—hard work, years of practicing, years of dedication to your craft, making connections and climbing the lad—

Wait.

“Do you think you can do that for me?”

Wait.

“W—”

Taeyeon is looking at you through the mirror without a hint of irony. You don’t know what to feel; in fact, you don’t even know if you’re feeling anything. Your whole face is on fire, and there’s a painful tightness in your chest that you realize a few seconds into staring dumbly at Taeyeon is your heart beating at an unhealthily, unnaturally fast rate.

“—W-W-Wha—…um, u-uh, what did—what did you—”

“It’s ok, Kaiser.” The stage name you chose all those years ago has, regrettably, stuck, but too many people know you by the name. So, as much as the name invokes memories of your younger years, when you were obsessed with the German culture and aesthetic and thought it would be cool to be referred to as an ‘emperor’, as in an ‘emperor of dance’, you try to not let it bother you so much. All those years it pestered you, until now, when the name rolling of Taeyeon’s tongue sends another shiver up your spine. Why does it sound so fucking sexy when Taeyeon says it? “This isn’t a test. You were asking if you could help me in any way, right?”

Ok, now you truly can’t believe what’s happening.

Although rare, you have, in fact, heard of some dancers befriending idols, or at least getting on friendly terms with them. So, in a way, while you never would’ve ever expected it to happen to you, befriending an idol is something that is actually something that is possible to happen in reality.

This? Whatever this is. This—this, all of this, any, or, even the slightest bit, the slightest hint of this. None of this happens in real life.

“Unless … you don’t want to?”

“N-No!”

It’s because you’re a man of your word. You decided you would help Taeyeon in any way she wanted it, and aren’t one to turn away in the face of this … this unfathomable request. That’s what you want to tell yourself, but your cock straining against your boxers and your pants is telling you something else entirely.

“Great!” Taeyeon beams at you through the mirror, then turns to face you. You can barely bring yourself to meet her gaze though; one second your eyes are locked, and the next, it’s looking at your shoes. Her smile is too luminescent, her beauty too blinding, that you can’t even look her in the eye. You tell yourself this, trying to pretend like you aren’t some dumb, lovestruck maiden who was just serenaded a confession to by her long-time crush. “Then, do you want to start by stripping me?”

“…may I?”

This time, when you lift your gaze to meet Taeyeon’s, she smiles at you with a bewildered kind of smile that makes you feel dumb but is so pretty that you forget that shame real quick. “Yes. Please, by all means.”

She doesn’t flinch in the slightest as you approach, and in fact seems to welcome you by the way she starts lifting her arms as you close in on her.

This is really happening. She really does want me to strip her. She’s not reacting negatively, she’s not pulling away last second…

Every step you take towards her is another bit of confidence you receive, and when you’re situated right in front of her, you swear you can feel something change. Her breath feels ever so slightly heavier, her chest is heaving ever so slightly more, the corners of her lips curl further up—something, something about Taeyeon feels impatient, like a hungry hyena eyeing a lion feasting on its prey, waiting for it to finish so that it can devour the remains of the carcass.

When your fingers curl around the bottom hem of her shirt, your knuckles brush against her abs, but Taeyeon doesn’t flinch. In fact, she begins lifting her chin, in preparation for you to lift the piece of clothing off her head.

Fuck, her skin is so soft.

What is it gonna feel like against mine?

When it’s sticky and glimmering with sweat, how sexy is she gonna look?

Not wanting to keep her waiting, you pull the shirt over her head and let it gently fall to your side. She’s wearing a grey bra underneath, a fact that takes a whole minute to internalize, as your eyes are too busy taking something else in.

“Are my boobs that pretty?”

“Oh.” Busted. The good news is that Taeyeon doesn’t seem to care much. “Sorry.”

Taeyeon laughs. “What for?” She carries the same, bewildered smile on her face, one that is equally amused and intrigued. “Do you want to take this off too, or should—”

“I’ll do it.”

There’s something about the conviction in your voice that takes Taeyeon aback. Being in the industry for so long, having worked with so many people, and having been fairly well-known for as many years as she has, Taeyeon has of course had her fair share of experiences in which the people she’s working with are starstruck by her. While it’s quite cute to see someone so much bigger than her acting so reserved, like a lost little puppy, it’s only the actions that are cute; your body, on the other hand, is anything but. Being in such close proximity to you, being bathed in your body heat and, most of all, feeling your well-defined arms and chest in her hands is the ultimate reason why Taeyeon decided to overlook that small personality quirk. And, when you so deliciously offered yourself to her on a silver platter, Taeyeon really had no choice but to pounce. Would the starstruck, fanboyish behavior remain even when her body is pressed against yours, and your cock is buried deep inside her swelteringly hot cunt? Even if it is, Taeyeon figured she needed you enough that she wouldn’t mind it.

But now, seeing your confidence start to rise, Taeyeon can start to feel her knees becoming weak.

“Hmm…”

What you interpret as a hum of content, from finally being freed of the restrictive undergarment cupping her boobs, is actually an anticipatory hum of arousal. And, as you take a moment to marvel at the sight of Taeyeon’s bare breasts, supple and soft and somehow a shade paler than the rest of her skin, contrasted by the light almond color of her areola with a pair of gradually hardening nipples at the center, Taeyeon’s mind is racing with all sorts of possibilities.

When she proposed this, Taeyeon figured she would have to take the lead and was ultimately fine with that. While Taeyeon doesn’t love taking the lead, she’s so horny that she’s willing to do anything. The realization that, maybe, she can let herself just be dominated by you is dampening her panties with more than just sweat.

“Can I…?”

Taeyeon gives you an encouraging nod, and suddenly, your hands are all over them. As expected, your hands are just barely enough to cover its entire surface area, and as your fingers sink into the soft, plush texture of her tits, Taeyeon lets out a sigh.

“Ooh…”

Every passing moment, the smile and the nod and the pleased hum and now the contented sigh, everything is invigorating and emboldening you more, and as you feel Taeyeon respond positively to the massaging and kneading motions of your hands, you sink deeper into the phenomenon that is Kim Taeyeon.

“…god, it’s so soft…”

“Are you going to play with my boobs all day,” Taeyeon’s voice is notably deeper and huskier, and seeing her eyes clouded with lust sends a shiver down your spine, “or are you going to take off the rest of my clothes, babe?”

Taeyeon is seriously a work of art. It seems so effortless, the sexiness she oozes, and it’s so natural that you wonder how intentional it all is. The way she confidently bared her half-exposed midriff and the straightlaced expression that accompanied the filthy words that left her mouth, the unabashed way she sighs and how openly she indulges in your touch, it was all getting to your head already, but that word?

She says it so casually, too. Like, it’s an everyday occurrence, and, for a brief moment, you indulge in a fantasy in which you’re satisfying the needs of your insatiable girlfriend. It’s a comfortable dream, and the way she just melts at your touch, the wistful look in her eyes, the soft parting of her strawberry lips, her drawn-together eyebrows, you can almost believe that this is the tenth, twentieth time you’ve done this to her. But, in reality, you know that none of that is true.

Fuck, she’s going to be the death of me.

Taeyeon doesn’t even know it, but you’re already completely bound in her charm. Her endless patience, her bottomless kindness, paired together with the brazen nature of her proposal and the shameless way she expresses her enjoyment of your fingers, now circling her areola and lightly pinching her nipples, it’s simply inevitable. You’re trapped, but you don’t know if you even want to escape.

“Sorry, but, it’s just that, your boobs too beautiful, Taeyeon.”

“…and I’m glad you think that, but…” your eyes meet Taeyeon’s, and this time, her smile contains within it a considerably greater amount of lust, “…I was hoping you would be playing with another part of my body by now.”

It feels like Taeyeon must have some kind of mind-control over you, with how easily and freely manipulates your emotions. What’s more, you’re 100% sure Taeyeon doesn’t mean to do it either; all she’s doing is telling you what she’s feeling, what she wants from you, but that’s all it takes for you to fall head-over-heels in line with her demands, like a well-trained police dog. And, what’s more, hearing and seeing her growing lust in response to your hands and your skills and just you grows your confidence that much more.

“Then, let me grant your wish.”

Taeyeon broke out into a smile. “Oh, you’re quoting my own song to me?”

Your own lips curl into a smile. “Busted.” Your fingers curl around her pink sweatpants and black underwear and give them a firm, downward tug, sending them tumbling down her legs. Even before they pool at her feet, your eyes are magnetized onto the small patch of hair covering her privates; you can tell that it’s been perhaps a few days since she last shaved, but you can also tell she takes good care of her hair down there.

Her milky-white legs, her slim waist, her taut stomach, her supple breasts, and the thing that you can’t rip your eyes off is that small patch of pubic hair. Seeing Taeyeon’s tits and feeling it in your hands is more than enough to cause a tightness in your pants, but the thing is, Taeyeon has been no stranger to showing off her rather impressive rack. The number of people who have seen her full, bare boobs are probably not very many, especially those Taeyeon consider potential sexual partners, but form-hugging outfits, photos taken from certain angles, even her nipples are something that one can more or less make out from various pictures floating around on the internet. This, however: the little bit of slightly-unkempt pubic hair covering the intersection of her legs, does not fit into any of those categories. Unlike her tits, which she has given her fans many views of at least partially, this is something far more intimate, far more hidden away and thus, why you find yourself getting so, so incredibly turned on from the sight of.

So you tell yourself. It’s because of that, and definitely not because you’re some pervert.

“I hope you don’t mind a bit of hair.”

You can tell there’s some embarrassment in Taeyeon’s voice in the way it holds a bit of laughter, but you’re much too horny to care. “It’s sexy.”

“Is it?”

You nod, your right hand gently running over the hair. Taeyeon gasps at an almost imperceptibly quiet volume, that you might’ve otherwise missed if her lips weren’t so close to your ears. “Yeah…” Feeling her shiver at your touch emboldens your every move, and hearing a louder gasp as the pressure of your fingers against her crotch increases pushes you to finally say, “…and look, you’re so wet, too.”

“Ooh, god…”

Fuck. Everything about her, from the way she melts at your touch to her sexy groans to her svelte body screaming its desire—or rather, it’s need—for your touch, for you, turns you on more and more. Currently, you’re focused on the gradual movement of your hand, from the patch of pubic hair to further down south, but in the back of your mind, you’re fantasizing about ripping your pants off and shoving yourself all at once inside the idol’s tight core.

“God, you’re so sexy, Taeyeon.” When your fingers finally make it to her wet folds, your own anticipation also comes to a head when they make first contact with the damp, slightly sticky skin.

“Oo-Ooh!” Taeyeon’s moan drowns out yours, shuddering more noticeably and her legs wobbling a little at the contact. “Y-Yes, god, your fingers…”

Your fingers are now in full contact with her moist slit, each back-and-forth motion fueling the lust of both the idol and yourself. “And it’s even more wet down here.”

“Fffuuck, Kaiser…”

“Is this what you wanted?” You’re not even sure where this comes from, but feeling Taeyeon shudder as your breath tickles her ear empowers you to continue, “Is this the part of your body you were hoping I would be playing with by now?”

“Y-Yes, yes, your fingers feel so good, Kaiser.”

Hearing the glowing response is the final bit of confidence you need Taeyeon to give you to give you the reassurance that, in the moment, the two of you are equals. “You’re so desperate. What would your fans think if they saw you, mewling and whimpering like this?”

“Ff—ffuck, fuck,” Taeyeon’s breath hitches as your thumb brushes against the area surrounding her clit. “Th-They, they would be mortified.”

“Wouldn’t they? Then, why are you so wet?”

Taeyeon legs nearly give way when your thumb comes down onto her clit. It’s only thanks to your arms wrapped around her and your legs supporting her legs that she’s able to remain upright. The entire time, your eyes have been trained on Taeyeon, drinking in every bit of the salacious sight before you: just minutes ago, the two of you were practicing your two-person dance choreography, looking into the mirror at yourselves with the purpose of picking out mistakes. This very room, that you’ve seen in various other dance practice videos of Taeyeon and other SM artists, a beacon of dedication and hard work and the SM excellence that is the reason why their artists are always the most popular and in-demand, now serving witness to one of it’s most seasoned and experienced occupants fully naked, red-faced and panting at the work of your fingers buried between her creamy, snowy-white thighs.

“Who-Who’s, who’s fault is that?”

“Hmm?” There’s some mixture of a grin and a confused look on your face. Is she referring the to choreography? Sure, it’s somewhat sensual, but it’s nothing more than what an experienced performer like Taeyeon has done in the past. “Me? What have I done?”

“Y-Your, your body, pressing up against mine, god, it felt so good, I couldn’t help but start wondering what your sweaty, hot body would feel like against mine…”

Fuck.

Is Taeyeon telling the truth? Did she really get so turned on by you during the dance practice that she asked you to fuck her right here and now? Not even wanting to wait to go to somewhere safer and more private, like her apartment or his apartment, but instead asking you to strip her clothes in the very place she was hard at work just minutes ago?

Fuck.

Everything about the encounter thus far seems to be pointing towards Taeyeon telling the truth, and while Taeyeon’s repeated reassurance and reactions bolstered your confidence to the point that you no longer feel bound by the societal hierarchy Taeyeon’s status as an idol enforced upon you, this newly acquired knowledge revs your confidence up to dangerous levels.

“And then, you asked me if I you could help me with anything, and I really did try to hold it in, but when you insisted, I just couldn’t resist…”

So. She doesn’t just want to be fucked, she wants to be utterly and completely fucked, huh?

“The legendary Kim Taeyeon, loved by fans all around the world, and even loved amongst other idols.” By now, Taeyeon’s gasps have transformed into louder moans, her head leaning back into your chest as your fingers continue to work their magic on her hot sex. “Is it her that’s so fucking down bad that she’s asking the man she’s doing a two-person performance with to fuck her?”

“N-No, it’s, it’s just Taeyeon, who needs you so bad right now.”

You’ve done well to draw this out as long as you have, but hearing Taeyeon borderline begging for you is the last straw.

“Really?” Feeling you pull away from her causes Taeyeon to whine, but seeing you throw your shirt off shuts her up real quick. “Since you so nicely asked, why don’t I indulge you in all your dirtiest fantasies?”

“Would you?” Despite everything, Taeyeon still meets your eyes through the mirror and smiles widely at you. When you move to pull off your own sweatpants, her eyes flicker down and she turns around. “Wait.” You stop. “May I?”

Those big, pleading eyes, tilted upwards to meet your eyes, desperate, begging … how can you not oblige?

“Of course.” Taeyeon sinks to her knees, wasting no time in pulling your sweatpants off. “Although, I thought this was supposed to be me paying you back.”

“Oh don’t worry, you are paying me back.” Taeyeon leaves you no room to argue, seeing as she proceeds those words by palming the very noticeable bulge that had formed in your boxers. “You don’t know how much this thing has crossed my mind in the last couple of hours.”

“Fuck, Taeyeon…”

The low moan seems to echo about the spacious practice room, which is shortly joined by a sharp hiss when Taeyeon gives your boxers a firm downward tug, sending the undergarment sliding down your legs. A satisfied, lustful hum erupts from Taeyeon’s throat as her slim fingers wrap around your veinous girth, and when her palm comes into contact with it, you let out another moan. Your eyes stay trained on Taeyeon, who is laser-focused on the pulsating shaft mere inches from her face.

“Hmm, so warm…”

Her second hand comes into contact with your dick, and as it envelops it, her face draws ever closer.

There are so many sexy things about Taeyeon that it only now comes to your attention how alluring her lips are. And, as they naturally part while her hands being slowly pumping your shaft, inching ever closer to your cock, your mind begins to race with all sorts of lascivious thoughts. Those same lips, from which comes the perhaps the most beautiful music in all of K-Pop, soft, pink, luscious, hot, whose breath you can start feeling against your glans, filled not with a melodious sound but instead with your cock, you can’t even begin to fathom, is this really happening, is she really going to—

“Mmm.”

Taeyeon starts with a tentative lick, collecting the bit of precum that had leaked out of your tip. You let out a groan, and your dick pulsates painfully in Taeyeon’s vice grip. “You’re as big as I hoped you’d be.”

“I’m gla—ah, Taeyeon!” Taeyeon interrupts you mid-sentence, taking your glans into her lips and before you can even blink, half of your length has disappeared inside her mouth. You can feel her lips pressing against your shaft, and combined with the mind-blowingly sexy visual of those luscious, strawberry lips stretching around your girth and the feeling of her tongue running along the underside of your dick, you can’t help but let out a groan. “Fuck, god, so warm…”

She’s barely able to take two-thirds of your length, gripping the rest of it with both hands, and pauses to swirl her tongue around your dick before she starts pulling away. She doesn’t let your dick out of her mouth though; as her lips retreat, her hands take its place to smear the saliva her tongue so graciously deposited onto your shaft. Your eyes briefly flicker up to see the back-view of the kneeling Taeyeon before you, her back arched and her cute butt sitting atop her feet as she starts taking your length back into her mouth.

“God, your mouth is so good…”

This time, Taeyeon’s able to fit your entire length inside her mouth, and when she does, she tilts her head to allow her tongue a better angle to slather your length with saliva as she pulls away. Her tongue continues to run up and down your shaft as her head bobs back and forth along your cock, twisting and turning and, with the help of her hands, coats your member with a fine sheen of saliva. It’s only then that she releases you, giving your tip a firm lick for good measure before looking up at you. “How did that—”

You cut Taeyeon off, grabbing her by the arm and hoisting her to a standing position. “Turn around.” Wordlessly, Taeyeon obeys. “Bend over.”

Oh, fuck.

Your domineering commands causes a welling of excitement and arousal to bubble up inside her, and when your hands cup her ass, Taeyeon lets out a sharp gasp, arousal overflowing from every pore of her body. This is what she needs. This is exactly what she needs.

“God, please…”

Her softly muttered words don’t make it to your ears, or perhaps you just aren’t paying attention: your fingers are testing her labia, pushing them apart to see if you can peer deeper inside, but are just met with pitch-black darkness. In the corner of your eyes, you can see Taeyeon’s eyes trained on your reflection on the mirror, her hands resting on her knees to help stabilize them.

“Nice and wet for me?”

Taeyeon nods, smiling as you lift your eyes to meet the reflection of hers. “You have no idea.”

“Then, be a good girl and hold your cute little butt cheeks apart.”

Taeyeon, again, wordlessly obeys. With one hand on your dick and one on her waist, you find yourself needing to angle at a significant downward slope to meet her wet slit, but when it does, Taeyeon lets out another, sharp gasp.

“Fuck…” This time, she mutters at a louder volume, and when push yourself in, it transforms into a sharp, echoey moan. “Fffuck!” The sound of her pleasure bounces off the walls and smothers your own moan, and as your cock buries itself inside the inferno that is Taeyeon’s pussy, the moans from both of you grow louder. “Babe, fuck, it’s stretching me out so much!”

It’s so much hotter than you would’ve imagined, so much wetter than you could’ve thought, and most of all, so damn tight that you’re barely unable to push your entire length inside her before pulling out. That motion sends ripples and shivers down Taeyeon’s spine, and another moan erupts from her lips when you thrust into her again, this time fully hilting her, causing the crisp sound of her ass smacking against your hips to echo about the room with her moans.

“Fuck, so tight.”

“Yes, oh god, yes!” You reach out to grab her arms, pulling her arms backwards to use as handlebars to fuck her with. “Fuck me harder, babe!” You need to stand with considerable distance between your legs, but you barely even care about the slightly awkward stance; your mind is completely comprised of drilling into Taeyeon’s dripping wet cunt. “Yes, please, right there!” The more you drill into her, the more her juices sputter out onto your groin, the wetter the sounds of her ass smacking against you are.

“So much energy, especially after all that dancing.”

“I-I could say the same about you.”

Out of the corner of your eyes, you can see Taeyeon lifting her head, so you likewise rip your eyes away from the hypnotic, swaying motion of her tits to match her gaze. “Always have the energy to get plowed from behind, do you?”

“Only if you have the energy to do the plowing.”

It’s a wonder how Taeyeon can still look as gorgeous as she does, what with how violently you are rocking her body. In fact, her messy, tousled hair, her gently parted lips, her heaving chest, the visual the full-length mirror grants you is an exceedingly sexy version of Taeyeon that not her most salacious, thirst-trap Instagram pictures could hope to capture. Although the intense pressure of Taeyeon’s pussy seems to be working against you, feeling its fleshy, moist walls making way as it forces itself in and clings onto your shaft as you pull it out adds to your energy. Every satisfying smack!, every beautiful moan that tumbles out of Taeyeon’s lips, every time those juicy tits of hers shakes and sways to the rhythm of your hips, every second longer those alluring, lust-filled bed eyes bore into your soul, builds upon the lust filling every fiber of your being and tension building up in your nethers. It’s a hypnotically beautiful sight, watching Taeyeon’s tiny, but sturdy, frame shake as you continue to plow into her, but the more you sustain the awkward half-squatting position you’re doing, the more the burning in your quads takes the forefront of your mind.

“You like watching yourself being fucked like this?”

Taeyeon shamelessly nods. “Yes, it’s so fucking hot.”

“Why don’t we get closer to the mirror, then?”

Taeyeon nods, and you pull out of her. A slight shudder runs up Taeyeon’s spine as a bit more of her juices leak out of her sex, a steady trickling down her legs that you realize has left a tiny puddle on the floor. Taeyeon, seeing you look at the ground, turns around, her eyes also landing on the coalesced evidence of her lust. “Oh. Oops.” Taeyeon doesn’t seem the least bit worried, and in fact seems to be a bit turned on at the sight.

“Maybe the janitor will think it’s sweat.”

Taeyeon smiles. “Maybe.”

“Speaking of, when does the janitor usually come around to clean these rooms?”

Taeyeon shrugs. “In an hour or two, or maybe he’s making the round right now.”

The realization gives you pause, but seeing how flippantly Taeyeon turns around and begins walking to the mirror, you figure you shouldn’t care either. If the janitor happens upon the two of you fucking like wild animals, then you had better give him a damn good show.

