#silver right now is such a open canvas of a character

[slymanner]

Look all I'm saying is if that a shadow game can work THAT well and be so well designed story wise and gameplay wise

HE can work

[innorogers]

Dusk

Steve Rogers x Reader (You / OFC)

Summary: Wait, WHAT? After everything you’ve been through, you thought he wasn’t serious about you? Oh no, Steve had to make sure you understood how committed he was.

Warning: Angst but then Fluff? / Sad Steve / Angry Steve / Protective Steve / Past Revelations / Hurt & Comfort / Past Trauma / Happy Ending / Comfort Steve / This one is actually funny

Characters: OC, Tony Stark, Maria Hill, Bruce Banner, Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson, Clint Barton

Also: Thanks in advance for repost or any feedback ❤️ Let me know if you want to be included in the taglist (DM, comment, repost and tag, whatever works)❤️ You don't need to read the previous chapters but it will definitely enhance the experience if you do.

1: Insomnia | 2: Lucid | 3: Reverie | 4: Nightmare | 5: Awakening

The compound is silent, bathed in the faint silver glow of moonlight filtering through the windows. Soft lights illuminate the hallways, leading the way. Steve’s steps echo through the room as he opens the training room door.

His insomnia hits again, harder and stronger than ever before. The adrenaline runs through his veins. His mind is restless. Burning. And this time, there was no bedtime story that could soothe the pain or anger he was going through. He doesn’t bother with gloves or wraps. He’s too pissed for that, too lost in his thoughts. All he wants to do is hit something.

His fists make contact with the heavy bag, sending it swinging in response. The sound of the impact echoes in the empty room, but it’s not enough. Not even close.

The image of you, standing alone against Frazer, fists clenched, blood dripping between your fingers, glass embedded in your palms. You were fighting back so hard against the control Hydra still held over you with those damn keywords. You were panting, agonizing, trying to survive. And the only thing he could do was watch.

He hits the bag harder, faster. The chains holding it creak from the force.

You were kneeling before a laughing Agent Frazer, desperately looking for the tranquilizer and pressing it into your neck before he could stop you. Before he could do anything. 

Your body going limp in his arms, your eyes closed, and your breath going soft for what felt like an eternity as you slipped away from him.

He growls through gritted teeth, his punches landing with brutal strength.

This… horrendous lab. Children—your siblings—taken. Sacrificed. Experimented on. Killed. Their golden threads snuffed out as you hoped you were helping them. Steve’s heart clenches painfully, his vision narrowing. The memory of your voice, the anguish in it when you told him how you’d watched each of them fade, haunts him. You were forced to be part of it. They lied to you—how could they.

His punches grow more erratic, fueled by the rising storm inside him. Sweat drips from his brow, but he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t slow down. His knuckles split open, blood streaking the bag, but the pain barely registers. He isn’t stopping. Not until he can soothe these invisible scars in you.

Your soft voice, telling him how you watched helplessly as your siblings died around you. Your power shut down in self-defense, a last-ditch effort to survive the nightmare Hydra forced on you.

Steve clenches his jaw, his breaths coming in ragged gasps now. His fists slam against the bag like hammer strikes.

Each punch is harder, faster, more desperate. He can’t stop. He can’t fight the guilt, the rage, the sorrow. You had been through hell, and he hadn’t been there. He couldn’t protect you. He couldn’t save your siblings. He failed.

Your words, soft and kind despite everything. You caress his cheek, smiling in his arms, trying to comfort him.

"What happened to me isn’t a burden for you to carry, you know that, right?”

His rage peaks, spiraling out of control. He roars in frustration and punches the bag with all the strength he can muster. His fist collides with it, sending shockwaves through the air.

The bag explodes.

The canvas tears apart, sand spilling out in all directions like dust from a broken hourglass. The chains snap, and the bag slams into the floor, rolling limply as Steve stumbles back, chest heaving, fists bleeding.

He stares down at the mess he’s made, panting, his mind racing. But the anger doesn’t fade. It lingers, burning beneath his skin. Cause he knows…no matter how hard he hits, how much he punishes himself, it won’t change what happened to you.

