#YES they do so much damage with their bite but don’t we all!!!

[goosewizard]

moray eels are just big puppies to me. big sweet eyes. go *< all the time. big ol puppy dogs.

for reference:

same thing. case closed.

[xzaddyzanakinx]

Dear Diary

Emo!Anakin Skywalker x Femme reader Oneshot

Warnings: CNC, Dom/Sub, predator/prey, rape kink, unprotected PiV, misogyny, derogatory comments, knife, bondage, gagging, blood, whipping, spanking, spitting, slapping, biting, mask kink

Info: never leave your diary unattended, he loves you so much that he’ll do anything for you, don’t question why Anakin is so good at being scary (he’s straight up terrifying)

🕊DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT 🕊 This is DARK

“Hey, you know there’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.” Anakin’s soft voice floated down to where your head rested in his lap on this sleepy Sunday afternoon.

“Mmm?” You hummed, tilting your head slightly to look up at his face.

You expected to see a soft expression to match the gentle tone of voice, but you were mistaken. His lip had a sneaky little curve to it, like he had a secret that he was dying to share. He reached his long arm over to the nightstand and opened the drawer. Fishing something out and holding it up for you to see.

Your diary. It wasn’t one of his secrets. It was yours.

You squealed in protest and shot up from your resting place much too fast. After being sedentary all day long your brain had a hard time remembering what it needed to do in a high-stakes situation. After the dizzy spell settled slightly you tried and failed to snatch that horrid little book away from him.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

You should’ve known better than to keep a written record of anything, let alone your darkest secrets, with Anakin around. That handsome little shit can’t keep his dirty little paws off of your or your stuff.

“Anakin please!” You pleaded, pouting out your bottom lip.

“Shhh baby.” He laughed, flipping through the pages. “I occasionally read a few pages… just to make sure you’re happy with me of course.”

Right. Of course he would do that.

“Cause sometimes you don’t like to talk about your feelings right?” He chided.

“Yeah.” You grumbled.

“And it seems like my sweet sweet girl had some dirty thoughts since the last time I checked this book.” A sickly saccharine smile materialized on his lips

“Anakin no!” You gasped, hiding your face in embarrassment.

“Bunny, yes!” He teasingly replied.

“Look, right here it is princess. About a month ago. I took you to that new horror movie remember?”

“Yes.” You squeaked.

Anakin nodded, clearing his throat as he ran his finger under the messy scribbles in your diary.

“You said: ‘that scene where he’s chasing her through the woods and caught her? Christ that growl was sinful, but coming from Anakin? I’d be a goner. Knife and all.’”

You blushed fiery red and snatched it from his hands, tossing it to the floor defiantly despite knowing the damage had already been done.

"Anakin that is none of your business!" You pouted.

"But it is now, isn't it?" He whispered, tracing circles on your throat with his thumb.

"It’s okay darlin’ I don’t need that silly little book. I’ve memorized the good parts.” He chuckled as he spotted it on the floor.

“What else did you say? 'I want him rough, maybe even have him wear a mask like in the movie.'” He grinned gripping your cheeks to puff out your lips and give you a playful kiss.

“So I said to myself: ‘Anakin, that sounds like a challenge.’ and you know I love a challenge.”

“Anakin! You weren’t supposed to see that!” You yelped. “That’s embarrassing!”

Anakin chuckled darkly, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Oh no? I think I need to see this fantasy of yours come true."

He released your cheeks and stood up, rummaging through the closet until he found an old hockey mask that he'd worn during his youth.

"Stay here," he commanded before disappearing into the living room.

You sat and stewed in your embarrassment, thinking of all the ways you’d like to squeeze his tiny head until it popped off. How dare he? He read your diary! Ridiculous.

His voice called your name and you were snapped out of your emotional festering.

“C’mon. We got places to be.” Anakin grinned, the car keys in his hand and a small backpack slung over his shoulder.

“What?” You asked in confusion.

He wants to go somewhere now? After he’d just humiliated you in front of your entire collection of stuffed animals?

Anakin nodded, a devilish grin on his face. "We're going on an adventure, Bunny."

Oh. Oh no.

“You’re serious?” You gasped. “like right now?”

He tossed the backpack into the backseat of his Ford pickup truck and opened the passenger door for you, waiting for you to get in. He clicked his tongue like he was calling for a dog, patting your head to scoot you along.

"Come on, baby," he urged, leaning down to kiss your cheek. "Where we're going, no one can find us."

You blushed, but obeyed regardless. You trusted him with your life and depending on how this excursion went you might just end up putting that trust to the test.

“W-we don’t have to do this Ani.” You said quietly.

“I mean… I never even- I didn’t think you’d ever find out.”

Anakin's grin faded slightly, his eyes softening as he cupped your face. "Baby, it's okay. You don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with," he reassured you.

"I want to make this happen for you. Plus, I think this will be fun." He added with a smirk, the sincerity in his voice reflected in the icy blue of his eyes.

He climbed into the driver's seat, starting the engine and pulling out of your driveway.

“Like you’re sure you wanna do this? Like you actually want to? Not just because you know I wanna try it?” You asked, picking at your fingers as you forced myself to make eye contact.

Anakin met your gaze, his eyes filled with an understanding for your concerns. "I want this as much as you do, Bunny," he promised.

"So let's go have some fun, shall we?" he asked, pulling out onto the highway.

You slipped your hand into his, the drive was only about 30 minutes. Even with the short distance it seemed like you were far, far away from anyone and anything. The afternoon sun was dwindling quickly over the horizon. It made you wonder if Anakin had done alittle research and a lot of planning before enacting this ambush on you.

“Look at me bunny.” Anakin said softly.

“Safe word is red okay? You say red and every thing stops immediately. Understand?”

“Yes.” You nodded giving him a little smile.

“Good.” He agreed with a kiss to your forehead. His eyes bright and sparkling with this new brand of adrenaline. “Here’s the plan.”

“Once we get out of this truck, you’re the pretty little victim and I’m the big scary killer.” He teased, though he held a serious tone behind the playful words.

“Is that okay? I won’t talk like myself, I’m gonna do my best to be mean and scary okay?”

“Yeah that’s okay,” You blushed at the thought.

“I want you to run. I’ll give you a pretty good head start. Don’t look behind you until you hit the tree line okay?” He grinned.

“Okay I can do that.” You giggled, the reality of your situation kicking in as you began to realize Anakin *had* done his research. He really did want to do this just as much as you did.

“I’ve got a mask.” He pulled out the hockey mask from his bag. “A rope, a knife, and a bandanna. Are these things okay? It’s a real knife, it’s one of the kitchen knives.”

“Yeah.” You nodded, biting your lip as you looked at him, already imagining him in character. “yeah that’s all okay.”

“Do you want me to cut you?” He asked, staring you in the eyes.

“M-maybe alittle.” You nodded, your expression turned serious again. “just not where anyone else can see okay?”

“Got it babydoll. I promise.” He said gently.

“Okay.” You smiled, nervous but so so excited.

“I’m gonna put my hair up.” You giggled. Tying your hair up in a ponytail.

Anakin watched you, a mix of excitement and protectiveness in his eyes. "You look so fucking hot," he muttered, his voice low and rough.

"Alright, princess," he said, his voice now deep and menacing. He grabbed the hockey mask, and held it in your direction to point at you.

"Get out of the truck and run as fast as you can. Don't look back until you reach the tree line." He paused, reaching for the knife, sheathing it on his hip. Shoving the rope in his hoodie pocket, the bandanna in his jeans pocket.

"Remember, red means stop. Whatever happens from here on out, I'll make sure you're safe."

You watched him put the mask on, heart pounding in your chest as you unbuckled your seatbelt and stepped out of the truck into the cooling dusk air. Anakin got out of the truck on his side, looking over at you and nodding his head.

“Run.” He snarled, his features completely hidden by the mask and distorting his voice a bit more than you’d anticipated.

Your only light source was the setting sun and rising moon as you booked it through the field, keeping your eyes forward as your heart beat quickly. You reached the tree line and finally looked back, seeing Anakin running at a full sprint toward you. The prey instinct in your hindbrain kicked into overdrive and adrenaline flooded like ice through your veins.

You froze for a moment until you heard what could only be described as a psychotic laugh ripped through Anakin’s chest. Finally back to your senses you turned on your toes and started running again, only to be tripped by your own feet.

You steadied yourself quickly and recovered your pace after a sharp squeal left you when your knees hit the ground. Your burst of fear driven speed surprised you, but only fueled Anakin’s laughter. You weren’t sure if he was laughing as himself or as the character he was playing, either way… it was terrifying.

You made the mistake of looking back again and realized how quickly he was gaining on you. He had given you a generous headstart for a good reason. Like he’d anticipated you’d fawn instead of flee.

How did he know that?

Anakin was closing the gap, his breath heavy but not labored as he chased after you. You wondered what his eyes looked like behind that mask. Would they be familiar? Or would they be akin to a cold blooded killer?

You stumbled as you whipped your head back to the path ahead and he lunged forward, wrapping his arm around your chest and tackling you to the ground with a heavy thump.

The mask hid his grin as he pinned you down with his body weight, but you could * feel * it. The satisfaction he felt at catching his trophy was palpable, now… now you weren’t completely certain your Anakin was really there behind that hard plastic mask.

"Caught you bitch." He growled, his voice remained menacing. "You're mine now."

You struggled against him, the sides of your fists not even coming close to making contact with his chest. His grip on you was painful, bruising and just what you wanted.

“N-no!” You whimpered. So incredibly turned on by his aggression.

He was surprisingly great at this role, he was doing everything perfectly as if he’d done it before. A nagging thought tickled your mind, what if? But he gave you no time to consider it.

“No?” He laughed, rolling you underneath him so that your face was pressed into the forest floor. His knee pressing down on your back as he roughly tied your arms together behind your back with a practiced ease.

“No! Please!” He mocked you in a whiny impression of your voice.

“Pathetic.” He hissed.

You fought harder, wriggling and trying to get out of his grasp. His hand gripped your ponytail with enough force to make your scalp sting, yanking your head back.

“Stop fucking moving.” He growled as brought his lips to your ear, then he let go of your hair cruelly letting you face plant into the dirt.

“Ow!” You whined in pain, it actually did hurt. Not bad, just enough to make you see stars and feel heat bloom across your cheek.

“P-please! Stop!”

He laughed, the sound gritty and almost unrecognizable. He used both hands to roughly tug your jeans down your thighs, using the knife to cut your underwear off.

You wriggled and squirmed, panting helplessly as all your movement did was undress you further. Your jeans bunched around your knees, leaving you exposed and vulnerable to whatever he had planned for you.

Anakin's breaths were ragged, his heart pounding in sync with yours as he stood over you. Lightly tapping your hip with the toe of his shoe.

"Shut the fuck up, bitch," He snarled. "You made me work for it."

He took the knife, running it down your side, as he kneeled beside you. Forcibly turning your head to make you look at him. He trailed the knife along the back of your thighs, leaving tiny threads of red behind.

"Now you're gonna pay for your insolence." His voice was harsh and cold with an undeniable lust hidden beneath.

“No! No I’ll do anything I swear!” You cried out. Kicking and fighting against him as best as you could.

You heard him taking off his belt, felt him shoving his jeans down and even the familiar grunt as he pulled out his cock.

“I told you to shut your fucking mouth didn’t I?” He snapped at you.

Gripping his belt tightly in his hands he cracked the leather across your ass hard, causing you to scream out in pain.

“Stupid whore.” He scoffed. “what did I just say? You want it again?”

“N-no! Fuck that hurt!” You yelled.

“God you really are stupid aren’t you?” He laughed, cracking the leather down on your red ass cheeks again.

This time you were able to bite down on your lip and suppress the loud crying moan that tried to escape. You knew the tender flesh of your bottom lip would definitely be an angry red for the next few days as a taste of blood hit your tongue.

“That’s better.” He scoffed.

Pumping his cock a few times behind you before spreading your ass cheeks wide and smacking your hip hard to get you to lift up just a bit.

He set his sights on your incredibly drenched pussy. The view might make a weaker man cum on the spot, but Anakin wasn’t a weak man. He’d made that very clear today.

“Never seen you so fucking wet.” He whispered, in awe of the dripping mess you’d made of your cunt. The momentary break of character that you weren’t supposed to hear reassured you that it was definitely still Anakin under that mask.

Anakin's cock twitched, his eyes locked on your pulsing hole, watching it flutter around nothing. He chuckled and spit on his hand before rubbing it on the head of his cock. Letting out a low groan as he tugged on his balls for good measure.

"You're going to take this like a good little slut," He growled, lining up his thickness with your entrance. "And you're not going to fucking scream."

With a low hiss he thrust into you, your body protesting the sudden intrusion with a jerk. You failed to listen to his command and let out a muffled cry behind closed lips as he sank deep inside your heat.

"Quiet, bitch," he warned, pulling back and thrusting again, setting a rough rhythm. "Or I'll really give you somethin’ to cry about.”

You couldn’t help yourself, you whimpered and moaned and drooled in spite of his warnings. The feeling of being taken so roughly, but knowing you were safe… was intoxicating. It was unlike anything you’d ever felt.

Anakin moved suddenly and you saw a flash of red before he yanked back your head, shoving the bandanna in your mouth to use as a gag.

You coughed and gagged on the dry fabric as he forced it in your mouth. Anakin's thrusts became more frantic, his hips moving in quick, hard strokes. With the gag in place you let yourself be loud, there was no point in staying quiet right? If you were heard it would be * his * fault for not properly securing your gag.

"Dirty little thing aren’t you? Filthy. You like this don’t you!? Huh?" He snarled, slapping your ass hard with his free hand. "Scream for me, you fucking whore. No body can hear you. No body is coming to help you."

You moaned into the gag, body trembling as he pounded into you relentlessly. Each slap of skin against wetness echoed in the still night air, punctuating your defilement.

"C’mon, you can fight harder than that." He growled, grinding against you he placed one hand on your lower back and used it as leverage to hold you in place.

He laughed loudly, clearly enjoying the power trip he was on. He’d never fucked you like this before, he’d been rough yes… but this? This was blinding. Hot, white, blinding pleasure that spilled over into pain.

“So fucking tight.” He groaned. “pitiful little pussy. Bet you were a virgin weren’t you?”

You whimpered, the bandanna in your mouth wet from saliva. Tears dripping down your cheeks from his rough treatment. Your legs shaking violently as he fucked you into the dirt.

And he expected you to speak?

“Answer me.” He demanded, ripping the fabric from your mouth, the suddenness of it being pulled from your throat made you gag violently.

“C’mon. Talk to me. You’ve been dying to fucking talk and now you’ve got nothin’ to say?”

“Y-yes.” You sobbed, unable to form more than a few words. “Virgin.”

“Oh I knew it. Fuckin’ knew it.” He groaned.

Anakin's thrusts grew more furious, his cock sliding in and out of your tight ‘virgin’ pussy with each word grunt and groan that fell from his pretty lips. His hand gripped your hair, pulling your head back when you started squirming out from under him again.

"You think you can get away from me? Think you can run? You’re mine now, bitch." He spat, slapping the side of your face. "I own your little cunt now."

You cried harder from the pain, tears streaming down your dirt streaked face as he continued to pound into you without mercy.

"No one else is gonna touch you. No one else is gonna have you." He growled, his words thick with possession.

“Gonna take you home. Tie you up.” He grunted. “Fuck you whenever I want.”

“No one’s gonna miss you are they?” He laughed, “Just a worthless little nobody aren’t you? Yeah, you are.”

“That’s okay though sweetheart.” He cooed, sweetness laced with venom. “I want you. I want you all to myself, show you that all you’re good for is this.”

He spit, ripping his mask off to bite you hard, leaving clear teeth marks on your shoulder. The mask hit the ground near your head and you stared at it with big wide red-rimmed eyes as a violent orgasm ripped through you. Your cunt spasmed around him, slick leaking out and coating your thighs.

The squelching noises filled you with a new wave of embarrassment and fresh tears wetted your cheeks. You might’ve been done, but Anakin wasn’t. He had no plans of stopping now, this wasn’t over until he said it was.

“Stop! Please oh god.” You whined, scrunching your nose up as your body vibrated from the overstimulation.

“Stop? Oh you don’t mean that.” He moaned. “you just fucking creamed all over my cock.”

“Don’t lie to me. You know you like it.” He snickered, you could hear the grin gracing his lips.

“No! No! Please! I don’t!” You struggled, trying to get out of your bindings, the rope digging further into your wrists. “Please stop!”

“Fuck toys don’t talk.” He growled.

Anakin shifted his weight, now leaning with his forearm across your back, his sharp elbow cutting into the muscle to give himself an extra edge to his brutality. You thought he was comfortable in his position, but you were wrong. This was just a transition period.

His arm slid up your back to wrap your hair around his fist, exposing your neck and pining you in place.

A glint of sliver shined in your peripheral, followed by the cool metal blade of his knife on the soft skin of your throat. He had the flat side pressed firmly beneath your Adam’s apple. Anakin's thrusts grew more frantic, his cock sliding in and out of your tight, weeping pussy as he held the knife.

"One word," he growled, his eyes dark with lust and dominance. "And you’ll wish you were dead."

You whimpered, body shaking as you struggled against my bindings. Your cunt clenched around him, milking his cock with each powerful thrust.

"Make me cum, bitch." He snarled, his breathing labored. "Or I’ll slit your fucking throat right here."

His words sent a jolt of electricity through you. This was sick, you were sick. How could you possibly like this? Being threatened with a knife against your throat? You didn’t know, didn’t understand and maybe didn’t even want to. Maybe the logistics behind the thrill of this was better off unexplored. You decided then and there you would never let yourself explore that nagging little ‘what if’ about Anakin too.

His grip on the knife tightened, his thrusts becoming harder with each passing second. You controlled your breathing as best you could. Trying desperately not to move as another orgasm washed over your tired body. Your entire being vibrating with the intense energy, cunt spasming around his twitching member, leaking and dripping slick all over again.

“That's it," Anakin growled, his hips moving faster and harder, growing sloppy. His breathing ragged as he felt himself nearing the finish line. "C’mon, make me fucking cum and I’ll let you live."

"You're gonna say thank you after I cum. You hear me?" He snarled, biting the nape of your neck roughly like a dog in heat.

His balls tightened up, his cock pulsating inside you. Your pussy tightly enveloping him, feeling every twitch and jerk.

You squeaked as the cool blade dragged across your throat in a way that felt alittle too real, a little to close to being sliced open. Though you breathed a sigh of relief as the knife now pressed into your shoulder blade. The sharp tip popping through your skin.

“Gonna put a little ‘A’ right here. You want that? Answer me!” He asked through clenched teeth, staving off his orgasm in favor of torturing you.

“No! Please it hurts!” You screamed, the pain bringing you so incredibly close to cumming again.

He let out a familiar whine, followed by a choked moan as he carved the first letter of his name into your unblemished shoulder.

“You should’ve kept still. Now it’s crooked.” He scoffed.

You screamed out in pleasure, hiccuping as you tried to catch your breath. Anakin’s cock throbbing inside your abused walls. You whimpered as an overwhelming orgasm took hold of you. Your body convulsing in a way it never had before, with Anakin never slowing his hard albeit mess pace. He laughed as he watched your bound hands clasp themselves together as you held your breath.

The dam broke and you squirted, making a mess of yourself and him. You could feel the hot wet liquid dripping down your legs, hear it sloshing and squelching with each thrust.

Anakin’s laugh cut off into a choked groan, his cock jerking violently inside you as he came. His thrusts becoming wild and erratic, his body shaking with the force of his release.

"Fuck," he growled, collapsing against you as he finished. "You're a fucking mess, aren’t you?"

You sobbed into the dirt, body still trembling from the intense orgasm. Your pussy clenching around his softening cock, milking him for every last drop of cum.

"That’s right. Good girl.” He moaned, slowly pumping in and out of your swollen and well used cunt.

“Atta girl. You’re a good fuck so long as you keep your mouth shut.” Anakin let out a pained whine as he pulled out of you, leaving your pussy gaping and filled with his seed.

He cut the rope from your wrists and hissed when he saw the red marks. He broke character again for the simple fact that he felt terribly about accidentally hurting you. It was one thing to do it purposely, but this was unacceptable, he chided himself for tying you too tightly under his breath. He leaned down to kiss each wrist gently before tapping your ass with his hand.

“Get up. All fours.” He growled. Back to playing your big scary killer.

You sniffled, doing as he said as quickly as you could even though your body felt weak and jittery.

“Fuck.” He groaned spreading your ass cheeks apart, his thumbs keeping your pussy lips spread so that he could see his hard work; the mess he’d made of you.

He dove into your slick, reddened folds. His tongue laving and sucking your clit. He moaned and whined like he was the one getting pleasured. He shoved his tongue into your hot, raw hole and licked his cum out of you, mumbling dirty words with each breath.

"You taste so fucking good." He groaned, his voice muffled. "So wet and fuckin’ messy. I love it."

You whimpered, his tongue darting in and out of your still-throbbing cunt, tasting the evidence of your rough sex.

"You’re gonna be mine forever." He growled, his words slurred with lust. "No one else is ever gonna touch you again."

His fingers found your entrance, teasingly playing with it before sliding inside, stretching you open again. Your body trembled, pussy clenching around him in protest of his reentry. He leaned forward licking the trickles of blood from your shoulder and gathering it in his mouth. He sat back on his heels and then spit the mixture of his cum, his spit and your blood into your pussy, gently shoving it inside with his fingers.

The act was filthy. Disgusting. But so fucking hot, so sexy, so much so that your pussy contracted around his fingers again. Alittle bit of squirt dribbling out as your body shook. Anakin's eyes darkened as he felt you clench around his fingers once again.

"Fuck." He grumbled, hid grip on your hips tightening. "You’re gonna cum again, aren’t you?"

You sobbed, body trembling with the impending orgasm or maybe just from the humiliation. Who knows? At this point you couldn’t tell left from right.

"You just want to get used and ruined, don’t you?" He growled, his fingers thrusting in and out of you. "So fucking ready for it. So desperate for a cock like mine to take care of you."

His words sent you over the edge, body shaking as you came yet again. Your pussy fluttering around his fingers, dribbles of liquid leaking down his hand.

“N-no more.” You whimper, begging for a break.

“Oh poor thing.” He laughed. “it just feels so good that it hurts huh?”

“Y-yes.” You cried, sniffling. Your arms weak and wobbly.

“You’ll get used to it.” He said pulling out his fingers and roughly smacking your pussy with his hand.

You screamed, a choked whimpering sob. You were beyond sensitive, you could feel how swollen you were. But even through the pain, a jolt of pure pleasure shot through your core.

“Get up.” He growled, tucking himself back into his jeans, pulling you to your feet by the hair.

He shoved you against a tree and barked out the instruction for you to stay there. He picked up the knife and bandanna, kicking the ruined rope aside and shoving the ripped panties in his pocket. He grabbed his belt and cracked it against your ass hard one last time before putting his belt back on.

“You didn’t say thank you.” He reminded you.

“Say thank you. Ungrateful bitch.”

M’sorry!” You whimpered. “th-thank you. Thank you.”

“That’s better.” He grunted, yanking your jeans back up and leaving them unbuttoned. The fabric wet and sticky from all the abuse.

“Turn around. Can’t leave those gorgeous tits without any attention right?” He chuckled darkly.

He grabbed your chin examining your face when you slowly turned around. His other hand pulling up your shirt.

“Still pretty. Even after all that.” He said softly a small glimpse at your Anakin, not this brutal character he played. But it was gone quicker than you could blink.

"Beautiful." Anakin murmured, his eyes lingering on your tits before he leaned in to lick and kiss each one. "You’re gonna be so pretty covered in bruises, huh?"

Your breath hitched, nipples pebbling as he sucked and licked at them. His hands cupping and squeezing your breasts roughly, leaving red marks on the soft skin.

He bit down and pulled your nipples with his teeth causing you to yelp in pain. Eliciting a dark laugh from him.

“C’mon,” He grumbled. “let’s get going. I’ve got plans for my new whore.”

He grabbed the back of your neck and shoved you forward, making you stumble and almost trip. You stayed silent other than your sniffling and wiping your nose and eyes as you walked on jelly legs.

"Don't think you're done." Anakin growled, his grip on your neck tightening as you walked. "I’ll never be done with you."

His free hand grabbed your ass, squeezing it roughly before letting go. His eyes never leaving the path ahead.

"You owe me. You know that? A lifetime of obedience and gratitude." He laughed, pushing your forward again. “I could’ve killed you and I didn’t. That’s called a life debt baby.”

You nodded, seeing the truck in the field and breathing a sigh of relief knowing you wouldn’t have to walk much further.

“Almost there.” He said plainly.

Once you reached the truck he opened the door and helped you inside gently. Giving you a soft kiss on the cheek.

He walked around to his side and shoved the items along with his hockey mask down inside the bag. Tossing it to the floor board as he climbed in beside you, pulling you against his chest in a comforting, soothing hug. You sighed, leaning into him. His warmth and closeness comforting you.

"Good girl." Anakin whispered into your hair, his voice softening. He kissed the top of your head gently. "You did so good. I love you doll. I love you so so much."

"Hang tight, baby. We’ll get you cleaned up and back home soon enough." He murmured, his hand resting on your thigh reassuringly.

You gripped his shirt, there was something thrilling about his possessiveness, his control over you. “I love you too Ani.” You whispered, voice shaky.

Once the short drive was over he helped you out of his truck, turning around and leaning forward to give you a piggy back ride to the house.

You sighed thankfully and climbed up. Hugging around his neck and inhaling his comforting scent. Nuzzling into his neck as he carried you into your home. Locking the front door behind him. He softly sat you on the couch, giving you a gentle forehead kiss.

Wordlessly he went to the kitchen and got himself and you a glass of water. Placing the cup in your shaking hands, making sure you drank some before he chugged down his.*

“You okay babydoll?” He asked, pulling you into his lap. “that was pretty intense.”

“I-I’m okay.” You nodded. “y-yeah it w-was intense.”

You gave him a soft smile. “It was fun though… I’m just gonna be really, really sore.”

"You’re so fucking precious.” He murmured, nuzzling your neck. "All worn out and sore, but still smiling at me."

"We'll take it slow next time, okay?" He whispered in your ear, kissing your temple softly. "You tell me when you’re ready for sex again baby. I’m not gonna ask until you come to me.”

You nodded, sighing contentedly. Your head resting against his chest as he held you close, breathing slowly returning to normal.

“Are you glad I read your diary now?”

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[eddieandbird]

Answer the Question—

You and Eddie get interviewed and talk about your relationship.

Part 1 | Part 2

tags/warnings: fluff | 2.9k words | f!reader | rockstar!eddie

———

Eddie’s crooked smile was illuminated by the dim yellow light of the hotel room and that was about the only thing you could see in your haze.

“To us getting hitched. Cheers, sweetheart,” He said, severely underestimating your lack of coordination.

Your distorted vision paired with your poor reaction time didn’t allow you to correctly tip your wine glass to his beer. He continued anyway, pushing the glass right out of your hand and onto your dress.

“Aw, dammit! Look what you did,” You whined, uselessly patting at the crimson stain.

“It’s not my fault you’ve got butterfingers,” He grumbled, unsteadily hovering as he pointed to you.

“You’re such a dick,” You huffed, rushing to the bathroom to assess the damage.

You were much more of a mess than you thought. The formal up-do you had was holding onto your hairpins for dear life and your mascara had morphed into dark circles around your eyes.

Despite the rough state you were in, Eddie refused to leave you alone, especially when he felt guilty for ruining your dress. You tried to push him away as he attempted to interrupt you studying your reflection, yet his hands still found a way to get to you.

“C’mon, let’s take this off, huh?” He took the top hem of your dress in between his fingers and tugged on it lightly.

“No, I feel so gross,” You slurred, stomping petulantly in place.

“That’s why we’re getting you out of this thing, you brat. Just let me help,” Eddie scoffed.

He slowly unzipped the back of your dress, revealing your back. He paused, a lump forming in his throat as he drank in the sight of you. He'd seen you in tank tops and even a bikini once before, but seeing you nearly naked in front of him made him nervous.

He swallowed as he took a step closer to you, gently nudging you away from the mirror. "You're not gross. Don’t be ridiculous," he whispered, his eyes glued to you protectively.

“Oh, please. You’re just saying that because you’re my wife, huh?” Your brows were knitted with your eyes barely peeking open.

“You’re my wife, stupid,” He snickered at your verbal mistake. He couldn’t tease you too much for the slip up considering he was the one struggling to get your dress off, a bathrobe on you, and lay you gently on the bed without dropping you.

“Whatever,” You stuck your tongue out at him.

All his drunken hard work was for nothing as you just as quickly shed the bathrobe, tossing it over the bedside lamp and climbing into the covers.

Eddie took a moment to take in the sight of you in just your underwear, his heartbeat quickening at the thought of being so close to your nearly naked body. He quickly stripped down to his boxers and climbed into bed next to you, pulling the sheets up.

He moved closer to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer to him. "Go to sleep, idiot," he sighed affectionately.

“You suck,” You quipped, playfully biting his hand as you watched it hover over you and rest right at your collarbone.

”Um hello? Did I lose you somewhere?” Eddie waved his hand in front of your face, making you blink rapidly.

“What? No- I mean yes! Sorry, what are we talking about?” as always, you were frazzled when you woke up from your daydream.

“God, you’re impossible,” he scrubbed his face in his hand. “I was asking you if we should say we went on our first date before or after you became my manager,”

“After. I think it’ll sound better,”

He rolled his eyes. It was the right answer, however, he could just tell you were only halfway there physically. The amount of times Eddie has caught you completely spacing out since your wedding night was becoming concerning.

“You’re about to do your first televised appearance as my wife, could you please act a little less like a zombie?”

“Cut me some slack! I don’t typically do public speaking, I’m terrified!” You squeaked.

Eddie scoffed, readying a quip to give back to you, but quickly dropped it. Instead, he hooked his arm around your shoulders and pulled you into a hug. For a split second, you considered pushing the gesture away, but similarly to Eddie, you gave in and returned the embrace.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. I guess I’m just a bit nervous too. I don’t want to embarrass you or whatever,” He muttered.

A pout crept up on your face as Eddie let himself slip into vulnerability again. “Hey, it’s alright. You’re really good at these interviews. You’re a pro at this point, I can’t imagine you letting me down,”

You applied a few comforting pats on his back. Eddie leaned into your embrace, taking comfort in the way you wrapped your arms around him.

"Thanks," he mumbled, his voice muffled in the crook of your neck. "You're right, I just..." He took a deep breath. "I don't want to screw this all up."

He pulled back slightly to look at you, his eyes flitting across your face. "But I know I can count on you to have my back, right?" he asked, a hint of vulnerability in his voice.

“Always, rockstar,” You nodded before scooping his hand into yours.

“Mr. and Mrs. Munson, we’re ready for you now,” A stagehand popped into the green room to say.

In unison, you and Eddie both took a deep breath. Your hands remained linked as you stood up and began your journey to the back of the stage. Once there, the both of you instinctively got into your typical warm-up positions that you’d get into with the band; flicking out your wrists and articulating your faces to relax the muscles. Eddie couldn't help but feel reassured by the sight of your linked hands and your shared warm-up routine. He was grateful for the familiar ritual, something that felt like a small tether to the life he was used to.

“Break a leg, Munson,” You saluted him.

“You too, Munson,” He shot a smirk back.

With a final deep breath, he patted you on the shoulder before stepping on stage to the sound of applause and cheers. You and Eddie came out with your heads held high and your hands attached. With a few waves and blown kisses to the crowd, you sat on the set couch in front of the interview host, Jessica Terry.

Her first set of questions was pretty light. They were all surface-level and predictable; Where did you meet? How long you’ve known each other? You almost felt like it gave you a false sense of security because it wasn’t long until Jessica asked a harder-hitting question.

“Why did you wait so long to tell the world about your relationship?” The host asked.

That was the question that burned the hottest in the minds of spectators. Even though you and Eddie had spoken in great detail about how you wanted to answer this, you couldn’t help but feel like there wasn’t enough discussion to fully prepare each other. You swallowed your anxiety and let him take the lead.

Eddie was in his own head as you looked at him to answer. Even with a pre-made script in his head of how he should go about it, he still felt like something was missing. He had a strong desire to speak from his heart.

He cleared his throat before he said

“The obvious answer is for our privacy, but I think it might be deeper than that. When you have something special like love, you can’t help but want to keep it all to yourself, if only for a little while. I wanted to make sure what I felt wasn’t just a small rose bud, but a whole blooming garden before I got to make a whole bouquet out of it,”

Your jaw involuntarily dropped but you lacked any words to say. It was the most eloquent thing you’d ever heard him utter. An unfamiliar ache in your chest came crashing onto you in powerful waves. It now made sense why he refused to speak about his feelings for you before. He laid it out plainly for you and the whole room to hear. You startled yourself as you felt tears beginning to roll down your cheeks.