You join Taeyeon, but quickly find yourself distracted by the soft swaying of Taeyeon’s cute, shapely ass. Again, you’re not sure how intentional it is, and you don’t end up getting to figure that out as, when Taeyeon reaches the mirror and turns around, catching you staring, she simply smiles softly. “I have an idea.”

“Oh?”

“I bet it was hard on your legs to fuck me like that, wasn’t it?”

You chuckle. “A little.”

“Then, why don’t I help you with that?” You look on with curiosity as Taeyeon plants both hands on the reflective surface and slowly starts lifting her left leg. “Help me?” Understanding what she’s trying to do, you quickly close the gap in two strides and catch her leg. “Thanks.” With your help, Taeyeon continues lifting her leg until it’s completely vertical. “That should be better for you.”

“Fuck…”

The impressive feat of flexibility is one thing, but the unobstructed sight of those pussy lips that were so tightly hugging your shaft moments ago causes your dick to twitch. Your lower half is screaming at you to hurry and bury yourself inside her already!, but your brain stops you, taking a moment to take in the beautiful sight, of Taeyeon’s flopping, glistening labia, her own cum trickling out of the pink lips and down her creamy white thighs.

“Do you like it?”

You nod. “It’s so fucking beautiful.”

Taeyeon giggles. “I never thought anyone would call that ‘beautiful’.”

“It is, though.”

“Do you think it’d look even more beautiful with that thick, veiny cock of yours wedged firmly between it?” You don’t need to be goaded any longer; with your left hand keeping Taeyeon’s left leg in place, your right hand guides your cock back into its sweltering abode, and the two of you groan in unison. “Fffuuck…”

“Hmm, yeah, it is quite beautiful like that.”

Your cheeky comment earns a giggle from Taeyeon. “I’m glad you think so.”

“And, I think you’re right.”

“Huh?” Taeyeon’s inquisitive expression quickly turns into shock which then turns into lustful as you pick up right where you left off, this time with renewed vigor. “Oh!”

“I think I can fuck you better like this.” If it weren’t for your legs bracing her right leg and now both hands holding her left leg in place, you’re sure Taeyeon would’ve fallen over already. It doesn’t take much for the faster and stronger strokes to start overwhelming her, every thrust pushing her face closer to the mirror until her cheek is flush with it.

“So much, oh god, so much…!”

“Leave it to Taeyeon, an idol with your caliber of experience, to think of ways to optimize things, including the most optimal way to be plowed into the dance practice room mirror.”

“Fuck, yes, give it to me!”

You find that even the feeling of the tensed calves of her left leg is turning you on. Every part of Taeyeon seems to be designed to arouse you, and the improved position channels that arousal: you still have to spread your legs slightly, but it’s not nearly as bad this time.

“This entire time, you were imagining being pounded into this mirror, taking in my fucking dick, weren’t you?”

“So much, you have no idea how much I needed this…”

“How can you even function as an idol when you’re surrounded so frequently by attractive men?”

Taeyeon shakes her head, or as much as she can with her face pressed against the cool, reflective material. “It-It’s not that, it’s just, it’s just you that made me so horny.”

You weren’t even fishing for compliments; you were just teasing her, saying anything that comes to mind, and hearing this from Taeyeon rebounds your ego from below the floor due to all those mistakes made during dance practice to now, where you’re not sure this room can contain it. With everything that had transpired in the last few minutes, you’re sure the synergy between the two of you has increased; if anything, this ‘compensation’ you’re giving to Taeyeon is going to make working with her easier, going forward.

But those thoughts are fleeting. Right now, you’re concentrated on drilling into Taeyeon, letting her leg rest on your shoulder and trapping it there with both hands, using it as leverage to piston into her faster and more fiercely by the second.

“It’s only my cock that you crave, is that what you’re saying?”

Taeyeon nods again. Her eyes are half-lidded, bits of drool staining the mirror; as an idol, one’s appearance is everything, but at that moment, that doesn’t seem to be a concern of hers. And, even still, Taeyeon still is drop-dead gorgeous, stunningly sexy, and it all makes you fuck her harder and faster.

“Yes! Only your cock, god, it’s so fucking hard inside me!”

“Fuck, Taeyeon…”

The longer your assault on Taeyeon’s pussy continues, the more tightly you hug her leg until you find your face pressed against it. You can also feel Taeyeon’s balance begin to falter, the overabundance of ecstasy turning her knees to jelly, but you can’t help it: your eyes have, once again, drifted to her tits, and seeing them jiggle in tandem with your thrusts causes your left hand to drift away from her legs and to her chest.

“Everything about you is so fucking sexy, I can’t believe it’s me who gets to enjoy this.”

Taeyeon lets out a sharper moan as she feels your fingers rubbing her areola. “F-F-Ffuck, you-you’re, it feels so good, I’m losing my mind, oh my god…” when your fingers close in on those delectable, swollen nipples, they give it a hard squeeze, eliciting a sharp squeal from the idol. “Oh!”

“You like that?”

Taeyeon nods. “Yes! Fffuck!” She lets out another squeal as you give the other nipple a pinch. “Fuck, oh my god, it’s so—nng!” Every time you pinch her nipples, it’s like an electric shock courses throughout her body. They’re so satisfying to squeeze, and the ecstatic reaction drives you even further, so you keep at it. “Fuck! God, I can’t—nng! It’s so much, it’s so much!”

It’s coming, and you’re desperately fighting against it. Just one more second, draw this out for just one more second, let me continue enjoying her pussy just one second longer…

“W-Wait!”

Your eyes snap to Taeyeon, who has opened hers and is looking at you, flustered but also somewhat panicked.

Fuck. What was I about to do? She’s an idol, and I don’t have a condom on. Was I about to—

“I don’t want to finish like this. Let’s go back there,” Taeyeon says, motioning to the pile of clothes in the middle of the room. You comply, pulling out and gently lowering her leg back onto the ground. You’re mostly relieved that Taeyeon intervened, and that it’s not quite over yet, but a small part of you wishes you could’ve came inside her. Taeyeon is an idol, after all, and as un-idol-like as she’s been acting so far, this is the one thing she’d probably always have to keep in her mind.

It doesn’t take a few steps before Taeyeon stumbles a little; you move quickly to grab onto her arms, helping back up, saying, “What’s wrong? Are you ok?”

Taeyeon smiles at you. “Yeah. I guess you just fucked me so hard, my legs feel a little wobbly.”

Your lust balloons inside you, and you can feel your cock twitching, rearing to bury itself back inside Taeyeon. Thinking about extending this for as long as possible is all you can do to stop yourself from grabbing Taeyeon, turning her around, and slamming your cock back inside her until you cum.

“Oh, ok.”

The way Taeyeon continues walking after saying something so fucking salacious, you again wonder if Taeyeon even knows how she’s affecting you.

“Let’s sit down. This way, it’s easy for us both.” You comply, sitting down on the hardwood floor with legs crossed, but before Taeyeon follows, she asks, “Is your phone in the pocket of your pants?” Curious, but too horny to ask why she needs to know, you simply nod, which is apparently all Taeyeon needs to turn around, and, before long, you’re hilting her again. “God, fuck, I can’t believe how much you’re stretching my fucking pussy out…”

“What kind of an idol uses such filthy language?”

“The type of idol that loves the feeling of her pussy being split apart by your nice, thick cock~”

You stretch your legs out, keeping Taeyeon’s legs spread apart with your knees while your feet dig into the hardwood floor of the practice room and your hands on her waist, lifting her up and slamming her back down repeated on your cock. “We should show your fans this performance.” Taeyeon lifts her head, momentarily meeting your eyes through the mirror before falling down onto your hot connection. Taeyeon lets out a whimper, leaning back against you, her hands resting on your upper thighs, trying to hold on as best she can while you buck her up and down your lap.

“G-God, please…”

“Do you think your fans would like that?”

Taeyeon shakes her head, her eyes never leaving the sight of your dick disappearing repeatedly into her sopping wet snatch. “N-No, I, I can’t…”

“But look how much you’re enjoying this.”

“It’s … I, I can’t, but … fuck, I can’t, you’re making me lose my mind…”

Before, all you were doing is holding Taeyeon back: mistake after mistake, fumbling and stumbling over yourself, complicating things for the ever-patient Taeyeon. Now, you two are engaged in a different kind of choreography, and this time, it’s you who is leading.

“God, you feel so good, I can’t believe it…”

“F-Fuck, Taeyeon…” As much as you try to fight it, it’s inevitable. The brief reprieve was just that: brief, and now, your orgasm is knocking at the door. “Taeyeon, I-I’m, I need to pull out—”

“No!”

The sharp tone of Taeyeon’s protest shocks you.

“Don’t you dare pull out!”

What? What if she gets pregnant? That kind of a scandal … am I going to have to father Taeyeon’s children? Or maybe she’s on the pill? Or maybe she would just get an abortion? Would she be able to do something like that privately?

As quickly as these thoughts enter your mind, so too do they exit.

“Fuck…”

In the end, this is what Taeyeon asked you for to compensate for all the extra time and effort your continual mistakes forced her to spend. It doesn’t matter what you think, all of this is for her. And, if she doesn’t want you to pull out, then—

“Fuck, cumming—!”

You repeatedly slam into the deepest parts of her pussy as stream after stream of your seed fills Taeyeon’s womb. “Yes! Fuck, more! Yes! Fill me up!” You swear you’re seeing stars, but your hips continue to ram into the tiny idol, as if on autopilot, the convulsing walls of Taeyeon’s pussy squeezing your cock with the desperation of a parched person squeezing the last drops of water from their water skin. “It’s—It’s so hot! Fffuck…” When your orgasm finally subsides, your grip of her waist loosens, and you lean back, planting your hands on the floor behind you.

“Oh, god…”

“T—…Tae, Taeyeon…”

“Hmm?”

Still trying to catch your breath, you meet Taeyeon’s eyes through the mirror, who you can tell is pretty close to spent as well. “Wh-Why, Why…”

“Oh. For this.” Grabbing sweatpants, she fishes out your iPhone and opens the camera with practiced ease. Before you can process what’s happening, she points your phone’s camera at the mirror, poses cutely for it, and snaps a picture.

“Wha—?!”

“There,” Taeyeon says proudly, opening up the gallery and showing the picture to you: while your shocked expression and her cute smile is visible in the picture, the clear focal point is the creampie that’s leaking out of her hole that’s still stuffed full with your cock, and, incidentally, the cute little patch of slightly damp pubic hair that’s sitting atop it. “Now, you have this for me.”

You stare dumbly at Taeyeon. “I … I don’t understand.”

Taeyeon dismounts you, not caring that your creampie is now leaking onto the floor, and sits facing you. “Remember how I said it was hard for me to meet people?”

“Um…” honestly, you’re still reeling from the mind-blowing orgasm that you have trouble recalling even minutes ago, right before when Taeyeon asked you to fuck her, “…right, yeah.”

“Well, now that you have that picture, if you ever want to meet up with me and I don’t feel like it, I’ll have a harder time saying ‘no’.”

“Wha…” there are so many things wrong with what Taeyeon just said, but chief among them being, “…why would you trust me with this?”

“You’re a good guy. Plus, I definitely don’t want this to be a one-time thing.” Taeyeon is absolutely radiating with beauty, and paired with that blinding smile, it’s hard to imaging this very woman is the same woman who insisted you creampie her just moments ago.

“…well…”

It still doesn’t make sense to you. Nothing about anything in the last however-many-minutes makes any sense to you: the fact that the Kim Taeyeon, adored and sought after by many, asked you to not only fuck her, but cum inside her, the fact that she just took a picture of that creampie on your phone, and that she’s insisting you use it to essentially blackmail her into … what? To fuck more? To just hang out? Was Taeyeon looking for companionship, in the end?

“You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to. I just…”

“Yeah,” Hearing your response puts a smile back on Taeyeon’s face, “I’ll make sure to message you from time to time.”

“I would love that.”

The two of you clean up, and as you leave, you pass by a janitor who is suspiciously avoiding your gaze.

Is that something to worry about…? Surely not, right?

[gumiluver]

YOU BULLY! ~ JJK NSFW SCENARIOS

synopsis: they just can’t help but bully such a sweet thing like you <3

cover pic credit: @/tyler19844 on pinterest | border credit: @/cafekitsune

luvers <3: afab!reader, gojo satoru, geto suguru, nanami kento, zen’in/fushiguro toji, ryomen sukuna

byr/byi: the content in this fic is not suitable for individuals under the age of 18, minors please do not interact (you will be blocked!) | wc: 4.7k

cw: toxic relationships, p in v sex, pussy smacking (satoru), dacryphilia (satoru, kento) , overstimulation (satoru), edging (satoru), pet names (all luvers <3), slight exhibitionism (suguru), gaslighting (suguru), spanking (kento), power imbalance (kento), size kink (kento, toji), manhandling (kento, toji, sukuna), daddy kink (kento), blowjob (toji), facefucking (toji), brat taming (toji, sukuna), mean toji :(, cervix fucking (sukuna), double dicked ‘kuna <3

A/N: I went crazy with toru & toji #sorrynotsorry :3

SATORU G. -> THE TEASE 🖤

To tease or to torture? For Satoru, there’s no in between. There can be bliss in being teased to a point of torture, and Satoru loves to see you tumble and fall into a pit of uncharted euphoria that has you ready to start crying from pleasure.

A sly sadist in reality, especially when it comes to a pretty little thing like you who saunters and sways around him so delicately, so tantalizingly, basically begging to be touched and bruised by the all-seeing sorcerer.

But when you cry so sweetly for him to ease up, to stop teasing you, to just fuck your brain stupid, he can’t help but tease you just a bit more to drive you to the brink of insanity.

“I haven’t even touched you and you’re already this wet?” Satoru snickers, pride lacing his words as he stares down at your drooling pussy that’s just crying for him. He trails his fingers slowly towards your inner thighs, watching you shiver with anticipation and need.

You’re huffing in frustration, feebly bucking your hips upwards to make Satoru touch you harder, firmer. If you could, you’d shove his stupidly big hand out of the way so you could hop on his dick and fucking finish the job, but it seemed tonight would not play into your favor.

Your clit was throbbing, borderline aching with want and need, and if you didn’t get it soon you swear you were gonna start—

“Aww—you cryin’ now, sweet girl? Heh, needy little thing aren’t ya,” he chuckles, a condescending smile gracing his face as he gives your pussy a small smack—earning Satoru a pretty squeal from your throat that had your eyes squeezing shut.

He won’t lie, he does feel a tad bit bad when he sees your eyes and nose scrunched up like that. A twinge undeniably forming in his chest, but the twinge in his cock made all that sympathy go out the window. It made him want to smack it again, and again, and again.

He dances his fingers along your pussy, rubbing slow, circular motions to soothe your mound and make you hum in appreciation. His hand becoming more and more slicked from your essence, and fuck—he really couldn’t help himself now.

“Like fuckin’ music to my ears baby,” he growls, giving your pussy three more smacks, effectively making those fat princess tears fall down your cheeks as you grace him with a cry of his name so delicious that it fucking poisons him with thoughts of consuming you.

He brings the hand that smacked your pussy up towards his nose, and you can hear him heave a sigh—no, a growl—that could only be described as primal. Your scent alone has him throwing his head back and fisting his cock in his hand; ooohhh no, it’s far too late for him to return to his playfully pleasant self now—you’re fucked.

He grips the base of his shaft tightly while lining his cock up with your entrance, but instead of sheathing inside you fully he only dips his tip in and stills—fucking. stills.

The annoyed groan that slips past your lips couldn’t be helped really. Before you could scold him, you see (and hear) him suck his hand clean of your cum.

Groaning deeply from the taste, he gets lost in the divinity of you and inadvertently thrusts his tip inside you further, making you choke out a cry as he closes his eyes to revel in this beautiful fucking bliss.

“js’ fuckin’ put it in, ‘toru” you snap, panting and huffing at him out of sheer frustration. You were losing it, getting so fed up from his senseless torture that you start debating on finishing the job yourself—again.

He was too pussydrunk—forgoing the moment to forever basque in your cunt. You just needed to slide a hand down there so you could pamper your neglected clit but surely enough, your plans become thwarted by the very person inflicting your demise—again.

“If you don’t like my teasing, then why are you moaning—,” he questions, quickly reaching for your sneaky hands and pins them above your head with a single one of his.

“—why are you so wet—” he continues, trailing his other hand down the crevices of your body, paying special attention to your most delicate areas. To make sure you were paying attention to him, he hovers his hand over your pussy again as if he were to spank it, not even caring if his dick would get caught in the crossfire.

“—and why aren’t you pushing me away, hm?” he punctuates his argument with a sudden and firm thrust of his cock, fully sheathing you so far down his shaft that you can fucking *taste* him. You’re seeing white, instantly arching into Satoru’s touch, screaming out a cacophony of different versions of his name. All prior thoughts leave your mind at the sudden intrusion, finally feeling some semblance of friction to push you closer to the edge.

And, yet again, he stills.

He grins wickedly, wanting to see what your next actions are. He sees the gears in your head are shifting and quickly rests his other hand on your tummy, effectively immobilizing you to him. Gojo didn’t have to look at you to know that you were about to lose it. What’s one more push hm?

“Do you think you deserve my cock?” he says, but the long and drawn out whimper that leaves your lips was enough to tell him you’re about to tumble forward and give in to him. The fat tears falling down your cherry cheeks, drool smeared across your face, the small little grunts and stifled moans you give whenever you try and move your hips to feel more of his cock, everything about you told Satoru how much you wanted him.

But he wanted to hear you say it, and he wasn’t moving until he gets his way.

“C’mon sweet girl, tell me—do you deserve it?”

SUGURU G. -> THE MANIPULATOR 🖤

Suguru loves an easy target, and it’s even better knowing how sweet this particular target can be—if he sets the pace right.

He makes it seem as if it were your fault that you were in this predicament. Who falls for these sorts of stints anyways? It’s like you wanted him to take control of you and make you his little plaything.

It was simple enough to get you cornered, noticing your pretty face in the halls and asking you for a helping hand, lowering those charming eyes to meet your nervous ones.

And while he never seemed like a threat towards his followers who were always so enamored by his handsome features, they were oblivious to the way his eyes held a dangerous desire for something more.

“I know you think about me at night, little one,” suguru states, nonchalantly discarding his long robes and placing them on the coat rack next to his armseat. The halls are quiet, his followers nowhere in sight as the morning sun starts to rise. They were sure to come soon though—they always do.

“I—what? I-I’m sorry?” You’re shocked, completely caught off guard from the suddenly intrusive question.

“I know you heard me well little one, don’t make me repeat it,” he chastises, eyes lowering coolly to reinforce his power and authority. “After all, why else would you be here? Roaming around the halls at such an hour—so eager to help get me settled in, isn’t it?”

“Huh?? N-no!! Geto—sir, it’s not really like tha-“

“Oh? Is that so?” he’s quick to interrupt you, taunting over your lack of confidence in your own response. You stammer, choking up on your own words. Truthfully, you couldn’t come up with a reason as to your promptness—rough night of sleep? First day jitters?

Who cares—your decision to show up early has landed you here, in this predicament, facing the man you decided to join and lend your services to. He paid well, offered a high per diem rate, and he was well loved. Barely any jujutsu sorcerer outside of Japan had poor responses towards Suguru—at least the ones you’ve heard back from—so what else were you to expect?

“Are you saying—,” he starts, grabbing your hips roughly and pulling you down with him to sit on his lap, his body resting against his classic armseat that oversees his followers. Your back pushed up tightly against his strong chest with firm hands stripping you of your shirt, “—you didn’t want to see me as much as them? ”

As if on queue, shuffles of footsteps can be heard grace the temple walls, eager chatting spread like wildfire that gathered outside the doors of Suguru’s common area—right where the two of you were.

Your heart stills, eyes widening as you try to shuffle out of his hold, but his grip is firm—like steel plates against your lap and hips. Sneaky fingers linger along the band of your bra and swiftly unclasps it, stripping you of it and throwing it aside. A small shriek escapes your lips, but you’re quick to cover your mouth to conceal your noises—wouldn’t want anyone catching the two of you now, or would you?

“Shhh now, I’ll give you what you want. Try to stay quiet, understand?” he whispers, licking the shell of your ear as a hand comes up to grope your breast while the other moves down to your skirt, bunching it up to your waist, revealing your pretty panties to him. A slow, steady trace from hig calloused finger against your clothed cunny has you silently sobbing, quiet little shrills of pleasure escape past your mouth and through your hand, and all it does is rile him up even more, pushing you deeper into his web of lascivious madness, “behave—don’t make me gag you.”

You shiver, squeezing your eyes shut and grounding yourself back to sanity by reaching around your head and gripping his hair. A soft groan now comes out from suguru, and he takes your newfound boldness as an opportunity to dip his finger into your depths and tests the waters—and fuck did it feel like fucking heaven.

He was touching literal heaven, flustered beyond belief at how simply sinking you down on his fingers has him feeling like he’s going to fucking burst. The sheer feeling of your tight walls constricting around the girth of his fingers has him bucking his hips up in agony, dreaming—yearning for the feel of your pretty princess cunny wrapped around his hard shaft. He trails his opposite hand along the side of your body, molding his grip to your curve as he molds your pussy to his fingers.

“I would’ve wanted to fuck you from behind, but then I wouldn’t get to see those pretty eyes of yours,” he whispers, suddenly turning your body so that you could face him. You see that he’s still clothed, contrasting your naked skin that glows in the sunlight and shines through the windows. Suguru can’t help the growl that leaves his mouth, so desperate and needy, as if he were dying from hunger—a starved beast.

“‘m not stopping ‘til I make a fuckin’ mess out a ya, and I won’t care if you cry. In fact—“ he paused, cock straining ridiculously in his pants, impaling you back down on his fingers but this time even faster—harder. He maneuvers his thumb to meet your clit, rubbing nasty little circles on it, wiggling his pinky throughout your folds to caress your sopping lips so tenderly—you think you just might pass out.

“—let me hear you cry out for me, let my followers hear your screams rattle the fucking halls.”

KENTO N. -> THE SUPERIOR 🖤

It’s hard—being a jujutsu sorcerer, that is. Curse, after curse, after damned curse until the sorcerer itself gives in, body and mind.

