#and the games' large cast of ''handsome'' men

[sparkspropaganda]

but I also know so much of my ND experience is like... growing up with them? so even if I was an adult when I played some of them the memories of the few I did play in childhood resonate. so maybe kids growing up now will find a lot more value in it. BUT.... they're banking on older fans of the games to carry their company. made obvious by the constant references to older games, and frank/nancy, which is regrettably something I *know* their 25-45 yrs old fanbase goes crazy for. so if they're trying to reignite some of that excitement I think it fails on certain fronts. and it's too expensive if you're a non fan looking for a solid puzzle/mystery solving game. but I'm also selfishly glad it exists and that HerInteractive didn't completely go under, due to the aforementioned nostalgia, and that's admittedly very hypocritical of me to say.

[sleepynegress]

*sigh* Featurism...

So, I woke up to this shit on the Twit app and I've only hit on this issue before, but today I'm digging in. Colorism is something that is not addressed often enough, but intersected within that and even more rarely spoken about, is the issue of featurism. The young actress above just got cast as Juliet in the latest big staged prestige production of Romeo and Juliet, opposite Tom Holland. And as usual the blue-checks, everybody else including "black", and even Black regulars are all-in on the cruelty.

...But I want to breakdown a nuance that is too often skipped over when this happens. The two people named with her, give away the featurism game, here; a particularly nasty form of often internalized racism. I guarantee if the young actress looked like this?

She'd definitely still get racist attacks, but the particularly nasty shit I'm seeing attacking her looks wouldn't come. In fact, I could see some people thinking they are defending her with "but she's pretty!" or more specific... "obviously she's mixed" comments. -Something pretty much every Black woman with features that don't align with a narrow perception of blackness hear often (and we'll get to why I specified women in a minute). And don't get it twisted...

These aren't exclusively nor standard white features either (see: the many ethnic features w/in white ethnic groups that also get hit to a lesser and non-racialized degree such as large "hook" and/or Romanesque noses for example, which is definitely about anti-semitism, anti-Romani sentiment, and other disparaged/discriminated against ethnic minorities in Europe) and yes, blue eyes are naturally occurring within non-mixed and dark-skinned Black people due to a mutation called Waardenburg syndrome. But there is a REASON why fetishizing even certain ethnic features within the African continental diaspora has been a thing for a long time...i.e. "the dopest Ethiopian" from the Tribe Called Quest lyric is pictured as this:

and this:

and not this:

...despite them all being Ethiopians of various tribal ethnicities.

A wide-nose, a tighter curl, coil, or zig-zag pattern of hair, fuller lips and often, but not always (because I've given examples above where features "mitigate" skin color) darker skin. Zendaya is grouped with Tracey and Francesca Amewudah-Rivers, despite being both lighter in skin color and having a Black parent and a white parent because her nose isn't what has become the standard surgical look...that too many celebs have. This includes the ones who got so-called "ethnic" work or just a slight 'refinement'. No, her nose is born w/it, made for that good African air, as I call it. Nostrils prominent, nose bridge wide:

I went make-up free as well, because even make-up practices these days, go for that narrowing highlight technique i.e. just below it's subtle.

Sza is a an example of it taken to extremes, even with the Hollywood standard "ethnic" refinement she did get.

The thing is... I don't blame or attack her for that. Because you see above that is just a taste of what happens. Lil' Kim was relentlessly bullied by the men in her life for her ethnic features for her whole life...and that is why she is off-limits to this day for me when it comes to all the work she's had done.

...And this is where I explain why I specified men being mostly exempt. It's because "Blackness" including all the physical features associated with it, is by default masculinized. ...Which is why Idris Elba is considered one of the most handsome men in the world, w/o the caveats that even Lupita Nyong'o often gets. Nobody calls Samuel L. Jackson ugly. He is even idolized and fetishized by a specifically white male gaze for how culturally "Black" he is perceived to be for all the wrong reasons, his signature "motherfucka" for example (and I could go off on a whole other tangent here, but digressing). All this to say... Featurism sucks. It's not talked about enough. Blackness in all variations is Beautiful. Tracy Chapman looking as young she does?? Hell, mark it down to both her dark skin (a natural UV protector) and not messing with her given features (and being a lesbian, men will age you. lol -I got jokes-):

P.S. THANK GOODNESS for Tems and her rising prominence as a beauty as well:

P.P.S. Even Jay-Z the billionaire rapper has had the comments over the years about his lips and nose, hence that lyric in Beyonce's Formation.

[medievalandfantasymelee]

THE HOT MEDIEVAL & FANTASY MEN MELEE

QUALIFYING ROUND: 85th Tilt

Thraxus Boorman, Willow (2022) VS. Tyrion "The Imp" Lannister, Game of Thrones (2011-2019)

Propaganda

Thraxus Boorman, Willow (2022) Portrayed by: Amar Chadha-Patel

“A lovable rogue and warrior, Boorman is sure to make an impression. He's not only a pretty face, he's also funny, brave, and just a little bit sad as any remorse-wracked thief with doe eyes ought to be!”

Tyrion "The Imp" Lannister, Game of Thrones (2011-2019) Portrayed by: Peter Dinklage

“He's a little man. But he casts a very large shadow of horny upon me to this day. George R.R. Martin himself says that he's "a very attractive man" in literally every interview in which actor Peter Dinklage is mentioned. I have always agreed. He's sad and wet and sometimes angry but also forlorn a lot in the series which is always a plus. Also he respects sex workers (99% of the time. Like unless you know, they betray him). The legendary Imp deserves a spot on this list on the merit of his spirit alone as a "drunken lust-filled beast" who kind of has a heart of gold.”

Additional Propaganda Under the Cut

Additional Propaganda

For Thraxus Boorman:

For Tyrion Lannister:

“Clever, shrewd, possessed of a good heart, a handsome face and a voice with such delicious tone that one might listen to him for hours and not tire of it.”

“yes the show fucked up his character in the end BUT idc peter dinklage is still really hot and has such a great voice too”

[talesofsorrowandofruin]

For the character appearances ask game…could you do the main characters from The Case Files of Seo Yo-han?

Thanks! :D Already done Leo and Phil, so here's everyone else:

Yo-han:

This man, however, was wearing a suit in the very latest fashion — Vi worked in the costume department of the Belfast Opera House and Phil had learnt more than she would ever need to know about men's fashions from her — and the material alone had probably cost a hundred pounds. Based solely on his clothes Phil would have expected him to read James Joyce or some other recently-published pretentious idiot who fashionable people claimed to have read so they looked cultured. He was also Chinese, which wasn't unusual on a ship that had just left Hong Kong but was unusual for a reader of Sir Walter Scott. (The Unfortunate Moth -- Phil is the POV character and at this point still assumes all East Asians are Chinese)

The man turned. He was about thirty, well-dressed, and wearing a very grim expression. (Houses Full of Deceit)

Alec:

His face was very pale, and the skin was stretched over his cheekbones and jaw. Yo-han guessed he was probably in his mid-twenties, but he had a haggard, exhausted air that made him look much older. He had dark circles under his eyes, and a fading bruise on the side of his face. (SG)

Alexander Lennox looks plain, forgettable even, in black and white. In real life? The sun casts golden highlights through his light brown hair. His eyes are deep blue. His face is… David can't find the words to describe him but he's the most handsome man he's ever seen. (SG)

Davit:

The most well-travelled observer would have had trouble telling where David Eames was from. He was lightly tanned, with very large eyes, so dark brown they were almost black, and jet black hair. (Silver Glass)

He was a young man of about twenty, with dark hair and wearing a suit -- though not a fine suit like Lennox's. His eyes were so dark that they seemed to be all pupil, which gave him a startling and almost ghostly appearance. Yo-han couldn't see him clearly in the waning light, especially as he was standing just inside the trees, but he had an idea that some intense emotion was written all over his face. Then the man stepped out of the shadows, and his face was perfectly blank. (SG)

Ji-hun:

He was unusually tall, with longish hair and an untidy fringe that hung over his eyes. His arms and legs seemed too long for his body. There was something very unsettling about his face. It was handsome, almost pretty, but the eyes and mouth gave it a cruel look. He stared right back at Yo-han without blinking. (HFOD)

[abyssmarked]

𝐩𝐫𝐞 - 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐮.

what gave her away ? was she too eager ? sometimes nepharia can come on a little too strong, but she’s always posing as a high - end whore for most of these jobs, and high - end whores are expected to be paid handsomely, rich men pay for the most enthusiastic of experiences, usually. perhaps she shouldn’t have sought cazador out, she should have played a longer, more strategic game — she should have let him come to her. she hadn’t been expecting him to be so clever, men typically aren’t known for seeing through her devilish charm, once all the blood flows to their cocks, it’s like they don’t have anything left to power their brains. she underestimated him, and now she’s in a pretty fucked up situation, because she’s been thrown into a…. dungeon ?? yes, a dark, dank dungeon of sorts, and it’s absolutely filthy with small army of feral and hungry vampire spawn.

forced to act quickly, nepharia changes forms, a dark red cloud enveloping her, crackles of electricity popping off of her shrouded, shifting physique. large, pale, fleshy wings emerge from the magical fog, and nepharia shoots up from the dusty floor, thankful this godforsaken place has high ceilings. from above, it looks like there are probably at least 50 vampire spawn in the room with her, all reaching upward with snarling, starving pale faces, trying desperately to climb over one another to reach what neph can only assume is the best looking meal they’ve seen in decades. her black gown fits a bit tighter on her slighter larger form than before, white eyes glowing bright in the darkness of the dungeon. she has limited options. she could use literally all of the energy she can muster to go back to the abyss to her parton empty handed and face his wrath, but no. she’s never failed him before and she’s terrified of what he might do if she does. or should could expel all of her energy destroying all of these creatures, and then having nothing left when she faces cazador again. she’ll surely die.

fuck.

she still has the upper hand in one aspect : cazador doesn’t know exactly what she is. he doesn’t know she has a chance of surviving his hungry spawn. she can’t get any higher, and the way the spawn can still just barely touch the tips of her toes is making her increasingly uncomfortable. she grabs onto some heavy duty metal bars over a blacked out window in the ceiling, mainly for leverage. she holds herself up as flat against the ceiling as she can, tucking in her wings so they won’t be snatched, “i don’t suppose any of you fine specimen are capable of listening to reason, huh ?” she asks, mainly just to break the tension quickly building within her chest as she begins to panic over her choices. she gets nothing but famished snarls in return, “i didn’t think so, but…. it was worth a shot, right ?” she sighs, readying her hand above them as the other holds herself up against the ceiling, so that she can cast a fire ball, knowing good and well that this was going to take a lot out of her. if she really needed to get away later, she could use up the rest of her energy to jump back to the hells before expending too much on a fight she knows she’s going to lose. perhaps her patron would go easy on her, it being her first and only failure, and only if she was facing certain death. but she absorbed an entire life before coming here specially for the occasion, and she tries to reassure herself she should be just fine as the fire grows within her palm, aiming it directly at the horde of hungry spawn trying to reach her.

* closed starter | @vampiheir

[sl-ut]

want

pairing: alicent hightower x fem!reader

description: alicent needed friends–quickly. she was just unaware of how quickly she would become infatuated with one. 

warnings: implied smut (non-descriptive), cheating (alicent on viserys), voyeurism, slight perv!alicent, minor character death, swearing, reader is previously married to a man, fictional religiousness

words: 3.4K

date posted: 27/12/22

There was very little that Alicent had control of. Despite the fact that she was Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, the mother of the king’s only surviving sons, and the daughter of one of the most politically influential men in the realm, there was quite literally very little that she had the ability to influence. The role of queen meant nothing to her–not in the way that it would someday mean to Rhaenyra, who would be queen in her own right–she was simply the king’s wife, not even granted the ability to care for her own children as she pleased. 

When she was young, Alicent had dreamt of a handsome lord who would someday approach her father as a suitor. He need not even be wealthy, just enough in order to provide for her and their children. She had hoped for a love match, someone who would genuinely care for her thoughts and ideas, someone to feel comforted by her faith in the gods, and to be honoured to wear her favour in tourneys. Though her friendship with Rhaenyra had not been one out of pure self-interest, Alicent liked to believe that being so close to the princess might make such a thing possible for her. Unfortunately for her, the princess’s small frame casted a large shadow. This left her with very few options who were genuinely interested in the prospect of marrying her rather than using her to get closer to the young Targaryen, and the only one who was interested enough to become her husband was the king, severing the relationship she had with his daughter on the day that they met under the eyes of the Seven. 

Alicent came to understand that she had died that day, and was possessed by an ancient Queen who thought to do nothing but breed with her husband and raise their children dutifully. She thought no more of handsome lords, quickly coming to understand that there were no men in the world who cared so much for the ideas of women–not even Ser Criston Cole, who she had once fawned over while he was Rhaenyra’s sworn sword. She no longer dreamt of residing in a small castle, waking each morning to the sound of many brown-haired children clambering into her own bed beside her, and instead focused on her growing artillery of silver-haired children. She was a pawn in their games, one that would someday grow into a rook of her own, she just didn’t know it yet.

She hadn’t considered the idea of creating her own alliances. As the king’s wife, she was meant to take on his opinions as her own and find friends amongst his allies, but that became extremely difficult following the departure of her father, who had previously aided her in making such connections. Friends were not something that she had been used to–Lord Larys Strong was the closest that she could think of, but she understood well enough that he could just as easily turn his favour to her enemies for the right incentive–and she had not even considered taking a lover. Being caught with another man in her bed would be grounds for execution if her husband thought it fit, though she was certain that Viserys was too fond of her to do such a thing, even if he did not truly love her. Then, once she took note of the clear acts of adultery and undeniable lies made by Princess Rhaenyra, she could be silent no longer. 

Lord Dorean Fyres was an old man, who could scarcely stand on his own two feet even while being aided by his heavy wooden cane. He was known for being quite a spectacle in his prime; strong, handsome, wise, and a great military leader. It saddened the queen’s heart to watch him stagger into the great hall, a man who she knew solely through melodies and books appearing so frail. He was six-and-eighty, much older than most men lived to be, though it did not seem that he would live to be much older. The man was a legend, creating an overwhelming sense of awe amongst the nobility, though Alicent was more drawn to the woman at his side.

She could not have been any more than a quarter of his own age, dressed in a fine gown of plum velvet. She gripped his arm tightly, as if she were nervous, though Alicent could clearly tell that it was more for the benefit of keeping the large man upright rather than to calm herself. She smiled brightly at the members of the court as she passed by, the slight waver of the corners of her mouth proving to the observant queen that she was struggling to keep the pair of them upright, but was not willing to allow her husband to feel so ashamed of barely being able to walk.

The king greeted him fondly, telling him of the many stories he had heard and how honoured he was to be hosting him. Lord Fyres coughed so hard in response that it rattled his chest, unable to fully form an entire sentence after such a long trek through the Red Keep and patted the hand that held his arm gently, prompting her to answer the king.

She bent slightly at the knee, curtsying to the king, “Thank you, Your Grace, but it is simply an honour to be here in the Red Keep. My husband has told me many stories of the great palace built by your ancestors, but he could truly do it no justice.”

“Thank you, Lady Y/n,” The king nodded to her, “We have long awaited your arrival, I can only hope that the journey was not too long or stressful.”

“Of course not, Your Grace,” She smiled prettily, “Nothing could prevent us from attending your tourney.”

Lady Y/n: the diplomat, Alicent had named her. She reminded her of herself; married to an older man, caring for him as he grows old and weak, speaking for him when he simply could not. The only difference was that Y/n had not yet supplied him any children, though the large group of young men that had accompanied them had proven that his late wife had done the job thoroughly enough. Alicent even doubted that the old man would survive performing his marital duties, though she kept that much to herself. 

The tourney was drawn out and exhausting–long days in the sun were not Alicent’s preferred way to spend her days, especially while trying to keep her young children calm and quiet enough as to not upset the other nobles who were given the opportunity to sit with the king and his family, and Alicent would not admit that she was more than glad when it was finally over. She had, however, enjoyed the brief moments that she had shared with Lady Y/n while watching such a gruesome event. 

They had scarcely spoken more than a dozen times, but Alicent could not prevent herself from silently observing as she tended to her husband dutifully, or made the king laugh harder than she’d seen him laugh in years, and especially so as she conversed with her children. The young princes and princess were enraptured by her nature–Aegon, while having very little to actually discuss with her, was clearly enjoying the way that her gown allowed him a simple glance down her neckline when she crouched to speak with him; Aemond was in awe at her knowledge in the histories, not to mention how enthusiastic and animated she was as she recounted it to him; Helaena was simply glad to have someone who did not gawk at her when she said strange things, and giggled when Y/n allowed her to place a small spider in her palm, despite the clear discomfort on her features at the feeling of the creature crawling around her skin. 

Alicent was certain that Y/n was the kind of person that she had been searching for–someone so similar to herself that she could estimate her every move. She needed someone who understood her place in the world to be on her side, to defend her and devote themselves to her cause. She needed to seek out Lord Fyres on his own, finding some way to convince him to remain in the capitol for a while longer, though her plot was quickly spoiled on the morning following the closing feast.

“Your Grace,” Alicent was shaken awake by her handmaiden Talya, “Your Grace, you must wake up.”

“What is it, Talya?” She murmured, propping herself up on the goosefeather pillows.

“My Queen,” The young woman bowed her head, “I regretfully came to inform you that, early this morning, the Lord Fyres was found dead in his chambers.”

Alicent choked on her breath, “What?”

“The maesters believe that he may have suffered a stroke, but that he met the Stranger in his sleep, thank the gods.”

Alicent frowned, “And what of his lady wife?”

“Lady Y/n is awake, Your Grace, I believe she is at prayer.”

Alicent nodded, pushing herself out of bed hurriedly, “Quick, help me dress.”

The sun had only just begun to rise when she was woken for the day, but she cared very little as she sent word to the newly widowed lady, asking her to join the queen and her daughter for their morning tea. When she arrived, Alicent admired the dark shade of amethyst that she wore, hair confined in a simple style, and while her face was clean and her smile warm as she greeted them, the swollen nature of her eyes and lips betrayed the fact that she had been weeping.

“My lady,” she greeted her, rounding the table to grasp both of her hands within her own, “I am so very sorry for your loss. Your lord husband was a fine man, a legend. My only regret is that you have not yet conceived a child with him to keep him in your memory.”

Y/n smiled at her graciously, “Thank you, Your Grace. I assure you that my late husband and I were not seeking children in the months that we were married, but the sentiment is appreciated all the same.”

Alicent smiled softly at her, “Please, sit. You must be starved.”

Helaena was eager to ramble on and on to her new friend, grinning to herself each time that she received small phrases of praise from the woman, and blushing when she stroked her cheek affectionately. Alicent sat silently, simply watching as her daughter bonded to the woman so easily, something that was quite rare for the young princess, even in the case of her own father and brothers. 

“How are you fairing, My Lady?” Alicent asked, leaning forward on the table, “I cannot imagine the stress that you must feel.”

“I am doing well, all things considered, Your Grace. I only pray that my late husband has found peace and has been reunited with his first wife. I have only heard stories of my predecessor, but my husband spoke of her so fondly that I am certain that he was truly in love with her.”

“I am sorry to hear that, Lady Y/n. It must be difficult to know that your husband’s heart belongs to another.”

Y/n smiled fondly, “To be quite honest, Your Grace, my marriage was one of purpose, not love. My husband needed someone to care for him just as I needed to marry a wealthy man to support my own family. Lord Fyres offered me a safe home, and a somewhat happy marriage with him until his death. We had a… an agreement on the matter.”

That left Alicent feeling uncertain. She spent the remainder of the day wondering what sort of agreement could be made in such situations, though she felt unable to ask in the presence of her daughter. Y/n remained close, greeting her in the hallways and joining the pair for tea on a daily basis, and finally agreeing to return to stay in Kings Landing as her companion after travelling to her husband’s funeral in his ancestral home. She was away for two months before her return was announced, though Alicent decided to offer her the day to rest after her long journey before she would invite her back to her chambers. 

“Talya,” Alicent called impatiently, tapping her fingers forcefully on the arm of her chair, “Where is the Lady Y/n?”

Talya appeared nervous, “I do not know, Your Grace. Ser Criston has gone to summon her, but they have not yet returned.”

As if his ears had been burning, Ser Criston entered the Queen’s chambers, but was on his own. Alicent frowned at him, raising her brow in question as he explained to her that Y/n was not in her chambers, and her servants had told him that she was on a stroll in the gardens. 

Peeved, Alicent thanked him and ordered Talya to serve the tea. Helaena was quiet without the Lady’s presence, and drank her tea quite quickly before excusing herself, leaving Alicent on her own. Alicent sat there for a few moments, staring at the empty seat opposite her own, and scowled as she forced herself out of the chair and crossed the room.

The air was warm outside, and a slick sheen of sweat quickly coated Alicent’s flesh as she reached the gardens. Ser Criston reluctantly took post at the entrance back to the Red Keep and she continued to wander throughout in search of the young lady. She stopped several times to reluctantly speak to noblemen and women who were eager to gain her favour, but she was quick to bid them farewell before they could begin any overly prolonged conversation. 

She quickly grew more and more angry when she could not find Y/n, taking a seat on a stone bench surrounded by hedges, leaning back and releasing a long-withheld sigh. The queen took that moment to admire the gardens; Flowers blooming under the unforgiving sun, the sea casting a calming breeze over the city, while the large water fountain directly across from where she was seated provided some ambiance so that no one within the Red Keep would need to hear the busy streets of Flea Bottom, or the men in the harbour, or the quiet moaning from nearby–

Alicent froze, easily recognizing the erotic noises coming from behind her. Glancing back and forth to ensure that no one was watching, she peeked through the hedges, eager to find the source. 

Her eyes widened as she recognized the figure of her favourite lady at court, propped against a half wall with her back facing the queen, hips wiggling eagerly as her head tipped back, pleasured noises falling from her lips. Alicent could easily spot the large mound beneath her skirts, someone had clearly slipped underneath in order to pleasure her, forcing her thighs apart. 

Alicent cringed as a pang of hurt found its way to her chest. Had Y/n abandoned her in order to bed another man so soon after her husband’s death? Perhaps this was the arrangement she spoke of, her freedom to take other men to bed while she provided him with companionship. 

She felt guilty, watching such an act, but simply could not look away. Her eyes wandered her figure, admiring how her body shuddered with pleasure as she chanted profanities. Her moans were melodic, growing faster and more eager as she grew closer to her climax, before her jaw finally dropped open with a silent cry, her body stilling as she reached her peak. She chuckled quietly as she came down, a sight that Alicent revelled in as she felt heat pooling in the pit of her own stomach. She averted her gaze down as she noticed the fabric of her skirts moving, wishing to discover which man had been causing such pleasure, though her heart stopped when she laid eyes on a tall serving girl, hair mussed and lips shining with Y/n’s arousal as they embraced in a warm, open-mouthed kiss.

Alicent jumped to her feet, cursing to herself as she knocked a small statue over. She turned, hoping to escape before anyone noticed her, but stopped in her place when she heard Y/n’s voice calling to her.

“Your Grace?” Y/n’s head was tilted in confusion, cheeks darkened with a deep blush as she rounded the hedge.

Alicent stared at her, stunned and unsure of what excuse to make as the young lady peered through the bushes, noting that any acts taking place behind them could, in fact, be seen from so close.

“Your Grace, were you…”

“Lady Y/n,” Alicent cleared her throat, “I have half a mind to ruin your reputation, but as a friend, I will simply advise you to keep such improprieties within your own chambers.”

“Your Grace, I beg of you…”

“And I will advise you not to be late to tea again.”

Days passed, and Alicent did not bring the situation up again, despite facing Y/n for several hours each day. The lady seemed to be uncomfortable with the queen ever since, having been caught in a compromising position by a woman as religious as the queen was. She was quiet, spoke when spoken to, and made as little eye contact with the queen as possible, though Alicent simply could not drag her eyes away.

She imagined the serving girl, how she had kissed Y/n’s plush lips, how she had tasted her sweet nectar, how she had brought her more pleasure than Alicent could even imagine. She wondered if other women had been granted such a luxury, or perhaps were able to take in every inch of her supple flesh, touch her as they pleased, and had her do the same to them. 

One morning at tea, after Helaena excused herself, Alicent dismissed her servants, claiming that she had urgent business to discuss with Y/n in private. Y/n appeared nervous as she watched them all file out of the room, gulping as the door closed behind them, leaving the two women alone. 

“Your Grace, if this is about the other morning–”

“It is.” Alicent confirmed, standing from her seat and crossing the room to gaze out the window, “Tell me what happened.”

Y/n was silent, “Your Grace?”

“Tell me what happened. Did she force you?”