“Sorry, I um- I get really emotional when he talks like that,” Your voice strained through the tightness in your chest as you dabbed at your face with your knuckles.

Eddie's heart practically stopped as he saw the tears stream down your cheeks. He knew he was laying it on pretty thick when he spoke in such poetic terms, but he didn't expect it to impact you so deeply.

He reached over and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, gently squeezing it. "Hey, it’s alright," he whispered.

Jessica smiled at your apology, touched by the sight of a rockstar known for his wild antics getting all soft and sentimental in front of the cameras.

“Don’t be embarrassed, Mrs. Munson. We all find your guys’ story to be inspiring. It’s obvious that you love each other very much,” The host offered a sympathetic smile and claps to encourage applause from the audience.

She mentioned that dreaded four-letter word and for a moment you forgot to keep up the etiquette around speaking to the interviewer and the audience. Your eyes were set on Eddie, looking a bit vacant as more pieces began to connect in your mind. He nodded at you, silently communicating that you needed to continue.

“Yeah, you’re right, Jessica. I do love him. I love him a lot,” Saying it caused your voice to tremble subtly, but the nodding of your head reinforced it.

Your sickly sweet response was enough to fool everyone in that room except for Eddie. His brain felt like it was on fire. He couldn’t tell if you were being an amazing actress for the sake of your precious plan or if there was any truth to your words.

He knew you well enough to tell that something was off. Your words felt too genuine to be entirely fake, but at the same time, there was something else in your tone. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on. He was eager to ask why the hell you were crying and saying all these things, but for now, he was locked into this interview with no way out. He had to act like this was all some romantic moment between the two of you.

“I love you, too. More than anything, I love you,” Like a child would do with their favorite toy, he took your hand in his and pressed it to his chest. His heartbeat vibrated against your palm and it caused your own heartbeat to be just as erratic.

The audience let out a collective "aww" at his declaration. Eddie's heart skipped a beat at the feeling of your hand, the rapid beating of his heart almost as fast as the thoughts racing through his mind. The host, sensing the sincerity of the moment, wrapped up the interview quickly, leaving Eddie and you alone for the first time since you stepped on stage.

As soon as they called cut, Eddie practically dragged you behind the curtain, away from the prying eyes of the crew and cameras. Your legs struggled to keep up with his frantic movement.

“Hey! Slow down, you know I can barely walk in heels. You’re gonna make me break an ankle-”

“What the hell happened out there?” Eddie halted your half-hearted complaint with a more pointed question.

A shrug was accompanied by your sheepish, wide-eyed look. “What do you mean? I think it all went great. I mean the crowd was practically eating out of the palms of our hands,”

“Oh cut the shit, would ya?” he gave an exaggerated sigh. “You think I didn’t notice the way you looked at me out there? All smitten and shit while you said you loved me,”

You wanted to take a step back, but his arm snaked around your waist and yanked you to him.

“Please don’t make me feel crazy. That look meant something, right? Don’t tell me it was part of the act,”

“That look? I mean-” You stuttered.

This should have been easy to deny. You should have been able to laugh it off, but your inability to lie to him came in when you least expected it.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” You sighed, hanging your head in surrender.

"Don't give me that!" he snapped, pushing you closer to him. "I saw you crying out there, and don't think I didn't notice you spacing out in the green room before the interview.”

He took a deep breath, trying to keep his cool. “Just tell me. What the hell is going on with you?”

“I don’t know. I know that’s probably the last thing you want to hear, but that’s the truth,” Your eyes widened like a scolded child’s.

“You have to understand how confusing all this is for me. We got married one night and the next day you’re telling me I need to pretend I love you, so I do it. I do anything to be a good manager and a good friend, but now I also have to be your wife for the cameras and you tell me you have real feelings for me and I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel,”

You two were silent for a moment, the only noise to be heard was the chatter outside and your heaving breaths. What tethered you to this moment was his golden brown eyes locked onto yours, both of your faces now mere inches away from each other. Eddie took his hand and traced your collarbone to your shoulder before pushing your hair behind it. From your shoulder, he dragged his fingers down your arm and connected his hand to his.

“I don’t care about how you think you’re supposed to feel… What do you actually feel? How do you feel about me?”

His request hung in the air like thick smoke. You couldn’t escape those questions for much longer, not when he had his hands on you like this. You could feel the heat from the crimson flush blooming on your cheeks.

“Eddie, please don’t-”

“Answer the question,” He deflected your plea.

Your tea kettle of emotions was finally whistling with steam. “Fine! I’m in love with you, okay?!”

You shocked him with your outburst. His mind struggled to process your confession. He knew deep down that you couldn't have just been putting on an act during the interview. He searched your face for any sign of dishonesty, but the flush of your cheeks and the way your eyes flicked between his own told him everything he needed to know. You were telling the truth.

“Don’t just stand there, Eddie. Say something,” You demanded quietly. He stood motionless. He could hear you, but he couldn’t do anything.

“Hey… Hey!” You swatted at his arm repeatedly, desperately trying to get him to say something. “This is your fault. It’s all your fault,”

It was just to get a reaction out of him, but it still didn’t prevent Eddie from scoffing into a chuckle under his breath.

“It’s my fault? My fault that we got married?”

“It’s your fault that I fell in love with you,” You pushed his shoulder to create distance, but all he did was grab hold of your hand again.

He took a step closer, closing the gap between the two of you once again then ran a thumb over your bottom lip. "Let me get this straight. You're saying falling in love with me was entirely my fault?"

You nipped at his thumb to get him to move then stuck your tongue into your cheek.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. It’s your fault that you’re a pain in my ass but at the same time, the most incredible person I’ve ever met,” The fight in your voice died down as you finished your sentence. “You’re messy and annoying and charming and sweet and—“

“Mhm, mhm,” Eddie nodded almost condescendingly. “So when’s the part of your rant where you shut up and kiss me?”

“You really suck, you know that?” You shook your head with a wide grin of disbelief.

He began leaning toward you, his head dipping down to capture your lips with his. His teasing demeanor quickly faded as he kissed you. The initial soft pecks slowly turned into something deeper and more passionate as he held the back of your neck. He took a step forward, pressing you up against the wall and trapping your body with his.

Then the sudden sound of the curtain swooshing open startled you and Eddie, breaking your kiss.

“Ugh, gross. There you two are,” Gareth’s voice dripped in his disgust as he discovered the both of you.

“Dude, what the hell?” Eddie angrily gestured to his bandmate.

“I’ve been looking for you guys everywhere. We gotta get on the bus if we wanna make it to the next show. Let’s get out of here!” He lightly smacked Eddie’s cheek.

You could tell Eddie could beat the shit out of Gareth for interrupting the moment. You tugged on his arm and gave him a glare that said ‘Behave,’.

“He’s right, rockstar. We gotta go,” You smiled with your nose scrunched before leading him out.

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - We In A Slump, but help might be coming from a very strange source

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

Sept 2024 Week 4

Ongoing Series - Thai

Jack & Joker (Thai Mon IQIYI) ep 3 of 12 - I don’t have a lot to say except that the plot is somewhat predictable but the show is still very engaging. War is fantastic. I’m enjoying it a hell of a lot.

Monster Next Door (Thai Thurs Gaga ) ep 10 of 12 - The second leads are getting better in this one. I understand where they are coming from, which makes their conflict so much more understandably painful, and honest to a friends2lovers trope. The main couple is kinda standard college relationship drama, but they are cuties.  

Kidnap (Fri YT) ep 4 of 12 - How is Ohm so damn gorgeous? Meanwhile, babies’ first argument. And it’s sponge bath time. Q has got to be wondering if Min is as meticulous with all kinds of care and attention to detail all......the......time. Somebody here in the hellhole said something about this being "the most BL to ever BL." And I think they’re right. At least right now. Although, watch out, we got us a new contender from the east.

I Saw You in My Dream (Weds Gaga) ep 11 of 12 - I do love the continuation of the perversion, in a good way, of the punishment trope from last week's episode. Oh, has the show finally remembered its title? NO SINGING. 

Addicted Heroin (Thai Tues WeTV) ep 7 of 10 - More kidnapping and an attack and now there’s a girl involved and somebody’s going to China and I don’t understand anything! And I don’t really care. Is this how the actual book originally went? Because it’s wild. Also TOO MANY of flashbacks. I guess they got a bit of a boyfriend era, and the claiming during the water fight was cute, but otherwise...... meh

Love Sick 2024 (Thai Sun iQIYI) ep 2 of 15 - One shouldn’t make comparisons, of course, but all I can think about is how amazing Captain was as Noh in the original series. Thus this show is mostly just making me want to rewatch the original. It’d be an interesting twist to have Aim be queer instead of a damaged cool girl slut. Was the helmet hand letting go a foreshadow of the iconic bookstore hands letting go? Also, I gotta say for the second episode of a series there are already too many flashbacks. Why are they using filler when they have so much content crammed into so few (comparable) episodes for a series? It’s annoying. Stop it.

Live in Love (Sun Gaga) ep 4 of 5 - This show has some interesting, if heavy handed, things to say about shipping and trolling, but also predatory/proprietary female behavior. It’s fascinating to see it tackled head on, if handled in a profoundly clumsy manner. I’m not sure how I feel about it. That said, most of this episode was actually an advertisement for a resort in Phuket. 

Bad Guy My Boss (Thai Sun Gaga) ep 2 of 10 - I'm getting What's Wrong with Secretary Kim? vibes from this show. Only this is WAY more bullying. It’s very old-fashioned 90’s billionaire romance novel only gay. It’s never a good sign when I’m watching two boys kiss and I really want one of them to just bite the other ones lip off instead.

Battle of the Writers (Sun YT) ep 9 of 12 - No ep this week. 

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Sugar Dog Life (Japan Sun grey) ep 8 of 10 - Gosh it’s so frikin adorable. Baby got sick. He has SUCH A CRUSH. And such a courageous little confession! Yay! Can’t wait for next week. 

Teenager Judge (Vietnam Sat YouTube) ep 1 - sure, yes this is, in fact, just Ba Vinh doing his thing with pretty boys again. And yet...... There is a REASON this leapt into the standings guns blazing. So it’s high school set but it's stepbrothers trope. (My, aren’t we popular this year?) I know, but I NEVER get tired of this trope. We got us Bach (BV's sullen tsundere) and Dat (babygirl meets bully). It’s GREAT how the brothers' dynamic is entirely different at school than when they're at home. My ear isn’t trained for Vietnamese, but I think Dat is using different pronouns depending on his location (his personality entirely shifts when he’s at school). I’m not sold on the Bach character, although I always trust BV to serve in the end (at least we know the kisses will be good), but Dat is utterly in love, a touch spicy, and reasonably complex. The surrounding cast is good too, my favorite pretty boy is there playing top dog (woof), and one of the besties is out gay (YAY!). The plot of the show is...... well...... absent. Nothing happened. But if we are aiming for Love Sick slice of life style BL, I'm game. Subs are appropriately terrible and confusing. But I like it A FUCK TON so far, so I’m gonna keep it in rotation. Nice to have Vietnam back in play. What a shocker.

2024 has been a year of upsets.

Love is Like a Poison AKA Doku Koi: Doku mo Sugireba Koi to Naru (Japan Tues Netflix?) 3 of 10 eps - I weirdly enjoyed the farcical music and the utter absurdity of the court case. I also liked how it highlighted what a good team these two are. Frankly I don’t mind a bit of an antihero sleazy lawyer + conman, it's engaging. I’m getting wholesome out of Thailand. I don’t really need it from Japan at the moment. Also I don’t believe for one second our conman actually is serious about the relationship. Conmen gonna con. I'm reminded of the scorpion and the frog fable.

First Note Of Love (Taiwan Mon Gaga) ep 8 of 12 - I love Orca so much. I do not love the autotuned version of Orca, but I knew what I was in for with this particular show, it's in the title after all. I did laugh a whole lot when Laing used kha. Hon, I don't think that word means what you think it means......

The On1y One (Taiwan Thurs Gaga) eps 11-12fin - I never thought I’d say this, but the pacing was off in the penultimate episode. Taiwan, and its chronic misuse of flashbacks strikes again. That said we eventually got a "lock in" trope and Wang being the biggest little flirt shit in the cafe OMG!!! Of course, you shouldn’t use a girl to torment your bf, but it was so well done, I can’t really complain. Meanwhile, teacher kisses. And now I understand exactly why they’re present in this narrative. Clever. Bummer of a burden on that ending though. I cannot see how they’ll manage to stick this landing. [That was ep 11]

AND NOW EP 12 - doomey doomey doom

Not the water bottle trope! Argh the teenage lust of it all. Just stop it. Wang is so smart he knows exactly how bad he has to be to leave the class. And his bf certainly knows that too. And......

......

So that was not an ending and I’m not happy about it and no one is surprised. Even I’m not surprised. I’m just disappointed. Even tho I suspected this was where we were headed I'm disappointed. That’s it. That’s all I got. How do I review something that was such a crushing let down?

Conclusion:

Based on a Mou Mou novel + the Your Name Engraved Herein team, this is old-school coming of age BL and it was bloody fantastic. Tsundere seme to beat all tsundere (smartest + tallest + bestest at everything but people) meets socially-ept cutie smart-ass uke. They're living together by end of ep 1 and start kissing by end of ep 2. A stellar tense slow burn stepbrothers trope that ate my life and than just belly-flopped the finale. What I'm left with is epic levels of disappointment and well...... at least nobody died? My standard "fatally flawed" rating for any BL is 4/10 so I guess that’s what I’m giving it. 

Before you ask me for the stats: Taiwan does not have a history of second seasons. I went ahead and ran the numbers and the odds are certainly not in our favor. I put the chances at 2%.

Yes, I contemplated a revenge rating of 2/10 but even I'm not that mean.

It's airing but...

The Hidden Moon (Sat WeTV) ep 1 of 10 - This is a supernatural romance (my ghost boyfriend trope) by Violet Rain (I Feel You Linger). A man is hired to write an article about an old mansion in Chiang Mai being converted into a café. He sees the ghosts of people who died at the mansion, falls in love with one of them. Was substantially recast. I loved IFYLITA except the ending so I think I'll let this one run it's course you can tell me if it's work tracking down... if they managed to land it. I have my doubts.

In Case You Missed It

Falling For My Boss is vertical format (nash) short from Korean BL about a happy-go-unlucky man who keeps losing his flower shop business because of romantically misbehaving employees (apparently it's a thing). When his best employee brings in a new boy he's worried she's falling for him, but it turns out it's his own heart on the line. He a clueless softy and The Boy is a lost broken sweetheart, making this a gentle little snippet of a show. There's a baby linguistic negotiation, some hung slinging, awkward handholds, and everyone is very pretty. For me the absence of kisses and the vertical format were more annoying than the length, which felt fine but many viewers will find too short. I enjoyed the 30 minutes of cute. All of which makes this a solid 7/10 from me. It was originally only available on this one ap in very short form with ads so I wasn't gonna bother. Then some kind soul cut it together without ads and stuck it up for download. Say thank you.

Oddball recommendation next: This podcast episode touches on some stuff we see in Thai BL so I think it's worth listening to. Journalist Dominic Faulder on the Complex History Between Thailand & Myanmar

Happy of the End (Japan Gaga) - Completed its run. A boy is disowned for being gay, dumped by his boyfriend, and ends up in a dysfunctional co-dependant relationship with his would-be kidnapper. We were due for another messy JBL and it's exactly as expected. I do not like it at all and DNFed. Gossip round the hellhole is that was a solid decision.

Marriage Equality Law has officially been enacted in Thailand...

Yes the actual law. Goes into effect Jan 22, 2025

Next Week Looks Like This:

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

Coming Oct 2024:

10/3 Fourever You (Thai iQIYI?) 16 eps - New directs Earth (UWMA, 12%) + Pond (Century of Love, 180 Degrees), Bas (Gen Y, 2 Moons) + Maxky (Why You… Y Me?) and other familiar faces like Bever. Sampler pack university BL from Wabi Sabi that looks like it's trying to be a gay Boys Over Flowers (4 older med students hot boys) and I'm not mad about it. Trailer Not sure who's distributing this but my guess is iQIYI since they had the last few from this house.

10/7 Every You Every Me (Thai Gaga) 10 eps - Jade and Chin have lived over a thousand lifetimes. In each one they somehow manage to fall in love with each other. (This pair, TopMick was piloted in a My Universe ep, that was one of the only ones I liked.)

10/10 Eccentric Romance (Korea ????) 12 eps - Silkwood’s 2nd Thai/Korean colab, that has been in production since 2022 which is a LONG time in the BL world. I'm worried but I like the concept: friends of 10 years who’ve been hiding feelings for each other enter the same university. Plus MURDER.

10/10 Gangster and His Boyfriend (Korea ????) 8 eps? - Kim Dong Bin (famous trainee & idol reality competitor, yeah that happens) stars as a fallen idol who unexpectedly becomes entangled in a gangster family. Discovers that his friend’s father is responsible for the murder of his entire family years ago. I don't know much about this one, neither does anyone else and I'm not sure where I got that release date so……

10/21 Love in the Big City (Korea ????) 8 eps - Adaptation of Booker-nominated famous coming of age novel of the same title by Park Sang-Young. Cynical yet fun loving student writer Young pinballs from home, to class, to Tinder matches. He and Jaehee, his female besie and roommate, frequent nearby bars where they push away their worries about life, love, and money with soju. As time passes Jaehee settles down and leaves Young to face his problems on his own. Young finding comfort in the arms of the series of men, including one whose handsomeness is matched by his coldness and another who might be the great love of his life. Not really BL. Stars Kim Go-eun (The King: Eternal Monarch), Noh Sang-hyun, and Nam Yoon Su (The King’s Affection). This already released as a movie and isn't very well regarded, this date is supposedly an international release as a series. I'm wary of it being BL.

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

I got nothing, The On1y One drove me into a funk.

(Last week)

Streaming services are listed by how I (usually) watch, which is with a USA based IP, and often offset by a day because time zones are a pain.

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

Sigh, Tumblr in its infinite wisdom doesn't like too many at-ings.

[fizzydrink698]

conflict, conceal, confess | minho

kinktober day 31: thigh-riding

pairing: lee minho x reader

word count: 18.1k (💀)

genre: college au, enemies to lovers, (modern!consort au)

warnings: sexual content (thigh-riding, oral sex, fingering, handjob, marking, a whole lot of smut honestly, like 6k words of it), swearing, an ungodly amount of academia

summary:

“Why don’t we call a truce?”

Minho blinked, caught off-guard. “Truce?”

“Yeah. No more arguments…” you trailed off, the words already sounding hollow and you were the one saying them. “OK, maybe some academic debate. But nothing personal.”

“Nothing petty,” Minho added, giving you a pointed look.

It took an impressive amount of willpower to force your smile to stay on your face. “Exactly. We somehow managed it as kids. How hard could it be to do it again?”

“Your brother is such an asshole.”

You wondered how many of your conversations with Felix had started with those exact words. In the years since childhood, there had probably been countless variations of this very situation: you collapsing into a seat near Felix, ready to unleash after biting your tongue for however many hours beforehand.

His reaction was second nature at this point. Without even glancing towards you, Felix paused in the middle of rolling out what looked to be shortbread dough and turned to switch on the coffeemaker. “What is it this time?”

“Do you remember how many new people signed up to debate at the start of the year? Had to be at least twenty, right? Maybe thirty?”

“At least thirty,” Felix confirmed. “I gave out blondies to every person that signed up. The entire pan was gone in like an hour.”

Yes, you remembered that day. Specifically, you remembered Felix holding up the empty pan with a big smile on his face and proudly declaring how many people had shown interest in joining. And you’d had to figure out how to politely break it to him that the hordes of first-year students walking back and forth in front of his table were eyeing a little more than just his baked goods.

Sweet boy. Sweet, innocent, oblivious boy.

“Guess how many are left,” you challenged him, eager to prove a point.

Felix frowned, thinking it over. “There were still about fifteen when I was last there. So, ten?”

“Six,” you exclaimed, balling your hand into a fist and planting it onto the tabletop for dramatic effect. “And Minho made one of them cry today.”

In just a few years, you and Minho had transformed your university’s debate team into one of the most successful in the country. You’d won awards, you’d attended international competitions, you’d gained notice from several notable figures in academia. Membership of the debate team had gone from a minor footnote you’d discard in an application to a badge of prestige, of recognised talent.

Minho’s standards were high, shockingly so, but he got results. As a second-in-command in all but name, it was usually up to you to run damage control, to nudge members towards persevering instead of walking out the door. The good cop to his bad cop, the carrot to his stick. You’d be tempted to call it exhausting, were it not for the undeniable rush of satisfaction whenever you succeeded in building up a member where Minho failed.

Lately, however, your efforts were starting to fall short. In just eight weeks, over twenty recruits had quit before team selections had even finished.

“Oh, jeez,” Felix muttered. Before he could say anything more, the coffeemaker chirped behind him, and he wasted no time pouring you the biggest cup he had lying around.

You motioned it over with greedy little grabby-hands, accepting it with a smile.

Felix returned to his shortbread dough and picked up a star-shaped cookie cutter. “Why did they cry?”

You made a vaguely displeased noise through a mouthful of coffee, only managing to word a response when you set the mug down. “I don’t even know. This week’s debate was on the ethics of nuclear power, and I could tell she took pretty much all her talking points from Wikipedia. I assume it was about that. Minho probably got all Minho about it and tore her to shreds.”

Felix paused. You wondered if it was just because he was concentrating on his cookies, until you realised he was hesitating. “…I don’t know. I know Minho takes this stuff seriously, but he’s not the kind of guy to make some poor kid cry over debating.”

“Why not?“ You asked, and you can’t stop the bitterness creeping out into your voice. “It’s nothing he hasn’t done before.”

“Oh…” Felix said, eyes widening in realisation. He lifted his head up to look at you, sympathetic. “Shit, yeah. I’m sorry.”

For the most part, you’d gotten over your experience in high school debate club, but the memories still stung a little.

You’d been so eager, signing up the very second you were eligible, talking Felix’s ear off about how excited you were, how much you were looking forward to it. You’d known that Felix’s older brother - a year ahead of you - was somewhat of a big deal in the club, and you’d maybe imagined him taking you under his wing. Looking out for you, encouraging you with gentle feedback and a warm smile.

You’d gone into your first debate, attempted to expand upon the few points you’d known about the topic, and shyly waited for Minho’s counterarguments.

He had stepped up to the microphone, levelled you with a blank stare, and eviscerated every single argument you’d made. Pointed out every logical fallacy, every gap in your research, every misspoken or poorly worded statement, everything. He’d cut you right to the bone, with zero mercy.

You spent the rest of the club meeting holding back tears, ran all the way to Felix’s house as soon as it was over, sobbing your eyes out – and actually, maybe that was the first of many “your brother is an asshole” exchanges.

Huh. Funny how things come full circle like that.

When Minho returned home about a half-hour after you, you’d stormed into his room and demanded to know why he would treat you so badly. Did he want to drive you away from the club? Did he secretly hate you this whole time?

You’d never forget his response. The shrug he gave you, the arch of one eyebrow as he took in the sight of you, burning with rage, fists clenched by your side. The fucking sigh.

I just thought you’d do better than that.

What a fucking thing to say to a fourteen-year-old. Especially one that looked up to him the way you did.

And, deep-down, there was a certain sting that accompanied his words. Something you could never bring yourself to admit out loud, not even to Felix. An extra flash of pain, because back then you’d…

Whatever. It was ancient history.

You had almost quit on the spot. Instead, you dove headfirst into researching the next week’s topic, determined to beat him, paranoid about every little mistake he might pick at.

And that…

Well, that was your life for the next nine years. Even that one blissful year when Minho had graduated, the year you’d taken over as head of debate club, the year you’d gotten your team all the way to nationals - he still didn’t leave you in peace.

He’d turned up to that final competition, gaze intense, face neutral. You’d spotted him in the audience, unable to tear your eyes away, watching every little twitch of his jaw, every tiny shift in expression, and knew he was picking apart your arguments. Waiting for you to trip up and fail in front of everyone.

It felt like a glorious ‘fuck you’ when your team won that year. You’d held that trophy, looked right into Minho’s eyes, and wanted to scream ‘I fucking told you so’ right in his smug face.

Ugh. Asshole.

“It’s all in the past,” you said, forcing yourself to shrug it off.

Taking another swig of coffee, you reached over and poked Felix’s shoulder, grinning.

“And besides…Minho isn’t the one coming with me to the U.N. next month.”

“Next month,” Felix repeated, slightly in awe, matching your excitement and then some. “Holy shit, it’s so soon.”

It was. In just a few weeks’ time, you’d be standing in front of a U.N. committee giving a speech on commitment to environmental preservation with your best friend by your side. You’d worked for this for months, years even. And you’d be doing it together.

“I’m afraid I have bad news about the U.N. speech.”

You sat there, horrified, as your supervisor – Dr. Koning – shuffled the papers on his desk with a grave expression. “What? What happened? Don’t tell me it’s cancelled.”

“It’s not cancelled,” Dr. Koning said, before pausing. “…But it has been postponed. Certain recent global events have pushed it further down the agenda. The speech will happen next January.”

“January?” You repeated, and horror quickly dawned on you. “No, wait. Felix can’t do January. He’s studying abroad next semester. There has to be some other…”

“I’m afraid there’s not. I’ve tried to speak to the few contacts I have, but changing the agenda of the United Nations is…well, a little beyond our capabilities, I’m sure you can understand.”

“But this is just as much Felix’s speech as it is mine. It’s on environmental preservation, he’s the one that’s specialising in environmentalism, he can’t just get dropped like…what if he flew back for the U.N. speech? That’s doable, right?”

“Even if he could, he would still be missing the weeks of preparation leading up to the speech,” Dr. Koning reminded you, sounding genuinely apologetic. “Unless he withdraws from his study-abroad program, I’m afraid we have to give his spot to someone else.”

You felt like you’d just been punched, right in the gut. Felix couldn’t withdraw from the program. It was one of the main reasons he’d chosen this university in the first place. He’d spent months competing for the limited spaces at the best partner university, he’d e-mailed the faculty there ahead of time to begin networking, he’d based his entire career path on the connections he could make there.

Even the fucking United Nations wasn’t worth the damage his future plans would take if he dropped out of studying abroad.

“…Who’s taking his spot?” You asked, quiet, defeated.

Dr. Koning looked down at the papers, and adjusted his glasses. “Well, there are a few candidates in mind. But at such short notice, there’s really only one feasible choice. One of my colleague’s PhD students, you might know him. Lee Minho?”

…No.

No.

Absolutely fucking not.

You choked on the sudden anger bursting from your chest, trying your best to push it down before you started cussing out Lee Minho right in front of your professor. Finally, you were able to respond through gritted teeth. “Yes, I know him. We don’t…really get on.”

Dr. Koning frowned, pushing his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry to hear that. Are there any incidents I should be aware of?”

“No, nothing like that,” you said. “Just…it’s been a thing since we were kids. We don’t like each other.”

“Well, we can look for others…” he said, before trailing off. Frowning, he leaned forward slightly, granting himself an air of conspiracy, like he was letting you in on a secret. “But, honestly…if this is something you feel comfortable setting aside, just temporarily, you should know that Minho really is the best candidate. By quite a wide margin.”

Of fucking course he was.

You let out a deep breath, closing your eyes and fighting the urge to start massaging your temples.

“…Maybe,” you relented, even if it took every ounce of willpower you had. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Good to hear,” Dr. Koning said, smiling. “I really do hope the two of you can work together on this. Both of you have shown astounding potential. I look forward to seeing what you come up with.”

“…Mm-hm. Me too.”

It was a cold, crisp Monday morning, and you found yourself stood on the steps of the lecture halls. The expression on your face was enough for the dawdling first-years around you to give you a wide berth, allowing you to scroll through your e-mails in peace.

Scroll through your e-mails, and wait.

For him.

Felix had mentioned that Minho was sitting in on a talk from a visiting financial expert on the state of global economics, and you figured now was as good a time as any to confront him about the speech.

…And by ‘confront’, you meant ‘patiently and politely open channels of communication’. Of course.

Fuck, it was freezing.

You shivered, pulling your scarf just a little tighter around your neck, and exited out of your e-mails to shoot a text to Felix.

You

Who in their right mind voluntarily sits in on an economics lecture at eight o’clock on a Monday morning?

Lixie

…

i mean

…literally you last week

You

OK first of all

That was a fucking Guillaume Van Bebber seminar

The man has a Nobel prize

Second of all

That wasn’t a Monday

Third

Shut up

Lixie

ok no cookies for you

You

Wait no, what??

I take it back.

Take it all back.

You’re my bestest friend in the whole world.

Bestest and smartest.

Waittt

You were so distracted texting Felix, you didn’t notice the doors to the lecture halls opening, and the slow stream of students beginning to file out.

You did, however, notice a familiar voice.

Your head snapped up to see Minho at the top of the steps, talking with who looked to be the guest lecturer. The two were standing still, rather than walking along with the rest of the students, positioned just out of the way so they could continue whatever conversation they were having without interruption.

Cool, even more waiting.

You shifted your weight, shoving your hands into the pockets of your coat to keep warm, and watched as Minho continued to speak – and, unbelievably, managed to make this lecturer laugh.

You blinked.

What the fuck? Minho didn’t make people laugh. He made them miserable, yes, but never laugh.

And then, suddenly, as if he could sense your insults, Minho looked over and locked eyes with you. His eyebrows raised slightly, probably in surprise at seeing you on campus so early in the morning. You made sure to maintain eye contact – an old habit with Minho, by this point. You hated being the first to look away, it always felt like weakness.

He turned away, saying something to the lecturer with a slight incline of his head.

The lecturer blinked, before nodding. You watched as, with a warm smile, the lecturer extended what looked to be a business card to Minho.

Minho accepted it, the two exchanged one final handshake, before Minho turned on his heel and descended the steps.

Towards you.

It was a little unfair, you wanted to grumble, that Minho always looked so put-together, no matter the time of day. He was wearing a black turtleneck sweater, perfectly suited for the chilly October morning air, under a tailored beige overcoat. It looked designer, the plaid pattern on its lining looking vaguely familiar, but that was standard for Minho’s wardrobe. You’d known since you were a little kid that Felix’s family had money.

Like, ­fuck-you money.

You forced your eyes up to his face before they travelled any further downwards, but you knew from a glance that Minho was wearing some form of tight black jeans. They were a staple of his wardrobe, and you hated them. You hated any and every reminder of Minho’s…

Well, Minho’s fucking tree trunk thighs.

Which you also hated.

With a passion.

He did dance as a kid. And some kind of equestrian thing in his teenage years – because, again, fuck-you money – which all contributed to…

You know what?

Didn’t matter.

Because you hated them. They weren’t worth mentioning.

“We need to talk about the U.N. speech,” you said, as soon as he got close enough, cutting straight to the chase.

“OK,” Minho nodded, approaching closer. You paused, confused, as he showed no sign of slowing. He drew closer and closer, and something tightened in your chest, as he–

He brushed past you, shoulder nearly bumping yours, continuing onwards past you.

You stilled, rooted to the spot for a moment, blinking at the empty air where he had just been standing.

Shock quickly morphed into incredulous anger, and you turned sharply to storm after him, blown away by his rudeness. “Hey, where – what the fuck?”

Minho paused, turning to face you, halting so suddenly that you almost bumped right into him. You stumbled back a step or two, before righting yourself, as Minho asked. “…Wait, did you mean now?”

The way he said it, confused, as if you were the strange one for not specifying the obvious.

“No, I was thinking in three weeks. But let me just check my calendar first,” you retorted, deadpan. “Yes, now. Why else would I be here?”

“For classes,” Minho pointed out, gesturing to the lecture building he’d just exited.

You opened your mouth instinctively, before pausing.

Because the honest answer, that you were here because you’d been waiting for him, now sounded…

“…Look, are you free to talk about the speech or not?” You asked, folding your arms over your chest.

Minho stared at you for a moment, before giving you a shrug. “I’ve got about an hour before my next class.”

“Good.”

“I usually get coffee around this time, while it’s quiet.”

“…OK? Good for you?” You said, frowning slightly.

Minho kept staring, looking…strangely expectant.

What, he wanted a pat on the back for having coffee in the morning?

Finally, with a sharp exhale that could almost be mistaken as an exasperated sigh, Minho turned away and set off walking again.

Rude. You were literally just having a conversation? Now, he just expected you to follow him?

Ugh.

Reluctantly, you did just that, having to quicken your pace to match Minho’s stride with those…fucking gargantuan legs of his.

Legs that didn’t matter. Because you didn’t notice them. At all.

To your surprise, Minho didn’t head for Muffin House, the main coffee shop on campus. That was your go-to place for caffeine – it was cheap, they had a bunch of muffins in different flavours, and they had an irresponsibly large number of discounts on extra espresso shots for students.

Instead, you had to follow Minho down a little side street nestled between two of the towering science blocks, cut across a near-deserted car park, and finally took a right towards a quiet little pocket of buildings on the edge of campus.