Thankfully, Kento’s found a way to relieve that pressure, that tension—you, his precious subordinate. A kohai, if you will.

While his methods of stress relief aren’t exactly considered ethically sound, he just can’t help but preen from how willing and eager his precious little kohai is to please him.

And yet, he’d never admit how fucking hard it gets him to see you take his punishments like the perfect little slut he knows you are, even if you did nothing wrong.

“Bend over.”

Silence.

You can’t quite pinpoint the exact reason behind his anger, especially since it seemed directed towards you—you just got here!!

‘Did I forget to turn in the last mission report? Was I suppose to meet up with him to close out a mission? Oh crap—I returned his book to him right?!?’ your brain wracking up a multitude of different catastrophic events that you almost miss his question again.

“I’m not kidding, sweetheart. Bend. Over.” you hear him repeat himself, but this time his voice lowers an octave. His sharp voice draws your attention back to him, and you take a moment to notice his appearance. He’s rolling the cuffs of his sleeves up to his forearm, girthy veins bulging along his arms that make him seem so fucking huge it has you internally gasping at the thought of how his cock would deliciously ruin you.

The atmosphere in the room quickly shifts to one that the two of you were always so familiar with, yet too ethical to pursue. While you were only a year or two younger than him, being his subordinate—let alone a kohai—made this affair much more dangerous than need be. But work always came first, especially since Nanami was overseeing your skills to determine if you qualified for individual work.

Guess that goes out the window today.

Before he could repeat himself for a third time, you turn your body around for him and lean across his desk, presenting him your pretty ass that was covered—a present for him to unwrap.

He makes haste towards you, pulling at his tie and unbuttoning the first few buttons of his dress shirt in the midst of his stride. Once behind you, he pushes a hand down onto the middle of your back and thrusts his hips against your plump rear, making you feel the length of his dick through his pants and your skirt. The thrust of his hips and the pressure on your back has your lower body lurching forward and pulls a nasty arch out of your back, further presenting your ass to your sensei.

He rips your skirt off—reminding himself to purchase a new one for you once he’s finished—and stares at you beneath him. The tent in his slacks painfully reminding him of how much he’d love to ram right inside your sweet warmth, but he’d get to that part later.

Oh yes, he plans to play with his precious kohai first.

“So soft…” he says, rubbing a gruff hand along the flesh of your cheeks. He presses his thumbs deeply into your ass, as if he were trying to massage them—*prep* them, for the experience you’re sure to endure, “gonna look so pretty with my handprint decorating it.”

Your heart stutters, butterflies flutter down to your core as you shift your weight from side to side. Slowly, you sway your hips to and fro as Nanami continues to palm at your rear—a dangerous dance certain to make him give in and swoon-

SMACK!!

Or not.

The shriek you let out makes his hips jerk forward, a sudden shockwave of pleasure shooting down kento’s spine that he can’t help but rub his clothed cock against your barely clothed pussy. The flimsy fabric hardly providing any barrier between your cunt and his tip, too fucking wet that it just transfers through.

Another smack fills the air and this time you scream out for him, “sir plea—AGHH!!”

“That’s not what you call me here, try again,” he snarls, lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he lands another sharp smack to your ass, “address me, correctly.”

“ngh!! m’sorry d-daddy—ACK!!” you choke out a scream, your rear starting to feel as if it were burned by a hot pan or iron. Fat tears stream down your cheeks, and while Kento would be sympathetic and give you a break—he was too tripped up on the way you cried out so beautifully just for him.

After all, he can feel the slick of your cunt leak down his clothed shaft, staining his pants with a pool of your essence—poor pussy so neglected that she’s crying for attention.

“I know it hurts, sweetheart, but that’s what happens when you don’t do what I say. I told you I needed those jujutsu books back for that convention.”

TOJI F. -> THE BRUTE 🖤

Toji’s always been the kind of man to just push his way through any given situation. A man of sheer, brute strength, it would be foolish for anyone to try and challenge him.

Yet the little brat in you couldn’t help but try and chip away at his ego at any given chance, never allowing him to trample over your tenacity.

It piqued his interest honestly, such a small little lady like you was clearly no match for a big brute like him, so why don’t you just give in?

Unfortunately for you, that bratty behavior of yours would be your own personal undoing.

“You better shut that pretty little mouth before I put it to work, doll.”

Now, while his fighting style may seem aggressive and intrusive—hell, he can be a fucking animal when he gets into the rhythm of it. But with you? He was the complete antithesis. Collected, observant, even mindful over his physical prowess—never wanting to scare you. The stark difference in demeanor on how he treats you can even be noted by Shiu (he thinks it’s cute).

But lately, you’ve seemed to be pushing his limits. Taking bigger risks while on jobs, snapping at him over his own fumbles during missions (and gambles), and now you criticize his recent decision (mistake) which led to the two of you losing the lead that promised a hefty sum of coin. It was a fair guess, an “educated assumption” on his part but still, this would have been a huuuge benefit to the two of you.

“Put my mou—y’know what?? I’d like to see you fuckin’ try, old man,” you snap back at him, fuming at your colleagues lack of concern over the failed mission, “wouldn’t be surprised if you had a heart attack or something.”

The tension in the room was getting thicker and thicker, blurring between the lines of lust and power as the two of you glare at each other, battling for dominance. There was only so much toji could take before he snaps, and that last smart comment of yours is what sealed the deal for you.

He strides to you with intent clear as day, and your eyes widen before you find yourself being backed into a corner by him. He slams a hand against the wall while his other one comes up to grip your chin roughly, jerking your head upwards to look up at him—forcing your gaze back to meet his raging one. His hand was big enough to grip your jaw and neck, fuck he was huge.

A cynical laugh escapes his lips, the way your eyes light up with fire at his actions made him all the more eager to break you down to his pliant princess, “oh, m’gonna make you fuckin’ eat those words, doll.”

He grasps the nape of your neck and wraps his fingers in your hair, pulling you down to your knees, making you face his angrily covered cock. A small groan escapes your lips at his roughness, but your eyes incite a challenge—is that all ya got?

He shoves his sweats and boxers down, not even bothering to take them all the way off—too eager to get his dick wet by his fiery little colleague. He gives you a one over, noting how your once cocky eyes now seem to be a tad bit…fearful. He almost feels bad for chuckling at your reaction but then again, you brought this on yourself.

“js’ gonna stare at it, or does this old man gotta do all the work here?” he grips the base of his cock tightly, heaving it up towards your mouth. He smacks his tip upon your lips, smothering them with his precum.

The raunchy moan that left your mouth was embarrassing, but you can’t deny how fucking desirable it made you feel seeing his ferociousness over you. His eagerness, abrasiveness, dominance—all of these pointed to his clear want and desire for you and you alone.

And while you could be evil and tease him for becoming so needy over ‘his doll’ you decide to give in to your lust for him.

Opening your mouth slowly, you allow his tip to dance along your pink tongue. Taking in his taste, you coo and push him in a bit deeper, taking him towards the back of your throat. Pulling back up, you suck his cock inwards and focus your attention towards his tip, effectively making him leak more of his yummy essence into your mouth.

He’s groaning like a whore, taking his other fist and slamming it down on the wall behind you. He’s lost it—truly, lost it. Bulldozing his cock further and further down your throat, loving the way your moans and cries become muffled from how fucking huge his cock is. You’re barely fitting half in your mouth, poor thing.

“Fucking choke on it, my filthy fuckin’ cockslut,” he grunts out, gritting his teeth as he watches you take his cock down your throat again, just to come back up and suckle at his tip. You whine around it, sending vibrations that shoot down to his balls and makes his legs fucking shake, “—nghh, just l-like that girl, f-fuck!!”

He’s growling and fisting your hair tighter, unapologetically fucking his length into your mouth as he chases his release. He feels his knees shake a bit at the way you seem to chase after his cock, fighting to take his cock deeper and suck his fuckin’ soul out of it, “o-oohh fuck, m’gonna fuckin’ cum doll, don’t stop.”

Even if you didn’t have toji’s hands guiding your face like a fucking sex doll, there was no way in hell you planned on letting up on his cock now. You wanted to get him to cum, too absorbed at the thought of him. Your own pussy dripping with excitement as you hurriedly await for his orgasm to come.

The groan he lets out as he chases his high is unlike anything you’ve ever heard from him. You swore that his voice could move mountains with how deep and gritty it was, making your cunt flutter helplessly. You licked his base as you come back up to his tip again, kissing and slurping around it to send him over the edge.

All toji sees is white, all he feels is heat, all he can think of is you and that damned fucking mouth that has him getting whiplash.

He cums in your mouth, surprised at the sudden force his orgasm had over his body. He’s shaking—convulsing, fighting to catch his breath as his hand on the wall supports his weight.

“Don’t waste a s-single drop…or I’ll have ya go again,” he pants, taking his cock out of your mouth. He lets you catch your breath, kneeling down to your level and gripping your chin to catch your attention, “but then again, you’d probably like that wouldn’t ya, doll?”

SUKUNA R. -> THE DEVIANT 🖤

All Sukuna has ever known has been power—king of curses, the most feared being in jujutsu history, the strongest entity in the world—titles that indubitably reinforce his ego and pride.

And yet, none of that matters until he gets you to say it. Until he has you under his grasp. It’s almost as if your words bring truth to the meaning, making his blood boil from how dependent he’s come to grow onto you.

By his logic, this was all your fault. He needed to get his edge back—what better way to do so than to go directly to the source?

“Look at you, stretched and trembling so perfectly around your king,” he trails off with a chuckle, loving at how nimble and pliant you’ve become from cuming around his fingers and tongue(s) for literal hours. Regardless of the amount of times your king plays with his pussy, it seems Sukuna’s interest in you would never fade—not like you wanted it to anyways.

“Tell me—” he starts, gripping your chin tightly as he sinks his cock deeper and deeper into your womb—his other cock leaking furiously on top of your tummy, cum gathering on top of your plush crevices that makes him drool like a fucking dog, “—to whom do you belong to?”

“Y-you, my lord!” you pathetically cry out, trying your best to hold your gaze steady with his, but ultimately failing and surrendering to the bliss your king provides you. He growls, sinking a finger in your mouth as he gives you a sharp thrust of his hips. You feel his tip touching your cervix—cockhead poking and prodding along the outline of your womb as he tries to fuck through your cervix and into your guts.

“Look at me, now,” he demands, upper lip raising and letting his canines peak out. Your eyes snap open instantly, only to be met with haunting red ones that were filled with a hunger that you’ve never seen within him. The hand that has his finger shoved in your mouth wraps around your chin and neck, smothering your face with your drool, making him twitch in your cunt from the sheer depravity of it all. He leans down to your face, licking a stripe up your cheek to taste your spit and bite your flesh, earning a cute little squeal from you that has him chuckle evilly.

Small hands wrap around his thick wrist as a whimper gets pushed past your throat and flows into Sukuna’s head, dancing in his mind and coaxing him to fuck you wildly. He stills his hips, halting the movement of his cock that’s pushed deeply into your womb, and the way your heart sank to your sweet cunny knowing damn well that this was only the beginning had your clit throb with excitement. You know he felt your arousal too—a sadistic, shit eating grin that just so happened to form on Sukuna’s face gave it away.

“so mean ‘kuna!!” you whine, small hands press against his toned stomach, pathetically trying to push him away as a pout forms on your face. He tisks at you, tapping his index finger on your cheek while keeping his grip firm on your chin.

“Mean? I’ve shown you mercy when most would have met their measly fate. I let you see me, feel me—remember your place,” his tone’s laced with venom as he reinforces his point by pistoning his cock with reckless abandon, and while his words may have scared people away from him it only encouraged your need to sink your teeth into his soul and be a part of him undoubtedly—folie a deux at its finest.

“and what is it? what’s m-ahh-my place?” you snap back, continuing to take the brunt of his thrusts as you feel your ass start to sting. Heavy balls swinging against your plump cheeks while his other cock starts to pulse against you and as much as you wanted to deny it, you couldn’t help but want to please your lords cock.

You wanted to fucking milk him.

“your place—” he starts, letting go of your chin to hoist both thighs onto his shoulders. Slowly, he lowers himself down towards you, effectively pushing you into a mating press that will surely end in you getting knocked up by the curse.

“—is to please me—” sukuna grunts, shifting your body down the bed to further hover over you, as if he were a predator leaning over his fresh kill.

“—to worship me—,” he shifts his hips closer to yours, his pelvis and thighs showing no remorse to your poor, bruised ass and pussy, “—and to be my good fucking slut.”

With that, he slams his shaft fully inside your cunt; the new position forcing you to feel every inch of him with no escape. His cock curves inwards and pushes against your g-spot, ravaging your defenseless cunny, making you howl like a bitch in heat and squirt on the spot. He belts out a laugh of delight, fiending from the sight of you quite literally losing control of your sanity and giving into your king.

“Gonna make you fucking work for it—fucking beg your king for mercy.”

A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed!! What do y’all think of this one?? Which was your fav?? I’d love to hear back from y’all <3

As always, likes, comments, follows, reblogs, and any other form of interaction is greatly appreciated <3 #supportcreators

[darklcy]

𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐭.

────˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚─────

‣ vi x reader | arcane masterlist | 1.9k words | enemies to lovers, angst, not super fluffy but happy end, mentions of low self esteem

‣ you assumed she hated you, but maybe it goes deeper than that when a fight has you taking shelter in her childhood home

‣ welcome back vi lovers! the arcane s2 brainrot is here and im back from my hiatus! (i hope you enjoy i may be rough i haven't written in a while)

Vi was too reckless for her own good.

Self-sabotaging can only carry you through so much, her invisible trophy wall of each violent encounter growing by the day. It was frustrating to see her do this, and yet every time a splotch of bruises formed, or a new line of blood dirtied her cheek, the more her perseverance began to crack. 

The pressure was abundant on her shoulders, you could practically feel it yourself. Whether she pulled you in, or you jumped yourself, the burden was also yours to carry. 

Sometimes you wondered if she disliked you. A simple question of well-being, how are you, earned a chilling glare and passive aggressive comments she meticulously crafted to falter your ego. Maybe she thought you were too weak to understand her pain, or perhaps it was the way your concern pushed through whatever bite she spat at you. 

Or maybe she just didn’t like you.

A bit ironic, seeing her sustainable relationship with the Enforcer from topside, the last person you would’ve thought her to be acquaintances with. And if you observed closer, Vi seemed to carry herself differently around her, this Caitlyn from Piltover. 

Though, there was credit to give. Her marksmanship was unlike anyone you’d ever seen in the lanes. She was light on her feet and agile, shooting her targets with perfect precision. No wonder she bore a badge proudly. 

And you were anything but a fighter. Maybe that’s why Vi looks at you the way she does. She’d marked you as a liability, vulnerable to the dangers of the world. It upset you, the way her nose scrunched up with her glares and cold shoulders. 

Who was she to judge you anyway? Every time you choose violence, you come out broken and bloody, so what’s the point? Whatever. Screw her and her opinions. Who the fuck needs her anyway. 

If only you’d fucked off when she told you to. Maybe then you wouldn’t be in this mess. Here. In the ruins of Vi’s childhood home, with a bloody nose and bruised cheek. With Vi. Damn your determination to prove her wrong. Damn those thugs for surrounding her completely, for not giving her a second to get back up. There was no stopping what was to come, that was clear the moment your bags were strewn hastily to the ground and shouts were thrown at her perpetrators. A sock to the face immediately took to the ground. The punk wouldn’t stop pounding hits to your face. Damn you, Vi.

Your pain wasn’t for nothing when Vi dragged herself up and freed you from his grip, knocking his ass to the concrete with a bloodied lip. Your vision was blurry as she took off running with her fingers tight around your wrist. When you stopped to breathe is when you realized your surroundings, confirmed with a stone marked with the names Power and Violet. 

The neon sign that previously towered over this ghost town had been toppled over and destroyed; half the foundations of the house torn to dust. The sight made you frown. The only remaining wall was to your left, sheltering a twin sized bed mattress with a tattered sheet on top. A groan to your side beckoned you to look over, watching as she shuffled to the mattress. In the distance, you could make out the faint echoes of yelling, the vast cliffs muffling the words together into a vague holler. 

“It’s probably best to sleep here. They’re not gonna leave anytime soon.”

Vi grumbled, not missing the hint of annoyance coming from her. She was laying on her side now, back to you and arms circling her stomach. You didn’t respond, instead trudging over to the bed and stiffly laying down beside her, back slightly grazing hers.

Neither of you spoke a word. 

It was hard to tell what she was feeling. She never was one to vocalize her thoughts, especially with you. With Caitlyn, maybe.

“...I didn’t need your help.”

Your shoulders tensed up. 

“I had control of everything. You just messed it all up.”

The fabric of the thin sheets acted as a stress reliever as you gripped tighter and tighter.

“...What the hell was I supposed to do? Seriously,”

“Not interfere? Now we’re stuck here.”

Today was not the day to be dealing with her attitude. You were sore, bloody, and in the worst mood possible to be treated like this. It didn’t help that her words stung, the bitterness stabbing into your open wounds.

“Well, maybe don’t pick fights with a group of guys who are clearly bigger and stronger than you.”

She snapped her body up and looked down on you.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

You rolled over to your back, glaring up at her.

“They were clearly stronger than you! If I hadn’t shown up who knows what the fuck they would’ve done?”

“Oh yeah? And what good did you do? Take a few swings to the face?”

You rolled your eyes, sitting up to be eye level.

“I mean, yeah?! If I hadn’t taken those punches, you would still be on that damn street!”

Vi mockingly put a hand over her heart. “My hero.”

“Fuck off.” You moved to shove her in the shoulder, but her hand snapped around your wrist. Her glare intensified, eyes turning sharp and nose scrunching up. All your anger drowned in a pool of nerves while her fingers tightened, the skin of your hand turning red. She leaned in uncomfortably close.

“You really wanna go there?”

Her eyes bore into yours, not faltering eye contact for even a second. 

You could feel the tension in your neck beginning to ache. You would never win against her, but the thought was intoxicating. After a few quiet seconds, you yanked your wrist back, her fingers marking red indents into your skin. 

She scoffed, nodding her head while moving away from you. “That’s what I thought.”

You wanted to beat her. You wanted to win, just once. 

“What the fuck is your problem anyway.”

Her sharp eyes flickered to yours. It intimidated you every time, like she was the big bad bully in school, teeth grazing her lips as she fought back the retaliation.

You pushed through. “...All I’ve ever done was just try to help. Yet here you are, always pissed at me for no damn reason. What have I done to make you hate me so fucking much?”

Her eyebrows pinched together for a breath of a second. “...Huh?”

You threw your arms up, shuffling forward and standing from the cushion. 

“Every single day, you treat me like I’m some helpless child, like I’m a fucking idiot who can’t do anything. I’m an adult, Vi. Just because I can’t fight doesn’t mean I can’t do anything, for fucks sake.”

She watched you pace throughout the empty house, her eyes heavy as lead. You huff.

“It’s like, every time I try to do anything, you look at me like I’m some stupid child who keeps messing up. I’m tired of it. Either tell me straight up or leave me alone.”

Your spine met stone as you slid down to the floor, her carved name above your head. 

Pulling your knees up, your chin fell to your chest, arms dangling across your kneecaps to finally give your body some rest. Didn’t feel like a victory, but the weight of her burden dissipated just by a little. You’d never snapped back before, never given yourself the strength to stand up to her. Enough was enough. You can’t live like this anymore.

Vi remained quiet, whether she was debating on arguing or not, you didn’t care. The fight of sleep was winning, and your eyelids began to slowly surrender.

“...I wasn’t going to do anything, yknow.”

They snapped back open.

“Earlier, I mean. I wasn’t actually gonna hurt you.”

You don’t move to face her. Vi continues.

“I don’t hate you, you just,” She sighs. “You do things that confuse the fuck out of me, and frankly it pisses me off.”

You scoff. “Like what?” 

“Like jumping into that fight. That was a dumbass move, and you know it.”

“Oh my god. How is that a dumbass move- I helped you out, didn’t I? Besides, I put myself there, why are you the one pissed off? I should be pissed off.”

“Yes. Yes, you should!” She stands up from the mattress to tower over you, her voice beginning to raise.

“You should be pissed off, because you got socked in the face and now, you’re stuck here. Why did you do that? That was so stupid.”

A pinch pulled your brows together. “Obviously I know what happened, I’m literally here. What point are you trying to get at?”

Vi shakes her head and runs a hand through her spiked, greasy hair. 

“Oh my god, I can’t believe how dense you are.”

You watch as she saunters over to the same name engraved stone to slide down the rock, her knees knocking with yours. She’s silent for a moment as you stare at her profile, the hint of a smirk coming up her lips.

“It’s stupid of you to concern yourself with me. It’s my problem, not yours.”

You still didn’t get it.

“But why does that piss you off?”

She turns towards you now.

“I know what I’m capable of. I know what I’m getting into. You don’t. You walked into a fight that wasn’t yours to begin with, and in return, you got hurt.”

“So…you’re mad that I got punched in the face?”

A groan leaves her falling chin. 

“I’m mad that you were there to begin with. I’m mad that you got hurt on my behalf, and I’m mad that you’re dragged into this mess. It’s my shit to deal with.”

She pauses to take a deep inhale. “And…I took my frustration out on you, and I’m sorry.”

The tensed muscles of anger faded from her apology, her eyes carrying a softness you’d never seen before. She was being genuine. Open. Vulnerable. 

You sighed with her. 

“Thank you.” 

The quiet that fell over you two now was pleasant. It was nice seeing Vi like this, being used to her thirst for arguing. Your head leaned back against the rock as you let your eyelids close once more. 

“How bad is it?”

Her fingers touch you softly before you peer up at her. She gazes at the blood smeared under your nose with a grimace, her pointer finger stroking the welt on your cheek. 

“It’s fine. Could be worse.”

She shakes her head. “...It’s my fault you got hurt.” 

You scoffed. “It’s completely mine. I’m the dumbass who jumped into a fight that wasn’t mine, remember?”

You smile at her despite the twang in your jaw. Her hand falls back to her side.

“My hero.”