A small smirk appeared on her lips, though she fought to disguise it, “No, Your Grace. She approached me, that is true, but I wanted it just as she did.”

“I see. And do you… want it often? With other women, I mean.”

Y/n shrunk into herself, “I do, Your Grace. I am very sorry.”

Alicent chuckled, “Do not apologise, you cannot help this affliction the gods have given you.”

“I beg your pard–”

“And neither can I.”

Alicent turned to face Y/n, finding her expression as one of shock as she understood the queen’s words.

“Do not misunderstand me, I love my husband and my children very much, but I look at you, and feel desire like no other.”

Y/n stood from her chair, “Your Grace, I had no idea.”

Alicent cleared her throat, “Have you been with other women?”

“I have,” Y/n shrugged, “That was the arrangement I spoke of, the one I had with my late husband.”

Alicent chuckled, “And would you be with me, if I asked it of you?”

Y/n grasped the queen’s hands within her own, stepping closer so their chests brushed one another, “Are you asking it?”

Alicent breathed, “I am.”

Y/n smiled, forgoing a verbal response and opting to lean forward and capture the queen’s lips with her own, a gentle embrace that allowed them both to get a feel for one another. 

Alicent pulled back, “Thank you.”

Y/n laughed, “You need not thank me, Your Grace. I want you just as you have wanted me.”

Alicent kissed her again, this time raising her hands to cup her face, “Have you done what that girl did to you?”

“I have. Would you like me to show you?”

“I would.”

Y/n grinned, kissing her once more before she gently pushed her away, “Get on the bed, and I will show you more ways than you can imagine.”

[prettywordsyouleft]

Stars of Hope

Pairing: Kwon Soonyoung x female reader

World: The Broken Moon

Genre: fluff / royal au

Warnings: an injury talked about briefly

Prompt: “Make a wish.”

Word count: 1930

“Make a wish.”

Looking around the lavish ball before you, everything seemed to come to a standstill at your father’s words. They weren’t anything magical, in fact, you had heard the King proclaim them affectionately for each birthday you had celebrated. Tonight, however, the three words felt like a desperate lifeline.

You took in the faces of the noble men and women in attendance. Their dresses and suits were a rainbow of vibrant colours. The lights that danced in the sconces and chandeliers made the expansive room look as if it were full of stars. For a moment, you imagined the night sky instead, the endless opportunities it seemed to possess. Anyone could look to the heavens and see the same sky above despite their status.

You swallowed slowly. There was nothing that held your interest here. No one who you wanted to dance with. And certainly, the heat coming from the man at your side was not the one you would ever waste a wish upon – unless it was to remove him.

There was nothing particularly bad about Prince Rufus. No, he was acceptably charming and handsome. He had adequate education and could hold a conversation without turning pretentious or dull.

Yet his face wasn’t the one you saw in your dreams. He didn’t smell of a hard day’s work, nor did his hands possess callouses. There weren’t stray bits of hay or animal fur linting his suits, and his eyes weren’t dark at all but like shards of ice.

Oh, how they weren’t the eyes that led to the soul you loved.

With another blink, the frozen state of the party seemed to click back into play, hushed anticipation of your birthday wish on the tip of everyone’s tongue. Would you wish for another great harvest that would line the pockets of the kingdom’s wealthy? Would you wish for bountiful babes to be born and enrich the future? Or would you wish for a healthy union with the prince of the neighbouring kingdom at your side?

Everyone wanted to know.

And yet, the only thought that crossed your mind made tears threaten to water your eyes. Once upon a time, there was a princess miserable in her castle walls.

The angst of that night many moons ago still crippled your heart.

“Princess?” your father prompted, his jovial smile faltering. “You’re delaying your wish, my dear.”

“I wish,” you started shakily, blinking several times to compose yourself. “I wish…”

I wish I was free.

I wish I woke up in the arms of a man who sleeps in a hayloft.

I wish I hadn’t broken his heart and mine.

I wish for a fairy-tale ending after all.

Your cowardice haunted you even on your birthday. How many full moons had you wept upon from your balcony now?

“I wish,” you said more strongly, the words bursting from you before you could stop them. “For love to conquer all.”

The hesitance before the claps of your people wasn’t missed by you, but you had already turned on your heel, moving out of the spotlight and towards the large double doors that led away from the fray. Gathering up your skirts, your heels clacked upon the marble floors, the only sound of your departure.

It was a fool’s game you were playing now. But you had to leave, had to right your wrongs, had to—

“I dare say this hasty retreat feels cumbersome, princess,” a voice called after you, and you skidded to a stop, casting your eyes to a pair sizing you up. Rufus circled you, a frown creasing his forehead. It was as if he were seeing you for the first time, and he didn’t quite like what he saw. “Where on earth are you going? Are you feeling faint, betrothed? You have yet to eat some cake.”

“I have no appetite for such excessiveness,” you announced, looking him square in the eye. The coldness of his gaze didn’t hurt as much as you thought it would when you finally defied him. “I must go.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere that doesn’t require me to stand in place and smile at people I have no interest in serving.”

“How selfish of you.”

“Indeed. I’m a very selfish being,” you agreed, starting to climb the grand staircase before you. “I’m the absolute worst kind of princess. I’d make a horrible wife and a pathetic queen too.”

“Are you trying to make me dislike you because you’re doing a grand job of it. What has gotten into you, princess? You’re far too mild in temperament for such a display of—”

“Of what?” you cut in, spinning around, and dropping your dress. You cocked your head and felt your tiara upon your head slip to the side. Yanking it out of your hair, you shook it repeatedly. “You want this, do you not? Well, here. Take it. I don’t want it.”

“I was promised a princess. Not just a crown.”

“I’m merely a girl shackled by a sparkly headcollar,” you responded, throwing it down the stairs and stomping your way up them to your bedroom. It didn’t take you long to change and gather your worldly possessions. For someone who could have anything, all you cared about fitted into one bag. And since the loss of your mother some years ago, there wasn’t even someone to farewell on your departure.

No one followed you as you left the castle. There was no one searching for a missing princess from her own birthday party, no less. You knew no such scene would occur tonight, not with so many people in the palace. As you dashed across the moors, your lungs filled with the night air and a smile graced your lips. Even if Soonyoung hadn’t waited for you, tonight marked your eighteenth birthday – your first night as an adult. You would make your own future somehow.

You would control your destiny.

Despite the lack of moonlight, you knew the way to his family farm. You had avoided coming near it all this time, so when you saw the red barn in the distance, a sob rose in your chest, and your legs pumped faster. You slipped through the pasture gate and onto the property as you had many times before, not even hesitating to creak open the barn doors.

“Who’s there?” called out a voice, and you froze. It wasn’t the one you hoped to greet you at all. Had you been too blind in your grief for Soonyoung to assume he’d wait for you too? The love you had seen shining in his eyes and had tasted upon your lips in that kiss was genuine, was it not? That was why he had been so angry with you when you refuted his feelings all because of status. You had been a coward that night and broken you both.

Had you learned your lesson too late and lost him to another woman?

“I say, who’s there?” the female called again, and you sighed, stepping forward. You would face this regardless of what fate held for you.

“I don’t mean to intrude,” you announced, and a groan left another person in response. That, you did recognise, and without another thought, you climbed up to the hayloft, assessing the situation before you. “Soonyoung, I—”

“Who are you to address my brother?” the girl demanded, arms folded over her chest and blocking your sight of the man behind her. You hated the rush of relief that surged through your veins at her being one of the many siblings Soonyoung possessed. Yet the next groan from the man had you dashing across the rickety wooden floor, dropping down beside the pile of hay that Soonyoung slept upon so his younger siblings could share the bed in the house.

“What’s happened?”

Soonyoung was grimacing, but he suddenly grew still. “Y/N?”

“Attacked in the woods by a wolf he was. Papa told him to not chase down the pigs, but this nitwit went off to save their hides. Good lot of use it is having them back now with you this injured, brother.”

“I can get a healer to him,” you said, surveying the large wound on his torso in horror, getting back to your feet to leave in haste. A hand reached out and gripped your ankle.

“Don’t.”

“I can’t have you die on me!”

His sister started to laugh. “Oh, Miss. He won’t die. It’s merely a flesh wound. He’s just a baby about these things.”

“It looks ghastly!” you informed them both, unsure if you should believe his sister at all and not fetch help.

The girl, however, gave you a once over. “You weren’t here for the summer he got rot on—”

“Soomi, stop,” Soonyoung pleaded and shook his head. “I need you to go get more boiled water. Y/N will help me for a moment.”

Soomi eyed you both before nodding and slipping back out of the barn. It was silent between you for a moment as you eyed the exposed body before you. Soonyoung’s gaze was upon your face, and you knew you needed to meet it, but you were overwhelmed by seeing him again.

Almost all of him too, it seemed, considering the blush staining your cheeks.

“There’s no moon tonight,” he finally stated, and you looked up just in time to find him glancing out the hayloft’s window.

“There’s a sky full of stars, however,” you offered, and Soonyoung turned back to you. This time you met his gaze. “Make a wish.”

“On a star?”

“I made one earlier,” you said, your hands moving towards the cloths at his side and then dipping one into the water in the bowl next to his torso. Wringing it out, you tentatively placed it to the injury.

“What did you wish for?”

“Love to conquer all,” you whispered, darting your focus to where you were pressing into his wound.

A calloused hand cupped your chin and extracted it away from your chest so he could catch your eyes again. Soonyoung searched them for an immeasurable moment, hope rising within his warm brown gaze. It made your heart thud faster, erasing the cold look he had shone upon you in the field last time. “You mean that?”

“Of course. I wished for it in front of all those present at my birthday party. And those wishes usually come—”

Lips pressed into yours, and you didn’t hesitate to kiss them back, releasing all the months of pain and loss upon them. As the embrace grew deeper, the rebuilding of hope for the future overtook the weaker feelings, hands gripping onto each other until Soonyoung hissed against your mouth.

“Oh! You’re injured. We need to be careful.”

“The pain I feel now isn’t anything like that you inflicted upon me, princess.”

“Y/N,” you corrected and pointed to your empty head. “See. No crown.”

Soonyoung’s eyes widened. “You ran away?”

“Well, just temporarily. I realised when I got here that to escape the title I am burdened by that I’ll have to return to officially give it up.”

“For a peasant farmer’s son?”

“For the love of my life.”

Soonyoung smiled. “You sound so sure of that.”

“Why, am I not right about you? Have I wasted a wish?”

Looking to the night sky, Soonyoung closed his eyes and clasped his hands for a moment. He then turned back to you and shook his head. A smile, as bright as the stars behind him, lit up his face. “I think you just started to rewrite our story.”

_________________

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[malemacrofics]

Being Alistair's Husband (and Also Occasional Tiny)

A smuttier part 2 has been posted here

You discovered how to shrink yourself while living in the tower of Magi. It became one of your signature spells since you were one of the few students with the skill to actually cast it

Luckily, you were also a fairly competent at casting healing and shielding spells, so getting crushed or suffering another terrible fate while tiny was rarely an issue.

When you joined the Grey Wardens, you were immediately head over heels with Alistair. You found him increadibly handsome and charming, and couldn't get him out of your thoughts that night.

The two of you were rescued after the fall of Ostagar thanks to Flemeth, and the events of the first game play out largely the same with the two of you defeating the archdemon. Although Alistair wasn't happy about you taking up Morrigan's offer to safe both of your lives.

You two began dating soon after helping Arl Eamon. Alistair admired your heroic attitude, and thanked you for helping to save his father figure. Although you confessed your crush first, Alistair almost immediately reciprocated.

However he wanted to take things slow. It was his first relationship, and growing up in the Chantry, he always assumed he was supposed to fall in love with a woman. Although you had no issues taking it slow.

You two first slept together after helping the Daelish. While Alistair didn't want to have to kill Zathrian, he agreed with you that it was the best course of action in the end. The two of you actually sleeping together happened a week or so after this.

You decided to show Alistair your shrinking spell soon after you two started dating. It was late at night, and you were both in your regular clothes and sitting in your tent. Alistair couldn't believe what he was seeing, and thought it was incredible.

Alistair was initially very hesitant to touch you, not wanting to even risk hurting you. However, after a few days and some reassurance, he built up the courage. You found his hands surprisingly soft, and he was quite gentle with you, never even closing his hand into a fist. Instead you used his fingers as support.

After sleeping together, the two of you began to share a tent. While sleeping two grown men in a single tent would normally be difficult, your spell made it as simple as possible. You were usually on Alistair's chest, his hand holding you close to him. Although you were occasionally sleeping on his pillow, inches away from his beautiful face.

Alistair goes on to become king. While he was more than a little hesitant to do so, you were able to eventually help convince him it was the best for the people, and that you'd be with him every step of the way. Which you were.

He didn't imprison Anora, but instead married her. She was allowed to keep her title, although most people in Denerim knew the marriage was a sham, and just to keep up appearances. In truth, the mage he promoted to Fereldan's first Court Mage was the person he'd spend most of his time around. Regularly staying in the Mage's bed chambers.

Despite having more size in the bed and in the room, the two of you had grown accustomed to your previous sleeping arrangement. And as such, you kept it up. Regularly shrinking down to fall asleep. Something about being a nearly free mage sleeping on the king's chest just made the rest that much nicer.

Alistair eventually realized he didn't need to be nearly as careful with you as he was. And, as such, was more willing to experiment. Whenever he'd have to go out publically on offical business, you were usually on him. Typically tucked into his pocket or attached inside his coat.

[arvandus]

The Sound of Silence (18+ Aizawa x Fem!Reader)

Pairing: Aizawa x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: After once again being stood up for a date at your favorite jazz club, you decide to give up dating entirely in favor of watching and fantasizing about your favorite jazz musician, Aizawa Shouta.  You had assumed you’d never meet him face to face.  You had assumed that he didn’t even know you existed.  You’re about to learn that your assumptions are wrong.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY/NSFW; reader wears a sexy black dress (minimally described); minor sexual harassment; slow build; praise kink (if you squint); hand kink (probably); fingering; ‘baby’ petname.

Special Note:  A few days late, but here’s my contribution to the BNHarem January Collab ‘Making Beautiful Music’ posted by @kingexpl0sionmurder​​. It was supposed to be a oneshot, but this particular piece got a mind of its own and will at least have a sequel. If we’re all really lucky, it may become a multichapter series in the far and distant future, when my life is less crazy (I have ideas, ok??).  In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this fic!

Word Count: 9486

Recommended Song: No specific song at the moment, but this was what I listened to while writing this.

Lesson 1

It was crowded tonight, the air of the small club Midnight hot and heavy with the scent of cigar smoke and booze. The noise of conversations and laughing voices filled the air like the buzzing of a hive, as bodies mingled about like busy bees, each looking for their own bit of nectar.  Some looking to win romance.  Some looking to win money.  While others were simply winning by enjoying the company of friends.  Their movements were carried on the music that filled the space, upbeat jazz played by a three-person band.  It was comforting in its familiarity, developed over multiple visits – some with friends, some with coworkers, and some with potential love interests.

You sat at the bar, a drink held protectively in your hand as your eyes searched.  You checked your phone for messages but found none.  It’d been a full twenty minutes and you were pretty sure by this point that your date wasn’t going to show up.  It was supposed to be your first date in over a month, and you’d had high hopes for it - you’d clicked well with the person on your dating app (or so you thought), talking over the course of a couple of weeks before finally deciding to meet. So tonight, you’d put in a little extra effort into your appearance, donning a black dress that showed off your curves and putting careful attention into your makeup.

Damn. You were genuinely interested in this one.

You sent them a quick text in the hopes that you’d get a response.  Give them an extra ten minutes… You thought. Maybe they were caught in traffic or something.

But by the time you hit the 45-minute mark with no messages, you’d officially given up.  A half-hearted sigh fell past your painted lips. You weren’t really too surprised by this point.  You’d been having terrible luck in the dating scene for a while now.  Sometimes it was them.  Sometimes it was you.  But for whatever reason, each attempt ended in failure.

Oh well. It was likely for the best.  At least you would be able to enjoy the rest of your evening in solitude instead of enduring a potentially disastrous date.  And as for your attire, it certainly didn’t hurt to feel sexy, even if you had no one to share it with.

You loved this place. The atmosphere, the music… you’d even managed to make friends with the bartender Hizashi to the point that he’d walk you to your car on the nights that you stayed until closing.

Your eyes scanned around the room, observing.  Wooden tables littered the main floor, where small lit candles cast yellow light on observing faces, eyes trained on the musicians.  Booths lined along the far wall, filled mostly with men who puffed cigars over a game of cards, their raucous laughter carrying through the din.  Closer to the bar was an arrangement of tall, round tables with matching bar height chairs. A group of women, likely on a ladies’ night out, filled the table closest to you, taking shots and laughing, their heels perched on the rungs.  Waiters zigzagged their way through the crowd with expert precision, platters held high with drinks and snacks, while patrons milled about, waiting for an open table.

And, of course, there was the stage itself, where the jazz band finished their final piece before collecting their instruments and leaving the small stage.  All that was left from their departure was a black baby grand piano, property of the club.  Your pulse quickened as you checked your watch.  Was it that time already?

Not a moment later, there he was.  Long, black, wavy hair pulled back into a half ponytail, the hint of a 5 o’ clock shadow dusting his jawline and framing his lips.  He was dressed in simple clothes, as always… a black v-neck shirt with the sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms and dark jeans.  He entered the stage without so much a glance towards the busy room, instead making his way to the piano with his hands in his pockets. He sat down and from your position at the bar, you could barely see his long fingers arrange themselves at the keys, gently curled.

As soon as he began to play, the mood in the club shifted slightly from buzzing to relaxing.  The flow of his fingers across the keys drew a lazy melody reminiscent of rainy days and hot coffee; of snuggling under warm blankets, feet intertwined with a lover who danced their fingers across your skin, gently tickling your flesh the way his fingers tickled those keys.

Aizawa Shouta.

Of course you knew his name. The first time you’d heard him play, you’d felt weightless, your body going numb as every sensation coalesced into your chest like the forming of a star.  The question of his identity had fallen from your lips before you’d even realized it, and it had been Hizashi who’d answered you, a chuckle on his lips.

Fuck.  It felt like he was making love to you through the notes, each key meticulously selected like a carefully-worded love letter. It made your palms sweat against your glass, your breath hitching in your throat as that familiar sensation took you over, holding you hostage.

This.  This was probably why none of the people you dated ever seemed to work out.  You’d tried… God, you’d tried… some of them were nice, good people.  But you couldn’t help but search for that feeling – this feeling – each time you met someone new.  And every single time it fell short. It was an impossible standard, an invisible bar that no one was able to jump.  Deep down you knew this, yet you couldn’t figure out how to let it go. It was just music, right? Played by a handsome man who didn’t even know you existed.  But you didn’t want to let go of this feeling, to settle for someone that made you feel only an inkling of what he made you feel.  Or worse, to let it go and be left with emptiness.

You had no solutions. You were trapped in Aizawa’s maze of music, unwilling to find your way out as his notes weaved a cage around your heart.

You lost yourself to his melody, the club around you fading away.  Time lost its meaning as you watched his hands dance along the keys, his fingers nimble.  His half-lidded eyes were fixed on the instrument before him, his expression neutral.  To anyone else watching, he would look almost bored; but you’d seen him play often enough that you’d grown accustomed to reading the nuances of his body language, even across the smoky haze.  You knew his look of boredom was really a look of focus as he submerged himself in his art, his hands playing on instinct, a direct link between what he felt and what he expressed.

He loved what he did.

And you loved watching.

Hizashi’s voice interrupted your hypnosis.  “Another night solo, huh?”

You took a look at the bartender as he prepped some cocktails for some waiting patrons.  He had his wire-framed spectacles on again, the orange tinted ones, the color visible from the white backlight of the bar. His long blonde hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, and he wore a pinstriped shirt adorned with a black waistcoat.

You chuckled and took a sip of your drink. “It wasn’t supposed to be.”

“You got stood up again?” You shrugged and Hizashi shook his head slightly.  “If they ain’t willing to show up, then they ain’t worth your time.”

“Probably more like the other way around, don’t ya think?” you replied wryly.

Hizashi scoffed. “Don’t let them get to you. They don’t know what they’re missing.”

You grinned and set your glass down.  “Are you flirting with me, Hizashi?”

He grinned back and winked at you through his spectacles.  “Always, darlin’.”

You chuckled and returned your eyes to the stage. “It’s okay…” you said thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s time I stopped trying.”

“Mhm…” Hizashi watched you stare at Aizawa and he raised an eyebrow.  “Y’know, I can get you an introduction if you’d like…”

“What??”

“Don’t play coy with me, darlin’.  You know who I’m talking about.  If you want to meet him, I can introduce you to him. We’re good friends, he and I. Known each other for years.” He commented.

You weren’t surprised by this news… you’d seen Aizawa join Hizashi at the bar on rare occasions after his performance was done.  But you’d always been occupied at a table with company when it happened. 

Watching him from a distance was one thing.  But actually meeting him?  Up close? Where you couldn’t hide your girlish infatuation?

You felt your pulse quicken with dread, heat flooding your body.  “No, it’s okay.  I wouldn’t want to inconvenience him.”

Hizashi gave you a skeptical look over the rim of his glasses before he shrugged. “Suit yourself, darlin’.”

The blonde stepped away, a new group of customers hollering for his attention.  You took a large gulp of your drink hoping it would quell your nerves at the thought of meeting the man on stage.  No. You definitely didn’t want to meet him.  The last thing you needed was for your interaction with him to be a dud just like it was with all the others, destroying your own secret little fantasy. He was handsome to look at.  And you fantasized about his skilled hands when you were in the quiet of your bedroom. But that was all it was; just harmless daydreams over someone you didn’t really know or plan to get to know. Besides, if you’d ever thought you had a chance with him, you certainly wouldn’t be trying to meet people through a dating app.

Gradually the time ticked by as you enjoyed watching the dark-haired man play, Hizashi stopping in to check on you from time to time and place fresh drinks in front of you.  You were content for the time being, enjoying the steady buzz you were maintaining as you enjoyed the ambiance.  Occasionally you people watched or engaged in conversation with Hizashi when he wasn’t busy… but for the most part, you relaxed as you observed the raven-haired pianist, letting his music ease the tension in your shoulders as the alcohol warmed your bones.

A few hours later, as you were busy talking with Hizashi, the final note on the piano rang out, signaling the end of Aizawa’s shift.  The sudden silence hit you like a bucket of ice water, and your eyes darted towards the stage, your heart pumping panic through your veins.  You had planned to leave just before his shift ended, just to make sure you didn’t run into him.  Maybe it was the daydreaming, or the conversations with Hizashi, or the alcohol... but you’d lost track of time.  Now you could only watch and wait to see where he’d end up, hoping beyond hope that he’d disappear like he usually did.  Only rarely did he linger for a drink.  What were the odds, right?

Tonight was one of those rarities, and you held your breath, your posture going rigid, as he sat himself a mere two seats away from you.  He never once looked at you, instead, addressing Hizashi.

“Old Fashioned.” He requested, his voice deep.  It sent a shiver down your spine as the blood in your veins turned molten.  You knew instantly that that sound was now committed to memory.

“Do you even need to ask?” Hizashi replied with a grin as he slid the drink to him.

You disciplined your eyes to stare at your own drink as if it’d open up a portal for you to escape through. But as much as you struggled to control yourself, the simple gesture of Aizawa reaching for his drink made you break eye contact with your own. Your eyes caught how his fingers circled around his glass, long and surprisingly manicured.  You couldn’t help but watch as he brought the drink up to his lips to take a sip, and from there your gaze followed the curve of his mouth, the stubble that framed it, his jawline, his eyes…

Your eyes made contact with his briefly and you quickly looked back down at your drink, your heart pounding in your chest.

Shit.  He caught you staring.

You took a couple of deep swigs, forcing the alcohol down your tight throat, letting the burn of it act as a punishment for your violation. This. This was why you didn’t want to meet him.  No words had even been shared yet and you were already making a fool of yourself.

“Long night?” Hizashi asked him.  In the background, the next performer entered the stage and began to play, and you couldn’t help but strain your ears over the music to listen for Aizawa’s answer.

“I’ve had worse…” Aizawa replied.  “You?”

“Busy, but I’m in good company at least.” Hizashi replied.  Your heart pounded in your chest as your fingers tightened around your glass.  Your eyes darted up to lock with the bartender’s and you caught him smirking at you, his small, pointed mustache following the curve of his upper lip. 

He wouldn’t…

Suddenly another customer called for him from the other end of the bar.  “Duty calls, friend.  Be back in a sec.”

And just like that, you were left alone with him.  Aizawa. Your mind froze as it warred with itself between actually talking with him or grabbing your things and running away. Surely Hizashi would understand, right? And you could always pay back your tab later.   You took another deep gulp of alcohol in the hopes that it’d burn away some of your cowardice. 

