#because i can’t not want to pinstripe his gorgeous body

[delicateartisantrash]

”Better Translation: I love you.”

yep, still on my hype train of hyperfixating on a story muse :D

More fanart for the adorable and spicy fanfic Making Bread by @ss-shitstorm

other versions + sketch below the cut

Someday i will properly draw his armor

someday

until then enjoy pinstriped bare chested Soundwave

[angstyaches]

hi hi hi so i was reading your fic where felix and elliot are feeding on an animal again and there’s some Hot Vampire Kissing Tm and i was wondering... since it was kinda teensy a little bit (very) hot .... could we have some more vampy- fangy bloody kissing with them please? i know it isn’t emeto or whump related but i figured i could always ask and you can obviously say no if you don’t wanna write it. Thanks!🍄

I honestly can’t tell if this is hot or not but I hope it’s at least nice.

CW: vampire resisting blood, hunger, burps, kissing and more implied spiciness.

Early-Days Felix and Elliott 

Felix didn’t bother sitting down to meals lately. Meaning he didn’t sit down, and he didn’t have meals. Instead, he stood at the kitchen counter and consumed whatever quick snack he managed to rustle up, wanting to dull his sudden cravings before they could set in too deeply.

This is what he was doing at 6am, as the sun cut the white kitchen tiles into slices. He was having toast, because toast felt like a good morning food, and raspberry jam because the visual of something red and sticky entering his mouth was just appealing, it hit upon something in his brain that was begging to be hit upon, but as he chewed it, the illusion gave way, and the jam just tasted like jam.

“There you are.”

Felix looked across the countertop as he chewed, feeling a flicker of affection at the sight of Elliott wandering into the kitchen. His hair was loose and dishevelled, not in its usual ponytail or half-bun. He’d come downstairs in just his boxers and a pinstriped shirt that he hadn’t bothered to button up, clearly not expecting Nancy or Ryan to be up and about yet. And Felix just couldn’t help but gaze at how each inch of fabric sat on Elliott’s body, rustling against his skin with every movement he made.

“Are you alright?” Elliott asked, opening the fridge and carefully selecting a glass bottle from the shelf in the door. Felix swallowed and looked away, unable to bear the sight of the bottle or its contents.

“Yes, I’m okay.”

Elliott glanced over at him, eyeing the toast in his hand, before pouring himself a mugful of the bottle’s contents. It sloshed from glass container to ceramic, and Felix heard every.

Single.

Drop.

He swallowed again, though there was nothing in his mouth but saliva.

“You got hungry again?” Elliott asked, returning the bottle to the fridge door. His surprise was likely due to the fact that they’d both had a large dinner the night before, consisting of fish and chips and lemon cheesecake.

Felix turned his slice of toast over in his hand, feeling grateful for how it had sat nicely in his stomach so far, but also hating it for not being what he really needed. Hating it for its inability to stop the feeling of his teeth being wrenched from deep in his gums.

“Yeah,” he admitted. A half-lie. Dinner hadn’t truly sated him, so technically he was still hungry.

He could see that Elliott was biting the inside of his own lip, and he had a feeling he knew what was going to come next. Elliott’s fingers delicately laid the mug on the countertop, grip lingering on the rim as though poised to move it closer to Felix.

“Felix, I think you should consider –”

“No,” Felix whimpered, backing up.

Elliott’s eyes narrowed. “I wish you would consider drinking a little.”

Felix lifted his food to take a bite, mainly to obscure the shy grin that spread across his face at hearing the concern in Elliott’s voice. It had been two months since Felix had first entered the townhouse and become an official member of the Aldridge clan, and it had been six weeks and two days since he and Elliott had started sharing a bed and kissing and doing the things that often followed kissing. Six weeks in which Felix felt he should have gotten over these silly little moments of incoherent infatuation, and yet he felt as giddy and nervous around Elliott as ever.

Especially when the older man expressed worry over him.

“Please?” Elliott’s voice was low.

Felix placed the remainder of his toast on the plate and licked his lips. “I… I can’t. The idea of it is still rather… repulsive.” Heat shot out to the tips of his ears. “No, no offence…”

“No, I understand what you’re saying.” Elliott pursed his lips, eyes trained on the mug. “The psychological adjustments can be as challenging as the physical ones, if not more challenging.”

As much as Felix appreciated Elliott’s sympathy, it didn’t do much to ease his discomfort. Just because someone else had once felt similarly to how he was feeling now, it didn’t reassure him that he would one day move past it and live like a normal person. A normal vampire, he thought to himself, wondering if he was even allowed to call himself a person anymore.

“You know that it comes from a willing donor, right?” Elliott was referring to the mug’s contents, which Felix was trying hard not to gaze upon. “You’ll probably meet her soon, and hopefully that will ease some of your anxiety.”

Felix gave a heavy shrug. He hoped the same thing, but he also feared that putting a face to the blank, human-shaped blood dispenser in his mind would make the task of consuming all the more difficult. After all, he’d never had any desire to put a name and a face to the cow just before biting into a burger…

“I’m feeling a slight sting myself, and there’s no point in wasting good blood,” Elliott said, his voice becoming deeper and more distant as it did when he was about to feed. “Would it bother you if I drank this?”

Felix shook his head briskly, snatching up the last of his toast. There were three bites’ worth left, but he shoved it all into his mouth at once. The sound of Elliott’s lips sipping on the blood rang loudly through his skull, entering his ears like the incessant humming of a broken street lamp. His own chewing did little to drown it out.

The sipping turned into gulping, and Felix’s eyes widened at the way Elliott tilted his head back under the mug. His free hand gripped the edge of the countertop, as though he might fall over from the force of drinking. Felix’s ears continued to zone in on the sounds of drinking, consuming, guzzling, and he was sure he could hear the liquid being pulled into Elliott’s throat along with tiny pockets of air, the muscles inside his digestive system greedy and eager to get it down as quickly as possible.

Felix had never known it was possible to literally go slack-jawed while watching something, but right then, he couldn’t have closed his mouth if someone had offered to pay him.

“Mm,” Elliott mumbled, gasping softly as he put the mug down, empty, on the countertop again. Hs mouth was smeared in red, a single droplet drawing a line down his stubbled chin.

There was a low rumble in the older vampire’s chest, which Felix only heard because the thirst had heightened his senses, and then a long gurgle as his stomach struggled to settle such a large amount of blood; drinking from a container wasn’t the same as feeding from an animal, so Elliott should probably have drunk it more slowly.

Felix felt his own stomach rumble as though in response to Elliott's, but for the opposite reason; it was making far-too-quick work of the toast and lamenting the lack of what his body truly needed. He still couldn’t manage to close his mouth, despite the saliva gathering around his teeth and wetting his lips.

Elliott frowned and placed a hand on his belly – bare between the unclosed buttons of his shirt – and let out a short, tight belch. “Excuse me.”

“No.”

“No? You won’t excuse me?”

Felix shook his head. He couldn’t stop looking at the red stains on Elliott’s lips and the drip on his chin, which he hadn’t thought to lick or brush away yet. The sudden fullness must have been dulling his instincts; Felix could almost see the bliss in his yellow eyes as warmth flashed through them.

His fingers and lips trembled as he reached for Elliott’s face.

Elliott wore a blank expression as Felix’s thumb dragged up through his beard and over the dip in the corner of his mouth. The thumb came away red and glistening, and Elliott grinned, revealing fangs that were slightly distended from feeding.

“What?” Felix mumbled innocently, as his own thumb entered his mouth.

His lips and tongue began pulling at the liquid, relishing the metallic sweetness. His stomach tightened in anticipation while his head seemed to fill up with butterflies. As he slid his thumb from his mouth, he felt his own fangs reaching down, relieving a little of the pressure in his gums.

“I can’t put my finger on it, Felix,” Elliott whispered, leaning in a little closer, so that Felix could smell even more of the luscious liquid on his breath, “but somehow, you’ve never looked so gorgeous.”

In the end, Felix didn’t know who kissed who first, but what he did know was that Elliott tasted better than any ice cream or strawberry or tuna roll he’d ever eaten. A couple of times, he was worried that he’d sliced his own tongue on a fang – Elliott’s? His own? It was impossible to tell – but even that didn’t slow him down in his search for every last dreg that Elliott hadn’t managed to swallow.

Meanwhile, Elliott’s grip on Felix’s waist tightened, their hips eventually digging into one another’s, Elliott’s back being pressed up against the edge of the countertop. Eventually, their lips parted, thanks to Elliott pulling his head back.

Felix’s eyes fluttered open, lips still bobbing as though they didn’t understand that the kiss had ended. Elliott was pressing a hand to his mouth, frowning as he let out another belch.

“I’m so sorry,” he grumbled, as though annoyed by his own body. “I just drank and you’re pressing quite hard on my stomach...”

Felix tried to shimmy back a little, though he was swiftly drawn back in by Elliott’s arms. Elliott’s eyes scanned Felix’s face, another grin tugging at his mouth.

“What?” Felix asked breathlessly.

“You’ve got, uh… Sorry, that’s my fault.” Elliott lifted a thumb to the corner of Felix’s mouth, dragging it across his lip.

“Am I messy?” Felix’s voice was a little distorted from having his lip tugged at. He batted his eyelashes at the delicious look in Elliott’s eyes.

“You’re positively radiant.” Hands slid around Felix’s neck, cupping his head and drawing him in for one last chaste kiss. “Why don’t I get you a little something to drink, and then we can head back to bed for a bit?”

Felix caught a fingernail between his teeth as Elliott and his lips moved away from him, towards the fridge again. He could feel a full-on blush starting, surprised that his body found enough red blood cells to pull off such a feat.

“Okay, darling.” 

[mylifeisactuallyamess]

He Used to be Mine

Modern!Poe Dameron x Reader

Word Count: 3186 of pure sadness.

Warnings: mention of divorce, marriage break down, drink, infidelity, angst. I’m really sorry again Poe. There is NO happiness to be had here!

With a sigh you shut the front door, the house was dark but you didn’t need lights as you made your way upstairs. This was your house and it had been for the last 10 years, when you bought it with your…..husband. You pushed the door open to your bedroom, the moonlight shining through the window as you sat on the bed, your hand trailing over the bedsheets, the ones you’d bought with him. You’d been on a date tonight and you reeked of perfume, his favourite perfume. It made you feel like a fraud, nasty as memories of his voice echoed around you. Whispers of his declaration of love, whispers of how he’d never leave you and you closed your eyes as you tried to stop the tears from coming but they leaked out your closed lids regardless. You ripped the dress off you had on, the mascara burning your eyes, you hated yourself for dressing up, for attempting to look pretty for anyone other than him. It made you feel cheap, like you were cheating, but you weren’t. You were single and free to do what you liked but it wasn’t a feeling you liked. You stalked towards the shower hoping to wash off the stench of your evening out, the smell of thrice cooked chips and steak stuck to your hair and you hated it, a reminder of another man who wasn’t your husband. Ex husband. Not quite though, still got to sort the house and all the financial mess before you were completely free of him. You leaned on the cold tiles as the hot water washed over you, running down your body and you imagined it washing away your troubles but when you stepped out you felt even heavier than before. You slipped on some pjs before getting into bed, you only ever got in your side, you couldn’t get in his side, it was ingrained in you to sleep on the right and his side was always the left no matter where you were. You tried not to look at the empty side of the bed but your gaze was drawn to the still made half of the bed as you sat there, your light bathing you in the warm glow just accentuating how alone you really were. You hastily shut the light off feeling the familiar despair creeping up on you as you shivered alone in the big bed all by yourself, you scrunched your face up as you tried not to miss his arm thrown over your hips, his face burying in your hair, the way he whispered good night before falling asleep, his body pressed against you keeping you warm. You moved your pillow with a jerky movement as you tried to contain the tears but they spilled from you silently as they did every night since you told him he should pack up and go.

‘Poe? You home?’ You dumped the bags in the kitchen.

‘Yeah I’m home.’

‘I was thinking about salmon for dinner, pesto sauce, some cheese and veg then we can watch that film you mentioned the other day….’ you paused as you tried to remember the film he said and you shook your head as the name evaded you completely, he’d tell you anyway. You unpacked the bags of shopping, putting food in the fridge and cupboards, you looked up and smiled as he came into the room. ‘Hi husband,’ you stepped towards him and kissed his cheek before opening the fridge.

‘We need to talk.’ You looked at the block of cheese in your hand as you ground your teeth together.

‘Oh yeah? What about?’ You said cheerily as you slowly placed the cheese in the door, not quite ready to close it yet, not quite ready to look at his face. He said your name and you closed your eyes refusing to believe this was happening, you slammed the fridge door shut and moved straight onto the pasta on the side opening the cupboard and placing it in there.

‘Can you just stop for a second?’

‘I can’t if I want to get dinner on.’ You said and even you noticed the edge to your voice as you grabbed something else, refusing to turn round and face him, refusing to acknowledge what you knew he was going to say. He didn’t know but you’d seen the messages, all of them.

‘Come on I need to talk to you, please?’ His voice tugged at you and slowly you turned, your hands gripping the kitchen counter in a death grip as you refused to look at his face. He didn’t come near you, choosing to stand the other side of the island as he fiddled with his phone and you noticed his wedding ring was off. Already. He wasn’t wasting any time. He sighed and your eyes flickered up to his face, his hand ran through his salt and pepper curls as he tried to look for the words he wanted to say. You pulled your eyes away from him hating how your heart swelled every time you looked at him, how you felt that rush of love even after you knew what he’d done.

‘I’ve seen the messages.’ His hands stilled and his head snapped up to look at you, his gorgeous face wearing an expression of surprise.

‘What…?’

‘I’ve seen them. Not very well hidden, messaging her on your signed in email account.’ At least he had the decency to look ashamed, you thought.

‘I’m sorry….’

‘I suggest you go and pack.’ You turned away grabbing a tin of tomatoes tightly in your hand as your eyes filled with the tears you’d been fighting for days.

‘You ok, I guess I’ll go and do that now,’ his voice was soft and it felt like a stab in your heart as he left the kitchen, no fight, no denial, just pure acceptance of what he’d done.

You wiped your eyes, still refusing to make a sound as you stared at the open bedroom door, he’d always come to bed after you making sure you were comfy and settled before sliding in behind you and you hated how much you missed him. Had you not been a good wife? Had you done something wrong? Thoughts tumbled around in your head tormenting you every single day, every time you slowed down your brain dragged you down into the pits and you hated how it made you feel. You were sick of crying yourself to sleep, sick of going on rubbish dates because none of them were him. None of them even came close, they all looked promising on paper but not a single one matched up to your Poe.

‘Mrs Dameron?’ You looked up at a smartly dressed receptionist as she beamed at you, her blonde hair in a tight bun and her red lipstick was perfect. Her figure was one to die for wrapped in a tight white blouse and a pinstripe pencil skirt and you couldn’t help but feel hideous and frumpy in her presence.

‘Mr Hanson will see you now.’ You smiled as you gathered your bag to you and followed her down the quiet corridor, her high heels thudded gently with smart steps as she led you to the office of your lawyer.

‘Mrs Dameron!’ He came round the desk taking your hand in his and sitting on the edge of his desk as he sat down in one of his plush leather seats. ‘Thank you for coming, how are you doing?’

‘Oh, you know,’ you shrugged not really knowing what to say, did you tell him you cried every night? Or did you just smile and pretend you were fine? The latter was more socially acceptable, right?

‘Right well, we have a meeting in just over 5 minutes, do you need a drink, tea, coffee?’ You raised an eyebrow as you really thought you could do with a gin and tonic. ‘A coffee will be great.’

‘Great, oh Daisy!’ The receptionist paused at the doorway that disarming beaming smile dazzling you again. ‘Be a dear and get Mrs Dameron a coffee? Extra creamy, yes?’ You nodded, not really caring.

‘I’ll bring it into the conference room.’

‘Thanks Daisy! Right, we should head there as they will be here soon.’

‘’I’m sorry, who’s this meeting with?’ He looked up at you with a pity filled expression on his face.

‘Mr Dameron and his lawyer will be joining us today to talk over the marital assets.’ You nodded, of course they were. ‘Come on, it looks good if we beat them to the table.’ You rose and followed him back down the corridor, your feet dragging slightly as you wished you could be anywhere but here. About to face your ex husband who cheated on you. About to split your entire life between you like all those years meant nothing.

You slipped into a seat as your lawyer got his papers out of the briefcase, your eyes were drawn to the door as it opened, the receptionist showing in the other lawyer and her eyes dragging suggestively over your husband. You felt a flush of jealousy as she asked them what drink they wanted, all smiles and teeth as she gently placed a hand on your husband's arm promising to be right back. Ex husband. Your eyes followed her out of the room before dropping back to look at Poe. It had been a few months since you’d seen him and he hadn’t changed, you weren’t sure what to expect but his suit was crisp and clean and you felt a stab that maybe she had done if for him. You stood smiling and shook hands with Poe’s lawyer. You went to sit back down when Poe’s hand grabbed yours before you had a chance to pull away completely. His deep brown eyes looking earnestly at you as your hand automatically gripped his in return.

‘Hi,’ that lopsided smile you knew and loved so much toyed at the corners of his mouth until you snatched your hand back, clearing your throat as you sat back down trying to concentrate on what was being said. Most of it went over your head and the lawyers did the balk of the talking, you coasted your way through trying not to think about how good your husband looked across the table, how good his curls looked today or the stubble on his face. Ex husband.

Finally the meeting came to an end and you shook hands with everyone again, slipping out of the room you swiftly heading to the lift pressing the button a few times hoping it would come quicker even though you knew it wouldn’t work.

‘You know it won’t come any quicker…’ You tried not to look at him as he stood so easily next to you, his hand fiddling with his tie as he looked up the numbers above the lift doors. Thankfully it chimed its arrival and you slipped inside but he followed you and you both reached for the ground floor button at the same time.

‘Oh I’m sorry,’ you gasped in surprise and pulled your hand away.

‘No I’m sorry.’ You stared at the button.

‘You should push it,’ you said softly.

‘Right. Yeah,’ he hastily pushed it and you watched the doors slide shut, silence stretched between you as you both stood awkwardly in the small space together. ‘See you…’ you smiled automatically and nodded politely as the doors slid open, you let Poe exit first trailing after him as he cut a path through the busy foyer and out onto the street. You saw him pause just to the side of the doors pulling a packet of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket and lighting one. He took a long drag, his eyes surveying the busy street as he blew the smoke up into the air.

‘I thought you gave those up.’ He looked down at the floor as he rested a foot on the building, leaning against the wall. He took another drag before looking at you.

‘I did.’ You backed up a step, what were you doing? Did it really matter if he was smoking? He wasn’t your problem anymore. You went to walk off but he called your name and your heart skipped a beat. ‘Can I stop by later and grab some more clothes?’

‘Sure, they’ve been bagged up in the garage for weeks.’ This time he let you go, your heart like a heavy weight in your chest as you walked back to the car.

It got to about 6pm when you heard the garage door go, you stared at the gin bottle on the side and the empty tonic cans, ah shit. Maybe you’d had one too many. You slipped off the stall, the floor shifting slightly and you frowned as you headed to the front door, your bare feet padding lightly on the floor. You could hear him moving stuff, putting bags in the car and you placed a hand on the door wishing with all your might this wasn’t happening. You jumped at the knock on the door and you took a shaky breath before opening it, he stood there his curls flopping over his forehead, his hands were shoved in his pockets and his brown eyes wide as he took in your appearance.

‘Can I come in?’ You nodded leaving the door open and heading back to your glass in the kitchen, you downed the last of it before dumping it in the sink wishing he’d just take his shit and go already. The sound of your name made you jump slightly and you turned, using the counter to stop you losing your balance.

‘What do you want Poe?’ Your voice sounded harsh and you refused to look at him.

‘We haven’t talked….since it happened.’ You shrugged.

‘What is there to talk about, you decided I wasn’t good enough anymore and you moved on.’

‘Oh gods, is that what you think?’ He asked, his hand rubbing his face as he looked at you. You took a deep breath trying to stop the tears from flowing.

‘Yes. That’s what I think…’

‘It wasn’t like that at all.’ He took a few steps towards you but you moved round to the other side of the island, keeping distance between you.

‘It doesn’t matter now…’

‘Of course it matters!’ You flinched slightly at his raised voice and he clenched a fist at his mouth as if he regretted his tone. ‘It matters to me, that you know the truth.’

‘I don’t want to hear it…’ you began to head upstairs but he stopped you.

‘Yes you need to hear it…’

‘No!’ You felt the tide begin to wash over you as you stared into those brown eyes you had adored so much. ‘You should leave,’ you whispered.

‘No, not yet.’ You backed away from him slowly making your way up the steps.

‘Please…’ you begged, wishing he would just leave.

‘Just hear me out,’ he said stepping forward.

‘Poe!’ It came out almost as a scream and he halted at the bottom of the stairs. ‘You’re tearing me apart!’ Your shaking hands rose to your face as your vision blurred with tears.

‘Sunflower…’

‘No! You have no right to call me that anymore…’

‘Baby please just let me talk!’ You turned and sprinted upstairs but he caught you before you could lock yourself in the bathroom and you dug your hands in the carpet as you cried loudly at the top of the stairs, he lay next to you, his hands covering yours as he whispered your name, his own pain evident in his voice.

‘You broke my heart!’ You cried against the floor, the sobs coming thick and fast but you still managed one last question. ‘Was she worth it?’

‘No, no she wasn’t.’ You felt yourself crumble, the sobs wracking your body, you had no more fight in you as he gathered you to him, whispering words you couldn’t hear as he held you tightly. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry I did this, I broke us I’m so sorry,’ he kissed the top of your head as you cried into his top, your fingers clutching at the leather jacket he always wore. His warm hands moved to your face tilting you up to look at him, his thumbs gently wiped the tears off your face as you tried to contain yourself, his eyes were red as he gazed down at you, his own tears spilling down his face.

‘Poe…’

‘I’m sorry. I have nothing else to say.’ You nodded slowly pulling yourself away from him, you sat back against the wall too exhausted to move any more than that. He leant against the bannister at the top of the stairs opposite you, his legs stretched out next to you and you noticed he had taken his shoes off.

‘You didn’t have to take them off,’ you said softly. He sniffed and gave a small laugh.

‘Are you kidding? You’re always on at me about my shoes indoors…’ he trailed off as he realised you wouldn’t be nagging him anymore.

‘Did you get your stuff?’ He shrugged as he pulled at a piece of skin on his hand.

‘For now.’ You both sat in silence almost like you didn’t want the companionship to end but knowing it had to. You tried to find something else to say but all words failed you as you looked at your husband. Ex husband.

‘You should go,’ he nodded, not looking at you as he stood up, you used the wall as support leaning against it wishing you could go to bed.

‘Can I…..’ his eyes rose to meet yours as he stepped towards you. ‘Can I kiss you goodbye?’ His voice cracked slightly as his hand captured yours, his warm fingers intertwining with yours as he stepped even closer. Your eyes were wide as he dipped towards you, his hand tensing in yours and his lips met yours gently. You could taste the saltiness from both your tears as you let him in, his tongue taking possession of you completely. His other hand slid up your neck and your hand dug into his soft salt and pepper curls that you loved so much. He stole the very breath from your lungs as he kissed you with a need you hadn’t felt for such a long time and as he pulled away you wished it hadn’t ended. He started making his way down the stairs, his fingers slowly sliding out of yours, the last lingering connection between you both and you watched as it slowly disintegrated right before your eyes. He put his shoes on and opened the front before casting one last look up at you, he held a hand up in a farewell gesture and you did the same, the sound of the door closing echoed around the empty house and you felt more alone now than when he first left. It was over, your marriage was over.

[aewhore]

can i request a kenny omega smut where the reader is into degradation and tells kenny about it? :o)

These Boots are Made for walkin ~ Kenny Omega x reader (NSFW) request by @kennysquads

Watching Kenny on dynamite always made you wet. You weren’t sure why but something about how he carried himself like a pure god among the other wrestlers always got to you. You and Kenny had been dating for nearly two amazing years and you couldn’t be happier. Not only was he the greatest wrestler on the planet, but he was also the kindest and most amazing boyfriend and an even better lover. You and Kenny had experienced a lot in your time together, from long nights spent talking about past lovers to time spent in the early hours of the morning talking about both of your hopes and dreams for the future. You and Kenny had spoken before about both of your sexual experiences and even though Kenny’s knowledge outweighed your own, he never spoke down to you, even though that may or may not be what you want him to do. 

With Kenny’s usually constantly moving schedule normally he would be jetting across the world at a near daily rate but because of the pandemic, you’ve been graced with nearly 9 months straight of Kenny in your bed every night, meaning you were thoroughly fucked any and every night. So as you watch your gorgeous boyfriend beat Pentagon jr. down to a writhing mess you can’t help but gush when Kenny says “What the champion wants, the champion gets” your mind can’t help but run a mile a minute thinking about all the things you would allow Kenny to do to you. You check your phone to see there are only 20 minutes left in dynamite and before your mind can catch up your hand begins to roam underneath Kenny’s oversized sweatshirt that you had gotten into the habit of wearing around the house without pants on underneath. Your middle and ring finger massage over your already wet panties before you begin to rub gentle circles onto your clit. Your eyes drift shut as your mind starts to roam to images of Kenny tying you down to your king bed and having his way with you as he talks nothing but pure filth to you.  