Her lips upturned, the scar on her upper lip flashing itself at you. You don’t miss the way she falters for a moment, relishing the close proximity her face is to yours. Her fingers twitch by her thighs to touch your cheek again, but instead she smacks a hand on top of your head, gently ruffling your hair. 

She stands up to make way back to the bed. “Come to bed. You need rest, too.”

You haven’t moved just yet, the whirlwind of her processing slowly in your brain. Your skin felt hot under your cheeks, but as you shakily stood up to join her, you found the burden of her turning into something else. 

Vi was different, now. Good different. You liked this different. Laying down beside her on the mattress, you don’t turn away from her.

[quietstormxr]

Green Dragon Part 2

Xaden Riorson x Reader

The requested Part 2! I hope y’all enjoy the continued angst, along with fluff and happy ending. Thanks so much for reading and loving the first part!

Word Count : Over 9k

Warnings: violence, torture, swearing

Part 1

Even though your relationship with Xaden never improved, you felt yourself finally willing to talk with the rest of the boys. 

Months after the first time Bodhi said he wanted to talk to you again, you were finally back to hanging out the way you used to. Sometimes he would bring Garrick and Liam with him when you would go and hang out at the river. 

Your favorite times to hang out with them was sunset, but one night you found yourself with Bodhi and Garrick staring up at the stars. 

“You know this reminds me of the time that Xaden and I first found you sneaking out of the dorms as a first year.” Garrick states. 

You turn to look at him and aren’t afraid to let him see the happiness the memory brings along with the sadness at the mention of Xaden. 

“You told us that we should always take time to look at the sky and appreciate the beauty around us.” He continued. “That was after you tried to take both of us on to stop from getting told to get back to the citadel.” I smile back at the amused look he now has on his face.

“I can’t help the fact that neither one of you would just let me enjoy the stars. Besides, if the two of you hadn’t found me out here, we probably wouldn’t be friends. It’s not my fault that you thought I was trying to uncover your secrets.” I huff back at him, earning an eyeroll from the man after mentioning their secrets.

“Yeah well, we didn’t plan on letting you in on any secrets.” He snarked, even though you knew there was really no menace behind it. 

“Too late for that now.” You say as you give him a saccharine sweet smile.

It wasn’t your fault that the entire group adopted you into their family. You supposed you were just lucky. Although, you knew that if you hadn’t come across that one letter that was irresponsibly tossed, you would’ve never learned the truth either.

‘You were smarter and more observant than the Wingleader gives you credit for.’ Cedri concluded in your mind.

Another smile breaks out over your face at your dragon’s continued skills to make you feel like you were too clever for your own good. At least you knew that was one way you got on Xaden’s nerves. For some reason, he could never predict what information you could get out of anyone. Even though he tried to keep things from you, you always seemed to pick them apart and discover what they were doing. 

‘Besides, you needed to know what we are up against if you were going to fight like the Wingleader expects you to.’ 

‘Yes, well I suppose I won’t have to live up to his expectations anymore.’ I sass back not wanting to talk about the “Wingleader” with my dragon.

‘You may not want to talk about him, but that doesn’t stop your thoughts.’ Cedri muses into your mind.

You can’t help the labored sigh that breaks from you after your dragon points out your inability to let Xaden go completely.

‘Thank you, Oh Illustrious One, for pointing out my human weakness of emotions for the millionth time.’ You sigh back to him. If only you could block him out from your emotional thoughts, maybe he wouldn’t be pulling on your weakness for what seems like the thousandth time. 

Cedri huffs in your mind, the sound of amusement reverberating from your bond. You may have tried to move on, but that didn’t stop the fact that you still had feelings for Xaden that were more than just caring if he was alive.

“What’s got you huffing?” Bodhi asks from your other side, amusement laced in his tone.

“Oh, just a nosy dragon commenting on my internal thoughts.” You chime back at him, letting out another sigh before you let your head drop to Bodhi’s shoulder enjoying the quiet night with sparkling stars. 

In the absence of Xaden, you had gotten closer to Bodhi, especially since he was now in your squad, and you were still spending a good amount of time with your squad members. It was perfectly ridiculous you thought. Of course, you would now be extremely close friends with the cousin of the man that seemed to still haunt you. 

Though it was a perfect distraction for you both. Bodhi had told you that the time he spent with Xaden had significantly diminished since War Games had begun. You had begun a new routine with him helping you train after dinner for an hour almost every night. Even Garrick would join in whenever he was available and needed to blow off some steam. 

It was one of those sparring nights when you found yourself laying on the mat trying to regain your breath after a spar with Garrick. You couldn’t keep the smile from your face and the contagious laugh that broke out as you and Bodhi had been teasing Garrick about his obvious interest in Imogen. 

You were so caught up in your enjoyment that you didn’t even hear the door to the gym open. Therefore, it was even more surprising when you sat up from the mat and ended up looking directly back into those onyx eyes you hadn’t had the courage to meet in some time. 

The laughter immediately died from your lips, and you found yourself getting up and turning towards the girl’s locker rooms. 

“I’ll see you boys tomorrow.” You threw over your shoulder to your two sparring partners.

You hadn’t even taken two steps before you felt a hand close around your wrist. You immediately knew who it was, with the memories of those calloused hands flashing brightly in your mind. Your heart began to race, and you battled with yourself if you really wanted to turn around and face the man that had a hold on your wrist. 

Deciding on trying to save yourself from spiraling, you gently tugged on your hand hoping that he would just let it drop. Unfortunately for you, it didn’t seem like Xaden was in the mood to acquiesce to your wants. 

You turned around to face the man that you had been studiously avoiding for the last five months and looked at your hand where he still had his wrapped around your wrist. You kept your eyes trained down, not wanting to look up and see what exactly was in Xaden’s inner monologue of his eyes. You could have kept it that way until he decided he was going to speak.

“Look at me, please.” He asked, his voice quieter than you had ever heard it before. 

It was then you noticed that the gym was empty as Bodhi and Garrick must’ve been given an order to leave. Knowing that there was no way to avoid him, you slowly moved your eyes towards his onyx ones. As soon as you met them, you knew that it was a mistake to look. 

There was no denying that there was a sadness etched in the look he was giving you. But that wasn’t the only thing, at least that’s what you thought, it seemed you saw a look of love and regret behind those eyes. You couldn’t help the absolute disbelief that crossed your mind. There was no way this man, who was obviously so interested in someone else really wanted you. 

Feeling the conviction of your certainty that you no longer held the heart of the man in front of you, you finally found the courage to speak.

“What do you want from me Xaden?” You asked with an edge of exasperation in your voice and a tired sigh leaving your lips.

For a moment you felt regret for the flinch that you couldn’t avoid seeing as he took in your words. But why were you supposed to feel guilty when he was the one who broke your heart. 

“I want to talk to you about everything. I need you to be part of my life. Please let me explain.” He starts. 

You continue to stare at him trying to take in his words, but everything around you still seems to crumble.

“I may have believed that before I saw you kiss her, Xaden. And I know from your own friends that it’s gone further now. There’s no need for me to be put in the middle of your seemingly budding relationship.” You say but you can’t help the hurt that comes through your voice. 

You feel the sting of tears gathering in your eyes and drop your face once more not wanting him to know that the betrayal still affects you this way. You go to pull your hand away, but you feel a strong grip pull you forward, and he crushes you to his chest in an embrace. 

“Please don’t.” You whisper trying desperately to hold back your tears while your body stiffens. Without ever meeting his gaze again, you push against his chest, and you feel his arms reluctantly let you go. You turn around and walk out of the gym with your head down.  

As you trudge your way back to your room, you’re shocked to find Garrick standing by your door. 

“Hey.” He says softly looking at you with nothing but understanding in his eyes.

“I’m not in the right frame of my mind to entertain anyone Gare.” You say trying to hide the tremble of emotions in your voice. 

“I know. I’m not here for you to entertain me. I just wanted to make sure you are okay.” He says quietly. 

You look up to see him looking at you with nothing but sadness and a sincerity to help. He opens his arms seeming to know you need someone to lean on, and you walk straight into them.

He doesn’t even get the door to your room closed before you are sagging in his arms letting the tears flow freely. You know that you don’t usually show emotions like this, especially in front of the guys, but you’re tired of putting up a strong front. If just for tonight. 

You don’t know how long you sit there on the floor of your room, the tears flowing freely while Garrick rocks you in his arms, but eventually your tears seem to dry up and exhaustion starts to claim you. With help from Garrick, you make your way to the bed.

“Thank you, Gare.” You whisper to him as your eyes fall closed and the exhaustion claims you.

After that night, it seemed both you and Xaden avoided each other and never found yourselves alone in a room again. Soon you knew he would be leaving for his outpost as a new Lieutenant, and you wouldn’t have to look around for him anymore. 

Unfortunately for you, the night of graduation wasn’t to be one for celebrating for you. As you stood in the courtyard after you had said your goodbyes to Garrick, you had to watch as Xaden was walked to the flight field by Violet. For a moment, you caught each other’s eyes, and you could feel yourself drowning in his dark eyes. 

You saw Violet saying something to him, but he never seemed to tear his gaze away from you. Not wanting to cause any issues in their relationship, you dropped your gaze and proceeded to walk to your room. 

‘Do not worry yourself Stormy One. You will get even stronger this year and will be ready to take on the next challenge.’ Cedri encourages you.

‘I just hope if I make it to graduation, I won’t have to be stationed with him. I don’t want to watch their relationship while fighting this war.’ You say to Cedri, even though you know you are drowning in your own self-pity tonight. 

You fling yourself down on your bed and pray that sleep will take you without any nightmares. 

As the months flew by, you threw yourself into classes and learning runes. If there was one thing you would always be thankful to Xaden for, it would be teaching you Tyrrish culture. You always found it fascinating to learn everything you could about each of the different provinces. 

One night while practicing runes with Bodhi in your room, there was a knock at your door. You figured that it must be one of your squad mates looking for help on some homework, but your eyes flew wide at the person standing on the other side of the door.

Xaden.

You stared back at him not really believing that he was standing there in front of you. Wasn’t he supposed to be at his station? Why was he in Basgiath? And even more confusingly, why was he knocking on your door?

Before your mind goes into too many directions, your brain clicks back into gear, and you realize he must be here for Sgaeyl to visit Tairn. And he must be here looking for Bodhi. 

“I believe someone is here for you Bodhi.” You say and turn to go back and sit on your bed. You return to the more complicated fabric runes that you had been working on and try to distract yourself. However, after a few seconds, you realize that you hadn’t heard your door click. 

You look up to see Xaden staring at you his eyes moving from your hands where the fabric lies, up to your face. It seems he can’t help the small smile that makes the left side of his mouth tick upwards and the slight crinkle to his eyes, a look of happiness dancing in his gaze. 

You are both cut short in your staring when Bodhi clears his throat as he walks up to meet his cousin at your door.

“Come on cousin. We can talk in my room.” Bodhi says as he moves past Xaden and begins to close the door behind him. You watch as Bodhi pulls at Xaden’s flight jacket sleeve before the door clicks and your view is obscured.

You can’t help the deep breath that leave your lungs as soon as you hear the lock slide back into place. How long had it been since you had seen him? You try not to think about the fact that the man still makes your heart race just by looking at you. And just about makes you faint when he deigns to give up one of his true smiles. 

“Ugh. Get. It. Together.” You breathe out in frustration and correct yourself. You can only think how grateful you will be to finally get out of Basgiath and hopefully never have to lay eyes on this man that seems stuck in your soul ever again.

Not even two days later, you wake with a pounding headache and an uncertainty in where the hell you are. The last thing you remember, you were heading to the bathing chamber after a day of training with Bodhi. Both of you laughing at an inside joke between the two of you from your first year. 

And then the memory clicks, of cloth covering your mouth while strong arms wrapped around your torso. Before succumbing to the substance on the cloth, your vision was blackened with a black cloth bag that was thrown over your head. 

You look around at the sight and think you must be back in your second year again and having to take part in RSC again. Then you remember, you’re a third year. 

Before your mind can continue to catch up, you hear the door behind you click open. You hear boots click on the floor coming closer and closer to you before a figure stops in front of you.

Varrish. 

Your heart rate begins to pick up. Why the hell were you being interrogated? Why would Varrish be handling it? You hadn’t done anything reckless in weeks that you can remember. You certainly hadn’t done anything to break the codex. 

“Welcome back to the land of the living, for now at least.” Varrish spits at you while looking down at your restrained body.

“Why the hell am I being retained Vice Commandant?” You question, though you can’t help the disgust in the tone that leaves your lips. 

“Ah, you did not do anything. However, you’re instrumental in getting the person we need back to Basgiath.” He continues venomously.

You can’t help the look of confusion that must be all over your face. Who would come back to Basgiath for you? You weren’t from a family of riders. Most of them were just regular civilians living their lives. You were the only one in your family that felt the call to come to Basgiath, let alone become a dragon rider. Who did the Vice Commandant feel would come to rescue you?

Your look of confusion must have entertained Varrish as you watch a slimey smile cross his face, followed by a sneer of disgust painting your features. 

“Oh, I believe you are aware of the Lieutenant that I speak of cadet.” He drawls, continuing his manic pacing in front of you.

At that statement, the facts in your mind finally arrange themselves. For some reason, Varrish thinks Xaden will come back to Basgiath for you.

The look of disbelief that flashes in your face is followed by one of resignation. You’re going to die here. The repulsive man in front of you is going to torture and kill you and you can’t even stop him. Xaden is not coming to rescue you. He would never threaten everything for you. He has other priorities now. You’re just going to be another name on the death rolls.

The resignation hits you, along with the acceptance that you cannot break. You cannot betray Xaden, Bodhi, Garrick or any of your other marked friends, whether or not you were still part of their lives.

“You’re in for a surprise if you expect him to come here.” You spit out along with the blood that has continued to fill your mouth after the right hook to your face from Varrish.

“I’m not the one that will help you accomplish your goals; I believe you’re looking for a Cadet Sorrengail.” You continue even though every word causes pain to crash across your now broken jaw.

“And I think you are mistaken cadet. The cadre has noticed more than once the feelings Lieutenant Riorson seems to harbor for you.” Varrish spits back out crouching down and getting into your face.

“Besides, Cadet Sorrengail has not returned to Basgiath since her group of traitors stole from the Archives. Although, I will say we didn’t expect this much of a fuss from your dragon.” He snarks as he gets closer to your face. His putrid breath mingling with the damp smell from the holding cell and the fresh scent of your blood. Why did it seem like this was something they had planned all along?

Your breath catches at the mention of Cedri, you let a thought you hope he can hear cross your mind.

‘Thank you for being my dragon, Cedri. It has been an honor to be your rider. Please promise me you’ll live and find another worthy rider.’

You close your eyes and let your head fall back onto the hard wood of the chair you’ve been strapped to. You realize that the connection to Cedri has somehow been severed. They must’ve drugged you with the new concoction you had heard the second year’s talking about. 

Time seems to slow and even though you have accepted your fate, you can’t stop the excruciating pain that’s continually inflicted on your body. 

Gods how many days have I been in here.

The only thing you could do now was hold onto the last good memories you had and hope that your body would give up soon. 

It wasn’t helping that Varrish and his posse kept bringing up Xaden and opening up the wound that never seemed to heal from lost love. Couldn’t he just leave the one person that was an open wound out of the salt he continued to pour over your body in the form of kicks, punches, and broken bones. The physical pain was one thing you could handle, but the emotional torture seemed to be toying with your mind even more.

As you fade in and out of consciousness after enduring another day of torture, you can hear voices outside of the door to the chamber you’ve been held in. 

“We’ll need to move her tonight. The cadets looking for her are getting closer and we can’t punish them when we don’t have any ground on holding her here.” You hear a distinctly female voice comment.

“Of course, we have ground. I’m the Vice Commandant. I punish cadets as I see fit and this cadet is more than deserving of punishment.” You can hear Varrish spit to whoever the other voice belongs to. 

You can’t help the small light that ignites in your chest when you hear that at least someone at Basgiath has realized you are missing and is trying to get to you. The thought is short lived when the door swings back open and a black cloth bag is forced back over your head. 

You would scream. You would try to kick and punch. You would cry. But they’ve nearly torn all the emotions and reactions that you have in your body from you. You are exhausted. The small fire that someone is looking for you disappears when you feel your broken body being picked up and tossed over a shoulder. 

Suddenly you feel the temperatures around you are plummeting even colder. The slight dampness of the cell you were contained in before was nothing compared to the water you hear now steadily dripping somewhere onto a stone floor. The scent of muddy earth and moss intensifies as you feel the person continue down steps. 

You find yourself numb. This must finally be where I die you think. No one is going to find you this far down beneath, what you think is the fortress of Basgiath. 

How far down are you even? The frigid temperatures don’t help you when you feel yourself start to shiver, but it takes everything not to break down in sobs at the pain radiating from the shivers. You feel yourself getting tired. You don’t even think you can remember what the sun on your face feels like. 

You take a deep breath trying to calm the tightness that seems to be pulling in your chest. How much longer until you finally welcome me home, Malek? You can’t help but think as your vision begins to blacken from the blood that still seems to be pouring from the wound in your side. 

Gods. How many times will they make you do this before they just kill you. At this point, you can only feel that death would be a mercy.

Time begins to slip by again, torture, mending, more torture, more mending. You’re unsure of how many more times you have been tossed around as they move you from different areas so no one could find you, even if they tried. 

You are again by yourself in the dark. Your left eye has completely swollen shut from this morning’s punch to your eye socket. Your right eye isn’t much better, they must’ve shattered your cheekbone when hitting you with the iron cuff across your face this morning. But the worst pain must be the bleeding gash that has been torn across your abdomen. You can feel the wound still seeping blood as you take shallow breaths that seem not to be enough to keep your lungs functioning. 

This is finally it. You think to yourself, hoping that you can finally have the peace of blissful sleep as you slip into Malek’s arms. 

Suddenly you hear a commotion, the room you are in seems somehow to get even darker. You try to hold on, but oblivion seems to keep pulling at your consciousness. You hear distant voices, but you can’t make out the words they are saying. 

As you feel your head rolling back and your vision completely blacken, you hear the door bang open. You don’t even try to open your eyes as you know the only thing that the noise could possibly be is more torture heading your way. But before you completely lose consciousness, you could swear you hear a masculine voice breathe out your name in rage and panic.

­­­­­­­­­­­­­______________________________________________________________

You never thought death would have a smell. And you can’t help at the sarcastic huff that you think when you realize the smell is just like Xaden. Distinctly mint and leather. Why would Malek want to torture you for eternity? What great sin were you paying for?

You didn’t ever think that in death you’d be able to feel things either. You move your fingers slightly and are shocked to feel what seems to be soft sheets enveloping you. Its then that you realize that you still feel the haze of pain over your body. 

This must not be death. They only mended me again. 

You can’t help the disappointment you feel that you haven’t been set free from the chains of the torture you’ve been enduring. But confusion causes you to crease your eyebrows when you realize there is glorious sunlight dusting your eyelids. 

You slowly try to flutter your eyes open and are greeted with an even more shocking sight. You are in a bedroom, not in a damp cell any longer. You try to move your body, but you feel as if everything is still broken. So instead, you turn your head to the side and can’t help the breath that gets caught in your throat. 

There, in the chair next to the bed you’ve been placed in, is Xaden. His head is resting on his hand at an uncomfortable angle, but the thing that shocks you is the way his eyes seem puffy and red rimmed as if he had been crying. You follow the rest of his body and find that he also has his other hand draped on the side of the bed that was almost touching your hand. 

You continue to take him in a few more minutes, before he begins to stir and shift positions in the chair he is in. You watch as he begins to bring his head up, your heart rate begins to race at the thought of your eyes meeting his onyx ones. 

Finally, his gaze meets yours and you watch as his eyes widen comically before he is soaring from the chair and moving to the side of your bed and grabbing for your hand. 

“Y/N.” He says breathlessly, as if he thought he’d never be able to say your name again. 

He continues to stare at you wide-eyed, though you notice the purple that is smudged underneath his eyes. 

You continue to take in his rumpled form. From his hair that is completely disheveled to the sunken in look to his swollen eyes, this is a Xaden Riorson that you never thought you would see. He looks lost, shaken, and completely ready to fall apart. 

As the shock of everything begins to wear off, you start trying to push yourself from the bed. Before you can even sit up completely, your whole-body sags and you fall back into the mattress. An irritated grunt leaves you lips, but Xaden is worriedly moving closer trying to coax you to lay back down.

“Don’t try to move too much. Your body is still healing.” He rasps out. His voice sounding gravelly from disuse and emotion. 

He goes to move closer to you, but you flinch when you feel him coming closer at a rate that seems too fast. He sees and immediately tenses up. You look at him with sorrow in your eyes.

“I’m sorry. I – I’m – it’s just...” You trail off not really knowing how to voice the fact that you’re scared, although you know that Xaden would never hurt you. Your voice is dry, and you try to swallow to help coat your vocal cords. 

You bring your hand up to your neck and gingerly touch it, remembering the feeling of someone choking you until you couldn’t breathe and were about to black out. 

You can see the absolute sorrow that passes across Xaden’s face, but there’s also a look of absolute rage that flickers behind it. 

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He says while moving back to sit next to where your hand is. You watch as the man you know as so confident, seems to fiddle not knowing where to go or how to proceed. 

If it weren’t for the fact of what you’d been enduring, you would find the sight of Xaden being insecure as endearing. 

“Would you like some water?” Xaden asks hesitantly, now seeming like he doesn’t want to scare you too much. 

As you go to respond, your mouth feels too dry, so you shake your head in confirmation. You watch as Xaden slowly rises from the bed and grabs the cup of water on the nightstand not far from you. You try to sit up again but hiss in pain when you try to bend your abdomen. 

You look down to see an angry scar running across your stomach that looks to have been mended a few times. Before you can try again, you feel two strong hands lift you from you shoulders and set you up against the headboard. 

“Thank you.” You rasp out before gingerly taking the glass of water from Xaden’s hand. You bring the glass to your lips and close your eyes as you take a drink of clean water. It’s impossible for you to remember the last time you even had a drink of water, causing you to furrow your brows trying to figure out the day. 