You would have walked right past the coffee shop entirely, were it not for Minho suddenly ducking through the doorway of a non-descript stone building. You paused, and it was only after looking up and studying the front face of the building that you noticed the sign for Kwon’s Koffee.

Inside, it looked indistinguishable from other coffee shops on campus – except it was far less crowded, with only a few tables taken up by exclusively postgraduate students.

This was definitely one of those little insider-knowledge haunts for PhD students, like Minho. And the idea almost made you want to hate it on principle.

You joined the queue behind Minho, gaze wandering toward the board of coffee specials.

…Fuck, OK, they did look pretty good.

Still, the principle of the matter remained.

“You realise Muffin House was so much closer, right?” You asked, glancing at Minho.

Minho made a face. “Yeah, but their coffee is shitty.”

“No, it’s not!”

“It’s always bitter.”

“Yeah, because it’s made to go with the super-sweet muffins,” you said, slowing your words as if trying to explain the concept of taste to a toddler. “They balance each other out.”

“Which means if you don’t get muffins, you’re shit out of luck,” Minho pointed out, and glanced over his shoulder at you. “And I never get them.”

You stared at him, genuinely affronted by this statement. Yet another thing to add to the colossal-sized list of reasons to dislike Minho. “What? Why? How?”

He shrugged. “I don’t have much of a sweet tooth.”

“How are you and Felix even related?”

“It’s because of Felix,” Minho argued, and you had to admit, your interest was piqued. “Who do you think was the test subject for all his recipes?”

“What, were they bad?” You asked, intrigued.

Minho smiled ruefully. “Some were. But the most dangerous ones were the great ones. There’s only so many whole pans of brownies you can inhale before your body just rejects sugar on sight.”

Huh.

You forgot, sometimes, how close Minho and Felix were. It didn’t entirely fit in with your general doctrine of ‘Minho = The Worst’ so it was often banished to the back of your mind.

You supposed even the absolute dregs of humanity usually had at least one redeeming quality.

…Wait, this was coming dangerously close to an actual conversation with Minho.

“I think you’re just a coffee snob,” you dismissed with a shrug.

Minho rolled his eyes, and that brief façade of reasonable humanity vanished. “If Muffin House figured out how to brew coffee without burning it to shit, I’d drink it. But they haven’t yet, so…”

You opened your mouth, already raring to start an argument, but it was at that moment that the person in front of Minho in the queue finished ordering. Minho turned away from you, and walked up to the counter.

You followed closely behind, and it was only when your attention shifted from Minho to the person behind the counter that your eyes lit up.

“Seungmin?”

Seungmin blinked, leaning to the side just a little to look over Minho’s shoulder at you, surprised. “Oh, hey! Long time no see.”

Seungmin had been a stalwart member of your debate team for the first few years of undergrad, until he landed a job as research assistant for one of the most respected professors on campus. You had a lot of good feeling towards him, not least because he – along with Felix – often acted as the mediator between you and Minho.

He must have remembered that role too, as his gaze soon shifted back and forth between you and Minho, and his brow furrowed slightly. “Wait, are you two getting coffee? Like, together?”

You saw Minho bristle out of the corner of your eye, and you fought back a scoff. Did he really find it so insulting to be seen in public with you? “Yes, we are.”

Seungmin’s eyes flickered between the two of you again. “…Voluntarily?”

Minho answered this time, seemingly through gritted teeth. ���Apparently.”

“Huh,” Seungmin said, mostly to himself. “Interesting.”

“Can we order now?” Minho asked, impatiently.

Seungmin shrugged, ignoring Minho’s rudeness, and set about taking your orders.

(Of course, Minho took his coffee black. Pretentious motherfucker probably had a whole thing about palate and bean aroma or whatever. You threw in a muffin with your order, to spite Minho more than anything else.)

It was only at the end, when it came to payment, that Seungmin looked up again at the two of you. “Are you guys paying separately, or…?”

That was kind of a dumb question.

“Separately,” you said, pointing out the obvious.

“Very separately,” Minho echoed, giving Seungmin a very pointed look.

Impressively, Minho’s glare did little to change Seungmin’s expression. In fact, Seungmin only smiled a little wider, calmly reverting back to his standard customer service script. “…OK. Cash or card?”

After payment, it only took a few minutes of waiting for your coffee before you found yourself sat at a table in the corner of the coffee shop, facing directly across from Minho.

The two of you sat there in silence, coffee in front of you.

How did you…how did you even start a conversation with Minho that wasn’t an argument? Usually, you relied on him to say something incorrect and pounce on it.

Now? You had to figure out how to be…nice. Civil. All because of this dumb speech.

You watched Minho shrug off his coat, turning in his seat to drape the coat over the back of his chair. The black turtleneck he was wearing underneath was surprisingly form-fitting, and when he turned back around to face you and pick up his mug, your eyes dropped down to your own cup before you gave into the urge to scowl openly.

Sometimes, you wondered if it would be harder to hate Minho if he were less attractive.

It was a thought you crushed down the second it came into your head, but you couldn’t entirely deny it. There had been moments, unspeakable moments, when you started dating someone, that your brain betrayed you and compared them to Minho. It was like he had to just…infect every part of your life. He had to ruin everything.

You swallowed, curling your fingers around the handle of your mug, tapping the edge of it with your thumb. “…So, the speech.”

“The speech.”

“I assume Koning already talked to you about it?”

“Yes.”

“…And?” You said, resisting the urge to scream. This was like pulling teeth. “Your thoughts?”

Minho sat back in his chair, eyeing you closely. “Why the U.N.?”

Easy question. So easy, you’d almost call it moronic. “It’s the U.N. It’s literally where I want my career to take me.”

“You want to work at the U.N.?” Minho asked, and you could almost mistake his tone for interest.

“Yes,” you said, confidently, half-prepared to defend yourself in case Minho decided to find your ambition laughable. Screw him. “The Human Rights Council, preferably, but I wouldn’t say no to a job in the General Assembly.”

“Who would?” Minho remarked, deadpan.

“Ergo, a speech there. It wasn’t easy, but we managed it,” you said, not even pretending to be humble.

“…It’s impressive, honestly. What you’ve achieved.”

“What me and Felix achieved,” you corrected him automatically, but honestly, you were a little thrown. That sounded…dangerously close to a compliment. From Minho.

“Koning said it was your idea,” Minho said. “You came up with the proposal, and you were the one ballsy enough to actually submit it to the U.N.”

“Yeah, but the speech is literally on environmental preservation–”

“International NGO commitment to environmental preservation,” Minho interrupted, and you bit down the sudden flare of anger that he felt the need to correct you on your own fucking speech topic. “International commitment is your wheelhouse, isn’t it?”

“And Felix is literally specialising in environmentalism,” you reminded him, and it was then that one of your biggest concerns about this whole situation reared its head. “Which reminds me, actually, why did they pick you to replace him on it?”

Minho stared at you for a solid moment, eyebrows slowly raising, as if he couldn’t believe you were being serious.

You felt yourself bristling, growing defensive. “What? You’re a politics student, not–”

“My master’s thesis was literally on environmental activism. I help teach undergrad classes on green politics and ecological efforts in government policy. How do you not know this?”

…OK. So, fine, maybe you didn’t pay that much attention to what Minho actually studied. Why would you? You imagined it would only piss you off more, reading through his fucking glowing examples of academic writing – like, seriously, in your second year of undergrad, one of your professors used one of his essays as a literal example of how to do the assignment.

You scoffed, lifting your coffee up to your mouth, muttering under your breath. “Ego-logical efforts, more like.”

Minho tilted his head, clearly having heard every word you just said. “What was that?”

You stared him down, taking one long, unabashed drink of coffee, before setting your cup down. Maintaining eye contact, you forced your most innocent smile. “Nothing.”

Another moment of silence fell between the two of you, as Minho’s mouth twitched. You could tell he was very tempted to call you out, and you almost wanted to dare him to say something. Going this long without some kind of conflict with Minho felt…weird. Strange.

Instead, Minho sighed, and you couldn’t imagine the visible shock on your face when his expression actually softened towards you. “…Look. I know you really wanted to work with Felix on this. It’s really shitty that this got taken out of your hands.”

…What? What the fuck was happening here?

He continued. “I’m sorry you got screwed over like this.”

What the fuck was in this coffee?

“I’m not trying to butt in and mess with everything you’ve prepared,” Minho said. “I genuinely just want to help you. I know we’ve got…issues.”

“That’s a bit of an understatement.”

“Sometimes people just don’t get along,” Minho said, eyes flickering downwards to his mug as he took a sip of coffee. “But I hope we can be professional about this.”

You fought the urge to scowl, but you couldn’t quite stop yourself from clenching your jaw at the assumption.

You could be professional.

You could be insanely fucking professional.

“Yes, I hope we can,” you said, your voice perfectly level. Calm. Composed. Professional. “So, actually, until this speech is over…why don’t we call a truce?”

Minho blinked, caught off-guard by your choice of words. “‘Truce’?”

“Yeah. Until the speech is done, we’ll try to be nice to each other. No more arguments…” you trailed off, the words already sounding hollow and you were the one saying them. You backtracked slightly. “OK, maybe some academic debate. But nothing personal.”

“Nothing petty,” Minho added, giving you a pointed look.

It took an impressive amount of willpower to force your smile to stay on your face. “Exactly. We somehow managed it as kids. How hard could it be to do it again, for the next few months?”

Minho didn’t answer immediately, clearly thinking the proposition over.

You took another sip of coffee, trying your best to leave it at that. But you couldn’t help but add, pointedly. “I mean, I don’t think it’ll be hard for me. But if you think you–”

“I’ll manage,” Minho interjected, dryly, unimpressed. “You’re the one who starts it most of the time, anyway.”

“I don’t–” you bit your tongue, taking a second to claw back your patience. “…I mean, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure.”

You sat just a little taller, frowning. “OK. So, we’re decided.”

“Yep.”

“Truce?”

“Truce.”

“…Good.”

“Good.”

“Great,” you said, maybe just a little eager to get the last word. Maybe.

It was only when you took another sip of coffee, content with yourself, that Minho dropped the sudden curveball. “My housemates are throwing a Halloween party this weekend. Maybe you should come.”

You very almost did a spit-take with your coffee. “What?”

“If you’re so interested in a truce,” Minho added, tapping his fingers against the wooden surface of the table, and that was when you recognised the invitation for what it was.

A challenge.

Minho was absolutely trying to get you to chicken out.

You straightened your shoulders. “I’d be happy to,” you said, and it sounded vaguely threatening.

“Great, I’ll let them know.”

“Looking forward to it.”

“Me too,” Minho said, his words so edged, you could imagine them slicing into you.

Yeah, this truce was definitely going to last.

This was a terrible idea.

You hesitated on the pavement outside of what was very obviously a Halloween party in full swing. You’d purposely waited a little, hoping to avoid the awkward early stages of house parties, your imagination filled with dreadful images of being one of the first to show up and having to make conversation with Minho.

The later, the better. More people to act as a buffer, and a better excuse to get drunk.

Hopefully, fingers-crossed, maybe Minho had already gotten absolutely wasted and wouldn’t even notice you were there.

Bolstered by the thought, you shot a text to Felix – who should already be inside, having volunteered to swing by early and help his older brother with decorations – to say that you were here.

OK.

Breathe.

Go.

You marched up the path towards the front door, refusing to be distracted by the partygoers scattered around the front yard, smoking and chatting and one couple leaning against the wall and already looking very handsy.

The front door was open, and you made your way inside, senses alert for any sign of Felix (to approach) and Minho (to avoid) as you did so.

The house was impressively large for student housing – of course it was, Minho lived here – and yet, every room held a crowd of people. Dancing, drinking, having fun. A drunk girl, dressed in what looked to be some variation of zombie Disney princess, stumbled into you, giggling apologetically as she did. Her drink – a can of something, maybe a bottle – was icy-cold as it brushed against your thigh.

You should have worn something longer, you thought. Your costume was cute, and dare you say, maybe even kinda hot, but it was not cut out for any temperatures colder than a room full of warm bodies. Just the walk up to the house had you shivering, just a little.

Your hunt for Felix led you from room to room, as you tried and failed to prevent yourself from rolling your eyes at the size of this place. Someone had set up tables – multiple – for beer pong in one room, while another room hosted an impressive speaker system for dancing, while another room was all softly-lit and calm background music, clearly the designated room for quieter, laid-back conversation.

A layout that checked all the house party boxes, sure. But a terrible place to try and track someone down.

Eventually, somehow, you found yourself in the kitchen, and it was here that you wondered whether you should just give up for a second and grab something to drink. You’d find Felix at some point, hopefully. Just as long as you didn’t run into…

“Oh.”

You turned at the voice, instinctively, but on second thoughts maybe you should have pretended not to hear.

Minho was standing in front of you, leaning against the kitchen counter.

And he…

He looked…

Holy fucking shit.

From the fake blood on his billowy white shirt and the painted-on bite mark on his neck, he was clearly some kind of vampire. Someone – maybe Minho himself – had applied the subtlest amount of eyeliner, and between that and the rumpled dark hair, and the…

Fuck, those were leather pants. Skin-tight.

Oh, you had to leave right now–

“Hi,” you said, standing your ground.

“You’re late,” Minho noted.

It was only then that you realised Minho was part of a loose cluster of guys, all of whom turned to see who Minho was talking to.

And one of them, to your intense relief, was Felix.

“Hey!” Felix greeted, wandering over to throw an arm around you in a half-hug. He was a cheerful drinker, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t help your confidence a little to see someone so unambiguously happy to see you here.

When he pulled away, you noticed that the little hand-drawn stitches around his neck had already started to smudge. Miraculously the little fake plastic bolts on either side of his head remained intact.

“I like your costume,” Felix told you. “It’s very…pink.”

“It is very pink,” you agreed, looking down at yourself.

When you glanced up, you caught the way Minho’s eyes flickered upwards too, as if he’d just finished looking you up and down.

You tensed a little, preparing yourself for some kind of critique. Lee Minho, champion appraiser of cheap Halloween costumes.

To your surprise, however, Minho quickly averted his eyes and took a deep swig of the drink in his hand.

“I like your costume too,” one of Minho’s friends chimed in. He was kind of cute, all dark hair and big brown eyes, so adorable that his werewolf costume came across as looking more like a chipmunk. “What are you?”

You smiled, relaxing a little. “The most accomplished woman of our time.”

The guy blinked, looking briefly thrown for a second, eyes back on your costume as he tried to decipher who you were.

But Minho, astonishingly, cracked a half-smile. Which, for Minho, was practically a laugh. “Are you Barbie?”

“Yes,” you admitted, reluctantly, half-tempted to lie just to be petty. Except, damn it, no more pettiness. You’d agreed.

“Barbie is the most accomplished woman of our time?”

“Princess. Astronaut. President. I am prepared to fight you on this.”

“Really?”

“Yes, and I’ll win.”

“Mm,” Minho hummed, and again, his gaze flickered downwards. What, was it so shocking to see you in pink?

You shifted your weight, and you almost folded your arms over your chest before you remembered what the neckline was like on this dress. Maybe not.

Unbeknownst to you, Felix and Minho’s friend exchanged a look.

Clearing your throat, you turned your attention to the large and varied alcohol selection littering the kitchen counter. “So, what can I get to drink here?”

“Minho can talk you through it,” Minho’s friend suddenly announced, patting Minho on the shoulder. Minho blinked, tearing his eyes away from you to look at his friend. “I’m gonna go find Chan, he promised me a beer pong rematch. Felix, bro, you should come with.”

Felix hesitated. “…Actually, maybe I–”

“Nah, come on,” Minho’s friend insisted, hooking his arm with Felix’s, cheerfully pulling him away. “Be my cheerleader.”

You stared, as it dawned on you that your biggest support in this minefield of a conversation was being frogmarched away.

Right. OK. Alone with Minho.

Cool.

You chanced a look back towards Minho, only to find him still watching you, and you quickly diverted your attention to the alcohol again. Smoothing down your skirt, you forced yourself to shrug. “I thought about coming as Frieda Dalen, but I figured no one would get the reference. She was–”

“The first woman to speak at the U.N., yeah.”

You snapped your head back to stare at him, bewildered. “How the fuck do you know that?”

Minho raised one eyebrow, and you were genuinely irritated that, in combination with the hair and the blood and the outfit in general, it almost…almost maybe twisted something in your gut. “My first official university debate was about the history of women in global affairs. She was a good factoid. 1946, right?”

You fought the urge to scowl as you confirmed his answer. “Yep. 1946.”

And, because even the tightest of leather couldn’t dull your burning dislike of seeing Minho smug, you pressed him further.

“Do you remember which country she was the delegate of?”

“No,” Minho admitted, tilting his head slightly to one side as he looked at you. After a moment, he straightened up from where he’d been leaning, gaining an inch or two of height in doing so, forcing you to tilt your chin up slightly to continue meeting his gaze. “Why don’t you tell me?”

His words should have sounded patronising.

Except, there was a strange edge to his voice, almost a playfulness but not quite. Not a lightness, because it definitely didn’t feel light. It felt kind of heavy, actually.

If you didn’t know any better, you would almost mistake it as…

“Minho!”

Both of you jolted at the sudden shout, barely having the time to turn towards it source before a tall guy with a Phantom of the Opera mask and ridiculously pretty long, blond hair staggered into Minho and hugged him.

You blinked, too caught off-guard to even appreciate the bemused expression on Minho’s face as the pretty guy mumbled into his shoulder. “Minho, I think…I’m druuunk.”

You took that as the perfect opportunity to back out of this…interaction with Minho, even as something strange twisted inside of you. You quickly grabbed the closest drink you could and retreated out of the kitchen as fast as your dignity would allow.

You needed to drink. And maybe dance. Anything to distract you, before your mind wandered anywhere dangerous.

This wasn’t working.

Drinking your problems away was a terrible idea in and of itself, but you’d been tempted to give it a go. After your second drink, however, you were blindsided with the intrusive thought of getting wasted and throwing up in Minho’s bathroom, and all the humiliation that could go with it, and it had warned you off alcohol for the rest of the night.

Dancing, your alternative solution, had worked for the first hour or so. You had let loose a little, but as your drink-fuelled buzz slowly faded, you found yourself growing increasingly uncomfortable by the stale air and the press of warm bodies. You were getting hot, something under your skin beginning to itch.

You needed to get out of here, just for a moment, to clear your head.

With crowds of people blocking your way to the front door, you decided on a different path towards some peace and quiet. Upstairs was mostly left untouched, understandable since there were no drinks to be found and no music playing, and you breathed out a sigh of relief when you reached the top of the stairs and turned a corner, and found an empty hallway.

Perfect.

Before you could think twice, you sat down on the floor, your back against the wall. The relief of taking a break from standing in these heels was immediate, and you let your head loll backwards, closing your eyes.

You just needed a few minutes here, you decided. Just to recharge.

“What are you doing?”

You didn’t open your eyes, but you felt your expression immediately sour. Of course it had to be the worst possible person to find you here, alone and close to misery, sitting in the hallway.

Minho approached, or at least, that was what you gathered from the sound of his footsteps. He came to a halt fairly close, pausing, and spoke up again.

“How are you this wasted already?” Minho asked, and there was surprisingly little amusement in his voice at the idea. In fact, you’d almost mistake it for concern.

“I am distressingly sober, actually,” you replied, slowly opening one eye to glare at him, but it was half-hearted at best, and you closed it again. “Just needed some quiet. Had a headache.”

Minho didn’t say anything in response. In fact, it was silent for so long, you started to wonder if he’d walked off without you even noticing, when he suddenly spoke up again. “I know a good place for quiet. And for fresh air, if you want it.”

Slowly, you opened your eyes again, fixing him with a look of suspicion. Admittedly, whatever he was suggesting sounded like the perfect place for you right now – which was exactly the reason you were so suspicious. “Where?”

“It’s pretty nearby,” Minho said, and to your disbelief, held out his hand.

Your eyes flickered from his face, to his outstretched hand, to his face again, before taking a deep breath and pushing yourself up to your feet by yourself. To his credit, Minho withdrew his hand smoothly, seemingly unaffected by your refusal to take it.

“After you,” you said, still reluctant to let down your guard.

Minho nodded, and set off down the hallway, going just a little further from where you were sitting, and stopping in front of a door. With a glance back to you, probably checking to see if you were still following, or if you’d lied about being sober and collapsed while he wasn’t looking, he opened it and wandered inside.

You took a few steps towards it – and then caught one look inside the room and halted dead in your tracks.

That was…

Was that…?

“Is that your fucking bedroom?” You asked, in pure disbelief.

Minho stopped, turning around to look at you, and how the fuck could he look so calm about this? “…Yeah? Last time I checked, why?”

“Why? Are you…” you trailed off, scoffing, before putting on your best Minho impression. “‘I know a good place, come follow me’ and it’s your bedroom. Come on.”

“I wasn’t…I was talking about the balcony. There’s a balcony through…” Minho gestured vaguely towards the far wall, where you realised the huge ceiling-to-floor curtains hanging there must be hiding the doors to it.

Of course he has a balcony.

Of course.

For once in his life, Minho looked just the slightest bit ruffled as he finally caught on to the incredibly obvious implications.

He swallowed. “Look, if you’re not comfortable, that’s–”

You interrupted him with a scoff. “I’m not uncomfortable.”

In fact, to prove just how comfortable you were, you marched into his room, forcing yourself to appear entirely unbothered.

“See? Fine,” you said. “Just, maybe lead with the balcony thing next time, so you don’t look like some massive sleaze.”

Again, Minho’s reaction surprised you. Instead of anger or annoyance at your accusation, Minho cracked another half-smile. “Fair.”

…Yeah, you really weren’t used to this whole ‘nice’ thing between the two of you. It felt weird, like the very foundations of your dynamic were shaken by it.

As Minho led you towards the balcony, you tried your best not to look too closely at his bedroom, as much as your curiosity protested otherwise. The most detail you got was that it was fairly neat, fairly clean, and he had a stupidly large bed. Which, you know, Minho, fuck-you money, that made sense.

You point-blank refused to dwell on it.

As soon as he slid open the door, you quickly leaned forward and breathed in that refreshing cold night air, and felt your headache fade just a little. It was only when you stepped out onto the balcony that you truly felt yourself relax, and the tension built up in your head began to ease.

“Better?” Minho asked, and you heard him come up from behind you, coming to a stop beside you to look up at the night sky. You couldn’t make out many stars from here, thanks to the light pollution of the city, but it was still undeniably a pretty cool view.

“Yeah,” you admitted and, begrudgingly, you turned towards him to mutter. “…Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“I won’t be too long out here,” you added, feeling the weirdest need to justify accepting this kindness from Minho, to downplay it. “I’m not exactly dressed for October weather.”

Minho paused, keeping his gaze fixed on the night sky above and very much not on you. “Yeah.”

…Yeah?

You frowned, unable to stop yourself from feeling slightly defensive. “I mean, you’re one to talk.”

That got his attention. Suddenly, Minho had no problem looking at you. “What?”

“Your pants, Minho. Did you paint them on yourself?”

And you realised then and there that you must have made some kind of error, because Minho looked genuinely amused. Glancing down at himself for a moment, his eyes wandered back up to meet yours, and there was a genuine note of curiosity in his voice. “What, do you like them?”

You stilled, faltering just slightly, before retorting. “I’d probably like the cow they’re made from more.”

“Don’t worry, they’re not real leather,” Minho quipped back. “If that’s your only issue with them.”

“Well, you know, the fake leather industry is actually…” you trailed off, because your comeback sounded lame even in your head. “Whatever.”

The two of you fell into a silence, both watching the stars for a moment, listening to the thud of the bass downstairs and the muffled cacophony of voices.

And then, quietly, reluctantly, Minho spoke. “…Can I ask you a genuine question?”

If it was about the pants, you might actually throw him off this balcony. “OK. You’re not guaranteed a genuine answer, but go ahead.”

“The U.N. speech. It was your idea. If you want to go into human rights, why are you doing a speech about the environment?”

You paused, genuinely flustered by his question. Your response came out jumbled. “I don’t…you know, the two aren’t mutually exclusive, environmental damage is having a huge impact on–”

“Yeah, but that’s not what the speech is actually about. It’s a great speech, but why isn’t it on a subject youwant to do?”

“Who says? You? You don’t know what I want,” you shot back, irritated, refusing to admit that he’d touched a nerve.

Rather than snapping back at you immediately, Minho took a deep breath, calming slightly. “…You’re right. I don’t. I shouldn’t assume.”

What was this? You didn’t want him to agree with you, you wanted an argument. This ‘nice’, truce stuff was really starting to grate on you. “Exactly.”

“It’s just…it’s important that you do what you want, and not try to shape yourself around other people.”

“I don’t,” you argued. “Maybe what I want is for you not to attack every little decision I make. Like you always do.”

Minho’s brow furrowed, his stance shifting slightly. It took a second to realise that he was appraising you, eyeing you thoughtfully.

“You…really seem to dislike me,” he noted.

“Oh, do I?” You remarked, bitterly.

“Why is that?”

You let out a deep breath, mostly out of frustration, but also a little out of exhaustion. Closing your eyes for a moment, you tried to construct some kind of response.

There seemed to be a multitude of answers to that question. Minho was arrogant. He was atrociously blunt in most social settings and seemed indifferent to the hurt he caused others. He had an exorbitant amount of money and had very few qualms showcasing it. He scared away almost every single new debate team recruit because he was apparently allergic to the concept of constructive criticism. He’d ruined more than one relationship you’d had. Apparently, you talked too much about him, but there were only so many ways to honestly answer questions about your day or how you were feeling without mentioning how aggravating Minho was in some capacity.

But honestly, the more you thought about it, the more you felt yourself slipping back into the shell of that little fourteen-year-old, looking up at the cool older boy with wide eyes and hoping for just one kind word.

And it made you feel so…small. Pathetic.

“Because you’re an asshole,” you stated, simply.

Minho stared at you for a second, before frowning slightly. “I mean, not really.”

…Oh, he decided to say just exactly the wrong thing there, didn’t he?

“You absolutely are. Like, objectively,” you argued. “You literally made a girl cry last week over debating.”

“What? Who?”

“That first-year girl. Dark hair, super perky. You know, when she’s not crying her eyes out.”

Something approaching recognition dawned on Minho’s face, but to your surprise, his expression dimmed slightly. “Oh, her. She told you it was about her debating?”

Well, not in exact words, you wanted to say. But it wasn’t hard to read between the lines, given what you knew Minho to be capable of.

“OK, then what was it about?” You asked.

“She came up to me after our last meeting and asked for some tutoring,” Minho said, before giving you a very pointed look. “As in, a specific kind of ‘private’ tutoring. Very specific. And she was not subtle about it.”

You blinked. “…What?”

Minho’s brow furrowed, visibly searching through his memory of the incident. “To be fair, I might have laughed in her face. In my defence, it was less about her and more about the audacity.”

You pictured the scene, of that girl coming onto Minho, his face when he realised what was happening, and the worst part of you maybe wanted to smirk a little. But you would not indulge it. “Still, sounds like you could have been nicer abut it.”

“OK, yeah, I feel a little bad. But no, it wasn’t over her debating skills. I might be harsh, but you think I’d make someone cry over that and not give a shit?”

Every ounce of amusement drained out of you in an instant, replaced by something cold. “I mean…yeah, you’ve done it before.”

“What? When?”

He didn’t know?

How could he not know?

You might have finished sobbing by the time you’d confronted him, all those years ago, but hadn’t it been extremely obvious?

You stared at Minho for a good few seconds, waiting for him to slip up, to give up the joke. But all you got in return was a genuinely confused expression on his face, waiting for you to clarify what exactly you were talking about.

Oh.

Yeah, he really didn’t know.

Shit.

You swallowed, looking down at your hands, picking at one particularly jagged edge of your thumbnail. “…Me.”

Minho stilled. You could feel his eyes burning into the side of your head, searching your face. “You cried?”

Oh, fuck this guy. You stiffened, embarrassment roiling in the pit of your stomach, and snapped, seething. “Just forget it–”

“No, I didn’t mean…” he trailed off. When you braved a look over at him, you didn’t find the smirk you were expecting. Minho looked genuinely chastened, watching you with a deep but unreadable emotion. “I…didn’t know.”

You didn’t like this, you didn’t know how to handle…earnest Minho. Where the fuck did asshole Minho go?

“It was just the once. It was my first debate, and you were a dick about it,” you said, forcing yourself to shrug.

“Oh,” Minho said, with such a strangely specific tone that you couldn’t help but look over at him. There was a look of dawning realisation on his face, and the slightest hint of…

Embarrassment?

“I think I remember that,” Minho said, sounding vaguely horrified. “…This is going to sound dumb.”

Minho? Dumb? And aware of that fact? “…OK.”

“And a little pathetic.”

“Good, go on.”

“But I think, at the time…I was hoping you’d ask me for help.”

You stilled, trying to comprehend the string of words that had just left his mouth. Trying to forge them into anything that made even the smallest bit of sense.

“…And you didn’t, I don’t know, think about offering your help? Before humiliating me in front of my classmates?” You asked, and you almost surprised yourself with the way your voice shook with an old, familiar anger. “That didn’t, you know, maybe occur to you?”

Minho turned his whole body to face you head-on, hand curling around the balcony railing at his side. It was in that moment, seeing him entirely, that you glimpsed that blunt, ruthless young man that had cut you so deeply all those years ago – and saw, for the first time, how small he really was. That memory had taken up so much space in your mind, had warped itself until Minho towered over you, a titan, a symbol of each and every one of your failings.

Now, for once, a new image appeared. An awkward teenage boy, too embarrassed to admit that he wanted to be something in your eyes.

You softened, just for a second.

And then, remembering yourself, remembering all that had happened between the two of you since then, you came back to your senses.

“And what about everything after? It’s not like you were nice after that one little misunderstanding, you picked at everything I did for years.”

“In my defence, neither were you. You refused to speak to me unless you had to for years,” Minho pointed out. “And I realised how much you could do, what you could achieve–”

“If you kept being an asshole?”

“If I held you to actual standards,” Minho corrected, and for the first time in this conversation, he was starting to get heated. Good. “The next time the club met, you wiped the floor with seniors. Seniors. You were just as good as me, and you barely had experience.”

A compliment from Minho, however begrudging and biting it was, had a dangerously addicting effect on you. Actually, maybe the begrudging part only made it better. “And what? That pissed you off?”

Minho’s expression faltered, just for a split-second, and that spoke more than any confession could.

“It did,” you said, half-shocked for a second, before pressing on. “So, you wouldn’t get off my fucking back foryears. You even turned up at nationals after you graduated, hoping I’d fall flat on my face.”

“Is that what you think?” Minho asked, incredulous.

“What else would it be?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe…” Minho stopped, before letting out a short, bitter laugh. “Never mind. Forget it.”

You wanted to press him further, but the anger that had sustained you so far was starting to flag a little.

This was just…exhausting, sometimes.

You let out a deep breath, just as a cold October breeze decided to kick up, making you shiver. Instinctively, you folded your arms over your chest, tucking your hands into your sides to get just a little bit of warmth.

Maybe it was time for you to leave.

You looked over at Minho, opening your mouth to say something–

Only to catch his gaze openly, unmistakably, dipping down towards your cleavage.

You stopped.

You stared.

His eyes moved upwards again, finding yours, and he realised he’d been caught.

He tensed, just for a second, and you watched a tangle of emotions play out across his face before he settled on a neutral, blank, composed expression. But he didn’t speak.

He just…looked at you.

Waiting for you to say something? Daring you to say something?

It was hard to decipher, because at that moment, your brain was still 100% stuck on the fact that Minho had been checking you out.

Because that wasn’t some little accidental flicker, his gaze had stayed there.

Minho had been absolutely, undeniably, checking you out.

For all your complaints about the cold weather, it was starting to get very warm out here.

Why the fuck wasn’t he saying something? Anything?

You swallowed – or, well, you tried to at least.

Something had awoken, deep in the pit of your stomach. You felt it starting to unfurl, slowly, your nerve endings beginning to prickle.

“Are you…” you didn’t finish the question, you couldn’t finish the question, because the words ‘are you into me?’ were so laughably alien that they just refused to leave your mouth.

Minho waited, expectant for something, searching your face. Whatever he found – or didn’t find – was enough to make him speak.

“What?” he asked, and it was that same voice he had in the kitchen. Quiet, loaded, just a touch lower in register that almost made your breath catch.

It was like he was challenging you. Goading you. Wondering whether you were too much of a coward to finish that question.

You needed to ask. You needed to say it.

Come on, you were about to talk to the fucking United Nations in a few months, surely you could handle asking one question to Lee fucking Minho.

“Are you…attracted to me?”

Already, you were starting to cringe internally. Already, you were preparing for the worst. You tried to reassure yourself that it was fine, that when he said ‘no’ you could call him out on staring at your chest, he had no room to speak, it was a logical question, it…

Except Minho didn’t say ‘no’.