“Please sir..please.. May I cum please?” your moans flow out of your mouth as your other hand drifts up to squeeze your breast and you begin to gently tease your nipple. “What a welcome home I get” You're shocked out of your fantasy by the rough dominating voice of Kenny. Your eyes snap open as you turn to see Kenny in the doorway of the living room, still wearing his gorgeous purple shirt, his tighter than tight black pinstriped pants and his beautifully shiny maroon leather boots that still had Pentagon’s face paint on the tip. “I can’t even leave you for 2 hours and you already have your hand in your pants like a horny little slut” Kenny growls at you as he moves towards you to tower over you. Your mouth opens and closes as you attempt to string a sentence together. “I- Kenny I-” you stutter. ”What doll? You didn’t think I’d know you love my filthy mouth." Your face flushes as you feel your panties become soaked at Kenny calling you such a dirty name. You can feel the dominating aura radiating from Kenny as he stares down at your semi-nude body. “What’s the matter doll? Did you lose your voice chasing an orgasm that only I allow you to have?” A needy whine escapes your lips as the need to have Kenny inside of you grows and grows. Kenny brings his hand up to caress your cheek. “Please.. Please, sir, I need you” you moan as you melt into the calloused palm of Kenny’s hand. “Oh doll, I’d love to help you but you forgot that, that pretty little pussy belongs to me, and only I am allowed to make my pussy cum.” You moan at Kenny’s dominant attitude. You love when Kenny slips into his Sir mentality. 

“Ok doll, on your knees on the floor. Now” Kenny spits out at you as he moves to sit down. You jump into action to move onto the floor on your knees in front of Kenny. “You look really pretty down there doll, where you belong. Now as a punishment for touching yourself without my permission” A shiver runs through your body, Kenny moves his paint-covered boot into your eye line. “Clean the paint off my boot doll” Your eyes snap from his boots to Kenny as the request registers in your mind, you don’t waste time and hold Kenny’s foot in one hand as you pull your sleeve over your hand to begin rubbing the paint off before you’re interrupted. “No, no doll, hands behind your back” Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion before the realization settles in. “Does the dumb little slut finally understand? Clean my fucking boot with that filthy whore mouth of yours before I wipe it in your cunt.” Your eyes roll back into your head at the ruthless aggression Kenny was showing you. You don’t allow yourself to waste time as you rush to place your hands behind you back before leaning down so you are at eye level with Kenny’s rich coloured leather boot. You begin to lick at the tip of Kenny’s boot and have to hold back the grimace as the taste of face paint and dirt overpowers your taste buds. “Oh come on Doll, you can do better than that. I thought little sluts like you loved having something in their mouths all the time” You let out a pathetic whine as the dirtiest of dirty talk came from Kenny’s beautiful mouth. With his encouragement, you immediately begin longer, more aggressive swipes of your tongue as you slowly but surely get the black and white paint off of Kenny’s boots. “Why don’t you try to deep throat it? I’m tired of hearing your pathetic little moans. I can’t believe you are actually getting off to this you dirty skank.” You don’t want to break the eye contact with Kenny but you know for sure there is a definite puddle of your wetness below you as you begin to take in the tip of Kenny’s now clean boot into your mouth, because of its width you can’t get more than an inch into your mouth but that doesn’t stop Kenny lightly nudging the boot further into your mouth. 

He pulls his boot out of your and brings it up slightly to inspect your work. “Hmm looks like you might actually be good for something other than sucking cock.” Kenny nods before continuing. “I guess you deserve a reward.” You sit up excitedly as you wait to hear what your reward will be. However, Kenny moves his boot back down between your legs and he starts to rub the arch of his boot against your clothed cunt. ”Go on doll, I give you permission. Make yourself cum on my beautiful, clean shoes.” You gasp as you realize what your reward is. Your body moves before your mind can catch up, you start to rut against Kenny’s boot. You’re already so close to cumming from the build-up throughout the night and a toe-curling orgasm rocks your body and you fall forward to lean against Kenny’s leg as you try to catch your breath. You feel Kenny lean forward and lift you off the floor onto his lap and into his arms. You snuggle into his chest as Kenny kisses you on the head and his hands roam to massage your tense, exhausted body. “You did so great doll, You’re so beautiful and wonderful. I love you so much” Kenny punctuated every word with gentle kisses on your face before he finishes with a soft but passionate kiss to your lips. Kenny always took great care of you after sex and you could feel through his aftercare the love and affection he had for you. You feel yourself being lifted off the couch. “Let’s get you a lovely bubble bath baby doll, you deserve it, my love” You smile as Kenny holds you tight to his chest and can’t help but fall even more in love with your cuddly teddy bear of a Sir.

[soldouthaz]

hiii sarah! i’m sorry if you’ve gotten this request before but i didn’t see it in your categories 👀 do u have any recs for hung harry 👉🏻👈🏻

hello!!! I hope you’re doing okay today! I'm sorry it’s taken me a bit to get to this!! you’re all good -- I haven’t done a rec for this before! I'll round some up for you ;)))) (these are all b!L fyi!) 

-- 

sunrise and pixie dust (E, 14k) by @moonyblouie

Harry's taking a walk at sunrise in the forest he knows like the back of his hand when the wind starts blowing, the sky turns pink, and golden glitter starts to fall from the sky. He’s not sure about what’s happening, but when he comes face to face with a gorgeous winged-creature, he can’t help but be immediately mesmerized.

Or an AU in which Harry finds himself crossing the borders between two worlds.

reach the heaven’s own blue (E, 21k) by @loubellies

He steps up to the plate, eyes glazing over as he watches Harry chew sunflower seeds, his jaw moving obnoxiously and exaggeratedly. His eyes drag down Harry’s body, settling on his large bulge, accentuated in those sinful pinstripe pants. The lines cut across it just right, curving where he’s thickest. Louis wants to crawl across the dirt on his knees and just take what Harry gives him.

Louis shuts his eyes for a moment, opening them to find Harry staring at him with a smug expression. He fucking knows. Louis gets into position and waits for the pitch. He swings when Harry throws, missing the ball just barely. Strike one.

or Louis is a Boston Red Sox and Harry is a New York Yankee.

your eyes of blue, your kisses too (E, 21k) by @loubellies 

When they get out onto the streets away from the crowds Niall turns to walk backwards, “So did you get any leads?”

“Well- uh.”

Niall shakes his head, “Too busy kissing that pretty boy onstage, I see. Gonna blow the whole case for a piece of ass?”

or the murder in the alleyway.

these are a few I had in my bookmarks, but also this is a tag so 😳 go nuts! skjdhjsk I’m struggling to remember a ton of them because a lot of them don’t use it as a tag but maybe I'll start a collection and redo this rec one day!! :)) 

OH AND ALSO anitra @allwaswell16 has a hung!Harry rec!! you can find it here :) 

[96harmony96]

Chapter 12

Lauren found me in the shower the next morning. she strode into the master bath gloriously nude, moving with that sleek confident grace I’d admired from the beginning. Her hair framed her face and shoulders in a sexy disheveled mane, a look that screamed a woman had clenched the rough black silk in greedy hands. Watching the flexing of her muscles as she moved, I didn’t even pretend not to stare at the magnificent package between her legs.

Despite the heat of the water, my nipples beaded tight and goose bumps raced across my skin.

Her knowing smile as she joined me told me she knew exactly what kind of effect she had on me. I retaliated by running soapy hands all over her godlike body; then sitting on the bench and sucking her off with such enthusiasm she had to support herself with both palms pressed flat against the tile.

Her raw, raspy instructions echoed in my mind the entire time I dressed for work, which I did quickly—before she had a chance to finish her shower and fuck the hell out of me as she’d threatened to just before spurting fiercely down my throat.

she’d had no nightmares during the night. Sex as a sedative seemed to be working, and I was extremely grateful for that.

“I hope you don’t think you’ve gotten away,” she said when she prowled after me into the kitchen. Immaculately dressed in a black pinstripe suit, she accepted the cup of coffee I handed her and gave me a look that promised all sorts of wicked things. I saw her in her supremely civilized attire and thought of the insatiable female who’d slipped into my bed during the night. My blood quickened. I was sore, my muscles thrumming with remembered pleasure, and I was still thinking about more.

“Keep looking at me like that,” she warned, leaning casually into the counter and sipping her coffee. “See what happens.”

“I’m going to lose my job over you.”

“I’d give you another one.”

I snorted. “As what? Your sex slave?”

“What a provocative suggestion. Let’s discuss.”

“Fiend,” I muttered, rinsing out my mug in the sink and putting it in the dishwasher. “Ready? For work?”

She finished her coffee and I held out my hand for her mug, but she bypassed me and rinsed it out herself. Another mortal task that made her seem accessible, less of a fantasy I’d never have a chance of holding on to.

she faced me. “I want to take you out to dinner tonight, and then take you home to my bed.”

“I don’t want you to burn out on me,Lauren.” she was a woman used to being alone, a woman who hadn’t had a meaningful physical relationship in a long time, if ever. How long before her flight instincts kicked in? Besides, we really needed to stay out of the public eye as a couple…

“Don’t make excuses.” Her features hardened. “You don’t get to decide I can’t do this.”

I kicked myself for offending her. she was trying and I needed to make sure she got credit for that, not discouragement. “That’s not what I meant. I just don’t want to crowd you. Plus we still need to—”

“Camila.” she sighed, the hard tension leaving her with that frustrated exhalation. “You have to trust me. I’m trusting you. I’ve had to or we wouldn’t be here now.”

Okay. I nodded, swallowing hard. “Dinner and your place it is, then. I honestly can’t wait.”

Lauren’s words about trust lingered in my mind all morning, which was a good thing when the Google alert digest hit my inbox.

There was more than one photo this time around. Each article and blog post had several shots of me and Cary hugging good-bye outside the restaurant where we’d had lunch the day before. The captions speculated on the nature of our relationship and some noted that we lived together. Others suggested I was reeling in “billionaire playboy Jauregui” while keeping my up-and-coming model boyfriend on the side.

The reason for the publicity became apparent when I saw the picture of Lauren mingled with the ones of me and Cary. It had been taken last night, while I was watching movies with Cary and Trey—and while Lauren was supposedly at a business dinner. In the photo, Lauren and Magdalene Perez smiled intimately at each other, her hand on her forearm as they stood outside a restaurant. The captions ranged between kudos for Lauren’s “bevy of beautiful socialites” to speculation that she was hiding a broken heart over my infidelity by dating other women.

You have to trust me.

I closed my inbox, my breathing too quick and my heartbeat too fast. Jealous confusion twisted my gut. I knew she couldn’t possibly have been physically intimate with another woman and I knew she cared for me. But I hated Magdalene with a passion—certainly she’d given me good reason to during our bathroom chat—and I couldn’t stand seeing her with Lauren. Couldn’t stand seeing her smiling so fondly at her, especially after the way she’d treated me.

But I put it away. I shoved it into a box in my mind and I focused on my job. Mark was meeting with Lauren tomorrow to go over the RFP for the Kingsman campaign and I was organizing the information flowing between Mark and the contributing departments.

“Hey, Camila.” Mark poked his head out of his office. “Steve and I are meeting at Bryant Park Grill for lunch. He asked if you’d come. He’d like to see you again.”

“I’d love to.” My whole afternoon brightened at the thought of enjoying lunch at one of my favorite restaurants with two really charming guys. They’d distract me from thinking about the conversation I was hours away from having with Lauren about my past.

My privacy was clearly gone. I would have to grow a set of balls and talk to Lauren before we went out to dinner. Before she was seen in public with me any further. she needed to know the risk she was taking by being associated with me.

When I received an interoffice envelope a short while later, I assumed it was a small mock-up of one of the Kingsman ads, but found a note card from Lauren instead.

Noon. My office.

“Really?” I muttered, irritated by the lack of salutation and closing. Not to mention the lack of a request. And who could forget the fact that Lauren hadn’t even mentioned running into Magdalene at dinner?

Had she invited her as her date in my stead? That’s what she was there for, after all. To be one of the women she socialized with outside of her hotel room.

I flipped Lauren’s card over and wrote the same number of words with no signature:

Sorry. Have plans.

A bratty reply, but she deserved it. When a quarter to noon rolled around, Mark and I headed down to the ground floor. When I was stopped by security and the guard called up to Lauren to tell her I was in the lobby, my irritation kicked into a temper.

“Let’s go,” I said to Mark, striding toward the revolving door and ignoring the pleas of the security guard to wait a moment. I felt bad putting him in the middle.

I saw Angus and the Bentley at the curb at the same moment I heard Lauren snap out my name like a whip crack behind me. I faced her as she joined us on the sidewalk with her face impassive and her gaze icy.

“I’m going to lunch with my boss,” I told her, my chin lifting.

“Where are you headed, Garrity?” Lauren asked without taking her eyes off me.

“Bryant Park Grill.”

“I’ll see that she gets there.” With that, she took my arm and steered me firmly toward the Bentley and the rear door that Angus held open for me. Lauren crowded in behind me, forcing me to scramble across the seat. The door shut and we were off.

I yanked the skirt of my sheath dress back into place. “What are you doing? Besides embarrassing me in front of my boss!”

she draped one arm over the back of the seat and leaned toward me. “Is Cary in love with you?”

“What? No!”

“Have you fucked him?”

“Have you lost your mind?” Mortified, I shot a glance at Angus and found him acting like he was deaf. “Screw you, billionaire playboy with your bevy of beautiful socialites.”

“So you did see the photos.”

I was so mad I was panting. The nerve. I turned my head away, dismissing her and her idiotic accusations. “Cary’s like a brother to me. You know that.”

“Ah, but what are you to him? The photos were amazingly clear, Camila. I know love when I see it.”

Angus slowed for a herd of pedestrians crossing the street. I shoved the door open and looked at Lauren over my shoulder, letting her take a good look at my face. “Obviously, you don’t.”

I slammed the door shut and set off briskly, righteous in my anger. I’d fought back my own questions and jealousy with herculean effort, and what did I get for it? An irrationally pissed-off Lauren.

“Camila. Stop right there.”

I flipped her the bird over my shoulder and raced up the short steps into Bryant Park, a lushly green and tranquil oasis in the midst of the city. Just crossing up and over from the sidewalk was like being transported to a completely different realm. Dwarfed by the towering skyscrapers surrounding it, Bryant Park was a garden land behind a beautiful old library. A place where time slowed, children laughed over the innocent joy of a carousel ride, and books were treasured companions.

Unfortunately for me, the gorgeous ogre from one world chased me into the other. Lauren caught me by the waist.

“Don’t run,” she hissed in my ear.

“You’re acting like a nut job.”

“Maybe because you drive me fucking crazy.” Her arms tightened into steel bands. “You’re mine. Tell me Cary knows that.”

“Right. Like Magdalene knows you’re mine.” I wished she had something near my mouth that I could bite. “You’re causing a scene.”

“We could’ve done this in my office, if you weren’t so damned stubborn.”

“I had plans, asshat. And you’re fucking them up for me.” My voice broke, tears welling as I felt the number of eyes on us. I was going to get fired for being an embarrassing spectacle. “You’re fucking up everything.”

Lauren instantly released me, turning me to face her. Her grip on my shoulders ensured I still couldn’t get away.

“Christ.” she crushed me against her, her lips in my hair. “Don’t cry. I’m sorry.”

I beat my fist against her chest, which was as effective as hitting a rock wall. “What’s wrong with you? You can go out with a catty bitch who calls me a whore and thinks she’s going to marry you, but I can’t have lunch with a dear friend who’s been pulling for you from the beginning?”

“Camila.” she cupped the back of my head with one hand and pressed her cheek to my temple. “Maggie just happened to be at the same restaurant where I had dinner with my business associates.”

“I don’t care. You want to talk about a look on someone’s face. The look on yours…How could you look at her like that after what she said to me?”

“Angel…” Her lips moved ardently over my face. “That look was for you. Maggie caught me outside and I told her I was heading home to you. I can’t help how I look when I’m thinking about us being alone together.”

“And you expect me to believe she smiled about that?”

“she told me to tell you hello, but I figured that wouldn’t go over well, and there was no way I was ruining our night over her.”

My arms slid around her waist beneath her jacket. “We need to talk. Tonight,Lauren. There are things I have to tell you. If a reporter looks in the right place and gets lucky…We have to keep our relationship private or end it. Either would be better for you.”

Lauren cupped my face and pressed her forehead to mine. “Neither is an option. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.”

I pushed up onto my toes and pressed my mouth to her. Our tongues stroked and dipped, the kiss wildly passionate. I was vaguely aware of the multitude of people milling around us, the buzz of numerous conversations, and the steady rumble of the ceaseless midtown traffic, but none of it mattered while I was sheltered by Lauren. Cherished by her. she was both tormentor and pleasure, a woman whose mood swings and volatile passions rivaled my own.

“There,” she whispered, running his fingertips down my cheek. “Let that go viral.”

“You’re not listening to me, you crazy stubborn man. I have to go.”

“We’ll ride home together after work.” she backed away, holding my hand until distance pulled our fingers apart.

When I turned toward the ivy-draped restaurant, I saw Mark and Steven waiting for me by the entrance. They made such a pair with Mark in his suit and tie, and Steven in his worn jeans and boots.

Steven stood with his hands in his pockets and a big grin on his attractive face. “I feel like I should applaud. That was better than watching a chick flick.”

My face heated and I shifted on my feet.

Mark opened the door and waved me inside. “I think you can ignore my previous words of wisdom about Jauregui's womanizing.”

“Thanks for not firing me,” I replied wryly as we waited for the hostess to check our reservation and table. “Or at least feeding me first.”

Steven patted my shoulder. “Mark can’t afford to lose you.”

Pulling out a chair for me, Mark smiled. “How else will I give Steven regular updates on your love life? He’s a soap opera addict, you know. He loves romantic dramas.”

I snorted. “You’re kidding.”

Steven ran a hand over his chin and smiled. “I’ll never admit it one way or the other. A man’s got to have his secrets.”

My mouth curved, but I was painfully aware of my own hidden truths. And how quickly time was passing before I’d have to reveal them.

____

Five o’clock found me steeling myself to divulge my secrets. I was tense and somber when Lauren and I slid into the Bentley, and my disquiet only worsened when I felt her studying the side of my averted face. When she took my hand and lifted it to her lips, I felt like crying. I was still trying to adjust after our argument in the park, and that was the least of what we had to deal with.

We didn’t speak until we arrived at her apartment.

When we entered her home, she led me straight through her beautiful, expansive living room and down the hall to her bedroom. There, laid out on the bed, was a fabulous cocktail dress the color of Lauren’s eyes and a floor-length black silk robe.

“I had a little time to shop before dinner yesterday,” she explained.

My apprehension lifted slightly, softened by pleasure at her thoughtfulness. “Thank you.”

She set my bag on a chair by the dresser. “I’d like you to get comfortable. You can wear the robe or something of mine. I’ll open a bottle of wine and we’ll just settle in. When you’re ready, we’ll talk.”

“I’d like to take a quick shower.” I wished we could separate what happened in the park from what I had to tell her so that each issue was dealt with on its own merits, but I didn’t have a choice. Every day was another opportunity for someone else to tell Lauren what whe needed to hear from me.

“Whatever you want, angel. Make yourself at home.”

As I kicked off my heels and moved into the bathroom, I felt the weight of her concern, but my revelations would have to hold until I could compose myself better. In an effort to gain that control, I took my time in the shower. Unfortunately, it made me remember the one we’d taken together just that morning. Had that been both our first and last as a couple?

When I was ready, I found Lauren standing by the couch in the living room. she’d changed into black silk pajama bottoms that hung low around her hips. Nothing else. A small blaze flickered in the fireplace and a bottle of wine sat in an ice-filled bucket on the coffee table. A grouping of ivory candles had been clustered as a centerpiece, their golden glow the only illumination besides the fire.

“Excuse me,” I said from the threshold of the room. “I’m looking for Lauren Jauregui, the woman who doesn’t have romance in their repertoire.”

she grinned sheepishly, a boyish smile so at odds with the mature sexuality of her bared body. “I don’t think about it that way. I just try to guess what might please you, and then I give it a shot and hope for the best.”

“You please me.” I crossed to her, the black robe swaying around my legs. I loved that she’d put on something that matched what she had given me.

“I want to,” she said soberly. “I’m working on it.”

Stopping in front of her, I drank in the beauty of her face and the sexy way the ends of her hair caressed the top of her shoulders. I ran my palms down her biceps, squeezing the hard muscle gently before stepping into her and pressing my face into her chest.

“Hey,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around me. “Is this about me being an ass at lunch? Or whatever it is you need to say to me? Talk to me, Camila, so I can tell you it’ll be okay.”

I nuzzled my nose between her breast, breathing in the reassuring, familiar scent of her skin. “You should sit down. I have to tell you things about me. Ugly things.”

Lauren reluctantly let me go when I pulled away from her. I curled up on her couch with my legs tucked underneath me and she poured us both glasses of golden wine before taking a seat. Leaning toward me, she draped one arm over the back of the sofa and held her glass with the other hand, giving me every bit of her attention.

“Okay. Here goes.” I took a deep breath before starting, feeling dizzy from the elevated rate of my pulse. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been so nervous or sick to my stomach.

“My mother and father never married. I really don’t know too much about how they met, because neither of them talks about it. I know my mom came from money. Not as much as she married into, but more than most people have. she was a debutante. Had the whole white dress and presentation thing. Getting pregnant with me was a mistake that got her disowned, but she kept me.”

I looked down into my glass. “I really admire her for that. There was a lot of pressure for her to make the baby—make me—go away, but she went through with the pregnancy anyway. Obviously.”

Her fingers sifted through my shower-damp hair. “Lucky me.”

I caught her fingers and kissed her knuckles, then held her hand in my lap. “Even with a kid in tow, she was able to land herself a millionaire. He was a widower with a son just two years older than me, so I think they both thought they’d found the perfect arrangement. He traveled a lot and was rarely home, and my mom spent his money and took over raising his son.”

“I understand the need for money, Camila,” she murmured. “I have to have it, too. I need the power of it. The security.”

Our eyes met. Something passed between us with that small admission. It made it easier for me to say what came next.

“I was ten the first time my step brother raped me—”

The stem of her glass snapped in her hand. she moved so swiftly she was a blur, catching the bowl of her goblet against her thigh before it spilled its contents.

I scrambled to my feet when she rose to her. “Did you cut yourself? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she bit out. she went into the kitchen and threw the broken glass away, shattering it further. I set my own glass down carefully, my hands shaking. I heard cupboards opening and closing. A few minutes later Lauren returned with a tumbler of something darker in his hand.

“Sit down, Camila.”

I stared at her. Her frame was rigid, her eyes icy cold. she scrubbed a hand over her face and said more gently, “Sit down…please.”

My weakened knees gave out and I sat on the edge of the sofa, pulling the robe tighter around me.

Lauren remained standing, taking a large swallow of whatever was in her hand. “You said the first time. How many times were there?”

I took conscious breaths, trying to calm myself. “I don’t know. I lost count.”

“Did you tell anyone? Did you tell your mother?”

“No. My God, if she’d known, she would’ve gotten me out of there. But Nathan made sure I was too afraid to tell her.” I tried to swallow past a tight, dry throat and winced at the painful sandpapery burn. When my voice came again, it was barely a whisper. “There was a time when it got so bad I almost told her anyway, but he knew. Nathan could tell I was close. So he broke my cat’s neck and left her on my bed.”

“Jesus Christ.” Her chest was heaving. “He wasn’t just fucked up, he was insane. And he was touching you…Camila.”

“The servants had to know,” I went on numbly, staring at my twisted hands. I just wanted to get it over with, to get it all out so I could put it back into the box in my mind where I forgot about it in my day-to-day life. “The fact that they didn’t say anything either told me they were scared, too. They were grownups and they didn’t say a word. I was a child. What could I do if they wouldn’t do anything?”

“How did you get out?” she asked hoarsely. “When did it end?”

“When I was fourteen. I thought I was having my period, but there was too much blood. My mother panicked and took me to the emergency room. I’d had a miscarriage. In the course of the exam they found evidence of…other trauma. Vaginal and anal scarring—”

Lauren set her glass down on the end table with a harsh thud.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, feeling like I might be sick. “I’d spare you the details, but you need to know what someone might dig up. The hospital reported the abuse to child services. It’s all a matter of public record, which has been sealed, but there are people who know the story. When my mom married Stanton, he went back and tightened those seals, paid out in return for nondisclosure agreements…stuff like that. But you have a right to know that this could come out and embarrass you.”

“Embarrass me?” she snapped, vibrating with rage. “Embarrassment isn’t on the list of what I’d feel.”

“Lauren—”

“I would destroy the career of any reporter who wrote about this, and then I’d dismantle the publication that ran the piece.” she was so cold with fury, she was icy. “I’m going to find the monster who hurt you, Camila, wherever he is, and I’m going to make him wish he was dead.”

A shiver moved through me, because I believed her. It was in her face. Her voice. In the energy she exuded and her sharply honed focus. she wasn’t just dark and dangerous in her looks. Lauren was a woman who got what she wanted, whatever it took.

I pushed to my feet. “He’s not worth the effort. Not worth your time.”

“You are. You’re worth it. Damn it. Goddamn it to hell.”

I moved closer to the fireplace, needing the warmth. “There’s also a money trail. Cops and reporters always follow the money. Someone may wonder why my mother left her first marriage with two million dollars, but her daughter from a previous relationship left with five.”