You finally bring the glass down and look back up at the man perched on the side of the bed. You realize he’s been watching you carefully, seeming to try and take in every feature of yours that he can.

“Do you know how long I was held?” You choke out. Hoping that your voice doesn’t give away the fear that is still in your bones at being held captive again. 

You watch as Xaden’s face becomes even more sunken in, as if he is hating himself for some reason. 

“They had you for seven days.” He chokes out, not being able to hide the emotion taking over his voice. He takes a moment to settle before continuing.

“Bodhi got word to me by the second day, but I wasn’t able to get to you immediately.” You see the wetness that is starting to pool in his eyes. “I’m so fucking sorry. You don’t know what it felt like knowing you were there, and I couldn’t get to you.”

You watch as Xaden tries as hard as he can, but he can’t stop the few tears that seem to escape from his eyes. 

“It wasn’t your fault, Xaden.” You tell him, looking down as you don’t want to break yourself from all the emotions he’s shown today.

You feel him scoot closer on the bed and the next thing you realize; your hands are in his. It feels surreal to have someone else touching you and not causing you pain. You do everything you can to not completely tense every fiber of your body. It’s as if he can read your hesitance and he begins to softly stroke his thumbs over your knuckles. 

The action that is so achingly familiar causes you to close your eyes in comfort before looking up at him sadly. You try to hide the sad smile that steals across your face, but you can’t hide it when you find him bringing his hand to your chin to tip up your face. 

“It is my fault. Those fuckers were looking for me and used you as godsdamned bait. They deserved more pain than what they were given.” He says and you can feel the rage that crawls into his voice as if it is a living, breathing thing. 

“Are – are they still alive?” You ask, your voice sounding small and afraid. 

He tilts your chin up to him and holds it firmly in place looking at you directly in your eyes.

“No.” He says firmly, without hesitation. “They are all fucking dead. But, if I could kill them again, I would.”

You feel your body sag in relief at the news that those who inflicted all this pain are no longer alive. You feel two hot tears slide from the side of your eyes unbidden. You watch as Xaden brings up a hand to wipe both of the tears from your eyes. 

You take in the feeling that you are something precious to the man in front of you, relishing in the attention before you know you will need to give it up. 

“Thank you for saving me. I’m not sure how much longer I would have lasted.” You say, knowing that your body was the closest to death you had ever felt. 

“You shouldn’t be thanking me. You should hate me. If it wasn’t for the fact that you’ve been involved with me, that would’ve never happened to you.” He says getting frustrated with himself.

This time you stretch your hand to his face, and cup his cheek, running your thumb over his cheek.

“I could never hate you, Xaden.” You look at him with your eyes going soft. Even with everything you’d been through, you would never wish ill on him, knowing how much he has endured in his life.  

You drop you hand from his face and bring it back to your side. You feel exhaustion pulling you back down, knowing that your body is still healing. Not wanting to be more of a burden than necessary, you scoot back under the covers and bring the blankets back up. 

Looking back at Xaden and knowing him sitting here blaming himself is keeping him from his happiness, you can’t help the words out of your mouth.

“You can leave Xaden. You don’t have to babysit me, I’ll be alright.” You say even though the statement lances sorrow through your heart. 

He looks back at you and his brows knit. “I’m not here to babysit you. I’m here because I want to make sure you’re alright. I’m here because I care about you.” He says going to grab your hand again. 

Right before you are about to respond to him, the door pushes open and the sight before you makes every thought you had seconds ago crumble. Standing in the doorway is the silver-haired girl that started the whole mess you find yourself in now. 

Weariness now settles over your bones, and you turn you face away from the man that used to be your whole world. You turn to your side and close your eyes, hoping beyond hope that if you sleep, you will wake and the last week or so will be just a bad nightmare. 

You hear Xaden let out a long sigh and feel as the bed springs back up as his weight leaves it. You hear the door click shut and let out a ragged breath. 

Before you finally drift back into unconsciousness, you hear voices outside the door.

“What do you need Violet? I thought I asked you not to come up here unless necessary.” You hear Xaden reply tersely. 

“I’m sorry Xaden. But the Assembly asked me to come and get you. They are having a strategy meeting and requested you to be there.” You hear Violet explain.

“Couldn’t you have just asked through the bond?” He says with an annoyed edge to his tone.

“Well, I would have, but you’ve had me blocked out mostly since you’ve returned from Basgiath five days ago.” You hear her reply curtly.

Your mind not waiting to hear any more of the conversation, shuts off and you find yourself drifting back into unconsciousness. 

Weeks pass and you’ve found yourself trying to get back to your previous strength. It’s been weeks of light training with Bodhi and Garrick, along with nights that haunt you. Trying to gather some sort of strength from everything they had taken from you.

The next thing you know, it’s just another night where you find yourself awoken by the feeling of a hand clamping around your throat and feel the phantom pain of a sword ghosting across your abdomen. 

You awake with a start, sweat covering your entire body, your heart beating erratically. Luckily, you were smart enough to put a sound shield on the room you’ve been staying in, because your throat is hoarse from the scream that just tore from it. 

After what seems like an eternity, your heartbeat begins to slow, and you can take full breaths once more. 

Knowing that sleep won’t be finding you again any time soon, you wrap yourself in your flight jacket and close the door to your room softly behind you. 

As you descend the stairs from your room, you find yourself walking towards the hills that surround the fortress. Without questioning your steps, you continue up to one that you think will have an excellent view of the sunrise. 

You smile slightly to yourself when the memory of watching the stars until sunrise with Xaden crosses your mind. You thought that being in Riorson House would feel stifling, like you couldn’t escape the aura of Xaden. But, for some reason you don’t understand, the fortress feels like a warm blanket that can shield you from all the horrors that you’ve had to deal with since arriving at Basgiath. 

When you make it to the top of the hill, you can’t help the small gasp that tears from your lips at the beautiful view before you. Sinking down next to one of the large trees, you look over the small town that has been rebuilt below you and take everything in with awe. 

You always knew that Xaden and the other marked ones loved their homes, but it warmed your heart to see the work that they had put into helping others begin to put their lives back together. 

You take a deep breath and lean your head back against the tree, closing your eyes and enjoying the quiet sounds of the early morning. You’ll never take for granted the life around you, even though winter is coming, and the sounds are quieter, not after being held in that cell and being deprived of the world. 

 As you sit there in the stillness and enjoy the quiet, you feel your body begin to want to drift off, but the pop of a branch breaking brings you out of your calm. 

Quickly turning and jumping to your feet with your heart racing, you are surprised to see a familiar face staring back at you.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.” He says, his eyes sad and tone quiet.

“It’s alright. I – I’m still getting used to real life.” You say as you drop your eyes feeling ashamed for being scared of such small things. 

While your gaze is down, you hear footsteps as they cautiously come towards you until two booted feet are standing inches away. A hand comes up and three fingers gently bring your chin up to look into two onyx eyes. 

You don’t know why, but you can’t seem to tear your eyes away from his gaze. His eyes bore into yours, seeming to search for something. 

“You shouldn’t feel ashamed for being afraid.” He says as his thumb strokes your cheek. “You’ve been through a lot. I just hope that you feel safe here.”

“I hope that you feel cared for.” He continues, although his words seem slightly hesitant.

You give him a small smile, knowing that if it wasn’t for the man before you, you wouldn’t be able to enjoy the small things anymore. 

It’s as if that small gesture opens a dam for him and before you really can think his hand is cradling the back of your head to his chest and his other arm is snaked around your waist holding you close to him.  

You hear as he gives a small huff of a laugh before speaking. “Leave it to you to find the one spot in Aretia that’s incredibly special to me.” He begins.

You pull your head back slightly to look back at him and raise an eyebrow. 

“What do you mean ‘leave it to me’?” You ask.

He looks down at you, his eyes softening although he hasn’t let go of your waist. 

“You were always the one to figure out things I tried to hide, no matter how well I thought they were hidden.” He explains while giving you a small smile.

With that action and those words, you can’t control the smile that steals across your face and the way your eyes crinkle. One of the things about your relationship you always enjoyed was the small gestures and emotions he gave only to you. 

After a few moments of silence, Xaden breaks the quiet.

“Will you please let me explain everything to you? Please.” He says while now going to cup your face.

“You can decide what you want to do from there, but I need you to listen. Please. I miss you so fucking much.” He begs while letting the longing and sadness he’s feeling leach into his voice. 

The smile falls from your face, but you know that there is no way to completely avoid him or this conversation forever at this point. You take a small step back, but you can’t go far because of the firm hold Xaden has on your face. You give a small nod.

“Okay.” You say in a whisper, not trusting your voice to get any louder.

The strange rush of relief that crosses his face makes your heart beat a little faster. He drops his hands from your face and threads his fingers through yours before tugging slightly to have you sit down next to him.

When you’re both seated against the trunk of the tree where you were watching the sunrise, you turn to him to see him already watching you. He still hasn’t let your hand go, before he begins.

“I’ve had more than enough time to ruminate on everything that has happened between us over almost the entire last year. And I will never be able to make up for all of the ways that I’ve failed you.” He starts as his face falls to your intertwined hands that he has now brought into his lap. 

“I never once came to you to explain everything. It all started when Bodhi informed me that you had seen me kiss Violet.”

You don’t miss how he flinches at the revelation, though you’re unsure if it was because Bodhi told him or because he did it in the first place. With the painful reminder, your own heart falters again and you go to take your hand back, but he now has it held in a vice grip. 

“I shouldn’t have brushed you off. I should never have gotten involved with Violet. The kiss was a mistake that happened when we both were overwhelmed with the bond of Sgaeyl and Tairn not shielding. I know that doesn’t make it alright, that nothing ever will, but I want you to know that I’ll never forgive myself for that even happening. Especially when you were still the person I was thinking about.”

It's shocking to you how much of a dam that he must’ve been holding in because he can’t seem to stop talking. The next thing you know, he is explaining that both he and Violet got further involved because they were both trying to move past their previous relationships. Him with the reminder of you and everything that he had lost. And she with a relationship that she thought was always going to be part of her life.

As you listened, you realize that you both were just living in the hurt that you both inflicted on each other. Him for not realizing how much he had begun to pull away and not show the attention you deserved and you for not going to him and explaining how you were feeling. 

As he continued to fill you in on everything that has been happening in the past few months, you lean your head back on the tree and close your eyes taking in all the information. Soon enough, your ears are greeted by silence, and you pick your head up and open your eyes.

You turn to see Xaden staring at you seeming to take in your full form as if he’s a man that has been denied water for numerous days. He finally looks back into your eyes and all you see is a burning fight in them, as if he would never be able to part from you. 

“Do you think you can find it in your heart to forgive me?” He asks hesitantly as if he is afraid of the actual answer. 

You look back at him and of course your heart breaks looking at the hurt look on his face and the way he is so tentative with you. However, you know that it can’t just be that easy for either of you.

“I think maybe we could get there.” You say, your voice small as your own uncertainty shines through. 

You watch as his face crumples and sadness takes over the hopeful expression he had. Though it doesn’t stay around long. Soon enough, he sets his face in determination and looks back at you again. 

“Okay – Alright. I can work with that.” He says, setting his jaw as if he is getting ready for battle. 

He gets up and reaches his hand out for you. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s go get some breakfast.”

You take his hand, and he intertwines your fingers again, slowly guiding you back down the hill towards the fortress of Riorson House. 

Before you break through the doors, he turns to you, and you almost run right into his chest at the rate you had been following behind. His arm jets out to grab your waist and steady you before speaking.

“Will you train with me?” He questions looking at you with expectant eyes. 

“Sure.” You say with a slight hesitance. 

A smile breaks out over his face, and he brings your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckles. Your eyes blow wide at the gesture, but he’s walking through the doors and pulling you with him again.

The next thing you know another month has passed and you can feel yourself finally feeling stronger again. Not to mention your friendship with Xaden has been growing stronger day by day. 

You start enjoying his company again and begin sitting with him and all his family during dinners, enjoying talking and laughing together. 

One night, you find yourself on the mats stretching, waiting to see who the sparring partner that will join you today will be. 

Soon enough, Garrick comes strolling through the door one of his charming grins plastered over his face. You give him a quick smile as you continue your stretching.

“Ready for a fight?” He quips.

“Of course.” You sass back at him.

“Well, you should be resting comfortably at least. You know since you have the biggest room in this damn house.” He jokes.

Your brows furrow in confusion as you pick up your head to look over at your friend. 

“What are you talking about? Why would I have the biggest room?” You ask in confusion.

“You mean to tell me you never noticed how much larger the room you’re in is compared to the rest of ours?”

You start to think about all the times that you’ve been in your friends’ rooms, especially those close to Xaden. All the rooms seemed spacious enough, but you had never realized how large yours was until now. 

“Why the hell would I have the biggest room? Shouldn’t Xaden? It’s his house.” You say confused.

You quirk your eyebrows when Garrick begins to laugh heartily and looks at you as if you haven’t realized what you’ve said. 

“He does have the largest room. He just hasn’t been staying in it.” Garrick explains.

Your brows stay furrowed for a few more seconds before realization dawns and your eyes widen in shock.

“Why the hell would Xaden give me his room?” You ask in shock and confusion.

“You should know the answer to that question.” He says back to you with a pointed look before continuing.

“You should know by now how madly in love that man is with you. When we finally were able to get to you and bring you back…” He starts while shaking his head seeming to recount the memory. “I’ve never seen him so crazed. Between the fact that it took days to make a plan and execute it so we could get to that room without too much resistance. Then getting you back to Riorson House, and you being so broken. I’ve never seen him like that. He wouldn’t even leave your side while Brennan mended you.”

You sit there staring at your friend as he continues to recount the story.

“If it wasn’t for the fact that he had to go to some Assembly meetings, he wouldn’t have left that room until you woke up. We had to almost spoon feed him and drag him to any meetings he was required at. Even then, he made Violet stay in the room with you while he was gone, because she can communicate with him directly. He wouldn’t let us do it because we couldn’t get information to him immediately.”

You shake your head slightly and drop your head. You can’t believe that you didn’t even know any of that, let alone realize you had taken over Xaden’s room. 

Before you can get yourself together, you see the doors of the sparring gym swing open again and Xaden walk in. You see him look up at you and smile, until he sees the look on your face. He seems to speed up the pace of his walk before he’s standing in front of you and Garrick.

“What?” He says with concern laced in his tone, looking down at you. “What’s the matter?”

You see Garrick look between the two of you and he smirks slightly before starting to walk away. 

“I think I’ll take my leave for right now.” Garrick says amusedly. 

You and Xaden watch as Garrick walks to the door, and it swings shut behind him. Xaden turns his head back to you and looks you in the eyes, concern still laced in his features. 

“What happened?”

“Why am I staying in your room Xaden?” You ask, pure curiosity in your voice.

You watch as his eyes widen, and his looks turn sheepish. He looks down at his feet and you’re shocked to see this intimidating man looking as if he was caught red handed like a child stealing a slice of chocolate cake.

“I – uh – wanted you to be comfortable.” He says, although you can sense there is something else he isn’t saying.

“Uh huh. Comfortable? And why exactly wouldn’t I have been comfortable in one of the other bedrooms of Riorson House?” You challenge, enjoying it too much when you see a flush grace the cheeks of Xaden Riorson. 

“Well – I mean – You would’ve been. But – “He continues stammering.

“But what Riorson?” You continue, enjoying putting him on edge. 

Your relationship has been getting stronger and Xaden has done nothing but prove himself day in and out. It’s with that knowledge you find yourself feeling a new sense of bravado, especially when you already have him off kilter. 

As the conversation has continued, you’ve slowly been bringing yourself closer to him. As he continues to look back at you sheepishly, you bring your hand and place it on his chest. You watch as the move continues to rattle him, and he swallows thickly.

With a mischievous smirk sneaking across your face, you leave rationale behind and continue to rise on your toes and place your lips to his. You keep your eyes open, just to watch his reaction and what you see makes you smile into the kiss.

First his eyes blow wide in shock and his body tenses, before you feel his arms snake around your waist and pull you flush against his chest. The next thing you know, his eyes have closed, and the kiss has turned into one of pure desperation. You follow, closing your eyes, as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and spear your fingers through the hair at the back of his neck.

The kiss feels like a mix of new excitement and coming home. Too soon, you feel him slowing down the kiss and pulling back slightly. He places his forehead against yours and tries to catch his breath, his gaze boring into your eyes, searching for an answer to a question he hasn’t voiced.

“What does this mean?” He asks breathlessly, before rushing to continue. “Please know I don’t expect anything, not after everything I put you through. But if there is any chance at all for you to be mine again, please know that I will not waste it.”

You stare straight into his eyes, searching to see if his words are the truth. Not seeing anything in his gaze but pure hope, you smile at him. 

“I’m yours.” You say to him and watch the most blindingly perfect smile spreads across his whole face. 

Not even a second later, you feel yourself being picked up and swung around in a tight hug. Xaden hasn’t even put you down before he’s crashing his lips back into yours, the smile he was wearing still tearing at his lips. 

“I promise that even though I may still piss you off and be an ass at times, I’ll never let what happened between us ever happen again. You’re mine, and I’m never letting you go, never again.” He declares after you both finally pull apart. 

“Come on.” He says, pulling you by your hand.

“Where are we going? I thought we were training?” You say all while laughing at the antics of the man pulling you along.

“Fuck training. We’re going to watch the sunset on my favorite hill and I’m not letting you go for one minute.”  He says as he continues to pull you through Riorson House to the doors.

At that point, a smile of pure happiness settles across your face as you follow the man that has your heart out the door and into the endless possibilities that lie ahead. 

As he rests against the trunk of the tree with you wrapped in his arms against his chest and his head nuzzled in your hair, you can’t help but think this may be the most beautiful sunset you’ve ever seen. 

[batboysanonymous]

A Taste of Silence

Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Rhys's drunken words cut deeper than any blade, leaving Y/n questioning everything she thought she knew about their bond. As heartbreak and betrayal collide, she faces a choice that could shatter the fragile threads holding their world together.

Pt. II

The sun was setting behind the mountains of Velaris, casting a warm, golden glow over the City of Starlight. Y/N dismounted her horse with a wince, her muscles sore from the journey home. The mission Rhysand had sent her on had been grueling, stretching over several days, but she’d completed it with the determination and precision he’d come to rely on. She’d long since earned her place among the Inner Circle, proving time and again that she was more than just Rhys's mate—she was an integral part of his court.

Yet tonight, as she climbed the steps to the townhouse, exhaustion weighed heavy on her. Her bond with Rhys hummed faintly, a soft reminder of his presence as she opened the door. Laughter and the faint clink of glasses drifted from the sitting room, mingling with the scent of wine and smoke. She paused, her hand tightening on the doorknob.

The Inner Circle had gathered. Normally, the thought of reuniting with them after days apart would lift her spirits, but something about the atmosphere tonight felt… off.

She stepped inside, her movements quiet, and stopped just outside the doorway to the sitting room.

“—and she just doesn’t get it sometimes,” Rhysand’s voice rang out, slurred and slightly louder than usual. The unmistakable tone of drunkenness coiled in his words.

“She tries,” Mor said defensively, but Y/N could hear the restraint in her tone. “And she succeeds, Rhys. Far more than you give her credit for.”

“She makes everything harder,” Rhys countered, his laugh bitter. “Always asking questions, always needing to insert herself into things she doesn’t understand. Do you know how many times I’ve had to clean up after her?”

Y/N felt the breath leave her lungs. She leaned against the wall for support, her vision blurring as his words sank in.

“That’s not true,” Feyre said sharply. “Y/N has done nothing but prove herself over and over. You’re being unfair.”

“Am I?” Rhys pressed. “She doesn’t belong in this court, not like the rest of you. She’s… reckless. And it’s exhausting.”

“She’s your mate, Rhys,” Amren snapped, her voice cutting through the tension. “She’s part of this family. And you’re making a fool of yourself right now.”

Y/N’s chest ached, each word from Rhys like a dagger to the heart. The bond between them flared painfully, as if sensing her anguish. She wanted to storm in, to defend herself, to demand he explain how he could say such things after everything she’d sacrificed for him, for this court. But her body felt frozen, pinned by the weight of his betrayal.

Her hands trembled as she stepped back into the hallway, her breaths shallow. She couldn’t do this. Not tonight. She needed space, time to think, to process the heartbreak that threatened to consume her.

She turned toward the front door, intent on leaving, when a shadow shifted in the corner of the room. Azriel emerged, his piercing gaze meeting hers. His expression tightened as he took in her tear-filled eyes and trembling hands.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low and careful.

She shook her head, a silent plea for him to let her go. Azriel hesitated, his shadows curling around him like a shield, but he stepped aside. Without another word, Y/N slipped out the door and into the cool night air.

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When the laughter in the sitting room died down, and the conversation shifted, Rhysand finally noticed the absence of a presence he hadn’t realized he’d been craving all night. He frowned, his drunken haze thinning just enough for the bond to nudge at his consciousness. It was too quiet.

“Where’s Y/N?” he asked, glancing around the room.

Silence greeted him.

Feyre’s lips pressed into a thin line. “She came home. She was standing in the hallway while you were… talking.”

The words hit him like a physical blow. His blood ran cold as realization sank in. “She heard me?”

Azriel’s dark gaze bore into him, his voice a quiet blade. “She heard everything.”

Rhysand shot to his feet, his heart pounding. He reached for the bond, but all he felt was a wall of pain and silence.

“Where is she?” he demanded, panic sharpening his tone.

Azriel crossed his arms. “Gone. She didn’t say where. She looked like she wanted to run as far from you as possible.”

Rhysand staggered back, his mind racing. The wine turned to bile in his stomach, his shame and regret coiling tighter with each passing second. He had to find her. Had to fix this.

But as he winnowed into the night, desperation clawing at him, one thought echoed in his mind.

He wasn’t sure if she’d ever let him fix it.

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Rhysand searched the city in a frenzy, the bond stretched taut with Y/N’s pain and his own spiraling guilt. He winnowed to every corner of Velaris, the glow of the stars above mocking his desperation. He tried to reach her through their bond, but her end was firmly shut—a silence louder than any scream.