He didn’t say anything.

And the longer he looked at you, the longer he stayed silent, the more obvious his answer became.

…Oh.

That…

Maybe you were drunk, actually. Surely you had to be. Because the idea that Minho found you attractive didn’t drive you off like you thought it would.

Minho found you attractive.

Minho, the man with an ego so large it could smother a man, a superiority complex so vast it could bring awe-stricken observers to tears, that Minho…found you attractive.

Huh.

As you stared back at him, you were hit with the sudden thought of kissing him.

Which would be a terrible idea.

Because Minho was Minho and just because he was into you, just because he was perhaps objectively maybe a little good-looking, just because he’d admitted that all these years he’d seen you as an intellectual equal, just because he had the kind of thighs that could probably crush a watermelon, he…

He…

You paused, mind-blank, before rising up on your toes and pressing your lips to his.

The first few seconds were strange. Of course they were, it was surreal to feel someone’s lips on yours and know this was Minho, holy shit. You could feel how still he was, how shocked, and you knew he must have been on the exact same wavelength.

And then, he closed his eyes, his hand lifted up to gently cup your cheek, and everything clicked together perfectly.

This felt right, like really weirdly right despite it all. Some kind of base level of brain chemistry was screaming about how right this was, and it had you shivering in a way that had nothing to do with the cold.

Was this a bad idea? The two of you had to work together for the next few months, you should have been aiming to keep things strictly professional, personal issues could complicate–

Minho let out the tiniest exhale, recapturing your lips immediately, and your thoughts stopped dead in your tracks.

Fuck professionalism, you’d earned this, you’d been working your ass off for months, you deserved to take satisfaction whenever you could get it.

You looped your arms around his neck, pulling yourself up slightly to press the entirety of your front against his. He was warm, shockingly so, and when his free hand moved to press itself into the small of your back, you chanced parting your lips just a little.

Minho followed suit, deepening the kiss, angling his head just slightly. Everything about his touch, how he held you, it was all so strangely gentle in comparison to the usual way he treated you. As if you were an illusion, like if he squeezed too hard, you might disappear.

One of your hands came up to run your fingers up his neck, through his hair, and the drag of your fingernails coaxed a quiet hum out of him.

Every noise you pulled from Minho, every little reaction, felt like winning an argument. It felt like a strange natural extension of your debates, isolating the weakness in the other’s defence and targeting it.

You let your fingers tangle in his hair, biding your time, and when you tested a sharp little twist, you heard his breath catch.

Minho went still, just for a second, just enough to take a deep breath, before grabbing your hip and swinging you around, pushing you up against the sliding balcony door, trapping you between it and him.

The impact was enough to knock a gasp out of you, and he pulled away briefly. You watched him, cheeks flushed, eyes dark, breath heavy, as he tried to form words. “Fuck, are you–”

You pulled him back to you, a hand fisted in his shirt collar, too impatient to let him finish the rest of his question. Your kiss was rushed, insistent, and you took your time before you pulled away to mutter against his lips. “I’m fine. Just…fuck it, just keep kissing me.”

Minho’s head dipped towards yours, briefly, as if he were about to do just that – before he paused. “…Ask me nicely.”

“Fuck off,” you snapped, impulsively, heat rushing to your face.

He pulled his head away, his whole body even, until the two of you were just barely touching. He lingered, teasingly close, an amused glint in his eye. “Why, is that want you want? Me to fuck off?”

You didn’t know if he was being sincere or not. You never knew if he was being sincere or not. That was Minho, through and through.

You scrabbled for an answer, brain still sluggishly working through the fact that you weren’t kissing anymore, chest rising and falling with every quickened breath. You found your words, looking him directly in the eye, tilting your chin up slightly.

“Kiss me,” you said, practically venomous, before setting your jaw. “Or I’ll find someone else to do it for you.”

You didn’t know why that was the threat you made. Logically, it held no weight – Minho might have been attracted to you, but would he really care if you kissed someone else? You half expected him to laugh you off, and wander off back to the party without even a glance back at you.

He did neither of those things.

In fact, the teasing look in his eye vanished completely. His gaze turned so intense that you wondered if he could burn a hole straight through you.

When he finally spoke, he was deceptively calm, his voice perfectly even as he noted out loud. “I see. So, that’s how we’re playing this.”

You barely had time to process his words, before his mouth was back on yours, almost feverish, and with a newfound harshness.

You met him with just as much enthusiasm, matching him move-for-move.

A gentle Minho was too complicated. A soft, kind Minho forced you to confront some preconceived notions that you were very happy to keep unchallenged.

This Minho, the one who dragged his right hand down your side, the one who gripped your hip so tightly you could imagine it bruising, this was something you could handle. Something you didn’t have to overthink.

Because, fuck, you really, really didn’t want to think right now. You were sick of thinking, your whole life was thinking.

Minho’s hand slipped downwards to your thigh, his palm sliding around to the back of it before he lifted your leg up slightly to slot his thigh right between yours.

The instant he lowered your leg, you realised exactly what he’d done. Immediately, you felt the press of him between your legs, subtle enough to allow plausible deniability, and yet too firm for you to just ignore. To make matters worse, you were now just slightly off-balance, your foot just brushing the floor.

You couldn’t lower it, you couldn’t regain your balance, without pressing down even more on his thigh. You tried anyway, and the friction resulted in your first whimper of the night, light and breathy against him.

Minho’s grip, still on your leg, tightened.

He dropped his head to press his mouth to your neck, kissing at the skin there – and then he clenched his fucking thigh muscles, and your resulting moan slipped out right by his ear.

Your hands scrambled for him, clutching his shoulders, breath heavy as you tried not to rock your hips. You couldn’t give him the satisfaction, you absolutely refused to. You grabbed a fistful of his hair again, pulling by the roots to drag his head back upwards so your mouths could meet again.

Your kiss was now heated, almost clumsy. You caught Minho’s bottom lip between your teeth and nipped, enjoying the way he hissed, the way his tongue licked over where you’d done it, the way his left hand came up to your face – not to cradle this time, but to clutch, to grip.

His right hand moved up to your ass, giving it one firm squeeze, before suddenly and very deliberately pulling you down and along his thigh. More noises fought their way out of your mouth, and you were too weak to resist just one roll of your hips, chasing that same friction. It had barely been a few minutes, and you could already feel yourself starting to ache, heat beginning to collect at the apex of your thighs.

It was gratifying to learn, when you pulled Minho even closer, forcing the full length of his body to press against yours, that you weren’t alone in that. You felt something firm beginning to press into your hip, and when you slid your hand down to confirm what it was, palm sliding against it, Minho inhaled sharply.

You grinned against his lips, and squeezed him through those damned fake-leather pants.

He groaned, eyes drifting shut for just a second, before suddenly snapping open.

“Come on,” he said, swallowing, and took you by the wrist. Before you knew it, he pulled you away from the balcony door to slide it open again, and hurriedly tugged you inside.

You had been a little too distracted to notice how much colder it must have turned outside, but inside welcomed you with a warmth that radiated through your whole body.

But it took you a moment, brain still in a thigh-induced haze, to realise the full extent of what it meant to be inside.

To be inside Minho’s bedroom.

You hesitated as Minho slid the balcony door shut behind you, drawing the curtains together.

You stared ahead, eyes on that huge bed – and the first hints of panic seized your chest.

Quickly, almost unthinkingly, you grabbed Minho by the arm and pulled him. He stumbled, clearly caught off-guard, but he went along with it, letting you pull him to you and turn, pressing him up against the wall.

Easy. Your back was to the bed now, removing it from your sight, and that strange new weight of anxiety disappeared entirely. You went back to kissing him, hands back in his hair. Your new comfort zone, apparently.

Apparently, however, you didn’t entirely fool Minho, who must have picked up on your tension at least a little.

“I thought,” he murmured, between kisses, and made no move to grab at you like he had outside, “you might want,” more kisses, “some more privacy.”

You hummed, non-committal, your concerns already disappearing as you tried to figure out how to get Minho’s leg back between yours again without outright asking.

“Outside, people can…” he paused, probably because your nails had scraped along his scalp almost accidentally, and he shivered, “hear.”

You pulled away slightly, hiding how breathless you were, fixing him with a playful look.

“Hear what?” you challenged, pretending as if you hadn’t literally moaned in his ear just a short while ago.

Minho didn’t answer, but you knew that expression. It used to keep you awake at night, anger burning through you at just the thought of it. He was smug.

Surprisingly, the sight no longer filled you with burning rage – but it did prompt you to back him up against the wall again, stepping right back into his personal space, and pull his head down to kiss you again.

He relaxed into you, soft and gentle as his hands eased over your sides, which only served to wind you up more. Frustrated, you tugged at his shirt, pulling it up and out from where it had been tucked into his waistband, and let your hand snake up under it.

You had learned over the course of the evening that Minho, as mouthy as he liked to be around you, wasn’t the most vocal partner you’d encountered. Maybe that would have discouraged the average person, but you knew Minho. You’d known him for years, you knew every tell he had, the meaning behind every hint of body language.

You knew that when Minho’s breath caught, as your hands ran up his stomach, up his chest, exploring his upper body, it was basically his equivalent of shaking with anticipation.

You took the hint, grasping his shirt with both hands and pulling it upwards. The shirt – some kind of billowy white poet’s shirt, the kind with the little lace-up ties at the neck that he’d left undone and open – was loose enough to remove easily, and you let it drop without a second thought.

Even now, despite everything, you were reluctant to stroke Minho’s ego by openly ogling him. It was a challenge, trying to ignore the smooth skin, the lean muscle, so you dipped your head before he could see your reaction, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the underside of his collarbone.

Again, it felt like a special talent to recognise Minho’s deep inhale, when your hands brushed his chest, for the emotions it betrayed.

Your mouth descended lower, eager, towards his chest – and you let your tongue brush his nipple.

His breath caught again, and when you experimented with a quick nip of your teeth, his grip on your sides tightened briefly.

That was Minho’s equivalent of being horrendously, painfully turned on.

Your hand slid down past his abdomen, cupping him through his pants, and this time you let your palm gently grind against him.

Minho’s body shivered under your touch, and it felt like winning.

And then, suddenly, as if he had somehow read your mind, he scrambled for the zipper of your dress, determined to even the playing field. You briefly pictured denying him, pictured staying clothed while undressing Minho, having that kind of advantage over him.

Tempting, maybe. But then you imagined the feel of Minho’s hands on your bare skin, and you made your decision pretty quickly.

Minho pulled down your zipper, building anticipation as he hooked two fingers under each of your spaghetti straps and slowly peeled your dress from you, letting it pool around your ankles.

His eyes dropped, and his expression changed.

“Oh, wow.”

You couldn’t help but grin slightly, glancing down at what you knew Minho was staring at. Your underwear was a matching set of pastel pink silk, with little hints of lace and ribbon, even a bow or two. You’d taken one look at it and knew it screamed princess.

“I always commit to my costumes,” you replied, refusing to feel even the smallest hint of embarrassment. It was hard to feel so anyway, with Minho staring down at you with dark eyes, drinking the sight in, amusement long since shifted into something else entirely.

He reached forward, tracing the ribbon at the edge of your bra cup with his thumb, before letting it sweep down over the lace – and right over the peak of your nipple, eliciting a sharp inhale from you. “Were you expecting someone to see it?”

“No,” you admitted, half-tempted to arch your back, just to press your breast into the curve of his palm. “Nothing about this was expected.”

Minho hummed quietly in agreement, still taking his time admiring you. He grabbed at your breast, not quite rough but not entirely gentle, fingers splayed, making sure to drag his thumb back over your nipple as he did so. “I never imagined you wearing something like this.”

You were so focused on the weight of his hand on your chest that you almost missed the implication. Almost. “Imagined? You imagined?”

Minho’s eyes darted up to meet yours, looking caught out for just a moment before his expression smoothed again. “Sometimes. Occasionally.”

OK, you had to ask. “What did you imagine?”

“Not this,” Minho stated, stubborn, refusing to give a single detail.

Your mind whirred at the possibilities anyway. What? Did that mean it was the complete opposite of this? What was the opposite of this sugary pink ensemble? Black, sexy? Leather? A whole dominatrix-style thing, was that what Minho was into?

“Tell me,” you demanded, incredibly curious now.

He hesitated, before sighing. “…You know that red skirt you wear sometimes?”

Well, that was not where you thought this was going. “Yeah?”

“I’ve thought about you wearing it at debating. You’re stood behind the podium, most of you hidden from sight,” Minho described, and his voice slowly began to shift. “I’m stood behind you, like I’m reading your notes over your shoulder. You don’t look at me, but your legs part, just a little.”

Your breath caught, as his left hand brushed against your inner thigh, fingertips stroking circles into the sensitive skin there.

“You let me slide my hand up,” he continued, and slowly, his hand begins to drift upwards. “Because you want me to know you aren’t wearing anything underneath.”

Holy shit.

“And you want me to feel how wet you are, waiting for me,” Minho said, pausing his hand just a few inches from the edge of your underwear, waiting as he checked your face for any signs of protest.

You couldn’t imagine what exactly your expression was, but you’re certain that protest was probably the furthest fucking thing from it.

And so, his hand moved, cupping you through your underwear, feeling just how damp the fabric was. Your breath rushed out shakily at the first moment of contact, almost akin to a gasp, body shuddering.

“That’s what I imagine,” he said, and fucking shrugged, even as his thumb pressed directly against your clit.

You moaned, your hand immediately flying up to clutch at his shoulder for balance. Everything about Minho’s touch, the pressure, the pace, screamed relaxed. He wasn’t trying to do anything but just…touch you. Gauge your reaction.

You closed your eyes, dropping your forehead to his shoulder, as his fingers continued to work small, slow circles around your clit, still over the barrier of your excessively pretty underwear.

“Should have known,” you murmured, trying not to gasp, and trying not to push your hips towards his hands. “You’re the type to tease.”

Minho’s voice came low from somewhere above your ear, as his hand moved at that same maddening pace. “Not usually.”

“Ah,” you breathed, understanding. He was on the exact same wavelength as you. Every reaction sparked from the other was a victory, to be enjoyed, to be savoured. “I get it. I’m special.”

Minho murmured something under his breath, something you couldn’t quite make out, and pressed just a little firmer against you. You moaned from the surprise of it, burying your face further into his neck.

Beneath your hand, you could feel his dick twitch, now so firm and so insistently pressing against your hand that you knew it had to be aching, trapped in those skin-tight pants like that.

You moved your hand up, struggling briefly with how tightly his waistband sat around his hips, before your hand suddenly slipped inside, fingers grazing roughly against something slick and warm and hard.

Minho finally moaned, loudly, openly, hips bucking briefly up into your hand. “Shit.”

“What was that you were saying?” you asked, innocently, running your fingers back over what you knew to be his cockhead, teasing. “About no underwear?”

Minho sucked in a breath, and from where your head was resting in the crook of his neck, you could hear him swallow. “…These were already too fucking small.”

“They are stupidly tight.”

“Don’t act like you – fuck,” he hissed, cutting himself off. Probably because you’d squeezed him again.

His free hand found its way to the corner of your jaw, prying your face away from his neck so he could duck his head down and kiss you, hungrily. You reciprocated, basking in the way he groaned against your mouth.

And then, he asked. “Bed?”

You stilled, hesitating. “…Bed?”

Minho paused, pulling away a little to take in your expression. Immediately, you did your best to smooth it out, to appear unbothered, casual, fine.

He wasn’t fooled. “Is something up?”

You swallowed, still trying to maintain your composure. “Besides your dick? No.”

Minho raised an eyebrow, and faked one short, sharp laugh. “Ha. You’re so funny when you dodge the subject.”

“I’m not dodging anything,” you argued.

He paused again, waiting, watching you. And, after a moment, he pulled his hand away from your underwear to wrap around your wrist, gently tugging your hand out of his pants.

“OK, fine,’” you relented, composure cracking. That old familiar dread returned, lodging itself in the pit of your stomach. “I just don’t…do this. All this,” you said, gesturing between the two of you, and towards the room at large. “The way it’s all spontaneous, I mean.”

“Me neither,” Minho said, calmly, still waiting expectantly. “What else?”

Fucker.

You scowled, jaw clenching, teeth gritted as you admitted. “And my experience in general, is…one could say limited.”

“I figured as much.”

“Rude,” you pointed out, vaguely offended. You’d had this man fucking shivering from just touching him. And what? Now, he was calling you inexperienced? Amateurish? Like he could tell the whole time? Bullshit.

“No, not…” Minho cleared his throat, looking mildly exasperated. It was a look you often inspired in him. “I don’t mind. That’s why I’m saying this, because I don’t want you pretending when it comes to shit like this. If you’re not going to be honest, I don’t want it.”

Honest.

Shit.

You hesitated, debating internally, weighing the pros and cons in your head. It was so fucking Minho to pick the most aggravating time to do the right thing. Of course, the one time that him being an asshole worked in your favour, he refused to do it.

“Fine,” you snapped, crossing your arms over your chest. “Fine. OK.”

He waited, eyes on you, and you couldn’t stop yourself from averting your gaze, looking up at the ceiling.

“Technically…technically,” you repeated, with emphasis, “one might argue that…I haven’t had sex yet.”

Minho stilled, staring at you, eyes widening.

You swallowed, trying to stay firm. “It’s really not a big deal…”

“It is,” Minho argued, tersely, but when you looked at his face, there wasn’t a hint of anger. There was, however, a strong hint of guilt in his eyes. You could practically see his thoughts, the way he replayed everything he’d done tonight, the fear that he’d done too much, come on too strong, picturing you as some blushing innocent virgin he’d deflowered–

“I’ve done everything else,” you said, eager to clear up that misconception. You were far from innocent, there was just one particular act you hadn’t gotten around to. “Hands, oral, all that. Done it. It’s literally the one thing that hasn’t…like, I’ve had relationships, it just never reached the point that…”

It always went around in circles. You wanted your relationship to be serious, to be settled and firmly established and in a good place before it happened – but the time it took to get there made your partners panic, made them think that to go so long without sex, without wanting them, the relationship must actually secretly be failing. And then you’d break up, and you’d be even more guarded and hesitant the next time, and on it went.

“And I’ve been busy with school and my career anyway,” you added, swallowing, forcing a shrug. “Who has the time?”

Minho was still staring at you, but at least the guilt had faded away.

He’d made no move to get away from you, at least, so you took this as a good sign. With a deep breath, you turned around and took slow, measured steps towards that ridiculously large bed, and looked him dead in the eye as you made a point of sitting down on it.

Doing your best to sound certain, reassuring, convincing without leaving a single bit of room for doubt, you spoke.

“I’m happy and comfortable with everything but sex-sex happening. So, if you want that…” you trailed off, trying to think of a polite way to phrase the thought in your head, before giving up with a shrug. “Tough shit, I guess. That’s my line in the sand. Everything else is fair game, though, so don’t get all…weird about it.”

“I’m not getting weird about it,” Minho said, stubbornly.

“You were. Just a little. Like you’re afraid to break me or something.”

Something sparked in Minho’s eyes, and he smiled slightly. “I’d never think I could do that.”

“Good, because you can’t,” you repeated, firmly. “There, honesty. Done. So, either come over here or leave.”

“Leave my own room?” Minho asked, amused.

“Yeah,” you said, doubling down, leaning back to plant both hands behind you on the bed. “It’s my room now.”

For a second, it looked like Minho was going to laugh. And then you caught the way his eyes began to lower, following the lines of your body, the way you were sitting on his bed, clad only in underwear, waiting.

He exhaled slowly, appreciatively. “…This is happening.”

You weren’t sure if that was aimed at you, or himself, but either way it didn’t matter much when he crossed the room in a flash. Barely taking the time to plant one knee into the mattress beside you, his mouth was on yours, hand on the back of your head.

It was a gentle gesture, sweet even, how he cradled the back of your head.

So, just to be certain that he knew exactly where you stood, and exactly how much patience you had for gentleness, you took his other hand and slid it into your panties.

Minho groaned, pulling away from the kiss to look down, and you felt his fingers slip through your folds, the movement made slick and easy by the way you were soaked.

“You’re so impatient,” he muttered, but he didn’t sound particularly annoyed about it. “All the time.”

“Yeah,” you replied, unapologetic. “I know what I want.”

“Mmhm. And so do I,” he said, and pulled his hand out of your underwear. You opened your mouth to argue, to question why, until you felt his hands move to your back, to the fastening of your bra.

He unhooked it easily, sliding the straps off your shoulders. Pushing up from the bed to stand tall, Minho let the bra fall from his hands, before reaching down to grab at your waist and pull you to standing.

He kissed you again, briefly, ignoring your bewildered expression, before switching your positions – him sat on the bed, you standing over him.

“These are staying on. They’re a bitch to peel off,” he told you, and your gaze was practically glued to his hand as it ran up his faux-leather-clad thigh before he gestured to your underwear. “It’s up to you, what you do with those.”

Your hand, unthinkingly, drifted to the lacy hem of your underwear.

“…What, no preference?” you asked him.

Minho stared at you, eyes dark, the corners of his mouth twitching ever so slightly with knowing, and didn’t reply.

Heat flooded your belly. You swallowed once, and hooked your fingers around your waistband, stripping out of your underwear before you could think twice.

He reached for you immediately, his hands on your hips, pulling you towards him. From what you could tell, he seemed to be guiding you towards straddling his lap – to which you took the slightest detour at the very last second, planting your knees either side of his thigh, the very same one that had been pushed between your legs on that balcony.

How very familiar a feeling. And yet, how very different, because now you were pressed against Minho’s naked chest, and when you kissed, one hand went straight to your bare breast, the other arm hooked around your bare waist.

Logically, you should have felt exposed – but there was very little room for logic here, not when Minho was squeezing you so tightly against him. You felt…enveloped by him. By his warmth.

It was…nice.

And then you finally let go of those last few traces of stubborn pride, and let yourself grind down on his thigh, and it was fucking fantastic.

You moaned, breaking the kiss to press your forehead against his, and rocked your hips faster. His thigh was so solid under you, thick bands of muscle from a lifetime of sports, clenching and unclenching. Heat pooled in your gut, spiking with every rock of your hips, every drag of your clit against him.

You felt Minho’s hand drop from your waist to curl around your hip, gripping tightly, urging you to keep moving. You pulled your face away from his, just in case – headbutting him in the nose, no matter the context, would very probably be a mood-killer – and instead lowered your head to plant kisses on the side of his neck.

Minho tilted his head back, just a little, granting you better access, his breath escaping him in one long, shaking exhale. You were forced to grip onto his shoulder with one hand, just to steady yourself, still grinding down on him.

Tension built between your legs, pulsing with every heartbeat as you continued to grind against him, and your kisses grew clumsier. Open-mouthed, harsher, teeth scraping against sensitive skin in a way that left Minho gasping.

“If I left marks, would it…” your voice was sluggish, raspy, dazed, “would…can I?”

It was a silly question, because the obvious answer was ‘no’, he wasn’t going to want any reminders of this temporary lapse in sanity.

And yet, Minho’s reply was immediate. “Yes. Yeah, you can, if…that’s…”

He broke off, with a noise so low in his throat that you could almost feel his chest vibrate from it, as your mouth latched onto his neck.

Your movements weren’t deliberate, not exactly. You had no strict intentions of marking up Minho’s skin, but it was just whenever it felt good. With every new sudden jolt of sensation shooting through your body, you sucked, leaving a path of your own pleasure scattered intermittently along his neck, the base of his throat, the swells and dips of his collarbone.

Minho reacted to each, and when you thought to look down, you saw his dick straining against his pants, so much so that it was even starting to pull his waistband away from his skin, revealing glimpses of what lay underneath.

You watched his hand lower to his crotch, as he tried to adjust himself, to figure out a way out of his discomfort. Without thinking, you reached down and pushed his hand away, letting your own slide into his paints.

Minho sharply inhaled, as you slid the palm of your hand over the head of him, letting your fingers grow slick, before wrapping your hand around his length.

He was hard, very obviously and very painfully hard.

And all of that was because of you.

Because he wanted you.

You felt your body physically judder at the thought, your thighs clamping around his. Something sparked inside of you. Up until now, you’d been turned on – obviously. You were naked on Minho’s bed and straddling his thigh, of course you’d been turned on, but it had been manageable. Like burning coals, smouldering, blazing hot to the touch, sure, but under control.

This, seeing him like this, was as if someone had jabbed right in the heart of those coals, oxygen rushing in and flames erupting, sparks crackling in the air. No longer under control, but all-consuming and desperate.

The muscles of your core clenched so tightly that it was almost painful, and with a ragged breath, you finally began to ride in earnest.

Minho clutched you with one hand as you moaned, his other snaking down to join yours on his dick. You let him guide your hand, controlling how hard you squeezed him, how slow you pumped him. Honestly, at this point, you didn’t have the concentration for it on your own, not when your legs were starting to shake with every new press of his thigh. You could feel something build, like a wave swelling, the crest just in sight but not quite…

“That’s it,” he murmured, and pressed a kiss to your chest. His eyes were dark when he pulled back, watching the way you bounced. “You’re…God, you’re fucking hot, do you know that?”

His words only drove you further, stoking something within you, and you moaned in response.

“Oh, is that what you like?” Minho asked, eyes lighting at his new discovery. His moved the hand on your waist to settle on your breast, squeezing lightly. “Me telling you how good you look?”

“Minho,” you muttered, half-warning, half-longing.

“With our history, I’d have thought you liked me mean,” he continued, and you should have wondered where that smart mouth of his had been this whole time.

He leaned in, kissing your neck, following upwards, until he reached your ear.

“But that’s not it,” he observed, murmuring into your ear. His hand – the one on yours, the one helping you stroke his dick – quickened, gripping yours just a little tighter, and his breath caught for a second, before continuing. “You want to hear how good you feel. How good you are.”

You whined, your body faltering for a beat, before picking up again.

“That’s it, isn’t it? You like praise,” he said, so very confident. Knowing, almost, like there was something else to it. Something he recognised, intrinsically. “You want me to admit how…fucking perfect I think you are.”

“Minho.”

You felt him twitch under your hands, felt the way he reacted to the way you breathed his name.

“Because you are,” he said, the words falling from his lips, as you grew even more frantic. “You are, you are, you’re good, you’re perfect, you’re…fuck, keep going. I can feel how wet you are, you…”

Fuck, fuck, it was too good. Too good and yet not good enough. There were tears in your eyes and your legs burned from how tightly they were clamped around Minho’s thigh, how desperately you’d ridden him, trying to chase an orgasm you just…you just couldn’t quite…

“Maybe you should fuck me,” you whined, voice hoarse, shaking. You’d spent the last five minutes essentially edging yourself, your brain was fried, and all you could imagine was how easy it would be for Minho to pull you over just a short distance onto his dick, let it fill you, maybe it…

“Don’t. Fuck, don’t say that,” Minho gasped, trying and failing to make it sound insistent, final. You could see the effects of your words. He was tempted, he was sorely fucking tempted. You knew he was picturing the exact same thing that you were. “I’m not taking your virginity at a fucking house party. You…”

He broke off with a moan, letting whatever words that would follow die on his tongue as you squeezed him.

“I need…I need more,” you gasped, through gritted teeth. Your body was starting to betray you, your legs starting to give out before you could reach your climax.

You buried your face in his neck, panting.

“I can’t…fuck,” you moaned, before one little word fell from your lips, the one word he’d asked for so long ago, out on the balcony, “Please.”

With a sudden, sharp breath, Minho hooked his arm around you and rolled you over, pressing you into the mattress. Your hand slipped out of his pants as he moved, hurriedly, down your body.

He paused at the apex of your legs, glancing up. “Are you OK with–”

“Yes,” you hissed, your hand fisting in his hair and pushing him downwards. You were so close, you were so close, and his thigh wasn’t between yours anymore, and you just couldn’t… “Yes, fuck, please.”

You could glimpse the beginnings of a smirk as he followed your hurried pushing, but before you could even register it, you felt him lick one long stripe along you, and your head emptied of all thoughts.

His mouth was hot and wet and almost immediately targeted your clit, leaving you shaking as you ground up into his face without shame, chasing the orgasm that had been just inches away for so fucking long. You could barely breathe from it, each breath wracking your body in almost-sobs, every muscle stiff and coiled in desperation.

You felt Minho hook an arm under your leg, pulling it up so that it could sit on his shoulder, parting you just a little wider.

You arched your back, your head pressing even further into the mattress, eyes squeezing shut. When you spoke, it was barely coherent, a loose string of words. “…H-hands, fingers…please, whatever it…Minho, I’m so close, I’m…ah…”

You felt him slide in a finger – two fingers? More? You didn’t know, you didn’t care, you just knew how close to the edge you were. Your muscles were locking up, body shaking, even as Minho placed his free hand on the curve of your hip, thumb brushing your skin in small, reassuring strokes.

Your grip in his hair tightened, mind going blank, tears in your eyes as you gasped. “Yes, keep – keep…keep–”

You came, and it felt like shattering. Your body’s muscles locked, rigid, shaking, as your own moans rang in your ears. At some point, your thighs had clamped around Minho’s head, your one anchor as you tried to come back down to earth.

It was like every rational thought, anything with even the slightest bit of complexity to it, evaporated. You were left weightless, on your back, dazed. Slowly, sluggishly, your gaze drifted to Minho.

What a sight, you thought. Pretty.

His cheek was pressed into the flesh of your inner thigh, skin flushed so pink, head tilted down so that most of his face was hidden by his rumpled hair. He was kneeling, and you saw that his hand had returned to his dick. It was as if he were trying to be discreet, almost quiet, even as he desperately pumped himself.

Barely even thinking about it, you reached down. His breath caught when you wrapped your own hand around him again, letting him guide your movements once more.

His head lifted, and you caught a glimpse of his dark brown eyes looking up at you. Always so unreadable, even now, even when burning.

Your mouth moved before your thoughts could catch up. “You’re…”

You didn’t know how to finish that. Gorgeous? Annoying? Terrifying?

All of it was true, none of it felt right to say in that moment.

You just watched him, eyes locked, until he choked out a moan, squeezed his eyes shut, and came with a soft, low, “fuck.”

It felt dirty, almost voyeuristic, to watch him cum. But even if you didn’t look, you still would have heard him, you still would have felt it on your hands, your thighs. You still would have felt the way he slumped forward, head dropping to your chest, forehead pressed against the valley between your breasts, his quick, deep breaths against your skin.

You still would have felt the way it all fell quiet – until it was just you, Minho, and the impending repercussions of what just happened.

What you’d done.

What had you done?

Your head dropped back against the mattress, looking up at Minho’s ceiling but not really seeing it, as your senses slowly returned to you.

Shit. Fuck. Every other fucking expletive, they all ran through your head.

What the fuck had you–

Minho cleared his throat, lifting his head up off of you. You could feel the weight of his gaze on your face, and you tried to school your expression into something neutral, pushing down the storm of thoughts in your mind.

You didn’t know why, but you expected him to withdraw from you immediately. Maybe that was doing him a disservice, but it was true.

That was why you were so surprised by the kiss he pressed to your temple, strangely gentle, even as his usual sardonic tone crept back into his voice as he spoke. “Let’s clean up first, overthink later.”

“I’m not overthinking,” you argued immediately, because old habits died hard even in a fucking surreal situation like this.

He didn’t laugh, but there was the slightest twitch to the corner of his mouth as he replied. “Sure.”

He sat up, and you caught the way he winced, probably in newfound discomfort over the state of his…current attire. While he attempted to strip out of his ruined pants with anything close to dignity, you pushed yourself up to a seated position, trying to look anywhere but him.

What now? What now? It was all well and good for him not to overthink, but you couldn’t drive away the sudden flood of consequences that threatened to overwhelm you. Of all times, why did it have to be now, when you were forced to interact with Minho so much more? You’d have to work with this man for the next few months, fuck, you had to talk at the U.N. with him. What would people say?

What would Felix say?

Something powder-blue and soft entered your field of vision, smelling of detergent and lavender fabric softener. You blinked, looking up to find Minho offering you a towel, and you wondered how long you must have zoned out, wrapped in your own thoughts. There wasn’t quite a smile on his face – nothing so extreme like that from Minho – but there was something gentle in his eyes.

You took it, swallowing, and cleaned yourself up as best as you could. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Minho pull on a pair of black sweatpants – and when he straightened up to standing, you finally clocked the blooming purple marks littered across his skin.

“Oh, fuck, your neck. I’m so sorry,” you gasped, mortified at the blooming purple marks on Minho.

He glanced towards you, and gave you half a shrug. “It’s fine.”

They were very much not fine. They were prominent, the kind of hickeys you’d be embarrassed to leave on a long-term partner, let alone a…

A…

Well, whatever Minho was.

You swallowed. “It’s not, have you seen them?”

He paused.

“…Yes,” Minho replied, firmly, and there was something about his tone that made you stop, that made you stare at him.

He stared back, face perfectly neutral but refusing to look away. The implications were not lost on you, and your face began to warm.