Before you could so much as open your mouth, the unwelcome sensation of an unfamiliar hand on the curve of your back made your body go rigid, every muscle poised to fight.  A second later, the scent of hot breath laced in the stench of alcohol choked the air around you as an unfamiliar man slid into the open seat between you and the object of your affection.

“Hey there beautiful…” he slurred.  “You’ve been by yourself all night… you in need of some company?”

You covered your hand over your glass and shifted away from him slightly, your demeanor cold.  “No.”

“Aw, c’mon doll… don’t be like that…” he grinned.  “You don’t come here dressed like that for no good reason…”

The man’s hand was still on your back, its presence making your skin crawl.  It made the fog of your buzz lifting slightly, your senses suddenly heightened in the presence of a potential threat.  Your eyes searched frantically for Hizashi.  He had a way of handling drunken idiots.  But he was stuck at the other end of the bar still, a drunk woman trying desperately hard to flirt with him. 

You were on your own, and this creep clearly wasn’t taking no for an answer. Your brain started to fabricate worst-case scenarios and planning for them, a million options running through your mind.  Screaming. Throwing your drink in his face.  A well-placed kick to his shin.  Your pepper spray.

Your free hand slipped into your purse, fingers closing around you’re the plastic cylinder.  The feel of it gave you a sense of security, even if it might be a last resort.  You didn’t really want to use it, especially with Aizawa sitting behind him… you never had to use it before, and you couldn’t guarantee your accuracy, especially in such a tight space.

You watched from the corner of your eye as the man’s free hand reached forward to grasp your own that covered your drink, and your grip around the cylinder tightened, a warning beginning to fall from your lips.  But your words were cut short as the man’s hand was suddenly grabbed by familiar, long fingers and bent back at an uncomfortable angle that made the drunk cry out.

“Hey! What the hell?!” the man demanded.

Aizawa took a casual sip of his drink with his free hand while maintaining his grip on the offender, before pinning him with a dangerous glare.  “She said no.”

The man’s hand left your back as he struggled to free himself from Aizawa’s grip. “Let go!”

“First you will apologize to her.” Aizawa ordered.

The man sputtered.  “For what?!”

You watched in shock as Aizawa’s eyes narrowed.  His thumb positioned itself on a digit and began pushing it slowly backward.

“For touching her without permission.  For insinuating that her attire makes it acceptable for you to ignore her boundaries. For being a disgusting pig.”

With each statement, he pushed the finger back farther and farther, until the man was buckling to his knees under the pressure in an attempt to alleviate the pain and prevent the digit from breaking.

“Ow ow ow! Okay!  I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” The man begged.

Aizawa held him for a moment longer before finally releasing him. “Good.  Now get out.”

The man scurried away until he was out of reach before turning around to glare daggers at him.  “Hey, fuck you man!”  He shouted.  But for all of his drunken bravado, he stormed out of the club clutching his sore hand to his chest, as heads turned to watch him leave.

The hum of voices within the club fell silent for a moment, with only the band continuing their music. After the front door closed, the noise of people chattering slowly returned, countless sets of eyes turning back to their tables.  Aizawa turned his gaze back to you, the lethal look gone from his dark eyes.

“You okay?”

You nodded mutely, swallowing the dryness in your throat as your sweaty hand released the pepper spray in your purse.  Sensations warred within you, momentarily leaving you a confused mess.  The speed at which he came to your defense and his willingness to resort to violence on your behalf fueled a carnal need you didn’t even realize you had.  But even as hot arousal pooled deep in your gut, your heart still raced from the threat that had been quickly neutralized.

His eyes caught the movement of something over your shoulder and he cursed. “Shit.”

“SHOuTA!” Scolded a feminine voice.

He turned back to his drink, hunching his shoulders. “I told her not to call me that in public.” Aizawa muttered under his breath.

You spun on your stool to see the owner of the bar, Nemuri Kayama approaching, clad in a deep purple business suit with a dangerously low-cut black blouse. She was next to you in a matter of seconds, a cloud of strong perfume enveloping you as she snatched Aizawa’s drink from his hand as he began to raise it to his lips.

“What the hell was that?!” She demanded.  “What makes you think you can attack my customers like that?”

“Your customer was harassing this customer.” Aizawa pointed out.

Nemuri looked at you with her lavender eyes as if seeing you for this first time and paused in her verbal assault.

“Is this true?” She asked you.

She had a presence about her that instantly made you find your voice again.

“He was being handsy and wasn’t taking no for an answer.” You confirmed.

“Can I have my drink back now?” Aizawa asked.

She stared back and forth between the two of you for a moment before slamming the glass down in front of him, half of the contents spilling over the side. “Ugh. Fine.  But next time ask for one of my bouncers.  Or Hizashi.  Or me. Anyone but you.”

Aizawa’s mouth curled with a sly grin as he wiped at the spill with a napkin.  “And why is that?”

“Because you scare away customers.” She growled.

Aizawa stared into his drink, swirling its remaining contents.  “Well maybe you need better customers.” He took a sip.

“I’ll take whoever is willing to pay.  Unfortunately for you, this club doesn’t survive off of chivalry.”  She crossed her arms.  “Besides… it’s less about losing that drunken idiot and more about losing those who saw you almost break his hand.”

“I wasn’t going to break his hand.  I was going to break his finger.” Aizawa said.

You stifled a chuckle with a bite of your lip.

Nemuri rubbed the bridge of her nose in frustration.  “Don’t try to make it sound like that makes it any better.  And you!” She pointed at Hizashi, who had conveniently shown up not a minute before.  “You know better than to leave him alone like this!”

“I can either be a bartender or a babysitter, love.  I can’t do both.” Hizashi replied as he polished a glass.

 Nemuri grumbled under her breath before turning her gaze back to you. “I apologize for Aizawa’s violent behavior.” “Oh I didn’t mind…” you confessed with a small smile, and you could feel Aizawa’s eyes flicker to you briefly.

 “And I apologize for the inappropriate customer. Alcohol is no excuse for harassment.  I guarantee he won’t be returning to this club any time soon.” She looked at Hizashi.  “Get her a fresh drink.”  

 “Already on it…” He replied, sliding a new glass to you and removing your old one.

 She looked back at you. “And your drinks are on the house tonight.”

 “Thank you.” You replied.

 Nemuri gave a satisfied nod. “Now I need to go schmooze the rest of our frightened patrons, which is exactly how I didn’t want to spend my evening.” With a final glare at the two men, she stormed off, her pointed heels clicking on the hard floor.

 You stared at your new drink for a moment, the desire for it lost now.  “Hizashi, can I have a glass of water?”

 “Sure thing, darlin’.” Hizashi replied and placed a chilled glass in front of you.

You thanked him and took a sip followed by a long, deep breath.  Aizawa moved into the now-vacant seat next to you, and you welcomed the closeness. The gesture felt protective, a warning to anyone else who was dumb enough to try their luck with you after that display.  Noticing the closer proximity between the two of you, Hizashi quickly made himself scarce again.

“Thank you…” you said to Aizawa as your finger traced patterns into the condensation on the glass.

“It was nothing…” he replied.  There was a long silence before he spoke again.  “I hope I didn’t scare you.”

You looked at him with surprise then.  Scared? No. Aroused? Definitely.  The dampness of your panties were evidence enough of that, but he certainly didn’t need to know that.

“Not at all.” You confessed. “I actually really appreciate it.”

Aizawa’s shoulders relaxed slightly, as if a weight had been lifted.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” you asked.  “You were so fast…”

Aizawa gave a small grin. “Piano isn’t the only thing I’m good at…”

You had no difficulty believing that…

“Were you a bouncer or something at one point?” you asked curiously.

Aizawa chuckled. “Yeah, something like that…” he took a swig of his drink, the ice in it clinking.  The amber colored liquid was nearly gone now.

His response only gave you more questions, but you forced them down. There was a fine line between being curious and nosey, and you were too worried of crossing it, thus ending your conversation with him.

“You’re a regular here.” He commented.  

It wasn’t a question – it was a statement. He recognized you. You averted your eyes away in embarrassment, feeling suddenly exposed, your anonymity blown.  How long had he noticed you’d been coming here?  Did he know how closely you watched him?

“Yeah.” You confessed, as you took another sip of water. The alcohol next to it was calling to you, promising to ease your anxiety, but you refrained for the moment.  You wanted to keep your wits about you while you talked to him.

“No company tonight?” he asked.

Oh.  He watched you more closely than you ever realized. You weren’t sure whether you were feeling embarrassed or aroused.  Was it possible to feel both?

“Not this time.  I got stood up.” You replied.

“Sounds like you dodged a bullet there.” He said, looking into his empty glass.

You gave a dry laugh. “True.  I’ve dodged lots of bullets lately.”

Aizawa chuckled. “I believe it…”

Contrary to his outward aloof demeanor, he was nice.  You could feel the tension in your body start to dissipate as words came easier.

“If you ever think you want to try a dating app, don’t.” you commented. “It makes for good stories, but sometimes it really makes you want to give up on humanity.”

That earned an honest laugh as he looked at you with a grin.  “Well now you’ve piqued my curiosity.”

You couldn’t help but smile back.  This actually wasn’t so bad…

With amusement, you began to recount some of your more outlandish dating disasters with him, letting him in on the world of online dating from a woman’s perspective.  Aizawa listened with quiet interest, making the occasional wry joke or, for the more serious cases, wearing a deep frown of disapproval.  He was a good listener, and the conversation flowed easier than you had expected, words falling from your mouth without a second thought.  It felt natural.  Comfortable. And for the first time in a while, you felt like yourself.  After you ran out of stories, Aizawa offered a couple of his own, and you found yourself laughing at his own tales of dating woes. As Aizawa talked, Hizashi stopped by to quietly replace his empty drink before disappearing again, a pleased smile on his face.  His brief presence reminded you of your own glass pooling condensation on the paper coaster beneath it, and you returned to sipping its contents, once again finding the buzz you had been enjoying as you listened to Aizawa.

The time passed by as the two of you talked about the stress of dating and relationships. You’d learned that Aizawa rarely dated, but would occasionally have to endure awkward matchups thanks to Hizashi and Nemuri.  You learned how much of a private person he was, how he generally avoided dating culture entirely in favor of letting life play out on its own.  Everything about him exuded a man of experience and maturity, a man comfortable in his own skin and content with his life.  You couldn’t help but admire him as you soaked in every little detail that you’d wanted to know, committing every little bit of information he offered up to memory.  He was everything you’d imagined; kind, respectful, and serious with a sly sense of humor that he only shared once he was feeling comfortable.

Once the topic was exhausted, you sighed.  “I think I’m done with dating.” You confessed.  “I’ll just resign myself to my singlehood.”

Aizawa pinned you with a pensive look.  “Is that what you want?”

Something about the tone of his voice made your pulse race with excitement.

“Well… It’s better than being repeatedly disappointed.” You gave him a side glance as you took sip of your drink.  “But if the right guy comes along, I wouldn’t say no…”

“Hm… the right guy…” Aizawa muttered as he returned his gaze to his glass.

Your statement was a bold one, filled with invitation.  You hadn’t exactly planned for it to come out that way, but it was too late to take those words back now.  You quickly tried to turn the topic back to him.  “How about you?  Any special someone for you?”

He chuckled. “No.  No special someone.  Not yet, at least.”

The words fell from his mouth like breadcrumbs leading to a secret as he eyed you over the rim of his glass. You felt lightheaded and warm, the tips of your fingers buzzing with numbness. Maybe it was the half-finished drink in your hand.  Or maybe it was the look in Aizawa’s eyes that made you feel drunk, the Earth spinning under your feet as you mentally struggled to find some sort of purchase to keep from falling.  

Was he…?

Hope held you captive and you suddenly became acutely aware of how close you were to him.  Your eyes traced the scruff on his jawline, the stitching of his shirt, the slope of his neck as his Adam’s apple bobbed with a swallow. A stray strand of hair had come loose from his half-ponytail and was hanging over his forehead, begging to be touched. Your fingers twitched.  If you reached out to tuck it back into place, would he let you?

You couldn’t muster the courage and averted your eyes. You were filled with alcohol and infatuation, you reasoned.  Your defenses were down, your judgment potentially impaired… what if you were reading into something that wasn’t there?  What if you were wrong?  

You watched Hizashi close out a tab for an older couple as you took a sip of your water.

Warmth pressed against your forearm and looked down to see Aizawa’s arm resting against yours. All of your attention honed in on the softness of his shirtsleeve and the warmth of his skin as his hand fiddled with a paper coaster, flipping it over and over with each tap on the counter.  The contact was intentional, calculated in its subtle intimacy.  It was a silent question… a tentative invitation, absent of assumptions or expectations.  Your doubt evaporated like mist and you understood.  

He was interested.  In you.

Your heart did a somersault in your chest as you sat there, stunned.  Time froze as everything that’d transpired throughout the evening flitted through your mind.  It was a perfect amalgamation of circumstances, leading to this single moment, giving you the one thing you wanted most.  You held your breath as you stood on the precipice, uncertain if your next step would make you fall or let you fly.  

You stared at the contact and carefully… slowly… brushed your pinky along the back of his hand. It traced the vein that stood out there, following it to the knuckle. His own hand let go of the coaster his was holding, his own pinky linking with yours in affirmation.

You couldn’t help the elated smile that spread across your face in that moment and when you looked up at him with a shy glance, he had a smile of his own, small and secretive as he stared at your linked fingers.  Slowly the rest of his fingers followed, twining themselves into yours until he held your hand, his thumb brushing sensually against your skin.  That single action alone was enough to reignite the fire in your loins, your blood racing through your veins from the epicenter of his touch.

Hizashi’s voice crashed through your private, titillating moment.  “We’re closing up, lovebirds…”

Your hand pulled away from Aizawa’s on instinct as you looked around the now empty club.  Only staff remained, finalizing the last bit of cleanup and arranging the furniture for the next day.  How had it gotten so late so fast?

“You want me to walk you to your car?” Hizashi asked, a knowing grin on his face.

In all that had happened that evening, you’d forgotten about that little arrangement.  But you weren’t ready to leave just yet…

Aizawa’s voice answered before yours could.  “Leave me the keys to the place.  I’ll walk her tonight and lock up when we leave.”

“Suit yourself.” Hizashi replied with a shrug.  He placed a set of keys on the counter.  “Don’t tell Nemuri, though.  She’ll kill me.”

“Your secret’s safe with me, friend.” Aizawa replied.

With that, Hizashi gave a small salute, grabbed his coat, and left.  You watched, your heart pounding as the door closed behind him, leaving a deafening silence in its wake.

You were alone with Aizawa. Completely and utterly alone.

Your turned back to face him and froze.  Aizawa still sat on his stool, but he faced you now with an elbow propped against the counter, and that simple distinction made his presence fill your space.  He stared at you, the look in his eyes unfettered now, deep and hungry. “You really do look beautiful tonight.” He complimented.

With the way the words fell from his mouth and curled warmly into your chest like a cat, you believed him. You felt beautiful.

“Thank you.” You said with a soft smile.  “You look handsome yourself, Aizawa.”

He took your hand again and slowly began to lean forward, closing the small distance between you.  “Call me Shouta.”

You swallowed. “Shouta.” You whispered, feeling the name on your lips.

His dark pupils dilated and you felt his other hand on your jawline, warm, long fingers wrapping towards the back of your neck to pull you into a kiss.

His lips were warm and soft as his stubble tickled your skin, and you leaned into it fervently, your hands finding their home on his chest. You could feel his toned muscles beneath the black cotton and a purr found its way to the back of your throat. Shouta took it as an invitation, coming off of his barstool to stand between your now parted legs, his arm wrapping itself around your waist as his tongue slid along your lips.  You opened your mouth eagerly to taste the bourbon there, to feel the wet muscle dance and slide against your own.  Every touch, every taste, every smell enveloped you further and further in the essence that was Shouta until your entire body was singing, teetering on the edge.

Oh God… you were not going to let yourself cum just by kissing him.

You pulled out of the kiss slightly as your hands pressed gently against his chest, and he retreated from you just enough for his eyes to search your face, a silent question in them.

“I-I’m sorry, I just…” your words fell pitifully from your flushed, wet mouth, your voice shaky with pent-up arousal.

One second longer. One second longer is all it would have taken…

Shouta’s hand on your back began to rub soft, slow circles. “Would you like some water?” he asked, a small smile on his lips.

You nodded, and he kissed your forehead before handing you your glass.  You drank greedily before handing it back to him, half-empty.

“Have you ever been kissed like that?” he asked curiously, as he placed the glass back down onto the counter.

You gave a small laugh and shook your head.  “No… not like that.”

Your confession left you feeling embarrassed, even as your chest felt it would burst from this latest turn of events.

You kissed Aizawa Shouta.

Actually, he kissed you.

You needed a moment to collect yourself, to process everything you were feeling.

So, you completely changed the subject.

“How long have you been playing piano?” you asked.

Shouta didn’t miss a beat, returning to sit on his stool to give you the space you silently needed. But his hand still held yours, resting on the counter as his fingers twined with yours. It gave you a sense of reassurance, that everything was okay, despite your awkward hesitation.

“My grandpa had one when I was a kid.  Used to mess around on it.” He explained.  “He finally got me lessons from a guy he knew, and I’ve loved it ever since.”

You smiled as you watched his thumb trace across each of your fingernails.  You returned the gesture, tracing the details of his own hand. It was like living a dream, to see them up close and feel them, every fingernail, every vein, even the pads of his fingertips. The number of times you’d fantasized about these hands…

“I always wanted to learn how to play, but my family could never afford lessons.” You confessed. “But my mom used to have all of these old jazz albums, and I used to sit in my room and listen to them for hours.”

“I can teach you.”

Your fingers stopped their tracing.  “What?”

“I can teach you.” He repeated.

You shook your head.  “Um, no it’s okay… I’d probably be a terrible student anyway.”

“A student can only be as bad as the person teaching them.  Follow me.”

Before you could protest further, Shouta’s hand closed around yours and pulled you from your seat.  He led you up the steps of the stage and across it until you reached the black piano sitting forlornly in the empty space.

It felt strange being up on the stage, especially with the club being completely empty.  The stage light was bright and warm on your shoulders, and the silence sounded different there, affected by the difference in acoustics.

Shouta sat at one end of the black bench and pulled you down by your hand until you were sitting next to him.  The bench was small, meant for only one person, so you had to press yourself against him to be able to sit without feeling like you were going to fall off. Even then, it wasn’t the most comfortable arrangement, but you endured, if only to be close to him.

He released your hand and began his instruction.

“First thing you should know is how to find middle C.  Everything else will center around this.”  He pressed the white key with the thumb of his right hand, the note singing out into the empty space.  “Then, it’s D, E, F, G, A, B, which brings you back to C. That creates an octave, also known as a scale.” He played each note as he spoke.

“What about the black keys?” you asked curiously.

“Those are the half notes. Don’t worry about those right now.” He arranged his hand back how he initially had it, his thumb on the middle C key.

“Now,” he continued, “First, you must learn how to move your fingers along the keys.  Like this.”  Shouta demonstrated the motion again, his fingers playing each note slowly in a steady rhythm.  “The switch of the fingers is important. It will help you flow quickly and easily without having to watch where your hands are, which will be important for reading sheet music.”  He repeated the motion again, the sounds once again ringing out.  Then, he removed his hand.  “Your turn.”

You bit your lip and placed your hand how you’d seen his arranged and tried.  The notes were clumsy, lacking in rhythm and falling together as you forgot in your nervous haze where the switch of the fingers happened. Embarrassment flooded you and you withdrew your hand.

“Don’t expect to get it right on the first try.” He reassured.  “Let’s try it again.  Try to keep your fingers loose, curved like a bowl.”

Shouta modeled it again. You watched, but your focus was muddled with anxiety, attraction, and likely alcohol.  It was a poor recipe for learning, but you knew he was trying to make you feel comfortable, and you didn’t want to turn down his kindness.  You arranged your hand back on the keys again and tried again, with little improvement.

“I’m sorry, I…” you stuttered as you clutched your hand in your lap protectively.

His hand covered yours and you looked up at him to see him staring at you with warm patience.  “It’s okay.  If you don’t want to do this, we can stop.”

You stared at him, mouth slightly open as you thought about it.  You knew he wouldn’t hold it against you if you wanted to quit.  And sure, you felt silly being so poor at it when sitting next to someone who’s skills you idolized.

But did you really want to stop?  How often would you get an opportunity like this?

“No, it’s okay.  Keep going, I want to learn.” You replied.

Shouta watched you for a moment longer before he placed his hand back on the keys.  “Place your hand over mine.��

You followed his instructions, your hand looking small compared to his.  His skin was warm, and it calmed the shaking in your fingers.

“Watch where the fingers land.  Feel how they move.” He played the notes, and you could feel the tendons of his hand tense and shift, his fingers rising and falling like a wave.

“It’s like they’re dancing.” You said.  “You switch to your thumb on this key… E?”

“Yes.” Shouta replied in approval.  “Your turn.”

This time you focused, remembering the feel of how his hand had moved under yours as you played the keys, switching your fingers at the right time.  The improvement was noticeable.

He smiled.  “Good.  Now, for the other hand.  You’ll start one octave lower.  Can you find it?”

Your arm crossed Aizawa’s chest to press the white key, letting the sound ring out.

“Perfect.  Only this time, your pinky will sit on this key, with the others following after.”

You placed your fingers across the white keys.  “Like this?”

Shouta nodded.  “Now you’ll try the same progression with your left hand.  The middle finger will follow after the thumb plays the G note.”

You removed your hand so he could place his own and demonstrate it for you.  You followed after him, imitating his actions, but this time your attempt was worse than your first, your hand angled awkwardly due to limited space as you pressed yourself against him.

“That was terrible.” You laughed. “I can’t reach very easily.”

A small mischievous smile formed on Shouta’s lips and he slipped his hand around your waist.

“Come here.” He said.

You didn’t fight him as he pulled you into his lap.  His right hand settled itself against your stomach as his legs parted slightly to make room for yours, your knees drawn together between his.  The heat of his touch seeped through the fabric of your dress, weaving a tight knot of desire deep in your core that made your body go rigid as you tried to keep yourself from melting against him.

“Is this okay?” He asked, leaning slightly to see your face from his position behind you.

You licked your lips and swallowed, giving a nod.  “Y-Yes…” you answered shakily.  “Are you okay…? I’m not too heavy?”

Shouta gave a soft laugh. “No.  Not at all.” His breath was hot against your skin and you could feel the scratch of his stubble as he spoke, sending goosebumps over your body. “Let’s continue.”

He placed his left hand on the keys again with ease, regardless of how poor his view of the piano was with you in front of him.  He knew this instrument like the back of his hand; could probably play it with his eyes closed and never miss a note.

He played the simple notes again, C through B, fingers tip-toeing across the keys as he said their names out loud, helping you to remember them.  You watched carefully for where the shift in finger arrangement happened, the middle finger following after the thumb just as he’d described.

“You try.” He instructed, his right arm still wrapped around your waist, holding you close against him. You could feel the warmth of his chest against your back now, feel the strength of his body beneath you.

You loved this.  The lap-sitting, the lesson, the praise. Each time Shouta praised your improvements it sent a thrill through you from your head down to your toes.  To be complimented by him, even for something as simple as pressing a few keys… it only made you want to please him more.

You played the progression of notes with renewed motivation, once again showing improvement from your first attempt.

“Good.”

Your spine straightened against him slightly.  The thumb of his hand caressed your abdomen where he held you.

“Now you need to learn to do the same but in reverse, until you’re back where your fingers started.”

You moved your hand away to let him demonstrate and his right hand left your stomach, leaving an ache in its wake.  You watched both of his hands play the simple notes up and down, working together with ease. But you knew it was all a ruse… he made it look easy, but if you tried to do the same, you’d fumble clumsily.

“I don’t know about this…” you chuckled.

“It takes practice,” he replied, “until it becomes muscle memory.”

Shouta demonstrated it again, up and down.  And again.

You placed your hands over his, wanting to feel the touch of his hands under yours more than the actual pressing of the keys.  All you wanted was his arm around your waist again, his hand on your lower abdomen.  His touch was tantalizing, and you wanted more of it.  

He completed the simple scale progression two more times with your hands on top of his.

“Do you want to try?” he offered.

His hands left the keys to hold you again, his arms wrapped more tightly around you this time. You leaned against him, reveling in being held in his arms.

“I’m going to mess up.” You warned.

“Just take it slow.”

You shook your head a little and let out a small breath, shifting your position in his lap slightly as you leaned forward to focus on the keys.  His arms loosened around you, his hands shifting to your thighs.