“Damn it, Y/N,” he hissed under his breath as he scanned the Rainbow District. The cool night air did nothing to temper the heat of panic coursing through him.

Where would she go?

His mind raced, and finally, he stopped fighting the bond. Though she’d shut him out emotionally, he could still trace her faint physical presence, the residual pull that tied them together. When he caught the direction, his heart sank.

The forest.

The place where they’d once picnicked under the stars, where she’d whispered her dreams to him like secrets she trusted him to hold forever. The place she’d deemed her safe haven.

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Winnowing to the clearing, Rhysand stumbled upon her sitting beneath the massive oak at its center. Moonlight danced across her tear-streaked face as she cradled her knees to her chest. She looked so small, so fragile, and it made his heart ache.

“Y/N,” he called softly, stepping closer.

She stiffened but didn’t look at him. “Go away, Rhys.”

Her voice, usually so vibrant, sounded hollow.

“I can’t,” he said, dropping to his knees a few feet from her. “Not like this.”

“Not like what?” she snapped, finally meeting his gaze. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her expression hard. “Not like the mess you made, Rhysand? Or not like the words you spewed about me to the people I consider family?”

He flinched at the venom in her voice. “I was drunk, Y/N. I—”

“Don’t,” she cut him off sharply. “Don’t use that as an excuse. Drunk or not, you said what you meant.”

He reached out as if to touch her, but she leaned away, her walls firmly in place. The bond between them hummed weakly, a pale reflection of what it once was.

“You’re right,” he admitted, his voice raw. “I said those things. But I didn’t mean them—not the way they came out. I was an idiot, and I—”

“Stop,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “You said I make everything harder. That I don’t belong. So, I’ll make it easy for you.”

His heart dropped. “Y/N, please don’t—”

“No,” she said firmly, standing up. She towered over him, her presence fierce despite the anguish etched into her face. “You wanted me to stay out of things I don’t understand? Fine. I won’t ask questions anymore. I won’t ‘insert myself’ into your precious plans. I’ll do exactly what you want, Rhys. I’ll disappear into the background, a perfect little shadow in your court.”

His chest tightened painfully as her words sank in. “That’s not what I want.”

“Isn’t it?” she challenged, her voice rising. “Because it’s exactly what you said, Rhysand. And for once, I’m giving you exactly what you asked for.”

She turned on her heel and began walking away, her shoulders trembling with restrained emotion.

Rhys scrambled to his feet, following her. “You’re twisting this! I don’t want you to disappear, Y/N. I need you. I was a fool to say those things, but you—”

“But nothing,” she snapped, spinning back around to face him. “You don’t get to need me only when it’s convenient, Rhys. You don’t get to humiliate me and then expect me to act like it didn’t happen. I gave you everything—my loyalty, my love, my trust. And you threw it in my face.”

The weight of her words was crushing, and he couldn’t bring himself to argue. She was right.

“I’ll come home,” she said after a long silence, her voice quieter now but no less firm. “Because Velaris is my home, and the Inner Circle is my family. But you…” Her breath hitched, and for a moment, he thought she might cry. Instead, she steadied herself. “You are no longer my priority, Rhysand. If you want my forgiveness, you’re going to have to earn it. Every. Single. Day.”

With that, she winnowed away, leaving him standing in the empty clearing, the bond between them a cold echo of what it used to be.

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Back at the townhouse, Y/N strode in with her head held high, her expression blank. The Inner Circle, still gathered in the sitting room, fell silent as she entered.

“Y/N,” Feyre started, but Y/N held up a hand.

“I’m fine,” she said tightly. “I just need some rest.”

They watched her ascend the stairs, none of them daring to stop her.

Moments later, Rhysand appeared in the doorway, his face pale, his steps heavy as he entered the room.

“She didn’t forgive you, did she?” Mor said quietly, her arms crossed.

He shook his head, his throat tightening. “No.”

“And she shouldn’t,” Amren said coldly, her sharp eyes narrowing. “Not until you prove you deserve it.”

Rhysand said nothing, the truth of her words settling like a stone in his gut.

As he made his way upstairs, he stopped outside their bedroom door. His hand hovered over the handle, but he didn’t go in. He could feel her inside, her grief and anger rippling through their bond.

For the first time in centuries, the High Lord of the Night Court felt powerless.

And he deserved every second of it.

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The days following that fateful night were a study in contrasts for the Night Court. Y/N returned to her duties, carrying herself with a grace and efficiency that made it impossible to find fault in her actions. She was polished, precise, and perfect—exactly what Rhysand had drunkenly claimed she wasn’t.

Rhys felt the weight of her words in everything she did, a pointed reminder of how deeply he had wronged her.

“You wanted me to disappear into the background,” she had said. And she did.

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Y/N began arriving precisely on time to every meeting, her notes already prepared, her insights delivered in a calm, detached manner. She offered no questions, no debates, just the bare necessities required of her position.

“Any thoughts, Y/N?” Rhys asked one afternoon during a strategy meeting with the Inner Circle.

She met his gaze for the briefest of moments, her expression unreadable. “None, my lord. I’ll carry out the plan as outlined.”

The title, usually reserved for formal settings, felt like a slap to his face. Rhys clenched his jaw, watching her retreat into herself. The warmth she used to bring into the room, the way her laughter used to lighten even the heaviest of conversations, was absent.

“I think this plan could use some fine-tuning,” Cassian interjected, attempting to draw Y/N out.

“I trust the High Lord’s judgment,” she replied coolly, gathering her papers. “If that’s all, I’ll begin preparations immediately.”

She left the room without looking back, leaving a heavy silence in her wake.

“She’s killing you,” Mor said after a moment, her tone uncharacteristically sharp.

“She’s killing herself,” Amren corrected, her silver eyes narrowing. “But only because he killed her first.”

Rhys lowered his head, guilt an anchor in his chest. “I deserve this,” he muttered, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.

“And then some,” Feyre added softly, though her voice carried an edge of sympathy.

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At home, Y/N’s silence was even more deafening. She no longer sat beside him on the couch, opting for the farthest seat in the room. She no longer joined him for late-night talks, instead retreating to her private quarters with a book or a report.

Even when they shared the same bed, she was miles away. She would slip under the covers after he’d pretended to fall asleep, her body curled tightly on the far edge of the mattress. The bond between them, once a vibrant tether of love and warmth, was now a fragile thread, stretched so thin it felt ready to snap.

Rhys tried everything he could think of. He filled her favorite garden with fresh blooms, sent her favorite meals to her office, even wrote her letters apologizing for his thoughtless words.

Each attempt was met with polite acknowledgment but no real response.

“I don’t need gifts, Rhysand,” she said one evening when he’d tried to present her with a rare necklace from one of his travels. Her voice was calm but firm. “I need respect. I need trust. And I need time.”

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Weeks passed like this, each day a slow torture. The bond hummed faintly with her sadness, but it was muffled, guarded, as though she was shielding herself from him entirely.

One night, Rhys found her in the library, poring over mission reports. She looked so tired, her usually radiant features shadowed with exhaustion.

“Y/N,” he began hesitantly, leaning against the doorframe.

She didn’t look up. “What do you need, Rhys?”

“I need you to talk to me,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “I need to know how to fix this.”

She finally raised her eyes to meet his, and he wished she hadn’t. The emptiness in her gaze was a knife to his heart.

“You want to fix this?” she asked, her tone devoid of emotion. “Then prove to me that I’m more than just a burden to you. Show me that I’m not some inconvenient addition to your perfect court.”

“I never thought you were—”

“Stop,” she interrupted, her voice rising for the first time in weeks. She stood, the papers in her hands trembling. “You did, Rhysand. You said it yourself. And I believed you. I believed every word.”

Her admission was like a punch to the gut, and Rhys took a shaky step forward. “I didn’t mean it, Y/N. I swear on the Mother, I didn’t mean it.”

“But you said it,” she whispered, tears finally spilling over. “And that’s the part I can’t forget.”

She brushed past him, leaving him standing alone in the library, her tears the only sound echoing in the empty space.

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The next morning, Y/N was back to her unshakable, distant self. She attended meetings, completed her missions with flawless precision, and maintained an icy professionalism that left no room for personal connection.

But Rhys noticed the way she avoided his gaze, the way her laughter no longer filled the halls, the way she barely touched the bond between them.

She was giving him exactly what he’d drunkenly demanded: distance, detachment, and silence.

And it was killing him.

One evening, Feyre found him sitting alone in the dining room, a glass of wine untouched in his hand.

“She’ll come back to you,” Feyre said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Rhys shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not unless I can prove to her that I’m worth coming back to.”

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It wasn’t until a particularly grueling mission left Y/N injured that the walls finally cracked.

She stumbled into the townhouse late at night, her arm bleeding and her face pale. Rhys was on her in an instant, his heart pounding as he helped her to the couch.

“Why didn’t you call for me?” he demanded, his hands glowing with healing light as he tended to her wounds.

“I didn’t think you’d want to clean up another one of my messes,” she said flatly, her words cutting deeper than any injury.

Rhys froze, his hands trembling. “Y/N, don’t—”

“Don’t what?” she snapped, her exhaustion finally breaking through her calm exterior. “Don’t remind you of the words you threw at me like knives? Don’t make you feel guilty for the way you shattered me?”

Her voice broke on the last word, and Rhys felt his own tears slipping free. “I’ll never forgive myself for hurting you,” he whispered. “But I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it right if you’ll let me.”

Y/N stared at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she shook her head, her voice soft but firm.

“I need more than words, Rhysand. I need actions. I need time. And I need to believe that you truly see me as your equal, not as someone you have to clean up after.”

He nodded, his heart aching. “You have my word, Y/N. I’ll prove it to you.”

She said nothing more, retreating to her room and leaving Rhys alone once again.

But this time, he felt the faintest flicker of hope.

Taglist: @willowpains, @fanficscuziranout, @lilah-asteria, @lreadsstuff, @flintthegoodboyo, @saltedcoffeescotch

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[vyva-melinkolya]

we all agree that the push towards short form, vertical video (tiktok/reels/shorts) is ruining fucking everything right? Tiktok has been useful for the dissemination of political information (e.g Gaza) i’ll give it that, but that feels moreso a result of meta and twitters algorithms being just a little *more*’evil and censor happy. And i want to make it very clear that my hatred for tiktok has nothing to do with the fact that it was a product of a Chinese company, because i see a lot of critiques relying on some sort of sinophobic conspiracy. On the contrary, it’s what tiktok has become in the vacuum of western popular culture and marketing that makes me fearful.

I know that every generation faces a new, polarizing technology and inevitably, there are those among said generation who will critique it. That is the nature of things. However, there is also something to be said about how, with the acceleration of technology (running parallel to the acceleration of capitalism, acceleration towards collapse etc), each coming generation faces an increasingly more malevolent “advancement”. TLDR, i’m going to talk my shit.

I’m going to speak on the aspect that is most relavent to me, as a musician. I am petrified by what short form video is doing to music and to musicians. I think that tiktok provides the illusion of making music and being a musician more “accessible” while actually pouring gasoline on the fire that the pop music machine had already started. Standards for what popular culture “expects” from music are being doubled and tripled. Let’s talk about song length. Success and marketability favoring shorter songs is not something new, it has been the trend for decades. But with short form video, it goes even further. You’re not just hearing the same song over and over on the radio, you’re hearing the same 15-30 seconds of the same song over and over again. This in-turn, starts to influence the way people write music, persuading people to make songs that *could* have that 15 second appeal. There is an art to pop music, there is an art to writing a catchy hook—this is something else. We weren’t meant to hear or understand music like that. There are so many songs from reels that i found annoying, until i heard them in their full context. It’s insidious. It makes everything feel like a fucking commercial, even if nothing is being advertised.

I’m going to pull directly from someone else’s experiences, someone who’s music seems to be everywhere on short form videos. The ambient musician My Head Is Empty has a hundred million streams on the song “i was only temporary”. Despite that exposure, they experience “never ending copywrite issues” and have “received death threats” by people who refuse to credit them when using their song. Pulling a quote here, from a comment on their own post

“vyva_melinkolya unfortunately it just gets worse. i saw a bot content page that steals pod cast footage and spams dozens of videos with my song stolen, comment on a "motivation" spam content , who actually made a post telling people the name of my song, and the previous page i mentioned, the pod cast spam commented on that video saying "Bro stop don't give out the sauce. this audio helps me pull numbers brooo" - so people are actively INTENTIONALLY stealing it and telling people to not credit me. like. u can't make this stuff up”

Beyond this, My Head Is Empty feels frustrated that despite all this exposure, the rest of their work (nine albums) as a musician remains under appreciated, and i think that frustration is 100% valid. People cannot fully appreciate music, or even understand it as a work of art created by another human, when it’s taken so far out of its context. Again, the soul being sucked out of art by “the machine” isn’t anything new but, this is a whole other level. Being a musician is more expensive than ever, streaming earns you fractions of a cent etc, it all feeds into itself.

When a song or a musician i love deeply finds its way on to tiktok (let’s use Duster’s “Stars Will Fall”, one of my favorite songs ever as an example)I am not upset that i cant “gatekeep” it anymore. I’m not upset by the idea of something I love and hold dearly finding a larger audience. I AM upset in the manner in which it is being disseminated. I’m upset with art I hold dear to me being chopped up and used as “trending audio”. When I saw Duster in concert recently, lStars Will Fall” was the song I was most looking forward to hearing. It was the last song they played, and it was the song seemly everyone chose to talk loudly over. The audience was mostly people my age and younger. This complaint might come off as petty or pretentious or cliche, i frankly do not give a shit.

Let’s talk about how musicians are expected to promote music on tiktok/reels. This is a matter of opinion, at the risk of sounding very pretentious: the “POV we are x band from x” “My label says i need x followers before x” “posting this video until c musician notices me”. I understand that some of it is in jest but, what the fuck? When did this become the norm? I do not blame anyone for promoting their music like this, but we should want more for ourselves. I’ve always said being a musician is deeply embarassing, inherently. If being a musician is inherently embarassing then what is this? I dont have a solution for this, and the music industry has always been ugly and bloodthirsty and seldom fruitful— but i feel like the very small amount of dignity we had as artists is now lost and I cant fucking stand it. Artists seem to promote the same single with dozens of reels over the course of months, hoping that something sticks. I dont want to sound like i’m shaming or, again, sound like i can provide a solution. I’m just very fucking sorry that it seems like this is “the way”. And personally, i’m scared that if i dont “get with the program”, im going to fail.

Again, all of this speaks to larger trends in entertainment industry and even larger trends in capitalism. But i’m just airing specifics right now because frankly? I cant take it anymore.

[luveline]

Same hotch sister reader anon here Jade!

I think I have sent this one before like recently only, idk whether you have seen it or not so I will request again

The reader gets injured (I'm a sucker for injury troop) and Aaron and Spencer worry and Spencer also has to lift the reader. Please write if it's not too much 🥺

Aaron tells you two or three times not to do it. “Just wait,” he says, standing behind you with his hands hovering over your back. “Seriously, I’ll ask Morgan.” 

“How can you host the party without glasses?” 

“I can assure you my guests aren’t going to miss a glass of wine for the first ten minutes. Don’t make me grab you.” 

“I can reach!” 

“I can reach, too, it’s not about height, it’s about–” He gasp loudly as your stool wobbles. “Sweetheart, get down. I’m not kidding.” 

You grab the stem of the last glass and pass it down to him. “Stop worrying! I told you I could do it and I did.” 

And you’re right, you passed him each of his glasses without smashing any, as promised. You are not expecting the top of the stool to feel so slippery as you try to get down, nor are you expecting to lean forward and pop your face on the cabinet glass. You whack your chin, lose your footing, and slam down on knee before Aaron can catch you. 

There’s a silence. Two hands on your shoulders. “Honey…” 

“Just say it,” you groan.

“Well, I told you so.” 

The doorbell rings. “Ah, fuck,” you say, curling into yourself as everything throbs. 

“It’s okay, come here.”

“Go get the door.” 

“No, they can wait, just let me help you up.” 

“If you love me, you’ll leave me to die here.” 

The doorbell rings again. “Aaron!” Dave calls from the other side. “Shall we let ourselves in?” 

“It’s locked,” Aaron says to you. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

You wave him away. Honestly, you’re not okay, having fallen hard enough to knock the wind from yourself and hurt your knees and chin. But you’re happier to recover by yourself before his friends get here and spot you all crumpled. 

The problem arises when you can’t get your knee to listen to you. It tingles painfully. It did take all your weight as you fell, which likely stopped you from breaking your arms, but wasn’t kind to your joint, it seems. You push yourself onto your butt and sit there, unsatisfied, and, embarrassingly, waiting to be rescued. 

Aaron’s kind, thankfully. He takes Dave to the living room, and sends the second arrival your way. 

“You okay?” Spencer asks, frowning at your strange position on the floor. 

You pout at him. “Spencer, I’ve fallen and my knee won’t work.” 

“You fell?” 

Any nonchalance falls away. Spencer scrambles onto his knees beside you to look you over, curls falling from behind his ear into his eyes as he encourages you back. “You fell?” he asks again, confused. 

“Off the stool.” 

“Off the– What were you doing?” 

“Just grabbing the glasses for tonight!”

“Morgan could’ve done that.” 

“Can you please help me up?” you ask, very much wanting to move on. 

Spencer is a slight man. Not without muscle, but also no weightlifter. To his credit, he doesn’t make helping you seem above his abilities as he wraps an arm behind you and tucks the other under your legs. He lifts you enough to get his hand at the small of your back, and you use your now one good leg to stand. 

Spencer manhandles you a little, which is new. Hosts you to the couch, and lets you down gently. He does need a big breath when he’s done, but besides that, he’s like a Prince Charming having rescued you from your own demise. “Okay?” he asks, both hands at your waist. 

“It hurt bad.” 

“Can I see it?” 

By picking you up, he has earned the right to get you undressed, and you tell him so, his cheeks turning pinky-red as he rolls up your jeans. 

“Swollen,” he says. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” You grimace. “I’m so embarrassed I don’t really know what to say. Do you think we can postpone the party?”

Spencer smiles at you, the sort of smile you can only give somebody when you’ve seen almost every part of them, and found yourself still in love by the end of it. He smiles at you like you’re made of pure gold. “You don’t have to say anything. I’m gonna nurse you back to health.” 

“Really?” 

“Of course I am. I’m gonna fix it, but first I was thinking I could kiss your chin better? You have a dark spot coming.” 

You touch it, tender, surprised, “I do?” 

Spencer leans up to peck your chin, just shy of the coming bruise. “You do. I’ll get you some ice.” 

[cloverapple]

Shifting FAQ and why you need to calm the FAQ down

“Can I script that—”

Yes.

“Can I shift to a reality where—”

Yes.

“Is permashifting possible?”

Yes.

“I’ve been trying for x amount of years—”

The time passed already. Focus on here and now.

“Will X happen if I script Y?”

Whatever you script will happen exactly how you want it to.

“Can I shift without any methods?”

Yes. There are infinite ways to shift = Infinite ways to go about something that is instant.

“I’ve tried everything—“

Except fully trusting yourself, since you’re still dwelling on your shifting journey from a place of lack.

“Do I need to believe 100% to shift?”

No. You just need to allow it. Doubt doesn’t stop you, resistance does.

“Is shifting, like, REALLY real?”

Yes.

“But my blockages—“

You’re not a clogged drain. There’s nothing blocking something that happens naturally.

“My subconscious doesn’t believe in my affirmations—“

Oh, my bad. I didn’t realize affirming was the only way to manifest. Sooo, what should I do with this whole bag of feeling my way into my DR, visualization, subliminals, SATs, askfirmations, scripting, channeling, daydreaming, meditating, embodying the state, living in the end, inner conversations, mental rehearsals, literally just vibing, and doing absolutely nothing because sometimes that works too? Should I just toss all that in the trash? Light it on fire? Bury it in the backyard? Cool, good to know.

“Can I shift while I’m tired? While I’m sad? While I’m stressed?”

Yes, yes, and yes. Emotions don’t block shifting. If anything, they help.

“Why haven’t I shifted yet?”

That’s like asking why the sun isn’t rising when you know it’s just beneath the horizon. You know it’s coming, you know it can break through any second, but you keep staring at the dark like the world is ending.

“How do I figure out what I need to do?”

The only person in this universe who knows the answer to that question is you, yet you doubt yourself so much, you mistrust yourself so much, that it’s like whatever your subconscious is telling you goes in one ear and out the other.

“But NOTHING works for me 😭”

Okay, listen—in the gentlest, most kindergarten-teacher voice possible—shifting is like 10% processes that “work for you” or not and 90% trust and letting go. If you can’t trust yourself, cool, trust your undeniable ability to shift. If that feels like a stretch, trust your subconscious (it’s been running the show since forever, give it some credit). Still not there? Trust the outcome. Trust something, anything. And then? LET. GO. RELAX. Like, actually unclench your jaw and stop treating shifting like it’s a piece of raw chicken and you a dog that has not eaten in *checks watch* 2 minutes.

Because if you’re over here sobbing, whining “nothing works for meeeee,” that tells me two things:

A) You don’t trust anything, which, surprise surprise, makes shifting a little difficult. B) Something does work for you. There’s a sweet spot, a method that clicks—but you haven’t found it because you approach every process with fear instead of fun, frustration instead of curiosity, anxiety instead of chill.

Imagine slipping into the driver’s seat of a car you know how to drive, but you’re bawling, panicking, flailing around like the steering wheel’s out to get you. You’re gonna hit a pedestrian. THE PEDESTRIAN IS YOU.

People forget that shifting is as limitless as you are. Shifting is you. Shifting has no rules. You have no rules. So why are you boxing shifting in? Why are you boxing yourself in? Why are you creating problems for something infinite? Why are you stepping into the identity of a finite being when you have the power to shift realities?

You weren’t born with limits. You were taught them. Conditioned to believe that things have to be hard, that you have to struggle, that you need to earn what’s already yours. But shifting doesn’t play by those rules, and neither do you. The only limits are the ones you keep dragging along with you.

“I’m quitting shifting. I still can’t shift even though I’ve tried XY and Z⏤”

This is you:

Side note: If you’ve read all this and you’re still frustrated, overwhelmed, confused, and sitting there like “I don’t know what to dooooo 😩”

Take. A. Break.