Without looking, I felt her sudden stillness. “Of course,” I went on, “that blood money’s probably grown to considerably more than that now. I won’t touch it, but Stanton manages the brokerage account I dumped it in and everyone knows he has the Midas touch. If you ever had any concern that I wanted your money—”

“Stop talking.”

I turned to face her. I saw her face, her eyes. Saw the pity and horror. But it was what I didn’t see that hurt the most.

It was my greatest nightmare realized. I’d feared that my past might negatively impact her attraction to me. I’d told Cary that Lauren might stay with me for all the wrong reasons. That she might stay by my side, but that I’d still—for all intents and purposes—lose her anyway.

And it seemed I had.

[softestgentlest]

Lily & Harry - high school fanfic

Harry Styles.

Harry fucking Styles.

An egotistical, quick witted asshole with a silver tongue and easy charisma.

He's also irritatingly privileged; not only is he filthy fucking rich, but he's also extraordinarily intelligent, and to top it all off, positively, mercilessly, despicably gorgeous. As if he wasn't already dealt the winning hand, his otherworldly physical attractiveness afforded him the freedom to do whatever the hell he pleased, whenever, and wherever he wanted to do it.

And, of course, in some cruel twist of fate, he most often chose to utilize his influence by victimizing me: Lillian Mercier, a quiet, harmless junior, whose sole desire is to graduate ASAP, so I can move onto Cambridge University by the Fall of next year.

I'm on track to receive my diploma a year early, according to my guidance counselor, but I've got to keep my GPA above a 3.8 at least, if I have any hope of getting admitted into my uni of choice.

My mind is humming, sifting through upcoming exams, assignments, papers that need writing, and a number of other priorities as I open up my locker.

I'm just pulling out my SAT prep book, when a series of excited murmurs echo through the crowded hallway. A girl a few feet away turns, whispering to her friend, "I think my ovaries just exploded, dude. Look at Harry's haircut."

I roll my eyes, swapping the prep book with the AP English text that's currently weighing down my bag. I try to focus on my mental "to do" list, but I'm now annoyingly in-tune with the girl's conversation, unable to block them out.

"I know! How could he have gotten even hotter? And look at his outfit...like, he can literally make anything look good."

"Oh my goooodd dude, he's graduating this year. I honestly think I'll die, like, he's the only thing that makes this school tolerable."

"Shhhh, they're coming over here."

The girls go quiet, and I tense, keeping my eyes trained on the interior of my locker. Harry will be graduating at the end of the year, as he's a senior, and with that knowledge, I feel intensely relieved.

Even if I can't graduate early, he'll be gone, and I'll actually be able to enjoy my senior year.

A smile plays across my lips as I stretch to reach the top shelf of my locker, standing on my tippy toes. I'm 5'3, and these lockers were clearly built by men of average height, with little to no regard for high schoolers of smaller statures.

I know I threw some flash cards up there in the rush to make the bus yesterday, but even when I step up and onto the metal base of my assigned storage space, I still can't seem to-

I gasp, as I lose my footing and fall backwards. Luckily - or, maybe unluckily - my fall is broken by something solid. I hear a soft grunt, and large hands grip my waist, steadying me.

I pant, pressing a hand to my racing heart, when I feel something soft brush against the sensitive shell of my ear, "good morning to you too, clumsy."

I shiver, and pull away, immediately recognizing that deep, accented voice as it burns hotly into my skin.

Do not engage, I mentally remind myself, forcing my trembling hands to occupy themselves with the contents of my backpack.

He tssks, clicking his tongue, "Aren't you going to thank me?"

"Thanks." I concede through gritted teeth.

He chuckles, leaning too close for comfort once again, "it was my pleasure, Lillian." His voice drops an octave on the word 'pleasure,' giving it an unnecessarily sexual undertone, if only to get under my skin.

At the corner of my vision, I see his shadowed silhouette as he leans against the locker beside mine, tall and domineering as ever.

I ignore his presence, slowly zippering up my bag, and securing my lock, before reluctantly turning to face him.

The first thing I notice is the lack of hair. What had once been long, lustrous, chocolaty curls, is now shortened gossamer strands of hair falling over his forehead in a provocative, untidy tumble. The new cut exposes his defined jawline, and those sharp, light catching cheekbones.

As usual, he's dressed to the nines, somehow managing to make his unexpected attire look effortlessly appealing. Today, he's clad in a strange mix of professional, and bohemian pieces: a blue and white checkered wool jacket, a dark pinstriped suit, a red beaded necklace. He's got on bright pink socks, and white loafers, and his signature assortment of rings.

I clear my throat when he catches me checking him out, "Harry, I didn't know you could sew."

He looks perplexed, considering my assumption with furrowed brows, "I can't."

"Oh, then I suppose it was your mother who made that jacket from one of her tablecloths?"

He tilts his head to one side, and runs his fingers roughly through his freshly cut curls, "this," he snarks, smoothing his hands down the woolen fabric, "is a $2,000 jacket, love."

I roll my eyes, hitching my bag over my shoulder, and turn to walk away, only to come face to face with Mitch and Nick, two of Harry's equally asinine friends.

"Excuse me." I prompt. The two boys ignore me, smirking over my head at their scumbag leader.

I huff, turning back around, knowing full well that they aren't going to do anything unless he commands it. "I don't have time for this, Harry." I cross my arms, pursing my lips in annoyance, "I'm gonna be late to class, and so are you."

His mouth curves dangerously, drawing my attention to the pillow-soft push of his lips. "And we wouldn't want that, now would we, Lillian?" he pronounces my name so that it drips from his shapely lips leisurely, provocatively. "What with your big plans to graduate early."

Immediately, I recoil, meeting his expectant stare with wide eyes, "H-how...?"

"Oh, you thought I wouldn't find out?" He pushes off the lockers, Stepping closer, "did you know that you're GPA is just .01 points less than mine?" His voice is honeyed, sickeningly sweet - it sets off warning bells in my head.

I swallow nervously, taking a small step backwards, "I don't see what that has to do with my plan-"

"Oh, but it has everything to do with your plans." Again, he advances, but this time I hold my ground, tilting my head to meet his stare, "you see, we weren't competing before...not really. But, if you graduate ahead of your class and maintain that same GPA, well...Cambridge won't even look at me, regardless of my achievements, because you'll have the edge."

I blink, processing his words, "You want to go to Cambridge...?"

He quirks a dark brow, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.

I'm dumbfounded, "But...but I-you...but-that's just ridiculous!" I nearly stomp my foot at the sheer absurdity of the notion, but opt to clench my fists at my sides instead.

He looks utterly amused, and leans a bit closer, a challenge in his eyes: "is that right?"

"Why would you want to go to Cambridge?!" I note how whiny my voice sounds, but I'm too distressed to care.

He's full on grinning now, his emerald eyes dancing with glee. "wouldn't you like to know" He purrs in that slow, sexy drawl, his voice dropping so low that it can only be heard by the two of us.

It is then that the bell rings, shrill and disruptive, tearing me from his trance-like stare.

I realize how close we've gotten, our faces perhaps six inches apart. I can feel the warmth of his body radiating off of him and wrapping around me. Before I can stop myself, I inhale his intoxicating scent: spicy and earthy and masculine, like cigarettes and pine and the leather spines of old books.

For a fraction of a second, my eyes slip shut...he smells so damn good.

Then, just as quickly, I blink, and step back, my heart racing in my chest. I did NOT just...

He straightens, raking his eyes over my trembling frame with an air of affected smugness. Silently, he steps the side, watching me as I collect myself, an embarrassing blush infusing my cheeks.

Slowly, I move down the hallway towards my class, uncharacteristically unconcerned with the possibility of being marked tardy. I can tell that he's following, as students all around turn to stare behind me. We're in the same English class.

My brain seems to have gone into overdrive, conjuring up insane reasons for why I'd smelled him and liked it enough to consider doing it again. Impossible. Harry's a prick. The bane of my existence. Sure, he's wildly attractive, but never have I ever been even remotely interested in him...sexually. So what the hell was that?

Why am I all hot and blushing and trembly? Why?! Especially after he'd dropped the Cambridge bomb! I mean, really? Of all the schools for him to choose, it had to be my dream school. And of the thousands of people I'll be competing with to be admitted, it just had to be him.

Harry's one of the smartest people I've ever met, and he's got the resources and connections to get into any school he wants. The chances of two kids from the same high school getting into Cambridge are absolutely zero, and whether I graduate early or not, Harry's a shoe in for a spot there - he's the ideal student: rich and intelligent and driven, with a shit ton of community service and extracurriculars under his belt, and with a number of published poems and short stories.

He'll take my spot there just by aiming his perfect white grin in the right direction. And if we were both admitted, by some miracle, that would be even worse! 6 more years with him?! I'd die. I couldn't take it. I'd-

"Ah!" I gasp, colliding with a tall boy for the second time today. My books fly out of my arms again, and I fall flat in my ass with a soft yelp of pain.

"Woah! Are you ok?" A voice asks, and I glance up to find a familiar blonde boy looking down at me.

"Um, y-yeah." I say, quickly moving to stand up. Like a gentleman, he reaches down, offering me a hand, and I take it, allowing him to pull me gently to my feet. "Uh, sorry about that. I wasn't paying attention..." I smile sheepishly,

"Oh, no, it's totally fine." He grins back, then kneels down to pick up my books. "As long as your ok."

"Really, I'm fine." I giggle, kneeling down to help. "Your Neil, right? I think we have psych together?"

He hands me my things, standing up, "close! It's Niall, and yeah, 6th period right?"

I nod, "Niall. Yeah, I'm Lily. I'm the one always shouting out the answers and then getting yelled at." I giggle nervously, feeling a little self conscious around this boy with pretty blue eyes and a kind smile.

He laughs, "well, I'm definitely not one to shout out answers. I'm terrible at Psych." He gestures for me to walk with him, and I do, "I'll walk you to your class, just to make sure your alright."

I roll my eyes playfully, but follow, "I already ran into you. Don't let me be the reason that your late to class too."

I lead the way to the English wing, and we joke lightly about our Psych teacher, Mrs. Campbell. By the time we've arrived, the bell has rung, and I know that he's going to be late because of me, but he doesn't seem to care.

"Hey," he calls out, just as I'm about to open the door to my classroom, "maybe you could tutor me sometime? In Psych? You always seem to be yelling the right answers, and I could really use the help..." he rubs the back of his neck nervously, and I can't help but smile at how cute he looks.

"It's the least I can do after running into you." I say, "let's talk in class later?"

"Yeah, sure!" He backs down the hallway, "I'll see you then, Lily!"

When I enter the classroom, there's still a smile on my face, and I quietly make my way to an empty seat in the back. My teacher, Mr. Gray, shoots me an inquisitive look, since I'm not one to show up late to my favorite class, but he doesn't call me out on it.

"Alright guys," he says, "while I was reading you essay submissions from last week, I noticed quite a few spelling errors, so I thought we might have a little bit of a...spelling bee today, just to see where we all stand when it comes to commonly misspelled words." The class groaned collectively, and he laughed, "nothing to worry about. This won't count for a grade, I just want a chance to see where everyone stands. It'll be fun!"

Mr. Gray proceeded to split the class into two groups, and two at a time, he called students up to the board, and in tournament fashion, the winner played the winner from the opposite team. I could tell that he was saving certain students for the end, since they would likely beat out all the competition, thereby depriving their teammates of turns. By the time it got to me, only a few students were left on the opposing team.

"Ok, Kim," he called to my competitor, "your word is Accidentally" Kim correctly spelled two words, and then swapped out with another teammate, Jamie, who only beat me on one word.

"Alright, this is it, guys. Last two. Harry, join Lily up front."

Immediately, my eyes found him, just as the rest of the class turned to watch him rising from his seat. He took a step towards me. Then another. I sort of shivered, watching him move, observing his long legs, slowly closing the space between us with their every measured step. There's something almost feline about it - the way he moves - very masculine...and very...sexual, if that makes any sense at all.

I averted my eyes as he took up the space beside me. Again, the drowsy scent of books and pine with undertones of coffee and tobacco invaded my senses, and I felt my knees threatening to buckle.

"Harry, your word is 'allegiance'"

I felt him smiling, tasted his smooth baritone, skating hotly down my spine: "A-L-L-E-G-I-A-N-C-E. Allegiance."

"Lily, controversy."

I spelled it correctly and held my breath, gazing stubbornly straight ahead.

"Harry, 'immediately.'" He did the same.

"perseverance"

"Accommodate"

"I-N-T-E-L-L-I-G-E-N-C-E, Intelligence." I glanced over at Harry, noting the look of intense boredom on his face as he stared off into the distance. Clearly, this was too easy for both of us.

"Too easy is it, Lillian?"

"Uh, w-what?" I snapped out of my reverie, glancing at Mr. Gray, who looked rather amused.

"If you think it's too easy, we can really put you two to the test. What do you think class?" Mr. Gray looked around, and the class erupted into excited giggles and shouts.

Realizing my mistake, I felt my cheeks flush hot with embarrassment, "oh I-I didn't m-mean to say that um...out loud sir..."

The damage had already been done. Mr. Gray grinned, clearly excited to have piqued the class's interest, "alright then, let's try....sacrilegious."

Harry, looking rather more alert than he had before, turned to look at me, holding my stare even as each honeyed letter fell from his lips "S-A-C-R-I-L-E-G-I-O-U-S" the flecks of gold in his eyes danced, embers crackling, glittering.

"Conscientious, Lily."

"Oh, um..." I quickly averted my gaze, glancing nervously at my trembling fingers, "C-O-N..." my heart wobbled in my chest. What's comes next? "...S-C-I-E-N-T-I-O-U-S, Conscientious." I want this to be over...

Harry chuckled beside me, low and slow. I felt his eyes on me. "bureaucratic." He spelled, quick as a whip, and all eyes were back on me.

"Bourgeoisie." Amidst the nerves and exhaustion, my stubbornness gave way to another correct answer. I won't lose to him. Not this, not Cambridge.

He managed "clairvoyant," "coalescence," and "kaleidoscope." I got through "lachrymose," "mnemonic," and "pharmaceutical," and then, finally, he messed up.

I heard it in his voice first, knew before it happened that I had won. Mr. Gray - once again proving himself to be my favorite teacher- threw "triskaidekaphobia" at Harry, and we both froze.

"T-R-I-S-K....A-D-E-K-A-P-H-O-B-I-A." Harry murmured uncertainly, sounding just as breathless as I felt. The class had gone silent, and I could hear my heart racing.

"Incorrect." Mr. Gray uttered, but before the class could erupt into cheers, he continued, "let me just say, Harry, Lily, that was extraordinary. Really, very good show." He slowly began to clap, and our classmates followed suit, whooping and jeering at Harry good-naturedly.

I turned to glance at him then, not feeling very excited about having won. I couldn't help the little gasp that escaped my throat when I saw his face. He had curved his mouth into a grin, ran a hand through his hair boyishly, a calculated carelessness slackening his features - but I saw it in the way his lips twitched, in the way his eyes glossed over and darkened to muted jade.

He's upset. I realized, moving closer without really thinking about it. He's really, really upset.

"H-Harry?" I heard myself whisper, voice trembling. Everyone had, by now, moved into their own little groups, all talking animatedly about the results of our little duel, so they weren't really paying us any mind.

His smile faltered - just for a moment - "good game." He husked, his voice raw. He held out a hand, quirking a brow, watching me with those expectant eyes.

It was then, in that moment, that I realized, very suddenly, that Harry is...beautiful. Like, proper beautiful, like earth shatteringly, mind numbingly gorgeous.

The realization hit me with such immense force that I had to grab his outstretched hand to keep from crumbling to the ground. "O-oh." My mouth parts on the startled little noise, and suddenly I'm very aware of the gentle press of his cold rings against my fingers, his large hand claiming mine, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he holds me. "Uh-huh." My response catches in my throat and comes out sounding like a strangled hiccup.

Quickly, I pull away, stumbling back a few steps, I tear my eyes from his face, flailing my hands around like a monkey.

What the fuck?

•••••••••

LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT A PART 2 💛

[mylittleshipgoestoot]

That’s What Makes You Beautiful

by mylittleshipgoestoot (Explicit)

Pre-Debate nerves turn an innocent trip to the bathroom into their first time together without Astrid.

Astrid narrows her eyes at her supposed boyfriend, who’s got full-blown heart eyes for his opponent, whose none other than her nemesis, Payton Hobart.  Sure, she’d agreed to their little triangle arrangement, but only for fear of losing River altogether.

There’s something about those dimples, and that little smirk River gives him as he clutches the microphone, and brings it up to his lips.  She can’t quite put her finger on it, but it bugs her.

Little does she know that the smirk isn’t what it seems at all.  River is trying to compose himself as Payton purposely imitates an intimate moment they’d had less than an hour ago.

Explicit Content under the cut - AO3 Link

Payton strides into the backstage bathroom like he owns the place.  He’s nervous on the inside, and there's no sign of his opponent yet.  Even though it sounds ridiculous, seeing River would calm his nerves somewhat.  He critiques his appearance in the mirror. Usually, he’d be confident about it, but today he’s going to be standing next to a Ralph Lauren model on stage.  He pulls a face and starts tapping his foot nervously, knowing that he has to be about god damned perfect to win this debate: not a foot wrong, no buckling under the pressure of it all.

“Payton?”  River would know that nervous foot tap anywhere.

Payton eyes the end stall with the closed door, in the mirror, curiously.

“Pre-debate nerves?”  Payton offers, pointlessly walking toward the stall.  Theirs a weird sort of breath pattern going on in there, and the idiotic part of Payton’s brain wonders if maybe River’s sobbing quietly, obviously overcome by his political opponent.

“Ahhh, ah more like a pre-debate wank,” River replies, raising the volume of his ministrations, allowing Payton to hear him.

Payton’s shell-shocked and his body is very interested, he’s also grappling with how much he wants to see precisely what River’s doing, but at the same time, now is not the time nor place for this.  Imagine the scandal?

“Payton?”  River stops his actions momentarily, and Payton watches as the vacant sign appears and the door swings open.

Well, fuck.  Think about the best porn you’ve ever seen, well, this shits all over that.  River is fucking magnificent. Shirt hanging open, trousers bunched around his ankles, long wicked fingers wrapped around his beautiful cock, and a gorgeous, yet mischievous grin on his face.

“Wanna help a fellow candidate out?”

Payton doesn’t answer, his feet just start walking toward him as if in a trance, and he doesn’t come back to himself until he hears the lock turn again.  He’s sitting down, staring right at River’s perfect dick. He adjusts himself and coughs nervously.

“Er, should we be doing this?”  His voice is embarrassingly high-pitched, and he kicks himself for being so uncool when River appears so confident.

River squats down so he can look him in the eye, and says gently, ”Payton, if you’re not comfortable with-“

“What?  No, I’m comfortable with blow jobs, I just thought we didn’t do ‘this’ without Astrid?”  He’s babbling, offering blow jobs, why does he have zero game, it’s so unfair.

River chuckles lightly.  “Blow job, hey? I just invited you in so I could look at you because it’ll make me come faster.”

Payton doesn't have a response to that, and he should if he wants to be the president one day, but he's not fucking perfect, okay!

River leans in and kisses him, soft and leisurely, like they're not going head to head on stage in under fifteen minutes.  Payton feels drunk on it, sucking on River’s tongue as he runs his hands down over those perfect pecs. Time could genuinely run away on them in here, and it's only when they hear the P.A system announce the debate that they realise they need to get on with it.

River straightens back up and looks down as he runs his thumb across Payton’s swollen red lips.  He moans when Payton sucks on it playfully. He gently pushes his other fingers into Payton’s mouth, covering them with saliva, then wraps them around his dick.

The thing is, Payton’s never actually given anyone a blow job, and River hasn't pressured him at all, but with River pleasuring himself right in front of his face, he can't think of a better time to give it a crack.

Start small, he thinks, hand coming up to caress River’s balls.  He thinks he's doing okay, considering River’s full-body shudder, but he looks up to make sure River’s on board with it anyway.

Should anyone ever have the full attention of River Barkley, as Payton does right now, thank your lucky fucking stars.  River’s eyes are blown wide open, filled with love, and his jaw is utterly slack.

”Gently tug, ” River directs, voice rough and breathy.

Payton doesn't need telling twice; he’s always been very accommodating like that.  He stops playing and gives a gentle tug, one finger accidentally brushing past River’s entrance.

”Shit,” River chokes out, jerking himself more frantically.

Pleased with the response, Payton is spurred on to be more adventurous.  He waits until River is on a downstroke to lick the head of his cock, tongue dancing over it, tasting the salty essence of him.

River moans low in his throat, watching as Payton repeats the action.  ”God, Payton, you look-” River will never be done staring into those big Disney eyes.

Payton beams at the praise.  In all his very short life, no-one had ever made him believe he was worthy, and then he met River.  He would do anything for this man.

Feeling more confident, he places a hand over River’s, following the motion for a few strokes, before taking River into his grasp.  

This is power; he thinks to himself.  Making River bite his lip like that, being the reason for those breathy gasps, this shits all over school president.

Unhurriedly, Payton starts to explore again.  He takes the head of River’s cock into his mouth and swirls his tongue over it slowly.  River groans above him, and a hand comes to rest gently at the base of his skull.

Payton opens his mouth, allowing River to control the pace of his cock, as it slides over his lips and tongue and toward the back of his throat.  It feels so intimate. River is staring down at him adoringly, and nothing else in the world even exists. He closes his eyes, mind going blank and loses himself in the feeling.

Hours could have passed but in reality, its only seconds before River tells him he’s close.

It pulls Payton out of his blissful haze.  As the noise from the auditorium filters back in, something snaps in him, and it gives him purpose.  He wants to blow River’s mind, wants to rid him of his thoughts and troubles for a moment too.  

He slides his mouth as far down the length of River’s cock as he can go without choking, his lips making it to his fingers around the base, then sucks as hard as he can as his lips slide back up again.

River’s knees buckle, and he’s forced to support himself with a hand against the wall.  ”God, ” he says, feeling his self-control slipping as Payton continues blowing him with those beautiful pouty lips.  It feels incredible, freeing, and like he never wants it to end.  

Payton moans as he sucks him down again, the sound of it sends shivers up his spine.  Another moan and River is losing it, his hand tightening in Payton’s hair, as the other lands with an emphatic slap against the wall, “Ohhhhh,” he groans, stiffening and spilling into Payton’s waiting mouth.  River gasps for breath, and takes in Peyton sucking and swallowing down his load, ”Payton, Jesus, ” River manages through an aftershock. He’s stunned, completely blind-sided by how good this could be with the right person.  It hadn't felt anywhere near this good with any of his previous partners.

Peyton let's go of him, reaching for the paper to dab delicately at the corners of his mouth, and clears his throat nervously.  River re-dresses, and curses when he checks his watch.

”Three minutes, ” he says, unlocking the stall door and motioning that Payton goes first.

They wash up together.  Payton sets about straightening up his ensemble, as a set of arms wrap around him from behind, and River grins that wide, warm smile at him in the mirror.

”You look great in pinstripes, and you’re going to be amazing out there.”

Payton looks at the bathroom floor, still not used to so much praise.

”God, ” River says, tilting Payton’s chin back up from the ground, ”You don't know how beautiful you are, do you?”

”Only you think that.”

Payton turns in his arms, and River kisses him gently.  They take a step back from each other, and Payton holds out his hand for River to shake.  River tries not to laugh but shakes the hand regardless.

”May the best man win!”  Payton is all business now, he gives River a comical wave and turns to leave.

”You still going to tell everyone we had sex if I win?” River calls after him.

”Affirmative.” Peyton retorts, and the door shuts behind him, leaving River starting at his grinning reflection in the mirror.  He knows it's the truth too. The man he’s in love with is occasionally hysterical, driven, truthful, and a born leader that will stop at nothing to see his dreams come true.

The end.  Thanks for reading.  AO3

[excuseme-youpretty]

Pairing: Kim Namjoon / Reader

Side Pairings: None

Rating: Teen

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 3,748

Warnings: Brief allusions to sex, but nothing too graphic.

Notes: This oneshot was requested by anonymous. They wanted adorable fluffy Namjoon spending a rare day off with his partner. I hope, wherever you are, that you liked it and I’m sorry for the delay ♥ I’ve had a virus that’s been kicking my ass.

Make your own requests: HERE

As you fold your body up on the axis of your hip, rotating in a clean arc to reach across the mattress toward Namjoon's designated patch, you are fully expecting to feel the cool compress of abandonment rippling along your sheets. 

It's always the same, the harsh bite of cold satin which has somehow preserved your boyfriend's silhouette and the residual cling of his cologne; leaving you a little disappointed but nevertheless eager to progress your day until his inevitable return.

Only on this morning it is not a reminiscent frost that you feel, but rather an unmistakable warmth and the soft, shallow breaths which can only belong to one man.

Namjoon wakes you organically, with lips of spun sugar and the barely-there pull of his teeth leaving a curl of calligraphy along the underside of your jaw. He tastes of peppermint and sunrise, pulling you from the remnants of your sleep with a soft exhale of your name.

"Good morning, Princess." He sighs, nuzzling a deliberately soft semi-circle just beneath your ear. "Or should I say 'good afternoon'?'"

The hot midsummer sun bleeds through your aerated curtains like tangerine paint dripping from a saturated canvas. You can hear songbirds twittering enthusiastically just outside your window and the elated laughter of children participating in a rowdy all-bets-off game of kickball in the park across the street. 