It won’t change a fucking thing. 

Not the fact that he wasn’t there when you needed him most, nor the fact that he failed in the first attempt at eliminating Hydra, or the second. You only escaped because the fucking popsicle machine ran out of power. Tony and Natasha rescued you. He wasn’t there. He doesn’t even remember where the fuck he was.

He drops to his knees, fists still clenched, blood dripping onto the floor. His breathing slows, and the silence creeps back into the room.

Grateful. The word echoes in his mind, like a bitter reminder. You were so grateful, so kind. To be alive. To be here, seeing everything. You loved every breath you took, and you loved him, with every glitter of your own golden thread.

But Steve couldn’t be grateful. Not yet. Not a bit. Not with all the pain, all the suffering, you had endured. 

It’s so fucked up. It’s so wrong. It’s so terribly, terribly wrong. He couldn’t be grateful for something so broken. And he wasn’t going to be. He wasn’t stopping until he crushed the last being on this fucking earth that would hurt you like Agent Frazer. He wasn’t stopping until he’d made sure of that.

"Your girlfriend told me once that we should invent some kind of power-resistant punching bag, especially for you. At least to help with your sleeping issues when it's late, and you'd hang around the campus looking for bags to hit." A voice behind him. Tony leaned against the doorframe, watching him.

"Then one day, she told me that you slept well every night, so maybe you didn’t need them anymore." He chuckled. "I didn’t even know where to start to ask—like, why, when, how’d she know how Steve sleeps? But I didn’t, of course, because she blushed, and I just… didn’t want to tease her."

Steve didn’t turn back. He stayed quiet for a while. "She’s not my girlfriend. I haven’t asked."

"Oh, so… she’s your ‘I’ll make all the best gear for my baby so he won’t get hurt’ genius engineer, and you’re her ‘you touch my girl, and I’ll mash you with the new shield she just made for me' kind of relationship?”

Tony nodded. "And also, you both have this ‘I’d sacrifice myself for you’ vibe that makes you a great couple. I think it’s cute, actually."

Steve sat down on the floor, leaning his back against the couch. "Why are you here, Tony?"

"Maybe you won’t believe it, but I’m here for a friend." Tony sighed and sat next to him, keeping a safe distance, so as not to invade his space. "Just checked on her. Vital signs are fine. Injuries are starting to heal. She’s tough, and you don’t hear it, but… this is nothing compared to how we found her."

"You’re right." Steve frowned, looking down at his knuckles, the bleeding already stopped. "I don’t want to hear it."

They sat in silence for a while until Steve shook his head with a mixture of resignation and frustration.

"Why didn’t I know?"

Tony glanced over at Steve, sympathy softening his usual sharp edges.

“How would you? She never let anyone see the cracks. And that’s something we’ve been working on for the past few years. Hiding her. Blending her in. So no one would noticed, so she could be safe.”

Tony took a breath, weighing his words carefully.

“You’ve only met her due to an unexpected, and beautiful surprise. A sleepless night, I believe?” 

Tony smiled. He pauses for a moment.“She thinks that was a gift, you know? Some kind of universe retribution for all the years of suffering and torture...and…” He patted Steve’s shoulder. “I think that too.”

“If you weren’t with her... what would have happened today?” Tony softened his voice. “If you hadn’t ended Hydra… maybe we’d never have found her, and she would have died... alone, in the dark, frozen, and without knowing that she was meant to be cherished, cared for, or loved. And…”

He glared at Steve as his expression shifted. “And no one would ever know that she even existed. Her siblings gone, all the memories about her would be…nothing, she would have been a file number. Lost within thousands of archives.”

Steve felt his whole body tense as Tony’s words landed. The mere thought of it was like a blast of icy water rushing down his spine, numbing him. A world where you were nothing but a forgotten experiment, a nameless file in some dusty Hydra archives, erased from existence. It twisted something in his chest. 