Clearing your throat, you set the towel by your side and reached for your clothes, having to get up to pick up each item along the shameless trail that ran from the bed to the balcony doors, gathering them in your arms in a small, pink pile. “Please tell me you have your own bathroom.”

Minho laughed a little, nodding towards the door to your right. “Where do you think I got the towel from? Through there.”

You spent a few minutes in the bathroom, trying to compose yourself, trying to clean up properly, slipping your costume back on. The strange feeling in your stomach didn’t ease up, not even once. In the mirror, you looked almost exactly the same as you had when you first stepped into Minho’s room – but how was that possible, when everything had changed?

Fuck, just…you didn’t need to think about it. Deal with it later, deal with all of it later. You just needed to get out and get some space and distance and just…

You drew yourself up as high as you could, squaring your shoulders, and pushed open the bathroom door.

You found Minho standing in the middle of the room, seemingly in mid-step, turning quickly to face you. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was…what? Pacing?

“I can’t stay,” you stated, trying to sound firm. You mostly succeeded, were it not for the slightest hesitation you had, the faintest strain to your voice.

Minho paused, catching it immediately. “…Do you want to?”

You didn’t know how to answer that. It felt like a trap, even now, as if Minho was preparing to pull the rug out from under you. You wished you couldn’t imagine that level of cruelty, and yet you feared it, however irrational it was. “…I don’t want people to talk.”

Minho eyed you for a second, and yet again waited before he spoke, like he was trying to choose his words before they left his mouth. He settled for a very simple, very Minho statement. “Fuck people.”

At any other time, in any other situation, you would have rolled your eyes. You even felt the urge now, tied up in the same desire to go back to normal, to pretend everything was fine. “It’s not as easy as that.”

“It is,” Minho argued, but there was no irritation in his voice. Just quiet. “But I get it.”

“This was very…uh,” you swallowed. “…Impulsive.”

“Yes. It was definitely that,” he replied, and was he even capable of being any more cryptic?

You glanced away, finding it difficult to look him in the eye as you admitted, quietly. “…But, uh, good.”

Minho paused. “…Yep.”

Couldn’t he just say what he was fucking thinking? You needed to know, you needed to know if he was on the same page as you, if he was also thinking that it was too weird to just leave things like this. Silent and awkward and just…dancing around each other like this.

You swallowed, and folded your arms over your chest. You weren’t quite brave enough to look at him again yet, but you spoke up again. “Did you…have a good time too?”

And just when you were expecting another cryptic little non-response, Minho decided to cut straight to the point and catch you off-guard. “I had a great time.”

You blinked, shocked enough that your eyes darted back to him without a second thought. “…Good. That’s, uh…good.”

It was so strange to see him like this. Lee Minho, always so put-together, never a shred of vulnerability – and there he was, hair mussed, shirtless, barefoot, taking a breath as he tried to put together his next words.

“I had a great time,” he repeated. “With you. And…”

He stopped.

“And…?” You asked.

His mouth opened. Closed. And opened again. “…I…you don’t have to go.”

You felt something warm unfurl in your chest. “Minho, do you want me to stay?”

“…Yes.”

You took a step forward, tension melting from your shoulders, replaced with a new curiosity. You couldn’t quite believe this was happening, and yet…

Well, you couldn’t let him off that easily.

“Yes, what?”

He exhaled, making a sound almost akin to a huff. You recognised that sound, you knew it from debating, from arguing, from whenever you caught a weakness in his defence and pressed him on it. “Yes, I want you to stay.”

You took another step. “Why?”

This time, he scoffed, as if it could hide the slow flush of pink making its way up his neck. “You know why.”

“No, I don’t.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, and wow, this was fun. “Yes, you do. You’re too smart not to.”

You grinned. “Thanks, but no. You’re going to have to say it.”

“You’re infuriating.”

“I am,” you said, without shame, and added. “You’re into that.”

He sighed, and gave in. “Yes, I am.”

“Well done,” you laughed, finally drawing it out of him. “You’re into me.”

Minho eyed you for a second, still just a touch out of reach. Like he’d done it on purpose, kept just enough space to protect himself.

You watched the way he hesitated, and for once, his mask slipped and his face gave away just a peek into what he was thinking. You could see the thoughts warring within his head, the way he hesitated before committing.

“…More than just that,” he said – he confessed – softly.

Just four words, but the meaning behind them was loaded. They hung in the air, obvious, weighty, vivid.

You froze, taking them in. You didn’t know why, you didn’t know how, but despite everything that had occurred tonight, Minho still had the ability to surprise you.

More than just that.

More than just…

Oh.

That was all your brain – your proudest attribute, your big, university-educated, sharp-witted genius brain –  was capable of thinking.

Oh.

“So…” Minho said, before trailing off, watching you, and eventually forcing the smallest of shrugs. “Don’t go.”

You were still reeling. You tried to make it all fit, every piece of information you had. The gentleness he’d held you with, the strange softness he’d had, the look in his dark eyes when you threatened to find someone else to kiss, the way he smiled sometimes when you were trying to piss him off, the way he just…watched you in conversations, in arguments, like he was just as interested seeing you think as he was countering the words that came out of your mouth.

When you laid it out like that, when you visualised it like points in a debate – with so many in the for argument and frighteningly little in the against – it seemed so obvious.

“I…” your words came out hoarse, dazed. “…Yeah, I can…not go.”

Minho’s eyes searched every inch of you, trying to figure out what exactly you were thinking.

“…You look like you’re about to pass out,” he observed, bluntly.

“You just said you like me, can you blame me?” You asked, hysteria close to creeping into your voice.

Minho didn’t reply for a second, still watching you. “Is it such a surprise?”

“Yes,” you blurted out, instinctively, until you took a second to actually think about it. “…No? Yes and no? I don’t…you’re, like, annoyingly hard to read.”

“Am I?” Minho asked, but the corners of his lips were twitching, suggesting he already knew the answer to that. “I’d say the same about you, but honestly, sometimes you’re an open book.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Especially when you stare at my mouth.”

Your eyes snapped up back to his, blinking, caught. There was definitely amusement in his gaze now, a glimpse of relief creeping in.

You scowled, face beginning to heat. “You’re enjoying this.”

He smiled, not a trace of hesitation behind it, a real and genuine smile, and finally stepped towards you. “I absolutely am.”

“Assho–”

You were cut off, as Minho ducked his head down to kiss you, and you couldn’t even pretend to do anything other than respond eagerly.

The next time the two of you got coffee, on another cold autumn morning when you were ten minutes deep into a squabble over geopolitics that you were determined to win, Seungmin had the grace to at least act surprised when Minho bought you a muffin and slipped his arm around your waist.

“Wow,” he murmured, deadpan, watching the way you relaxed into Minho’s side, even as you unpicked every thread of his argument. “Gee. Who would have guessed?"

taglist: @buntrsh​ @liz3056​ @sunnyville36​ @sleepylixie​ @healinghyunjin​ @aliceu​ @laikaya​ @the7thcrow​ @lynx-paw​ @mainexiii​ @springdeity​ @bettyschwallocksyee​ @kawaiiayasan​ @tae-kook-lover​ @itshoonie​

[fxckn-sxck-fr]

Please 🙏🏻 please 🙏🏻 please 🙏🏻 can I get your thoughts on yandere dom Hal Jordan‼️

Begging on my knees ❗️❗️

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐌 𝐇𝐀𝐋 𝐉𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐀𝐍…

!!! 18+ THEMES, GN reader, heavy non-con elements, coercion, mentions of manipulation/intimidation/threats/kidnapping, semi-public, jealousy, possessiveness, biting, slightest mention of a possible cannibalism kink, brief daddy/sir kink, praise, degradation, angry sex, rough sex, somno, cockwarming, Hal is a menace to society and absolutely disgusting (I say as I drool over him).

This ask is giving me psychic damage in the best way possible.

Hal does not take “no” for an answer. It doesn’t matter if his charm and charisma doesn’t work on you; he’ll find a way. Maybe he just needs to sprinkle in a little manipulation, or somehow scare you into his welcoming arms. Is that also not working? Hm, as much as he hates being the bad guy, he’s not afraid to use intimidation and threats towards you if the ends justify the means. Still not working? Well, damn. Guess he has to kidnap you. And to think this all could’ve been avoided if you hadn’t been so difficult.

This man is absolutely shameless, unable to keep his hands off you even in public. Yes, it gets ten times worse when he’s jealous. If it comes down to it, he absolutely will drag you off for a quick fuck. Does that make him a tiny bit possessive? Maybe. But, hey, for what it’s worth, he’s great with his mouth. Your pleasure usually comes before his; it’s the least he could do before he fucks you into oblivion.

Hal’s definitely a biter. There, I said it. And not just little nips, either. I’m talking full-on teeth marks on your shoulder, deep enough to bruise or even draw blood. This kind of goes hand in hand with his possessive side and maybe a hint of a cannibalism kink?? We don’t have time to unpack that, so we’ll leave it at what I know for sure: Hal Jordan thinks it’s very hot when you have bite marks all over your body. Especially when you’re wearing his jacket over them.

And if I say daddy kink, will y’all come after me? Cuz, yes, Hal is disgusting like that. He’d be over the moon if you hit him with the d-word. But, hey, he’ll take a “yes, sir” or “no, sir” just fine, too. Compromise, amiright?

When it comes to dirty talk, Hal can dish out praises and degrading comments equally. I think it depends on how much coercion he had to do; he’ll praise you if you took the easy way, degrade you if you took the hard way. Simple as that. Though this also depends on what you’re into. Again, your pleasure usually comes before his, so he makes mental notes on what you like.

Speaking of coercion though, remember that Hal doesn’t take “no” for an answer. Your choices are the following: accept his advances, or be forced to accept his advances. Should he need to force you a little, he’ll start off encouraging (“it’s okay, I’ll make you feel good, I promise”), then get a little more pushy (“come on, you know better than this”), until he’ll eventually just take what he wants (“hey. Stop struggling. I don’t wanna hurt you”). While he somewhat recognizes what he’s doing is wrong, he easily justifies it by reminding himself it was your choice to do this the hard way.

“Shh, everything will be fine, babe. Just let me take care of you. Yeah, there you go… you put up one hell of a fight. I’m sure you’re tired.”

God, he is an absolute menace when he wants to be. Should you ever piss him off, there’s a chance he’ll fuck his frustrations into you. This man has enough stamina to go for a long time, so I wouldn’t recommend testing him. Unless if you’re fine with not being able to walk for a couple of days. Then go for it!! It’s your call.

If you’re into that, a good way to piss him off is trying to weasel out of his grip. Hal always has an arm around you, be it in public, around the house, while you sleep… bro just canNOT let go. I think he’s secretly insecure about you running off, so for you to feed into that? Yeah, no. Not a good idea. Unless, again, that’s what you’re going for. Then it’s a great idea!!

Y’all, I’m gonna be honest. You may wake up in the middle of the night to him fucking you. He just can’t help himself, okay?? He didn’t want to wake you, and hey, what you don’t know won’t hurt you, right? Just know that if you catch his freaky ass doing this, he will feel absolutely no guilt. I mean, why would he? We’re already past the point of shame. If anything, he’ll double down and whisper nasty shit in your ear until he cums. And, yes, he’ll stay inside of you til the morning. Good ol’ cockwarming.

Oh, yeah. Cockwarming. He’s big into that. And it’s lowkey not even a sexual thing; he just really likes the intimacy. It’s very common for him to be inside you while the two of you watch TV, your back pressed against his chest as he leaves gentle kisses on your neck. This is when Hal shows his softer side, even going as far as resisting the urge to bite you!! What a big step for him!!

All in all, yan Hal is a mixed bag. As long as you’re compliant and don’t go out of your way to make things hard for him, I’d say he’s pretty mild. It’s just that his sex drive is through the roof, especially after long missions. Does he bring you with him to space? You know what, probably. He just wants to be near you, okay? Or, actually, maybe it’s more of the other way around; he wants you near him. The specifics are important.

But yeah. Good luck covering up those bite marks!! Hal likes to leave them in obvious places on purpose (he’s an asshole like that).

[anemonelovesfiction]

Avoidance

Lo’ak x (Chubby) Fem Human Reader

Warnings ⚠️: Insecure reader, Masturbation (Lo’ak), fingering, eating out

This idea just kinda came to me one day and I kept marinating on it until it turned into this fic. This is also an alternate universe where the humans didn’t come back to Pandora so the Omatikaya don’t live in the hallelujah mountains.

So the ending felt right for me, because I tried writing more but it didn’t flow, might do another part, not sure

Not Proofread

Translation Station

Kaltxì: Hello

Ma’eveng: My child

Tanleng: Bark

Tewng: Loincloth

Skxawng: Moron, Idiot

Narlor ‘eve: Beautiful Girl

Word Count: 5.3k

There had been something about the way she walked that always caught my attention, I would find my eyes traveling down toward her backside as I shamelessly stared, taking in the view of her plump ass, but was met by an even greater view as she decided to bent over at that moment to pick something up and I felt as though she’d purposely put herself on display. I silently thanked Eywa for allowing me to be at this place and time as I zoned out at the view before me, tempted to bite my lip in the process but stopping myself from doing so, wondering how I could work up the courage to bring myself to talk to her but drawing blanks.

“Are you even listening to me, Bro?” Spider’s voice slowly transitions me from focusing in her bum to turning around and facing him, a smirk playing at my lips as I stated the following.

“Sometimes your words put me to sleep, Cuz, I can’t help it if I zone out-“ I was met with a slap on my shoulder before the both of us caught one another's eyes and began to laugh.

_________

I had decided to step out of the comfort of the lab- all because Norm believed it would be better for me to become more social- and found myself lost on what to do. On the one hand, I could understand why he wanted me to start socializing but on the other, I had too much anxiety to be able to deal with anything. I could feel myself beginning to play with the fingers on my hands as I nervously looked around. I’m surprised that in all my anxious thinking I even remembered to put a mask on my face.

I had ended up meeting Norm in his avatar as he began talking to me, feeling a sense of peace upon seeing a familiar face and wanting nothing more than to stick to him and follow him around, but I didn’t want to seem like a lost puppy in front of the native’s eyes.

“I talked to Mo’at earlier today and she said she could use your help with weeding out the bad plants she has in her stock.” He explains as he begins walking, guiding me toward her healing hut, and I couldn’t help but nod as I follow along his spacious footsteps.

“Don’t they usually pick what they need as to not have an overabundance of things?” I asked shyly and feared he’d missed what I had said before he turns his head with a small smile.

“Yes, but there are rare occasions when they overstock, but I would like you to collect what is damaged so we can research it.” He states enthusiastically and I find myself nodding once more, continuing the walk in silence until we managed to get into the healing hut.

Norm had done most of the talking, not because I couldn’t speak the language, I could speak it just fine, but I always managed to get nervous and trip over my words. As he introduces me I couldn’t help but let a small wave speak for me as I had suddenly felt my tongue grow heavy and my mouth dry on the spot.

“Kaltxì, ma’eveng,” Mo’at shares a smile with me and I couldn’t help but smile back, feeling the warm comfort of her’s calming my anxiety slightly.

“Could you please start by picking through the box full of tanleng, I will show you what to look for so you can learn how to pick through it, then I can give you a satchel to put it in so you can do your research.” She states as she points over toward the box with her hand, I nod my head as I walk over to find the correct box filled with what she had asked.

It doesn’t take long before I find the box containing the tree bark and lean down to grasp it, ensuring my grip on the box is secure before lifting it up, realizing its a little heavier than I had anticipated. But right as I stand up and am about to begin walking I can hear laughter.

My cheeks redden at the sound and wish the ground could open up to swallow me whole, I had no idea there would be people here who would end up laughing at my efforts, I attempted to shrug it off as I turned to see Spider laughing alongside Lo’ak. I shimmied off as fast as I could to attempt to not be the laughing stock between both men.

_________

This had been the second time I had seen her after a while, she had been wearing a dress that accentuated her features well, every one of her curves put up on display for anyone to see. I’d grown jealous of anyone in her proximity as she knelt down next to Spider, watching as her bum doubles in size, taking in a big breath as I whistle out, being no better than my dad simping for my mom.

I couldn’t hear what Spider had been saying to her but he carefully stuck his hand in front of the flower on the ground and watch as the the tendrils come out and wrap around his arm, watching her shocked expression wash over her face before Spider shakes his hand and the tendrils detach from his hands.

I watch as he insists she do the same, laughing at her hesitation before she slowly brings her arm closer to the flower and yelping in surprise as soon as its tendrils come out to wrap around her arm, their shared laughter being heard.

It wasn’t until I was near them that I had realized my feet carried me across the open field, now standing pretty close to the two and feeling my eyes solely focused on her figure.

“What are you two up to?” I asked casually as my eyes quickly avert toward Spider to not get caught staring at her.

“I’m teaching her about the flora,” Spider answers right as she shakes her hand lightly and manages to get the tendrils to let go of her.

“Hi,” I wave at her while speaking to her in English, I watch as her eyes find mine and she seems rather shocked that I had talked to her, but she shyly waves without saying anything back.

It doesn’t take long before Spider and I are talking, and at first she hadn’t bothered with saying much until Spider kept forcing her to participate in our conversation, she was a good listener and her voice was adorable to listen to.

“Would you say its hot today?” Spider asks her with a roll of his eyes after I had brought up how warm it was feeling. He had decided to ask her in Na’Vi and up until now I had no idea she could understand it as we had been speaking in English.

“A little, but not as hot as other days prior,” She answered back to him in Na’Vi and it catches me off guard as she pronounced the words correctly, my smile forming as she answered, suddenly feeling the urge to speak to her in my native tongue as well.

“Is that why you wore something different today?” I asked, honestly thinking it was an innocent question until she smiled awkwardly before standing.

“I have to go back to the lab, thank you for teaching me about the flora, Spider, I appreciate it.” She speaks to him before turning to me.

“I had fun talking with you,” She smiles once more before turning around and walking away.

“Dude-“ Spider started to talk to me but I zoned him out as I stared at her walking away, watching as she walked and swayed her hips from side to side, feeling as though I had been hypnotized. I could even hear a mumbling going on behind me but felt as though my cock was starting to feel restrained within the confines of my tewng.

I still hadn’t paid attention as my tongue comes out to wet my lips as her hips continue their hypnotic sashay, it wasn’t until I felt my cock pulse that I had realized what was happening, face turning to face my lap as the mumbling starts becoming clearer and I can hear how angry Spider is.

I’d suddenly been able to register the words Spider had been mumbling and went along the lines of me being a skxawng for not having a filter or consideration for my word choice, but I knew that at this moment none of that mattered, I needed to get up and go to my secluded spot away from people to get the alone time my body desperately craved. I uttered a half assed apology toward the guy before turning hotly on my heels to escape him.

It doesn’t take me too long to find my hideaway as I step into the cool cave, feeling how warm my body had been after watching her walk away as my back leans up against the wall, goosebumps covering my body, digging my hand into my tewng and hissing upon contact.

“Shit,” I mumble, bringing my cock out from the confines of my tewng and feeling the cool air wrap around it, hissing, simultaneously squeezing my shaft as I watch the bead of precome slide out.

I waste no time in dragging my hand up and down my shaft, collecting the beads of precome that slide out to glide my hand across the head before dragging it down to lube up the rest of my length, biting my lip and grunting as my hips gain a mind of their own and start to pump into my hand.

All I could do was bring myself to close my eyes as I envisioned her walking away once more, assessing her movements as my teeth dig into my bottom lip, feeling as my hips stuttered right as my orgasm ripped through me, opening my eyes and watching as the ropes of cum splatter on the floor, attempting to catch my breath as I shove myself back inside my tewng to appear presentable.

_________

I had been spending more time with Spider recently and I enjoyed it. I had come up to him a little while ago to ask him about being out of the lab and he had answered every one of my questions, he was such a kind soul and I’m starting to feel as though I’m becoming great friends with him, he doesn’t seem annoyed at me so far, unless he’s hiding it well.

I’d been able to hang out with him every once in a while and he’d decided to take me out to do some exploring of my own, something that had excited me. It

“You might want to change out of those clothes though, it’s pretty hot out there, I don’t think you’d be comfortable with those clothes.” He explains with his hands on his hips.

“What should I wear?” I asked him as he had commented on my long sleeves and jeans. It was usually kept cool in the lab, and being surrounded by metal made it colder, so I always dressed to stay warm.

“Something flowy if you have it,” He shrugs at his own suggestion and I could only think of one item I owned, it belonged to my mother and she had packed it with her so her and my father could have date nights, it was a white maxi-sun dress with little blue flowers all over them.

"I'd rather take my chances-“ I stated with a deadpanned look on my face, not wanting to put that sun dress on my body.

“Oh, I see.” He stated rather quickly before pursing his bottom lip and seemed in deep thought.

“I’ll take you somewhere where nobody will bug us and you can be comfortable in whatever you wear, and I promise, I won’t make fun of you for it at all.” He promises and thats not what gets me to cooperate, its the fact that he said we would be secluded.

But there I was, crouching down onto the floor like Spider had said to, attempting to hide my belly inbetween my legs as Lo’ak had decided to make conversation with us. I could feel the nerves entering my body as he and Spider were talking and started thinking of an exit strategy until Spider directed his questions toward me and started involving me in their conversation.

Lo’ak didn’t seem to mind as I answered some questions of my own and I could feel my own body beginning to to relax the more we talked, starting to feel a small sense of belonging, then Lo’ak had mentioned how warm it was.

“Would you say its hot today?” Spider asks me in Na’Vi and I am tempted to giggle as he had been going in and out of both languages.

“A little, but not as hot as days prior,” I responded back in Na’Vi this time, wondering if maybe I had been the reason he had been interchanging languages.

“Is that why you wore something different today?” Lo’ak asks with a smile playing at his lips and I could feel my self hatred washing over me, I knew I was seconds away from letting the tears start to form in my eyes before standing rather quick, stating the first excuse I could think of as I opened my mouth.

“I have to go back to the lab, thank you for teaching me about the flora, Spider, I appreciate it.” I stated and wanted to leave but knew it would be rather rude of me to not address Lo’ak either, feeling beyond nervous as I turn to him, hoping my hands were hiding my stomach well enough before speaking.

“I had fun talking with you,” I stated in a half-assed manner before offering a fake smile and turning hotly on my heels and walking back toward hells gate, which was still in view as I scurried off, weaving through the roots of the tree’s and being careful to not trip.

“Hey, back so soon?” Norm asks as he continues to focus on his research, looking up at me at the worst possible moment as the tears started streaming down my face.

“What happened?” He is quick to drop what he was working on and walked over toward me, but all I could do was sniffle and start to cry as he wraps his arms around me in comfort. After losing my parents he was the closest thing to a father I even had.

_________

“Have you seen Y/n?” I asked Spider as I see him walking out of hells gate empty handed, its not like we’d decided to bring her along today, but it had been several weeks since I’d seen her last.

“Yeah.” Is all Spider manages to answer and it makes me furrow my brows as he leaves my question unanswered.

“Where is she?” I asked him and see him turn to face me with a brow raised.

“She’s in there,” He points back toward hells gate before turning around and beginning to walk away from the very place he’d just pointed at.

“Wait-“ I stated too excitedly and watch as he turns around, raising a brow in my direction and pursing his lips as if he had just discovered something, I could only gulp upon staring at his face tie the pieces together.

“Wait.” I stated this time, attempting to push the thought out of his head before he could form it properly, not wanting him to have been able to pin everything down but seeing as the smirk starts forming on his face and realized that it was too late.

“You like her, don’t you?” Spider asks as he points an accusatory finger toward me and all I could do was allow the purple blush to consume my features, ears pinning themselves back automatically, and his laugh being cut off by his own gasp of realization.

“…” I was speechless and had nothing to say, no rebuts, no argument, nothing.

“Thats why you’re a skxawng around her, it finally makes sense, so the reason you left quickly the other day was because- oh my Eywa!”

“Spider!” I raised my voice to get him to stop but his eyes had already flickered down to my groin before coming back up to meet mine, I sigh heavily and roll my eyes at the man before me, I wasn’t sure how else to respond or what else could have been said since he’d cracked the code.

“Well you have to tell her,” He suggests as if it were obvious but I felt myself blushing once more.

“I can’t just tell her,” I groan in embarrassment.

“Why not?” He makes his way over toward me and squats down as I sit on the ground beneath me.

“Well…”

_________

“Hey,”

I stop dead in my tracks as I hear the voice of the person I’d been attempting to avoid for a while finally break through my concentration on this math problem I had been working on, my body immediately tensing upon hearing his voice, and my skin getting covered in goosebumps as a shiver threatened to run along my spine.

I turn my head to see the blue man and feel as though I had been caught doing something I shouldn’t have been doing, knowing I shared a look of guilt as my eyes were widened, I could attempt an escape but the only exit from where I sat was behind him and I knew I wasn’t fast enough.

“Hello?” My statement came out as a question since I hadn’t been expecting him here, he brings his tongue out to wet his lips as he nods understandingly, a hmph leaving his lips.

“You gonna tell me why you’re avoiding me?” He asks in a stern voice and that catches me off guard.

“I’m not?” I sounded as though I were trying to convince myself and even I could hear how pathetic that answer was.

“Don’t make me bully the answer out of you.” He states and I can feel the goosebumps rise on my skin once more, wondering what he meant by that.

“I’m not avoiding you.” I could actually believe myself that time.

“Bullshit,” He rolls his eyes and places his arms across his chest, taking a couple steps forward, my eyes glance over to check how far the only exit is from the lab tables I’m sitting at but still notice it a long ways away, looking back at Lo’ak as soon as possible to not seem as though I’m planning an escape route, but looking back at him he was already in front of me, a gasp leaving my lips upon seeing him standing before me.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asks in such a stern voice I felt as though I were in trouble, but a spark of arousal makes itself comfortable as I stare up into his green eyes, he was standing three heads taller than me while I sat, so I had to crane my neck up to look at him.

“I wasn’t-“ I started to poorly explain that I hadn’t been trying to go anywhere before he cut me off by squatting down so he could be eye level with me.

“Bull. Shit.” He enunciates his words and I could feel myself preemptively squeeze my thighs together, a movement so subtle I doubt he’d caught it since my thighs had already been close together.

“Guess I’ll have to bully it out of you.” He stated rather smoothly for the situation he had put me in.

“What do you mean by that?” I asked as I had been unsure of what he meant before he places a hand on my bare thigh, I wanted to slap his hand off, not because of his actions but because of how my thighs were.

My eyes trail down to watch as he leaves his hand on my thigh but moves his thumb to caress it gently, his own eyes focused on the action he had been doing, his other hand coming up toward my other thigh and repeating the action, he seemed mesmerized.

“What are you doing?” I asked nervously as he experimentally squeezes them, all of my confidence running out the door as he did so, and silently cursing at myself for having worn a skirt that rides up this far when I sat.

“Why are you avoiding me.” He repeats and averts my eyes from him, not wanting to look at him as my anxiety had been rising, making me too nervous to talk.

“M’ not.” I mutter a little too quietly, knowing damn well he could hear me since I’d seen his ears rising upward to listen.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” He asks as his hands ride up higher on my thighs, now gently pushing the fabric of my skirt, I could only bite my lip as my arousal was starting to grow.

“You heard me.” I stated rather boldly considering the situation I was in.

“Hmm,” He hums as a response before shifting his eyes from his own hands back up toward mine, making me stop breathing.

“I did,” He admits as he holds eye contact with me “Did you know I could smell you, too?” He asks and I feel myself inhaling sharply through my nose, my body stiffened at the thought of him having known that I had somehow found this arousing. His hands start inching closer before stopping right as the tips of his fingers disappeared underneath the fabric of my skirt.

He’s eyeing me as if waiting for my confirmation to continue, but I could only narrow my eyes, silently betting he wouldn’t do anything, not sure where this surge of confidence was coming from. His smirk forming on his features as he pushes one hand further until he finally comes into contact with my underwear.

He doesn’t stop there as his other hand moves further up my thigh as well, going further up toward the side of my hips, and dipping his hands down to the swell of my ass, actively lifting me up quickly and dragging me closer toward him, a yelp leaving my mouth as soon as he’d tugged me toward his body only to have him bring his nose closer to my crotch and take a long whiff.

“Lo’ak!” I yelled and was tempted to hit his head, but my bum was on the very edge of the chair and I’d been using both hands to hold myself from falling off.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” He asks again and I roll my eyes.

“I’m not avoiding you,” I lied once more but in hindsight I wanted this to keep going a little longer, I wanted to see how far he’d actually go.

“And I’m orange all over,” He mutters before his eyes trail down toward where my skirt still covers my body and I’m silently thanking Eywa I wore one today, feeling one of his hands trace the edge of my underwear before letting his thumb settle between the lips of my cunt, pushing his finger right on my clit, staying completely still, his eyes traveling back up toward mine as I attempt not to squeak.

“I’m- I’m n-not,” I stuttered out and watch as he rolls his own eyes, beginning to rub the fabric of my panties onto my clit, the foreign feeling sending a jolt of electricity down my spine and feeling my hips buck automatically.

“Mhm.” He mumbles passively while continuing to rub over my sensitive bud, a gasp finally leaving my lips, his eyes staring at my mouth as a small smile plays at his lips.

“Lo’ak-“ I mutter and find his eyes trail back up to meet mine.

“I don’t want you speaking unless you can answer my question, pretty girl.” He stated and I let out a squeak.

“But m’ n-not,” I mutter out at my hips bucking again, he doesn’t stop his movements but he does slow them down.

“Not what?” He asks, hand not slowing down and the feeling teetering on an orgasm.

“Not pretty?” He asks and I nod my head, not able to find the words, until he ceases his movements completely.

“Lo-“ I stated as I hadn’t wanted this to stop, only to be met with an angered expression.

“I never want to hear you say that again, got it?” I know he wasn’t asking, he was making a statement, I could only bite my lip anxiously as I nodded my head, silently praying he would continue his ministrations and feeling his other hand coming up from behind my ass, pushing my underwear to the side and inserting a finger in my sopping cunt.

“Lo’ak,” I moaned as soon as his digit plunged into me, feeling his other hand working my clit once more, letting my head fall back onto the backrest of the chair.

“I wanna hear you say it,” He slows his hands and I feel a sense of frustration, I could only lift my head back up to look at him.

“Say wh-what?” I asked him, wanting to get this over with but catching the emotion he held in his eyes and feeling as though I were melting, his sweet smile popping on his face before he responded.

“I wanna hear you say you’re a pretty girl, mamas.” He stated. “The more you say it the faster I’ll go.” He stated as he begins to set a slow pace.

“Thats ridiculous,” I stated and almost laughed until he stopped his movements completely.

“Lo’ak-“

“Say it.”

“I-I’m a pretty girl?” I questioned but felt him smile, a firm nod of his head served as his acceptance before his finger started but was set at a slow pace, I could feel my cheeks growing hot at the comment and wanted to refrain from saying it anymore but I knew that I wouldn’t get to come at the pace he was going.

“You know what to do if you want me to go faster, mamas.” He comments as his tongue peeks out to wet his lips again and I’d be lying if I didn’t think I’d want his tongue on me.

“I’m a p-pretty gi-rl,” I stutter through before he leans down to plant a kiss on my thigh as he speeds up, now attempting to prod at me with a second finger while his pupils dilate a little.

“I’m a pretty g-girl,” I mumble once more and feel his second finger sliding in, a gasp escaping me as my legs spread wider, giving Lo’ak a better view but not caring.

“Narlor ‘eve,” He responds in Na’Vi and all I could do was shut my eyes tighter as he speeds his fingers and planting a second kiss on my thigh higher than where he had left the previous one.

“Come on mamas, I’ll slow down if I don’t hear you say it,”

“Not fair,” I complained and wiggled my hips to come closer to his for a second before feeling him stop his movements altogether.

“I’m a fuckin’ pretty girl, please I’m a pretty girl,” I end up loosing my sanity in the process as I’d come to realize just how good his fingers had been treating me.

_________

I could feel my own cock stirring at the sounds she had been letting out as I fingered her sopping cunt, wanting nothing more than to bury myself deep inside her until she didn’t remember her own name, but I had a feeling we had been getting close to that point.

“Come on mamas, I’ll slow down if I don’t hear you say it,” I commented as she had seemed to be enjoying herself a little too much, seeing her adorable face scrunch up in frustration.

“Not fair,” She whines while wiggling her hips closer to my fingers in a poor attempt to feel some sense of pleasure, I could only smirk as I look down and see her pussy peeking out from underneath her skirt, underwear pushed to the side as she took the pleasure I had been giving her very well.

“I’m a fuckin’ pretty girl, please, I’m a pretty girl,” She begs and it makes me groan loudly as I hump the air in an even worse attempt at feeling some sort of relief from it but grunting in annoyance as it didn’t do anything.