Everything is go go go. Nonstop motion. Somehow, the world ticks on in spite of your unorthodox absence.

The crab-shaped clock on the wall indicates that you have missed breakfast. You are close to missing lunch, too.

And you couldn't be more delighted. 

Because with Namjoon, days off are as rare as a rainstorm in the middle of the Sahara; a much-deserved rejuvenation.

"What time is it?" You whisper, your words  coming out all slurred and sleep-blanched. 

Namjoon presses a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose. "Well, let's see… I accrued three missed calls and four text messages before finally deciding to just turn off my phone."

"Ah, so the children are missing your effervescent presence then?"

"It would appear so. As long as we can get through the day without Yoongi-hyung committing mass Fratricide, I'll consider it a victory."

You can't help but to giggle at the notion as unprompted visuals of an unamused Yoongi wrestling with a quartet of multicolor leashes, each one connected to the torso of a hyperactive dongsaeng, and Seokjin's disapproving pursed lips, overwhelm your senses. 

"And in the meantime? You have a whole twenty-four hours before things return to normal. How do you want to spend it?"

Namjoon answers your question with the brush of his lips against your own. He takes his time claiming your mouth, his lips startlingly hot in contrast to his sweet and minty tongue.

Namjoon's fingers weave slanted tendrils down over the bare flesh of your pelvis as soon as you part, summoning a film of goosebumps to the surface of your sun-soaked skin. 

You shudder helplessly as you ride out the residual sensation of such an earth-moving kiss. 

"Mmm… Well, I hope you're happy, Mister. That kiss just wasted a good five minutes of free time."

Your boyfriend's teeth pull a fluorescent pinstripe across his bottom lip, seemingly lighting his way as he begins his slow descent down your exposed stomach and between your thighs as they give without much instruction.

"If you call kissing you until you're weak a 'waste of time' then you're really gonna hate this next part, Princess."

The tip of his nose skims past your naval, crafting a pathway for himself in the stipple of airbrushed freckles which blossom on your skin. And yet, you are quick to catch the nape of his neck with your fingers, maintaining a barely-there hold of his hair to prevent him from creeping any lower.

"Hold up there, Handsome. How about we nail two birds with one stone? There's a hot, soapy untimed shower with your name on it. And I'd be more than willing to help you scrub any… hard to reach places~"

Namjoon tilts his head back inside your loose grasp, the pads of your fingertips pushing through his silvery-blonde strands to rest almost tauntingly against his scalp. He purses his lips in thought.

"Well, I'd be a fool to refuse such a titillating offer." He presses a large open-mouthed kiss to the underside of your naval. "And I'm no fool."

You are plucked from the barely-there drape of your duvet before you can reasonably react, Namjoon's arms imprisoning your midsection and hefting you skyward before carrying you into the cool porcelain of your bathroom.

-

The water which had cascaded down from your shower faucet was luxuriously light, a sprinkling of powdered sugar across your sleep-eased muscles. And yet the petting was nothing short of heavy. 

Namjoon had taken his time working sweet-smelling suds into your skin until you gleamed with sparkling iridescence; scents of lavender and violet mingling with the sharp musk of your boyfriend's shampoo. 

He had kissed you until your lips ached, buttering you up with an overdose of affection even as you stepped out of the shower and into the baked afternoon sunlight.

After a brief rendezvous in your closet, one which had taken longer than necessary to navigate thanks to Namjoon's wandering hands and greedy lips, you both finally settled on outfits which would compliment such a rare day off. 

He now sits across from you, grinning from ear to ear as he indulges himself in a

verifiable cloud of scrambled eggs and generously buttered toast; the first home-cooked meal he has had the pleasure of tasting in far too long. Even Seokjin's schedule has become so saturated that he can no longer find the time to finesse his way around their dormitory kitchen. 

Who would have thought a group of seven growing boys could survive on a consistent diet of frequented takeaway restaurants and prepackaged vending machine snacks?

He always looks so beautiful like this, dressed in nothing but a pair of faded jeans and a simple t-shirt. His hair, still damp from your shared shower and lacking any product, hangs limply around his handsome face in a fashion not too dissimilar from the signature whistle necklace draped across his chest. 

"I swear, babe, this is amazing." Namjoon croons, using a napkin to stipple away the loose crumbs which have gathered in the crevice of his ever-present smile. "What's your secret?"

Pushing your fingertips through the damp sheen of his hair, you take a seat beside him and indulge in a long, contemplative sip of your orange juice.

"A whole lot of love for my boyfriend and an unreasonably long night's sleep."

Namjoon's grin is so vast that his eyes momentarily disappear into little crescents. 

"That's fair."

He wraps an arm securely around your shoulders, tucking you into his hip where he feeds you small prisms of toast and watches as the amaranth horizon dances across your cheekbones.

You feel the cold, wet compress of a soft puppy nose brushing against your calf when RapMon darts wildly between your ankles. He yips musically, vibrating with an overdose of unexpected energy as though he himself had also indulged in a deliciously long slumber and was now reaping the rewards of his pent-up energy. 

Namjoon can't help but to laugh, the sound reverberating in tandem with the small bell looped onto Moni's technicolored collar. 

"I think our Puppy is ready to hit the road. Don't you, Princess?"

"It would certainly appear so."

You watch as Namjoon cross-hatches his thumb across an array of emails on the screen of his business cell phone, organising them into their designated folders, before he opts to switch off the device all together.

Following his lead, you gather up the empty breakfast plates and place them in the sink; deciding rather quickly that all dishwashing tasks are a problem for a future you. You take a bottle of chilled water from the fridge and grab Moni's collapsible bowl as well as his monogrammed leash, clipping it in place upon his collar and earning some gentle puppy-dog kisses in response.

You run your fingers through Moni's soft fur, giving special attention to his pointed ears and muzzle. Placing an affectionate kiss to his snout, you rise to your feet once more and turn towards your boyfriend.

Namjoon rattles his house-keys with a grin.

"Ready to get some sunshine?"

"With you? Always!"

-

The scarlet-hot skyline reflects prettily upon the shimmering silver swingset where you perch, your toes dangling mere millimetres above the dew-slicked grass. Scents of fresh pine and spring flowers permeate the air, as well as the sugary sweetness of cotton candy being spun into cute little beehives by a nearby vendor. 

At the centre of the park, a small group of children are having a competition to see who can blow the largest bubble. Like confetti, the air is full of shiny little bubbles as they rise up to the sky. And darting after them with an open mouth and comically wagging tongue is a soap-spritzed Moni. 

The children shriek with laughter, running around in circles with Moni bouncing merrily behind them. 

Namjoon's fingertips brush over your shoulders as he pushes you gently on the swing. He traces plump cartoon hearts over the nape of your neck, erecting a small film of goosebumps with every stroke. 

"It's such a gorgeous day out." He muses, turning his head to place an unexpected kiss against your forehead.

"Yeah, we really lucked out. Summer sunshine allll day."

"I'd take thunderstorms and heavy rain in a heartbeat as long as I get to spend the day with you, baby."

Ever a poet, Namjoon's words leave your insides tingling akin to sticky sherbet and fizzing pop rocks.  

"Dork~" You chastise in a soft voice full of mirth. 

You can feel his infatuated grin press into the back of your neck, his fingertips twirling around the stray strands of hair which ribbon over your noon-warmed cheeks.

"Only on my days off."

When Namjoon's digits begin to sway across your collarbones, you concertina them gently between your fingertips. You bring his hand to your lips, kissing across his skin with an audible smack. The pad of his thumb skims over your cheekbone as though he were an artist buffing paint across a canvas.

"You're so beautiful, Princess." He muses.

His words take on an illustrative quality; as though he were scribbling his infatuation across clean journal pages. And yet, before you can respond, he's dipping down just out of view to clasp a fistful of lawn.

"What're you doing, Joonie?"

"Just wait and see - It's a surprise."

Behind you, you can feel Namjoon's fingers work with fast needle-sharp precision. The rounded edge of his nail pierces through stem after stem as he braids several dainty daisies together into a makeshift crown. 

"Now, what is it that every princess needs, baby?"

"Her Prince Charming? Or Prince Destroys-Everything-He-Touches, whatever works."

"This is true." Wiping away the residual pollen on the leg of his pants, Namjoon takes a step closer toward you. He carefully places the crown on top of your head. "But she also needs her very own tiara!"

Grinning maniacally, you bring a hand up toward your head to stroke over the small stack of downy-soft petals which frame your forehead. 

"You're so cute, you know that?" You shriek, gasping when Namjoon presses a stream of rapid open-mouthed kisses against your glowing cheek. 

"Yeah, it's a special gift of mine. Come here, gorgeous."

With his hand outstretched in front of you, Namjoon holds his phone poised on both of your grinning faces. He snaps picture after picture, selca after selca, honing in on the kaleidoscopic shimmer of your eyes and the iridescent glow of lip balm which has transferred from your lips onto Namjoon's.

You stay like that for what feels like an eternity; dissolving into a world where your boyfriend's palms leave semi-permanent prints upon your hips from how tightly he embraces you and his laughter resonates deep within the crevices of your soul. 

Namjoon's cellphone feels positively heavy with the weight of all the memories you have captured together. From the soft and tender lip-locks, to the poorly performed rendition of Magic Shop, to the footage you filmed of a hyperactive Moni playfully chasing a butterfly through a cluster of dandelions. 

You have squeezed an entire month's worth of desperately craved affection into a single afternoon. 

-

It is only once the air begins to develop the faintest tickle of frost that you finally decide to depart from the park.

Namjoon's jacket falls around your shoulders like a cloak of denim. His cologne overwhelms your senses, scents of crisp waters and juniper berry, and at your feet walks a very tired but exceptionally happy puppy.

After briefly stopping by your favourite local bookstore to purchase some light reading material, as well as picking up an order of strawberry croissants and freshly brewed coffee from the quaint little patisserie where you and Namjoon had your first date, you finally arrive home. 

You unclasp Moni's leash, prompting him to scurry enthusiastically over toward his pet bed for a well-deserved nap, and retreat back to your own bedroom in order to slip out of your dress and into something more comfortable. 

Namjoon's old sweatpants drape around your hips like an elasticated hula-hoop, just barely held in place by fraying cord and sheer willpower. The sweater you have liberated from the back of your closet was once a Christmas staple before the gaudy crimson bows fell off, leaving a simple doe in its place. There are pinhole sized holes all over the elbow and sleeve, as well as a fraying hem, and yet you always find your greatest comfort when dressed in those faded and pilling fibres.

Once you have changed into your lounge wear, you return back to your living room to find Namjoon staring purse-lipped at the carpet beneath his toes. He has his business cell phone tucked in against his ear.

"So there's no major emergency then, Guk? Because this is supposed to be my day off."

You can just barely make out the airbrushed whistle of Jeongguk's voice tittering apologetically on the other end of the phone. 

"Yes, she's here." Namjoon glances up at you, smiling fondly as you throw yourself down on a nearby couch. "We're about to settle in for the evening actually, so - I… yep, okay. I'll tell her. Mhm. I will. You too, Kookie. Aight, bye."

"That sounded like fun~" You tease, wedging your spine backwards into a mismatched eruption of multicolored pillows. "Are all six members present and accounted for?"

"So far. JK sends his regards."

Rubbing away the small pearls of tension which had accumulated in his temples during the duration of his phone call, Namjoon places his cellphone down on the coffee table. He passes over your coffee order as well as a beautiful ooey-gooey strawberry croissant and folds his large limbs over the criss-cross of your own.

His lips are a scarlet compress of sugar-syrup kisses against your cheek as he presses small puffs of laminated pastry into your open mouth. 

"Now, what are we watching, Princess?"

-

It is surprisingly easy to dissolve into a rarely-negotiated routine with your billion dollar boyfriend. 

With old Friends reruns playing quietly in the background, interrupted only by the occasional snore from Moni as he navigates his way through a puppy dreamland, and the balanced warmth of Namjoon's large fingertips weaving aimless patterns across your scalp, your afternoon bleeds well into the evening before Namjoon's ravenous stomach alerts you to the passage of time.

Your fingertips have been fragranced by the scent of persistently thumbed pages, and you have just reached the point in your novel where the fair maiden must choose between the handsome but tender farm-hand or the rugged but passionate business executive.

You spare a glance toward your own leading man. With his deep-set dimples and a smile which could thaw the Arctic, you conclude that you have your own fairytale ending right in front of your very eyes.

"Hey, seeing as I'm in such a good mood, why don't we start on dinner? We can attempt that spaghetti recipe again!"

You can't help but to tut at the notion. "You mean the spaghetti recipe which nearly burned our entire kitchen down?"

"That was an accident. It could've happened to anyone!"

"You tried to cook the pasta without any water, Namjoon-ah."

"In my defence, I followed the instructions carefully. 'Cook the noodles in a pan.' I did that."

"Oh, they were cooked alright." 

You giggle in response to Namjoon's petulant pout, smothering the blush of his bottom lip in a brief but affectionate kiss. 

"How about instead of turning our kitchen into a living charcoal exhibit we order takeout from that Italian place you love?"

Namjoon's stomach rumbles with ravenous hunger as though in response to your proposal and you can't help but to laugh as you reach for the phone, having already committed your boyfriend's usual order to memory.

-

It is less than an hour later, once your stomachs have been sufficiently plied by copious quantities of rich, herby sauces and ribbons of silken (and most definitely not cremated) pasta, that Namjoon is curling back into your hip with a well-worn notebook in hand. 

You have both settled on a film for the evening, opting to delve headfirst into the technicolor vibrancy of San Fransokyo with Moni settled comfortably upon your lap and the fuzziest blanket imaginable draped around your shoulders. 

Namjoon's breath is deliciously warm where it unfurls across your throat, dripping like molten honey into your collarbones and stippling a light film of goosebumps across your skin. You can't help but to shudder as his lips find your temple, your cheek, flowing freely across the ridge of your jawline until he finally settles against the upturned curl of your lips.

"I love you so much, Princess." He sighs, inundated with adoration for his girl. 

"Not as much as I love you."

As the movie plays quietly in the background Namjoon's fingertips are ever-moving. The light scrape of his pen nib darting across clean paper provides a percussive soundtrack  to Baymax's bumbling antics, the edge of his palm stained by faded charcoal ink from touching the page before his words have sufficiently dried.

Out of the corner of your eye you can just barely make out the curl of Namjoon's haphazardly jotted Hangul, piecing together the sentences he has written in your honor.

'...Your eyes are a sunrise which blanch my skin and leave me burning all night long.'

'... Your smile, sweeter than candy, paints syrup in my veins with every glance.'

'... When you say you love me I can feel it resonate skin-deep, stacking promises like petals in my ribcage.'

Namjoon's lyrics are picturesque and beautiful. Even without the accompaniment of instruments and production you can practically feel a cococonphy of emotional ARMYs singing along passionately to each word; as though wearing your boyfriend's carefully scribed poetry like a badge of honor.

To be the inspiration behind so many awe-inspiring songs, whose lyrics act like a beacon of hope for many individuals scattered throughout the universe, well… it's quite the undertaking. 

Fortunately, Namjoon makes it all worth it. He's handsome and expressive and capable of leading an entire ARMY into a head space of pure gold. 

And as he pulls your body a fraction closer to his own, the tip of his nose nestling against your pulse point to emboss an asymmetric heart on your honeydew skin, you realise you couldn't possibly love him any more.

-

As the credits for Big Hero 6 begin to roll across your television screen, stark and loud and full of celebratory fanfare, Namjoon is quick to locate the television remote underneath his saturated notebook pages in order to hit mute. 

Beside him your eyelids have fallen to a close, lips parted to release several soft snores which fall in almost perfect tandem with Moni's fitful exhales. Your lashes flutter delicately, poured like strips of raven lace across your cheekbones, and your fingers curl instinctively in your lap as you clutch onto whatever adorable projection your mind has chosen to supply.

Placing his notebook and pen aside, Namjoon is careful to shoo RapMon away from your lap so that he does not disturb you. He half-attempts to fold the blanket which had cocooned your shoulders, opting instead to toss it onto the nearby recliner out of harm's way.

Your body is feather-light when he lifts you into his embrace. He is careful to rest your cheek against his chest, hooking your legs over his forearm to make it easier to transport you to the safe haven of your bed. 

After navigating your hallway with a surprising degree of sufficiency, having knocked over little more than a plastic vase containing decorative pebbles and perhaps skewing a photo frame or three, Namjoon carefully places you upon your bed. 

Your mattress seems to eagerly welcome the barely-there compress of your body, your satin sheets lapping up against your limbs like terracotta waves frothing upon the shore.

Once he has dimmed the lights, Namjoon places his cellphone down onto his bedside table and connects his charging cable once he is certain that he has reinstated his god-forsaken alarm.

He kicks off his jeans, opting to remain in his t-shirt and boxers for tonight, and carefully removes his whistle necklace so that he can slide comfortably in bed beside you.

Your perfume lingers upon the collar of his shirt, fragrant and floral and enhanced considerably by the catalyst of Seoul's delicious summertime air. And on his lips burns the faintest smother of the strawberry lip balm you so generously applied after your post-dinner teeth cleaning; the very same lip balm that Namjoon had been so eager to kiss off of you.

In your sleep, you turn comfortably onto your side, bowing your spine backwards until you reach the solidity of your boyfriend's elongated torso. Namjoon is quick to bracket his calf around your ankles, pressing a stream of steady kisses down your jugular and over the swell of your clavicle.

"Sweet dreams, my Princess." He sighs softly. Contentedly. 

His lashes soon begin to droop as though laden with lead, influenced in no small part by an entire day's worth of carefree relaxation and indulging without consequence. 

No meetings. 

No leadership.

No band mates. 

Just his beautiful dog, his beautiful girlfriend and a beautiful twenty four hours.

[ddaenggtan]

forever rain | knj - teaser

Being dead isn't anything exciting. Just a lot of walking the same halls of the same apartment day after day after day. Things change when the new tennant arrives, though. Kim Namjoon isn't anything you could have expected; not the way he's so careful and gentle with his plants because he breaks so many other things, not the way his friends joke that he's psychic because you refuse to let him get in the face one time, and certainly not the way he comes home after literal months spent moving things away from table edges for him and announces that he knows he's being haunted and he has some questions for you. You didn't know ghosts could fall in love, but he makes you feel alive again, like you're standing in the rain while thunder crashes around you. You should've known nothing good would come of falling in love with someone living, though. You should've known that heartbreak was the only way this could end...that the rain doesn't last forever. 

part of the Love Yourself Collab, please please please go check out the other fics. Everyone involved is so freaking talented and I have been vibrating out of my skin with how excited I’ve been to read all of these. 

pairing | kim namjoon x reader (unspecified gender, even!)

genre/warnings | ghost!reader, slight fluff, there are a lot more for the actual fic so definitely read those when it comes out, i’m not kidding i definitely want you to come and yell at me in my ask when you finish it, but pls don’t send things about what happens bc ur mad about it bc u didn’t read the warnings, y’all are a smart bunch but i know firsthand how skipping warnings can punch u in the gut so just,,,,,,,read the warnings on the full fic lmao

a/n | this is just a teaser for the full fic which is gonna post,,,,,,,,,,,,at some point lmao who knows i haven’t actually decided yet!!! yay me!!!! hahahaha stress!! it’ll definitely go up on my ao3 as well, so if you have alerts on for me there, you’ll get notified that way! for now, have this! and don’t kill me when the rest comes out!!

The creak of the front door pulls you from your thoughts, and the echo of a voice makes you narrow your eyes. Your first instinct is to slam some windows to scare off whoever's in your apartment, but you repress the urge. You'd die of boredom if you could die again, and whoever this is could provide a few hours' entertainment at the least.

You pop your head through the bathroom wall to see what's going on, and wow, who let an actual giant into your apartment? Fucking with the pipes could definitely wait for this guy.

"I know it's last minute, yeah," He says into the phone that's held carefully between his cheek and shoulder. His arms are loaded down with boxes and he's angled away from you just enough that you can't see his face, but he's tall and broad and wearing what looks like the world's comfiest sweater, and you want to badly to wrap yourself up in him. "But you know Joon needs the help. Don't pretend you aren't constantly willing to put off your thesis, I know for a fact that you went out to look at stationery with Tae last week, and everyone knows that's the most boring thing on the planet."

He's quiet, listening to the soft crackle of a voice from the other end. You slide through the wall completely, hovering as close as you dare to try and hear what the other person is saying. Tall, Broad, and Comfy scoffs.

"He can stare at one sheet of paper for at least ten minutes, Yoongi. Do I need to remind you of the time he spent an entire fucking hour debating which set of holiday scrapbook to buy because, and I quote, 'this one has the really nice rose pattern on it that would look great with the invitations, but, oh, look at the pinstripes in this one!'" His voice morphs into what you guess is an approximation of whoever Tae is, and you laugh at the high-pitched, nasally tone.

Tall and Broad spins, eyes narrowing as he looks around the room, and fuck, he's literally gorgeous. You've never seen someone more attractive in your life or your death and it would probably knock the wind out of you if you actually had breath. Comfy McGorgeous turns back around and sets the stack of boxes in the corner, continuing his tirade about Tae and stationery while simultaneously trying to talk Yoongi into coming, you assume, to help Joon move. You don't know who any of these people are, but they're already proving to be the most entertaining bunch that's ever graced these walls.

The door to your apartment flies open, making both you and Boyfriend Material whip your head around.

"Christ, Jin, you couldn't hold the fucking door open for us?" Someone grunts. Beauty Von Softness - or, Jin, as you should probably refer to him - winces and strides over to do just that as two more guys stagger in with a couch suspended between them. The second they're in the door they drop it to the ground and flop onto it, panting and sweaty.

"Listen, I was busy trying to get our resident hermit out of his cave to help us carry some of this shit," Jin spits back. "And you all know what it's like getting him out and about."

"Did you tell him that there's pizza after we're done? Because I've found that food is the best motivator for him," the guy closest to the door says. His hair is soft-looking and long and you wish you could pet it.

The other guy, the one who cursed Jin out and has the softest pink hair you've ever seen, laughs. "Jeongguk, you always think the best motivator is food."

"Well, yeah, because it is."

"For you, maybe. Other people require actual rewards."

"But food is a reward," Jeongguk mutters into the fabric of the couch. Jin tsks and smacks As Yet Unnamed on the back of the head.

"You're lucky I hung up on him when you bombarded your way into this place, or he'd definitely not come help us," Jin says as he leans against the back of the couch.

Unnamed starts to say something else but is cut off by someone running straight into the end of the couch. They all shoot to their feet, spouting apologies as the three of them maneuver the couch into the apartment properly.

"Sorry, sorry, Jimin distracted us from properly finishing our job," Jeongguk says quickly. He looks to the stranger with a small apologetic smile, and you're pretty sure if it were humanly possible, there would be actual literal stars in his eyes.

"Oh, it's okay, Jeonggukkie. I should've been looking where I was going." New Challenger walks straight towards where you stand, and you realize seconds before it's too late that he is not aware there is a massive stack of boxes in his path. Instinctively, you shove them to the side with your foot. Tall And Oblivious sets his boxes down without any trouble, none the wiser about any of it, and the three near the couch are too busy bickering in hushed whispers to have noticed you doing anything.

The newcomer straightens and turns to look at them all with a bright smile, and you think you might actually see The Light in the way his cheeks dimple. If you thought the other three were beautiful - which they are, no doubt about that, you're seriously wondering why the hell a bunch of supermodels are moving stuff into your apartment - then this guy is easily an Actual Fucking God or something. His brown hair is soft and shiny, his smile is warmer than the sun, and you're fairly positive that for the first time since you died, you feel goosebumps along your arms.

"Seriously, Namjoon, we should've realized you'd be up soon. You stay, start unpacking while we go get the rest of the furniture." Jimin shoves Jeongguk out the door while he's speaking, ignoring the taller's complaints, and Jin just shakes his head at the sight.

"Yoongi'll be here soon, he's finishing up another draft of his thesis. Hobi and Tae are stopping to get the pizzas and then they'll be here, too." Jin's voice is calmer than it was Jimin and Jeongguk, more soothing, and it makes you curious. Not only because of the tone change, but because you know Hobi, he owns the building and is the one who rented you the apartment when you first moved in. One of your favorite things to do is scare him when he comes by to make sure everything’s ready for a viewing.

"What? No, I said I was gonna pay for pizzas!" Namjoon looks distinctly more upset about this than someone should over not having to pay for pizza, at least in your mind, and it only makes you more curious.

"Yeah, but you also just moved out of your old apartment because it was too expensive, and had like an hour to load everything into a truck, so you're gonna let their trust fund asses pay for pizzas. We're seven adult men, and Guk could eat an entire horse and still be hungry. I'm not letting you pay for that."

Silence hangs in the apartment for a while before Namjoon gives a soft thanks to Jin. They share a smile before Jin makes his way back out. You follow each step, shadowing him all the way to the door before you're stopped. You lean your entire body forward, struggling against the invisible barrier keeping you inside, and the force of it nearly slams you back into the wall when you sag in defeat.

You aren't sure why you try anymore, but you know yourself well enough to admit that you're not going to stop until you can at least make it to the hallway.

[mokutonprince]

Love me slowly

Part 3 Part 2 Part 1

“C’mon, Parker, buck up.”

Peter just groaned, curling into the top of the cafeteria table while attempting to hide his very being under his arms. 

“It’s not that bad. He likes you.”