It was likely an innocent action, intended to give you the freedom to move as you made yourself comfortable.  But as soon as the tips of his fingers touched the bare skin below the hem of your dress, that sharp zap of arousal tingled the ends of your nerves, causing you to suck in air and part your knees slightly, your walls throbbing in hopeful anticipation.

It wasn’t intentional. Your body just… reacted.  But Shouta noticed instantly.

There was silence at first, his hands still on your thighs, waiting.  Finally, he spoke.  “Y/N….” his voice was huskier now.  “How long has it been since you’ve been cared for?”

Embarrassment flooded through you.  Embarrassment at your sensitivity to his touch, embarrassment at the answer to his question... You hesitated a moment before words fell clumsily from your mouth. “I, um… a long time.”

A low hum rumbled from Shouta’s chest as his fingers brushing gently along the inside of your thighs until they dipped just beneath the black fabric. The action was experimental, a testing of the waters, and it brought immediate results.  Your thighs widened the slightest bit more as you failed to fight back a whimper, your hands grasping his arms in need.  Not a moment later you could feel the growing firmness of his cock begin to press against your backside, despite the restriction of Shouta’s jeans. Shouta’s hands halted again their movement, waiting. He was miraculously under control despite his obvious arousal, and you envied him.

“Do you want me to touch you?” he asked, his voice low.

Of course you did.  It was obvious you did.  Why else would your legs be parting like the red sea as if he were Moses?

But for some reason, your body language wasn’t enough for him.  He needed to hear it.  A sense of urgency filled you, desperate need driving you.  At this point, you’d give him whatever he wanted…

“Yes.” you begged. “Please, Shouta... Please touch me.” You leaned back against him, allowing the angle of your hips to tilt as your hands guided him further beneath the skirt of your dress.

With you draped onto him, your head tilted back, Shouta kissed the curve of your neck as his hands gently gripped the insides of your knees, pulling your legs apart until they were draped over his own.  You were open for him now, your skirt hiked halfway up by the spread of your legs.  

Your heart pounded in your chest with so much excitement that you could feel your own pulse in your neck and between your legs.  This was happening… This was really happening… How many times had you fantasized about this very thing?  How many times had you longed for this man, whispered his name on your tongue only to be met by the empty silence?  And now here he was, freeing you from the shackles of your loneliness in the best way possible.

Shouta’s hands pushed the fabric up the rest of the way until it was pooled around your hips, exposing your panties.  The thin cotton fabric did little to protect your aching cunt from the cold air, and you sucked air through your teeth at the sensation.  His fingers traced invisible lines up the inside of your thighs, leaving nothing but singing nerves in their wake that cascaded into a shiver that rolled over your flesh, leaving goosebumps.  Your body was already moving of its own volition, hips rolling, eager for Shouta’s fingers yet simultaneously attempting to grind down onto his restrained cock.  Your breaths were already coming in hot and ragged, every inch of you frantic for the release that it had been denied all evening.

Shouta gave a low growl, his left hand holding down your hip, halting your movements.  “You better stop that…” he warned.  

No doubt your girating was making things difficult for him on his end.  But you didn’t care.  You were an unfettered, horny mess now.

A whine escaped your lips at his restriction.  In response, Shouta’s left hand trailed up the length of your body, caressing over your breast before finding its home on your neck.  His palm was against your voice box now, his fingers long enough to wrap around your throat and reach your jaw.  There was no force in his hold, but it still held power over you, ushering your body into stillness while your chest heaved with heavy breaths.

“Patience.” He whispered. “Let me take care of you.”

Shouta followed up his words with more gentle kisses along your neck, your shoulder… wherever his lips could reach with you on his lap.  The feel of his hand on your throat was a reminder of who was in control.  But it was also a promise - a promise to ensure your needs would be met.

Once Shouta was sure he had your compliance, his right hand travelled the remaining distance of your inner thigh to arrive at your panties, where moist heat greeted him.

A low hum of approval rumbled in his chest, vibrating against your back.  “You’re so wet.”

A pitiful “yes” was all you could muster before the tips of his fingers brushed gently against your clothed sex, stealing your voice and replacing it with a gasp.

Slowly Shouta pet you, his fingers stroking gentle circles over the wet cotton, teasing the sensitive flesh beneath.  With his hand still on your neck, you kept your body torturously motionless as he gradually increased the pressure of his digits, reducing his speed as he passed over your clit to drag the pads of his fingers over the bundle of nerves.

You swallowed the pooling saliva in your mouth, the action causing your throat to press against his hand. “Please…” you begged. “I can’t…”

Shouta was strict, but not cruel.  He obliged, slipping his fingers beneath the cotton to swim his digits into your juices, never breaking his circular, rhythmic motion over your slick entrance.  The scent of your arousal surrounded both of you, thick and heavy.

“Fuck, Y/N…” he growled against your skin.

Two of his fingers dipped into you then, slow at first, allowing you to stretch around him as your walls quivered.  Your thighs tensed at the intrusion, welcoming the stinging pressure as your core burned with fire. He withdrew his fingers slowly and you lifted your head to watch in carnal fascination to see his fingers shining wet down to the knuckles. He pushed them into you again, curling his fingers towards the sensitive, spongey tissue along the top of your walls, his thumb pressing down on your wet clit.  A zap of stimulation fired from your core before fizzling away, a teasing warning of what was to come.

“Oh-Oh fuck…” you gasped as one hand reached back and grabbed a fistful of Shouta’s thick, dark hair.

He picked up his pace then, his thumb driving firm circles around your swollen pearl as the sounds of your wet hole being finger-fucked filled the silence of the empty stage.  With each pass of his thumb, with each curl of his fingers, the heat grew hotter, your cunt swollen and burning with the need for release.  Your thighs were tensed so tightly now that it made your legs lift and you had to brace your feet against the piano, discordant notes ringing out to join the sounds of your heavy pants and wet squelching in a lewd song. Shouta’s hand left your throat to hold you under your thigh to keep you steady as his other hand worked fast and hard to unravel you.  With the absence of his touch on your neck, you were free to move your hips, grinding hard into his hand, his lap, whatever part of him you were touching.  Your grip on his hair tightened, mirroring the tension building within you, clinging to him like the boughs of a tree knowing that any second the flood would come.

Shouta was your lifeline, your rock, your destroyer.  You were the waves and he was the shore, and your body tensed to prepare itself to crash against him.

“Come on, baby…” Shouta whispered gruffly.  “I’ve got you. Cum for me.”

You came with a cry, loud and frantic as your walls clamped down on his fingers.  The ball of heat that you had been carrying like a stone exploded within you, incinerating every nerve from the inside out, leaving nothing but sweet, sharp, euphoria in its wake.  Your walls spasmed repeatedly, sucking greedily on Shouta’s drenched fingers, as you cried and moaned, bucked and arched.  Shouta’s arm was around your waist, holding you against him to keep you from sliding off of his lap as you rode the high of your orgasm, tumbling like a waterfall over and over again to finally become a puddle in his strong arms.  

Shouta held you silently against him as your body twitched with aftershocks of pleasure.  Once your spasms subsided and he was sure you wouldn’t fall from your perch, Shouta released his hold around your waist to draw his fingers up and down your arm, creating goosebumps under his gentle touch.  His fingers were still in you, his hand cupped between your legs.  The warmth of his touch on your tired cunt was comforting, and it brought forth a content moan from your parted lips.  Shouta smiled as he planted another kiss on your shoulder.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that with him.  But you finally made yourself sit up when you felt sleep starting to drag you down into its murky depths, your limbs feeling heavy.

Finally, Shouta spoke. “Better?” he asked.

You gave a laugh.  “Much.”  You looked down at yourself in amusement. “You made a mess of me, though…”

Shouta gave a satisfied hum and stared at his hand that held you.  “I like you messy.” He stated.

“So, you’re just gonna leave me like this?” you teased.

He laughed and withdrew his fingers, wiping the slick coating them onto his jeans.  “As much as I like that idea, no.”  He adjusted your ruined underwear and the hem of your dress back into place before turning you around in his lap.  His hands were planted on your rear, keeping you securely and comfortably in place.  “It’s late. We should get you home.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him.  “What about you?” you asked, your eyes glancing down to his lap. Your hands began to trail down his chest to reach the button of his pants, eager to reciprocate.

Shouta smiled at you and grabbed your hands, bringing them back up to plant kisses on your palms.  “Tonight was about you. There’ll be more opportunities for both of us later.”  You pouted and he chuckled. “Don’t give me that face.”

“It hardly seems fair…” you muttered.  You were looking forward to enjoying more of him… you didn’t want tonight to end.

He hummed as he began to trail kisses along your jawline and you arched your neck to allow him better access.  “We both… need sleep.”

Sleep? With his mouth on your skin, sleep was the last thing on your mind.  Shouta pulled his lips away to look into your eyes again and you could see the fatigue there, dark circles framing bloodshot eyes.  He really did look incredibly tired, and you couldn’t help but wonder how late it really was.  You brushed the errant strand of hair off of his forehead, tucking it behind his ear.

“Okay...” you softly agreed.

“You should come back tomorrow night.” He mused, the mischief back in his eyes. “We can continue our piano lessons.”

“I’d like that.” you smiled.

 You couldn’t wait.

[feralthoughtdump]

Till Forever Falls Apart

CW: angst, death, squid game spoilers, a little bit of fluff, hurt/comfort I guess?, wrote this while concussed

Word Count: 1.5k

The blinding white room did little to help her headache. Her stomach grumbles from the little food she was given and the fight that broken out the night before kept her up. 

She pulls her jacket around herself, basking in the little comfort it provides her as the other players shuffle around her, collecting into teams of ten. 

It was hopeless, trying to find anyone that was willing to take her in. She barely made it past the finish line during Red-Light, Green-Light, hiding behind the other players and hoping to god that even the smallest amount of movement would go undetected. 

She wanders around a little more before taking refuge in the corner. 

She’s broken from her train of thought when someone crouches down in front of her. Despite the grim conditions they were stuck in, his handsome smile still managed to meet his eyes. 

“Hey,” He offers her his hand and she notices the 325 on his jacket. “I’m Bucky. I see that you don’t have a team.” 

“Yeah. I um, I don’t.” She whispers. 

“Join ours then. We’re short of one and you seem like a smart girl.” 

She takes his hand and he gently pulls her onto her feet, escorting her to a group of men and women sitting on the ground. 

“Looks like you’ve found our tenth.” A redheaded woman smiles. “It’s nice to meet you.” 

She’s quickly introduced to the rest of the team, recognizing Steve and Pietro as the first to cross the finish line, Wanda and Peter who had expertly carved out the umbrellas in the honeycomb, and Bruce, the doctor who had kindly tended to the cut on her forehead. Natasha, Clint, and Tony quickly introduced themselves to her before they were ordered to proceed. 

As they all shuffled into the room, she looks up in awe at the two platforms standing before them. From her peripheral, she sees two guards carry a large rope. 

The teams.

The platforms. 

The rope. 

Tug of War.

They were going to play tug of war. 

The guards hold up the numbers. Seven and Four. 

Everyone watches in silence as they ascend up the towers and have their hands shackled to the rope. 

At the gunshots, the teams start pulling at the rope, groans, and cries echoing through the arena. 

She watches wide-eyed, mouth agape, knowing what’s to come, but she uselessly hopes that no one has to die.

And though she knew it was coming, she still can’t get over the screams of agony as the players slip from the platform, dangling from the rope. 

She claps her hand over her mouth, watching the blade fall. A whimper slips past her lips as she watched the players on team seven falls, still attached to the rope. 

As they replace the rope, the next numbers are drawn. 

Team Two and Team Five. 

“Don’t worry,” Natasha says. “Steve and Bucky are pretty strong. They served together.” 

She doesn’t respond, only quietly standing and walking with the others to the yellow elevators. 

As Tony discusses strategy, she fidgets with her fingers. Her heart pounds and her hands tremble. 

Tony’s plan was simple. They were to stand in alternating positions, grip the rope with their armpits, and for the first ten seconds, bend backward.

Steve was placed in the front, and then Bucky, while she stood in between Natasha and Wanda and the end of the rope. 

They immediately bend back at the sound of the gunshot, keeping their feet planted on the platform. 

The strategy was working fairly well, they held their position and kept a strong grip on the rope until the other team started tugging harder. 

Panic fills her chest as her feet start sliding forward. 

She starts screaming, almost losing her grip. 

She thinks of all the times she’s played tug of war on the school playground, wracking her brain through all of the tricks that would be the most useful in this deadly situation.

The only one that comes to mind is a risky one. But given their desperation, it was a risk she’s willing to take. 

“We need to take three steps forward!” She screams. 

“Are you insane?” Peter retorts. “That’ll kill us!”

“If we do it, they’ll trip. It’ll give us an upper hand.” 

Everyone exchanges quick glances of hesitation before Steve nods.

“Alright.” He tightens his grip on the rope. “We’ll give it a shot.”

“On the count of three!” She yells. “One! Two! Three!”

They all step forward, nearly toppling over the edge, but thankfully Steve and Bucky help them hold strong. 

Their opponents falter and trip, just like she said. 

“Pull!” She screams. “We have to keep pulling.”

It’s as if her adrenaline has hit an all-time high. Her only focus was survival. Her own, and her teammates. 

The muscles of her arms burn but they continue pulling and pulling. Everyone screams in frustration, but she can only hear her heartbeat. 

With one final ragged yell, they pull the rope back and their opponents slide off the edge. 

She falls onto her back, guilt already creeping into her as she listens to the screams of their opponents and wincing at the sound of the rope being cut. 

Everything around her dulls, Natasha’s words never reaching her ears. Wanda reaches out a shackled hand to rub her shoulder, trying to soothe the distress growing stronger inside of her, but it does nothing. Sobbing, she curls into her body and lets her exhaustion take control. 

… 

“Are you okay?” 

She looks up to see Bucky standing in front of her, holding a plum in his hand. Her eyes cast downward as tears start to prickle at her eyes. 

“No.” She whispers, voice cracking. “I-” A sob breaks through her chest. “All those people… They’re all dead.” 

He sits down next to her, placing the plum in her hands. 

“You did what you had to do to survive. And you saved us all.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that they died for us to live.”

She buries her face in her hands, sobs wracking through her body. 

Bucky stays by her side, gently rubbing her back.

“Why?” She whispers. “Why did you want me to join your team?” 

“Because you’re smart.” He hesitates, but places his fingers under her chin, tilting her head up to look at him. “I saw your little trick with the honeycomb. ” 

She scoffs. 

“What does that have to do with any of this? Hmm?” Her brows furrow and her voice filled with anger. “The game started off with over four hundred people. And look at us now. There are only forty of us left.”

She’s tired. So tired. Tired of all the debt she owed, tired of watching the people around her die, tired of all of the spilled blood. At this very moment, she could care less about staying alive. She had been stripped of a name, simply reduced to Player 28, starved, and had to face death far too many times for someone her age. Paying off her debt wasn’t worth this. Neither was living. 

“Tell me something, Bucky. Is paying off our debts worth all of this? Each game is just going to get worse. When the final game rolls around, we’re going to have to kill each other. Hell, we’re already killing each other!” 

Despite her anger, she keeps her voice low. Not wanting to attract anyone else to her hidden spot behind all of the beds. 

“Hey,” His thumb brushes away her tears. “Listen to me. We don’t know what the next games are going to be. But I’m telling you, I know you’re going to make it through. We’re going to make it through. You’re a strong girl, I believe in you.” 

She looks into his blue eyes, searching for any deception, but she’s only met with sincerity. 

Maybe it was the exhaustion, maybe it was the knowledge that any one of them could die tomorrow, or maybe it was Bucky’s words, but she leans forward and presses her lips against his. 

“Oh my god.” She pulls back quickly. “Oh my god, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t”

“Doll,” Bucky cups her face in his hands. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” His thumb brushed over her lips. “I liked it.” 

He pulls her towards him, passionately kissing her. For the first time, ever since getting into this hell hole, she feels safe. Safe with him, in his arms. 

“I promise you,” Bucky presses his forehead against hers. “We’re going to make it out alive. Together.”

And for once, there’s a little spark of optimism inside of her. 

“Together.” She whispers.

[wwilloww]

sugar | ksj

A/N: This story was commissioned by @jamaisjoons​ through @ficswithluv‘s Changes With Luv project. Thank you so much for your donation. I had so much fun writing this Jin and exploring these characters so—I hope you enjoy it! A million thousand hundred THANK YOUS to @unlikelylittlemiss​ and @ot7always​ for beta’ing this! 

After many hours of technical difficulties, I’ve formatted what I hope will be the final version of this story. So far I think it’s the favorite one that I’ve written, so if you like this piece, please let me know! It means the world to me when I hear from you all. 

|| masterlist || moodboard || ao3 ||

©wwilloww Do not repost, translate, or use my stories without my permission.

Seokjin traces the rim of the crystal glass, absentmindedly watching the crowd around him swell and sway like a tide. His eyes sweep over the sea of faces, but he doesn't find what he's looking for.

He swirls the golden liquid around the glass and takes a slow sip, wetting his lips with his tongue as he relishes in the comfortable burn of peaty scotch sliding down his throat.

Finally, his gaze captures what he's been searching for.

You. Dressed in a slim asymmetrical white number, sheer fabric draping delicately over one arm. You're unmistakable.

Above you, thousands of shards of crystal hang as if suspended in midair, the art piece paling in comparison to the presence you command. The venue is dimly lit, but the blend of candlelight and starshine is enough to illuminate your face and paint your features in a dance of shimmering light.

He watches the million-dollar sculpture light your slight smile and curious eyes with a silver radiance. The pinkish light of a neon sign had bounced off of your features in an almost identical fashion the night you met.

ONE YEAR AGO

It was chance. Two strangers, anonymous in your settings, both searching for an escape. After finishing your first ever commission, you were desperate to get out of your cramped, barely-affordable studio, while Jin wanted to slip away from the pressures and strict culture of his high-end gallery. Neither knew who the other was, but you gravitated to each other nonetheless.

He sees you first as you shoulder through the front door of the dive bar, your rain-drenched jacket slung over your back, your eyes bright and intelligent. But you were the one to approach the tall, broad shouldered man first, riding off the high of a completed project. You buy him a drink—and then a second. You don’t talk about work tonight. Don’t talk about your lives. You’re both so absorbed in the other that you’re oblivious to the scent of tobacco smoke drifting over you, or the sounds of a rowdy pool game behind you. After four hours cozied up at that bar as the rain pours down outside, you invite him back to your tiny, paint and plant addled apartment.

Once you arrive back home, your roommate nowhere to be seen, you quickly offer him a drink. You  hurried to the kitchen to dig through the fridge to find something— really, anything—to serve the handsome man standing in your living room and curse yourself for not getting groceries this week.

“Who is this?” Jin asks.

“Huh?”

“The painting. Who is it?”

You turn to find him staring starry-eyed at your most recent project, hanging above your couch.  

“Oh, that. Moi.”

“Who?”

“Me, dummy.”

“You? You paint?” He’s looking at you, eyes wide and curious.

“Yeah, if you can call it that.”

“You can definitely call it that,” he says sternly. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

He reaches out as if to touch it, but freezes, fingers held an inch away from the canvas.

“You can touch it, if you want,” you offer.

He shoots you a flabbergasted look, as if to say really?, and you nod at him as you pull out plastic cups from your sparse cupboard. You pour two glasses of wine and hold one out to him as he comes back to you.

“I was always told not to touch the works of art,” he says, taking the glasses out of your hand and setting them down on the counter. “But this just makes the experience all the more memorable.”

You hiccup at his attempt at dirty talk, not used to men who know what they want, who are willing to spread their desire so plainly before you.

He kicks apart your legs, pressing a thigh against your heated core. He lowers his lips just enough that they almost brush up against yours.

“May I?” he breathes against you. You nod and suddenly he’s captured you in a kiss, the plush of his lips moving heatedly against you. You wrap your arms around his neck and he sighs at your touch. When you break apart, his eyes dark with lust and your breath quickening in your chest, you don’t hesitate to take his hand and lead him to the bedroom.

Before you can step inside, he swings you around and picks you up. Your legs wrap around his waist and you can feel his length pressed hard against you. He backs you against the doorframe, your spine hitting the wood—but you don’t even notice it. All you can feel is the way his cock is jutting against your clit.

“Look at you, grinding yourself against me.”

You groan as he thrusts his clothed cock against you.

“Bed. Now,” you demand.

He walks towards the bed, still holding you, still kissing you, until his knees hit the mattress. And then his grip is loosening and you’re thrown onto the soft surface of the bed, a gasp rushing through your lungs. You watch as he pulls his shirt off, revealing a toned chest. You didn’t think the man in front of you could get any hotter, but as he crawls up the bed to hover over you, you’re proven wrong.

“Please, god, fuck me,” you groan as he kisses you.

It’s all he needs to hear.

The next morning you wake to an unfamiliar arm wrapped around your waist and morning breath tickling your ear. You smile as the details of last night come flooding back.

“Morning,” you grumble, feeling the man shift behind you.

“Morning, gorgeous,” he replies, a heavenly rasp edging his voice.

His hand comes to trace your waist and you let out a quiet moan, your senses softened by sleep. A smile flickers across your lips as his hand dips lower, casting warmth over your hips, your pelvic bone, and finally, your lower lips as his hands explore your body.

“You’re so wet I could just slip right into you, no problem,” he says as he runs his finger along your slick folds. You twist yourself around so you’re on your back now with Jin pressed against your side. Without breaking eye contact, you reach down with one hand to wrap around his length. With your other hand, you grab his hips, pulling him towards you—he takes the cue and straddles you, his hands coming down on either side of your head. You pull him closer so that the head of his cock is pressed against your entrance. “Now?” he asks.

“Now,” you reply.

Despite your wetness and the stretch from last night, he’s still a tight fit as he slides into you. A delightful ache threads through your belly and you arch your back to better accommodate him.

“God, how are you this perfect?” he groans once he’s buried entirely within your walls. He settles his weight against you, giving you a moment to adjust to his girth. “What would it take to get you like this again?”

“Get me into the Whitney,” you joke.

“Done.”

You laugh and roll your eyes. “You’re hysterical.”

“I’m not joking.”

You search his expression for any sign of a joke, but you find none. “Wh-what?” you fumble.

“I’m serious.”

His gaze is calm and collected as if he had just agreed to buy you breakfast—not kickstart your art career.

“Do you not know who I am?”

“Why the fuck would I know who you are?”

His eyes widen for a moment before he breaks out in laughter.

“Oh, well then, don’t worry about it.”

As his chest shakes as he chuckles against you, you’re reminded of your current position. You look down to where your bodies are joined, his cock hard and not even fully sheathed within you.

“You’re not, like, some kind of serial killer right?”

“Uh, no.”

“Okay, well then I literally couldn’t care less who you are.” He smirks at you and you pout. “Can you please just fuck me now?”

He chuckles. “It seems you have to keep asking me for that.” He thrusts into you with enough force that your body slides several inches up the mattress and the two of you groan as you adjust to his girth. He relishes in the tight throbbing of your cunt.  and he relishes in the tight throbbing of your cunt.

He fucks you slow and hard, each thrust slamming into your body, making your toes curl and your back arch. You both come quickly, relishing in the feeling of one another and the pleasure rippling across each other’s face.

“I’ll be honest,” you say, as you pull your shirt over your head. “I kinda liked it when you pushed me around last night. We should do that again.”

“After breakfast though?”

“After breakfast.”

A month later, you had been scrolling through your email when you saw a message from an unknown sender.

Subject : Acceptance to Whitney Museum of American Art.

————————————————————-

Thank you so much for your submission to our open call for pieces exploring “identity and landscape.” We are thrilled to inform you that your art has been accepted by our committee and will be displayed in our upcoming exhibit. Your piece explores these themes in a manner that took the committee’s breath away…

Your phone slips out of your grasp and drops to the floor, cracking the screen in the process.

You’d been submitting your art to them for years, and yet why was it that only after that strange comment Jin had made that you got in? Could it be more than just a coincidence?

The rest of the day is filled with half blossoming excitement and half mortification. Had Jin done this for you? You had been frequenting the museum since before you could hold a paintbrush, and trying to get into their gallery since you began painting professionally—but then all of a sudden as soon as you meet this mysterious stranger, your dream was placed right into your hands.

Three days later, you’re standing in front of the biggest art event you’ve ever been invited to, staring at a very large, very expensive banner that features none other than Jin.

CURATOR OF THE YEAR, the text reads.

Oh. Oh.

It all makes sense. Do you not know who I am? he had asked. You should have known. His name was plastered on every major art exhibit in this city. You had heard about him a thousand times before, but never even thought to connect the dots between the Kim Seokjin who visited your apartment several times a week and reorganized your fridge and the Kim Seokjin. He was a curator, but more than that he was a mentor of sorts. His approach to work was one of a kind: he led the artists he took under his wing with a gentle, guiding touch. Instead of shackling them into contracts or monetary and social debt like others in his position did, he gave them the tools they needed and allowed them the space and support they required to flourish on their own. This kind of business structure not only led to artists all over the world adoring him, but came back to repay him a thousand times over.