A day? Cool.

A week? Even better.

Two weeks? A whole month? Do it.

Take a break from shifting, from overthinking, from spiraling down every forum post and Reddit thread like it’s gonna reveal the secret of the universe. Because if you’ve hit that point where nothing sticks, every piece of advice goes in one ear and out the other, every answer feels wrong, and you’re waiting for some magical piece of advice to make you shift, guess what? You need to calm the FAQ down.

Maybe your brain’s flashing red lights like “WARNING: SYSTEM OVERLOAD” and you’re out here ignoring it, treating frustration and exhaustion like it’s another problem to fix instead of a big ol’ sign that your mind needs a nap and a snack.

Let it chill. Recharge. You’re not losing progress; you’re just giving your brain a breather so when you come back, shifting feels like fun again, not a chore.

[skzdarlings]

i do ; skz ; felix x reader

requested by anonymous: ' I would love if you could use these prompts...on Felix x fem reader:❛ i love that no one else has seen you like this, that no one else has felt you before, been inside you. they don't get to have you, but i do. ❜❛ you're mine. you've always been mine. ❜I love possessive Felix, istg i would give amything to have him' plus two anonymous requests for: 'i'd say you need someone to put you in your place' for felix.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: look this request was for possessive!felix and so possessive!felix i delivered. he is a little weirdo in this tbh. but i think after all my anti-rich-guy stories, i have earned the right for one problematic possessive mafia boss who throws his money and his dick around hahaha. so yes, possessive!felix, virgin!reader, wedding night, arranged marriage, felix being a criminal boss, insta-love. reader's backstory involves a verbally abusive/neglectful family. explicit sexual content. word count: 4000 words.

masterlist. part of the valentine’s day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.

enjoy <3

-

Your new husband is astoundingly pretty.   You expected a different face to be waiting at the end of the wedding aisle: harsh, old, scarred.  Maybe, if you let yourself fantasize, he would be handsome in a rugged way. 

You were not expecting Felix.  Slender, delicate Felix with his high cheekbones and freckles, his dark eyes and feather-soft blonde hair.  He smiled a dimpled smile as your father surrendered your hand. 

That surrender was a visual representation of a literal transaction.  You were a bartering tool to save your father’s business.  You knew an arranged marriage was inevitable when a few trades went sour and the company went bankrupt.  The family could only maintain relevancy and safety through a match to someone more powerful. 

Lee Felix is the heir to a very dirty criminal syndicate that blends in high society.  Everyone knows their money is blood-spattered, but they throw a good party and the jewels sparkle the same.

You knew his name long before the wedding.  Of course you knew his name.  But you did not know his face.  You expected a devil, not a vision of divinity, resplendent in white and gold. 

Your heart has not stopped racing since he first lifted your veil and kissed you with lips softer and gentler than your grandest fantasies. 

Now you are perched on a lavish bed in a beautiful penthouse suite.  The walls are windows, externally tinted but offering you a glorious view of the glittering cityscape at night.  You wonder how much of the city your new husband owns. 

Would that be an impertinent question?  It is not as though there is any real charade to play; this is not a love match and there is no sense pretending otherwise.  Enquiring after financial assets is arguably appropriate insofar as business goes. 

Then the door opens and your new husband enters.  All thoughts of business flitter into nothing, an insignificant detail next to your wedding night.  A night with this powerful and beautiful stranger.

“Are you nervous?” he asks in a voice so deep it keeps surprising you.  It suits his angelic appearance in a way, something so captivating about its low tones, effortlessly melodic.  But that melody is coloured darkly in its depth, scratching a shiver up your spine.  When he speaks, it feels like he is trailing his fingers up your back in a curious, searching touch. 

He looks at you with as much depth, dark eyes penetrating as he circles the bed.  He has been nothing but polite, but you can’t help but feel like prey being circled by a predator. 

Even more concerning, you can’t help but like it.  Since the moment he took your hand, his eyes have not left you.  It is almost overwhelming.  You have been invisible your whole life.  No one ever looked at you.  No one ever wanted you.  Your father scared off anyone who tried. 

Felix is not just anyone.  Anyone sensible would be scared of him.

You are also not just anyone. 

“No,” you answer.

“Really?”  He lifts a curious eyebrow. 

You are both in your wedding clothes, all white and gold.  Your veil is draped over a chair in the corner.  He puts his coat there too. 

He never looks away from you, rolling his shirtsleeves up his forearms as he approaches the bed.

“May I ask, why not?” he asks.  It’s a funny question, so polite but only posed because he knows his own reputation.  He knows what you must think of him.  The bloodshed, the ruthlessness, the merciless command he holds over his family’s legacy.  He might look unassuming, but he is not to be trifled with.  That gentle exterior could be unnerving to some people, even more than an outward brute. 

But you have dealt with those brutes your whole life.  An abusive father, cruel brother, an uncaring mother.  Hurt, neglected, ignored. 

Tonight, while you circled the reception to greet everyone, your father and brother pulled you aside.  Your mother had already berated you on the details of your appearance, but they were reprimanding you for every other misstep.

You almost burst into tears, tired and frightened.  You were so afraid you would never escape them.  Even at your wedding, on the cusp of a new life, they were dragging you around, kicking and screaming.

Then you felt a tap on your shoulder.  Bang Chan, one of Felix’s most trusted agents, stood there with a forced but cordial smile.  He looked at you and not your family. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said.  “Your husband is asking for you.  Please, come with me.”

Your father sputtered indignantly, unaccustomed to such blatant disrespect for his authority.  Chan said nothing to him, simply offered you his arm.  He also opened his jacket to flash the gun in his chest holster.  Your family had their weapons stripped before entering the reception.  It was a subtle reminder of who was really in charge. 

So your father and brother were left sputtering helplessly as Chan escorted you across the room.  Felix was sitting with some of his men, smiling his bright smile and looking like any happy young groom. 

That sunny face faltered when he saw your morose expression.  His glance passed to your family, a flicker of anger in his gaze.  Then he smiled at you and held out a welcoming arm. 

“Come here,” he said.  “Sit with me a bit.  Please.” That deep voice.  You felt it like a touch inside you. He had recited the scripted vows earlier.  This invitation was his first real address. 

You nodded.  Your legs were shaky from the confrontation, never mind the wobble from your heels.  Your feet hurt.  Sitting would be a relief if nothing else. 

There was an empty seat behind Felix.  It was the type of seat you were usually given: at the back where you could be forgotten. 

Once you were within reach, Felix grabbed you around the waist.  Your breath caught as you stumbled towards him.  He caught you and held you.  Then you were sitting in his lap, your dress draped everywhere, a glittering ivory prize perched safe and pretty on his knee.  He wrapped a possessive arm around your middle. 

It was more than a power play.  It was one thing to put you on his lap and show your family that he owned you now, but it was another for him to frown as he touched the painfully tight pearl belt around your waist. 

“Why is this so tight?” he asked, looking at you with concern.     

“I’m sorry,” you said automatically, in the habit of grovelling whenever someone took a disappointed tone.  “My mother,” you spoke softly, not wanting the rest of the table to hear. 

He leaned closer to you, offering you his ear directly.  A whisper was all you managed, unaccustomed to such attention.

“They’re real pearls,” you whispered.  “Very expensive.  Very fine.  Too fine for me.  My mother had the belt made small so I would remember to act worthy of them.  Sit straight.  Not over-eat.  You know.”

He frowned, his brow furrowing.  Instinct compelled you to soothe that displeasure, laughing like you were not upset.

“It’s all right,” you said.  “She’s right.  They are very fine pearls.”

“It’s not all right,” Felix said.  He looked at you, held your gaze in his own.  You found yourself counting his freckles.  “Do you like it?” he asked. 

Maybe it was his display of power.  Maybe it was his arm around you.  Maybe it was the freckles.  He looked so sweet, so sincere.  You could not bring yourself to lie.  Though you had defended your cruel family all your life, the truth fell from your lips in a rough exhale. 

“No.”  You felt tears in your eyes.  “I know it’s expensive.  I know it’s beautiful.  But I’ve never hated anything more.” 

He held your gaze, your watery eyes in the dark depths of his own.

Then he grabbed the belt by a thin material strand and yanked.  A couple pearls popped right off and scattered.  The rest dangled on the belt, an absurd amount of wealth in his hand. 

Felix tossed it over his shoulder like it was garbage. Then he wrapped his arm around your waist and held you against him. 

You chanced a look at your family.  They were scandalized.  Horrified.  And you breathed easier for the first time in a long time. You have long suffered the oppressive strangle of control masquerading as love.  His protective arm felt nothing like that pearl belt.

So you look at him now.  You strive to articulate all these feelings.  You are not used to speaking and having someone listen. 

“I can’t explain it,” you say.  “Maybe it’s foolish.  But I… I just feel like I was meant to be here.  With you.  Like this.”

Your heart jumps at his expression, a luminous pleasure that brightens this dimly lit room. 

“That’s funny,” he says.  “I feel the same way.”

You swallow as he sits beside you.  Slowly, touch by touch, breath by breath, he is bringing your bodies together.  His knee touches yours, his arm your arm.  He folds his hands in his lap but he is close enough you can count his freckles again. 

“I need to be honest with you,” he says.  “I’ve wanted you since I first saw you.  A year ago.  At the winter masquerade.”

You look at him with surprise.  All at once, his eyes come back to you, gazing at you behind a golden bird mask at the annual winter social.  You couldn’t place the handsome stranger at the time.  His hair was dark then, his face in a mask.�� He did not speak.  His distinctive voice would have given him away. 

He danced one dance with you, the only person who danced with you all night.  You were later reprimanded for behaving like a slut, even though he touched your waist and nothing more.

“You were very kind,” he says.  “I watched you with the staff.  You were the only one in that whole room to say please and thank you to them – did you know that?”  He sighs and looks away, thoughts travelling beyond this room.  “I came from nothing,” he says.  “My family… we fought to get where we are now.  But I remember, you know.  What it feels like to be the smallest and least important person in the room.”

You sit straighter when he looks at you.  Oh, your heart has not slowed its thunder.  Excitement and affection swirl together in a motley tempest of sensation, touched by his words and yearning for more.  You thought you had been sold to an uncaring bidder, but Felix touches you slowly, like he would a very fine work of art.  His knuckles caress your cheek, the slope of your jaw. 

“I thought…” He looks at you reverently.  “I thought… I would do anything to preserve that goodness.  I would protect it.  Like your family wasn’t.”  His brow furrows now, a shadow of his face.  “They would have ruined you.” 

His hand continues, knuckles skimming down your throat, your shoulder, your arm.  You shiver.   He has a terrible scar, scoring the whole back of his hand.  A stark difference to your unblemished hand, your manicured nails against his calloused fingers. 

He says, “I know what it’s like to be ruined.”

You look from your hands to his face, his handsome profile, the slope of his nose and his soft lips.  He is still looking at your joined hands. 

“I wasn’t always like this,” he says.  “I’d give anything to have my innocence back.  But I can’t.”

He lifts your hand, cradles it between both of his like something precious.  Your breath catches when he kisses your palm, lips soft against your skin.  

“So I told myself, I would do anything to save yours,” he says.  He looks almost… afraid.  An expression you never expected to see on this man.   “So I destroyed your father’s business,” he says.  “It was all me.  I knew he would never give you to a man like me unless he had no choice.  He would have given you away to one of his friends and they would have broken you.  But you were already mine.  So I left him no choice but to see things my way.” 

“Oh,” you say, surprised beyond all words. 

“I wanted you to know before anything… happens… between us,” he says.  “But I understand if your feeling are complicated.  Or if you… fear me.”

Your father has often boasted how many men fear him.  It does not sound like a boast from Felix, rather something lamentable.  His face is shadowed in shame. 

“My feelings are not complicated,” you say.  He is still holding your hand in both of his.  You lay your other hand there, a complete joining. 

He meets your gaze, an intense and imploring stare.

“I’m not my father’s daughter anymore,” you say.  “I’m my husband’s wife.  My loyalty is to you.  My place is with you.”

“Yes,” he says, spoken on a breath.  His smile returns.  “Your place.  I’d say you need someone to put you in your place.  Your rightful place.” 

He springs off the bed like there is lightning under his feet.  He is all smiles and sunlight again, a beacon in the blue dark of this room.  You cannot help but bask in his warmth, bereft in the chill when he leaves your side. 

He takes something from his discarded coat pocket, a case swathed in velvet, soft to the touch.  You hold it, admiring the texture.

He kneels behind you on the bed while you open it.   Inside is the most breathtaking necklace you have ever seen in your life.  When you lift it, the chain is long, designed to sit low, loose around your neck.  No more chokers.  No more pearls. 

“Oh, Felix,” you say, breathless and amazed, then very embarrassed.  You are not used to such lovely gifts.  Even the pearls were a punishment.  “I can’t accept this…” you say, stunned.

“You can,” he says. 

He takes the clasp then strings the necklace around you.  His fingers on the nape of your neck have you shivering.  The necklace clasps in place, then his lips are on your neck, a chaste press that nonetheless lights fire under your skin.  “It was made for you,” he says.  “Like you were made for me.” 

He takes the zipper of your gown between two careful fingers, so slowly lowering it.  It feels like you are unravelling with it.  The zipper reaches the base of your spine and his fingertips dance across your bare skin. 

He steps off the bed.  He looks down at you, his eyes intense but his smile soft.  He touches your cheek, strokes his thumb across it lovingly. 

Then he is sinking to his knees in front of you.  You already feel weak as jelly, but your whole body goes soft and pliant when he gently grasps your ankle, when he slides your painful shoe off your foot and tosses it aside.  He somehow finds every sore spot and rubs it better. 

“This is how it works,” he says.  He is on his knees but somehow his presence looms bigger than you.  You cannot look away from the thrall of his gaze.  “You are my wife.  And when we are out there, I am your servant.”  He takes your other foot and removes that shoe as well.  He massages you gently.  “I will never deny you anything,” he says.  “You can ask me for anything. All right?  I will give you the whole world.  I will give you my whole heart.  In return, I only want one thing.”

“What’s that?” you ask, already breathless.

“I am your husband,” he says, “and in here, you are my servant.  Only I can touch you.  Only I will have you.  All of you.  In every way.  Always, starting from today.  Starting from right now.”    

“Yes.  Yes.  But I – I’ve never done this before,” you say, aching to surrender but fearful he will regret this.  Though you are knowledgeable, you are lacking in experience from years of isolation.  “I’ve been alone for so long,” you say.  “I don’t want to disappoint you.” 

“You don’t,” he says.  He lifts your leg, swoops down to kiss your calf, then higher: your knee, your thigh.  “You could never,” he says, guiding your leg to rest on his shoulder.  He gathers the volume of your wedding dress in his hands and pushes it up, up. 

You almost forget to breathe.  He kisses higher on your thigh.  Then he grabs the thin material of your white tights and rips them open.

“You’re mine,” he says.  “You’ve always been mine.” 

You fall back on your elbows, limbs already quivering as he tears through your underclothes as if impatiently ripping open a prettily wrapped gift.   With your expensive lace panties shredded and your tights in tatters, he pushes your skirts up and out of his way.  You hold them while he kisses up your thigh.  He runs his tongue along the seam between your thigh and somewhere much more sensitive. 

“No one else has done this to you?” he asks.  He already looks flushed.  Desperate.      

“No,” you answer.  You swallow hard.  “Never.”  You know some men do not enjoy providing this type of pleasure to their wives, so you are about to tell him that you have no expectations in that regard—

But then he is on you like a starving man, eyes closed and mouth open and licking through all that wet desire.  You fall on your back, pressing your heel into his back.  He groans, pressing deeper, tongue seeking, swiping, stroking. 

He grips your thighs possessively, holding you in place as he ravages you with his mouth.  He takes you up and over a blissful crest.  It leaves you a drenched and panting mess. 

He stands, wiping his arm across his wet mouth.  He does not look satisfied, eyes still hungry as he climbs on top of you. 

“My wife,” he says, like the word is sacred and impossible, like he thought a man like him could never say it.  “All mine,” he says, running his hands up your thighs, up your waist, touching every inch of you until he is cradling your face delicately in his careful but calloused hands.   

It makes your whole body clench up tightly, your breath stuttering as he kisses you.  You melt into the kiss, so different from the chaste peck of your ceremony.  It is a claiming kiss, the taste of you still on his lips, his moan in your mouth, his chest against yours as those sounds of pleasure rumble through him. 

He tugs down your bodice, then he is ripping through your underclothes again.   When your bodice is around your waist and your chest is bare except for his necklace, you find yourself covering your breasts instinctively.  He takes your hands, not forcefully but firmly, holding your gaze.  His mouth is already so pink and raw from kissing.  You wonder if you look as ravished.  Maybe more.  It makes you whimper, surrendering when he pins your hands on either side of your head. 

“This is mine,” he says, kissing your jaw, your throat, then lower.  “All mine, sweetheart.”

He wraps his lips around a pointed nipple and you feel the reaction between your legs, as if connected by a thread.  Your legs try to close around his hips but he presses down.  The crumpled skirt of your dress is between you, but he feels your thighs clenching, feels you desperately bucking. 

Even his chuckle is a deep sound.  He smiles at you, batting his eyelashes as he licks the curve of your breast.  Your whole body twitches again. 

“Mm,” he says.  “You feel that?  You getting all tight… and hot… just for me…”

“Felix,” you say, you beg.

He sits back on his heels to get your wedding dress off.  It is a flurry of ivory and silk, earning some laughter, then it is gone and your husband is staring down at you.   Again, you feel like prey, like a meal spread out helplessly for some predatory creature.  Again, you like it. 

He is just as impatient with his own clothes.  He does not look away from you while tearing his shirt open.  Buttons fly, forgotten, and he rips the material down his arms and off.  His belt is next, leather whistling through the air then joining the heap on the floor.  He grabs your hand and guides it to the hard shape in his white pants, groaning deep in his chest as your palm curves around it. 

You are so captivated him, by the way he feels, by the sounds he makes, that you are surprised when he touches you too.  Your legs part instinctively, then your thighs twitch to close when you are embarrassed by your eagerness. 

“Don’t be shy,” he says.  “Not with me.” His fingers feel divine inside you, gliding as if through silk, pressing at your walls and making you whimper.  “Yeah, my baby.  So nice… ‘n wet… for me…” he murmurs, more to himself than you. It still makes you clench, like your body wants him deeper, pulling tight around him.   “God.  Perfect.” 

“Aren’t we g-gonna—”  Your eyes drop to his waistband, then up to his eyes again. 

He smiles, laughs, and withdraws his fingers slowly. 

“Oh yeah, sweetheart,” he says, unbuttoning his pants.  “We are.  Be patient.  You’re gonna enjoy this.  Gonna remember this night forever.”  He leans down so his body is over yours.  He kisses you, presses you into the pillows.  When he pulls back, he traces a finger along the necklace, smiling brightly. “The first time I made you mine,” he says, speaking low and soft against your lips.   “I’m going to do everything with you,” he says.  “And you’re gonna want it.  All of it and more.” 

He has you begging for more already.  When he finally is pushing inside you, after so much torturous build-up, you are a breathless, sweaty tangle of limbs.  It feels like he is pinning you to the mattress, taking you so deep and so hard, like your whole body is changing to fit him.   There is a long, slow burn, but you are so wet and he is so careful; it is an ache that gives way to pleasure. 

His arms are around you, holding him above you, making you feel so completely shielded and enveloped.  He starts a slow pace that turns more frantic.  Your hands move all over his chest and shoulders to find a grip. 

“I love that no one else has seen you like this,” he says, grabbing your searching hand.  He brings it to his mouth, kisses your palm, your fingers.  He puts your hand on his shoulder, then he slides his hand under your head to cup your neck, holding you steady while he rolls his hips into yours.  “That no one else has felt you before,” he says.  “Been inside you. They don't get to have you, but I do.“

“Yes,” you say.  “Always.  My husband.” 

“Mm.”  He drops his forehead to yours.  “My wife.” 

You come again but it feels different, starting deep inside you and rolling outward, a full-body spasm that has you crying out his name.  He comes too, holding you against him, his lips on your neck as he says your name. 

Then he kisses you.  Then he lays you down.  He wraps you in his arms and squeezes. 

“Sleep for now,” he says.  “It’s been a long day.  And I want you again.”

“You have me,” you say, nestling in his arms, your head under his chin. 

“Yes,” he says with a smile.  He looks so sweet even while his wicked hands hold your body in a strong, possessive grip.  “I do.”      

[aaagustd]

pairing: producer!cheol x (f)reader // genre: meaningless smut // wc: 0.8k // warnings: f*ngering, c*m eating(finger sucking), kissing, public s*x, unedited; 18+

note: this is probably bad but my allergies are kicking my butt. i still wanted to post though. divider credit.

check out my taglists here.

When a hot producer asks you out, he can sense your nervousness as soon as you get in his expensive car. “What helps you relax?” is what he asks you. Your answer was not one that he expected, but it turned him on like nothing else has. Dinner will just have to wait for now.

“Fuck!” Your entire body trembles with pleasure. The shame of wanting a stranger to ruin you on the hood of his Benz is long gone—so has the fear of being caught while you’re getting fingered in an alley.

Your hands grasp his shirt while your watery eyes stare into his. It’s a silent plea for him to give you more, to bury another one of his long digits into your needy heat.

He chuckles. “No matter how much this little cunt gets, it always wants more, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, god. Yes–It wants more. Please,” you whimper, burying your face in his shirt to muffle your cries. His hand has only been down your panties for about two minutes and you’re already falling apart. “More, please.”

“Well, if you’re that horny…” He grabs your hair and forces you to look at him. “Just sit your pretty ass back and let me see what kind of faces you make when you cum.”

You prop yourself on your arms and observe his work, gasping when a third finger enters your pussy. Your legs are spread wide, and you buck off the vehicle to match his movements, swirling your hips when his palm touches your throbbing clit to add more stimulation. If you weren’t about to reach your high, you’d be begging him to replace his digits with whatever it was that was pressed against your ass a few minutes ago.