That just made the boy groan all the louder, seemingly more wounded than before. Ned finally just reached over to pat his back before returning to his lunch.

“Yeah, Peter. He seems like a nice guy.”

A nice guy, yeah. The most charming and breathtaking Man.

Loki is a God. A God who had reeked havoc on New York, which, by the way, he know’s it wasn’t his fault. Mr. Stark may not have told him much about what happened that day besides the obvious, but Karen was rather helpful. And if FRI  told his mentor what he was getting into, no one said anything.

He had been so excited to finally get introduced to Thor, but he was sorely unprepared when he had met his brother. 

Unworthy in his own right. 

Forget Mjolnir. Peter felt unworthy to even be in his presence. Loki just had that..what do they call it?

“That, je ne sais quoi.”

“Learning French, now, Penis?” came an unwanted sneer, Peter didn’t even have to look up to know who it was.

“Oh piss off, Flash.” MJ fired back, “You wouldn’t be able to understand a beautiful language.”

The wannabe jock just sneered even harder, glare moving from the female brunette and to Ned at Peter’s side when he heard him whisper, “He can’t when he broke too many mirrors-”

MJ barked out a laugh, palm slapping the table. Even Peter’s shoulders were shaking from his giggles.

“Fuckin’ faggots.” Flash mumbled before storming off, his little posse of friends trotting after their leader like some lost ducks. Sad, really.

Peter sighed and lifted his head when he knew they were gone, leaving him and his friends in solitude once again. 

“You look lovesick, Parker.” was MJ’s way to gain his attention. Which worked when he choked on the air in his throat, causing his two best friends to laugh at his expense. 

“Ugh.”

The rest of the day passed quickly, leaving him dreading the weekend with the fresh pile of homework stuffed in his bag. Ned was at his side, making their way out of the building, and spouting about Chemistry when a hand suddenly grabbed and squeezed his bicep.

“Ned what-” Peter jerked his head up, looking around to what spooked his friend.

“Is that?” 

Staring at his friends wide eyes stare with a confused pout, he followed his gaze and his heart jumped to his stomach then up into his throat.

The long black hair was gone, a handsome lighter cut only making his features stand out even more and “Oh my god..”

Loki seemed to have heard what he said, because he just smirked and those now light eyes are laughing at him.

The dark pinstripe suit looks so good, the entire outfit making him think if Mr. Stark or better yet, if Pepper made sure he had dressed properly. He looks so different, but he knows do he is. He can feel it.

“Peter?” 

Fuck, how long was he staring.

Tearing his eyes away from the man that made his stomach twist and flutter at the same time (does anyone else say that anymore?) he looks at his excited yet nervous best friend. “Is that him?”

Poor Peter could just nod, swallowing before he could respond with a little croaked out, “YEah.”

Ned grinned, shaking his  shoulder, “Go! He must have come to meet you. Probably for a mission?”

He wanted to laugh, or scoff, but Ned looked so excited and honestly...he doesn’t even know why the God of mischief himself was here to begin with.

“Y-Yeah, I think so. I’ll call you later-”

“Don’t worry about it!” Ned rushed, grin splitting his face as he got behind his slightly taller frame and began to nudge him forward towards the gates where Loki stood waiting.

“Just give me all the deets later!”

They got about half way across the yard before the insistent pushing stopped and he was left alone with a white knuckle grip on his backpack straps. Bunch of traitorous friends lately. 

Slowly, he continued his way forward, just now noticing the small fan base the God had gathered to gaze at the beautiful man. He looked like a celebrity, from his clothes to his stance, but that damn charming smile he sent to those girls made a tiny spark of unease and jealousy curl in his stomach and he pushed that aside so fast-

He opened his mouth to call out to him as he had gotten closer, but then those now light blue eyes locked on him and the smile was blinding and charming at the same time. “Peter.”

Oh thank the heavens, his voice was the same, his knees weakening at the smooth tone.

A few dozen pairs of eyes turned to him in surprise and confusion, mixed with heated jealousy and anger that made the boy start to curl in on himself. Definitely not what he expected.

Seeing the unease, Loki stepped away from where he been leaning and carefully yet politely moved through the small crowd until he was standing a mere couple feet from the smaller boy and swallowing his pleased purr when those honeyed brown eyes grew wide.

“I hope my presence here has not caused you any ill consequence, Peter.”

Said boy shook his head, gulping down the access saliva on his tongue, “N-never. I’m just, surprised. I didn’t think your brother would have let you out of his sight.”

Loki just laughed, and Peter wanted to hear it again.  All the time.

“Well, you’re correct. But I managed to persuade both he and your impossible mentor. But ah,” Taking a quick glance around at their curious crowd then back to his adorable little spider, he cocked an eyebrow in show and Peter had to take a second for his brain to function properly before he nodded with a small breathy chuckle.

“Mr. Stark send you here to pick me up?”

“Well. I may have made the suggestion.”

At Peter’s clear confusion, Loki took a careful step back just to add a little room between the two of them. His smile turned a bit cautious, shy even as he reached both hands behind his back before returning just as quickly, except with one of the most beautiful flower bouquet in his hands.

“I was hoping you would accompany me, for dinner.”

The crowd of nosy students and a few curious teachers suddenly erupted, but Loki only had his eyes for the stunned silent boy in front of him.

Granted, he was rather rusty when it came to trying to court someone and with his blasted Midgardian disguise he had to wear while out, he felt more out of place than he did on Asgard. 

Peter felt his entire body erupt if heat, it was a miracle he hadn’t combusted into flames. His lips parted in surprise, a question on his tongue but as his eyes went from the flowers to the shy yet sincere eyes of the God, he could of sworn he saw some green in that blue.

“Yes.”

The pink flowers smell just as good as they look, having reached for them and held them to his nose. No one has ever gotten him flowers, his being a boy always meant he was the one who had to get a girl the gifts, but this...this felt nice. 

It wasn’t until he heard the word Faggots! being yelled but a familiar voice, did he realize that he just got asked out by a man. Outside. Of his school. With a very loud and nosy crowd of his fellow students and a few curious onlookers. 

Oh no.

Seeing the out right fear contort Peters face, removing the most gorgeous smile he had on his face, Loki made sure he remember that boys face who caused it. 

“Come, Peter. Stark has been waiting for you.” 

Peter didn’t hesitate to curl into Loki’s side, allowing himself to be ushered off school grounds and away from the judging eyes. The arm around his shoulders was warm, comforting, but he leaned even further into the man when that hand moved down to his waist. It felt like it belonged there, his smile and pleased blush hiding behind the pink bouquet.

Loki’s long legs ushered them down the sidewalk at an easy pace, making sure they were a good distance away from the school. He was quiet, lips pursed in a thin line as his eyes darted from each side every few moments; as though watching for something.

“Um..” Peter finally began to muster, “L-Loki..sir?”

Blue eyes were immediately on him, “Yes, Peter?”

The arm snug around his waist never wavered, becoming warm and almost heavy, but Peter stayed close. Comfortable.

“I was just wondering- I mean, you look amazing. Not that I didn’t think you did before, you still do. Just that you’re different. A good different. But you still looked handsome as you did- I just-”

The God just laughed, an amused light thing that held no traces of sarcasm.

“Well, since you noticed. Yes, I do have a different appearance. Too many remember what happened then..when I attacked-” 

They both had come to a stop near an alley, the shadow of the building giving the comfort of being semi-secluded, so Peter felt the courage to lift a hand and give a comforting squeeze to Loki’s bicep in a way to show his support; that he understood.

Loki just smiled. “I had to change my outer appearance so blend in. Stark had pushed it, stating that if I were to walk among the city I would be noticed and cause a panic. Which...I agree. I do not wish to cause more harm or to bring the people of Midgard into mass-hysteria. Changing my look was the only option.”

Taking a small step back away from the smaller boy, he looked down at himself with a small hum and a critical eye. “I do hope it is passable. Nothing noticeable.” 

Peter held firmly onto the flowers, careful not to crush them against his body. “You-you are very handsome. Loki.” he squeaked out, feeling utterly embarrassed but strangely proud of himself for actually saying it. “In every way.”

With a smile Loki took the others empty hand, fingers carefully curled so he could place a kiss to soft knuckles, “And you, my darling,” he purred, soft gentle blue finding honeyed warm brown as his lips then found the sweet skin of Peters palm in a fairy light kiss, “are absolutely breathtaking.”

Peter stops breathing, eyes wide in shock because what the fuck. There is no way he just..he’s not..

Warm breath puffed across Peters hand, a small airy chuckle leaving the God’s lips that stayed against the boy’s palm, “Please do not lie to yourself.” 

Peter quickly dropped his head, lips pressed together and eyes breaking their contact when he realized that he accidentally said that out loud. But a hand to his chin to lift his head, didn’t allow his avoidance for long. “Don’t hide from me..I wish to see all of you.”

Peter couldn’t help but smile, leaning into the touch that shifted to his cheek, but it took him a moment for him to regain the confidence to find eye contact. “I’ll try.”

“Wonderful.”

Then they just stood, silent and watching the other and waiting for either one of them to move. Their hands stayed together, held up and against the God’s chest like a precious gem and the hand on his cheek was warm, comforting. 

It was slow at first, neither one of them realizing who had moved but then they were so close. Peter could see how his eyelashes were still black, gorgeously long and curved just right. And Loki noticed the specs of gold decorating those honeyed eyes, the small almost unnoticeable tiny freckles that painted the top of his cheeks, one side to the other. 

A moment they were frozen, the next, there was a sharp intake of breath from both as their lips met in a barely there kiss. Loki watched Peter’s eyes widen, saw how they seemed to go into shock before calming down until they closed with a sweet little hum. 

Then they were lost.

Peter moved closer in instinct, the hand on his cheek slipping to cradle the back of his head, using the careful grip to angle both their head just so. 

It was nothing more than a slow movement of lips, Peter getting a little too eager that showed his inexperience and Loki gently slowing him down and showing just what to do. The boy was a quick learner, growing more confident in his own skin, going so far as to swipe the tip of his tongue across the bottom lip that was captured between his own. 

The moan or hum that answered it shocked the both of them, causing the younger of the two to pull back with wide eyes, dark pink slightly swollen lips parted in shock, cause what the hell-

Loki just grinned, keeping the boy close as he let him calm down and let what just happen to settle in, his thumb caressing just under Peter’s ear helping him breathe.

“wow..”

“Very ‘wow’ indeed.”

Peter didn’t know what to say, feeling like a fool for saying the dumbest thing he possibly could. Brown eyes dropped, finding focus on the well worn concrete walkway they stood on that led into the alley, the knowledge of their seclusion making it easier.

“I um..I’ve never..” he stopped with a huff, a small pout on his lips as he tried to say what he needed, like he needed to explain himself. But Loki was quiet, patient as he gathered his thoughts.

“That was my first kiss..” Peter finally admitted, shame filling every part of his body, the pleasant buzz he had being chased away by his self doubt and sudden anxiety. What if he hated it? hated him? He was a God for fucks sake..he was worth more than a virgin hormonal teenage boy with watching porn as his only experience.

But to his surprise, Loki just tucked a stray curl behind his burning ear and smiled. Not that condescending smirk that Flash does when he’s making fun of him; but a loving sweet curve of lips that made his chest tighten, because no one has ever looked at him like that..not even Aunt May.

“I do not care of your experience, Peter. Even if you were to have been with a thousand men and women, I would not care. I have been alive for many millennia, too many if you ask me, having seen countless skies, cultures and a multitude of beings, But none of them are you. And I so wish, that you will give me the chance to properly court you, to show you... To make you mine.”

Peter just stared. Unable to have even a single thought besides the sudden question of what that floated around like the DVD movie logo on the rested screen. He must have been quiet for far too long, because the hand in his hair moved to pull away and everything just restarted.

“Yes!” he shouted, probably too loud because a few random pedestrians that were passing by stopped to stare. 

“I mean ah. Yes. I would..very much like to be courted. By you...please.” 

And Loki suddenly looked years longer then, a smile lighting up his face with utter joy before he surged forward for another kiss. One that Peter couldn’t help but giggle into as he swung his arms around to hold onto the taller man’s neck, longer and strong arms circling around his lithe waist. It was just a little more effort when Peter had to push up onto his toes to feel closer.

It was just a shame they neither of them noticed the fuming famous Tony Stark that stood on the other side of the street, one second away from gearing up and making his way over. Lucky for them, a blond big brother was able to hold him back. 

[mikauzoran]

Adrienette Drabble Twenty-Five: Crowd

“A-Adrien. Mec. What are you doing here?” Nino’s normally caramel-brown skin turned the color of a latte that’d been made with too much milk and too little espresso.

Adrien frowned as he came to a stop by the DJ’s booth. “Am…I not supposed to be here? Chloé invited me, so…”

Nino laughed nervously, pasting on a smile and waving his hands. “No. No, I just meant…did you sneak out or something? Because I didn’t think old Gabe would ever let you actually come.”

Adrien shrugged. “It took a little bit of convincing, but…here I am with parental leave and everything.”

Nino bit his lip as he cast a glance around the packed dancefloor for Marinette and Luka. “That’s…that’s great, Mec. Hey. Listen. Who are you hanging out with?”

“No one so far.” Adrien reached up to run a hand through his hair but stopped when he remembered the styling gel. “I was just kind of cruising the perimeter. I’m not actually sure what I’m supposed to do at an informal party like this. I’ve been to so few, and, here, there are no backers to schmooze with, no press to impress, no influential models or designers or potential investors… This is all kind of weird for me.”

Nino pushed the pause button on his panic to smile fondly at his friend. “My Dude, at a party, you dance and drink and eat and talk and laugh. In uni, if your old man continues to mellow, I’m taking you out and socializing you. We are gonna hit up so many parties.”

“I don’t know if I like parties,” Adrien chuckled sheepishly, taking in the writhing mass of bodies covering the enclosed portion of the lower deck of the ship. “There are a lot of people…and I think I have a touch of agoraphobia.”

“Hey, no worries,” Nino replied soothingly, resting a hand on Adrien’s arm. “Nothing bad’s going to happen; I’m with you.”

Adrien smiled shyly, eternally grateful for Nino. “Thanks, Man.”

Nino winked. “Why don’t you hang with me for a bit, if you’ve got nothing better to do? Obviously, I have to do my job, but we can talk in between.”

Adrien nodded, giving Nino’s fedora a playful flick. “Sounds good.”

Adrien spent about a third of the party with Nino before splitting off.

“I should go find Chloé,” Adrien informed. “I saw her briefly when I got here, but she said to come grab her later because she wanted to hang out. She said I owe her a dance because I’m the only guy here who can dance the girl’s part too, and she wants a chance to lead instead of just being led around.”

Nino snorted in laughter at that. “Oh? So you do it backwards in heels too?”

Adrien shrugged. “I don’t mean to brag, but I’m multitalented. Dancing in heels sucks, though.”

Nino lifted an eyebrow. “Seriously, Bro?”

Adrien nodded earnestly. “A couple years ago Helen Griffin, the English fashion designer, brought her son and her son’s friend with her for a vacation while she was doing a runway show here. One of her models broke a leg the day before the show, though, so her son’s friend filled in.”

“How does this explain how you can dance in heels?” Nino wondered.

“The model was female. The son’s friend was male…and the best cross-dresser I’ve ever seen. He may have taught me a few things,” Adrien chuckled.

“Oh, yeah?” Nino snickered. “Do you make a pretty girl, Adrien Agreste?”

“Absolutely gorgeous,” Adrien assured. “Now, I’m going to go find Chloé. You behave yourself.”

“Uh, wait!” Nino caught Adrien by the arm. “Hey. So…” His brow creased in obvious concern. “Look. You remember Juleka’s brother Luka, yeah?”

Adrien’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah? What about him?”

Nino pursed his lips. “I can’t explain right now, but steer clear of him if you happen to see him tonight, okay?”

Adrien’s eyebrow quirked in confusion. “Why?”

“Trust me,” Nino stressed. ���Please?”

“But…why?” Adrien repeated.

“I have a really good reason,” Nino promised.

“Okay. What is it?” Adrien snorted.

Nino winced. “I’ll tell you later?”

Adrien stared at his best friend without replying.

“It’s a really, really good reason.” Nino failed to sound convincing.

Adrien shrugged. “I mean…if you say so. See you later, okay?”

“Yeah,” Nino sighed in defeat. “Call me if you need me, okay?”

Adrien raised a hand in parting as he set off to find Chloé.

This actually proved to be a simple task. Chloé’s party dress was a shimmering black, white, and lemon yellow that stood out on the edge of the dance floor, far from the mosh pit.

“Hey, Chlo!” Adrien called. “Great party.”

Chloé squealed with delight, leaving Sabrina mid-sentence to throw herself into Adrien’s arms. “Adri-chou!!!” she trilled like the Queen of the Night from Mozart’s The Magic Flute.

Adrien braced himself for impact and caught her in a crushing hug.

“I thought Nino was going to hog you all night,” she snorted, placing air kisses to the sides of his cheeks. “I’m so glad you finally snuck away.”

She pulled back slightly to take in his black pinstriped shirt, grey vest, and green tie appreciatively. “Again, I love the outfit.”

“You’re looking pretty radiant yourself,” Adrien replied with a wink.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Chloé snickered, taking him by the hand and tugging him towards the dancefloor. “Come. You owe me at least half a dozen dances for keeping me waiting so long.”

“Uh…what about Sabrina?” Adrien looked helplessly at the redheaded girl who was currently glaring at him.

Chloé looked back over her shoulder and smiled.

Sabrina perked up instantly.

“Sabrina, be a dear and go get Adri-chou and me some refreshments. We’re going to be parched when we’re through.”

“I don’t need anything, Sabrina,” Adrien assured even as Chloé dragged him off. “Sorry!”

Sabrina’s hands balled into fists, and Adrien began to worry about the girl getting akumatized and coming after him. He wanted to reassure Sabrina, but he really didn’t know what to say. “There’s nothing romantic going on between me and Chloé”? “Chloé can be friends with more than one person at a time”? “You’re still her best friend, Sabrina”? Nothing he could think of seemed accurate or adequate for the situation he found himself in.

In any case, Chloé led Adrien around the dancefloor for half an hour before complaining that her shoes were bothering her.

Adrien and Chloé made their way back to where Sabrina was waiting like a faithful dog with refreshments for the both of them.

“Thank you,” Adrien replied sheepishly as Sabrina sullenly pressed a drink into his hand.

Sabrina gave a little snort of indignance before turning to take off Chloé’s shoes and massage her feet while Chloé made herself comfortable in one of the chairs set up along the periphery.

The trio chatted for another twenty minutes before Adrien, feeling very much like a third wheel, made his excuses and headed off to find more friends to spend time with.

He walked around for a while and didn’t bump into anyone he had ever been particularly close with. He danced one song with Aurore and another with Mireille before he ended up leaning against the far wall, sipping at a glass of champagne and watching the dancers.

“Doing okay?” Plagg whispered from Adrien’s collar.

“Yeah,” Adrien mumbled into his champagne flute. “This is actually going really well. I’m having a lot of fun.”

“Maybe text your father and let him know?” Plagg suggested. “He was feeling pretty anxious about letting you go, and it would probably help him concentrate on his project if he knew you were okay.”

Adrien nodded and obediently fished out his phone.

Text sent, Adrien looked back out at the crowd, searching for a friendly face. “You know,” he realized, “I haven’t really talked to most of the people here in a couple months. Not since…when I was trying not to be in love with Ladybug anymore,” he whispered into his glass. “I’ve been too busy; first, with dating all those different girls. Then, with Elise and Marinette, and, recently…”

“You’ve been avoiding other people,” Plagg finished.

“Yeah. I—Oh, wow,” Adrien gasped, completely forgetting what he had been about to say.

“Wow what?” Plagg peeked his head up to see.

“I think I just fell in love all over again,” Adrien giggled, admiring Marinette as she danced with Alya and some of the other girls from their class.

Marinette’s hair was up in a high bun, and dark blues and soft pinks painted her lips, cheeks, and eyes, making the cerulean of her irises pop. Her navy blue, satin dress fell just above her knee in two tiers. It had a sweetheart neckline that hugged every curve just right, and the delicate lace up her arms and across her chest looked like it had been airbrushed onto her skin. She was light and air and sky and sea and perfection, a water nymph deigning to set foot on land.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Plagg growled. “No. No, no, no, no, no.”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes,” Adrien countered dreamily. “Plagg, don’t try to tell me you’ve never felt like this before. It’s like when you haven’t seen Tikki in forever and then, all of the sudden, there she is, and you just feel drawn to her because you belong together. You’re two halves of the same whole, and you can’t help but need to be near her.”

“You’ve gone and made it all soppy and gross,” Plagg snorted. “And you have no business mooning over that girl and waxing poetic. You’re supposed to be getting over her so you can function like a normal human being.”

Adrien rolled his eyes. “Plagg, destiny chose Marinette and me for one another. I’m never getting over her. I’m just…I’m in the process of learning how to love her healthily.”

“Melting at the sight of her is healthy?” Plagg challenged.

“Oh, hush. I haven’t seen her besides inadequate glimpses at school in weeks, and she looks ethereal. I’ll get better about melting when I can be around her more often,” Adrien reasoned.

Plagg snorted skeptically.

“Maybe I should go talk to her,” Adrien proposed.

“God, help me,” Plagg groaned. “Kid, no. No talking. Tonight’s going so well. Why ruin it?”

“I’ve made so much progress, Plagg. I’ve been spending time with friends, taking Chat Noir on dates, giving Chat compliments, feeling better about myself and the situation in general…plus, my therapist said the other day that I was really improving. I’m…I’m okay now for the most part,” Adrien insisted, trying to prove himself. “Maybe where I am now is good enough to try to rebuild things with Marinette.”

“Kid,” Plagg sighed in warning. “Please don’t do this. I don’t want you hurt again.”

“I’m going to ask her to dance,” Adrien decided, deliberately not hearing Plagg. “I’ll walk up to her next slow song and ask for a dance, and we’ll go outside on the upper deck and dance under the stars as Paris drifts by, and it will be soooo romantic. It’ll be great. I’ll tell her I still love her and still want to be with her and that I’m ready to forgive each other for our mistakes and work together to figure out what we need to do to make a relationship work.”

“Kid,” Plagg pleaded. “Don’t. I mean, how crushed are you going to be if she says no at any point during that scenario? What if she doesn’t want to dance with you? What if she’s not ready to forgive and move forward? What if she doesn’t want to be in a relationship with you right now? Kitten, just drop this and go hang out with hat-boy again. You’re having a really good night, and I don’t want Marinette ruining it for you.”

Adrien sighed, not responding as he watched Marinette sadly. His body ached for her, and their month of separation had done nothing to quell the love he’d harbored in his heart for her for four and a half years.

“Why can’t real life be like the fairytales?” He muttered ruefully down into his glass. “Our eyes are supposed to meet from across the room, and we’re supposed to be drawn together like magnets. We’re supposed to waltz across the floor, lost in our own little world with bubbles and pastel colors, and she’s supposed to love me. We’re supposed to get married and live happily ever after. Why the hell can’t that just happen already? I played by the rules. I did the ‘princess in a tower’ schtick for years, and now I want my Prince Charming already. I’m not supposed to have to rescue myself. I’m not supposed to have to learn self-love and fight to make Prince Charming want me. This is stupid. My life is stupid…. Real life is garbage, Plagg,” Adrien hissed, downing the entirety of his champagne.

“Kid,” Plagg cooed sympathetically. “Go back and hang out with hat-boy. Please. He’ll—Oops.” Plagg ducked back into Adrien’s collar just as Alix came into hearing range.

Adrien looked up, eyeing his classmate warily as she approached.

Alix raised a hand in greeting and turned to lean up against the wall next to Adrien. “Sup, Wallflower?”

“Uh…nothing much.” Adrien shrugged, looking back out at Marinette. “You?”

“I got sick of Kim bellyaching about…” Alix paused and glanced sideways at Adrien. “Did you hear that your ex, Marie, has been sleeping around a lot since you two broke up? Some guy got her knocked up, and now Kim’s in a tizzy about it since she still comes crying to him about everything. He fell for her when he was trying to get over Chloé, and I’m not sure Marie’s been any kind of improvement. You heard about any of this?”

“I’m not very well connected as far as the rumor mill goes,” Adrien admitted.

Alix gave a snort of amusement. “Probably better that way because—I mean…have your ears been burning lately? Everyone’s been spreading rumors about you for the past couple months.”

Adrien shifted uncomfortably, neck and ears going red.

“Sorry,” Alix amended, actually sounding contrite. “I didn’t think you’d care. Haven’t people been talking about you since the day you were born? I thought famous people had tougher skin.”

“My love life is kind of a sore subject,” Adrien mumbled, flagging down one of the servers to exchange his empty champagne flute for a glass of red wine.

Alix slowly nodded in understanding as she caught where Adrien’s gaze was focused. “Yeah. I’m really sorry to hear about that. It only started going around about a week ago that Marinette was the one that left you crying on that park bench last month. Until then no one really knew what was going on with you, but now…” Alix trailed off. “I guess that’s a sore subject?”

Adrien took a big gulp of his wine.

“Sorry,” Alix muttered. “Uh…So…Well…Your outfit looks pretty rad. I like the hair. It’s kinda Chat Noir. It’s cool.”

Adrien blinked, shifting his gaze away from Marinette to study Alix’s outfit: a black suit jacket and a lime green tie paired with a pink button down and blue jeans.