You never got into the Whitney on your own merit, you think. It was all Jin’s doing.

After you collect your jaw off the floor and enter the building, you almost immediately spot Jin.

Taking a deep breath to calm the swirling emotions in your belly and mustering all the courage you had, you tuck your painting underneath your arm and stomped up to him.

He’s standing, admiring a large mural. His face is painted in contemplation. For whatever reason, it reminds you of the feeling of standing in a spring clearing, in the middle of nowhere, letting a gentle breeze wash over you. You shove that feeling away as you stride up to him, stopping a foot or two behind him.

“Jin?”

“Hm—?” Jin spins on his heel. “Oh, what a pleasant surprise.” His eyes light up. “I haven’t heard from you in a couple of days, I was worried something was wrong.”

“I got into the Whitney.”

“Wait, what? That’s amazing!”

“And I figured out who you are.”

His eyes widen.

“Before anything else, I wanted to thank you for your help. I…” You shake your head, trying to wrap your mind around what’s just happened. “I’m not really sure how to thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me. I didn’t do anything.”

“I’ve been submitting to the Whitney for years and I’ve never even gotten a rejection email from them. And then I met you, and—and then it’s done. I’m in.” You look to him for an explanation.

“Okay, I admit,” Jin says, running a hand through his hair. “I put in a good word for you. But I did nothing more than mention to the board that I had seen your art and that I was very impressed by it.”

“That’s too much,” you frown.

“It’s not. It literally took thirty seconds of my time. And I did it because I genuinely believe in the vision of your projects.”

“If they believed in the vision of my projects, they would have accepted them without your name attached to it,” you snap.

“I—I’m sorry,” he says, looking down. “I didn’t realize it would upset you. I thought it would make you happy.”

You sigh, putting your hand on his arm. You only speak when he looks at you. “I’m upset, but I’m also really excited. I just—I want to do this on my own. I don’t want it to because of someone’s name. I want it to be because of my work. And I know that’s romantic and maybe not super realistic, but I need you to understand that that’s what I want.” You take a deep breath before continuing and he slips his hand into yours. “And more than that, I want to make it clear that I’m not just seeing you because of your status.”

“I understand,” he says softly, squeezing your hand. “So you’re seeing me now?”

You flush at your slip of tongue.

“I-I mean—”

“I’d like to see you,” he says. “If you’ll have me.”

Seokjin quickly became a constant fixture in your life. While he stopped involving himself in your work (and immediately after your conversation in the gallery, had quickly excused himself to make several calls to call off different projects and potential buyers) he did insist on buying your art supplies, moving you into a larger studio, and helping you work through the complicated process of finding grants to apply for. And of course, Jin was always ready to take care of your other, ahem, needs as well.

Your relationship quickly developed. You talked about the ins and outs of sex and your roles in the bedroom, but somehow never seemed to move the conversation about what you were to each other outside of your sheets—or the closet in the gallery, or the bathroom of your now-favorite bar.

PRESENT DAY

Jin sets his half-full glass down to make his way over to you. As he stands from the bar, an arm slides into his elbow, forcing him to turn away from you.

Your heart thrums in your chest as you stood at the top of the marble stairs, looking down into the outdoor amphitheater where tonight��s gala was being hosted.

You had arrived solo on your own instances. Even after a year together, you were still hesitant to show up as Seokjin’s date, knowing you were more likely to garner the title “girlfriend” than “artist.” Still, the thought of seeing Seokjin sent goosebumps chasing down your skin and you smiled softly to yourself as you searched the crowd for the tall man. You had come straight from your studio and there was still paint and paper mache stuck beneath your fingernails, a fact that didn’t quite fit into the posh environment you were in, but one that made you feel grounded nonetheless.

"Hello, darling," a deep voice sings into your ear. "You're looking particularly ravishing tonight."

You turn, expecting to see Seokjin. Instead, a strapping young man, unfamiliar but recognizable to you, stands in his place.

"Jeon Jungkook," you address the famous photographer as he takes your hand and presses a kiss to it. You suppress the urge to grimace as his lips meet your skin. The young man is undoubtedly handsome—there's no denying it—and you shyly look down as his eyes rove over you like you are a piece of art to be appraised.

"I've seen you at these events for quite a while now."

"Have you now?"

"Always on Mr. Kim's arm, too. Don't you think he's a little... maturefor you?"

It’s not like we’re together, you want to respond, but you hold your tongue. There was only a seven year age gap between you and Soekjin. And yet, because he carried himself with such discipline and stature, this was a constant question you had to navigate whether it came up in terms of your relationship with, working or otherwise.

“Speaking of Mr. Kim, have you seen him anywhere?” you ask, smiling tightly.

Jungkook takes your arm and turns you, pointing through the crowd.

There he is. Jin is dressed impeccably in a light-colored suit, the cut accenting his tall frame, broad shoulders, and narrow waist. You smile upon seeing him and wave, but he doesn’t see you.

There’s a flash of blonde hair and suddenly you realize what’s occupying Jin’s attentions.

You frown as you watch the woman's arm snake around Jin's. Tonight was supposed to have been a chance for the two of you to spend some quality time together, surrounded by beautiful art and artists, to see each other without interruption — but then again maybe a gala wasn't the best choice for quality time.

"There's something about you," Jungkook muses, oblivious to your distraction. "A light in your eye. Passion. You know, I would love to photograph you some time."

You glance over Jungkook's shoulder to see the woman with her hand gripping Jin's bicep, obviously trying to capture and hold his attention. And yet Jin's gaze is fixed on you. You meet his eyes, only to let a ghost of a smirk dash across your lips, before returning your focus to Jungkook. Even though you know Jin’s attention is only focused on you, you figure you might have some fun with the current situation.

"Oh really?" you say, blinking up at him flirtatiously. "And how would you have me?"

Jeon Jungkook was known for his abstract and mythological concepts. His photos were stunning, portraying story and eroticism at their most intellectual and beautiful.

"Aphrodite. No doubt."

Original, you think, fighting the urge to roll your eyes.

"Hm," you hum, as if mulling it over. "Tell me more." Your switch from professional to outrightly coquettish startles him and he stumbles over his words for a moment before regaining his composure and leaning in.

"Pink lighting. Texture? Hm, dove wings. I've been playing with fabric lately—" Jungkook falls into the description of his concept, flowing so quickly through the smallest of details, almost as if he's thought this through before, specifically for you. Instead of listening, you watch Jin out of your peripheral vision. "I can almost imagine the magazine spread now."

Your attention snaps back to the young man in front of you and as an idea flashes across your mind, you do your best not to giggle and to remain serious. "You know, I would love to be spread out for you." You smile innocently and Jungkook gulps.

"I, ah—” Jungkook is stopped mid sentence as a hand is clapped on his shoulder.

"Jeon," Seokjin nods at the younger man, a stiff smile painting his face. "I see you've met my—" Your eyebrows shoot up at the slip, but Jin quickly catches himself. "YN. One of the best painters I know."

Jungkook scoffs. “Uh, yeah, obviously.” When he looks up to find you and Jin staring confusedly at him, he clears his throat. “I mean—what I meant to say is her talent is underrated. Which you probably already know.” He smiles sheepishly.

“Alright, then,” Jin says.

“Aw, thanks, Jungkookie,” you say, swatting his shoulder and you watch as the young man flushes while Jin’s brow raises in question at the use of the pet name.

“Drinks?” Jin says, breaking the quickly rising tension between the three of you. Taking your elbow he leads you towards the bar and Jungkook quickly trots behind. He orders another scotch and you shake your head, “Nothing for me.” As Jungkook leans over the bar, Jin steps behind you, his hand coming to rest gently on your waist.

“Behave,” he whispers.

“Hm?” you hum innocently, brushing your hair over your shoulders.

“At this rate, you’re asking to be punished,” Jin growls.

You smile sweetly up at him, pinching his cheek playfully before realizing where you are and who might see. You quickly snatch your hand back, hoping no one saw.

Jungkook turns back with a martini in hand. Interesting choice, you think.

“You sure you don’t want anything?” Jungkook asks you.

“She already said she didn’t want anything.” Jin answers for you.

“I can speak for myself, thank you very much,” you cut in, crossing your arms. “But no, maybe later.”

A long moment of silence hangs between the three of you.

“Well, don’t mind me then. I have a couple of people I need to speak with.” Jin nods at the two of you and turns on his heel. You watch his tall frame, tracking where he’s going. The game is on.

It seems as the night drags on, Jin is purposefully ignoring you, knowing it’ll rile you up just enough. He continues to engage with artists and experts from all over the globe and Jungkook hangs at your side. Beyond the awkward flirtation he keeps throwing your way—which you don’t blame him for, considering you keep egging him on—he’s quite an intelligent young man with a vision.

After half an hour of Jin’s lack of presence, you’re bored and tired. The two of you wander around the gala, looking at the art pieces. When you see Jin hovering near one in the corner, you gently guide Jungkook over. As you approach, you realize why Jin has been spending so much time over here.

The eight by ten piece that you had sold to an anonymous buyer last week is hanging on the wall. The bright oranges and deep blues seem to shimmer and swim within the space compared to the crystal, silver, and gold pieces that pepper the event tonight.

“This is yours, right?” Jungkook asks. “I’d recognize the style anywhere.”

“Uh, yeah, I just didn’t expect it to be here. I sold it to an anonymous buyer last week. I have no idea how it got here.”

Jungkook looks confusedly at you. “Hm. Weird.”

You stare blankly at your own art for a while, puzzling over how it could have gotten to this level of a gala. The buyer from last week had said nothing about the gala. But here it is in front of you, big and commanding—and marked with a $500,000 price tag? The proceeds of tonight’s event were going directly to charity and still your mouth hangs open as you ogle the string of zeros in front of you.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything to drink?” Jungkook asks, breaking through your reverie. “I don’t mind getting it for you.”

“That’s so kind of you,” you smile, knowing that tonight’s event hosts an open bar. At that moment you notice Jin’s gaze finally, finallyresting on you. “Actually, your drink is looking pretty good to me right now.” You take a step closer to Jungkook, meeting his gaze and resting one of your hands gently on his elbow. He shudders under your touch.  As much as he puts on a confident front, you know your forwardness unravels him just enough. Without breaking eye contact, you reach into his martini glass and pull out a green olive. Opening your mouth slowly, you purse your lips around the round fruit before sucking it into your mouth. You open your mouth just enough for Jungkook to see how it rests on your tongue.

Jungkook’s jaw is hanging open.

“Oh my god.”

Suddenly, a hand is clasped onto Jungkook’s shoulder. He spins around to see a towering Jin. Jin’s features are relaxed and calm, but you catch the hard edge in his tone, even as it slips past Jungkook’s awareness.

“Jeon, I was just talking to an up-and-coming dancer earlier tonight. He’s looking to partner with a photographer for a project. I mentioned your work to him and he would love to talk to you.” Jin turns Jungkook to point to a handsome man standing across the room, a sun-filled smile dancing across his lips.

“Wait—really?” Jungkook looks flabbergasted.

“Of course, I admire your work,” Jin says.

“Wow, thank you. I really appreciate it.” He reaches out to shake Jin’s hand. “Thank you so much, sir.” A smirk threatens to break Jin’s calm demeanor.

“Anytime.”

Jungkook turns to walk towards the dancer but spins back towards you. “Don’t, uh, don’t go anywhere, yeah?”

“Sure.”

Once Jungkook is out of range of hearing, Jin steps closer to you. "Upstairs. Now."

Because tonight's gala was in part hosted by Seokjin and his company, it took place in the courtyard of one of Seokjin's highrises.

With the ghost of a smirk playing on your features, you turn on your heel, head held high, and make your way to the elevators.

It’s just like him to make you wait.

Twenty minutes after you arrived in the penthouse apartment, Jin was nowhere to be seen. So you kick your heels off and make your way to the fridge, finding an open bottle of your favorite wine that he kept in stock just for you. You pour yourself a glass and make your way to the gigantic kitchen island, leaning over it and scrolling through your phone. You know Jin would expect you to be waiting ready and in position for him, but tonight you feel like pushing the limits.

A gentle ding echoes through the living room. You click your phone off and look up just in time to see the silver door of the elevator slide shut behind him.

Seokjin runs a hand through his hair, loosening the strands from his perfect slicked-back look. You nearly salivate at the sight of him unbuttoning the top button of his dress shirt, even as your heart beats like it is ready to jump straight out of your chest.

You gulp as his eyes land on you. Finally.

“You’ve been ignoring me,” you say.

“Have I?”

“Are you punishing me?”

“You won’t need to ask me if I’m punishing you when I’m punishing you. You’ll know.” Despite the coldness of his words, there’s a playful glint in his eyes. You know his anger is for show and not genuine. The direction you're headed is a space the two of you have carefully mapped out, experimented with, and discussed over the course of your relationship. When he slips into this role, it's for both of your pleasure, and never as an outlet for his anger. "So no, I'm not. At least, not yet."

"Jin—" you say.

"Sir," Jin corrects.

"—Sir," you repeat, standing up from the island and walking slowly towards him. You bat your eyes and saunter over to him, pressing yourself against his chest as you take one of his hands and guide it under your dress. His eyes widen when he realizes you're not wearing any underwear.

"God, you're wet."

"I wanna cum," you state matter of factly. You thought your directness might startle him, but instead, his composure remains unaffected.

"You misbehaved all night long," Jin murmurs in your ear. "But maybe if you're a good girl for me and take your punishment, we can talk about you cumming."

And just like that, his hand is gone.

"Are you gonna be good?"

You don’t respond. Instead, you smile sweetly at him. You meet his gaze but don’t move. He cocks an eyebrow and pulls you tight against him with one hand as he pinches your chin with the other.

"You thought you could use this pretty little costume of innocence,” he says as he plays with the sleeve of your dress, a sneer painting his face. “Dressed all in white, and so elegant too. You thought you could hide the whore you are beneath a dress like this?"

His grip on your hips tightens as he pushes you forward, turning you forcibly. It shocks the breath out of your lungs. He pulls you back, your ass flush against his hard but clothed cock. His hands grab your shoulders, steadying you.

"I'd like to fuck you in one of these cute little outfits sometime. But not tonight. Tonight I want you entirely bare." The next thing you know, the sound of ripping fabric fills the space and your dress falls down in shreds at your feet.

"My-my dress," you gasp.

"A shame.” He feigns a pout. “You looked so good in it. But you look even better like this."

It briefly flashes through your mind that you're not sure how you're going to be able to leave, as you hadn't brought a change of clothes—and then that concern is quickly replaced by the confusion as he bends down to examine you.

"When was the last time you touched yourself?" Jin asks as he runs a finger over your slit. You shudder at the sensation.

"You were the last one to touch me."

“So you’re telling me you’re ready to flirt with any man who approaches you, make him think you’re gonna let him fuck you, but then it’s all for show?” He slips a single finger into your cunt. “What a tease.”

“For you,” you gasp as he hooks his finger and hits a particularly sensitive spot. “I would never.”

“Never what?”

“Never fuck another man.”

“Your actions tonight tell me something else.”

Your brow furrows as Jin adds a second finger.

“I-I just wanted you to pay attention.”

"That’s all you wanted, hm, little one? My attention?"

"Yes, sir," you mumble back.

"Good. You have it." He pulls his fingers from your dripping entrance and stands.

Your brows furrowed in frustration. "I want more," you say.

"And I want you to behave yourself when we're out in public together. It seems like neither of us is getting what we want, hm?" When you pout, he chuckles. "But I bet you can make it up to me. Take your punishment like a good girl. And we'll see if we can't both have what we want." You nod, eagerly. "Go bend over the couch and wait for me."

You quickly lay yourself over the arm of the black leather couch that stretches across the sprawling living room. Jin disappears into one of the back rooms for a moment, but you soon hear his footsteps echoing on the marble, approaching you from behind. He rests a hand on your bare ass, roving over it in slow circles before coming to kneel down beside you.

"Safeword?"

"Peaches."

His eyes search yours—checking, making sure you're really okay with this before he continues, that same awareness never leaving his eyes. "Good. You'll use it if you need to."

You nod.

“You know why I have to do this right?” Jin asks, his voice calm and clear as he stands and steps out of your line of vision. You can hear the clink of a belt buckle as he doubles it up in his hand.

“I disobeyed you.”

“And?”

“I didn’t listen when you asked me to stop.”

“And what exactly did I want you to stop doing?”

“Flirting with him.”

“Who? Say his name.”

“Jeon Jungkook.”

He chuckles. “I want that to be the last time his name leaves your lips tonight. Understood?” You nod, wholeheartedly. “The poor boy. You left him so hard and eager for your pretty little cunt. I bet he thought he was going to get to fuck you after all that teasing. Tell me, is that what you wanted him to think?”

“Yes,” you admit.

“And yet, after all that work and you were so quick to drop him just for me. I’m going to spank you and you’re going to take it like a good girl. Seven hits. Count for me.”

That’s when the first hit lands. The air in your lungs whooshes out of you in shock. After the initial pain, a soft warmth spreads through your cheeks.

“I said, count.”

“One,” you say, your voice strong.

The belt comes down on you a second time, cracking against your other cheek. “Two.” Your nails dig into the leather of the couch and his hand spreads across your ass, soothing over the spots where he’s hit you. The feeling of his fingertips against your skin brings coolness to the surface of your burning skin and the contrast sends arousal spiraling through your core.

“Good girl.”

Smack.

“Three.”

On four, you realize you’ve been holding your breath. The number comes out as a gasp, a puff of air and you realize you’ve been holding something else in. Shame. Guilt. Upset.

On five, you let out a particularly loud yelp, your cry of pain mixing with emotion and cutting through your pronunciation. Jin's hand immediately brushes across your sore ass to smooth over the most recent hit.

"Color?" he says softly.

"Green—green, please, keep going," you pant, tears threatening your eyes.

“Only two left.”

On six, you feel something split within you. You know it isn’t just about tonight, about your disobedience or your flirtations with a strange man. It’s about holding back. It’s about letting your brattiness build a wall between the warm thing that’s been building in your chest and Jin, the man who keeps showing up for you.

“Seven! M’ sorry!” you call out as seven comes down on your ass. The wall splits open within you, sending a flood of emotion and endorphins through your body. All you want is to fall into this sensation. The one where he’s here for you, and you can let him be here for you.

Jin smoothes his hands over your ass one final time. You wince slightly, knowing it’s going to be painful to sit for the next couple of days. And yet all you can feel is a golden glow, pulsing through your veins, tinting your perception. Your body feels lighter, the space around you more spacious, and the look in Jin’s eyes is glowing.

Jin pulls you up to your feet, searching your eyes to make sure you’re alright. He finds a strange, new warmth in them, one that spills out completely for him. And something close to daze.

“No hands.” Still, you can’t help but reach out to him, lacing your fingers into the front of his shirt. “I said, no hands.” You refuse to remove them. He’s suddenly stepping back from you.  "You can't seem to listen, can you, little one? Hands behind your back." You stare blankly at him. "I won't ask you twice."

You bring your hands behind you, clasping one hand around a wrist. He circles around you until he's out of your range of sight. You hear the tearing of fabric and then the cool brush of what you assume must be your dress wrapping around your wrists as Jin expertly ties them together. When the knot is tight and secure, he walks slowly back around you so you're face to face.

"Kneel."

Your knees hit the cold marble floor.

"Suck my cock."

"But—" You attempt to protest, your hands still tied behind your back. Your voice trails off as his eyes harden.

His belt is already open and you take the cold metal in your mouth, leaning your head back as you pull it out of the loops. It's an awkward angle, but you do your best and soon it falls to the floor with a clink. You glance up at him, searching for validation. His gaze is still hard, but there's a glimmer of a smile—pride? delight?—hanging at the corner of his lips.

"Keep going."

Leaning forward, you nudge your nose along the hard length sporting in his pants. His arousal is more than apparent through the fabric of his pants: thick, and long, and impossibly hard. Without breaking eye contact, you stick your tongue out of your mouth and slowly trace it up the length of his covered cock.

His hand tightens in your hair and you yelp as pain shoots into your scalp.

"I asked you to do something. Are you getting distracted?" What was once painful has quickly turned into a delicious pleasure as your face flushes, the hand in your hair teasing tingles down your spine. "Answer me." He grips your hair tighter, forcing your head back even further.

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

He releases his grasp just enough that you're able to lean back to the tenting bulge in his pants, but still does not release you fully.

Carefully, you suck the button of his slacks into your mouth, expertly sucking and tonguing the cold metal until you feel it slip through the hole, before moving down to pull the zipper between your teeth and tug it all the way down. You gasp as you realize he's not wearing underwear and your cunt contracts around nothing. You're face to face with his bare cock.

"Sir, may I?"

He nods and you immediately lean forward to lick a broad, wet stripe up from the base of his cock to the tip. Without the use of your hands, you find yourself relying on the movements of your upper body and your mouth to pleasure him.

Slowly, you lick around the angry red head of his cock, teasing a light gasp from him. You continue to do this until you know he’s just on the edge of frustration and before he can say anything, you purse your lips around him.

As you take him into your mouth, you’re particularly aware of the remainder that you’re unable to fit. Usually, you would wrap one or both of your hands around him, stroking him where you couldn’t reach. But now that’s inaccessible to you.

Relaxing your throat, you attempt to take him deeper but choke at the sensation of his thick head hitting the back of your throat.

"You're so good at this, almost as if you were made to have your mouth stuffed with cock."

His praise urges you to take him deeper and press past the urge to gag. Taking a deep breath, you edge forward, allowing him to slip into the tight confines of your throat. He hiss at this and his hands tighten in your hair, this being the first time you’ve deepthroated him. Tears well in your eyes, blurring your vision as you continue to ease him deeper within you.

He begins thrusting into your throat. If you could reach up to wrap your hand around your throat, you would feel the protrusion of his cock pressing forward through the skin of your throat, visible and bulging.

You choke around him and he audibly groans at the sensation.

Jin looks down to find tears streaming out of your face, chin wet with drool. The sight of you, so lost in your actions, strikes something in his chest. As you meet his gaze, your lips so pink and pouted around him, the glaze in your eyes filled with adoration, his hips buck and he thrusts into your throat.

“I’m gonna cum,” he growls. “And I want you to swallow every last drop of it.”

He grabs your head as he fucks up into you one last time, pushing your nose against his pubic bone. You can feel his cum, hot and bitter, sliding down your throat. He doesn’t release you until he’s done. Finally, he pulls you off of him, your lips releasing from his spent cock with a pop.

Air comes rushing back into your lungs, replacing the black spots that had started to pepper your vision with starshine as you look up at Jin clearly. His forehead is shining with sweat and his cheeks are flushed in pleasure. He’s never prettier than he is now, spent with passion.

Jin quickly regains his wits as he pulls you up and takes his thumb to wipe the combination of drool and cum from your chin.

Something gleams in his eye.

“Up against the window,” he orders.

“Wha—”

Before you can finish your sentence, Jin is walking you backward until your back hits the cold glass. You gasp at the sensation of your heated ass cheeks mixed with the cold spark of the smooth surface.

With your back against the glass, hips pushed towards him again, he kisses languidly up your stomach. There is a gentleness in the way his lips whispered against your skin that shoots something through your chest and leaves you wanting more of whatever it is.

You gather yourself enough to look down and see his plump lips pursed around a nipple. As your eyes meet, he bites down around the swollen bud, and you whimper. He continues to bite and suck your breasts, drawing increasingly lewd sounds from you.

But then his lips leave the tender flesh of your breasts and kiss their way upwards to your neck. For a moment you think his gentle side might return, only to squirm beneath him as his teeth graze the delicate skin. Before you know it, his lips are pressed against you and he's sucking the skin in between his teeth.

"You'll leave a mark!" You exclaim, bound hands struggling to escape from where they’re still tied behind your back But he's quicker and stronger than you and he holds you down, stilling your movements, before continuing to suck and bite at your neck.

"Good." He moves his mouth to the hollow of your throat, sucking a bruise to the surface of your skin. "I want everyone to know exactly who you belong to. I want you to wear me, so no one even has a doubt in their mind whose slut you are."

As you look down, you realize he’s hard again. It’s not uncommon for him to be up and ready to go for a second or third round. His cock is red and rock-hard, and as he realizes what you’re looking at he smirks.

“Like what you see?”

“Yes, sir.” You swallow. “Want it—want you.”

“Do you think you’ve earned it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You took your punishment well,” he muses languidly. “And you sucked Sir off so well, too.”

He drags a finger through your slit, forcing you to buck up into his touch.

“Please—” you gasp.