“Yes you are,” I coo back at her as I my fingers pick up to the speed they were once at, feeling her gummy walls squeeze on my digits and biting my lip, seeing the skin of her exposed thigh and threatened to bite the inner side of it lightly, giving into my own desires as I lean down and give her another kiss on her thigh, taking some of the skin between my teeth and biting lightly.

“Lo’ak, please-“ She whines as she starts bucking her hips toward my fingers.

“I’m. A. Pretty. Girl.” She enunciates every word as she bucks her hips against my hand and as promised I begin to go faster than before watching as she throws her head back.

“Fuck-“ I mutter before throwing caution to the wind, removing my hand from her clit, and sticking my face down on it to taste her for the first time, feeling overly horny and closing my eyes as I groan at her taste, swiping my tongue all around her while continually fingering her.

“Lo’ak, I’m cumming!” She yells out but before I could tip her over the edge I remove my fingers and mouth from her cunt, her head shooting up quickly as she furrows her brow in my direction, legs still spread.

“What the fuck did you do that for!” She yells before I lick my fingers of her juices, watching as she bites her lip and whimpers lightly, still furrowing her brows in my direction.

“Because I wanted to know if you were avoiding me.”

“Are you fucking serious?” She asks rather taken aback than angry

“Fine.” She sits up and crosses her arms across her chest, it hadn’t occurred to me that her nipples had been hardened underneath the fabric of her shirt, my eyes trailing up to meet hers as I take in the state of her fucked-out face.

“I was avoiding you,” She rolls her eyes as she admits and I crack a smile.

“Was that so hard?” I tease her only to watch as she places her arm on my shoulder to give it as good a shove as she could.

“Yes, now make me come.” Her small words are almost incoherent but my ears stood at attention as she spoke, catching every word and turning my smile into a smirk, I knew she’d crack under pressure.

“Aye aye, mamas.” I salute her as I stand to only see her features contort into one of confusion, she opened her mouth to ask a question, but I shot her down by beating her to it.

“I want you on this lab table, legs spread, no complaints.” I demanded and watch as she nods slowly before getting off the chair, placing her hands on the waistband of her skirt and almost tugging it off.

“Slide your underwear off but leave the skirt on,” I stated and watch as she lets go of the waistband of her skirt and digs underneath instead, stepping out of her underwear and flinging it back behind her without sparing a glance.

I find her staring adorable before I impatiently place my hands on her waist, easily lifting her up and sitting her on the edge of the lab table she was writing on, the look of surprise on her face feeding my ego.

I don’t bother waiting for conversation to pick back up again before planting my lips onto hers, hearing her small moan as she attempt to bring my body closer to hers.

[jadeleechsupportgroup]

Envenomate

azul's diet includes salad dressing and the blood of his enemies.

azul x reader

cw: mild blood, biting

also on ao3

gift for @boundlessentity 🐙🧡

1

“I learned some cool stuff in bio today.”

Azul glances up at you as he takes a bite of his salad. “Hm?” He has too many manners to talk with his mouth full.

You have a habit of eating much faster than him. Probably why you get the hiccups so often. But hey, food is meant to be enjoyed. “Yeah, like, all octopi have venom in their spit.”

He chuckles and dabs at his mouth with a napkin, then takes a sip of water. “‘Octopi’ is not a word.”

You scoff at him. “That’s your takeaway? First of all, language snobbery is classist. Second, I will die before I use ‘octopuses’ as a noun on purpose. I will accept ‘octopods’ as a compromise but it’s on thin ice.”

He merely smiles into his glass of wine. “What else did you learn?”

“Uhhhh.” You glance up at the ceiling like the air overhead holds the answers. “You don’t actually have tentacles, just arms?”

“Correct. I do, in fact, have arms.”

“Shut up. Also you could get eaten by a shark.”

“So could you.” He spears the last few leaves of arugula on his fork and swirls them through the lemon pepper vinaigrette. One of Vil’s recipes that probably cost him one of his eight (ten?) arms. “This does not sound like a terribly informative class.”

“Can we go back to the poisonous spit?”

“Venomous.”

“Whatever. Does your therapist tell you you deflect this much?” You take the last two pieces of bread and load them up with olive oil and salt.

“I am merely ensuring you do not commit false information to memory.” He repeats the napkin-and-water-sip ritual. “For something to be poisonous means that it causes damage by being ingested, inhaled, absorbed, things of that nature. Eating a puffer fish, for example.” His eyes take on a different cast as he gazes at you, though he rests his chin atop his hands with his elbows on the table, a tiny concession to the side of himself with fewer manners. “Venom, in contrast, is injected into the victim, as it must enter the bloodstream to work. Merely touching it poses no danger, assuming no other toxins with adverse effects are present, or the surface is not already compromised.”

You just sort of blink at him. “Is it, um…like…has it touched me?” One hand hovers over your mouth as your fight-or-flight response helps you vividly imagine what it would be like for your face to go numb with a deadly neurotoxin. He wouldn’t do that.

Though the hunger in his expression suggests otherwise. You really wish he would quit this diet nonsense.

“Perhaps.” Another laugh ripples out of him. The sound makes it feel like you’re underwater even though you’re in the dining room. “What would you do if I said yes?”

You have the abrupt, terrifying mental image of him climbing onto the table and crawling towards you, knocking all the plates to the floor, licking his lips and holding you captive with too many arms, watching you squirm until he bites you and you can’t move anymore.

Then his face lightens and he laughs cheerfully. “I am joking, my love. Besides…you would have noticed.” Another smile, another sip of wine and then water. Vil said it helps to cleanse the palate of any lingering acidity to preserve one's smile.

How reassuring. “This diet is messing with your head.” You aim your bread at him. “You need more protein.”

He has taken to running one finger around the rim of the wine glass, sending a whine through the air. “Perhaps you are right.”

You wish he would stop looking at you like you’re the protein.

Dating Azul Ashengrotto should have been frightening for reasons that mostly did not involve the man himself.

His line of work, somewhat. His clientele, certainly. But him? He had always treated you differently. Protective. Gentle. Sweet, even, though nobody would believe you for it. What he saw in you must have been special, because you had nothing to offer that would be of any measurable value in return. And not once has he roped you into a client’s contract or put you in danger.

The hell with it. You stand and go around to his side of the table to give him your favorite kind of hug, where you drape your arms over his shoulders from behind and bury your face in his luxuriant hair. He hums contentedly and lays one hand over the point where your arms cross, near what you are pretty sure is the space between his second and third hearts. His other hand finds your hair in return.

“You smell nice,” you mumble.

“You are much too kind.” He turns around in his chair enough to look at you, close enough to kiss but not actually doing it. His eyes drop to your mouth before moving back to meet your gaze. “And much, much too good for me.”

At least he does finally kiss you after all. And it doesn’t even taste like salad dressing.

{1} | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

[socra-time]

Naruto Episode Comments, Ep. 41-50

Ep 41:

-puppetry has gotta be one of my favorite ninja techniques so far ngl

-also Kankuro gives me bitchy theater kid vibes ngl. We stan

-again, Sakura has a far more compelling relationship with Ino than she does with fuckass Sasuke

-…goddamnit do I ship Sakura and Ino

-the way Gai says Kakashi’s name is so funny to me, he’s like “kaKAshi”

Ep 42:

-I think it’s funny that Lee just drifted over to hang out with Kakashi and Naruto

-ngl Ino losing her hold on Sakura was COMPLETE bullshit, Ino absolutely should have won that match

-ngl I’m really annoyed by the results of this match

-but anyways Gai and Lee cheering for Tenten was wholesome. Team Gai supremacy

Ep 43:

-okay Temari’s voice isn’t as bad as I initially thought it was

-rip Tenten, I get that they have to set up the threat of the Sand Siblings but Tenten deserved a little more of a fair fight rather than just being fodder for Temari to take down

-but also holy shit Temari’s takedown was fucking brutal

-Lee I fucking love you

-I also kinda love Ino now

-Naruto istg you better not beat up Kiba’s dog

Ep 44:

-not the first time I’ve noticed them but I like Kiba’s fangs

-I don’t really like Kiba’s voice

-if I was Naruto I would have forfeited the match immediately, I’m not gonna fucking fight a puppy

-ah yes the greatest jutsu of all, Furry jutsu

-Naruto kinda wasted his shot by biting Kiba while disguised as Akamaru, he should have tried to do more damage and punch Kiba in the face or something

-I love how everyone was commenting on how Naruto’s jutsu usage was more impressive than they thought and meanwhile Neji’s just like “I can’t believe he bit his opponent”

-why isn’t everyone just taking food pills during this exam if they’re so useful

-Kiba honey I hate to break it to you but you are not, in fact, the main character of Naruto

-respectfully both Naruto and Kiba should never be Hokage, it should OBVIOUSLY be Lee

Ep 45:

-NOOOO AKAMARU BBY

-I’m not gonna lie I don’t really believe Naruto has the chakra control and intelligence at this point in the series to pull off the trick he does with the double transformation jutsu

-I find it both amusing and annoying that Kiba (and also Shikamaru and Choji) calls Naruto “kid”. Like y’all are the same age lmao

- yeah no same as Ino, Kiba kindaaaa should have won. I’m more okay with this outcome than the Ino-Sakura result because Naruto’s the MC so he’s obviously going to win, but that fart was utter bullshit

-also I get that Kiba probably would have wrecked the clones with his human drill shit but why didn’t Naruto just try spamming shadow clones from the beginning

Ep 46:

-Team 8’s dynamic intrigues me. I want to see more of them

-why was ANYONE surprised that Hinata and Neji are related. Like were their eyes not a dead fucking giveaway???

-Kurenai is so mother

-anyways fuck Hinata’s dad

-between this match and the Sakura-Ino match, why did no one tell Naruto to not interrupt the matches

-okay so this confirms that Team 8 is the Konoha team that I would LEAST want to fight, purely because my options are (a) getting my chakra devoured by a swarm of bugs, (b) getting mauled by the human equivalent of Drill Run, or (c) suffering organ failure. Yeah no I’d rather get punched or stabbed by the other teams, thank you very much

Ep 47:

-with his level of precision and the Byakugan, Neji should quit the whole ninja thing and go be a doctor

-oh Naruto you sweet oblivious child

-I am absolutely not sold on Naruto and Hinata as a ship yet btw

-ngl if I was the proctor I would have yelled at Naruto to shut up and stop interrupting the matches

-Lee and Gai continue to be the best duo in this entire fucking show

Ep 48:

-I’ve heard that Gaara vs Lee is amazing, so I’m going in with high expectations

-Gaara is so fucking small next to his siblings

-Lee is so goddamn cute. I love my son

-you know you’re terrifying when SHINO is afraid of you

-Lee is so happy that he gets to go apeshit lmao

-the moment when the leg weights drop was amazing

-also it’s the first time we see Gaara look surprised and off-guard, which really hammers home just how insane Lee is

-I’ve seen it before but the effect of Gaara’s face cracking is so cool

-also it’s funny that Kankuro has fully just joined the Konoha peanut gallery for this match

Ep 49:

-welp Gaara’s gone completely off the rails

-Lee is officially my favorite character rn and it’s not even close

-if Lee can only do taijutsu, how did he pass the academy test and become a genin? I mean maybe it was a Naruto type of situation where other shit happened, but he wouldn’t have been able to pass the test normally, right?

-Leeeeee my silly badass son I love you so much. Peak character of all time

-again, the way Gai says “kaKAshi” cracks me up

-so like is Gai not gonna get in trouble with the ninja government for teaching Lee forbidden jutsus? Like Lee is very blatantly using the Primary Lotus and Hidden Lotus in a government-run exam and it’s pretty obvious who would have taught him those

Ep 50:

-holy shit Lee is fully just going Super Saiyan

-even Neji is shook by Lee lmao

-NOOOO LEE

-Gai stepping in and the background music and noises cutting out was such a good moment

-Gai is legit Lee’s dad and I’m so here for it

-Lee has Naruto solidly beaten for the title of “most tenacious motherfucker in the show”

-that moment with Gai hugging Lee’s unconscious body was so good, my heartttttt 😭

-the medic telling Gai that Lee will never fight again would be much more heartbreaking if I didn’t know that he’s literally fine later on

-the strings instrumental that plays after Lee’s defeat is so good

[caramel-maveeato]

ᴡʜᴇɴ ʜᴇʟʟ ꜰʀᴇᴇᴢᴇꜱ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ♡˚₊。。。

❧❤ SYNOPSIS: sacrifice is inevitable if victory was yearned for… ♡ Pairings/Love interest: So Mun x Fem!reader ♡ Genre: sight fluff, angst, hurt/slight to no comfort ♡ TW: blood, crying, wounds, gore, cursing, death, self-harm, spoilers for ss2 ep12. ♡ word count: 2.1k

Note: All characters originated from “The Uncanny Counter/Amazing Rumor” except for Y/n.

English is not my first language!!! Sorry in advance if I make any grammar and vocabulary mistakes.

A gentle glimpse of sunset snuck through the window, bathing in his entrancing eyes like a pond of honey: “‘Til death do us part. I mean it.” 

“Damnnn, you’re so cheesy today!” You snorted, nudging your shoulder against your boyfriend's, who was quick to retaliate with a playful flick on your forehead.

“Oh shush. But I’m serious. I won’t die, and you won’t die, and everyone on our team won’t die. That’s it, I’ll make sure we all survive no matter what.” 

Despite his lighthearted tone, you could tell So Mun was beyond sincere about keeping his promise, and so were you. No matter how deadly it is waiting on the future path, everyone will make it out alive. 

“Um-hm, am I that dear to you?”

He scoffed, but there was no sign of mockery or ridicule, only playfulness emerged: “Yes, you are. First time knowing?”

“Please, I’m almost sick of how many times you said you unequivocally adored me, like everyday morning alarms, y’know?” You giggled, wiggling your index finger out in front of his face and quickly withdrawing it when he faked biting you: “But I still want to hear you verify it one more time, is that too much of a request?”

“After you had the audacity to say you’re getting sick of it, I’m sorry to announce your request has been declined.”

“Noooo.”

“Yeeees.”

“I take back what I said, I could never get sick of how many times you express your cheesy little lovey-dovey words for me. Like everyday morning alarms, but that means I can’t wake up and function normally without them.”

“Switched up smoother than I expected.” His effort at holding back a laugh evaporated: “That’s it? You just gotta be all sweet again after the “damage” you’ve caused? Your attitude is getting out of hand.”

You snickered, swiftly stealing a peck on his cheek to demonstrate an “apology” you knew he’d happily accept: “Verify it one more time and I’ll shut my attitude up.”

“I’ll do what you asked, but don’t shut it up.” A honeyed kiss pressed down on the top of your head. His arms closed around your waist a little tighter, enfolding the intimacy of your afternoon cuddle session to its fullest: “When hell freezes over, that’s when I’ll let go of you, satisfied now?”

You grinned, not acknowledging a dusting of pink already saturated across your cheeks. No matter what your level of lactose tolerance was, his “cheese” was always perfect for you in terms of ingestion: “Satisfied.”

The group portrait tranquilly sat on your desk, smiling at you two through its frame with the same encouragement. You and So Mun were the only ones in the room, yet the sense of security it conveyed still made you feel complete. 

“Everyone in this picture will make it until the end.” 

“I already did my part, what about you? Still determined to be stubborn and not say it back?”

Confronted by a tilt of his head, which was one of his ridiculously adorable tactics to persuade you. You eventually let out a frisky sigh and laid your head on his shoulder, eyes closed under the serenity of being with your beloved other half:

“Alright, ‘til death do us part. I mean it too.”

‘Til death do us…

‘Til death…

‘Til…

Too many things happened in just a short span of time, but all enervation departed as the unrelenting battles now came to an end. Knowing he had brought such miracles summoning Hwang Pilgwang, the overwhelming pressure intruding on his heart finally rested. 

For the first time in months, So Mun could finally escape the hushed corridors of his own mind. 

Finally.

As much as his teammates adored him, they weren’t dramatic people. Yes, it was a near-death experience for all, but the entire team knew they had succeeded, so there was absolutely no reason for them to give him such pained looks. His random thought contorted into an affirmation that they weren’t crying because he remained passed out longer than supposed.

The revolting metallic smell in the room sickened him to the core, yet it stood no chance against how atrociously nauseous So Mun felt being greeted by teary faces as the first thing after he woke up. 

For years he was never this afraid of his own voice, afraid of asking a question that might assemble answers he didn’t want to hear: “What’s wrong…?”

Only suppressed sniffles responded to him. 

The ambiguity only added more confusion to his already fuzzy sight. As much as he tried to deny it, something within him had already enclasped the possible truth he’d choose death over knowing.

Why was everyone crying? And why were you lying there on Hana’s lap, eyes closed, unmoved? 

“Noona, she, Y/n…” Fright clogged up inside his throat, making words stumble. The more he tried to stay calm, the more his composure shattered like a sand castle under ruthless waves: “What’s… what’s wrong with Y/n, why is she…?” 

He could feel Jeokbong’s hand supporting his back as he lunged over to your side. The sudden outbreak of panic was dizzying, yet he paid no attention to it. 

Reddened eyes of his teammates all ran away from him, obscuring themselves from a cry threatening to burst. So Mun inhaled shallowly, his own lungs betraying him with how torturously aching it was with each breath taken upon seeing your body now completely motionless. 

The welcoming warmth of your fingers was replaced with a vague, yet disturbing coldness, benumbing his skin when he grabbed your hand. The shock he felt appeared no different from receiving a thousand strikes at once, inside his ear rang a quiet shriek of nothingness: “Ms. Chu, please tell me…” 

At her name being mentioned, all the anguish she bit back for long unleashed in a choked snivel—a realization to So Mun that this wasn’t just some cruel, twisted nightmare he thought he was having. 

Time seemed suspended, sealed within the shadow of horror. 

This is not a dream. 

“No, there must be…” He stammered, squeezing your hand as an expectation that you’d return the gesture like you’ve always done: “Ms. Chu, there must be a way to save her. You can heal her, right? Y/n is strong, with your help, she’ll wake up in no time.” 

His voice died down when the woman closed her eyes, letting hopeless tears pour down her bruised face. He looked at Motak, then Jangmul, then Hana, then Jeokbong, one by one, desperately searching for a gleam of the dullest light he could at least clutch onto. 

Nothing worked. What happened had already happened.  

He took a closer look at your face, only to be pierced by a blade of emptiness. He had always loved to admire your sleeping face—so relaxing, so gentle, so peaceful. But not like this. No matter how loudly he called your name or how hard he shook your shoulders, you still lay there like a soulless doll, so close to him yet horrendously out of reach: “Y/n, wake up…. We won, we finally won…”

Calloused fingers stroked along your cheeks, looking for the slightest hint of miraculous movement. He was known to be good at performing miracles, but at the moment, even his miracles were impotent to save you.

So Mun had never felt so fucking useless.   

“No, she will be okay…” The facade of incredulity crumbled and he found himself seizing you into his arms, clinging onto the thin thread of fictional faith despite already noticing your body lacked the familiar warmth he fell in love with: “Y/n will be okay. She—she promised me she’ll be fine, she’s just taking a nap.”

Hands patting on his back like a call to the truth and cries eventually broke out, yet So Mun was too senseless to care about any of them. His mind was too busy hunting for your heartbeat, but all he received was the echo of silence. 

He pressed his hand on the side of your neck, eyes sore and fingers trembling lamentably at the absence of life. But the growling heartbeat of his own gave him hope—he could feel its rhythm through his digits. That could be your pulse, right, that must be your pulse, he can feel it.  

“She will be okay, we’re okay. I promised all of us would—”

The mutters of your name sank in the weight of disbelief, of false reassurance. His own tears wracked his body, dropping and dampening a piece of your soiled tracksuit like rain that slowly blasted into thunderstorms. 

He stared blankly into the lifelessness you were holding, dirt stains and blood-dried cuts of yours dyed his fingers with monstrous pain. Suddenly, his own existence felt alien, as if he were an outsider peeking into a world he didn’t belong in.

So much for “everyone will make it until the end,” now what?

He is a liar. 

He is a fucking liar.

For one of the rarest times in his life, he regretted trying. So Mun knew exactly what it felt like to regret. Each time, there was an explosive outrage at the injustice that had befallen him. But this one was the most destructive. 

Maybe Ma Juseok was right—what was the point in risking his life to save others? He tried so hard and worked so hard just for fate to repay all of these fucking efforts by destroying everything he had.

A lie. Maybe it really was a lie. 

Maybe this goddamn self of his was a lie. 

His distorted reflection spun and spun and spun like an annoying bug that kept buzzing despite numerous attempts to kill it. He had no idea where he was or how much time had passed, but it felt like an eternity knowing you hadn’t reached Yung. Just where are you? You didn’t vanish from the final battle’s impact, did you?

So Mun needed to see you again, or he’d go fucking crazy. 

The palpable heaviness in the air suffocated him. So Mun never hated his own reflection before, not until right now.

Colors deformed into the entrance of an abyss he wished to just jump into—black of darkness, white of Yung, muted grey of guilt.

And red, too. 

“So Mun! That’s enough!!”

Frightened yellings and sounds of falling glasses slashed on his ears. Yet So Mun couldn’t quite hear or feel anything, not even the hideous pain he just put himself through. 

Footsteps congested the bathroom he was in, tears that once dried up erupted again. Hana grasped his wrist tightly, almost fearfully, and god, the warmth exuded nearly drove him mad with how much he missed yours. 

“Stop hurting yourself, you know it doesn’t change anything! She’s gone!” The crack in Hana’s voice flooded his eyes. They couldn’t even pronounce your name around him, afraid of how much it might trigger him. 

Jeokbong’s cries in the distance and Ms. Chu’s pleas were helpless to distract the profound grief, more like a bargain for fate to rewrite itself: “Let it out, but please, you know it also hurts me to see you like this!”

The woman emanated a green radiance to envelope his hand, trying to console the blood-soaked skin he created himself from a brutal contact made against the mirror, tiny fragments of sharpness punctured on each of his knuckles. Shards warped together with flesh in a grotesque mess, crimson swathed the once-tidied floor and the paleness of his skin. It hurt his eyes. It hurt everyone's eyes. 

You used to say he looked good in red. Red tracksuits, red hoodies, red blazers. But you hated it when he was covered in the redness of blood. Does this mean he just failed you again?

“I’m sorry…” 

Was he saying this to his teammates or to you? He had no fucking clue. But the only thing he could recognize was how much effort it took to breathe, he didn’t feel like himself inside his own skin anymore when everything around him seemed fulminated. 

Strong arms whooshed him into an embrace, cramming So Mun’s hot tears and muffled sobs into a reliable shoulder. No words were spoken, but Motak’s bellowing heartbeat was already a silent bawl. 

Losing a loved one was like having life’s chapters torn out, leaving an unfinished tale with ragged ends that never fully fit in tandem. It can recover, and he can heal. Just not at the moment.

Shattered pieces of blood-drenched mirror reflected a history that repeated itself. Again, again, and again.

Winter was just gone by, hell didn’t freeze over. But the reality So Mun cherished still collapsed on that day.

[Tag List]✿⌦ @slytherinshua (feel free to notify me if you want to be on the tag list)

Thanksgiving is near so here’s angst I guess 🫶🏻 FLUFF AFTER THIS I PROMISE

[shiftingparadise]

I want you to (part 2)

Here's a part 2, hopefully you'll enjoy it just as much. I'm going to work on your requests again. Enjoy reading 🤍✨

PS: I really want to continue Soft Spot, anyone any ideas? 🥰

WARNINGS: smut - angst

Word count: 1979

“I got something for you”, a soft smile on his face. “An envelope?”, I frowned. “Open it”, a spark in his eyes. “No, you didn’t. How did you get tickets to the opening of his art show? W-we weren’t invited”. “Well, now you are”, he chuckled. “How did you-“. “Doesn’t matter”, he gestured for me to come over, “Everything for my princess”. “Thank you”, I hastily sat down on his lap before plastering kisses all over his face. “I can’t believe I get to be one of the first persons to see his work”. 

I sighed as I relived the memory. How could he fake something like that? He seemed so content, so proud of himself for making me happy… Now, he wanted nothing more than to see me cry. It all felt so cruel to me; so unfair.

“I don’t want to today”, my eyes glued to the floor as I sat down on the bed. “I don’t care”, his hand softly wrapped around my throat, “I’m going to make you mine”. “I’m already yours”, I whispered as my hands were tied behind my back. “Because I force you to”, he took a step back. 

I rubbed my wrists together, to loosen the rope around them. I didn’t understand why he tied my wrists together, there was nowhere for me to go; nowhere I could go. 

“Blue suits you well”, his eyes studied the lingerie he chose for me, “Goes well with those bruises I gave you yesterday”. 

A sudden hate started to rise to my throat. I didn’t want him to find me pretty. At least not like this.

“Those aren't bruises”, I narrowed my eyes, “You bit me”. “Only because you were acting like a brat”, he roughly grabbed my jaw. “Let go”, I tried to pull away. “Again? Haven’t you learned your lesson?”, a disgusted look on his face. 

Feitan never hurt me. At least not like he hurt others. Sure, he bit me, he sometimes even scratched my back a little too hard, but he never cut me. He never even tried to break my fingers or my leg. He never did any real damage. 

“What are you going to do? Bite me? Like a dog?”, a defiant look in my eyes. “Watch it”, his eyes grew dark. “Or what? I’m not scared of you”, I sat up straight. 

 H-huh?, my eyes widened as I felt the back of his hand against my cheek. This was the second time he hit me. It was a sudden reminder of his strength. 

“On your hands and knees”, his voice colder than usual as he freed my hands. “N-no”, I loudly swallowed. “I won’t hold back this time”. 

He didn’t need to raise his hand. The way he looked at me was more than enough to make me obey. 

“Good”, he got behind me as his fingers gently traced over my spine. I flinched once I felt his cold fingertips. “Oh? What’s wrong?”, he mocked as his hand wrapped around my hair. Without saying anything else, he pulled my head back as his lips hovered next to my ear. 

“Scared?”. 

“Yes”, I tried to hold back tears. 

It was best to just go along, to give him what he wanted.

“I thought you weren’t scared of me”, he pushed my head into a pillow as his other hand gently pulled my panties down. “N-no”, my knees pulled together like magnets. “Don’t”, he softly pulled them back open with his knee. A chuckle as he looked down, his digits already where my body needed them the most. 

I closed my eyes in shame. I didn’t want him to notice how much my body needed him.  

“I’m going to breed you until you can’t walk anymore”, his tip already pressed against my entrance. “Even when I hit you, when I hurt you, you’re body still wants me to fuck you. Isn’t that funny?”. 

“Please Feitan”, I closed my eyes, not sure what I was pleading for. I didn’t want him to stop, but I didn’t want him to continue either. It was a constant battle. 

“I can’t wait to see your belly”, he grunted as he pushed in, “You’re going to look fucking perfect with my baby inside you”. 

“F-fei-“, I lifted myself as he pushed even deeper. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight”, he chuckled as he picked up the pace, “I want to see you cry, you know that? I want to see that cute nose turn pink, your eyes all swollen… But you’re already used to this, aren’t you? You’re used to being my pretty doll that I get to fuck whenever I want”. 

Used? I didn’t need to get used to it. I enjoyed it every time. Even if I cried, even if I begged him to stop... I never really wanted him to.  

“W-wait”, I tried to protest as he flipped me onto my back. “What if I carve my name in your skin, would you cry then?”, a sudden edge in his tone.

I closed my eyes in response. I didn’t want to see the look in his eye; the joy he felt.

“Tsk”, he clicked his tongue as he got more rough. It seemed that he got agitated for an unknown reason. 

He didn’t want you to know how soft he was for you. He really wanted you to be scared for him, but he didn’t enjoy seeing you like this. He couldn't keep this up. His heart ached at your hurt.

“Don’t worry”, he softly guided my chin so I could look at him, “Won’t do stuff like that. Not to you”. 

An unwilling flutter in my stomach. 

“J-just keep going”, I arched my back. “Don’t worry”, he let his head rest against mine. A sign he wanted to feel my touch. “You’re such a good boy”, my hands gently wrapped around him, “You’re always making me feel so good”. 

He didn’t know what happened inside him; why there was this sudden warmth running through his veins. 

“More”, a whisper I could barely hear. “You’re going to make me come”, I gently grabbed his hand, guiding it to where I needed him the most. “Fuck Feitan”, I smiled as my breaths got heavier, “You’re making me feel so good”. 

He pulled away. His eyes were now glued to my face. There was this unsure look on his face; as if he didn’t understand what was happening. 

“I want you to come with me”, my eyes rolled to the back of my head, “Want you to fill me up. W-want to have your baby”. “Y/N-“, his eyes widened as I pulled him closer each time he pushed into me. He didn’t answer. For the first time, he stayed quiet. ‘F-fei”, I softly sighed as I came undone. He followed shortly, but there was no warning when he came. No sigh, no moan, nothing. 

“Feitan?”, I sat up straight as he got dressed. “I’m going to tape your mouth shut next time”, he sat down next to me again, “You’re getting too confident”. 

My eyes went round in disbelief as I noticed a smile on his face. 

“I want to have twins”, his smile disappeared again, “A boy and a girl and I’m going to give them everything I didn’t have. A loving mother, a warm house, toys, books, … I want to go on holidays together, I want to celebrate Christmas, I-“, he suddenly paused. “I know you don’t want to be mine, but I know you’re going to give our children everything they need”, he looked to the ceiling, “Just as I know you’d protect them with your life if necessary”. 

He was beautiful when he showed his soft side. I could look at him forever when he was like this. 

“I need to go out at night, for work. I’ll see you in the morning”, he placed an awkward kiss on my temple, a gesture he probably never meant before. "And don’t try to leave. I’ll have someone here to watch you”. 

—-

“Get up”, his cold voice rang from behind the door, “Breakfast is ready”. I wanted to rebel, to tell him I wasn’t hungry, but it would be futile. “Y/N?”, he raised his voice from a lack of response. “Just a minute”, I forced myself to answer before putting on the clothes he laid out for me. 

Every day, around 6 AM, he’d come into my room and neatly lay out clothes for me. Yesterday it was a short skirt with a Ralph Lauren sweater, the day before there was a beautiful, pink dress… 

“I want to wear sweatpants”, I sighed while I adjusted my skirt. For some reason, he gave me an extra short, black dress today, paired with some Lousboutins. Needless to say, I didn’t feel very comfortable. “Hm?”, he raised an eyebrow as he took a bite from his toast. “N-nothing”, I hastily forced a smile on my face. “Eat”, his eyes low. 

God, I hated this silence. There was nothing left for me to do other than wait. 

“I need you to do something for me”. “What?”, I softly replied. “Went out last night”, his brows pulled together, “I need you to take care of me”. “Take care of you?”. “I’m hurt”, he slowly stood up, “I need stitches”. “I-I can’t… I’ve never-“. “Bathroom”, he interrupted my nervous pleas. “B-but-“. “Won’t ask you twice”, his cold eyes stared into mine. 

I nervously shuffled behind him, scared to admit that I couldn’t stand the sight of blood. 

“I’d normally ask Machi”, he grunted as he leaned against the sink, “But she’s on a mission”. “Okay”, I wrapped my arms around my waist as he took off his shirt. “See?”, he looked down at the wound. 

My stomach started to turn. Feitan had wrapped a bandage around his waist in an attempt to stop the bleeding, but the once-white fabric had already turned red. 

“Here”, he grabbed a couple of things out of the cabinet. “D-don’t you need something for the pain?”, I slowly walked closer. “It’s fine”, he grunted as he got rid of the bandage. 

Right. I should’ve known better than to look at the wound. 

“What?”, his cold eyes grew more tired by the second. “N-nothing”, I tried to get some feeling in my fingers by shaking my hands. “Hurry, it hurts”, he let his head fall back. I nodded before I cleaned his wound. 

So far, so good.

“Shit”, Feitan grunted at the stinging sensation of the disinfectant. “Sorry”, I softly responded before looking at the needle. “It’s fine, just hurry”, he looked to the side. “S-so”, I cleared my throat as I held out the needle. 

I couldn’t do this. I knew I couldn’t. Why did I even try? 

“Think 8 stitches are enough”, he pulled his brows together as he examined the wound. 

I just nodded as my head started to spin. The wound looked even more awful as blood kept dripping down onto the cold tiles. 

“Y/N?”, Feitan’s voice sounded strange. As if he was yelling from far away. “Y/N?”, he repeated as dark spots took over my sight. “Fuck”, he gritted his teeth before catching me. 

—-

“Hm?”, I grunted as I tried to figure out where I was. “Finally”, Feitan sighed, “You were out for a couple of hours”. “A couple of hours?!”. “You were probably tired. It’s not like you sleep much at night”. “H-how do you know?”. “Doesn’t matter”, he placed a bag on my lap. “What’s this?”, my brows pulled together. “Sweatpants and a sweater”, a discontent look on his face, “You wanted some, right?”. “Y-yeah”, I softly replied. “I got some more clothes. They’re already in your closet. Wear whatever you like”. "Y-your wound-", I didn't care about the clothes. "Already took care of it", he lifted his shirt, "Now get some rest. You're tired".