“Thanks,” he chuckled. “You’re looking pretty cool yourself.”

Alix beamed. “I don’t wear dresses. I mean, I’m not…I’m not a typical girl, so when the rest of the gang went dress shopping, Marinette helped me pick out something that was more me.”

Adrien smiled sadly. “She’s a good friend like that.”

Alix bit her lip. “I’m sorry that things didn’t work out. I’m actually kind of pissed after all those years and all that effort and all of those schemes to get you two together that I got dragged into.”

“We’re not done yet,” Adrien mumbled, looking back to Marinette. She laughed at something Alya had said, and Adrien couldn’t help but smile at the warmth that her laughter sent rushing through him. “We’re just on a break while we work some things out. We’ll be back together in no time.”

“Ha! Someone’s delusional,” Kim barked as he swaggered up to Adrien and Alix.

“Kim, back the hell off,” Alix snapped, moving to put her deceptively tiny frame in between Kim and Adrien.

“What?” Kim snorted. “It’s the truth.” He glowered at Adrien over Alix’s head. “Marinette is so over you. After five years of waiting for you to get wise, she’s finally moving on.”

Adrien kept his eyes trained on Marinette and tried to breathe normally. He took another sip of his wine and muttered into the glass, “You’re wrong. She loves me, and we’re meant to be together; we’re just spending some time apart to work a couple of things out at the moment. I’ll be happy to invite you to the wedding in two or three years.”

Kim burst out laughing. “Wow. You’re worse than I thought. You really believe that, don’t you?”

“Kim,” Alix growled in warning.

“News flash, Agreste,” Kim snickered. “She dumped you. Like, permanently. Welcome to the Reject’s Club.”

“Y-You’re wrong.” Adrien’s grip on his glass stem tightened. His heart was beating in his ears. He could hear the blood rushing, leaving him lightheaded.

“Am I? She spent years turning other guys down because of you, and now she’s rejected you too. Am I the only one who sees the poetic irony here?” Kim drawled.

“You’re drunk, Kim,” Alix spat, putting her hands on his chest and trying to push him back.

Kim didn’t budge. “I mean, look at you. You’re over here making eyes at her, and she hasn’t looked your way once all evening, has she?”

Adrien took another drink to avoid answering. She just didn’t know that he was there at the party in order to look for him. Still, he felt dizzy.

“Has she?” Kim challenged.

“Kim, you’re being a total ass. Stop before you get him akumatized, will ya?” Alix shoved harder. “Just because your slut got herself preggers, that doesn’t give you the right to use Adrien as a punching bag.”

“Why not?” Kim hissed down at Alix. “He deserves it. Someone should show him that he can’t just get away with treating women like toys. He can’t just play with them and then toss them aside once he gets tired of them even if his dad does have enough money and power to bribe and threaten them into silence. Alix, look at all those girls he was sleeping with a couple months ago,” Kim argued. “And he didn’t just hurt them. The whole time Marinette was so depressed. You should know that better than me, Alix. You spend more time with her than I do, but the whole time he knew how Marinette felt about him, and he still ran around with all those women, all the while rubbing it in Marinette’s face and still pretending to be her friend.”

“I didn’t know how Marinette felt about me,” Adrien protested, finally meeting Kim’s eye. “If I had, I never would have—and I didn’t sleep with any of those girls I dated, Kim. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so casual about relationships, but those girls were using me at least as much, if not more than I was using them.”

“Well, what about Marie?!” Kim snarled. “You slept with her! She told me her first time was with you, and then you started mistreating her and ignoring her and pushing her away just as soon as you’d got what you wanted from her, you spoiled rich brat. You can’t just treat people like that!”

Adrien’s face twisted in bewildered amazement. “Kim, I’m sorry to tell you this, but Marie lied to you. I never so much as kissed her.”

“You’re the one who’s lying!” Kim started to lunge but was held back by Alix. “Marinette knows the truth, at least. Marinette knows what a slug you are, and she’s never going to be with you. She doesn’t want you, Agreste, so leave her the hell alone. You’re only kidding yourself if you think she could love scum like you!”

Adrien’s pulse quickened. He couldn’t breathe.

He could barely feel Plagg’s claws as they gently pressed into Adrien’s shoulder. He felt numb.

Adrien reached up to rub at his neck where the bruises had long ago disappeared.

“Kim, I swear I’m going to kick you in the nuts if you don’t stop,” Alix barked.

Kim was too drunk to listen to reason. “No one’s ever going to love you because I’m gonna make sure everyone knows what a liar and a coward and a sleazewad you are! What are you even doing here?”

The room was spinning.

“No one wants you here,” Kim continued, lashing out at Adrien in his own heartache. “No one likes you. Not even Lahiffe. People only talk to you for your money. No one actually likes you. No one—”

“—Excuse me.” Alix grabbed Adrien’s glass and splashed what little was left of the wine in Kim’s face. “Go outside and sober up, Kim. You’re an ugly drunk, and no one likes you this way.”

Adrien bolted, darting through the crowd of dancers, rushing for the doorway out to the uncovered part of the deck at the stern.

“Adrien!” Alix called after him, but he didn’t dare stop.

Adrien couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t stand to be around so many people. He was going to pass out. He needed air.

He knew all of the awful things Kim had said weren’t true. He knew Kim’s words were born out of spite and hurt, but objectively knowing that didn’t stop those words from cutting Adrien deep.

And so he ran, glancing back over his shoulder periodically to make sure he wasn’t being followed. He ran right into someone.

The impact jarred Adrien, sending him stumbling until two strong yet oddly gentle hands steadied him, half holding him up as Adrien’s legs gave out.

“Whoa, there. You okay?”

In a panic, Adrien tried to pull away, but the hands held him fast.

It was probably for the best, as Adrien’s balance was shot, the room was spinning, and his vision and hearing were going in and out.

“Hey. It’s okay. Calm down. Deep breaths, okay?”

Adrien looked up and saw blue: cyan eyes and teal hair. He took a gulp of air that came out sounding like, “Luka”.

[pretty-well-funded]

kidnapped Peter pt 4

and we have PORN \o/  in case this was somehow unclear, this was never going to be anything but dubcon

pt 1 | 2 | 3

*

Mr. Stark is gone for ten days. 

It's better, this time around.  Peter has creature comforts and slightly better meals and a book to read, but still.  He's achingly, acutely lonely, every day that passes without another human. 

He replays their last interaction in his head a thousand times.  The way Mr. Stark touched him, comforted him, held him.  He doesn't want to be grateful.  The man took everything away, and only gave back the most basic human kindness, only when it suited him. 

It doesn't even matter.  Peter thinks about those arms around him, that kiss on his forehead, and just wants to feel it again. 

He knows it's not his fault, but he hates himself a little. 

He wonders if he should have tried to run while he had a chance.  Except, he didn't.  Peter doesn't know where he is, exactly, but he knows it must be a building controlled by Mr. Stark. Whether it's out in the middle of nowhere or in a densely-populated part of Manhattan doesn't really even matter.  Peter never would have made it out the door.  The only thing making a break for it would have earned him was punishment.   

It doesn't mean Peter's given up, it doesn't.  He just has to be smart.  If he's good…if he's really really good, maybe some day he'll earn more freedom. Mr. Stark has already proven he can earn that.  If he keeps cooperating, maybe someday he'll have a reasonable chance of actually getting away. 

He just needs to give Mr. Stark what he wants. 

The problem is, no matter how often Peter circles the question, he can really only think of one thing that could be. 

Mr. Stark hasn't done anything to make Peter think he wants Peter to work for him.  He laughed the one time Peter brought it up.  They don't talk about Mr. Stark's illegal business, and while they sometimes talk about science and tech, the idea that he was kidnapped as a recruit him for the legitimate Stark Industries is absurd. 

Every lesson Mr. Stark enforces is a personal one. Don't be rude, don't talk back, address him with deference, be grateful for any kindness.  Any pleasure Peter is granted comes directly from Mr. Stark's hands. 

Peter's not stupid.  He can do that math. 

It's smart, the way Mr. Stark is doing this.  Letting Peter's mind do the hard work for him.  Even though he knows, even though he knows, Peter finds himself thinking: at least Mr. Stark's attractive.  It's not something Peter ever considered, but he might have, if Mr. Stark was someone that he could admire.  He finds himself thinking: at least Mr. Stark's not using brute force.  It doesn't make it better, he knows it doesn't make it better, but at least Peter can pretend he has a choice.  He finds himself thinking: at least he's actually gay.   

Finds himself thinking: at least maybe this gives him a way out.  He can't imagine Mr. Stark wants to fuck in a chilly basement for long. 

* 

Peter doesn't let any tears fall when Mr. Stark gets back, but it's a close thing. 

The sight and sound of another person is almost overwhelming, even before he gives Mr. Stark permission to sit on his bed.  They eat a meal together, for the first time, and Peter listens to Mr. Stark talk about nothing important, and afterwards, when Mr. Stark has pushed the trays out in the hall, he leans against the wall and pulls Peter against his side and starts reading The Two Towers. 

Peter doesn't intend to interrupt until he does. "Mr. Stark, can I ask you a question?" 

Mr. Stark puts the book down, and turns to look at Peter as best he can, given how close they are.  "Ask away." 

Peter stalls out, then.  He knows what he wants to ask, but saying the words out loud seem…dangerous.  Ill-advised. 

Mr. Stark presses his lips to Peter's hair, and combs through the tails of it idly.   

"Am I – I'm here for sex, aren't I?" 

"Smart boy," Mr. Stark murmurs, almost to himself, and Peter's stomach swoops.  Neither of them move.  Peter tries hard not to tense up too much.  It's hard not to, though, when Mr. Stark says,  "If you're asking whether I brought you here to be a mindless fucktoy, the answer is no. But I do intend sex to be a part of our relationship." 

Peter's breaths are shallow.  The word fucktoy sticks in his brain like a burr.  Mr. Stark, for all his…flaws, has never been crass.  "W…what does that mean?" 

Mr. Stark rubs his arm.  "It means that you're a brilliant boy, not just a pretty one." 

A laugh escapes Peter that has an edge of hysteria. "You're actually saying you don't want me just for my body?" 

Mr. Stark actually laughs, too.  "I guess so.  What can I say?  I don't meet many people in my line of work that I like, Pete." 

There's a thread of irony laced through the words, but even though Peter finds it kind of funny, that doesn't stop the discordant scream inside his head. 

"How do you feel about it?" Mr. Stark asks softly, and if circumstances were completely different, Peter might believe he gave a damn. 

"I…I don't really know."  And that's the truth.  Because Peter learned a long time ago that wishing for things to be different is useless.  You have to deal with what is. 

"They told me you got a new hobby while I was gone." 

It takes Peter a minute to get it, and when he does, he's so embarrassed and flustered, he buries his face against Mr. Stark's jacket. He can feel Mr. Stark chuckle, and really isn't sure whether it makes him feel relieved or enraged. 

Peter wasn't exactly horny while he was locked in a barren room and shitting in a bucket with no access to hygiene.  After a few days of being warm and clean, well-rested and comfortable…not to mention bored… 

He pretty much forgot this room has cameras.  He wasn't always under the covers. 

Mr. Stark lifts Peter's hand and kisses his knuckles. Peter's torn about the degree to which he's found this creepy.  "I'm glad you're feeling comfortable in your new space." 

They sit there, pressed together, for a long time. Peter's reluctant to sit up and move away, but it also feels like…it feels like now that he's named the elephant in the corner, he can't live without more answers. 

"What do you expect from me?" 

There's a long pause.  "I'm not in any hurry.  If I'm not mistaken, then you're new to this." 

This, Peter assumes, is sex in general and not being coerced into it by a crime lord. So he nods. 

"I wouldn't object to getting a private show," Mr. Stark says.  There's a beat.  "When you're ready." 

Peter's heart is pounding and he knows he's breathing too fast.  He believes Mr. Stark that he'll wait, that he won't force anything (…yet), but he also thinks that waiting can only make this more difficult. 

He sits up, not looking Mr. Stark in the face and aware that his own is flushed with some combination of arousal, embarrassment, and shame. "H – um, how?" 

Mr. Stark's eyes are dark and…consuming, when Peter darts him a look.  "Why don't you take off that sweatshirt, to start." 

Peter does, not…sexy, he wouldn't begin to know how. He just takes it off and chucks it away, pushing his hair back down out of its floof.  Mr. Stark reaches out to help, petting Peter fondly.  Peter wishes he didn't enjoy that, but maybe it's good that he does. 

"Now, lay back and pretend I'm not here." 

"Oh, is it that easy?" Peter mutters under his breath.  Mr. Stark seems to think it's funny, thank god. 

There's not much to do but follow Mr. Stark's advice, frankly, so Peter piles up the pillows and makes himself comfortable.  He closes his eyes against Mr. Stark's intense gaze. 

He's grateful Mr. Stark didn't suggest he remove his underwear yet.  He reaches down and touches himself through the cotton, working himself up to what he'd normally do.  He's already most of the way hard, just from thinking about sex while fifteen, and he's breathing heavily enough – with both nerves and arousal – to almost cover up the quiet sound of Mr. Stark's breath. 

His dick is straining impatiently at his waistband by the time he's almost worked himself up to going skin-to-skin.  He jumps, startled, when a hand strokes up his thigh. 

"Why don't we take these off?" Mr. Stark says quietly, and Peter tries to ignore the burn in his cheeks as he peels the boxer-briefs down with Mr. Stark's help. 

Pretend he's not even there.  Right. 

Peter's eyes flutter open long enough during the process to see exactly how closely Mr. Stark looks at his body.  He can feel the attention even after he closes his eyes. 

There's no dignity whatsoever in the sound he makes when he wraps his hand around his dick.  It's so much more intense, somehow, knowing Mr. Stark is there. 

Mr. Stark isn't exactly unobtrusive, murmuring "that's it," and "beautiful," and "play with your balls a little, sweetheart."  He settles his hand on Peter's knee, fingers curving around to stroke the crease idly in a way that really shouldn't be hot. 

Peter's whole body feels like it's on fire. 

He's not sure what makes him open his eyes, but when he does, they're drawn like a magnet to Mr. Stark's hand in his own lap, stroking the bulge still concealed in his pinstripe slacks.   

"You're making me so hard, baby," Mr. Stark says, and Peter gasps, shuddering and desperate for air.  "Playing with your eager little cock just for me.  You're gorgeous." 

Peter's stomach clenches, hips bucking up.  Mr. Stark's cock looks…big. Peter's so close, his eyes slip shut at how intense it is – 

Then fly open at the feel of…Mr. Stark licking his cock, just leaning in and swirling his tongue all around the head and Peter shouts, coming while he watches Mr. Stark in disbelief, lapping it up. 

He's trembling and exhausted by the time he's done, unable to move as Mr. Stark crawls up his body, suit brushing Peter's sweaty skin and setting off shivers, aftershocks. 

He can hardly keep his eyes slitted open on Mr. Stark's face, but then Mr. Stark kisses him so he doesn't really have to. He pushes the taste of Peter into his mouth with his tongue. 

"You're delicious, sweetheart." 

Peter shudders, overloaded and unable to do anything but accept the almost-chaste kiss that he gets next.  Then Mr. Stark is gone, and Peter's being wrapped in the blanket that he's laying on… 

He must slip out of consciousness for a second, because the door being shut and locked startles him awake.  Then he's under.

[vampwrrrmistresslist]

Sweet Lies 5

(A/N:  This is not how dual citizenship between the US and South Korea works.  Suspend your disbelief, dear Reader.  Also, this is chapter 5 of an in progress fic, the links for which can be found on my mistresslist.)

Baekhyun’s eyes shone when he picked you up, looking appreciatively up and down your tempting figure.  You were wearing a loose ice blue silk button down blouse, tucked into a figure-hugging, high-waisted, charcoal-and-ice-pinstripe pencil skirt that hit you just below the knee.  Your thick, wavy hair was gathered over one shoulder, leaving the side of your neck bare to his gaze.  You were grateful that you had taken the time to go thriftwhoring that morning, and were in clothes that made you feel more like the “you” you had been before you had  given up.  Charcoal stilettos that you hadn’t worn since university completed the look, but still put you an inch below him.  

The small of your back was warmed by the delicate pressure of Baekhyun’s hand as he gently led you through the doors of the Mercier Fine Art Museum, where they were having an exhibit on The Modern Reclamation of the Power of Women topos, with paintings on loan from around the world.  You wriggled playfully in excitement, beaming up at him when he looked down questioningly.

“I love museums,” you whispered confidentially, causing him to chuckle indulgently.  “I haven’t been to one since I graduated.  I’m so excited!”

He nodded, his eyes scanning the room before coming to rest on your face.  “You really are a nerd, aren’t you?”

You went to punch him on the shoulder, but stopped yourself just in time, and let your hand fall back to your side.  “Says the man who attended Vanderbilt and Cornell.”

“So, we’re both nerds,” he said comfortably, his thumb gently stroking the base of your spine.  “Which exhibit would you like to see first?”

“The Klimt.”

He guided you through the doorway on your right, into the Klimt exhibit. You gasped softly to yourself as you both came to stand in front of Klimt’s The Kiss. “Oh!  It’s lovely…”

Baekhyun spared the painting a glance, turning slightly to look at you while you looked up at the work in wonder.  “Indeed,” he said quietly, his eyes tracing the delicate lines of your profile.

You continued to look at the painting, eyes moving back and forth as you tried to commit every inch to memory.  “Klimt is one of my favourite artists.”

He nodded.  “I prefer modern art, but I can acknowledge the appeal.”

You wrinkled your nose, glancing at him briefly, before turning your eyes back to the painting in front of you.  “Modern art is so cold.  So calculating.  For the most part, anyway.”

“Not cold.  Clean.  Neat.”

“Well, you may just have to teach me to appreciate it.  I can’t say that I do right now.”

He smiled, looking thoughtful. “That would be a pleasure.  There are a lot of things that I would love to teach you.”

You grinned cheekily.  “How do you know that I don’t know them already?”

He grinned mischievously.  Reworking his query from the previous day, “So, you know everything I know?”

You tsked and pouted.  “What if there are things that I want to teach you?”

He laughed loudly, then looked chastened when the security guard gave him a glare. “I learn well,” he stage-whispered, as he led you away from The Kiss.

You smiled up at him, allowing the soft press of his hand to guide you to Klimt’s next work, Danae.  You bit your lip to hold back a squeal.  “It’s gorgeous!”

He tilted his head, considering.  “I think that I can appreciate this one a bit more.”

You looked up at him as he studied the painting.  “What do you like about this one?”

He shook his head.  “I’m not an art critic.  I don’t really analyze it.  I just…like what I like.  If it strikes me as pretty, I like it.  I don’t think about why.”

You nodded, looking back at the painting.  “I can verbalize why I like it, but I agree with you.  It all boils down to, I like it, because I like it.  That’s enough. Taking it apart is just justification after the fact.”

“Well, now I’m curious.  Why do you like it?”

“Mmm, first of all I love the juxtaposition, which you also find in The Kiss, of comfort and discomfort.  Look at how she’s positioned.  It looks unnatural, and cramped, but look at her face; it’s blissful.  I also love the way he creates texture in his paintings.  Look at the veil. Doesn’t it look real, like you could reach out and pull it from the painting?  Another thing that I find fascinating about most of his work is the contrast of styles, within the same paintings.  For example, her hair looks like a painting, but the veil looks real.  The Kiss almost looks as if he painted the figures, and then put fabric, and gold overlay over them.  Something about that contrast just pulls at something inside of me.  I don’t know; I’m weird.  I’m probably not making sense.”

“No, I understand.  We’re drawn to opposites. Sweet and sour, light and dark, pain and pleasure.  It’s not weird at all.  I’m afraid that I think you’re quite normal, pet.”

“Give me time.”

You tried to hold in your excitement as you moved to the next painting, but a little bounce escaped, causing him to bite his lip to hold back another burst of laughter.  You groaned.  “Oh, now this…this is my favourite one,” you said, your hands reaching out to clutch air, as you make cute little grasping motions.  You both looked up at Judith and the Head of Holofernes.  “Do you know the story behind the painting?”

Baekhyun smiled ruefully.  “Not really.”

You smiled up at him.  “Well, it’s part of the Apocrypha, which are the books that didn’t make it into the Bible, due to their being of doubtful origin.  Anyway, in the story, there’s this widow, Judith, who gains the trust of Holofernes, an enemy Assyrian general, by promising to give him information on the Israelites’ plans for battle.  So one night, she goes to his tent, finds him dead drunk…and decapitates him.”  Here, you smiled again, looking back at the painting.  Almost reverently, you whisper, “She takes his head back to her camp, and the Assyrians, without their leader, flee in defeat.”

Baekhyun’s eyes roved over your rapt face, lit with a beatific smile as you recounted the dark tale.  He smiled affectionately at you as your eyes took in the graceful lines of the painting.  “You’re…kind of bloodthirsty, aren’t you?”

Your smile changed to an introspective one.  You sighed, glanced back at him, and then slowly began to walk to the next exhibit.  “Only to the deserving.”

He followed you, his eyes lazily trailing from your ankles all the way up to the crown of your head.  He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Just my style.”

You both wandered through the rest of the Klimt exhibit before making your way over to the Caravaggio display.  You gasped and hurried over to Caravaggio’s Judith Beheading Holofernes.  “They have multiple versions of this in the exhibition?!  Oh…” Sucking in a breath, you looked up in satisfaction at the image, biting your lip as your eyes took in the rich reds, and elegant chiascuro of the work.

Baekhyun came to stand behind you, replacing his hand on the small of your back, which you barely noticed, so enrapt were you with the painting.  He looked up at the far more graphic representation of the tale.  After a pause, “Should I be worried?”

“Are you currently planning to wage war against the Israelites?”

“It’s not on my to-do list.”

“Then you may keep your head.”

“Thank you.”

“I am beneficent in all my ways.”  You paused, and then gestured to the painting.  “Just look at that red.  That is my favourite colour.”  You suddenly shivered, the thin silk of your shirt doing nothing to insulate you against the glacial temperatures of the museum.  Baekhyun looked at you in concern.

“Are you cold?”

“Of course not,” you bluffed.

He glanced down to see goosebumps sweeping across your skin, see the way you unconsciously hugged your arms around your waist in an unsuccessful effort to warm yourself.  “Here,” he said, taking off his suit jacket and draping it over your shoulders.

“Really, I’m fine—“ you started, but then involuntarily closed your eyes, sighing in appreciation of the left over body heat from his jacket.

He raised an eyebrow.  “Fine?”

You settled gratefully into the warm jacket.  “Perhaps, I…was a bit…chilled.  Thank you.  Aren’t you going to be cold, though?”

“Well, I’m still wearing an undershirt, a shirt, and a vest, so I’m fine.”  He looked down at you, looking up at him, your doe-like eyes blinking at him over the collar of the jacket as you burrowed into it, up to your nose.  “You are so cute!”

You blushed, and looked down shyly.  You started to thank him when you glanced into the next room, and something that caught your eye.  You sucked in an incredulous breath.  “They have Gentileschi?!”

Anticipating your next move, he gently guided you out of the Caravaggio exhibit into the Gentileschi room, where you stood between Judith Slaying Holofernes and Jael and Sisera one hand to your mouth, eyes hungrily looking back and forth between the paintings, as if unable to choose which to consume first.  You decided to start with the Judith.

“Which version do you prefer?”

You sighed in contemplation.  After a moment, “The Gentileschi, hands down. It’s the most visceral; it delivers the highest impact.  Also, look at her expression compared to Caravaggio’s, and Klimt’s Judiths. Klimt depicted her erotically, while Caravaggio depicted her as almost timid, even as she’s right in the middle of beheading Holofernes.  The expression on Gentileschi’s Judith is the most realistic, I think. Repelled, but determined.  Also, look at her maidservant.  I mean, she’s really getting in there.  That’s loyalty.  That’s teamwork.”

“I would like to revise my earlier assertion.”

“Oh?”

“You are weird.”

“Thank you.”

***

The sun hung heavy in the sky when you emerged from the museum.   You divested yourself of Baekhyun’s jacket, handing it back to him with a grateful smile.

He took it from you, smiling as he eased into it.  “It smells like you.”

You looked at him in horror.  “I’m sorry!”

“Don’t be sorry.  I like the way you smell.  Like fresh cut lemons, and pretty girl.”

“What does pretty girl smell like?”

“You.”

“I should have seen that one coming.”

“You really should have.”

He guided you to one of the shaded benches under the trees.  “Ah, it’s so hot!”

You leaned back on your arms, taking note of the temperature. “It’s not that bad, now that the sun is going down.”    

“Wait a moment, I’ll be right back.”  

While he was gone, you tipped back your head, soaking in the dying rays of the sun, and listened to the cheerful babble of the small brook that ran through the trees beside the museum’s picnic area.  The leftover heat of the day seeped into your bones, making you feel like a lizard, and you were just starting to drift when–

“This is a pretty sight.”

You lazily opened your eyes to see Baekhyun standing in front of you with an obscenely large soft serve cone.  You raised an eyebrow.  “Where did you get that?”

“The museum cafeteria.  I’m hungry.”

You smiled, ruffling his hair as he sat next to you.

“You know you’re going to help me finish this, right?” he said, eyeing you over the cone.

“I thought that you said that you were hungry.”

“I’m hungry, not suicidal.  This thing is huge.”  You snorted.  “I wasn’t sure which you’d like, so I got swirl.”

“I like vanilla, but a little bit of chocolate with it is nice.”