“Since you asked so nicely—” abruptly, he spins you around so you’re facing towards the window. “I’ll fuck you. But I want everyone to see exactly the kind of slut you are for this cock.”

“But—”

“Color?”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. From this far up, you can see the gala, still in full swing. Even from this height, you can see their individual faces and you know if any of the people in sparkling gowns and tailored suits were to look up and squint, they would see your fucked-out form pressed against the window of the penthouse, your hands bound behind your back thrusting your chest forward obscenely. The thought sends a flood of arousal to your cunt.

“Green.”

“Good.”

At that, you feel the head of his cock brush against your dripping entrance. Jin looks down to see his huge cock resting against your red cheeks. You look tiny compared to him, and the sight makes him even harder. As he grips the base of his dick, he pushes gently against your entrance, the bulbous head slipping inside. His cock twitches as he hears you moan.

Jin is undoubtedly the biggest cock you’ve ever fucked. Even after months of him filling you, he was still a tight fit. While you often used lube to ease the slide in, tonight you were dripping wet, your arousal coating your swollen lips and beginning to run down your inner thighs. Slowly, he pushes into you. The sensation of being filled, of being stretched by him has you moaning, the sound filling the spacious apartment.

“You’re such a good slut for me, you take this cock so well,” Jin says as he presses the last inch of his length into you.

Kim Seokjin is a man of control. Despite the painful ache in his cock and the burning desire to pound into you, he isn't done drawing out your pleasure. Torturously slow, he slides his cock in and out of your tight cunt, his thick head dragging against your walls. You whine wantonly, pushing back against him.

He stops.

"Please. Sir," you nearly sob. "Need you."

"And I need you to use your words. This is mine." He reaches down to spread his palm over your sore ass, spreading you even further open for him. The sight of you impaled on his thick cock is one he’ll never get used to. "And I'll do what I want with it."

He can feel you shudder at his words, knowing that his possessiveness affected you just as much as it did him.

"You like that?" he growls. "Knowing you're mine? You're stuffed full of cock and still you want more. What a greedy slut."

"Please, Sir. Need you to fuck me," you beg. Still, Jin makes no indication of moving. "Please. Need you to show them who I belong to."

That does it.

“You. Belong. To. Me.” Each word is punctuated by a thrust, his cock spearing through the tightness of your walls.

“Fuck,” you hiss as he lifts your leg. The head of his cock begins to hit the knot of pleasure that’s tightly wound within your cunt. “Sir, you feel so good.” It’s all you can think about.

“He’s down there, isn’t he?” For a moment you’re not even sure who he’s talking about, so lost in pleasure and the sensations he’s teasing out of your body. “He could look up at any moment and see you like this, tits out, pressed up against the glass, letting me ruin you like this.” You moan at his words. “I bet you would like that, slut.” He punctuates the final word with a particularly hard thrust.

Your pussy clenches around him and he moans as he feels your tight walls grip him tighter.

“I think there’s a part of you that loves the idea of the world watching you get fucked.”

"Gonna—gonna cum," you gasp, your words stuttered out of your mouth by Jin's rough thrusts. "Sir, please, can I come?"

"No."

"Sir, please."

"Did you not hear me?" he growls. "Listen, or I'll stuff that pretty little mouth with something less pleasant than my cock."

You throw your head back, squeezing your eyes shut and clenching your abdominal muscles in an attempt to hold back the waves of euphoria that threaten to wash over you any moment now.

“Please, sir, need to come. I’ll do anything.” The tears that have been threatening to run down your face finally spill over as you’re split in pleasure and discomfort. “Please, anything.”

Jin releases your leg with a grunt and pushes your legs together, making it a tighter fit for both of you. With one hand he pushes down on your lower back, arching it for you. His other hand comes to wrap around your bound wrists, using the grip to power his thrusts into you. Somehow the new angle makes him seem even bigger than he already is and you mewl.

“Tell me who you belong to.”

“You, Jin,” you force out, trying to find your words through the pleasure that he’s pounding into you. “Only you.” Too late, you realize that you had used the wrong name for him and you gasp, ready for whatever correction he deems fit for you.

But it seems that’s exactly what he wanted you to say.

“Good girl. Cum. Now.”

As soon as the sound has left his lips your orgasm barrels through you.

“Jin!” you cry. You throw your head back, white overtaking your vision. Your cunt pulses around his hard length, spasming for what feels like minutes. Your breath freezes in your throat as sparks of pleasure flood your body.

Watching you come unraveled around his name is what does it for him. He groans as his orgasm washes over him, sending waves of pleasure throughout his whole body. He shudders against you, releasing ropes of cum into your still-pulsating cunt. You can feel his cock twitch against your oversensitive walls as he empties himself into you. His breath is heavy against your neck as his arms tighten around you. As much as you love the Jin in control, these moments when he releases all pretenses are precious to you.

Even as he stays sheathed within you, you can feel his cum begin to drip out of your cunt, running down your thighs. When he finally pulls out, the mix of your combined orgasms gushes out of you and you frown at the proceeding sensation of emptiness.

As you slump against the window, your eyes fluttering closed in pleasure and exhaustion, you feel Jin’s large hands ghost down your arms, releasing the fabring binding your wrists together. When he’s done, his hands come to rest on your hips, turning you as he kneels down in front of you. You gasp as you feel him swipe two of his fingers through the swollen folds of your cunt, as he collects his own cum. The sensation splits you in overwhelm.

"Open," Jin commands, standing up. You open your mouth and he slides the two cum covered fingers past your lips. "Suck." Dutifully, you press your lips around him, swallowing around him until he pulls out, not a drop of cum left on his fingers. His eyes burn in desire, and if it weren't for the exhaustion apparent in your posture, you know he would be ready to go for a second round. "Good girl."

You smile softly up at him, wrapping your arms around his waist. He holds you close and the two of you simply breathe together. You feel comforted against his large frame, his breath flowing easily and freely through him, your own body finding solace in the soft rhythm. He holds you like that for what feels like forever before he tips your weight into his body and leads you to the sleek leather couch. There, he sits down, pulling you into his lap. You curl up against his wide chest, nestling your nose into the crook of his neck.

"How are you?" he asks as he brushes the hair out of your eyes.

"Feel so good," you murmur, eyes fluttering shut in the afterglow that radiates throughout your whole body. Every muscle in your body feels warm and stretched.

"Do you want me to bring you to bed?" After all this time, Jin knows how sleepy you get after a scene like this.

"Mm, surprisingly not sleepy. Just... happy."

He holds you for a while, and you bask in the feeling of his arms wrapped securely around you and the light brush of his steady breath against your hair.

“Earlier,” you begin slowly. “You slipped. You started to call me ‘my’—and then you stopped. What were you going to say?”

Jin is quiet and for a moment you wonder if you misspoke.

“Honestly?” he finally says, his voice brushing over you like a soft breeze.

“Honestly,” you repeat, twisting into him to look him in the eyes. There’s something desperately gentle in his gaze. You could fall into it.

“Honestly, I don’t really know where my mind was going in that moment.” He pauses, chewing over his words. “But, I would like to call you mine—in some way.”

“Yours?”

He nods, shyly. “Mine.”

“Sure, I’ll be yours,” you grin, snuggling into his chest.

“Yeah?”

“But only if you’ll be mine, too.”

“I think we can arrange that.”

Seokjin pulls you tighter and just holds you like that for several minutes before he stands up and disappears into the bedroom for a moment. When he returns, he's holding a slim black box, which he hands to you.

"Put this on," he says.

You open the box to reveal a small black number.

"We're going back?" you ask.

"Only to get our winnings," he grins back to you, pushing his hair back again. "And to show everyone just exactly how much I won tonight."

“What do you mean, winnings?”

“I made a purchase tonight.” He presses a kiss to your lips. “The most colorful piece in the whole building.”

“—You?”

Jin smirks and comes behind you to zip up the beautiful piece of clothing. He traces over the bruises blossoming on your shoulders and neck with a gentle touch before pressing his lips to each and every one of them.

"Only if you're comfortable," he adds softly as you melt against his touch. There's no doubt you're tired. But still, the idea of finally walking into an event with Jin—no pretenses, no questions, no secrets—just together, has a thrill sparking in your core.

“I’m always comfortable with you,” you grin, taking his hand and leading him to the elevators.

|| masterlist || moodboard || ao3 ||

taglist:  @velvetwicebang​​ @spicykoreantatertots​ @usuallynervoussheep​ @dulcaet​ 

[azureashes]

Mess Her Up

NSFW 18+ ONLY, Minors DNI Summary: Levi Ackerman is just an ordinary gang member who receives an order he knows well. To mess her up. Only things don't turn out as he expects.

Pairings: Levi x OC, (Levi x Reader if you squint) Word count: 6.9 K Trigger warnings: Noncon, Dubcon, Blood Play, Knife Play, Gang Activity, Beatings, Masochism (?), Torture (?)

A young woman traipsed through the abandoned, yellowed stone alleyways, the sun shining high illuminating their surfaces and leaving deep shadows under the overhangs and archways. The buildings here were built out of stone centuries ago, in what must once have been an applauded endeavor in stone masonry but had since been abandoned for nearly as long. The beige tint of the stones set the image of a sepia landscape and was interrupted only by the flash of green of a rare tree or shrub in the area. It was a place that would look beautiful in pictures but was eerie in its abandoned echoes in person.

Her long hair trailed behind her and she smoothed down her skirts, clutching her cross-body purse as she climbed in her black flats lightly over the large stone steps that were clearly built for humans more intimidating than herself in size.

Spying a handsome young man leaning against the wall of a darkened alleyway, she marched towards him with renewed determination. His black hair was parted to the side falling loosely into his aloof face that looked displeased with the world in general. His stormy grey eyes were intent on the knife in his hand that he polished to a shine, glinting in the afternoon sunlight.

As she approached, his gaze flicked onto her, like a jaguar whose prey had fallen into his line of sight when he wasn’t interested in the hunt. A warning to back off.

“Excuse me,” she called, her voice ringing sweetly off the abandoned stone walls. He frowned at the young woman, irritation sparking in his eyes that she had disregarded his unspoken warning. “I’m looking for someone,” she continued obliviously.

Rummaging through her purse, she withdrew a photograph of a smiling young man with hair the shade of her own. “This is my brother. He hasn’t come home for three days. An elderly gentleman told me he had seen him somewhere around here. Do you think you could help me?” Her pleading tone of voice and wide, innocent eyes were met with a hardened, unmoved expression.

When he spoke, she was equally as surprised by the soothing quality of his voice as she was by the harsh, irritated tone he chose to speak in.

“Get lost, brat.”

She was taken aback by the rude rebuttal but, biting her lip, refused to back down. “Please,” she voiced, reaching out for his arm to convey her urgency, her eyes turned up to him desperately. He flinched at her touch and turned a livid glare in her direction. “Please,” she repeated, “He’s my only brother. I’m so worried about him.”

“Get your hands off me,” he hissed, his hands stilling in their movements where they were polishing the knife. She was suddenly struck by the realization that the gleaming switchblade in his hands was only a whim away from embedding itself in her flesh. That surely, him cleaning his knife meant it had recently been in use? Hesitantly, she withdrew her hand. “Can’t you help me?” she entreated again breathlessly.

“Is there something wrong with your ears? I said fuck off.” The scathing retort, clearly meant to scare her away, only served to have her dig in her heels in response. He hadn’t claimed not to know the young man in the photograph.

“Hey, Levi,” came a raspy voice from the shadows, “Who’s the visitor?”

When she turned her gaze towards the darkened alleyway, she found a tall, rugged blond standing there, his countenance partly veiled by the shadows, despite the brilliant sunlight.

“Tch.”

For whatever reason, the man’s sudden appearance served to irritate the black-haired man and he shot the strange girl a disparaging glance. One that seemed to read, “You brought this on yourself.”

Casting a wary glance at the raven-haired man - Levi, apparently, was his name - she sidestepped him to approach the blond man towering over her in the alleyway. Up close, she could see a thin scar running from one temple, down across the bridge of his prominent nose. 

“Excuse me, sir,” she began, holding up the photograph, “Have you seen this man? He’s my brother and hasn’t been home in three days.”

Levi averted his gaze as the stupid woman made her stupid plea. Fools with no sense of danger could only blame themselves for whatever followed.

True to character, the blond took one look at the picture in her hand and laughed aloud, a deep, rumbling sound that grated against Levi’s ears and made the young woman hesitate uncertainly.

“Why, Levi,” the man chuckled, “it’s rude to leave a young woman standing outside like this. You should have shown her in.”

The long-haired woman looked from one man to the other nervously as she clung to the strap of her cross-body purse. Levi came up behind her with an irritated expression, as if she were severely wasting his time. Caught with the muscular man towering over her in front of her and Levi approaching from behind, all routes of escape were cut off. She swallowed nervously as Levi met her eye with a bored expression. “You heard the man,” he drawled, nodding towards the alleyway.

With apprehensive determination, she nodded and stepped into the darkness, bypassing the taller man who was still chuckling ominously to himself. Unable to see in front of her for the darkness, her footsteps slowed, and Levi, pressing a hand to her back, shoved her forwards. “Keep moving,” was the gruff command. His hand on her back felt warm – larger and stronger than she would have expected - and in the darkness, his low voice sounded as if he spoke directly into her ear, sending chills up her spine.

At length, he pushed open a door that was invisible to her in the darkness and she stepped into the light on the other side, blinking.

She had entered what appeared to be a large common room with mismatched sofas and tables in various states of disrepair scattered across the sprawling space. A generous refrigerator hummed loudly in a corner and a pool table with worn-out green felt stood off to the side. A single lightbulb flickered in a green lampshade that hung oddly, almost comically, to one side.

She noticed now, that the room was filled with people equally as intimidating as the man she had left behind, absorbed in drink, games, or tobacco and talk. Their muscular bodies implied that these were men who depended on their strength to survive, and the scars that decorated what she could see of their skin were evidence of the lengths they would go to, to do so. In comparison, she was small and insignificant, less than a morsel to the fearsome men in front of her. She clutched the photograph to her chest and stepped backwards, looking from one terrifying face to the other. When she bumped into a broad chest, she spun around in surprise, only to find Levi closing the door behind them, looking at her through unfeeling gray eyes down the bridge of his nose.

She backed away from him, intimidated, and found herself in the center of the room surrounded by the watchful eyes of men whose intentions she failed to read.

“Well, well, well...” voiced a gruff voice from the back of the room, With a gasp, she saw a tall, gangly man lying on a sofa hidden from view. His face was concealed by a cowboy hat but as he rose to his feet now, he replaced it on his head, covering his long, straggly gray hair. His low chuckle and his self-assured smirk confirmed what the silence in the room implied – this was the leader of the group.

“What do we have here?” The man marched right up to her and caught her chin in an unforgiving grip, as he lifted her eyes up to him. “Pretty little thing you brought in, Levi.”

Still, the raven-haired man behind her was silent and unmoving. The man with the cowboy hat suddenly caught sight of the photograph and with one fluid movement snatched it out of her hands. His eyes lit up in recognition and he lowered his head as a deep, sinister chuckle rumbled from his lips. “Well, isn’t this precious?” he barked with a laugh.

“Tell me, sweetheart,” he waved the photograph in front of her face mockingly, “Who is this?”

“That’s-,” she took a deep breath for courage, “That’s my brother! If you know anything about his whereabouts, please tell me!” She lifted entreating eyes to the man, despite the sadistic amusement apparent on his features.

“Well...” he drawled, “We might know something.” He laughed, turning around and holding the picture up for the men gathered there to see, “Don’t we, boys?”

Raucous laughter erupted in the room at the girl’s poor fortune. “Listen here, girl,” he leaned in close until she could smell the unsavory mixture of tobacco, coffee, and alcohol on his breath, “Your brother has been our guest for the last couple of days. And he can’t leave here until we’ve shown him the full extent of our hospitality. That’s just good manners, isn’t it?”

“Is- is that so?” she stepped backwards, her eyes darting from one harsh, unforgiving face to another, “Well, then, I...”

“Oh, no you don’t,” the man had a lazy, laidback demeanor, but when his hand shot out to catch hold of her wrist, it was fast as the strike of a viper. He held her hand high, so that she had to stand on tiptoe to ease the pressure on her arm. “Now that you’re here, we can’t just let you leave. You’re our guest, too, aren’t you?”

He whirled her around and faced the men who had abandoned their card games and drinks to give their leader their full attention. “Who wants to show our princess here a good time? No one should be able to say that we treat our guests poorly, isn’t that right?”

A hum of agreement and low chuckles met his words as more men than she could count shouted back volunteering statements.

With one last burst of strength, she tore her hand free and made a mad dash for the exit only to come up against the chest of the raven-haired man once more. He stood with his back towards the door and lifted his eyebrows, unimpressed by her attempts to escape.

“Well, look at that,” the man in the cowboy hat jeered, “I think she likes you, Levi.”

Raucous laughter erupted in the room as Levi narrowed his eyes at the girl, irritated that she was causing this uproar and dragging him into this.

“Is this really necessary, Kenny?” he complained, turning narrowed eyes onto his boss.

“Oi. Go on, then. Show her a good time.” A shiver passed through her as she turned her eyes up to the raven-haired man who was pointedly ignoring her.

“It’s not her fault she has a piece of shit for a brother, and unlike you sleazy bastards, I don’t have a thing for brats,” his arguments fell on deaf ears, but his eyes dropped to the girl in front of him in surprise, when he saw that she had taken hold of the hem of his shirt between her thumb and forefinger, her head lowered, expression unreadable. Her action was invisible to the men behind her, but confused Levi, even as Kenny barked further orders.

“Birds of a feather, Levi.” He jerked a thumb at a door behind them, “Mess her up. That’s an order.”

“Tch,” irked beyond expression, he grabbed hold of her wrist and dragged her down through the living area to the jeers and catcalls of the men, pushing open one of the closed doors and pulling her through before pressing the door shut behind them, muffling the vulgar statements of the men beyond.

He eyed her calculatingly, his grey eyes walled off from her as his gaze wandered over her form from head to toe, his sharp mind mulling over a definition to the words, “mess her up.”

The resounding click that met her ears informed her that the door had been locked, and she was stuck with this enigmatic, terrifying man. He approached her slowly, annoyance still lingering in his eyes as he muttered, “I told you to get lost.”

Her eyes darted from one corner of the dimly lit room to another, shoulders trembling. An armchair and a tattered sofa stood haphazardly in the room, a beat-up old table with scratch marks stood tossed to the side. Light from a single, boarded up window strained to get inside. Telltale signs of struggle were visible in every corner of the room.

“You brought this on yourself,” his voice was deceptively soft and the skin at the nape of her neck prickled in response.

“I –“ she faltered, “Do you really want to do this to me?”

He drew closer as she retreated, backing up until her legs came up against the worn-out table. Her fingers traced its edge as she leaned backwards, trying to put every possible inch of distance between them. “Not my call,” he answered easily, towering over her now. She sucked in a breath, summoning mindless protests, but his closed fist slammed into her abdomen before she could utter a word, causing her to double over in pain.

“I’ll make this quick,” he offered, no touch of emotion lacing his voice. An unfeeling hand took hold of her long tresses and he tossed her carelessly backwards, the clattering sound of her falling against the table and the wooden legs skidding against the stone floor loud enough for the gathering outside to hear. She struggled back to her feet, and the next blow landed on the side of her face, leaving a large bloody bruise but carefully avoiding her nose. Women were vain about their noses.

She staggered towards him, disoriented, confused as to which direction was the one required to escape and falling unintentionally, straight into his arms. Using his grip on her, he kicked upwards into her stomach with his knee, causing her to cough up bile and fall to her knees. From there, she was at his mercy and he aimed one kick after another at her, his expression impassive and unchanging. A last kick to the face flung her to the side where she lay on the stone floor exhausted and beaten.

“Tch,” rolling his shoulders, he approached the young woman lying prone on the floor. Every move of his was calculated. He knew well enough which injuries would heal in a matter of days and which would leave lasting damage. The assignment was clear enough - “mess her up”. As long as she left here in a state that would make the group outside think she had duly suffered, it did not matter how much actual pain she had been in, or what he had done to her. It was all about appearances, after all.

He crouched down and, sliding a hand into her long, thick tresses, pulled her up from the ground, he turned her face this way and that and, seeing the blood leaking from her nose and the bruises blooming to life on her face, he determined she was injured enough to be allowed to leave without further hindrance.

“On your feet,” he muttered, rising and pulling her up with him. She stumbled to her feet and clung to the table for balance. He noted with satisfaction that her arms and legs were also bruised and battered, bruises large enough to satisfy the audience outside, but shallow enough that they should heal in a few days’ time.

He lifted a hand and indicated towards the door with a nod and a jerk of his thumb. “Get out of here, brat. Before I change my mind.”

She coughed and spat out the blood that had collected in her mouth. Levi blinked, veiling his surprise. The naïve, innocent, feminine impression she had carried into this room with her disappeared as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and narrowed her eyes at him.

“What?” she ground out, “Is that it?”

He only returned her glare with a blank stare of his own, nonplussed.

“Is that all you’ve got?” she continued, looking up at him defiantly, “And when they said ‘mess her up’ here I was, thinking you were actually going to do something to me.” She scoffed, and gave him a disappointed look, as if he wasn’t quite up to scratch.

What the actual fuck?

“Oi,” a dangerous spark flared in his otherwise cold grey eyes as he grabbed her by the collar and pulled her up to face him, “Take a look around you before you start talking shit. Are you asking me to break your legs right now? That what you want?”

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” she taunted, “But is this what your boss meant when he said ‘mess her up’? It’s not, right?”

He glared at her, unable to believe his ears. She should have been cowering in gratitude that he was letting her go without touching her. She should have been scrambling for the exit.

“They wanted you to fuck me, right? Or was I the only one who understood it that way?” The sarcasm that laced her voice, so sweet and innocent when she had approached him outside, now low and almost sultry even in its indignant anger, confused him.

He released her as if burned. What was wrong with this woman?

“So, what happens if I tell them out there you couldn’t get it up?” She indicated towards the group outside with a jerk of her chin as she leaned back against the table. He narrowed his eyes at her. Of course, he knew precisely what would happen to her, it wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before. Men get beaten, girls get defiled. Those are the rules of the game. The price for rubbing up against their group the wrong way. There was no such thing as mercy. Levi knew that better than anyone else. He had learned that the first time he had tried to allow a woman to escape unharmed. She had turned grateful eyes to him before trying to leave, only to be caught by one of his brothers and then passed around until she lost consciousness.

He had been made to watch. She had been made to thank him for his kindness, for sparing her – words that meant nothing as tears streamed down her face and the group stood in a circle around her. “It’s great that you’re so fucking nice, Levi,” someone had hissed into his ear. He couldn’t for the life of him now remember who had spoken. He had swallowed half a bottle of painkillers, but his body had recovered in no less than 48 hours, just to spite him.

He learned not to show any misplaced sympathy. He learned it was better to have a woman screaming and begging for mercy beneath him, than to have her be literally torn apart by the men outside. He learned how to tune out their cries. He learned how to have a heart that felt nothing. But it didn’t change the fact that he hated sex. He hated having to use it to break their wills. To punish them. He would much rather have just broken an arm or two. He hated the fact that he could not remember the last time he had had a willing woman beneath him.

With time, he had learned how to fake it. Learned where to leave bruises, where to tear clothes so that no one would stop and question them. It wasn’t that he couldn’t do it. He was just fed up of it. Fed up of playing this ridiculous game. Fed up of using intimacy as a weapon. It wasn’t like he was into that kind of shit.

But this brat.

He narrowed his eyes at her, but she returned his gaze unabashed, shamelessly – demanding, almost.

“Are you asking to be raped right now?” he growled, stalking towards her. He was not going to let himself be intimidated by this slip of a thing.

“If that’s what you want to call it,” she shrugged.

“You tell them out there I didn’t touch you and you might not ever be able to have children. So, if you decide to open your mouth that’s on you,” his tone was devoid of intonation, but his narrowed eyes expressed his irritation with her.

“Are you gay?” she asked, blinking up at him inquisitively.

He only glared at her in return, he wasn’t about to play this game with her.

“Alright, sure they’ll have their way with me instead. But what about you? Does nothing happen to you if you don’t follow orders?” She seemed genuinely curious, and unbothered by the bruise swelling on her cheek or the blood seeping out of the wound above her right eyebrow as she crossed her arms over her chest.

Would nothing happen to him? He had been loyal to the group since he was barely more than a child. If it got out, however, that he had taken to sparing women again, it spelled trouble for whoever else they sent his way after this damned frustrating brat. If she wanted him to fuck her up so badly, then she had it coming.

“What do you want, brat?” he seethed.