[punks-never-die205]

Kid and His Toys

Idk if this will turn into a proper series, but I think about Kid and toys so much I figured I might as well start writing them out and getting them out of my head.

Cw: afab reader, no pronouns used, Mouse, anal, toy, cock warming mentioned, references A/B/O, biting, mdni

You look at the small toy, clearly unimpressed. The series of beads get a little bigger as it progresses, but for one of Kid’s toys it’s really small.

“Don’t let how it looks now fool you, Mouse.” He says with a wicked grin. “It’s coated in latex but the stuff inside expands with heat, and body heat is enough to trigger it.”

“Expands by how much?”

“Not enough to do damage. I’ve tested it a lot, and then we did trial runs before now. But I can put this in that sweet little tight ass of yours now, and by dinner you’ll be gaping and ready.” He promises.

“If you say so.” You mutter, bending over the bench and putting your ass in the air. “And today I’ll just stay in here the whole time?”

“Yeah,” you can feel him pressing lube into your ass even with the toy’s small size. “Me and the guys have been through it, but I want to be sure with you before you spend a day with one of these in while you’re out and about.”

“Ever the cautious one.” You muse, humming as his finger pushes into your ass. “I do love that about you when it comes to your inventions.”

“You love all of me, Mouse.” He asserts, smacking your ass cheek and getting you to squeak and squirm a little.

“Fuck yeah I do.” You moan the words arching your back, knowing his face is flushed at the declaration.

Kid lubes up the toy too, and then starts to push it in. It always feels weird at first, and he works it in slowly. By the 3rd bead you’re holding onto the bench and melting into the sensation. It’s not just the toy - Kid knows what the fuck he’s doing.

“This is the fourth one, three more to go.” He informs and teases you at the same time, the next slightly larger head pushing in easily.

“Fuuu-Hnnngh, ah. Shit. It’s not fair how good this feels.”

“Heh, you’re like one of those omegas in those comics you and Heat like. Thirsty little fuck no matter how or what hole is getting filled.”

“It’s just cause it’s you.” You pout.

“Oh?” Kid leans over you, pushing the toy to where you can feel the next bead stretching you a little more. “Want me to mark you when you cum then? Drive my teeth,” his words are hot against your back and you can feel him moving to the nape of your neck. “Nice and deep,” he pushes the next part in and you gasp. “Right here?”

“Fuck, fuck, Kid, dammit -.” You squirm but he has you well and pinned. “That spot, you’re, hitting!”

“Heh, man or woman, some people are just blessed to be sensitive in all the best places.” He huffs into your hair, toy seemingly laser targeted onto the spot that’s sending jolts through your body light electricity.

He reaches out with his free hand and grabs one of yours. You hold onto that hand with both of yours, legs and toes curling as he works the toy until you can feel the unavoidable rush of an orgasm building.

“Am I going to bite you, Mouse?” He questions, voice low and commanding.

“Yes, yes please!” You gasp the words, desperate to know how it feels.

“Gonna mark you as mine,” he growls. “Let you warm my cock while this toy expands in your ass. Keep you all to myself today, Mouse.”

“Yes! Yes! Fuck, Kid, I’m kuh-cumming!” You nearly scream the words, and as the pleasure tears through you the bright sting of Kid’s teeth piercing your skin rips pleasure and pain both to new heights. The pleasure wins out as he thrusts the last two beads into your ass.

Kid leans back as you melt into the afterglow. He smacks your ass and you moan, shifting sweetly beneath him.

“Nice work, if I do say so myself.” He muses, running his fingers over the bite mark on your neck. “Let’s get that cleaned and bandaged, then you can sit in my lap while I work.”

“Keepin’ yer cock warm?” You mumble, as Kid helps steady you on your feet.

“Heh, fuck yeah. If you’re good and patient I’ll reward you.” He promises, leaning down and giving you a greedy kiss. “Make you cum so much you’ll work that behemoth out of your ass all in your own.”

[folklore-girl]

ek ladki bheegi bheegi bhaagi si — a short story

a/n: okok so i tried my best for you @androgynous-pavbhaji <3 since this is your secret santa gift? im so sorry for posting this so late, this was supposed to come out a long time ago.. but ig happy new year? hope you like this!

word count: 0.6k

warning(s): bad writing, cringe dialogues + a shitty asf story in general :( im so so sorry.

raindrops splattered on the sidewalk as i hurriedly made my way to the bus stop, my clothes drenched from the downpour. my hands held up my handbag to shield my head from the rain and to try and deflect some heavy raindrops, but all in vain. for the millionth time, i cursed my stupid self for not carrying an umbrella, even though we were deep in winter, and there was no way I could’ve predicted this. i still should have.

and, to top it all, i was horribly late to my bus.

when i reached the bus stop a thousand years later, my shoes were soaked and my head was in an overdrive. i noticed a guy—probably my age—waiting at the stop too and decided i should probably wipe the mess off my face.

so, i took out my napkin, just to drop it on the ground like an absolute idiot. and as i bent to pick it up, the guy on the right offered me his napkin, in spotless white.

i was scared. not of the guy, but of ruining his napkin by using it. he saw me hesitate and said, “arey, it’s fine. i have spare.”

“pakka?” i asked, uncertainly.

“yup,” he said and i thanked him, smiling.

he smiled back. and i thought, wow. i guess men aren’t all bad, then.

i took the napkin from him and dabbed my face with it gently, still scared to damage it. when i was giving it back, he said “it’s ok, you can keep it.”

“you sure?” i asked again.

“yes!!” he laughed, “it’s alright, you know. i don’t bite.”

“no, but, i’m not used to all this,” i gestured with my hands and his eyebrows rose in confusion. “kindess?” i finished lamely.

“well then, you will be soon,” he winked and i looked away because i was in a loss of words.

meeting a decent man made me feel like i was in some other dimension, some dream where kind strangers were real and not a thing to read in tumblr posts and fawn over.

by now, my heartbeat had slowed down and my breaths were much less frantic, so we talked about our buses.

“oh, me too,” he smiled, “we’re both going to mumbai.”

“that’s nice,” i smiled as the bus approached the stop, “i bet the ride is gonna be fun.”

he smiled, “hopefully.”

we hauled up our luggage and sat in the bus, me in the window seat with him by my side.

we talked for almost the entire ride there, exchanging our names and talking shit about distant relatives (my lord, we had the same type of humour). and when we grew bored of talking, we both decided to do something else. he plugged in his earphones and i found out that i couldn’t find mine anywhere.

i looked out of the window and i could tell it was going to be a long road.

he noticed and offered to share his wired ones. feeling utterly helpless, i gave in.

later, we discovered that our music tastes were very similar and i soon found myself scooting closer to him as we listened to his playlist together.

by the time shuffle lead us to ‘i guess i’m in love’, i knew the feeling burning up in my chest, threatening to spill over. it was beautiful and warm, like sunlight filtering in through the curtains. like the first day of spring, my heart was blooming and after a long time, i felt the butterflies.

but it couldn’t be, could it?

i woke up to the sound of mumma calling my name. i’d fallen asleep with my head in my arms, crossed on the windowsill while rain poured outside and my chai grew colder with each passing minute. right next to it, my phone had just finished playing the song “ek ladki bheegi bhagi si” on my wired earphones and suddenly the surreal scenario in my head made sense.

i guess it was a dream, after all.

xoxo

[featherlight-touches]

Welcome to Liyue

Zhongli / Venti / Xiao

a/n: a silly little idea I had written down so decided to upload it.

★・・・★・・・★・・・★

Zhongli was troubled.

He was sat at his desk within the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor with his frown directed out of his office window, towards the night sky. A disturbance, he could sense but due to his work schedule, he could not investigate the problem himself.

But there was someone who could do so for him.

“Xiao. Could you come here for a moment?”

Barely a second passes by before the small adeptus was before him, bowed as expected of him. “Yes, my lord. What is it that you need?”

“You can start by referring to me as Zhongli, as agreed.” Zhongli smiled, no real bite behind his words but said as a friendly reminder.

“Force of habit.” Xiao raised his head from his respectful bow. “My apologies.”

“None needed. I’ve called upon you for a small favor,” The Geo Archon stepped up from his chair to walk towards the window, Xiao’s eyes following his movements. “As I’m sure you’re also aware, there seems to be a disturbance within Liyue Harbor.”

“Yes. I can also sense it.”

“And am I correct in assuming you know the cause of this disturbance?” Zhongli’s head peered back over his shoulder towards the smaller male.

“Lord Barbatos. It would appear he is visiting from Mondstadt and is most likely somewhere inebriated within Liyue Harbor.” Xiao explained, causing a sigh to emit from Zhongli.

“Most likely, indeed. I can smell the alcohol consumption from here,” with a deep sigh, he closed his eyes. Zhongli was a man who valued order and decorum above all else and knowing full well what the Anemo Archon was like in his drunken state, it was a recipe for chaos. “I am not due to finish my work shift for another hour, so I am unable to deal with this situation myself. At least, not until more damage has been done.”

He turns to Xiao, who had a knowing expression of the question to follow, the young Adeptus gave another bow at the silent order.

“I shall retrieve him for you. Is there somewhere you would like me to take him? I doubt he would be able to make it back to Mondstadt tonight.”

“Indeed. Perhaps you could spare him your room at the Wangshu Inn? I will make my way over after my work is complete for the day.” Zhongli returned to his desk and took a seat, looking over some documents that needed his attention before the day had concluded.

“Of course, my lor- Uh,” Xiao catches himself, much to the amusement of the Geo user. “Zhongli…” he finishes, before teleporting out of Zhongli’s office.

He knows Xiao is one of the only ones capable of dealing with the bard and it put the man’s mind at ease knowing Barbatos would be off the streets and in a safer environment. With that clarity, he could finish his work in peace.

・★・

The workday had finally ended and after bidding a good night to Director Hu, Zhongli made his way over to Wangshu Inn as per his word. He hadn’t seen Barbatos for a while, so this unannounced visit was very unexpected, and Zhongli had many questions for the travelling bard. He hoped the mischievous Archon wasn’t given Xiao too much of a hard time.

He didn’t even need to ask which room they were currently in, as Barbatos’ loud laughter could be heard down the corridors of the Inn, much to the disturbance of other guests. With an apologetic glance to Verr Goldet who looked unamused, he silently made his way to Xiao’s room.   

“Xiaooo- just one more! Please!”

Zhongli frowned at those words and paused to mentally prepare himself before entering the room. He didn’t know what he expected to see, but Xiao sitting his body weight on top of the Anemo Archon’s back was not on the list. Zhongli blinked at the sight.

“Well, hello there!” Venti greeted, gleefully. “Don’t mind us, we were just negotiating.”

“Is that so?” Zhongli questioned, noting the odd shade of red that sat upon Xiao’s cheeks. “What was it that you were negotiating, if I may ask?”

“He wanted more wine, which I refused. He then proceeded to attack me.”

This made Venti laugh out loud from underneath him. “I didn’t attack you! I didn’t attack him,” he confirmed again to Zhongli, who was still very confused. “I tried tickling him, but he freaked out and that’s how I ended up here.”

“I see.”

Xiao seemed to flush slightly at Venti’s words, his arms folded, and eyes darted away from making any eye contact with anyone.

“Barbatos, this visit is most unexpec-”

“Ah! It’s Venti now, remember?” He held up his finger to interrupt.

“Venti. What is the purpose of your visit?” Zhongli asked, losing patience and jumping straight to the point.

“I felt like visiting an old friend. An old Geo Archon friend who doesn’t return my mail or accept my invites to Mondstadt festivals,” Venti’s smile through his passive aggressiveness caused Zhongli to sigh.

“Yet, you avoided coming to me directly and instead chose to get drunk among the Harbor.”

“Hey, I’m a bard! I had some stories to share, and they had some wine to share in return. How could I possibly say no?”

“When exactly did you plan to visit me during your little drunken stop? If I hadn’t sensed your disruption, I wouldn’t have been able to send Xiao to retrieve you.”  Zhongli took a seat on the spare chair that Xiao had situated in the corner of the small room.

“Ehe, I would have gotten around to it eventually,” Venti then reached back to the Adeptus who still had him pinned and gave his side a playful pinch. “Also, you should teach this one that throwing guests over their shoulder like a sack of potatoes isn’t good etiquette.”

Xiao flinched at the contact. “You refused to follow quietly, so I had no choice. As an Archon, you should have more respect for yourself.”

“Aw, Xiao, don’t be so grumpy!” Venti complained again and that mischievous glint reappeared in his eye. Xiao’s eyes narrowed, challenging the Archon to try it again and see what happens.

“I would advise against provoking him, Barbatos.” Zhongli commented from the chair, knowing there was no real way of stopping what was to come. But hopefully seeing Xiao put Venti in his place will ease his headache.

“It’s Venti!” and with that, the Anemo Archon uses his gust of wind to push Xiao off him with enough reaction time to pounce the Adeptus, his fingers immediately squeezing Xiao’s sides with childish laughter. “Now behold, as I spread joy to your grumpy Adeptus!”

Xiao was stunned by the speed of the Archon despite his drunken state, his movements were unpredictable and quick Xiao couldn’t coordinate against the fingers at his sides, and then his ribs and then his stomach.

Zhongli could see the panic in Xiao’s eyes and could only imagine the amount of resistance he was trying to give against the laughter. He watched with amusement. After all, Xiao did need to laugh more in Zhongli’s opinion, given the life he has lived. So, he watched as Venti mercilessly tickled him before getting up and making a pot of tea for them all.

“Z-Zhongli!” Xiao strained, his fang biting his lip to desperately stop the laughter threatening to escape. “M-Make him s-stop!”

“You and I both know that he will not stop unless he hears you laugh, little bird. Why not just give in to it now so that we can move past this quicker?” Zhongli smiled down at the struggling Adeptus, stirring the tea in his cup.

“B-But.. AH!” Xiao yelped as he felt Venti’s mischievous and ticklish fingers contact his bare skin.

There was the laughter, a beautiful and rare sound indeed.

“STAHAHAP!”

“Oh, Xiao, your laughter sounds so pure and bright. The world deserves to hear it more, all through the night.”

Ah yes, a true poet indeed, Zhongli smiled into his tea. “So, my old friend. Is there anything else you would like to do on this visit? Aside from getting drunk and torturing my Adepti, of course.”   

Venti hummed in thought, not stopping his playful assault. “I wouldn’t mind taking a visit up to mountains, like the old days. Or maybe you could show me around the city some more? It’s been so long! I barely recognised my way around.”

“It has been some time, yes. I will see if Director Hu can allow me some time off during this visit. However, in the future, I would advise letting me know in advance to not inconvenience her.”

Venti scribbled his fingers all over Xiao’s tummy, laughing at his mirth before acknowledging Zhongli’s words. “Well, you never responded to me, so how was I to know?”

“A fair point. I will make sure to check in and respond more often, as well. I have been busy with trying to adjust to my new way of life, I seemed to have lost track of other matters.” Zhongli said over Xiao’s laughter.

“No kidding!” Venti pouted. “I’m hurt that you could just ignore me like that!”

“Speaking of ignoring,” Zhongli smiled and pointed down to the laughing Adeptus. “Perhaps you should stop ignoring his pleas, and give him a rest?”

“Huh? Oh!” Venti giggled, almost forgetting that Xiao had begged for mercy almost ten times already.

“T-Thank… you.” Xiao greedily breathed in air, his cheeks tinted with a mixture of pink and red, it wasn’t long before his glare returned up towards the Anemo Archon, who gulped.

“I think I’m in danger…”

“It would appear so. I did advise against it, you know? And because of your disruptions today I have no intention of stopping him.”

“Xiaooo, we can talk about this right?”

Xiao recovered his stamina and lunged. Venti’s cry for help falling on deaf ears.

“Welcome to Liyue, Barbatos.”

[scrollonso]

It Makes Sense — 1 (out of 2?)

“No… Domi, listen, I di-” Pecco was cut off by another angry yell being spouted by the phone. “Can you actually just listen to me?! Stop fucking screaming over the phone, I can hear you just fine!”

Pecco had been on the phone with her for almost an hour, and for the entirety of that time Bez had been laying on his back, watching the older man through half-lidded eyes. They were oh so busy, and she oh so rudely interrupted them. It was funny though, seeing Pecco pacing a hole through his floor in nothing but his underwear, covered in bite marks and hickeys that most definitely did not come from Domi. It put a sense of pride into Bez knowing that no matter who Pecco was with… it would never be them, always him.

Maybe it was fucked up of him to be so happy about it, maybe it made him a messed up person to be glad that no one else could ever make Pecco feel the way he did. But he didnt care, and it didn't change that it was true.

“Just listen to me! Actually fucking listen! Domizia…” He paused for a moment, the sound of the woman's voice booming through the phone speaker. Bez had never liked Domizia, but he also had never liked any of Pecco's girlfriends. They were always so whiny and annoying. ‘Blah blah blah, you and Bez are too close’ ‘Spend more time with me’ ‘Don’t ditch me for him blah blah blah’. All they did was bitch and moan. It was obnoxious.

“I'm sorry, okay? There is nothing else I can say… I genuinely forgot we had plans and I-” he sounded defeated. “What? …No'' Pecco looked over at Bez, eyes raking over his form. Sitting in his bed, shirtless wearing nothing but tattered old ripped jeans with his piercing shining in from the light of the dim bedroom, a smirk playing at his lips. Pecco looked him dead in his eyes before speaking into the phone. “No, Marco isn't here right now, I haven't talked to him all day.”

It took everything in the man not to laugh his ass off. Pecco could obviously hear the stifled laugh because when he sat down on the bed next to him he slapped his arm, whispering for him to shut up.

“… I’ll talk to you later okay, I swear… No I really gotta go,” Pecco sighed. “Domi, I’ll talk to you later… I need to, like, clean up and stuff, my apartment is a mess, seriously I need to go-”

Before Pecco could stop him, Bez snatched the phone out of his hands, not letting go no matter how much Pecco tried to wrestle it out of his grasp. He hung up just as Pecco got a grip

"Seriously, Bez?" He asked, groaning as he looked at the phone in his hands. "You should've let me finish talking it out with her before you hung up."

“Well if you loved her, I wouldn’t be in your bed right now. If you really cared about her, you wouldn’t be covered in my bite marks and my hickeys.”

“Just shut the fuck up Bez… I have to go do damage control.” Pecco said, trying to get up, Bez quick to pull him back down

“Or… you should just stop thinking about her pathetic ass and stay in bed with me, we could continue what we started...”

“As tempting as that sounds, I need to fix this, I can't have her upset at me for long."

Bez just looked at the other boy, rolling his eyes and sighing, putting Pecco's phone on the bedside table next to him. Leaning over and pressing the other into the bed, ducking his head into the space between his shoulder and neck. “She’s sweet, y’know… She cares about me, treats me well.” Pecco spoke softly.

“Does she?” Bez mumbled, pressing small kisses to his skin, sucking on it lightly.

“Y-yeah… She does.” His voice was quiet and full of breath as Bez's hands started to roam around his body, one settling on his hip and the other rubbing his arm.

“Do you love her, Pecco?”

“…Y-yes”

Bez's fingers dug into his hip as he bit down particularly hard on his shoulder, making him gasp, push his head away, and involuntarily buck his hips all at the same time. “If you love her, why am I the one in your bed right now?”

“Bez…”

“You don’t love her, just like you didn’t love the last one, or the one before that. Because every single time, you end up knocking on my apartment door begging me to-“

“How many times do I have to tell you to shut the fuck up!” Pecco smashed his lips onto the other, setting them for a bruising pace, neither minded though. Nothing was ever gentle between the two of them, always fast and aggressive, maybe that’s what they like about each other. They don’t have to tone anything down, they could be awful and mean and still end up in the same bed afterwards.

“It’s not always me seeking you out, you know…I’m not that fucking desperate” Pecco said pulling away from him. “How many times have you pulled me away from hangouts and texted me during dates trying to get me back at your place?”

“And how many times have you done it? Sure, I’m pathetic for asking, but you’re pathetic for listening.”

“I hate you.” He leaned back in, kissing him feverishly. Bez's hands felt so cold against him while Pecco was on fire, skin a flush red. “How do you want it?”

“Hmm? What’s that?” He leaned down to his jaw, kissing and biting at it as Pecco tried to speak.

“You know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

“Just-… Come on.”

He stopped for a moment, teasing with the notion that he was thinking about it, trying to figure him out, but Bez knew exactly what he was asking.

“Oh, if I’m fucking you or you’re fucking me? Well, why didn’t you say that Pecco?” Bez smiled, and god, it did nothing but piss him off. “I don’t know, I think I have a lot to prove. Make sure you don’t call her back..”

“You petty bitch!” Pecco was laughing until Bez moved his hand to the back of his head, tangling it through the short curls, tightening his fist yanking on the hair in his grasp. “Fuck!” He moaned out, head tilted back and mouth open.

“If I fuck you hard enough you won’t even remember her name, will you?”

“Then actually do it instead of just running your mouth.”

Pecco felt the strong sting of a slap across his cheek, so hard it almost gave him whiplash. “You’re not the one telling me what to do here.” Pecco couldn't help but shudder at the sound of his voice, head still turned to the side as he was breathing heavily. If he wasn't hard before he certainly was now. “Wow… you’re fucking disgusting, arent you? Did you like that, Pecco? You like it when I hit you?”

Suddenly, Pecco wasn't moving, wasn't saying anything, eyes fixed on a patch of the dark blue sheets covering their his bed. Bez's stomach almost did a flip, hearing him so silent, not reacting, he worried for a moment that he might have gone a bit far.

“Amo..”

But his worries dissipated as soon as Pecco lunged forward, pushing Bez down and pressing all his weight onto him.

“You’re the one that likes hitting me, I simply humour you.”

Once again, Bez and Pecco caught each other in a kiss that was closer to eating eachothers faces than anything. The brunette's hand moved lower and lower until his palm rested right over the bulge in Bez's jeans, not quite pressing down, just resting there, teasing at the idea of friction.

Everytime Bez tried to buck his hips into his hands, the other would move it up with him, denying him the satisfaction, smiling into the kiss as he did so. He was growing frustrated, Pecco could feel it by the grip of the other man’s hand in his hair and the way he panted between each kiss while moving his hips up desperately. He moved down close to Bez's ear, whispering softly, with a voice far too angelic for anything the two of them were doing.

“And here I thought you were gonna take control, something about fucking me so hard I forget her name?” Bez gave a shaky exhale at the sound of Pecco's voice, taking a moment to collect himself. “I still remember it pretty well, hell… I still remember the way her pu-“

He was quickly cut off by the hand resting in his hair, yanking him back as the other moved forward, small whimpers escaping this mouth as Bez pulled him farther and farther back.

“Bez, Bez, Bez, please-“ he gave his hair another good tug, whipping his neck back and forth as he whined his name “I didn’t mean to-“

But every time he tried to speak, Bez just pulled harder, pulling until Pecco's hands frantically moved up. His palms resting over his knuckles trying to pry him off and release him from that damn death grip.

Smack.

Another harsh slap, his cock twitching when the calloused hand met the soft skin of his face. his cheek was red, his ears were ringing, and god, did he need Bez to just tear his boxers off and fuck him already. He didn’t know how much longer he could take this… how much longer he would last.

“I bet this could get you off alone couldn’t it? Pulling on your hair and slapping that pretty face of yours.” Bez looked at him as he spoke, his eyes showed nothing but adoration for him, and while looking at him like this, like Pecco had hung every single star up in the sky himself, he reared back his hand adding one more harsh slap to his face.

“CAZZO! Bez, fuck!” Pecco almost squealed, the skin on the right side of his face red and raw, a stark contrast to the left, cool and untouched. Bez's hips twitched and spasmed, bucking at nothing but air.

“Yeah… yeah, I could definitely get you off like this, wouldn’t even have to touch your dick… Bet I wouldnt have to fuck you either.” He chuckled. To anyone else, he looked fucking insane, but to Pecco? He almost looked godly up above him like this, holding him tightly in his grasp as he was groveling at his mercy. Yeah… Bez was a cruel and unforgiving god, a god that Pecco would worship at the altar of every chance he got. “You’re such a whore you know that? Sitting here humping the air while I hit you. Does your girlfriend know you like this shit?”

When Bez moved his hand towards Pecco's face, his whole body tense, ready for another blow to the face. He was surprised by him delicately holding his face, it made his cheeks sting no matter how soft the display was… and god did he love the sting.

“She doesn't…”

“What was that, amo?”

“We don't do shit like this together…”

Bez smiled. “Yeah, I didn't think so, I’m the only one that can give you what you need, aren't I?”

“Dont act so fucking smug-” Bez squeezed the cheek had been abusing all night, digging his short nails into the raw skin.

“Dont be fucking rude!” he released him, his grip on his face gone, and pulling his hand out of his hair. Pecco didn't even realize how harsh the grip was until it was released. His scalp was burning and sore, and his cheek was going to bruise, explaining that was going to be… interesting for sure.

Bez, who was propped up on the bed by his knees, finally began unbuckling his belt, slowly unzipping the fly. “I think… You forget yourself.” His voice was raspy, and filled with nothing but pure amusement. “You are so determined to defy me that you deny yourself of what you want.”

“The fuck are you talk-“ Pecco's jaw was grabbed harshly thus cutting him off.

“Shut the fuck up! Your mouth isn’t good for anything but sucking and moaning. Quit fucking talking!” The grip on Pecco's jaw got tighter as he shook his head back and forth.

“Fuck you.” He managed to choke out

“You can do that next time, it's my turn today.”

“Oh shut up-“

“Suck,” he interrupted quickly, staring straight into his eyes.

“Ask nicely.”

“Fine…” Bez grabbed him, shoving his face down, mouth hovering over the shaft of his dick, close enough he could feel every breath hitting the skin. He grabbed the base, tapping the tip on Pecco's lip. “Please open your mouth and suck my dick like the depraved whore you are.”

“That’s not very nice of you, Marco.” Pecco opening his mouth to speak was his first mistake, Bez taking the opportunity to shove the tip of his cock between his lips and quickly to the back of his throat.

He panicked for a moment, trying to pull off, but Bez's hand ruined every attempt at getting away.

“Stop struggling, stop- calm down and stop being a fucking baby about it.” He didn’t let up, not until Pecco stopped gagging and slapping his hands at his thighs. If he wanted to stop he would pinch. “I’m going to let go now, and you’re gonna bob your head up and down and fucking suck.”

And like that, his hand moved away, granting Pecco a small amount of mercy. It was still hovering in case his head needed a good push. Pecco tried to start off slow, maybe tease a bit, he loved Bez's reaction and how he tried to act less pathetic than he was, resisting the urge to whine and whimper when Pecco's mouth was wrapped around him. But Bez was growing impatient, deciding to start bucking his hips and returning his hand in its favorite place, gripping tightly around Pecco's hair. Well, it was his hands' third favorite place.

The first was around Pecco's neck, watching his face turn a light shade of purple before he finally let up; the second was his cock, when he would continue to jerk him off until he is overstimulated and begging him to let go; and third was his hair, when he could yank him around like his own personal ragdoll.

He continued thrusting his hips, watching his dick as it slowly dragged across his tongue and lips, precum and spit dribbling from his mouth. He could finish like this. It was tempting actually, to shove his head down and cum down his throat, basking in the sounds of him choking and the feeling of him struggling to get away.

He pulled Pecco off by his hair, the brunette breathing heavily, gasping almost. He needed to collect himself, Bez was too close and he didn’t want to fill his mouth, no he wanted to finish inside, he needed to fuck Pecco until he was screaming, and cum inside because goddamnit, he was his. He fucking belonged to him. He pulled his head up, kissing him, tongue licking along his lips.

“Lay… down,” he said between each kiss with him. Moving down to suck a couple more hickeys into the very minuscule amount of unmarked skin covering his body.

When Pecco's head finally hit the pillow, Bez pulled his boxers down.

It felt like the world had stopped spinning for a moment, Pecco looking up at him and Bez looking down, jeans still resting on his hips, fly open and cock out, and Pecco laying on the bed with his boxers bunched around his ankles and his body sprawled out like a figure in a renaissance painting. This was it, this was all he wanted, he was all he wanted.

Bez was terrified, and Pecco could see it on his face too, the lust turning bitter and forming into some sort of dread.

“Marco? You calling it quits?” His voice was soft, of course it was soft, he cared. He saw a shift in Bez's expression because of course he did, he knew Bez in such an intricate way — how could he not? And thinking about that only made it worse. “Let’s just… do this later, yeah?”

“No,” Bez blurted out, his hands holding onto Pecco's hips.

“No?”

“No, we aren’t doing this later, I want to fuck you now.” He pushed it away, it’s what he had to do, he couldn’t think about his damn feelings when all he wanted to feel was Pecco clenching around him when he finally cums.

“Mar-“

“If I wanted to fucking stop, I would’ve said the word. I haven’t, have I?”

“No… You haven’t.”

“Then shut the hell up about it.”

“Don’t fucking talk to me like that, you cunt.” Pecco leaned up to get into his face and was imedetly pushed back down. “If you don’t quit being such an asshole you aren’t fucking me at all.”

Bez just rolled his eyes as he reached over to the nightstand to grab the half empty bottle of lube, they had just gotten it a couple weeks ago and it was almost gone…

“I’m being fucking serious.”

He looked at him a moment, popping the cap open.

“Shut up.”

“Don’t want to.”

“Why are you such a bitch about everything?” He complained, squirting a pretty generous amount of the lubricant onto his fingers, not bothering to warm it up before pushing one in.

“Cold! cold cold cold, quit it.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“I’m going to be worse to you next time.” Pecco breathed out, getting used to the feeling as Bez pushed the finger in and out. “You… are going to suffeeeerrr…” His words veered off into a whiny moan when a second finger was added.

“Oh, am I, baby? What’re you gonna do?”

“Gonna… fuck…” The pace of his fingers kept speeding up, making it difficult for Pecco to string a sentence together. “Fuck your face… ‘til you’re crying.”

“Are you?” The third finger was added, this one drew a loud moan out of Pecco, it was beautiful. “Is that all? That’s kinda boring, just until I cry?”

“You know that… collar we got?” That… That’s what made Bez freeze, finger stuck right at the knuckle and eyes a bit wide. If he wasn’t already hard he would have sprung up immediately. “The one with 'Pecco's' engraved on it?”

“I thought we were saving that for a special occasion.”

“I think bending you over in front of me and fucking you until you’re sobbing is pretty special.” It was Pecco's turn to smile at him — still looking so lovely — tan skin against the white sheets, dark bruises and bites littering every inch of his body, despite all that he looked almost innocent. Even when presented to him with his fingers knuckles deep inside curling in whatever direction would make him squirm, he looked sweet.

While talking about putta a fucking collar on him, he looked sweet.

“Getting a bit ahead of ourselves huh?” Bez chuckled out.

“Just preparing for the future.”

Bez considered a fourth for a second, but three was already too many, he knew how much Pecco liked it to hurt. It was just so much fun though, Pecco trying to act so casual while losing his mind just to Bez's fingers. He pulled them out despite every little protest coming from Pecco's mouth.

“Don’t be ungrateful. You are lucky I let you have my fingers.”

“Fuck me.” Pecco gasped out, a hand reaching out to grab Bez's arm.

“Patience.”

“Fuck… me.”

“I said you have to fucking wait a minute. I need to get more lube and-“

“I don’t give a shit about the lube Bez! Fuck me dry for all I care, there's already enough!” Pecco snapped, fingers digging into Bez's arm. “If you don’t hurry up, I’m going to press your goddamn face into this mattress and fuck you myself.”

If Bez's right hand wasn’t busy wiping the remaining lubricant onto his cock, he would slap the already blooming bruises on his cheek.

So… he used his left hand instead, the pristine and clear cheek being marked red, matching the other.

“You’re so ungrateful, did you know that?” Bez grabbed Pecco's thighs, pushing his legs closer and closer to his shoulders, almost folding him in half, leaving his hole on display. “But your body makes up for it, you don’t gotta worry.”

He pushed just the tip in, barely catching the rim before he pulled it right out, entertained by the way Pecco struggled to keep his breathing consistent and his eyes opened.

“Put it the fuck in!”

Another loud crack of palm against skin sounded through the room. “You think you would learn your fucking lesson, Pecco.”

“Please… Marco… Please fuck me, I need you, I need your cock, I can’t…you have to, please, I’ll do anything, please, fuck.” Tears slipped down Pecco's cheeks as he begged for Bez to fuck him. And he just couldn’t help it then, it was almost like he blacked out and his body started acting on its own. Finally thrusting into him, not taking the time to let Pecco adjust and starting the pace quick and brutal. Fucking into him like he wanted to break him in half, like he wanted to destroy him until he couldn’t move a single muscle.

He held onto Pecco's calves as he plowed into him, Pecco not able to shut up, broken moans echoing through the room.