“Perfect.  I like chocolate, with a little vanilla.”

“Are you just saying that?”

“No, I really do like chocolate.  And vanilla.  And strawberry.  And caramel.  And–”

“I get the point,” you laughed.

He handed one of the spoons to you, and you both went to town on the rapidly melting cone, giggling as you tried to eat it before it dripped all over his hand.

“So, Baekhyunnie,” you started, as you casually licked ice cream off of your spoon, “Tell me more about Byun Baekhyun. The man, the mystery, the legend. Tell me something interesting.”

He thought for a moment, cheek pouched adorably with a store of chocolate soft serve.  “I was actually born in South Korea.”

“What?!  Really?!”

He grinned, pleased at having surprised you.  “I moved to the US when I was 11, and I have dual citizenship.”

“That’s pretty neat.”

“I’ve never heard of my dual citizenship being described as neat before.”

You shrugged.  “What can I say?  I’m easily impressed.  Impress me some more.”

“I’ve…served in the military?”

“Really?!”

He nodded, chest puffing unconsciously.  “Mmm, right after high school. It’s mandatory for men in South Korea so, since I wasn’t willing to renounce citizenship, I just went back and did it.”

“What was it like?”

Baekhyun grimaced.  “I, in my finite wisdom, decided to enter the Marine Corps, since that’s the manliest branch, right?”  He laughed.  “They kicked my butt so bad, I coughed up my coccyx.”

Your eyes widened.  “They beat you up?!”

“No, no, nothing like that.  It was just a lot more physically demanding than I had anticipated.  To be honest, I’m glad that I did it, though. It made me a stronger person, I made friends that I otherwise never would have, and I learned a lot of useful skills.”

“What you did…when we first met…did you learn that in the military?”

He shook his head.  “Actually, no.  I have a fifth degree black belt in hapkido. I’ve been studying it since I was six.”

“Oh, wow.  So you know how to kill me with a napkin?”

He tossed you a cheeky smile, and leaned forward until there was only an inch of space between you.  “I’d rather kiss you to death.”

You turned away, face burning, as you tried to control a goofy grin.  You raised your hand to gently punch his shoulder, thought better of it, and then dropped it in your lap.  “That was so cheesy,” you muttered instead, trying to hide your amusement.

“You liked it.”  He offered you the rest of the cone, which you turned down, not wanting to accidentally spill melted ice cream on your shirt.  Shrugging, he opened his mouth and inhaled it in one go.  

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh at his chipmunk cheeks as he studiously crunched.  

He grinned at you, then stood to throw away the spoons and napkins. Returning, he held out his hand to help you off the bench, and then once again rested it against the small of your back, as he led you to his car.  

You wanted to say something cheeky about way he had been guiding you about all day but, if you were honest with yourself, you really enjoyed it; you didn’t want him to stop.  

He turned to you after you were both back in the car.  “I was thinking that we could go down to the floating pier at Miller’s Park, and just chat a bit more, before I take you home?”

Nodding, you rested your hand on his forearm as he shifted gears.  “I’d like that.”

***

You both sat on the swinging bench, your bare feet brushing softly over the cool grass as he used one foot to push the swing.

He looked down at your naked feet happily kicking in the air, as you swung.  “You’re like a little gypsy.”

Shrugging, you said, “I like to be barefoot as much as possible.  I can’t be tamed.”

He grinned, then nodded to your feet.  “Is it nice?”

“Bare feet on soft grass?  It’s the best.”

“Aren’t you worried of stepping on something sharp?”

“I have before.  It’s not the end of the world.  It hurts, you heal, and you get over it.”

“Shall I?”

“Please do.”  He took off his shoes and socks, and gingerly rested his feet on the bare grass.  “It’s nice, isn’t it?” you teased.

“It is nice.”

“See?  I taught you something new.”

He rested his arm on the bench, behind your shoulders.  “So…”

“Mm?”

“I was thinking.”

“Yes?”

“How about you go out with me again this Friday?”

“Okay.”  He smiled in satisfaction.  “Oh, wait, no!  I can’t!”

He pouted, sliding his hand into your lap to wrap around yours.  “Why not?”

“I’m supposed to go to a thing with my best friend on Friday night.  Her boyfriend is out of town, but she has been wanting to go for weeks, and I can’t let her go by herself.”

He nodded.  “You’re very loyal.”

“That’s my curse.”

“What about Saturday?”

You shook your head flirtatiously.  “I don’t know.  It depends.  What do you want to do?”

“Spend time with you.”

“Hm.  Sounds good.  Count me in.”

“It’s a date.”  He leisurely stroked the back of your hand with his thumb.  “So, tell me about your family.”

“I just have two older brothers, Jameson, and Keegan.  Well, they’re my half brothers, but they’re my brothers, you know?  They’re annoying, overprotective, annoying, sweet, annoying, thoughtful, did I mention annoying?” You sighed.  “I love them.”

“Do they help you with your dad?”

“No, they’re my mother’s sons, from her first marriage.  Her first husband was a soldier, and died overseas.  What about you?”

“I’m the eldest.  I have three sisters, and a younger brother, all of whom live in various parts of the world.”

“Do you miss them?”

“A little.”

“I would miss my brothers terribly if they left the state.”

“That’s because you’re a delicate flower,” he teased.

You snorted.  “That’s certainly not true!”

“A dainty bloom.”

“You can shut all the way up.”

“A fragile blossom.”

“How many synonyms are you going to go through?”

“That’s all I’ve got.”

You started to push him playfully, but then caught yourself, and lowered your hand.

He frowned.  Tentatively, “I’ve noticed you start to touch me a few times, and then stop.  What’s wrong?”

You shook your head.  “You’ve noticed me start to hit you a few times, and then stop.”

“Why’d you stop?”

“You want me to hit you?” you asked dubiously.

“Well, it’s not like you’re about to punch me in the face.  I like it when you’re playful.  It’s cute.”  You shook your head, and looked away, your expression shadowed.  “What’s wrong?  Did I say something wrong?”

“Of course not!  It’s just…when I was younger, I used to be very physically playful—I was a tomboy.  I used to love play-wrestling, and I would hit my brothers when we were joking around, that sort of thing.  But one day, when I was 19, Jameson told me to stop hitting him–that it was unfeminine, that I was always so violent, and that he didn’t appreciate being touched like that.  I was kind of surprised, considering he’s the one who taught me how to wrestle, and I had never hit anyone in anger. But…I said ‘Okay.  I’ll never touch you again,’ and from that day to this, I never have.”

“So, your brother’s a jerk?”

You blew out a breath.  “He was right.  I shouldn’t hit people.  It’s uncouth.”

He leaned forward, taking his hand from behind you and running it frustratedly through his hair, before curling it back around your shoulders, and pulling you almost imperceptibly toward him. “You weren’t going around pile-driving people. People give friends and family love taps all the time!  It’s part of the human experience.  And unfeminine? Since when is he the arbiter of what constitutes femininity?  If he didn’t want you to interact with him that way anymore, that’s fine, but there are nicer ways to say it than he did.”

“Wow.  You, uh, feel really passionately about love-taps, huh?”

He subsided, cracking his neck, and leaning back.  “Sorry.  I just…feel…a little protective.”

“Of me?!”

“Of course!  I like you, and I don’t like seeing you upset.  Listen,” here he lifted the hand that he had been holding, and used it to roughly tap his chest.  “I can take everything you’ve got.  You don’t have to feel inhibited around me.”  His hand moved to your wrist, and relaxed, the weight of it causing your hand to open against his chest and slowly drag down.

You stared wide-eyed at your hand, splayed across his chest, feeling the firm muscles ripple under his clothes as he breathed.   You were suddenly very aware of his proximity, of his arm resting lightly against your shoulder blades, of his heart beating under your palm.  Swallowing involuntarily, you felt his eyes on your face, but you were too shy to meet them.  So, you turned to gaze at the glittering light the gibbous moon cast on the water.  You felt Baekhyun return your hand to your lap.

“So…” he started.

“So…”

“Is this awkward?”

You thought for a moment, then shook your head.  “No.  No.  It’s…nice.  I think I like it.”

***

90’s alternative blasted through the club speakers as Suzy wrapped her arms around your neck, slowly undulating to the beat.  Your arms were around her waist, your eyes closed as you moved to the driving cellos of Rasputina’s Transylvanian Concubine.

You were two drinks into the night, and feeling pretty mellow as you danced to the sultry music of your childhood.  A few minutes later, the song ended, and you and Suzy jumped up and down in delight.

“That was my favourite song!” you yelled, trying to make yourself heard over the stripped lo-fi drumbeat of Virgin State of Mind.

“I know!  I didn’t think that they’d play the indie stuff, too!”

“That’s why this club’s 90’s Night is the best.  You can even make requests.  The DJ is pretty cool.”

“Oh, do you know her?”

“We’ve hung out a bit.  I’ll introduce you later, if you like.”

You nodded, looking up at the DJ booth to look at the tall brunette, arms snaked with tattoos, silver nose ring glinting, side shave freshly cut. “Ugh, she’s so pretty!”

“So are you,” a smooth voice whispered, entirely too intimately in your ear.  You shivered in distaste, involuntarily turning as hands reached around you to remove your arms from your friend’s waist, and spin you in the opposite direction.  A tall, oily, middle aged man looked down at you.  Well, down at some parts of you, anyway.  His thick black hair was shellacked with product, and his shirt was half unbuttoned, showing a toned, but disturbingly shiny chest.  He had probably once been handsome, but bloodshot eyes, and a fine network of broken capillaries across his nose whispered that dissipation had begun to take its toll.

“Sorry guy, I’m not interested,” you said, shaking your head, and removing his hand from your wrist.

Suzy came to stand behind you, wrapping her arms possessively around your waist, and resting her chin on your shoulder, her black hair falling in a curtain over your arm.  “Sorry, this one’s taken.”

He held up his hands, grinning.  “Oh, two for the price of one.”

Your temper flared.  “No, none for the price of nothing.  Move along, old man.”

He held a hand to his heart in mock pain.  “Aw, come on, I just want to get to know you.  Would you like a drink?”

“She’s fine,” Suzy said shortly.

“I asked her,” he said with attitude.

You raised an eyebrow.  “I’m fine.”  You rolled your eyes, as he looked you up and down, biting his lip.  From which scum soaked swamp slogged this caricature, anyway?

“In that skirt, you certainly are!”  You had let Suzy dress you tonight, and she had chosen a flouncy black lace mini skirt, over a long-sleeved black lace shirt, and thigh-high, lace-up leather boots.

You decided to take the high road.  “Listen, whatever you’re looking for tonight, I hope you find it, but we’re not really interested in anything like that.”

He sighed heavily, shaking his head.  “Alright.  Take it easy.”

“You, too!” you chirped with false friendliness.

“Ugh, what a creeper,” Suzy said, as he sauntered off in search of fresh strange.  You nodded, leaning back to confidentially let her know that you had to use the bathroom.  “Alright, I’m going to get another shot.”

***

Your eyes scanned the crowd, looking for Suzy after you emerged from the bathroom.  Darn her and her tiny, birdlike bones.  You should start putting bells on her.  Starting for the bar, you figured that you’d begin your search there.  A strong hand grasped you by the wrist, and pulled you backwards.  For a split second, you let it, thinking that it was Suzy, but you quickly realized that her hands were much smaller than the one that was tugging you.  You turned to see the same greasy guy from earlier, a cocky grin on his face.

“Got rid of your little girlfriend, I see.  Wanna dance?”

You ripped your wrist from his grip, hissing in anger.  “I already said no.  Don’t touch me again!”

“Come on, baby!  Just one dance.”  His eyes roved hungrily up and down your body. “I’ll buy you a drink.”

“I don’t want a drink!”

His eyes shot above your head as you felt an arm snake its way across your neck, while another slid across your hips, pulling you back against a very hot, very taut body that gently, comfortingly rocked you from side to side.  Warm breath sighed past your ear, and you smiled in recognition.  You leaned your head back against a broad shoulder, turning to look at look at the side of Baekhyun’s face, as he smiled darkly at the finally silent stranger.

“Is the old man bothering you, pet?”

You lazily shook your head in negation, smiling up at him.  His eyes dropped to you, and then he turned you around, your bodies in profile. You reached up, and lightly raked your nails down side of his face, leaving livid red stripes against the warm gold.  He closed his eyes, jaw hardening against the slight pain.  Seeing his expression, you stood on your toes, slipping your hand to cradle the back of his head, while wrapping your other around his shoulder, pulling him closer to you, so that you could gently bite the side of his jaw. Baekhyun growled low, and then lifted his head, bringing his mouth close to yours, snarling softly as you undulated against him, your open mouth sending warm air over his, as you returned the snarl.  He lowered his forehead to yours, and all you could see was black, black, black as you looked up into his eyes. You smiled a wolfish smile and, in unison, you turned your heads toward the man who wouldn’t leave you alone.

“Any questions?” Baekhyun queried.

After a lengthy pause, the man came up with a response he thought the height of wit.  “I didn’t want you, anyway,” he muttered, backing away, and quickly disappearing into the crowd.

You hid your face in Baekhyun’s chest, your body shaking as you tried, unsuccessfully, to hold back giggles.

“Shhh!” he admonished.  “You’re going to blow our cover!”  He pulled you behind one of the club’s carved pillars, holding you tightly as you laughed hysterically.

“Did you see his face?!” you guffawed.

“It was priceless!”

You stopped laughing long enough to imitate the man’s stunned expression, and you both doubled over, holding your stomachs, and whooping.  You looked up at him, his mouth wide with laughter, and noticed how red the side of his face was.  “Oh, wait, wait!”  You lifted a hand to his reddened cheek, caressing the skin.  “Did I hurt you?”

He smiled, “Nah, it looks worse than it is.  I’m easily marked, remember?”

You nodded, but then another thought occurred to you.  “What are you doing here?”

He looked around, and then gestured toward the bar.  “You see my guy over there?”

Your eyes scanned the bar in the general direction of his hand until you saw a man slumped over with a drink in his hand.  You nodded.

“His girlfriend just broke up with him, and…here we are.”  He cocked his head, and sucked in a breath through his teeth.  “By the looks of it, I don’t think that I’m doing a very good job of cheering him up.”

You playfully tugged at the lapels of his black jacket, then slipped your hand inside to pull him closer to you, your palm sliding over the warm silk of his black dress shirt.  “You’re cheering me up marvelously.”

“Whoa,” he grinned, tapping your nose.  “Someone’s been in the sauce.  Feeling a bit tipsy, are we?”

You crinkled your nose, then pouted.  “I’ve had two whole drinks!”

“I’ve had two whole drinks!” he mocked.

You laughed and then stomped your foot.  “Don’t imitate me!”

“Don’t imitate me!”  

You snorted, and swatted a hand over his jean-clad bottom. He grinned mischievously, looking at you sideways.  “I guess I’ll have to give you back to him, huh?” you pouted.  Just then Suzy walked up, looking between the two of you uncertainly.  “Suzy!” you said, throwing your arms around her, and pulling her closer.  You leaned over and whispered in her ear, “This is Baekhyun.”

She surveyed him coolly up and down, and held out her hand.  “Suzy.”

He shook it with a charming grin, “Byun Baekhyun.  I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Suzy gave him a cold smile.  “I’ve heard a lot about you, too.

You hissed, and bumped her with your hip, giving her a look.  Be nice!

She looked back at you.  I am being nice!

You pouted.

She narrowed her eyes, and then rolled them, throwing an arm around your shoulders.  “Look, Byun, I’m sure that you’re a really nice guy, and I’m all ready to love you, but I have to tell you, if you hurt my best friend, I’m coming for you.”

Baekhyun smiled angelically.  “If I hurt her, you have full permission to put your Louboutin so far up my butt, I taste shoe polish.”

Suzy grimaced, side-eyeing you.  “Sooo gross.  You two are actually made for each other.”

You grinned, and turned your attention back to Baekhyun.  “Why don’t you invite your friend to hang out with us?

He made a face, and then said, “Let me go talk to him for a minute.”

You watched him as he walked off, eyeing him as he smoothly moved through the crowd.  Leaning toward Suzy, you said confidentially, “I hate to see him go, but I love to watch him walk away.”

She turned to you.  “You, my friend, are cut off for the rest of the night.  You are such a lightweight!”

You gave her a brilliant grin, glancing at Baekhyun as he threw his arm around his friend.  “Sometimes I want to sink my teeth into his bottom, like a peach.”

“I don’t want to hear about your perverted fantasies.”

Dreamily, “His shoulders are so wide, and strong.  He really knows how to fill out a suit well, if you know what I mean.”

Suzy glanced toward the bar.  “I’m not entirely sure that I do.”

“You know what else?  I can’t stop thinking about how good his thighs would look in tight black leather pants.”

“Down, girl.”

“No, seriously, though, just look at them.  He has the thighs of a mythical Greek hero.”

She squinted, then looked back at you incredulously.  “Just what did they put in those shots?!”

“What’s so confusing is that he’s simultaneously so hot, and so cute.  Have you seen his upper lip?  It’s like a baby’s!  It’s so pink and delicate. I don’t know if I want to kiss him, or stuff his mouth with sweets.  I’m so conflicted.”

“That’s why I like you,” she said drily.  “You really get to the heart of the hard-hitting questions of our age.”

“Okay, did I not listen to you wax rhapsodic about your precious boyfriend’s Adam’s apple?

“Valid.”

“Thank you.”  You sucked in a breath, “I know that we’ve only been on two dates, and okay, maybe part of it is because he saved my life, but something about him is driving me crazy.  He’s so perfect that it’s scary.”

“Everyone feels that way in the beginning.  It’s called infatuation.”

You gave her a look.  “Are you really trying to give me a psych lesson?”

“No, I’m just trying to be the voice of reason.”

“Isn’t that my job?”

“Which is why this is so scary!”

You laughed.  “Don’t worry.  I know I sound obsessed, but I’m just enjoying being in crush.  It has been…years.  I didn’t think that it was ever going to happen again.”

Her eyes softened.  “I told you that it would.”

Sighing, “I know, but just someone says something doesn’t make it true. Especially if they love you.”

She was silent for a moment.  Then, “Okay.  Logic-Suzy is gone.  Let’s perv.”

You turned to her, grinning.  “He usually wears these three piece suits to work, and he looks so delicious that I just want to tie him down, blindfold him with his own tie, and—“

Suzy glanced up, eyes widening with panic, and then clapped a hand over your mouth.  You mrphed indignantly.  “Hi, Baekhyun! Welcome back!” she said brightly.

Your eyes widened as you heard his amused voice behind you.

“No, no, no, move your hand.  I want to see where this goes.”

“Why doesn’t the earth ever open up and swallow you when you want it to?” you moaned, turning to him, with your head hung low in shame.

Baekhyun smiled sweetly, looking at you as if you were the cutest thing in the world.  Leaning forward, he whispered in your ear.  “Don’t feel bad. That pencil skirt that you were wearing at the museum caused me to have a few inappropriate thoughts of my own.”

You felt your face flame, and you floundered to change the subject before you could go into a full-body blush.  “Uh…so…what about your friend?!”

He shook his head, and gestured behind him.  You peered over his shoulder to find his friend had gone.  “He decided that drinking his sorrows wasn’t the healthiest idea, so he’s going to go home, and drown them in ice-cream, instead.”

“Shouldn’t you go with him?” you asked.

“Nah.  He mumbled something incoherent, but the general gist was that at least one of us should be happy.”  He raised his eyes to look at both you and Suzy.  “Are you hungry?”

You and she looked at each other, reading each other’s thoughts.  Hours of dancing had made you both ravenous. She answered for the two of you.  “Starving.”

He gestured to a booth near a quiet corner that had just opened.  “Let me get us something to eat.”

Suzy raised an eyebrow.  “I like you better, already.”

***

The table was littered with partially-drunken glasses of liquour, empty bottles of cider, and well picked-over dishes, most of which belonged to Suzy.  You and Baekhyun slipped out of the booth, leaving a very unconscious Suzy to sleep off her alcohol haze.  Before you could spirit him away to the dance floor, he took off his jacket, and laid it over the gently snoring body of your best friend, covering her bare legs. Your heart throbbed at the conscientious gesture.

“To be so tiny, she can really put it away,” Baekhyun whispered incredulously.

“That’s her charm.”  You clasped his hand in both of yours while Shirley Manson’s voice purred seductively over the speakers.   Walking backwards, you pulled him through the crowd, his eyes on yours as you guided him to the dance floor. Once you sensed a clear spot, you wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, pulling him close, and tilted back your head to look up at him. “…I lose what I love most…Did you know I was lost until you found me?…”  “Do you have any idea how glad I am to see you tonight?”

His arms tightened around your waist at your whispered words.  He smiled down at you, face full of satisfaction as his eyes lazily roamed your face.  “Do you have any idea how glad I am that you’re glad to see me?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

His eyes darkened as he looked inward at some unpleasant memory.  “Some people want to claim you, but still play around behind your back.”

You sighed deeply, swaying to the music like a slender reed in the summer breeze.  “That’s not my style.  I’m not built to cheat.”  You scrunched your nose, and wriggled your hips, making him laugh.  “I’m built for comfort, not for speed.”

“Good girl,” he said, firmly patting your lower back.

“So…is there a story there?”

“Isn’t there always?”

You leaned closer, gently caressing his jaw, and watching the emotions play over his face.  “Tell me?”

He shook his head, eyes closed.  “She doesn’t matter.  You’re here, now.”

You tilted his head down, capturing his eyes when he opened them.  “What about you, Baekhyunnie?  Are you faithful?”  “…You say that you’ll be there to catch me… Or will you only try to trap me?”

He leaned forward and nuzzled his nose to yours, causing you to smile.  “I couldn’t cheat–wouldn’t even want to.  I think that an unbreakable connection between two people is the most beautiful thing in the world.”

Your sigh of content ghosted over his mouth.  You closed your eyes, letting his sweet words sink past your slight inebriation to touch the cold, dark place deep inside.  “Stroke of luck, or gift from God?  Hand of fate, or devil’s claws?  From below, or saints above, you come to me…”  You slowly shook your head.  “What’s wrong with you?”

He raised his eyebrows.  “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what’s wrong with you?  You present as perfect, so I know that there has to be some sort of nasty little secret you’re keeping deep down in the dark.”

He looked away from you, and smiled.  “I…like eating crackers in bed.”

You gasped.  “Shameful!”  Turning in his arms, you wrapped his hands back around your waist, rolling your body to the music.  His breath hitched, and you smiled to yourself.  “What else?  You heard him swallow hard before continuing.

“Sometimes I open snacks and eat them while I’m shopping.”

“Do you still pay for them?”

“Of course!”

“Well, then, that’s alright.”

“I’m trying to confess here, pet.”

“What else ya got?”

“I’m stubborn.”

“You don’t say!”

He chuckled.  “Well, what about you?  What are your darkest secrets?”

You pondered.  “Once, when I was six, I accidentally stole a candy bar…”

“You little criminal!”

You slapped him on the arm.  “Shut up!  I still feel guilty about it!”

“How does one accidentally steal a candy bar?”

“I thought that my dad said, ‘Yes’, when I asked if I could have it, but he was saying ‘Yes’ to someone else with whom he was talking.”

“That’s not so much stealing as a misunderstanding.”

“He threatened to send me to jail.”

“At six?!”

“Well, he didn’t believe in corporal punishment, so he did the most drastic thing that he could think of, to leave an impression.”  You laughed. “By the end of it, he was ‘crying’ more than I was, at the idea of having to be separated from me, due to my impending jail time.  So, we made a pact that he wouldn’t tell, so that I could stay with him.”

“Unsure if that’s adorable, or horrifying.”

“It’s a ‘look back and laugh’.” Baekhyun just smiled uncertainly.  “I guess you had to be there,” you said awkwardly.

He spun you around, running his hands from your shoulders down to your waist, rocking his body from side to side to the beat.

“You’ve got some pretty sweet moves, there, Byun.”

“You’re a pretty good dancer, too.”

“Eh, just because these are all slow songs.  What I lack in rhythm, I make up for in enthusiasm.”

He smiled, shaking his head.  “Don’t try to distract me, pet.  You were busy baring your soul.”

“Ah, yes.  Let’s see…”  You leaned up to whisper in his ear.  “I cheated on an Econ exam once.”

He looked shocked.  “Wow!  I really am dating a criminal.”

You blushed.  “I had to take first year Econ as a requirement for PoliSci, and I had no idea what I was doing, so…”  You shrugged.  “I cheated just enough to pass the exam–I wasn’t trying for an A, or anything.  I even left a question blank.  After the papers were passed back out, the professor called me up to the front–I just knew that I was going to be busted–but he just yelled at me for the question that I left blank.  He said that he knew that non-Econ majors had to take the class, as part of their major’s reqs, so he took that into account when he graded, and would go easy on us.  He told me that if I put anything, anything at all that related to econ, he could give me some points for it, but if I left something blank, he’d have no choice but to give me a zero.  I skated by his class with a B-, and I’m still grateful for it.  That man was a saint.”

“That was really nice of him.”

“I know!”

“You’re still a lawless hooligan, though.”

“I’m bad to the bone, baby!  What’s it like dating a bad girl?”

“I don’t know. I’ll tell you when I find one.”

“Contrarian!”  You leaned over and nipped his shoulder.  

He laughed, his eyes shining.  “What else?”

“That’s it.”

“That’s it?!”

“Those are my deepest, darkest secrets.”