“I don’t want you to harbor any illusions of having done me a kindness when I leave here,” she answered, her voice dark and unforgiving. “If you’re going to mess me up, do it right and let me curse your name for the rest of my days. Wallow in the guilt. Don’t deceive yourself into thinking you’re some kind of good guy.”

The irritation vanished from his face, only to be replaced by a deadened apathy, he placed one hand on the table on either side of her, leaning forward, inadvertently forcing her to lean back as her chest brushed against his. He leaned in close, his lips brushing against her ear as he spoke, his voice as soft as it was dark, “The things I’ve done? Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She shuddered at the close proximity, at his warm breath against her ear, but those soft words were all that was gentle about him. She had asked for it, and he wasn’t kind to the point of being foolish. He could break a stupid woman as good as anyone. He pulled back, looking her coldly in the eye as he took hold of her collar and, without warning, tore her shirt open. She blinked, scarcely able to understand just what had happened as she stood there in the tattered remains of what was once her shirt.

She watched the buttons roll off into the corners of the room and was still wrapping her mind around this sudden change of behavior when his hand found purchase in her hair again and jerked her head mercilessly back, exposing the smooth column of her throat. His mouth instantly closed in on her pulse point, making quick work with his teeth, sucking on the sensitive skin there before biting down mercilessly. She gasped at the painful sensation that made one thing terribly clear, this encounter was not designed to provide her with any pleasure.

He tore off her cardigan, quickly followed by the torn shirt, leaving her in nothing but her skirt and the lacy black bra she wore. It did not occur to him that her choice of undergarments was alluring. He did not think to question whether that had been intentional on her part. Her eyes flew open when she felt cold metal between her breasts, before she could look down to see what it was, his knife had cut through the lacy fabric of her undergarments, inadvertently cutting her in the process. Knowing his skill, she could only assume that it had been intentional. Blood trickled down her chest over her abdomen, the stinging pain of the weeping wound rushed to her head. Exhilarating her.

She sucked in a cold breath of air, only moments before his hand closed around her throat, pinning her against the table. Her hands flew up in reflex, closing around his arm, gentle fingers pressing into the corded muscles of his forearm, she blinked up at him as her mouth opened helplessly for breath that would not come. She gaped at him, trying to word something with what little breath she had.

“What’s that?” he murmured calmly, his eyes cold and expressionless. “I can’t hear you.”

Her eyes fluttered shut as she arched her back, pressing her breasts up against his arm. Was this an involuntary reaction? Or... what the hell was she doing?

When he felt her convulsing from lack of oxygen, he released her with a grim expression. Something wasn’t right. Something about the balance of power between them. That unimpressed look in her eyes still irritated him. As if she had no sense of the actual danger she was in, even though she was in this state, literally bruised, battered, and bleeding. Now, coughing for breath. So, why did it feel like she was the one in control?

He let his knife fall to the floor as he unbuckled his belt, watching her eyes turn towards him, wide with something akin to terror - or was that anticipation? Had he become one of those lecherous swine who imagined they saw willingness in the eyes of a woman who wanted nothing more than to escape them? Had he really fallen to a point that he had begun to justify his actions?

He slid the belt out with one smooth action and, binding her wrists, turned her roughly on her stomach before he hung the buckle from a hook screwed into the wall. Her front was pressed roughly against the harsh surface of the wooden table and her arms were extended further than was comfortable, bound by the rough leather. From this angle, he could not see her face and that was certainly for the better.

“You asked for this, didn’t you, brat?” He placed one booted foot between her own black flats and pried her feet apart. His hands slipped under her skirt and found the curve of her bottom and kneaded roughly, his fingers greedy and bruising. The hair on the back of his neck rose in alarm when she moaned in response.

“Oi,” he responded, “What the hell?”

She bit her lip, not allowing another sound to escape her mouth, and he lifted a hand to flip up her skirt, tossing it carelessly over her back. She had, quite literally, asked for this. When he lifted a hand, the resounding slap echoed throughout the room. Her skin quickly flushed red, and knowing that he had not held back, would likely be bruised as well. She had asked him not to hold back. No illusions of mercy.

One resounding slap after another echoed throughout the room and could likely be heard in the common room as well. He wanted to punish her. For being so stupid. For coming here at all. For not just leaving when he had given her a chance to. By the tenth slap she could not take it anymore and a husky moan escaped her lips.

“Don’t tell me you’re enjoying this,” his voice was dripping in disbelieving sarcasm. “Is it just some kind of shitty coincidence that this kind of shit turns you on?” Indeed, there was no denying it now. Her moans were proof enough of that, not to mention the fact that her panties were positively soaking. Did this crazy bitch have some kind of abuse kink?

Hooking a finger into her waistband he pulled her lacy black underwear down to her knees. “Tch, look how wet you are.” It sounded like a complaint and her face burned in response. “You’d almost think you wanted this.” When his fingers stroked her slit, she bucked her hips in response, chasing his touch, instantly wanting more.

“Oi,” he blinked at her, “Calm the fuck down, will you?” With a flick of his wrist, he unhooked the belt from the wall and brought her to her knees with a single kick at the inside of her knee. He held on to the belt with one hand and angled her head backwards with a firm grip on her hair with the other. When she lifted her eyes to his, they were dark with lust and he swallowed, realizing the situation had curiously grown out of his control. He had never seen a bloodstained face like that looking up at him with such desire. Tugging on the belt, he brought her forward as he regarded her through apathetic grey eyes.

He unzipped his trousers and pulled out his engorged length to her wide-eyed surprise. “Well, go on then,” he muttered coldly, with a curious edge to his voice, “Since you’re so fucking eager.”

She wasted no time in closing her bound hands around his length and long-lashed eyes fluttered elegantly shut as she brought her lips to his tip. She began with a chaste kiss before dragging her tongue over his slit lapping up the precum gathering there. She closed her lips around him, using her tongue to heighten the friction as she took him in as deeply as her gag reflex allowed. She bobbed her head back and forth, wanting to drive him to the brink as he had done with her. He closed his eyes, despite himself, enjoying her mouth on him more than he thought he would allow himself to. He stifled a moan rumbling to life in his chest as her warm, wet mouth worked magic on his erect member.

Why not? She was his assignment. She was willing. She was undeniably attractive. If she truly wanted him to have his way with her, then why the fuck not? She would have only herself to blame at the end of all this. Gripping her hair more tightly, he thrust into her mouth, more deeply than she had been willing to take him at first, but helpless to resist him all the same as he fucked her face, his length thrusting into her throat and her muffled sounds indecipherable. Were they protest or pleasure? Damned if he knew.

At length, he released her. Having made up his mind to make the most out of this encounter, he was far from done with her. His eyes roamed over her nearly naked form now, as if seeing her for the first time. The full swell of her breasts, the dip of her thin waist, the curve of her hips. The short, pleated black skirt that pretended to cover her. Her almond eyes, darkened with lust and her long, silky hair. She was a sight to behold.

He tugged her to her feet and threw her onto her stomach on the table before thrusting without so much as a warning into her wet and aching cavern. She released a throaty moan, one that was undeniably of pleasure. He could not for the life of him explain why that sound made him feel more guilty than protests would have. All the same, he reached up to knead her breasts as he thrust in and out of her, quickening his pace, eager to reach his own release. His ears perked as her moans intensified, growing louder and more insistent.

“Oh, more... Just like that, don’t stop...”

Was she hearing herself?

“Harder, Levi... hurt me, please...”

This was far from the words she was supposed to be saying. She was supposed to be cursing his existence. Wishing him a slow and painful death.

“Oi,” he hissed, slamming into her with increased force, “Shut the fuck up, will you?”

Her answer was another desperate groan, and with a frustrated groan of his own, he reached up to fill her mouth with two fingers. It was the fastest and most effective way to gag her. His conscience could not take her pretending to enjoy this. But he was equally as ill-prepared for the way she began sucking off his fingers. He was nearing his climax but literally every thing she did was infuriating him.

In the span of one thrust, he pulled out of her, flipped her over and reentered her without missing a beat. But was that a mistake? Now that he could look into her lust-filled eyes with his own frenzied, grey irises, he was sure she was not pretending. She seemed to be genuinely enjoying this. No matter, she would have time enough to regret it when it was over. For now... for now, he just wanted to reach that climax that was fast approaching.

If she could just keep her mouth shut for two minutes, that was all he needed. “Oh, Levi...” she whined. Having a complete stranger call his name that way sent shivers down his spine. It was unnatural. He closed his fingers around her throat again. He just needed her to shut up. For just one goddamn minute. Her large, expressive eyes fluttered closed and her terrible sounds stilled as he squeezed her airways closed as he slammed into her, faster now, harder, chasing the sensation he knew was close.

She came first, first convulsing from oxygen deprivation, then trembling from the intensity of her orgasm, her back arching off the table as her walls clenched around him, providing him with the last push he needed to reach that height. He squeezed his eyes shut as the sensation tore through him, leaving him breathless. With a low growl, he pulled out of her to spill his seed literally anywhere else. The last thing he needed was to father a child with a nameless nobody. He hovered over her still. His hands resting on either side of her. Catching his breath, both their chests heaving as they came down from their mutual high.

What had they just done? Could that truly have been considered non-consensual? Well, perhaps that would be what she decided it was, given a day or two to think it over. They stayed that way for a minute, catching their breaths. A smirk crossed her face, unbeknownst to him as he pressed his eyes shut, calming his racing heart.

At length, he drew back, and she pulled herself up to a seated position. She held her hands up to him expectantly and he wordlessly unbound them, before looping his belt back into his trousers, watching her out of the corner of his eye as she scanned the room for her clothing, only to see her note with a distant smile, that most of it was unusable. Foregoing the torn shirt and slit bra, she reached for her cardigan, wrapping it tightly around herself, using the belt to wrap it tightly closed as a makeshift shirt. She ran a hand through her hair, brushing it away from her face and Levi could only stare at her with awe.

She had, at some point wiped the blood from her nose, her face was still undeniably battered. Her arms and legs were severely bruised and yet- and yet – why the fuck did she look so content?

“You didn’t kiss me,” she voiced, lifting her eyes to his. Was that a complaint?

After everything else he had done, a kiss was the least he could offer her, wasn’t it? He stepped forward, taking hold of the back of her head gently. Here was something he didn’t do often and when he did, he only ever did it the way he wanted.

So, that was what he did now, angling his head to claim her lips. Kissing her slowly, deeply, intently – as if he meant it. There was only one right way to kiss someone. When he drew back, she released a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of her soul.

“Thanks, Levi Ackerman,” she breathed.

As he buckled his belt again, he lifted stormy grey eyes to her, taking in her dazed expression. “You should get that head of yours checked out,” he commented, “Something isn’t right with you.”

She giggled at that comment from her perch on the table, kicking her legs back and forth cheerfully as she waited for him to finish dressing.

“There’s nothing to be so fucking cheerful about,” he reprimanded, “Look at your face.”

“It hurts,” she agreed, but with a smile on her face that disturbed him. Shaking his head, he took hold of her elbow and led her out of the room. The men in the common area fell silent at her battered appearance.

One of them released a low whistle, “You’ve outdone yourself, eh, man?”

Levi froze in his tracks, pausing to deliver a deadly glare over his shoulder. “I’m not quite done yet, though. Should I just take your tongue out next?”

The man blinked up at him before quickly turning his gaze back to the card game in front of him. That Levi was not one to be trifled with was well known among them, with exception of their leader.

He led her to the exit and tore open the door, he hesitated only for a moment, regarding her for a second. She had been beautiful, before he had “messed her up”. She still was, if you asked him. But for the entire duration of her short stay in their hideout, every thing she had said and did had only served to confuse him. He did not even know what he should say to her, if anything at all. She nodded in parting and turned to leave, and he let her go.

He supposed he would think back to her, in dark, contemplative nights. Wondering if he should perhaps have done this differently. How it would have been if he had not had to hurt her. He watched her disappear into the darkness before shaking his head and closing the door behind her. Whether he had actually fulfilled his assignment was anyone’s guess.

He moved past the common room to a hallway behind it. He needed to see Kenny. To get some actual work done and take his mind off of the ridiculous encounter. He followed the sound of screaming and found their boss with relative ease. A brown-haired man tied to a chair was screaming profanities as one of their men carved intricate designs into his flesh with a knife.

Kenny sat nearby, his feet propped up on another chair as he dragged on a cigarette. Catching sight of Levi, he coughed, and rasped, “Back, are you? You sure took your sweet time.”

Levi said nothing to this, nodding at the man instead, clearly the young man from the girl’s photograph. “Still nothing?” he asked, turning grey eyes on to Kenny. “Not yet,” Kenny commented, but turned towards the screaming man.

“Hey, that reminds me. You won’t believe who was just here.”

The dragging of the knife stopped, and the man caught his breath before turning incredulous eyes towards them.

“What a coincidence that she would come all this way looking for you, eh?” Kenny barked a laugh, “But don’t worry, Levi took good care of her, didn’t you, Levi?”

Levi did not respond, letting his silence serve as his answer.

“The fuck are you on about?” the man hissed, breathing raggedly from the hours of unabating pain.

“Why, your sister, of course,” Kenny remarked, bringing his cigarette back to his lips. “She was here looking for you.”

The man blinked at them incredulously before releasing a weak laugh, “I don’t have a sister, you sick fuckers! You bastards raped an innocent girl!”

Levi felt the blood in his veins run cold as Kenny turned towards him with a raised brow.

His mind raced - the way she had approached him, clung to his shirt, insisted he not let her off easy, the way she had looked at him, the way she had left without so much as asking about her brother again, and most of all ... Thanks, Levi Ackerman.

Where had she learned his last name? No one had used it in the short time she had been there. Levi turned on his heel and stalked out of the room, down the hallway, back through the common room, tearing open the door before bursting back out onto the stone-laid roads beyond. No matter where he turned, she was nowhere to be found.

Turning back, he froze at what he saw, and realizing what it meant, a sickening feeling crept over him. He felt used, exposed, and somehow violated. He felt sick to his stomach. He had been sent to force himself on her but, recalling how forward she had been with him, how she had insisted he finish what he started, which of the two of them had truly been taken advantage of?

When Kenny came out after him, ducking under the archway, he turned to look at what had caught Levi’s eye. His boss and uncle released a low, amused chuckle.

“Looks like she had a thing for you.”

“Well, fuck.”

“You catch her name?”

“Of course not.”

He blinked at the wall, at the red graffiti emblazoned on it.

“Thanks for a good time, Levi Ackerman.” And beside that, a ridiculous red heart.

He should have known she was fucking crazy.

[petri808]

We’ll Take Back Heaven a Nalu Yakuza Au

1 | 2 | 3 | 4

“Ms. Heartfilia,” the man nodded at the blonde.

“Mr. Katsunuma.” Lucy bowed in response. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Of course,” the older male smiled. “Your assistance has led to this celebration after all.”

It was an extravagant party being held in a large room of Katsunuma Industries corporate headquarters. The tech giant was celebrating the acquisition of their rival in the industry… thanks in part to Lucy’s untraceable services. A few bits of intelligence on the rival company coupled by the money laundering Lucy provided allowed Katsunuma to fuel the merger and overtake them. The rival had no choice but to sign the contract because if they didn’t, they would have been put out of business. Part of the deal insured the employees would be kept which had been the rivals concern, but those employees are in large part Katsunuma’s desire to take the business. Their current patents and information aside, those employees were the heart of creating more. It was a genius move.

“Mmm, I do what I can,” Lucy smiled sweetly and held up her glass. “A toast to a successful relationship.”

The man clinked his glass against hers. “For many more years to come. Enjoy the party, Ms. Heartfilia.”

“I will,” Lucy responded with another smile.

As she made her way back towards the temporary bar set up, Lucy chatted with people along the way. Some she knew, others she didn’t, but her stunning looks always turned heads everywhere she went. She wasn’t the typical Asian beauty found around those parts. Her mother was a Caucasian American and her father a Japanese businessman, so the hapa mix created a buxom blonde with almond eyes and legs for days, fluent in both English and Japanese as well as Korean. Gorgeous and intelligent. Men desired her, and women either hated her or wanted to be her. Luckily for the other women, Lucy had no interest in these stuffy, boring business types, except in taking their money because she knew all they wanted were docile arm candies and that wasn’t for her at all.

The only reason she attended these events were to show her loyalties and drum up new business considering she operated at word of mouth. But anyone too eager to do business with her immediately sent up a cautionary flag. No one survives in the dark world by being naive, the biggest lesson her cut-throat businessman of a father ever taught her. Lucy had to get to know the person, feel them out, and background check them inside and out, and even after all that she wouldn’t immediately jump into an arrangement. She made sure that any business wanting to employ her laundering services would lose big time if they ever considered turning on her. ‘Stupid men,’ she mused to herself. Greed was the easiest way to keep them in line, because the green-eyed monster was just too enticing. Another lesson her father taught her the hard way when bankrupted his company on a bad venture.

Lucy placed her empty glass onto the bar top and rested an arm on it. She smiled at the orange-haired bartender. Handsome in a playboy kind of way, even the glasses added to the charm. “A Cosmopolitan, please.”

“Coming right up cutie,” the man winked at her.

She wanted to roll her eyes but played it cool. “Loke, is it,” Lucy read off the name tag on his vest. “Unusual name. Bet you flirt with all the girls, huh?”

“Only the pretty ones,” he grinned back. “And you are the finest example here tonight.”

“Aww, how sweet,” Lucy clicked her tongue with a shrug. “Too bad lines don’t work on me.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Loke smiled back undeterred. “You’re definitely a higher caliber than the rest.”

‘Oh, Kami,’ Lucy droned internally. This guy probably had a ton of cheeky comebacks in his repertoire. Was he fuckable in her view? Toned body but not too muscular, nimble fingers… maybe fit for a one-night affair. It has been awhile since she’d had some action, so maybe he could be fun to end this celebration with. She leaned in closer letting her breasts press up against the counter. “You know this might—”

“Careful dude, this ones got claws you don’t wanna mess with.”

Lucy’s body stiffened in annoyance at the new voice so close to her ear. “Ugh, Natsu.” Not the intrusion she wanted right now!

“My apologies,” Loke immediately put her finished drink down, then his hands up as he took a step back. “You have a good evening ma’am.”

But the bartender’s body language spoke volumes as well. Loke wasn’t reacting solely to the comment, because he was staring straight at Natsu as he spoke. She could imagine that while Natsu’s tone was light, he was probably giving the bartender a menacing glare. Ugh!

Annoyed at Natsu’s interjection, Lucy grabbed her drink in a huff and started to walk away without looking behind her. “I don’t need a knight,” she huffed. But undeterred, Natsu immediately stepped in and tried to weave an arm around her waist. “Don’t get familiar,” she seethed in a hushed tone as she stepped out of his embrace. She didn’t want to cause a scene either, so she pulled him away from the crowd near the bar area to a quieter section. “What do you want Dragneel?”

“It’s improper for a woman like you to be without an escort at these events.”

Lucy placed a hand on her cocked hip in irritation. So, what if that were true, those traditions made her skin crawl. She normally would have brought one, but her go-to guy wasn’t available and since most of the guests knew who she was, Lucy figured they wouldn’t care. Why would a bunch of old guys not want a gorgeous blonde to look at? “I’m perfectly fine by myself considering I’m an invited guest. What are you doing here, this isn’t your playground.” She knew the world of corporate Tokyo and business stiffs were not the type he’d associate with. Though she had to unconsciously admit Natsu looked good in a three-piece suit.

“Be nice kitten, I was invited too.”

“Oh yeah, by who? I know Katsunuma’s not involved with the Yakuza.”

“Not senior, the son. Boy’s got a bit of a habit along with his friends.”

“Ah, let me guess, you’re the supplier.”

“You guessed right, kitten.”

“Stop calling me kitten!”

The irritation in her voice only succeeded in pulling a smirk from Natsu. He was obviously enjoying this dance, which fueled Lucy’s determination to not be swayed by it. She took a sip of her drink in annoyance. “Shouldn’t you check on your client then?”

“What for? Those rich brats partying on daddy’s dime make for disinteresting conversation. I’d much rather talk to you.”

“Lucky me,” Lucy rolled her eyes. “Well, I’d rather schmooze with my clientele. They serve a purpose, you do not.”

Natsu reached out and ran a finger along Lucy’s arm. “So harsh, kitten. We both know you’re enjoying this too.”

The ripple he triggered along her skin and increase in temperature had Lucy internally reeling, though the dead stare she wore on her face showed the opposite reaction. She wasn’t about to admit to a damn thing! “Uh-huh, keep telling yourself that Dragneel. Perhaps one day your dreams will come true.”

“I’m counting on it.”

“Ugh!” Lucy pushed him away in annoyance. “You’re too much! I’m leaving.” She turned her back.

“Oi,” Natsu grabbed her arm forcefully and spun her back around. “I mean it!” he growled in a lowered voice. “You may be damn good at what you do, but you still got a thing or two to learn about a man’s world.”

“What the fuck are you talking about,” Lucy spat back in a hushed tone. “These guys don’t care!”

“You think they’d say it to your face, kitten? I’d overheard more than one of your so-called prospects here gossiping about your shameful behavior and you’ve only been here fifteen minutes.”

“You’re lying.”

His eyes narrowed and brows furrowed. “I’m a lot of things, but you know I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Okay, so that was true. Lucy’s known Natsu long enough to know when and if he’d ever lie to her. Still, “fine!” She seethed. “I won’t plan on staying much longer if I’m stuck with you.”

“Aww,” he defiantly tipped her chin up. “But I’ll take such good care of you.”

“Pfft,” she glared back with a twisted smile and voice dripping with sarcastic disdain. “As if. You couldn’t satisfy me then, so… what makes you think you could now?”

“Wow…” Natsu placed a hand over his heart feigning pains and groaning for effect. “Hitting me where it hurts, Luce.” He then grinned and suddenly pulled her flush against his solid body, arm wrapped around her waist, while the other gripped tightly to her hip so she couldn’t move. He leaned in, his face lowered and hovering over her ear. “If only it were true. All those nights… I lost track of how many times you called my name to the heavens.”

Between the sensually deep tone of Natsu’s voice and warm breath fanning over her skin, Lucy couldn’t hide her physiological reactions if she’d tried. Her body stiffened up, fighting a hormonal urge to give in with a sheer determination not to play his game. There was a damn good reason they’d broken up, and until he admitted to what went wrong, there was no way in hell Lucy would go back to him.

“It’s not just about sex,” she gritted out.

“I know…” Natsu let his lips brush against her ear, pulling a shiver from her body. He smirked. “It’s about love.”

Love?! How dare he! Whatever spell he was close to casting instantly dissolved on Lucy and her anger boiled to the surface. She pushed with all of her might, forcing them apart. Oh, she was furious! “And that’s something you know nothing about!” Lucy’s hand flew up faster than even she knew it was happening, landing a loud slap across Natsu’s face. “You made your choice long ago, and love never factored in,” she seethed then stomped away leaving the man alone and speechless amongst whispering bystanders.

So much for celebrating, not after Natsu’s intrusion into the affair. Lucy thanked Katsunuma again for inviting her and left the party. She couldn’t be around Natsu for another second or she just might hit him again. Ugh! He made her so angry! Love… seriously?! He had no right to pull that on her, not when it was his decision that lead to their split. In a way she should thank him for opening her eyes, because that’s what lead to creating her own organization. Lucy wanted to show that women could do just fine in the underworld with the right people and the right plans in place. And she hadn’t been the only one to feel that way. This was the modern era and all the bullshit, patriarchy rules that held them back needed to die with the twentieth century. The saddest part… Lucy didn’t even know if Natsu realized how much he’d hurt her all those years ago.

“Ma’am,” the valet snapped Lucy out of her thoughts. “Your car has arrived.”

“Thank you.” Lucy stepped closer to the curb as the vehicle pulled up alongside her. The valet opened the door for her, but just as she was about to step in, she heard her name called from behind her.

“Natsu, can’t you take a hint!” She turned and snapped while still keeping a hand on the vehicle.

“Luce, I was just playing with you upstairs. I didn’t mean to make you so angry.”

“Well, you did.”

“I don’t understand why!”

“And that’s your problem.”

“But I don’t want you to hate me, and you seem to hate me.”

Lucy sighed from the sheer emotional exhaustion. “I don’t hate you, Natsu. But until you can figure out why I left you, we don’t have anything more to talk about. Now. Good night.” She got into the vehicle, and they drove away.

Once they were out of sight, Lucy slumped down into the seat holding back the cloud of tears building in her eyes. She’d meant what she said, all of it including not hating him. Frankly, she didn’t know if she could. Anger, yes, but hatred no. They’d been young but even she recognized the connection she had to Natsu wasn’t something she could easily walk away from, and she also knew he wasn’t lying when he’d brought up love. The man’s reaction to seeing her flirt with the bartender was a reminder of his feelings for her. But it wasn’t enough. Lucy didn’t want to feel like an unequal partner in the relationship and that’s exactly what the Yakuza world Natsu chose expected.