“God, you are such a whore. You need to quiet down before your neighbours hear you… I bet you would like that wouldn’t you?”

“Hmm… Oh… mhmm!”

“Can’t even speak, can you? Is it that good? Do you just love my cock that much?” He didn’t slow down, not even when his hand snaked between Pecco's thighs to run his fingers along the shaft of his cock, lightly caressing it. “Aw, you still haven’t been touched yet have you? I bet you’re really pent up aren’t you? Do you want me to touch your dick, amore?”

Pecco's brain was fuzzy, he could barely focus on the world around him, let alone the words being spoken to him, but he nodded his head.

“Words, use them,” Bez croaked out, his pace faltering the closer he got to the edge. “If you want something, you gotta ask for it.”

“Yes… y-yes, yes, please touch, tou- fuck, oh fuck, Bez, god! Yes, touch my co- Jesus fuck!” He could barely get the sentence out, and that meant Bez was doing it right.

“That’s so pathetic.”

“Bez…”

“Begging just for me to touch you?”

“You told me to!” Pecco almost whined at him, as Bez borderline laughed at him.

“Mhm, and you listened like a good little bitch, didn’t you, Pecco?” He punctuated his words with a particularly hard buck of his hips, his dick hitting Pecco's prostate head-on, making him cry out in pleasure. It didn’t help that Bez finally held on to his cock, squeezing the base of it as he fucked him. Pecco was not going to finish first, Bez would make sure of it. He needed to know that his body wasn’t his own, it wasn’t his girlfriends either, no. It was Bez's. His property and most prized possession.

“Mar… Marco, it fucking hurts!”

“I know, just give me a minute, I’m almost there, baby, I promise.” He kissed him, not hungrily like it had been this whole time, not with aggression or overbearing control but, with a softer passion, the two pairs moving together in the softest gesture of the whole night. Maybe that’s what did it, that small little fantasy in Bez's head that they had more kisses like that, kisses that lingered just for the sake of closeness and not because they needed something to fulfill their bodies needs. Maybe that’s what got Bez to finally cum… or maybe it’s the way Pecco's hole clenched around his cock and he moaned into his mouth as he pulled away… It was probably the second one.

“Fuck… Shit, oh my… Pecco, baby, you are something.” He was so busy riding out his orgasm, thrusts slowing down as he came down, that he forgot about the hand wrapped around Pecco's weeping cock. And the way he squirmed and groaned, begging for him to let go and jerk him off. “Oh, yeah… You need to get off, too. You wouldn’t mind if I just left you like this, would you?

It was a joke, but Pecco obviously wasn’t in the mood to take Bez's shit. His hands moved up to dig into Bez's scalp and pulled his face close, noses touching.

“I don't give a shit if it's your birthday

I will fucking. Kill. You.”

Bez gulped, staring right into Pecco's dark brown eyes. “Hot.”

Pecco sighed, throwing his head back into the pillow, and that’s when he started moving his hand, slowly rubbing his thumb over the slit. He unfolded him and rested his legs on his shoulders. Moving down to take the tip of Pecco's cock into his mouth and suck on it. Tongue swirling around it, encouraged by Pecco's hand resting in his hair and moaning out at every slight movement. He didn’t take the whole thing, using his hand to jerk him off until he was cumming.

Pecco's hips spasmed as he came, screaming out and digging his fingernails into the palms of his hands until Bez pulled off with the most obnoxious popping noise.

“Be… Bez…”

He fucking swallowed it.

“Hm?”

“Apple juice.”

Bez stopped in his tracks, as he was pulling away from Pecco and setting his legs down.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Want it.”

“Aren’t you supposed to drink water after getting your brains fucked out?”

“Yeah, but… I want fucking apple juice.”

“Fine, whatever, I’ll get you apple juice.” He rolled his eyes, standing up and grabbing the box of tissues to throw at Pecco so he could clean himself up while he went to the kitchen.

When he came back in, Pecco was still sitting naked on the bed, now with his phone in hand and a serious look on his face, his head shot up when Bez walked in.

“I'm gonna propose.” the brunette whispered, sighing as he sat his phone down and grabbed his glass. “Christmas Eve, I'm gonna propose..”

“Yeah, okay Pecco.” he laughed, flopping onto the bed next to him.

“I am.” Pecco sat up, looking down at Bez "We can't keep doing this, we're both boys.c

"And?" Bez hummed, closing his eyes "Doesn't stop you from loving my cock."

"Bez. She's a girl, it makes sense for me to propose. This- Us. It doesn't make sense."

He just hummed, he didn't believe him.

Pecco had rehearsed his speech a hundred times in his mind, but standing here now, in front of Domizia in the same place they had their first date, the words felt heavier. It was Christmas Eve, the scent of pine and cinnamon in the air, and the lights from the buildings around them softly illuminated the streets.

Pecco’s breath came out in small, misty clouds as he tried to steady himself. Domizia was bundled up in a patterned scarf, her cheeks pink from the chill, eyes sparkling with the same love and warmth she had always shown him.

He reached into his coat pocket, fingers brushing against the small velvet box. Everything about this moment was perfect, yet his chest felt tight. The words he had planned seemed to tangle in his throat. But he had made his choice. This was right. It made sense.

"Domizia," he began, his voice low but firm, "I’ve been thinking about us, about everything we’ve been through. You’re my everything, the one person who’s always been there for me."

She smiled softly, stepping closer, her gloved hand gently brushing his arm. "Francesco, you’re making me nervous," she teased lightly, her breath visible in the cool air.

He chuckled, but it didn’t ease the tension building inside him. Slowly, he pulled out the ring box and knelt down on one knee, the city lights casting a warm glow on the ring nestled inside. Domizia’s eyes widened in surprise, her hand flying to her mouth as she gasped.

“I love you, Domizia. I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” Pecco said, his voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside him. “Will you marry me?”

For a moment, everything seemed to stand still. Domizia’s eyes filled with tears, her face lighting up with pure joy. She nodded eagerly, her voice trembling as she whispered, "Sì, sì, of course!"

He slipped the ring onto her finger, feeling a strange mix of relief and weight as she threw her arms around him. The world around them felt distant, the noise of the city fading into the background as they embraced. This was the future he had chosen—the life that made sense. But even as Domizia held him tightly, Pecco couldn’t shake the lingering shadow of what he was leaving behind. The man he was leaving behind.

Pecco’s mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions as he and Domizia walked through the softly lit streets, her arm linked through his. She was glowing with happiness, showing off the ring to every passerby who glanced their way. But behind his smile, Pecco felt a storm brewing within him.

He knew what he had to do next. It was inevitable, like a slow-moving train heading toward its destination. His heart ached with the weight of it, the reality of the promise he had just made pressing down on him. He glanced at his watch, the cold metal against his wrist grounding him as they reached the hotel.

“Should we go in?” Domizia asked, her eyes hopeful, her hand resting on his chest. She had no idea of the inner turmoil twisting inside him.

Pecco leaned down and kissed her softly. “I need to take care of something, amore. I’ll be back later.”

She pouted playfully but nodded, trusting him. As she always did. “Don’t be too long, okay? I want to wake up with you.”

He kissed her again, this time with a tenderness that almost broke him. “I’ll be back soon.”

As soon as Domizia disappeared into the building, Pecco let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The tension that had been coiling inside him since the moment he proposed began to unravel, but only slightly. The warmth of her embrace still lingered on his skin, yet it didn’t bring the comfort it should have. Instead, it felt like a reminder of the weight he had just tied himself to — a weight that felt both safe and suffocating at once.

His hand trembled slightly as he reached into his coat pocket, fishing out his phone. For a moment, he stared at the screen, his mind racing. He had just promised his future to Domizia, but here he was, heart pounding, thinking of someone else. Someone who had always been in the background, in the shadows of his decisions, but never fully gone.

Pecco's fingers hovered over the keyboard, doubt creeping in. But he couldn’t stop himself. Not this time. He needed to see him, to feel that familiar rush that always came when they were together—the pull that kept dragging him back, no matter how hard he tried to resist.

With a quick breath, he typed out the words before he could second-guess himself any further.

"I need to see you."

"Now."

He hesitated for the briefest of moments before pressing send, knowing that whatever came next, there was no turning back.

Bez was waiting at Pecco and Domizia’s house, leaning against the doorframe when Pecco arrived. His posture was casual, but his eyes told a different story — darker than usual, shadowed with something Pecco couldn’t quite place. It was a look he knew all too well. It was a mix of anger, hurt, and anticipation, as if Bez had been waiting for this moment with an intensity that mirrored the weight of Pecco's own dread. They had been dancing around this conversation for too long, and tonight, neither could avoid it.

Pecco barely had time to close the door behind him before Bez pulled him in, pressing their lips together in a kiss that was more desperate than passionate. It wasn’t gentle or hesitant. It was demanding, a collision of need and frustration, of all the things they hadn’t said. It was familiar, the way Bez’s mouth moved against his, the way their bodies fit together, like the hundreds of times they had done this before. Pecco responded instinctively, his hands finding their way to Bez’s back, pulling him in as close as he could, as if proximity might make everything easier to understand, as if being together like this could make the rest of the world disappear.

They stumbled toward the couch, breath mingling with quiet gasps as their hands roamed over each other. Bez’s fingers threaded through Pecco’s hair, tugging just enough to send a shiver down his spine, a whine escaping as Bez's lips moved to press against Pecco’s neck. For a brief, stolen moment, it was as if everything was right again, as if nothing had changed between them. The familiar heat between them was still there, burning with the same intensity that always brought them back to each other, no matter how many times they tried to walk away.

But even as Pecco lost himself in Bez’s touch, his mind was racing. The ring on Domizia’s finger felt like a lead weight in his pocket, a constant reminder of the choice he had made tonight. A choice that had no place in this room, no place in the way Bez made him feel. He wanted to forget everything, to drown in the fire between them, to let Bez’s hands and lips burn away the guilt that gnawed at him. But he couldn’t.

He gently pushed Marco back, his chest heaving as he tried to find the words. Marco’s brow furrowed in confusion, his hands still gripping Pecco’s shirt.

“What’s wrong?” Marco asked, his voice low, almost fearful. "You didn't pinch me?"

Pecco pulled away, standing up and reaching into his coat pocket. He pulled out the velvet box, flipping it open to reveal the ring no longer nestled inside. Marco’s eyes widened in shock as he processed what Pecco was saying.

“This…” Pecco began, his voice thick with emotion, “this can never happen again.”

Bez looked up at him, his eyes searching Pecco’s face, trying to understand. “You’re- You really went through with it?”

Pecco nodded, closing the box and placing it back in his pocket. “I asked her tonight. She said yes.”

Bez laughed bitterly, shaking his head as he stood up. “So, that’s it? You’re just going to walk away from everything we had? From us? Seriously?”

Pecco felt his throat tighten, but he forced himself to meet Bez's gaze. “I can’t keep doing this, Bez. We can’t keep doing this. Domi… she’s my future. She’s the one I’m supposed to be with.”

“And what am I, then? A mistake?” Bez's voice was shaking, hurt. “Just some phase you had to get out of your system? Just testing the fucking faggot waters before settling down with some slut?”

“Don't call her that,” Pecco said quickly, stepping closer, his hand reaching out to cup Bez's face. “No, Marco, you were never a mistake. But we both knew this day would come. It had to.”

Bez closed his eyes, leaning into Pecco’s touch for just a moment longer before pulling away. “So, that’s it. We’re done?”

Pecco swallowed hard, nodding. “Yeah. We’re done.”

They stood there in silence, the weight of the moment settling over them like a heavy blanket. Finally, Bez turned and walked toward the door, pausing just before he stepped out.

“I hope she makes you happy, amore,” Bez said quietly, not turning around. “I really do.”

And then he was gone, leaving Pecco standing alone in the dark apartment, the echo of their goodbye lingering in the air.

Marco hadn’t felt this hollow in a long time. The familiar warmth of Vale's ranch — usually his favorite place to be during the holidays — felt like an emotional landmine this year. He couldn’t bear the thought of facing Pecco and Domi, watching them bask in the glow of their engagement while everyone celebrated around them.

It wasn’t just the usual holiday gathering. It was their Christmas now, the first of many where they’d be the center of attention, smiling and sharing their happiness with the world. And Bez? He’d be on the sidelines, forced to swallow the bitterness gnawing at his insides.

So he stayed away. He made excuses — something about needing time to rest, needing space. Valentino had tried to convince him otherwise, even sent a few messages asking if he was okay. Bez brushed it off with half-hearted responses, knowing that even Vale couldn’t pull him out of this one.

Instead of the ranch, he spent Christmas alone in his apartment. The quiet was suffocating, a far cry from the usual lively chaos of his racing family. He tried distracting himself with movies, but they all felt meaningless. Even riding, his usual escape, couldn’t fill the void. Everything seemed to loop back to Pecco — his laughter, his touch, his promises.

He imagined them at the ranch, the others surrounding Pecco and Domizia with congratulations. He could see Domizia holding out her hand, showing off the ring, while Pecco stood proudly beside her. That image stung more than any crash ever had.

[peterbarnes]

Maybe Season 2: Chapter 2

Summary: You work at the TVA as an analyst. Every day is the same- boring case after boring case- but your entire life changes one day when a new variant shows up.

Word Count: 4k

Catch up on season 1 of the series!

A/N: She's a long one - thanks for your patience. In this chapter, we dig deeper into the reader and Sylvie's unique relationship dynamic. Lowkey proud of the character/relationship development.

The chaos of the world faded away as he held you.

The TVA no longer shook, Mobius wasn’t running around like a madman with O.B., the universe wasn’t collapsing. How could it, when you were holding your universe so tightly you thought you would break his ribs? 

You had feared his anger, his resentment - mostly because you knew you deserved it. But Loki didn’t hesitate to gather you in his embrace, arms twisting tightly around you as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

“I missed you,” he whispered.

“I missed you, too,” you whispered back.

“I’m so sorry,” you both blurted simultaneously.

Loki pulled back from you, chuckling with that mischievous twinkle in his eye. 

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he said, caressing your cheek. “You were only doing what you thought was right.”

“So were you.”

“And, about Lamentis -” he started.

You knew what he really wanted to say: ‘About Sylvie.’

“Let’s not talk about that now,” you interrupted. 

The image of He Who Remains flashed through your head. The memory of him telling you about the nature of Loki and Sylvie’s relationship. All mere hours after Loki told you he loved you for the first time. You subconsciously rubbed your chest at the heartache. 

“We have time,” you continued. “Right, now I’m just happy to be back here.”

Loki’s smile faded to a grimace. You watched as anxiety invaded every inch of his body. He started to bite his nails, but you slapped them away from his face before he could do any damage. 

He shot you a look that read: really?

“Bad habit,” you told him.

As a distraction, you slipped your hands into his. He interlaced your fingers before pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your hand. 

“We might not have as much time as you think, my dear.”

Suddenly, the ground between you and Loki split open. The two of you shot back in opposite directions. The TVA shook violently underneath your feet. Your home was being destroyed in front of your eyes - monitors falling to the floor, screens cracking, windows shattering. 

The TemPad in your pocket shot out bright sparks. You shrieked, racing to grab it from your pocket and throw it aside. As soon as it fell to the TVA floor, it exploded, with pieces of metal flying everywhere. A piece of shrapnel was inches away from your face when it suddenly froze, surrounded by a bright green mist. Your eyes turned toward Loki whose hand was outstretched. 

“Nice catch,” you said.

The shrapnel fell to the ground, and Loki rushed over to you. He soothed his hand up and down your forearm, and a chill ran down your spine. 

Slowly, the ruckus in the TVA simmered until it eventually stood still. 

“I need to show you something,” Loki said softly. 

This can’t be good.

- – -

You stared out the glass of the observation room. Dox’s bombs had turned the timeline into a horrifying sight. Pieces of pure time floated away into the ether, the lives of those in it forever lost.

What if one of them was where you were originally from? Before the TVA kidnapped you and wiped your memories. You might’ve lost everything, and you wouldn’t have even known. 

“So you need He Who Remains’s aura?” You asked, not taking your eyes off the timeline.

“Yes!” Said the chipper voice of O.B., who stood behind you at one of the computers. 

“How are we supposed to find him? He didn’t exactly exist in the normal constraints of time. Is there even a past variant of him to find?” You ran circles in your head through all of the variables, all of the possibilities. Nothing made sense, not anymore. 

“Renslayer’s working with him - I heard them,” explained Loki. “Casey’s working to track her TemPad, so wherever - or whenever - we find her, we find him.”

“This is such a mind fuck,” you scoffed in frustration. 

“Tell me about it,” Mobius laughed. 

You jumped as the doors of the observation room opened, slamming against the wall. Casey ran in frantically, TVA guidebook in one hand, TemPad in the other.

“I found her.”

- – -

“I don’t mind a nice skirt, but this corset is eating me alive,” you wheezed, pulling at the fabric across your stomach.

“I, for one, think you look rather stunning,” Loki flirted, shooting you a wink.

“Charmer,” you teased.

“I can’t take you two anywhere,” Mobius groaned. 

The three of you stood in Gilded Age clothing on the streets of Chicago. While the 1800s were hardly your favorite era from the timeline, it was beautiful up close.

Mobius walked ahead, but your and Loki’s steps fell in sync. You linked your arm with his, briefly leaning your head on his shoulder.

“I know you said you didn’t want to talk about it, but -”

“Loki -”

“I need you to know how much you matter to me. You. No one else. Never anyone else,” he hollered loudly. Passerby stared at the two of you, whispering to one another. 

“Apologies,” Loki said to them, tipping his tophat. 

“I know you care about me Loki, but if you feel the same way for her…” you trailed off, unsure of what you would do. You didn’t even want to think about the possibility of his head turning. 

“I don’t,” he exasperated, as if the words pained him to hear. “I thought I was going to die on Lamentis. I’d faced death before, but there was always a way around it. There wasn’t then - I was staring into the face of an inevitable apocalypse. Neither of us were thinking straight and all I did was hold her hand. It was for comfort and reassurance. Not lust, not love, not even affection. All of my affections are reserved for you.”

He put his hand over his heart, his eyes never leaving yours. There was no hesitancy or distraction. The eye contact made you squirm internally, consumed by the bright blue swirls. 

“I believe you,” you whispered, softly smiling at him.

Loki’s eyebrows shot up, almost like he was startled.

“Really?” He asked in disbelief.

“Why is that so surprising?” You chuckled, pushing a stray strand of raven hair behind his ear. 

“People rarely trust my word,” he said, slowly grabbing your hand from his hair. “God of Mischief and all.”

“I trust you, Mischief,” you said.

I’ve never said that to anyone before. 

His eyes glazed over as he smiled at you. He leaned down to kiss your forehead, as he ran his thumb over your knuckles.

“I trust you, too.”

“Hurry the hell up!” You heard Mobius yell from down the block.

You and Loki burst out into laughter. He rarely laughed - it was a beautiful melody to hear.  

“Come on then, lover,” you said, pulling on his hand. “We have a fugitive to catch.” 

- – -

The three of you had split up, searching the festival for any sign of Renslayer or He Who Remains. Loki and Mobius had wandered off to this magic show by a man named Victor Timely. You, however, decided to walk around the grounds, searching the ins and outs of the crowd. 

You smiled at the sighs. Children running freely, laughing with their friends. Families spending quality time together, sharing drinks and popcorn. Couples who got lost in their own little world. You wondered if Loki looked at you the way those men looked at their partners. 

Everyone looked so happy. At peace and unaware of the coming war. These were the people you had sworn to protect. It was one thing to watch over them from the prison that is the Citadel, but to see them face-to-face was glorious. 

A little girl with blonde hair parted into pigtails ran up to you and crashed into your legs, squeezing them tight. 

“Oh!” You startled, looking down at her. “Hello there.”

You bent down to the girl’s height and waved. She waved back with her chubby little fingers.

“Are you alright?”  

“She wants to see you,” the little girl said.

“Sorry?”

“She wants to see you,” the little girl repeated. She was so young, her teeth hadn’t even fully grown in. She smiled at you with her gums. “Go to the ferris wheel.”

“Who wants to see me?”

She opened her mouth, as if she was about to answer, but shut it quickly. She giggled before running off into the crowd. 

It was like the air had turned cold. Every bone in your body told you not to follow. 

Run. 

But, before your mind could come to a decision, your legs started to move. You ran after the girl, ducking and dodging between people. The girl ran up the steps of the ferris wheel, disrupting the line of people who were waiting to ride. You ran into a few of them, and could hear their angry calls from behind you. 

Once you reached the ferris wheel platform, you went to grab the little girl’s arm to stop her, but your fingers went right through her. You pulled your hand back, before reaching for her again. It wasn’t real - she wasn’t real. Then, she disappeared right between your fingers.

“I know illusions are more Loki’s thing, but I knew you sure as hell wouldn’t have followed me.”

You whipped around to see Sylvie leaning against the rail of the stairs. She looked different than the last time you’d seen her - which, coincidentally, was also when you tried to kill each other. She had grown her hair out into a mullet and ditched her traditional Loki armour for slacks and a long green jacket. 

“Well, you’re right about that,” you retorted. 

The air was tense between you, but you could tell she wasn’t here to fight. Her eyes held a level of despair and loneliness you knew all too well. She wasn’t even holding a knife, which was a rare occasion.

“I mean you no harm,” she whispered.

“I know,” you started. “Look, I’m sorry. About everything. That wasn’t how I wanted it all to happen.”

Sylvie bit the inside of her cheek as she stared at you. You could’ve sworn you saw tears build up in her eyes, but she never let them fall. 

Stubborn girl.

“You don’t have to say it back,” you added. “I know you’re-”

“I’m sorry, too,” she blurted. 

“Is that the first time you’ve apologized to someone?” You asked, chuckling. 

Sylvie shrugged, unable to hide the smile on her face.

“I mean, I’m not sorry about trying to kill He Who Remains. After everything he did…to everyone, to me. What did you expect me to do - believe him, trust him?” she sighed, trying to contain her frustration. “But I shouldn’t have hurt you. I never meant to hurt you, you must know that.”

“I do,” you whispered, nodded profusely. “I shouldn’t have hurt you either.”

You walked toward the blonde, drawing her into a hug before she could protest. She didn’t hug you back, but she did drop her head onto your shoulder. 

I’ll take it. 

“I really am sorry about what happened,” Sylvie said, pulling back from the embrace, eyes pleading with you. “And I hope you don’t hate me for what I’m about to do.

“What -”

Suddenly, footsteps boomed up the stairs and screams pierced your ears. A man emerged from the line, tripping over the stairs, and falling onto the platform. He stood up clumsily before rushing over to you and hiding behind your shoulder.

“What are you doing?!” You scolded, shoving the man off you.

“Victor!”

The familiar voice echoed throughout the platform as Loki entered your view. He pushed past people, running over to you and the man, prying him off of you. Loki held the man up by his collar, towering over him.

“Don’t touch her,” Loki threatened. “You’re clearly very good at getting away-”

You caught a glint of emerald in your periphery. Sylvie had drawn a blade from thin air, pointing it at the throat of the clumsy man.

“Sylvie!” You and Loki both shouted.

Loki moved in front of the man, shielding him from his variant. He held his hands up, trying to reason with her.

“Sylvie, no,” he spoke. 

“You stay out of this,” she snapped.

Using her magic, she lifted the man and Loki off their feet. She threw them backwards into one of the ferris wheel cars. She marched over to them, with you right on her heels. The car door slammed behind you.

You ran over to Loki, who was lying on the floor, clutching his side. You slipped your arm around his torso, sitting him up. 

“Are you okay?” You asked, moving the hair out of his eyes.

He nodded, gripping your waist as he stood. 

“Just wait,” he said to Sylvie. “Just wait one second!”

The blonde woman inched toward her prey. 

“You’ve done enough,” she spat. “Now, get out of my face and let me finish my job.”

She swung her blade ferosiously toward Loki. Instinctively, you pushed him out of the way. The blade met your shoulder, cutting through your dress and across your skin. You cried out in pain, gripping your shoulder. Blood dribbled down the fabric of your arm, painting it a gruesome red.

Sylvie’s eyes widened, and she stepped back, dropping the blade to her side.

“No, no,” she whispered to herself. “I’m sorry.”

Loki looked at your arm in horror, and in a blind furry, summoned all his magic. With a flash of bright green, Sylvie had flown back into the window. The glass crunched at the impact, slowly cracking as she fell to the floor. 

Sylvie growled as she pushed herself to her feet. 

“When you showed up out of nowhere to ruin my life,” she yelled at Loki. “You asked me what I would do if one of his variants turned up. And I told you then, I’d kill him.”

Confusion prickled your mind, and you knew you had missed a step. You turned to look at the strange man Sylvie had been trying to kill.

“Oh my god.”

You had been so distracted by the chaos, you’d never looked at him - really looked at him. Behind the glasses and the large hair, it was clear as day. He Who Remains stood before you.

“It’s not him,” Loki said. “[Y/N], my dear, meet Victor Timely.”

The strange man awkwardly adjusted his tailcoat before bowing his head at you.

“Pleasure,” he greeted. 

“Uh huh,” you said, frozen in shock.

“Look, Sylvie,” Loki said. “We need him. Without his help, the TVA will be destroyed.”

“Good. Let it burn. Do you care about anything but the TVA?”

“Of course I do!” He shot back, eyes flickering toward you. 

“The TVA,” Victor stuttered, grabbing something from inside his coat. 

He pulled out a small orange booklet and started flipping through the pages. The TVA guidebook.

“How did you get that?” You asked him. 

He didn’t get a chance to answer before Sylvie lunged at him again.

“I know you just want to be left alone to live a life on your branch,” Loki stopped her. “I understand that. But if the loom fails, and the TVA is destroyed, there won’t be a life to go back to. Not for you, not for anyone.”

Sylvie clenched her jaw. 

“It’s true,” you chimed in. 

Sylvie looked at you and you saw some of the fight disappear from her body. 

“We can’t fix this without him,” you continued. 

“Stopping that place from being destroyed and fixing it are two very different things,” Sylvie told you. “And working with one of his variants is not going to get you either.”

It was like she was pleading with you, begging you to be on her side. But this wasn’t about sides - it’s life or death. 

“Your machete hasn’t solved any problems thus far,” Loki sassed, and you slapped him on the arm. 

“Cut it out,” you whispered. 

He raised his hands in surrender.

“Do you really think I want to be here?” Sylvie asked you genuinely. “Do you think I’m going to get any joy out of killing this man?”

“Of course not,” you shot back. “You’re doing this because you think you have to, but I’m trying to tell you that you don’t.”

Sylvie summoned the TVA guidebook out of Victor’s hands, holding it out to you.

“Where do you think he got this book?!” She cried out. “If you - the ultimate timekeeper - and the TVA hadn’t messed with him, he’d have remained harmless. But instead, you weaponized him!”

“I didn’t do this,” you asserted. “What are you talking about?”

“Renslayer set him on a path that he wasn’t meant for. And now you are waltzing him right back into the TVA. What, are you trying to get him to replace you? You finally realized you couldn’t hack it?”

“Watch it,” you spat, trying to act like she hadn’t hit a nerve.

“He’s the thief of all free will,” she whispered, her tone cold like ice. “The most dangerous man who ever lived.”

“I’ve never met him in my life!” You screamed at her. “He’s not He Who Remains. Just like you aren’t Loki.”

“You haven’t got a clue.”

Sylvie ran around you, swinging her blade at Loki and Victor. Loki used his magic to move you into the corner of the car, out of harms way. 

They were so quick in their movements you could barely see them fight. All you saw was swirls of green magic and wind rushing beneath Sylvie’s blade. 

At one point the two shot blasts at each other simultaneously. The intertwined magic exploded like a grenade. The windows shattered and glass rained down on you. You tried to shield your face, but weren’t quick enough to avoid the first few shards. They scraped at your face before falling to the floor.

You heard Loki yell as the force flung him and Victor from the car and down the platform stairs. You quickly ran to the ferris wheel platform, eyes widening in horror at Loki lying still in the dirt. 

“Loki!”

You ran toward him, dropping your knees into the dirt beside him. You were so focused on him, you didn’t notice Renslayer creep out of the crowd and run toward Victor. 

Bystanders started to surround the four of you, helping Victor and Loki to their feet. Murmurs of questions and concerns rung through the festival. 

“Are you alright?” You asked Loki, holding his cheek.

“Where is he?” Loki asked.

“Timely?” 

“Yes.”

“I’m not sure, I-”

A bright light flashed before you, Loki rushed in front of you, pushing you behind him.

“No fucking way.”

A retro-decorated Miss Minutes stood 20 feet tall before you. She laughed manically as the crowd of people screamed and ran from her in horror. She stomped after them, ripping down flags and lights and throwing them to the ground.

“You better run!” She shoutered in that southern accent.

“She has a lot of audacity,” you said to Loki, rolling your eyes.

“Tell me about it.”

Loki was shoved from the back, and you were about to whip around and yell at whoever did it, before Sylvie marched past him, body-checking his shoulder.

“This is your fault,” she said to him before walking away.

“Honestly!” He groaned in frustration. It was like watching two siblings fight.

“Don’t take it personally,” you tried. “She’s like a moody teenager.”

“Loki! [Y/N]!”

Mobius rode around the corner in a idiotically small tricycle. He patted the seat behind him, as if to say hop on.

“Fuck no.”

“Absolutely not.”

- – -

After running around Chicago for an hour to no avail, you had tracked He Who Remains and Renslayer to a small, wooden lab in Michigan. You walked through the orange glow of the TimeDoor to find Renslayer strapped with a pruning gun, as Victor cowered before her.

While Loki and Mobius shouted at her to stop, you had waited far too long to confront Renslayer to merely use words.

You charged at her, tackling her to the ground. The gun went off in the struggle, pruning random items around the room - a chair, an invention, a mannequin. 

“Get. Off!” Renslayer grunted below you. 

You drew your fist back and punched her right in the face. Renslayer shrieked and clutched her nose, which now had blood flowing from it and onto her cheek.

“You sent me to the void!”

You punched her again.

“You betrayed us!” 

And again.

“I actually thought you were my friend!”

Again.

“You tried to kill the man I love!”

Before you could punch Renslayer again, arms wrapped around your waist pulling you off her. You fought against the hold, twisting around to find it was Mobius. Loki simply stood by the door, beaming at you proudly. 

“That’s my girl.”

Ravonna lay on the ground, unarmed, slipping in and out of consciousness. She tried to push herself up on her forearms, but failed, falling back to the floor.

“You’ve lost your way, Renslayer,” you spat at her. “And you lost everything because of it.”

“You don’t know what it takes to lead,” Renslayer groaned between spits of blood. “You failed.”

You lunged at her again, but Mobius held you back.

“Think happy thoughts,” he tried to soothe. “Puppies, unicorns…jet skis.”

“I don’t know, Mobius, I think you should let her have another go.”

Sylvie appeared from behind you, drawing her sword from her side. She walked over to Timely who recoiled to a corner of the lab. Her blade scraped across the wood as she dragged it over to his quivering form. Loki went to stop her, but you threw your arm out, blocking him.

“Wait,” you told him. 

Something felt different this time.

Sylvie held her blade up at the man’s throat - just close enough to feel like a threat, but not strong enough to pierce skin. 

“Please,” Victor begged softly, looking up a Sylvie. “I haven’t done anything.”

“Oh, you will. You’ll do terrible things.”

“That isn’t me. You don’t know the heart I have beating in my chest,” a tear slipped down his face. “I can make my own choices.”

You watched as the words diffused into Sylvie’s mind.

I haven’t done anything. 

That isn’t me. 

I can make my own choices.

Victor Timely wasn’t He Who Remains. He was simply Victor Timely. And if Sylvie slaughtered him for something he could do, or someone he could become, wouldn’t that make her the same as those she despises? Wouldn’t that directly contradict the free will she preaches? 

“Come on, Sylvie,” you whispered to yourself. 

Sylvie’s bottom lip quivered and her grip on the sword wavered. She breathed heavily, as if she was at war with herself. Slowly, she turned and looked at you, a tear slipping down her cheek.

“Get him out of here.”

You nodded, retracting your arm and letting Loki rush forward. As him and Mobius gathered Victor, you walked toward the somber woman. You wiped the tear staining her cheek. 

“The right things are always the hardest to do,” you spoke. “But we must do them anyway.”

She leaned into your touch and closed her eyes, nodding slightly. 

Mobius opened a TimeDoor and instructed Victor to walk through. Loki followed him, glancing back at Sylvie.

“Don’t make me regret this,” she told him.

“I won’t,” he said before disappearing through the door, Mobius tailing after him.

“What are you going to do with Renslayer?” You asked Sylvie, nudging your head to the woman sprawled across the floor.

“I’m going to take her somewhere she can’t hurt anyone.”

A blanket of silence fell over the two of you, and you wondered if you’ve ever shared a moment that wasn’t at least slightly uncomfortable. 

“Be safe, Sylvie,” you told her, touching her shoulder. 

You walked away. And you didn’t look back.

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