“Goddamn it, how are you this wet?”

The lewd noises your leaking pussy produces explain why your panties are a sticky and sodden mess. Your clothes cling to your body due to the sweat forming on your skin, giving you the urge to get rid of the damn things. Of course, you can’t, but it would be nice right about now. “Is this all for me? Couldn’t resist me, could you?”

“I—”

“You wanted me inside of you? That’s understandable, babe. Everyone does,” he claims. 

The tension boils to a head when his fingers curl inside of you.

“I can’t hold it anymore,” you warn, reaching out to grip his arm.

His eyes soften as he pities the pathetic mess he’s made of you. He lifts his hand to cup your face before he grabs your throat, squeezing gently. “Then let go, love.” 

A switch flips when he winks. The coil snaps and the sky of red-orange and deep purples begins to spin around you. He’s forced to cover your mouth quickly to suppress your screams, but his fingers continue to move at a fast pace, milking you of every ounce of energy you have left.

You almost fall back onto the car when your body finally relaxes, but his strong arms prevent you from doing so. In a state of haziness, you can still make out the sight of him licking his fingers clean of your arousal, moaning loudly as he tastes you. 

You’re pulled in for a sloppy kiss and you’re thrilled that the taste of you still lingers on his tongue. Your legs wrap around him, trying to trap him so you can unzip his pants. However, he stops you before you can do so.

“Now right now, love.”

You pout. “But—”

His large hands find your ass and pull you towards the edge so he can keep you close.

“Later,” he says sternly, earning him another sad face.

He laughs at you for a second, resting his chin on top of your head while you lean on his firm chest.

“Seungcheol,” he announces out of nowhere. “That’s my name if you care to use it.”

“Hell yeah, I care,” you assure after introducing yourself. “ I’ve never done that before. Thank you for not judging me. Well, to my face, at least.”

Seungcheol shakes his head. “I’d never. Plus, you’re hot. I wouldn’t want to ruin my chances of getting to know you.”

“Really?” You didn’t mean to sound so excited. Now he probably thinks you’re a groupie.

But he just smiles and pulls away. “You’re cute. Come on, let’s go somewhere and talk.”

He helps you down and guides you to the passenger side of the car. He opens the door for you and waits patiently for your wobbly legs to climb inside.

“Are you hungry?” he asks.

“No, I’m okay—”

When he gives you a look, you come clean. “I’m starving.”

“Cool. Let’s grab dinner and go back to my place. Then you can show me which of my cars you want me to fuck you on next.”

He shuts the door without another word, leaving your sticky thick thighs rubbing together.

[hoodielord]

Green eyes in the fear fog.

For half a second, Steph thought today would be a decent day. But no, not in Gotham.

Steph's current events professor, who was also the head of student affairs, had offered extra credit to help give college tours. Look, she had to take the extra credit she had to, even if it meant that she had to be a tour guide. It wasn't hard, just annoying.

The group was small, only five people, but two of them stuck out. A brother and sister. The brother was the definition of adoption bait blue eyes, black hair, vigilante tendencies withholding. The sister was at least as tall as Jason. She had orange hair just like Babs, you'd think they were related.

Anyways, Steph's new mission was to make sure the kid and Dick never met. The kid would not stop making puns. Some of them earned him a laugh but some earned him a smack from his sister.

"Aw, come on, Jazz, it was funny."

"You can do better." she shrugged.

" Sounds like a challenge." A wicked smirk appeared on his face.

" Danny, please don't."

"Challenge accepted."

Yep, I'm definitely keeping him away from Dick.

But something was off about them other than looking at the crime capital's university. They could probably be metahumans. Their eyes seemed to slightly glow blue. They carried themselves as they had already expected danger. I mean, it pays to be prepared, especially in Gotham, but they aren't from here.

If the siblings weren't already on a list B has they should be now. Jazz had been almost ecstatic when we were moving through the psychology department. Danny was practically bouncing off the walls when it was time to go through the engineering and physics departments. Definitely should keep an eye on them.

It was reaching the end of the tour in the cafeteria. Another weird thing about the siblings was their reaction to food. They seemed to have this sort of optimistic curiosity like they were happy to have food to eat, but at the same time, they were poking to make sure it wouldn't attack or something.

Talking with the siblings was interesting too. Danny was buzzing about the engineering department. He went into a great rant about a project that Wayne Enterprises was working on in the aerospace engineering division. Maybe she should keep him away from Tim, too.

The conversation died quickly when a shriek rang out from down the hall. Steph turned quickly to see green fear toxin fill the cafeteria. Swarms of people ran for the exits knocking each over. She quickly dug through her bag and pulled out her gas masks, one for her and her backup.

"Jazz? Jazz, where did you go?" Danny called. They must have gotten separated.

Damn, she needed another one for the siblings. She shoved her spare into Danny's hands.

" Put the mask on and head for the exit."

"But I need to find Jazz."

"I'll find her. Put the mask on and go." Steph yelled as she went further into the fog. Quickly, she sent an alert to Oracle. Signal is on patrol right now, but more bats might show up.

It was dense she could barely see in front of her. There was some noise up ahead. Someone was screaming. The yelling grew louder as she rounded the corner.

"Stop! Get away!"

It was Jazz. She was practically growling. Her fist slammed into the concrete wall, leaving a deep impact. She was clearly affected by the Fear gas. A meta affected with fear gas, not good.

"Stop! Don't hurt him. He's not a monster! He's my little brother!" Jazz had gone from fury to sadness as she practically begged for her hallucination to stop haunting her.

If it wasn’t the meta thing it was whatever she was hallucinating that caught Steph’s attention. Definitely on B's list now.

"Isn't it interesting what fear does to the mind?"

Steph saw Scarecrow emerge from the fog.

"I saw you in the psychology department. Your eyes lit up like a fire. But now they are clouded with fear."

A chill went up Steph's spine. She quickly checked her mask for leaks but didn't have any. Turning her attention back to Jazz and Scarecrow, she saw something. Green eyes shifted inside the fog. They looked like a predator hunting its prey. For a second, they look like Jason's.

From behind Scarecrow, the eyes stopped, and a figure emerged. A baseball bat slammed into Scarecrow's face, knocking him to the floor. The figure came into full view now. It was Danny his eyes were glowing green.

He knelt down to Scarecrow.

"You really don't have any brains. Do you Scarecrow? If you did, you wouldn't have hurt my sister." His voice was downright, frigid.

He turned and rushed over to Jazz who was still trying to convince her hallucinations to stop.

"Jazz, it's okay. Come on, I'm fine. It's okay." His voice was soft and gentle as he helped her up. Jazz mumbled a little as she stumbled down the hall.

Steph quickly caught up to the siblings slinging Jazz's arm over her shoulder.

"Sorry, I couldn't help earlier," Steph spoke quietly.

"It's fine. Not everybody can be a hero."

Steph wanted to laugh at the irony of that statement, but she just nodded.

"Sorry about the tour too."

"It wasn't all bad."

" Oh, the rouge attack and poisoning wasn’t bad?" Steph asked sarcastically.

" Our hometown is haunted and our community college is funded by my godfather. And he is a rich fruit loop.”

‘Ghosts?’

“You know Gotham University is funded by Wayne Enterprises right?”

“Annoying crazy fruit loop or weird himbo? Hmmm. Yeah, I’m going to have to go with the himbo on this one.”

Steph laughed at that one. Bruce is going to want to hear about this but she’ll keep him away from these siblings for a little while.

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Ties That Bind

Strings of Fate alt pov. (Soulmate!AU) Or, Jason Todd's soulmates see the very best in him, even if he doesn't see it in himself. ~3.3k words

When Bruce Wayne meets Jason Todd, he's wearing enough Kevlar to stop a small missile. The kid in the red hoodie is hardly his first soulmate, but he is the first to steal the tires off the batmobile.

He wavers at the sight. The kid's clearly too small for his age. Bruce is already mentally setting aside a trust fund for him, considering what favors he can call in to get the kid into Gotham Prep.

The dark blue string that glows between them makes something in him soften, even if he should know better. His attention trails between the new string, the boy, and the other, more frayed string that leads to his eldest son.

He wonders vaguely if this string will fray, too. (It will do worse. It will grey and vanish, and Bruce Wayne Batman will fail another soulmate)

He opens his mouth to speak, to ask why he's out here, if he has some place to go, if his family knows he's here, but the sound of metal clings through the alley, and the kid runs.

It won't be hard, for Batman to catch up to him.

It will be hard to earn Jason Todd's trust.

It won't be hard when a new Robin flies by his side.

It won't be hard to smile, to laugh, to see hope and light in Gotham.

It won't be hard at all, to see the best in his son, to see all the good that makes up Jason Todd.

It will be hard to hold his son in his arms. It will be harder to know he's failed him.

It will be impossible, as the years pass, to not flinch every time he looks down at his index finger and sees an empty space where a string should be.

Alfred Pennyworth has gained and lost many strings in his life. He cherishes the ones that shine, neatly tied around his arms and fingers.

He meets his second grandson in the batcave.

The boy is flighty, untrusting, and Alfred loves him all the more for it. It takes sheer patience, good books, and many plates of cookies to earn Jason Todd's reluctant trust. Alfred's proud to be one of the few people who can say Jason is relaxed in their presence.

He's proud as he watches Jason save lives, study, laugh, and bring joy. Joy. He brings it to so many people, even people who aren't his soulmate, without asking for any return.

Yes, Alfred Pennyworth is proud. He's proud, even as he watches the blue string fray and fade. He's proud as they lower a small casket into the ground.

He's still proud, when no one sees the tears that spill when he makes a recipe that used to have a second set of hands helping.

Barbara Gordan is Batgirl. She's quick on her feet, stronger than people give her credit for, and just as smart as any other vigilante out there. So, she's not surprised to see a purple string appear between her and the newest Robin.

He's small, but fast and doesn't show an ounce of fear even as she pulls him out of the way of a bullet. Her heart melts a little when he smiles at her, gap toothed and bright, and she can't help but smile back.

She may miss the practiced partnership she had with Dick, but Jason makes a home for himself in her life. Batgirl watches Robin's back, and he's just as loyal and selfless in return.

Barbara knows he's destined for great things. She can see it in the way he takes time to talk to the citizens of crime alley, to pet and feed the strays that hide from most people.

It's why she sobs when the purple string breaks. It's why she steels herself to be better, to try harder, to never let another Robin be without a Batgirl.

(She will fail at this. It will plague her. She will become stronger, better, and anything she needs to be)

Dick Grayson is not impressed by the boy wearing his colors. He's tiny, and his cape seems to swallow him whole. But he did manage to land silently next to him on the roof overlooking Penguins' latest operation.

Dick's not exactly sure why the kids here, he definitely didn't tell anyone he was going to be in Gotham. But, if the blue string glowing between them is anything to go by, they were gonna meet eventually.

He didn't mean to make a face at the new Robin, really, he just wasn't ready to meet him.

He wanted to be in and out of Gotham, not trying to deal with another soulmate he never asked for. Not while the name Nightwing is still new and the blue suit doesn't quite feel right sometimes.

Jason doesn't know any of this. (Yes, he knows the kids' names. Yes, he's been keeping tabs on Bruce.) So, Dick Grayson steadies himself and invites the kid to team up.

Robin Jason fights well, knows when to duck and when to fight dirty. Nightwing leaves Gotham feeling lighter and heavier all at once.

He'll visit his brother(?) a few weeks later, they'll get ice cream and show off to each other and it'll be nice. Jason will hand off a bag full of Alfred's cooking, and a plate of cookies he shyly admits he helped make.

Dick silently promises to be better to the kid who wears his family's colors.

He never gets the chance. Jason is dead and buried by the time he returns to Earth with the Titans. Another soulmate dies in the colors meant to spread joy and hope. (This will change him forever)

Talia al Ghul did not expect a blue string to bind her to Jason Todd. She plans for nearly everything, expects the worst, and hopes for the best.

So, when she found her Beloved's son wandering in a daze, she should have been prepared for the shimmering, ocean blue string to tie itself to her left index finger when he looked at her.

(She wasn't, and she'll stare between Jason's string, and the one on her right index finger leading to her other son for an entire night)

Thalia will take him back to Nanda Parbat, out of duty, out of hope that if she can help Jason, it will bring Bruce back to her, and out of love. The boy follows her– the string– like it's the only thing that matters.

She will never admit it, but it will break her heart. She chances the Lazarus Pit, it helps and hurts him all at once. He no longer follows her around. He trains until there's hardly a soul in the League he can not beat.

Talia watches her son become aimless, restless, and tormented by the past. She hopes with all that she has, and introduces him to Damian.

She knows a blue string forms between them when Jason flinches. He leaves in the night, and takes a part of her with him.

She understands why. It doesn't stop her from tracking him from afar until he finds himself in Gotham again, parading around under the name of his killer. Her beloved will understand soon enough, and she hopes her son will find a home again.

Batman meets Red Hood on a crumbling roof in Crime Alley. The crime lord has been a thorn in his and the GCPDs side for months. He sees the glimmer of a string start to form, but doesn't get to process it before Red Hood is unloading a clip at him.

He dives out of the way, and by the time he comes out of his roll, Red Hood is gone. Batman checks for the new string. But there isn't one, no new line leading from him to a soulmate. He checks again.

Bruce Wayne loses all the air in his lungs when he realizes what has changed. It doesn't make sense. It can't be possible. But there's no lying when it comes to strings. Jason Todd is Red Hood. And for once, Batman doesn't have a plan.

Tim Drake knows soulmates are precious. Each string he's gained is worth cherishing. Each string he's lost is a scar. (He traces where they used to be when he can't sleep)

Tim Drake knows who Red Hood is. Was it a surprise? Sure, it can only mean good things for his family, even if Red Hood is running the majority of crime in Gotham. Jason was the light of Gotham, after all.

He believes that with his whole heart. Which is why he's cautiously excited when a royal blue string ties from his wrist to Red Hood.

It's also why he laughs when Jason Todd breaks half the bones in his body. He's dealt with worse, and he breaks a few of Red Hood's bones in return.

Tim is still laughing when Red Hood stumbles away and leaves. It's kind of funny, he's lost almost all of his best friends, and now he has a brother who hates him. But it's not all bad, he decides, the tracker he managed to get into Jason's jacket will be plenty useful.

Dick Grayson finds Jason Todd by his favorite gargoyle. It's the only thing still familiar about him. But as the string reforms between him, something in his soul slots into place. He sits next to him and talks.

He's not exactly sure what he talks about, but he talks and talks until he's not sure what to say and then talks some more. Jason never answers, but he doesn't leave either. It's enough, it's a start, and he tells his little brother to visit Alfred some time when he goes to leave.

(Red Hood will show up in Blüdhaven later that month. They will work a case together, it will be sloppy and then won't know each other's blind spots. Dick hasn't had so much fun in years)

Alfred Pennyworth is making tea in the kitchen of Wayne Manor when his second grandson nearly gives him a heart attack. One moment, he's alone, and the next, the man who used to be Gotham's biggest crime lord is standing five feet away.

They don't talk much, but Jason still remembers how to make his favorite cup of tea. Alfreds packs up enough food to feed him for a week, and makes him promise to at least call once a month.

Alfred is proud to say he gets a call once a week, and a time to meet out in the city once a month. He's even prouder to say his grandson has grown and learned and thrived.

Barbara Gordan is Oracle, and she's damn good at what she does. She's working intel for the Birds of Prey when the motion sensors around the clock tower go off.

She turns just in time to see the purple string form between her and Red Hood. He takes off his helmet. She appreciates that.

He looks lost for words. She feels lost for words. But she finds them anyway. She tells him it's good to see him, and it really is. She's been keeping tabs on him, knows what he's trying to do, trying to be. He hesitantly tells her he's going to be out of Gotham for a while.

Oracle hands him a comlink before he leaves. She tells him it's her own personal line, not connected at all to The Bat. She tells him to keep in touch. (She knows he'll listen)

Both versions of The Outlaws adore Jason Todd. Arsenal and Starfire, Artemis and Bizzaro, all find good in the purple string that ties them to Red Hood. The team isn't a magical fix all, and sometimes what they do isn't right, but it's theirs.

It's theirs, and they have each other even when it seems like there's nothing else. There's a comfort in that, a comfort in the steady glow of the purple string. There's a comfort in knowing their soulmate would take on the world at their side.

Spoiler knows she shouldn't be in Crime Alley, knows that the newly returned Red Hood doesn't appreciate Bats in his territory. But she's not a Bat, so she thinks she's earned an exception. And if she's being honest, she could use someone to talk to.

Her other soulmates, the other vigilantes, well, there's been a distance between her and them since her return. So, yeah, maybe she's a little lonely and a little hurt, and maybe she's willing to risk getting shot over the chance Red Hood is one of her soulmates. (And that he'll understand)

She's optimistic when a purple string forms between them, but less so when he tells her to leave. Stephanie's never been good at following directions, so she stays. He doesn't shoot her, which she takes as permission to come back again.

And she does. She comes back again and again. She brings him coffee. After a few times, he actually takes his helmet off to drink it. Jason's a good listener, and she really doesn't mean to spill her sob story about dying and knowing what it's like to reform a string.

She knows he's dealt with enough of that. But he doesn't make fun of her, doesn't tell her to get over herself. He just pats her shoulder when she goes to leave that night. (She cries when the news reports on Red Hood delivering Black Mask to prison only two days later)

Cassandra Cain is skilled and very good at what she does. She knows this, and she's proud of it. She smiles behind her mask when she makes her new brother jolt in surprise.

If anything, he should have been paying more attention to the thugs around him; she'd taken out more than half of them before he realized she was there.

She pokes at the string connecting them, incredibly pleased it's the color she wanted it to be. She pats her little brother's arm and leaves the scene, her night is hardly over after all.

Cass doesn't need to ask for his address, she already knows it. So, she happily makes herself at home on his couch at least once a week. He puts on movies for them to watch, even though she can tell he's not exactly sure what to do with her.

She calls him 'baby brother', and he learns how to make her favorite treats in return. She likes that he bends down so she can ruffle his hair, and makes a note of how he leans into the touch. Her soulmate definitely needs more hugs.

Damian Wayne can handle himself. He's Robin. He's an Al Ghul. He's the blood son of the Bat. So he doesn't need his soulmate's help. But his mother always told him Todd is skilled. Todd has a bleeding heart for everyone. He can use that.

He's definitely not trying to work up the courage to enter Red Hood's territory, when the person in question jumps down next to him. Huh. He didn't sense him coming. Maybe he's lost more blood than he's thought.

"Mother told me to seek you if I ever needed anything," Damian tells him, and bites back a wince. Those aren't the words he wanted. He sounds like a child and he doesn't need anything from Jason Todd.

Todd is quiet for a moment, and Damian expects to be turned away. But he's not, he's led to a safehouse instead. He's able to patch his wounds up without Todd noticing, and the next night, he goes into battle with a brother at his side. (They fight like they've been spent years at each other's sides)

Duke Thomas has heard all the stories about Jason Todd. He's curious, sue him, so he seeks out Red Hood just after the sun starts to set. Duke nods like he expected it to happen when he sees the blue string that ties around his forearm. (He wasn't sure it would, but it's a shiny, good color)

Red Hood eyes him, or at least Duke assumes he does. It's kind of hard to tell with the helmet. "Do you need something," Jason asks.

Duke doesn't actually have a plan past this. But he's Signal, and he's great at thinking on his feet, so he asks Jason if he's ever had the chili dogs a couple blocks away.

He's surprised when Jason says no, and he's even more surprised when they end up eating half of food carts' chili dogs.

It ends up being fun, taking down some thugs trying to rob a bank, with Red Hood fighting alongside him. Duke throws out a few jokes, and he manages to make Jason laugh. (He will brag about it to the rest of his soulmates later)

Duke grins when he gets handed a number at the end of the night. He's proud and only a little smug to have seemingly impressed his newest brother. (He will also brag about this)

You were not anticipating getting mugged tonight. Yes, it's always a possibility in Gotham. But you were careful, the street you were on had working lights! So it's annoying when a group of men try to get you to hand over your things.

You're relieved when Red Hood drops down from seemingly out of nowhere to take them out. But you're not completely sure what to feel when a red string ties itself to your pinkie and leads right to him.

He doesn't seem to know what to feel either, because you're just staring at each other in silence on an empty street. It makes you a little braver to see him as knocked off center as you are, at least you think that's what he's feeling.

It's hard to tell when he hasn't moved, and his helmet is dipped down to get a better look at you. So, you break the silence and tell him your name.

His helmet snaps up, "What?"

Oh. Maybe he wasn't looking at you. You tentatively repeat your name, and for a second dread pools in your gut. What if he wants nothing to do with you? What if he leaves?

Soulmates not wanting each other are rare, but not exactly unheard of. You step towards him, ready to plead your case on giving you a chance.

"Red Hood," he supplies, cutting you off before you can speak. It's entirely unhelpful. You know who he is. You think this is his way of keeping the distance.

But, it's not. That thought barely gets to form before Red Hood offers to walk you home.

He keeps coming back, keeps hovering on your fire escape until you start to invite him inside. And soon enough, Jason Todd becomes a part of everything in your life.

He's sweet, kind, and so, so careful. He tugs your string when he's late to come home, a reassurance. He barely leaves your side, the first time you meet his sister.

Your soulmate is good. He makes you happy. You so badly want to be good to him, to make him happy too. You think you do, at least sometimes.

He smiled when you offered to watch his brother's dog, kissed you senseless the first time you made his grandfather's cookies.

You're not there, when Bruce Wayne offers his son a velvet box, a ring passed down from Wayne to Wayne nestled inside. You're asleep, curled into his side when he vows to be brave for you.

But you're there and wide awake when Jason Todd pulls the box from his jacket and drops down to one knee. You're there when he smiles nervously at you, tells you he's never been good at this kind of thing, at anything, really. But you make him feel like he is.

He tells you he loves you. He tells you he doesn't need a red string to know you're his soulmate. He asks you to marry him.

You say yes while peppering his face with kisses. You're giddy, when he slides the ring onto your finger, his smile matching yours.

He kisses you, again and again, and the glowing red string that ties you together seems to sing.