He reached up to gently stroke your hair.  “You are a good girl.”

Wrinkling your nose, you moved your head away from his hand.  “Make no mistake, Byun.  I’m not a good girl.  I’m a nice girl.  There’s a distinct difference.”

He pulled you a little closer, causing you to blush at the intimate contact, and you were thankful that the darkness of the club hid the heat in your cheeks.  “What is the difference?”

“I pretty much always follow all the rules.  But I don’t always enjoy it.” You waved a hand airily.  “I keep my evil on the inside.”

“What rules would you like to break?”

“I wish that I could say what I actually think, instead of being polite, and politic all the time.”

“Everyone feels like that, pet.”

You flirtatiously pressed closer, letting him feel your curves slide against him as you slowly danced.  Standing on your toes, you drew close to whisper in his ear.  “Are you trying to convince me that I’m actually a good girl, after all?”  This time, as you drew back, you had the pleasure of watching him swallow involuntarily at your query.  

He raised his head, closing his eyes in an effort to stay in control. After a moment, he opened his eyes, and smiled down at you.  “I think that it’s time for all good little girls to be in bed.  Even you.”  You started to protest, when he sucked in a warning breath.  “It’s gone three, you’re tipsy, and I like you too much to co-sign your doing anything that you might regret tomorrow.”  He stood, holding your hands, and waiting.  After a bit of thought, you reluctantly nodded in concession, and he slipped an arm around your shoulder, and walked you back to the table where Suzy continued to peacefully snore.  “How did you get here?”

“We took an Uber.”

“Excellent.  I’ll take you both home.”

***

Baekhyun helped you carry a nominally conscious Suzy upstairs to her apartment, dropping her unceremoniously on her bed with a huff.  

You led him back to the living room couch, saying, “Wait here,” as you returned to change her into pajamas, clean off her makeup, and tuck her in.

He watched you from the couch as you quietly closed the door to her room. Standing, he reached for you, saying, “I’ll take you home, now.”

“I think that I should stay with her tonight.”

He smiled wistfully.  “You’re a loyal friend.”

“I just want to make sure she’s okay.  Take care of her if she gets sick, or anything.”

Just then, you both heard a key in the lock.  Turning, you saw Suzy’s boyfriend enter, and you skipped over to greet him with a hug. “Jongdae!  You’re back!”

He patted your back tiredly, cautiously looking over your shoulder, at Baekhyun.  “Yay, I’m back…” he said with markedly less enthusiasm.  He straightened, smiling down at you, though his gaze kept flickering behind your shoulder.   “I didn’t want to stay anothere night away from Suzy-Q, so I just drove back after the last lecture.”  Seeing the question in his eyes, you introduced them.  “Ah, so you’re the man trying to steal our little chickadee’s heart,” Jongdae laughed, ruffling your hair, as you unsuccessfully tried to push him away.

Baekhyun smiled, reaching out to gently card his fingers through your wild hair, carefully combing, and smoothing it back into place. “That’s me. And since you’re back…?” he looked at you questioningly.

You nodded.  “Sure, you can take me now.”  You turned to Jongdae, “I was going to stay with Suzy, after sending Baekhyun first, but since you’re here, I’m going to go home.”

Jongdae smiled at both of you, his eyes already starting to drift closed.  “I hate to be such a rude host, but I’ve been going since before dawn, and I’m dead…”

You got behind him, pushing him toward the bedroom.  “Go to sleep.  I’ll see you later.”

He waved vaguely over his shoulder as he entered the darkened bedroom, quietly closing the door.

You and Baekhyun tiptoed out of the apartment, and down the stairs.

“He seemed nice,” Baekhyun stated as you both slipped into his car.

“He is nice.  He’s an assistant professor of music.”

“Vocal, or instrumental.”

“Vocal.  Like you.”

“I like him already.”

You snorted, snuggling down into the plush seat.  You didn’t see Baekhyun look over at you, his gaze soft as he watched your face begin to relax into sleep.  

***

You awoke still in Baekhyun’s car, your seat pushed back, his jacket over your legs, as he gazed out his window.  Yawning, you sat up, and looked around.  “Home?”  He turned to you with a smile.  “How long have we been here?” you queried.

“I wasn’t watching the time.”

You looked at the sky, noticing the imperceptible lightening that preluded the dawn. “Why didn’t you wake me?  You must be tired!”

“I’m fine. Come on; let’s get you inside.”

He held your hand as he walked you to your door, guiding you up the steps as you practically sleep-walked across your porch.  

You unlocked the door, and then turned to give him your farewell.  After a moment, you realized that you were just staring at his chin, so you raised your head to look him in the eye.  

He leaned closer, eyes sweetly caressing your face.  

You watched him as he lowered his eyes to your mouth.

After a moment however, he seemed to come to a reluctantly made decision.  He moved his head to your shoulder, wrapping his arms around you, and giving you a warm, all-enveloping hug.  

You leaned into him, closing your eyes.  His hold was so steady, so comforting.  You could fall asleep just like this.  

With a sigh, he released you, moving back just far enough to drop a chaste kiss on your forehead.  “Goodnight, pet.”

[loosejournal]

Colum McCann on why writers love boxing

Boxing. You can press the language out of it. The sweathouse of the body. The moving machinery of ligaments. The intimate fray of rope. The men in their archaic stances like anatomy illustrations from an old-time encyclopedia. The moment in a fight when the punches slow down and the opponents watch each other like time-lapse photographs—the sweat frozen in midair, the blood still spinning, the maniacal grin like the teeth themselves have gone bare-knuckle.

Writers love boxing—even if they can’t box. And maybe writers love boxing especially because they can’t box. The language is all cinema and violence: the burst eye socket, the ruined cartilage, the dolphin punch coming up from the depths.

Language allows the experience, and what you have with a fight is what you have with writing, and they each become metaphors for each other—the ring, the page; the punch, the word; the choreography, the keyboard; the feint, the suggestion; the bucket, the wastebasket; the sweat, the edit; the pretender, the critic; the bell, the deadline. There’s the showoff shuffle, the head spin, the mingled blood on your gloves, the spitting your teeth up at the end of the day.

Literature re-creates the language of the epic. And what’s more epic and mythological than a scrap? For those of us who can’t fight, we still want to be able to step into a fighter’s body. We want to walk off woozy to the corner and have our faces slapped a little bit, then suddenly get up to dance, and hear the crowd roar, and step out once more with a little dazzle.

Boxers get told to imagine punching a spot behind your opponent’s head, to reach in so far so they can extend the destruction to the back of the head. Writers do the same thing—they try to imagine a spot behind your brain and punch you there. Boom. Head spin. Skin-slip on the canvas. Ten, nine, eight. Get the fuck up off this page. Four three two one Mississippi. Get the fuck up. Now.

Mailer. London. Liebling. Oates. Baldwin. Remnick. Kimball. Mencken. Who stole their title, “The Heart of Darkness”? Football has never really made great literature, nor has tennis, or cycling. Baseball and chess get a bit of literary attention, but never on the level of boxing. And I don’t know a good poem yet about curling. Let’s face it, the Great Book says that in the beginning was the word. And then the word was made flesh. And then it dwelt amongst us.

What’s most beautiful about boxing are the lives behind it. They’re so goddamn literary. Every boxer you ever met was fathered by Hamlet, and if not the Dane, well, at least Coriolanus. There’s always the Gatsby moment and the gorgeous pink rag of a suit. Every promoter you’ve ever seen has Shylock on his shoulder. You know there’s a little bit of Prufrock in that gray-haired trainer hanging out the window with all the other lonely men in shirtsleeves. And that boxing wife or girlfriend you see at home, sitting at the kitchen table, peeling potatoes, watching the clock, well, she has a little of Molly Bloom to her, doesn’t she? Later on, when her ruined boy comes home, cuckolded by defeat, she will take that bit of seed cake from his mouth.

But maybe the appeal of boxing and its own peculiar genius is that it can be used as a recurring metaphor for just about anything. Boxing is so malleable, certainly in terms of its language, that it can stand in at a moment’s notice. Boxing as economics. Boxing as supermarket shopping. Boxing as astrophysics. Boxing as a love affair. Man, she knocked me out. If you want to talk about the recent financial ruin, stroll along Wall Street and just listen to the brokers in their pinstripe dressing gowns—their takedowns, their sucker punches, their catchweights, their glass jaws, their hay­mak­ers, their throw­-in of the towel on a Friday afternoon.

Boxing is your every­man, your everymove, your everything. And language understands it. Words power the punch. They also power the recovery. They paint the viciousness and then they paint the grace, or the loss, or both at once. It’s like making love with ruin, like saying: I just entered you, you soaked down in me, won’t you stay around just a little longer? We’ve all seen the peeling posters on the gym wall. We’ve witnessed the pull of the string and the click of the light bulb. We’ve heard the rear door slowly close and felt the darkness coming down. We’ve walked down through the foggy alleyway, carrying the wound, going home.

Every now and then, though, boxing moves beyond the human and just becomes plain indescribable, and you have to let the silence. You have to let it. You have to. Let it. Fall.

2010

[idonthinkyoureadyforinformant]

6

"No, that's not true, Reggie. I love you. I'd do anything for you. But I'm afraid of getting pregnant." She didn't know what else to say.

Perhaps she was fearful of getting pregnant, but Reggie also knew she was married -- to a white guy. A little fact she never mentioned. It would be nice to send her home with a black baby in her belly though, for her husband to know the sacrifice she made as a police informant. The huge black sacrifice she made to keep her husband's white ass out of jail.

"Baby, you been using that excuse with me for two nights. You can't be ovulating that long. Now get up on your hands and knees for me or we ending this now and you can go get your Molly from someone else. I can't take this no more. You keep getting me all hard and then don't wanna let me fuck you. It ain't right, especially since you supposedly my girlfriend and we both know how much you love big black cock."

He kept getting hard on his own, Mia thought. She would never be his girlfriend and she hated big black cock.

Reggie saw sorrow and disgust in Mia's face as she slowly assumed position on her hands and knees for him, betraying her husband once again to maintain her charade. It was her act. She picked the part and now she needed to play it, Reggie thought.

His hands landed on her hips and guided her ass upward. "Okay baby, raise your ass up more. Yeah, that's nice like that." He took a moment to appreciate her gorgeous figure in this incredibly sexy position he made her assume.

In disgrace Mia stuck her ass out provocatively for him to mount her, like she was posing for a pornographic picture. She felt familiar pressure and winced, her vaginal labia stretching around the head of his penis. Her hands dug into the mattress and formed tight fists as she felt him enter further into her quivering flesh. "Oh, oh, ah, ooh, no..."

"Why you saying 'no' when you soaked, baby? Oh, yeah, I'm almost all the way in."

Why did the disgusting pig say that? Just because she was wet didn't mean she wanted him inside her. She couldn't help the way her body reacted.

His hands firmly held her hips and slowly drew her closer to him. He entered her warm, wet slit fully and paused, giving her anatomy time to adjust. "See how good that big black cock feel?"

"Oh, God," Mia moaned with him fully inside her, his thick cock stretching her open, penetrating so deeply.

Reggie looked down at her cute pink asshole. He admired how wet and shiny his cock became as it drove in and out of her pussy. "Yeah, white girls love getting big black cock. Tell me how much ya like it and how much you love me, baby."

Her cries of sorrow, perhaps containing smidgeons of pleasure buried beneath them, rang in Reggie's ears like lovely music.

"I love you and your big black cock, Reggie."

She may have been faithfully married to some white guy, but now she was going to fuck a big black nigger cock an awful lot over the next month to avoid prison, whether she liked it or not, Reggie thought. "Common, keep telling me how much you love to fuck big black cock, baby."

The words seemed to sting her tongue, but she said them. "Oh, I love you, Reggie, and I love fucking your big black cock."

He watched how her pink labia, glistening with moisture, followed the motion of his dark shaft like a tightly fitting sleeve almost pulled inside out when removed from an arm. "That's a good girl. I love you too and I love your tight little pussy, baby. Now keep telling me how good it feels."

She began fucking him back, reluctantly forgetting how much she despised doing this immoral act with him as her orgasm approached. She had not wanted to cum for him, but she did anyway. "Oh, oh, oh, no —don't. It's so big. Oh, god, oh, god, oh god. Stop it. No — you're making me cum."

But he didn't stop. He kept going, and kept making her body respond in ways she didn't want, but could not control.

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

They had finished dinning at a very expensive restaurant. As they strolled down the crowded street, Reggie put his arm around her shoulder.

Mia tensed. Yes, they had sex with each other multiple times already. She had tried to forget about that. His touch made her remember and she was ashamed by it. She wanted to tell him to take his hand off her. She had a husband and he was not black or a violent drug dealer. But because of her husband, she was in a desperate situation that required her to be this black man's girlfriend. She could not fight it.

Reggie's arm stubbornly remained around her.

The bright lights and roaring traffic of the city concealed the darkness of evening and seemed to prolong daytime. He stopped in front of a store, the glass window filled with resplendent jewels. "Let's check this place out, baby."

To Mia's relief, his arm finally came off her shoulders.

It was Tiffany & Company, a very expensive jewelry store. Huge diamond rings on each of Reggie's hands and a thick gold chain around his neck already advertised his tremendous success and wealth. What else could he possible wish to wear? Mia wondered as they entered the store.

He brought her over to the engagement rings. "You see anything you like, baby?"

The sparkles called her eyes — big beautiful diamonds, and so many of them. "Oh, look at this one. It's so pretty. I've never seen a diamond that big before."

From behind the display case, a distinguished looking gentleman, wearing a blue pinstriped suit, quietly made his way to them. "Can I help you with anything?"

"Oh, no thank you. We're just looking," Mia replied.

Reggie placed his finger on the glass over the ring Mia had been eyeing. It was a three-diamond platinum engagement ring — a four carats oval cut diamond in the center with one carat pear cut diamonds on each side of it. "Don't pay no attention to her. Can we see this ring?"

The man's aged hand touched on each of the rings on display until landing on the one Mia had shown Reggie.

"That's it," Reggie said like a kid snagging that special one of many fish in a pet store aquarium. The elderly jeweler pulled the ring from the black velvet ring holder and brought it out for them. He handed it to Mia.

Her eyes widened as she studied it under the light. "Wow, look at it. I've never seen such huge diamonds. They're so big and pretty."

"Try it on," Reggie encouraged, slipping it on her wedding finger.

Pale outlines from the modest wedding band and engagement ring she had recently shed were momentarily visible -- uncomfortable reminders for Mia of her unmentioned marriage quickly obscured by this bigger piece of jewelry. She wondered if Reggie noticed.

Reggie had noticed the telltale sign of a long worn wedding ring recently removed from her finger, but kept silent. Someone else had previously caught his pretty whitefish, but carelessly allowed the line to break, he thought. She was now swimming in his pond, and he intended to keep her here.

By strange coincidence, the ring Reggie put on her finger fit perfectly, like it was made for her.

"That's weird — it fits."

"I guess it's meant for you, baby."

"What do you mean?" she nervously asked.

"I mean I'm buying it for you. You my girl, right?"

"Well, I guess, I mean yeah, but it's an engagement ring. I can't commit to that yet. I only met you three nights ago."

"What you mean you can't commit? You my girl, right? All I know is that you the most beautiful thing I ever seen. You way more dazzling than that ring on your finger. You mine now and you gonna wear that ring."

Why had she carelessly let her initial comments about the ring slip from her mouth? She was not 'his girl' and never would be, she thought.

Reggie turned to the jeweler, who stood silently watching with his hands cupped over one another in front of him like an undertaker at a funeral. "We gonna take the ring."

The jeweler's lips rose into a smile that quickly washed away his old undertaker look, the wrinkles on his face multiplied by his happy grin. "A fine choice, sir. Those are excellent stones, nearly flawless. I'll provide you with the certifications."

Mia's mouth hung open with an urgent speechlessness as Reggie temporarily removed the ring from her finger and handed it back to the jeweler to purchase. She needed to say something to stop him from buying her that ring. She was already married to Josh.

The jeweler read the price on the tiny tag attached to the piece. "It's on sale for $130,000 this week. It's regularly $200,000."

One-hundred-and-thirty-thousand dollars was more than Josh made in three years as a teacher!

Reggie whipped out his billfold from his sports jacket. "Sounds like a good deal to me. What you think, Mia?"

"Huh?" Mia asked taking her eyes away from the cursed ring as if suddenly returning from a daydream.

"You think it's a good deal?"

She shouldn't have tried it on, she now realized. "I don't know. I mean I think we should wait. That's too much money."

He had reeled her in, speared her. Now he wanted to mount his pretty whitefish (although in one sense he had already done that, he thought), make her his trophy for all to admire. "I'll spend my money the way I want. You beautiful and you gonna have nice things. You like it, it fits you, and it's on sale. I'm getting it for you."

Mia wanted to argue with him. A generous gift like this carried an obligation to show her appreciation, which she did not want to do. Yet she had to maintain the pretense of being his girlfriend.

She held her hand in the air and looked up in awe at the new ring on her finger. Perhaps she deserved this ring as compensation. But she would never be his girlfriend. She was determined not to allow his generosity to blind her like the sparkles from the brilliant diamonds. She had to play things cool. "It's beautiful, Reggie. Thank you".

He enfolded her, his hands landing on her jeans, beneath them her prize-winning buttocks, right in front of everyone. "I love you, baby. You gonna show me how much you love me when we get home?"

How could he ask her that here where everyone could hear him? She couldn't do that with him again. Couldn't the jeweler standing near them see how uncomfortable she was? How she wanted to get away from Reggie? No, the old undertaker was only concerned with his sale.

"I guess," Mia finally replied apathetically, her pussy defiantly getting wet in contradictory preparation for what she indeed dreaded.

They arrived at his penthouse later that night. Time to exercise her acting skills, show her thanks and prove her love to Reggie by letting him take her. "Come on, baby. Don't be shy. Get your clothes off for me."

She slowly and unenthusiastically removed her shirt, her bra, and then her progress of undressing for him stalled.

He impatiently began unbuttoning her jeans as she stood paralyzed in front of him. She was living a lie. She wanted to slap his greedy hands away from her, tell him, 'no', but her hands and tongue remained prisoners to this lie and seemed shackled by it. He had already taken her several times this morning, many times the two evenings before. Wasn't that already enough? "Please, Reggie, not tonight. I don't feel like it again."

He knew why she didn't 'feel like it', and it had nothing to do with physical desire. "Oh you gonna feel like it real soon, baby. Once I get this big nigger cock inside your tight little pussy."

"No, please, Reggie, I don't want that again," she pleaded as he pulled her pants down.

His arms embraced her. His hand slid inside her panties and found her dampness. His finger began harrying her magical spot. "Yeah, I gonna make it feel real good for ya, baby."

No, she couldn't let him do that to her again. But already something was changing inside her as his ring sparkled on her finger. He was like the triumphant invader colonizing conquered territory, replacing her husband, increasingly intimate and familiar with her in Josh's absence.

But he could not make her love him. Or could he? It was wrong, yet perhaps Reggie somehow achieved the unthinkable. Did he put a crack in her armor? Did he reach her heart through a fissure and plant something? He bought her an unbelievable engagement ring that dwarfed everything her husband had ever given to her. Whatever this black man wanted seemed to become his. Was she also becoming his?

After getting her good and wet, he yanked her panties down and shoved her backwards into his bed.

She fell nude into the soft silk sheets. He grabbed her hand and made her wrap it around his shaft. She dumbly jerked on it for a few moments.

"Put it in your pussy for me."

He seemed to drain all her free will, her new diamond engagement ring sparkling as she held his hefty cock and guided it into her wet pussy. Was she in a trance? How could she do this with him again? Each time he took her, she offered less resistance. She felt him opening her up. "Oh, Reggie, oh, oh, ah."

"Oh yeah, baby. You like big black cock?"

His cock went so deeply into her, stretched her open to capacity. There was so much of him inside her, overwhelming her with those unwanted signals of pleasure and unity. She didn't want him, yet they were blending with each other again anyway.

"Oh, please," Mia replied, peering into his black eyes -- into two dark, empty tunnels that went on forever -- as his penis filled her. "It's so big and hard. Oh, it... I don't know."

She unintentionally hugged him. Oh, oh, oh, Reggie. I can't."

Reggie appreciated the significance of saying just the right things, of showing his tender concern, of exercising perfect timing. All necessary elements to win over a girl like Mia. 'Love' was the four-letter word that worked magic with women. "I love you, baby. You want me to pull out this time?"

She knew her behavior was wrong, but conflicting thoughts swirled around in her brain. An unfamiliar voice kept telling her to forget about Josh, not to worry about the possible ramifications of physical intimacy with this black man right now. After all, Reggie loved her. He had been so nice to her, bought her the diamond engagement ring that looked so beautiful on her finger -- and his huge cock felt far superior to Josh's. It was too difficult to deny any longer. "I don't know."

Her change in attitude and uncertain response surprised him. The undertone of dislike for him she had always struggled to conceal had vanished. She had always wanted him to pull out, even when they both knew he might 'accidentally' cum in her anyway. Was she finally beginning to accept him? "Baby?"

"Uh-huh," Mia moaned, her embrace tightening and her wet pussy throbbing around his cock.

"You know I gonna always take care of you no matter what."

She briefly latched on to one more of those conflicting thoughts whirling around in her mind like water on its way down the drain: Yes, he was going to take care of her by going to jail. But he had said the right words to her, and she could not hold on to the bitterness long. It was sucked out of her grasp, consumed by uncontrollable passion. "Oh god, Reggie, you're making me cum again."

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

An overcast afternoon filled the living room with a depressing shade of grey. Mia's heart pounded in her chest. Thirty seconds remained in her workout on Reggie's elliptical and her legs ran even harder. With her hair held back in a ponytail that bobbed from side to side, air rushed in and out of her lungs, her cheeks glowed red with blood flowing through them, and droplets of sweat dripped from her face.

The elliptical machine entered cool down mode, the resistance on it diminished until the welcomed end of Mia's long, hard workout arrived.

It had been a good workout for Mia and when she finally got off the elliptical, every muscle in her body expressed gratitude and relief that today's exercise was over. She grabbed Reggie's towel, hanging over one of the handles on his weight machine, and wiped the sweat from her face.

Mia's cute round ass looked incredibly appetizing in the black Lycra exercise pants she wore. Her matching sports bra made her perky tits equally appealing. She heard Reggie and turned toward him. "Oh, hi. When did you get back?"

"Just walked in. See you keeping that perfect little body in great shape for me."

Mia managed a slight smile as she caught her breath from her workout, rivulets of sweat still running down her firm stomach as she finished toweling her neck dry. "Yeah, just for you, Reggie," she replied pertly.

Reggie had diligently worked on her during the weeks they had spent together, playing his role of an unsuspecting drug dealer far better than she played hers as an informant. He exploited his competitive advantage of secretly knowing her predicament and pressured Mia into having repeated sex with him.

She remained ignorant the entire time, and as days passed, her resistance waned. He had worn her down like a mighty river that cuts its bed even through the Earth's hardest surface. She required less and less convincing and had learned, albeit reluctantly at first, to acquiesce to her black boyfriend's frequent need for affection.

He came up to her and hugged her.

"I'm all sweaty, Reggie."

"But I'm getting hard, baby."

After playing the role of his girlfriend for an entire month, her act had become easier, almost natural. She knew what was expected of her and began softly caressing his cock through the fine wool fabric of his slacks. "So you are." Her blue eyes looked seductively into his as she continued rubbing his hardening penis through his trousers. "Do you want to take a shower with me?"

"Baby, you know I love making love to you, but I have to go meet someone now about the Molly we getting for you tomorrow."

Mia had almost forgotten about Detective Sanchez and the Molly.

With a sudden jolt of reality, she pulled her hand away from his penis, confusion evident in her face. It had been a month since she had any contact with Josh or Detective Sanchez. No one had stopped Reggie from touching her intimately and inappropriately day-after-day and giving her the same physically pleasurable feelings as making love. After weeks of pretending to be Reggie's girlfriend — and doing the intimate things with him a real girlfriend does to satisfy a new boyfriend with an insatiable appetite for sex — had Mia begun believing her own deception? Had she started bonding with him?

Although wrong, she had discovered life with Reggie was better than with her husband. Reggie gave her more of everything. Even his diamond engagement ring replaced and greatly exceeded Josh's modest engagement ring on her finger, and paralleled what Reggie had accomplished in the bedroom with an insanely larger penis.

Forced to stay with him for over a month, this big, strong black man did more than give her countless orgasms. He had opened her up so many times and in that process captured some of her affection. "I don't want the Molly anymore, Reggie. I've changed my mind. Please don't go tomorrow. Something bad might happen. Let's do something else together instead."

Reggie smiled. Perhaps he was beginning to love her, he thought. But she held no clue of what he had been doing to her all this time — how the only person she deceived was herself by playing into his hands and letting him seduce her. He had stolen this faithful young wife from her husband. She was a beautiful white woman rightfully converted to superior black cock. Mia was now his. "You sure about this, baby?"

Mia recalled the consequences if the plan failed. Detective Sanchez had promised to send her and Josh to prison for a very long time. Mia still loved Josh, but now she felt something for Reggie too. How could she do this to either of them?

Mia turned away. She wasn't sure about anything anymore. "I don't know, Reggie. I guess I still want to get the Molly. But I don't know what to do. I'm afraid of those other drug dealers and what might happen to you if something goes wrong and you get caught."

Ch. 7