“Home, miss?”

“Yes, please take me home.”

[dangerousconnoisseurdonut]

Underwater Gotham Kingdom Idea

Gotham is an underwater kingdom where dwell a number of different type of merpeople live and work. There are five types of merpeople; octopi, shark, whale, dolphin, and manta. The last two are of a more ruling class, while the former three are seen as less. Still, that doesn’t stop those like shark James Gordon from joining the royal guard, or Orca Alfred Pennyworth from being brought on as a companion for a young noble, manta Bruce Wayne. Martha Wayne was a dolphin and, due to an accident involving the stingers on his tail, Martha died giving birth to him. Thomas has always blamed himself as Bruce inherited his own manta tail instead of his beloved Martha’s dolphin tail. As such, Thomas threw himself into his work, neglecting Bruce.

After countless companions, Alfred Pennyworth is more than a match for rambunctious twelve-year-old Bruce Wayne, especially when Bruce gets a young guard as further protection. Jim and Alfred become fast friends with each other and Bruce, and the pair teach him a lot of different tricks when it comes to fighting. One day, Bruce is swimming around, when he notices a large group of octopi, sharks, and whales swimming together; a little unusual, and he’s curious enough to follow them. When he gets there, he finds a number of octopi, sharks, and whales all gathered together with shark Theo Galavan talking about over throwing their government! He’s about to swim away when he sees something that takes the wind out of his sails and he feels his heart break; Alfred and Jim are there, and they reveal themselves to be spies meant to learn the weaknesses of the palace.

Before Bruce can swim away, he’s caught by a shark named Zsasz who presents him to the group. Galavan is ready to kill Bruce, except that Bruce uses the venom in his tail to hurt Galavan enough to get away. He dodges all of the sharks, octopi, and whales who try to grab him, and uses many of the tricks he learned from Alfred and Jim to make it back to Gotham, but he just wasn’t fast enough and Galavan’s forces start their attack. Galavan finds Bruce and goes to kill him, but Thomas gets in the way, protecting his son. Between Thomas’ more mature venom and and Galavan’s sharp teeth, the two manage to kill each other. Bruce is pulled from the fray by Captain of the Guards, Nathaniel Barnes who takes Bruce to the throne room in one last effort to keep Gotham from falling into the Rebellions hands entirely. He charges shark soldier Harvey Bullock and dolphin sorcerer Lucius Fox with protecting Bruce as Bruce holds the crown jewel of Gotham; a beautiful star sapphire referred to as the Heart of Gotham. The three make their way out of the city and to the one place the Rebels can’t follow; the surface world..

As the three break through the surface, Lucius casts an ancient spell to give them human legs, but is reminded that none of them have ever swam with human legs and have trouble keeping afloat. Thankfully, a family are out on the water and see them, rescuing them. They are Jonathan and Martha Kent, with their twelve-year-old son, Clark, who takes an immediate liking to Bruce.

Five years pass, and Smallville High doesn’t know what to make of the ‘honourary cousins’, Clark Kent and Bruce Fox; on one hand, both boys are handsome jocks that are on the football team, on the other, both boys are huge dorks. Soon, however, they get something new to focus on as a number of new people have moved to Smallville; a new clothing store opened by a Jervis Tetch, whose fashion styles are geared more towards children, and Oswald Cobblepot, who makes very sharp suits for men and women.

Then, there are three new students attending Smallville High; the Valeska twins, Jerome and Jeremiah, and a student said to be a chem genius, Jonathan Crane. To top it off, they get three substitute teachers as well; Victor Fries takes over the science course, Ben Mackenzie takes over as coach for the football team, and Sean Pertwee takes over their history course. At one of the home games, Harvey, Martha, and Lucius are all cheering for their boys (Jonathan having died from cancer two years ago) when Harvey sees Coach Mackenzie, and recognizes his old partner, even through the illusion spell he and ‘Sean’ are wearing. He informs the coach he wants to talk to him later, at the bar he tends at. Saying that he thinks the two have a lot to talk about.

Ben/Jim: Hi Harvey; Oswald was a little surprised you recognized me through Ed’s glamour spell.

Harvey: Ed was always good with magic, almost as good as Lucius was before he gave it up for technology. But you should have remembered that I always had a knack for seeing through spells.

Jim: Yeah, I guess we forgot that. You look good though; the surface world actually agrees with you.

Harvey: It’s not too bad up here; at least up here I don’t have to worry about being stabbed in the back by my own species.

Jim: Harvey...

Harvey: Tell me, how many women and children died that day? I know old Thomas managed to take Galavan down with him; Bruce had nightmares for over a year thanks to him. Tell me, was Galavan supposed to kill him too, or were you going to do that? Nice and quick?

Jim, eyes flashing black and teeth sharpening: Alfred and I would never harm Bruce; you know we loved and doted on him! And Thomas wasn’t supposed to get hurt, but Galavan was insane and hated the Wayne’s.

Harvey: Unless you want people to notice something not right, I’d suggest you calm down. And yeah, I remember just how much you two loved that kid, and can’t help but notice you and the others came here just after the kid turned seventeen; courting age.

Jim: You know he belongs in Gotham.

Harvey: No, here’s what I know; Bruce had no friends and no family apart from Thomas in Gotham, here he has friends, and he and Clark are practically brothers. Lucius likes it up here too; says that human tech is a lot more fun to work with than magic. And finally, me and Martha are happy, we...

Jim: Martha?

Harvey:Clark’s mother? She and her husband Jonathan taught us all about the surface world after they rescued us that day. But Jonathan died two years ago from Cancer, and I looked after her; the two of us have been going steady for almost six months. And it’s because of that I’m willing to offer you, your fellow consorts, and the King of Gotham a deal; we give you the Heart of Gotham and you let the three of us remain here on the surface world.

Jim:...

[millllenniawrites]

sparks fly (Poe Dameron x Reader)

part three of dear love of mine

words: 1.6k

warnings: very very slight dom!reader vibes; tension; second hand embarrassment; reader has a last name; regency au for the aesthetic but it’s historically inaccurate for the *vibes*; afab!reader; slow burn; sexual themes throughout; eventual smut; pining; warnings will be added as the series progresses

a/n: this chapter was supposed to be longer but I decided to split up some scenes so I could get it to you sooner!! I hope you guys like it!

__

Poe did not attend breakfast the next morning.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting. It’s not like you could very well ask him why he decided sneaking into your room in the dead of night was appropriate in front of your mother and your staff, even if he had come.

But your questions nagged at you. Had he known that you were out in another part of the house? Had he expected to find you in bed? What would he have done? He couldn’t very well have come into your room. That wouldn’t be proper.

Not that you were worrying about your prospects. It wouldn’t matter if you were untouched if you were never going to marry.

Not that he’d ever—

As you jolted yourself out of your thoughts, you kicked up, sending Ana’s cup careening off the table. Finn managed to catch it before it hit the ground, which your mother applauded. As if that was some trick of magic and not pure luck.

Ana batting her eyes at him and the way he softly smiled was enough for you to keep your mouth shut, if only barely. The men in your home were here to ensure Ana and Finn were married. And quickly.

You’d returned to your room after breakfast, claiming an entirely false headache before shutting yourself in for the day. Retrieving the note from under your pillow, you read over his words again.

Your humble servant.

Humble, indeed. So humble he dared to insult your mother and your household by not showing up to his first breakfast in your home.

You traced over the curl of his name. Poe. It was strange, how fitting it was. Gentle. Like the slope of his neck…

Crumpling the letter in your hand, you stuffed it back beneath your pillow and lay atop it. It seemed the General did not need to be in your presence to be needling away at your patience.

You retrieved an old copy of one of your father’s favourite novels, intending to distract yourself from the handsome stranger and dive into a well-loved tale. Running your fingertips along the edge of the cover, you squinted your eyes in an attempt to focus.

You read the same sentence over and over. It was as if your mind had refused to cooperate.

A change of scenery. That should do the trick.

With your book tucked under your arm, you snuck out of your room and made for the drawing room on the first floor. The couch in the corner had a beautiful view of the mountains…

A view that had been thoroughly obstructed by one General’s large, curly, unkept head.

Ana sat across from him, and Finn beside them both at one of the smaller card tables in the centre of the room. Lord Barnes spread out a group of playing cards in one hand and leaned over to fan Ana with them, making her giggle.

Slowly, you began to back out of the room, but your sister caught your eye before you could escape.

“Sister! Come sit!” Ana patted the stool beside her. “We can play as teams! That would be much more fun.”

Lord Barnes stood and gestured across the table to the empty seat. “Miss Dean. If you would be so kind as to join us.”

You approached the table as you would a rabid animal. The General stood slowly, as if in pain, though he straighten the moment his eyes found you.

“Miss Dean,” He sounded surprised. Did he find it odd that you would frequent your own drawing room?

Perhaps he was not as educated as he claimed.

At least he was now dressed. His dark coat was fully buttoned, his teasing sliver of chest from the night before thoroughly covered.

“General Dameron,” You bowed your head slightly, only enough to be polite. “I trust you slept well?”

He had the decency to look embarrassed, though he recovered much too quickly for your liking. “I must apologize for my absence this morning. It was a late night.”

Something glittered in his eyes that had you casting your gaze to the ground. There was a darkness to him that you refused to allow yourself to examine, no matter how much it may intrigue you.

You allowed him to push in your chair, though you did not take the hand offered to help you sit, however tempting the warmth of his skin may be.

“Well, what are we playing?”

Finn quickly dealt out playing cards. The game was a simple race to 23 points. Ana and the General played on one team, with you and Finn on the other. You angled yourself as to not brush elbows with the General, though it seemed you could not avoid his gaze, which brushed it’s way over your form as one would brush away fallen leaves. A nuisance, but somehow necessary.

“Where is your other sister? Siena, is it?” The General asked in a lull of conversation.

“With her governess, mostly likely.” Ana answered simply.

The General’s eyebrows shot up his face and you muffled a snort.

“I had not realized she was so young.”

You had more than a handful of things to say if the General had the intention of courting your sister, but Ana beat you to it.

“She is a sweet girl.”

“As most children are.” You followed up, not needing to meet your sister’s gaze to know her intentions.

As much as you differed on your expectations for your futures and the way you saw the world, you and Ana had never once disagreed about Siena. She insisted on growing up too quickly and your mother, in her age and grief, did not have the keen eye she once kept on her two eldest daughters. Even for her clear favourite.

So it was up to you and Ana to look after her, down to ensuring her hems were taken down and her governess reported to you both in secret.

You paid her handsomely to do so and her bore concerns of her own. It wasn’t as if she was going to refuse.

You caught on to the game quickly. Finn was a good partner, keeping up with your quick changes in strategy with such a keen eye that you could have sworn he was reading your mind.

He made you laugh a few times, breaking you out of the overcast mood that the General’s presence put you in.

He’d be a good match for Ana. You were certain of that.

Eventually, his good-naturedness and Ana’s swooning over him relaxed you enough to engage the General in polite conversation.

He asked after your favourite novels and you listed a few obscure titles that he certainly could not have studied. When he admitted as much, you gave him some grace and engaged him on his knowledge of Shakespeare.

“Well, Romeo and Juliet is of course the greatest love story ever told, so I have studied it at length.”

Finn clapped him on the back and leaned across the table as if to tell you a secret. “This one is quite the romantic.”

You rolled your eyes and Finn guffawed, leaning back so far in his chair that you were afraid it might break. He laughed with his whole body, oozing a confidence and joy into the room that you hoped he might bring to his relationship with your sister.

The General cleared his throat. Embarrassment looked good on him. He was a much smaller man without his bravado lifting his chin so high. There was something… sweet, almost, about him.

As he ducked his head, you noticed what appeared to be a bit of a feather stuck in his hair.

You set your cards on the table and started to reach out, but hesitated at the last moment. Hands clutched to your chest, you giggled, “General, you have a bit of…”

The small bit of fluff bounced as he shook his head in an attempt to free it. His curls flew out like wings, but it didn’t release itself.

“Let me.” You reached forward, tipping Poe’s face up with two gentle fingers beneath his chin. At your touch, his lips parted in a small breath that had heat rising to your face faster than you could combat it. You plucked the white fibre from his curls and carefully swept them back into place before leaning away and letting him go.

The way his throat bobbed with shallow breaths did not evade you.

“There,” you whispered, returning to your cards. Your face burned, but you did not meet his eyes. “Fixed.”

Ana loudly cleared her throat. “Lord Barnes, I believe it is your turn.”

You glanced up at Finn. He had hidden his mouth behind his cards, though it did little to hide the amusement shining in his eyes.

This was a plan, a scheme of theirs. Boys. Children.

A plan to embarrass you.

Surely.

It had to be.

Ana gripped your thigh, as if anticipating you would stand and excuse yourself. “Lord Barnes—” she paused and corrected herself, “Finn, if you would be so kind as to make your next move.”

The game continued on for some time, but the tension didn’t lessen. Ana and Finn flirted in your peripheral vision but you couldn’t concentrate on anything but Poe. Ana had to remind you to take your turns and Finn groaned about some of your choices, but you weren’t really paying enough attention to even try to defend yourself. Every slight movement of Poe’s, a swallow or slight widening of his knees, had you flushed and near-panting.

The game couldn’t end quick enough. You did not meet Poe’s gaze again, even as he helped you out of your chair.

You made the mistake of taking his hand. His palm was soft, his fingers rough against yours. Though the touch was brief, it made you shiver when he let you go and took a respectful step back.

“Thank you,” you breathed before sweeping from the room.

[dwellordream]

“Doubtless many reigns have begun amidst an atmosphere of jubilant expectation; but this beginning had an especial lustre. For the new king, accession to the throne brought deliverance from a long, probably oppressive subjection to a stern father and grandmother, and released him into the bright, cloudless warmth of gaiety, freedom and power. He stood now on the brink of manhood, suddenly clad with the full panoply of kingship. He ascended a throne which his father had made remarkably secure, he inherited a fortune which probably no English king had ever been bequeathed, he came to a kingdom which was the best governed and most obedient in Christendom. Shortly before his death, his father had granted a general pardon to his people. The new king confirmed this - in ampler form. 

His father left him a body of accomplished ministers, most of whom would continue to serve him. But those two men, Richard Empson and Edmund Dudley, who had served Henry VII's money-gathering and law-enforcement so assiduously, and whose 'unreasonable and extort doing noble men grudged, mean men kicked, poor men lamented, preachers openly at Paul's Cross and other places exclaimed, rebuked and detested' - these would be cast aside. Within a few hours of his accession Henry had been so roused to wrath by tales of their wrong-doing that, even as he came to the Tower amidst the trumpets and rejoicing on that 23 April, the second day of his reign, they were seized and brought thither as prisoners, where they languished until their execution sixteen months later. 

'Heaven and earth rejoices; everything is full of milk and honey and nectar. Avarice has fled the country. Our king is not after gold, or gems, or precious metals, but virtue, glory, immortality.' So wrote Lord Mountjoy to Erasmus in a celebrated, and, as it proved, somewhat inaccurate, outburst of enthusiasm. There had come to the throne the very perfection of Christian kingship - gracious, gifted and enlightened - and with his coming, it seemed, bleak days must give way to bounteous prosperity. The new king quickly married; and, after all, he married Catherine. He himself said that he did so in obedience to his father's dying wish, but it may well be that his story of Henry VII's deathbed change of heart was invented shortly afterwards to placate the Habsburgs whose daughter, Eleanor, had just been jilted. 

Fuensalida believed that it was the young king himself who brought about the change of plan, and this may be the truth. Five days after Henry VII died, the ambassador was still convinced that Catherine's cause was lost and quoted two members of the Council to the effect that the dying king had assured his son that he was free to marry whomsoever he chose. Then the situation changed radically. Fuensalida was suddenly called before the Council and, to his astonishment, not only assured of the king's fervent goodwill towards the princess, but told by the bishop of Durham, Thomas Ruthal, who had at that moment emerged from a meeting with Henry in a nearby room, that such matters as Catherine's dowry were trifles and that the king looked to him to settle quickly all the details concerning the marriage; whereupon he withdrew in some bewilderment and set about recovering the possessions of the princess which he had already begun to transfer to Bruges.' 

Six weeks later, on 11 June, the marriage between Henry and Catherine was solemnized in the Franciscan church at Greenwich. A little while before there had been some talk of a possible scruple about his marrying his dead brother's widow, and many years later Bishop Fox recalled that the archbishop of Canterbury, William Warham, had disapproved of the union, apparently because he doubted the sufficiency or validity of the now six year-old bull of dispensation - though on what ground he did so we are not told. Warham's qualms were to be of consequence nearly two decades hence when the lawfulness of this marriage became a matter of impassioned debate; but for the moment any doubts there may have been were brushed aside as a proud king undid the protest he had made at his father's command three years before and finally (and freely) ratified his union with a princess who, though five years his senior, was probably still beautiful and certainly of a quality of mind and life which few queens have seriously rivalled. 

At least outwardly, her husband was, and had been since childhood, immensely striking. Ten years before, Erasmus had strolled over to Eltham in the company of Thomas More to meet the royal children and been much impressed by the grace and poise of the eight year-old Duke Henry. By the time he came to the throne he had burgeoned into a full-blooded seventeen year-old, upon whom Nature had showered apparently every gift. 'His majesty', wrote a dazzled Venetian shortly after the new reign began, 'is the handsomest potentate I ever set eyes on.' He was tall and splendidly built, with glowing auburn hair 'combed short and straight in the French fashion' and a pink round face so delicately cut 'that it would become a pretty woman'.' 

He was 'extremely handsome. Nature could not have done more for him,' one said a few years later, in 1519. 'He is much handsomer than any sovereign in Christendom; a great deal handsomer than the king of France, very fair and his whole frame admirably proportioned.' His was a superlative body. He was a capital horseman who could stay in the saddle for hour after hour and tire out eight or ten horses; he exulted in hawking, wrestling and dancing; he excelled at tennis, 'at which game it is the prettiest thing in the world to see him play, his fair skin glowing through a shirt of the finest texture'. He could throw a twelve-foot spear many yards, withstand all-comers in mock combat with heavy, two-handed swords, draw the bow with greater strength than any man in England. 

In July 1513, while at Calais on his first campaign, he practised archery with the archers of his guard and 'cleft the mark in the middle and surpassed them all, as he surpasses them in stature and personal graces'. Above all, he delighted in prowess in the ring and at the barrier, the sovereign sport of princes. Through the summer of 1508 the prince of Wales, still only just seventeen, had hurled his keen, tireless body into the fury of the tournament and excelled all his opponents, and his accession to the throne would inaugurate a festival of apparently endless jousting and tilting, at which the king ever carried away the prizes. 

When Erasmus first met him on that day in 1499 - standing with his sisters Margaret and Mary and his infant brother Edmund, soon to die - he 'sent me a little note, while we were at dinner, to challenge something from my pen'; whereupon Erasmus, unable to perform extempore, spent three anxious days composing an ode entitled 'A Description of Britain, King Henry VII and the King's Children' and a eulogy of Skelton (who had doubtless been the true author of the boy's message), to which he added some odds and ends scraped together from the bottom of his trunk to form a literary nosegay worthy of the young duke.' 

Seven years later Erasmus wrote to Henry and received so accomplished a reply that he was convinced that someone else had had a large hand in its composition. But Lord Mountjoy, his patient patron, showed him a number of letters from the prince to various people in which there were so many signs of corrections and additions that Erasmus was forced to abandon his scepticism. Presumably Skelton and Hone pushed Henry's pen to paper, for in later life Henry was never an industrious letter-writer - except during those months twenty years or so later when romantic passion got the better of sluggishness and drew from him some rather heavy sighings for his absent beloved, Anne Boleyn. But Henry was undoubtedly a precocious, nimble-minded pupil. 

He knew Latin and French and some Italian. He is said to have acquired some Spanish, and about 1519 had a sufficient (if passing) interest in Greek to receive instruction in this fashionable language from Richard Croke, a minor English humanist who had hitherto been at Paris, Louvain, Cologne and Leipzig, and was now to teach at Cambridge. His grasp of theology may have been less assured than he supposed, but it was remarkable for a king; he showed himself an apt student of mathematics; and it was his custom to take Thomas More 'into his private room, and there some time in matters of astronomy, geometry, divinity and such other faculties, and some time in his worldly affairs, to sit and confer with him, and other whiles would he in the night have him up into the leads [i.e. the roof] there to consider with him the diversities, courses, motions and operations of the stars and planets'. 

Above all he was a gifted, enthusiastic musician. He had music wherever he went, on progress, on campaign. He scoured England for singing boys and men for the chapels royal, and even stole talent from Wolsey's choir, of which he was evidently jealous. Sacred music in the Renaissance style - the work of Benedict de Opitiis and Richard Sampson, later bishop of Chichester - was introduced into the royal chapel in 1516 and sung by a choir judged by an Italian visitor to be 'more divine than human'; and between 1518 and 1528 the king acquired a collection of French and Netherlandish music. Henry had many foreign musicians at court, like the violist Ambrose Lupo, the lutenist Philip van Wilder from the Netherlands, as well as trumpeters, flautists and two Italian organists, de Opitiis and the famous Dionisio Memo, organist of St Mark's, Venice, who was lured to England in 1516 and would sometimes perform for four hours at a stretch before the king and court. 

There were twenty-six lutes in Henry's collection of instruments, together with trumpets, viols, rebecs, sackbuts, fifes and drums, harpsichords and organs. The king himself played the lute well; he could manage the organ and was skilled on the virginals (which perhaps John Heywood, his virginalist, taught him). He had a strong, sure voice, could sight-read easily, and delighted to sing with a courtier like Sir Peter Carew 'certain songs they called "freeman's songs", as "By the banks as I lay" and "As I walked the wood so wild" '. His court was a generous patron to composers, headed by the great Dr Fairfax, if not Henry himself - for the king wrote at least two five-part Masses, a motet, a large number of instrumental pieces, part songs and rounds. 'Pastime with good company', 'Helas, madam' and perhaps 'Gentle prince' are his work; so too the motet 'O Lord, the maker of all thing' - no mean achievement for a monarch. 

Henry has traditional.ly been seen, alongside James IV of Scotland or the colourful, versatile Emperor Maximilian I, as the archetype of resplendent Renaissance monarchy; and the praise which Erasmus and other humanists heaped upon the zeal for learning and the arts of this king who had been so generously endowed in mind and body seemed to justify this picture of him. But, though Erasmus could speak stern words about monarchy and wealth, he was a shameless flatterer of kings and the wealthy, and we should treat his outpourings with caution. If anything, Henry was the last of the troubadours and the heir of Burgundian chivalry: a youth wholly absorbed in dance and song, courtly love and knight-errantry. 

He was to grow into a rumbustious, noisy, unbuttoned, prodigal man - the 'bluff king Hal' of legend - exulting in his magnificent physique, boisterous animal exercise, orgies of gambling and eating, lavish clothes. 'His fingers were one mass of jewelled rings and around his neck he wore a gold collar from which hung a diamond as big as a walnut', wrote the Venetian ambassador, Giustinian, of him. He loved to dress up and his wardrobe, ablaze with jewels of all description and cloth of gold, rich silks, sarcenets, satins and highly-coloured feathers, constantly astounded beholders. He was a man who lived with huge, extroverted ebullience, at least in the earlier part of his life, revelling in spectacular living, throwing away money amidst his courtiers on cards, tennis and dicing, dazzling his kingdom. 

Many readers will have their chosen picture of him - Henry, cock-sure and truculent, astride one of Holbein's canvases; Henry, dressed in dazzling richness and with a huge gold whistle, crusted with jewels, hanging from a gold chain, dining with his queen aboard Henry Grace a Dieu on the occasion of its launching; Henry walking up and down More's garden at Chelsea for an hour with his arm round More's neck;' Henry showing the Venetian ambassador his fine calf and demanding to know whether it was not a finer one than the French king boasted; Henry, at Hunsdon, over twenty years later, holding his precious son Edward in his arms and bringing him proudly to a window 'to the sight and great comfort of all the people'.

He was a formidable, captivating man who wore regality with splendid conviction. But easily and unpredictably his great charm could turn into anger and shouting. When (as was alleged) he hit Thomas Cromwell round the head and swore at him, or addressed a lord chancellor (Wriothesley) as 'my pig',' his mood may have been amiable enough, but More knew that the master who put his arm lovingly round his neck would have his head if it 'could win him a castle in France'. He was highly-strung and unstable; hypochondriac and possessed of a strong streak of cruelty. Possibly he had an Oedipus complex: and possibly from this derived a desire for, yet horror of, incest, which may have shaped some of his sexual life.”

- J.J. Scarisbrick, “The New King.” in Henry VIII