The image of you dying cold and alone in some abandoned Hydra lab. No one to mourn you, no one to even know that you were gone. No trace left behind. It clawed at him, settling like a vice around his heart, tightening with every beat.

“Stop with this self-pity and self-destruction mode, Steve.” Reading his expression, Tony knew his words had an effect. “It’s in the past. She made it, she survived, and she’s happy. Put yourself together and stop bringing it up in the present.” 

He grunted as he stood up and looked at Captain America with seriousness. “We’ve got a lot of work to do. Someone out there is trying to get and hurt your girl, Cap. Are you going to let them?”

Steve looked at the silent floor and the exploded bags for a while, then nodded. “You’re damn right.” He held Tony’s hand to stand up.

“Yup, I always am.” Tony smirked at him. “Go and get some sleep because tomorrow…” He clicked his tongue. “We have a briefing meeting since Nat is going to spend the night interrogating this guys and probably... you know, just a little bit of tango. Then analysis with Hill—shit, I shouldn’t have accepted that—and we have only 1,278 security protocols to discuss if you and your ‘not-my-girlfriend’ are going public or whatever.”

“And…” Tony raised an eyebrow at him. “Clean up this fucking mess, Steve, this is a 12 million training room for gods’ sake.”

Steve chuckled reluctantly. “Fine.” As he started tidying up the debris, he muttered: “This thing today, this agent, was straight after her.”

Tony was already at the door when he turned back. “Clearly. But I’m not gonna discuss this with you now at…” He looked at his watch. “3:22. My brain’s checked out. Unless it’s another half-the-universe-disappearing disaster, we’ve got this under control.”

Steve nodded, the weight of Tony's words settling into him. But it was more than that—your words still echoed louder. The reminder of how you wanted to move forward, how much you needed new memories. He knew Tony was right, but you... you were the one who truly brought him back from the edge. He inhaled deep, and started to pick up the mess he made.

“This is the weirdest shit I’ve ever seen…” says a cross-armed Sam, standing in front of a glass wall, observing a room filled with white lab coat experts. Led by the only two people wearing regular shirts: Tony and Bruce.

“That’s because you’re not a regular on this side of the compound.” Natasha tilts her head towards the unified silence and the steady room full of geniuses. “This is just… a normal Tuesday.”

“They haven’t moved for 15 minutes!” Sam says with an incredulous look. “You can’t tell me this is normal. Look at Bruce, he’s not even blinking.”

Both Maria and Natasha chuckled before Commander Hill explained, “Their brains are working. They’re deciphering that code.” She gestured toward the screen displaying the tangled mess of numbers and symbols. “Until they crack it, they won’t move.”

“If you turn on the neuro-transmission scan right now...” Natasha grinned, “it’s like the Fourth of July in there.”

“So, what exactly are they doing?” Sam considered turning on the scan just to see what was happening inside their heads.

“The guy that attacked us yesterday had this retinal lens used as spyware; it was transmitting everything he saw. We cracked the code and followed it to the hub where it was connected and transmitting data,” Hill finished her coffee and said, “And of course, it’s encrypted. There’s the source code…” She gestures towards the huge screen filled with numbers and letters that reads as Asgardian to Sam.

“That’s… one code?” Sam is shocked. “How’d they look if there were ten?”

“Technically… that’s one piece of the code. Not the complete…” Natasha begins to explain, then gives up. “Never mind.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier if we just… asked the dude?”

“I did. And… it got messy…” Black Widow answers as she pours some coffee and hands another mug to the Commander, which she accepts gratefully.

“You killed him?! Are we allowed to do that?” Sam’s eyes widen, not entirely in disaproval.

“No! Of course not!” Natasha thinks about it for a second, then replies, “No. We can’t do that.” Although Steve would’ve loved to. She pauses. “He got, um… it looks like his brain was programmed. After he woke up, he was entirely a different person. He didn’t remember anything. He was… is, actually, Charles Frazer. A normal MI6 agent who lives in London with a beautiful family and was sent here to respect the New Era Project. He doesn’t remember anything from yesterday.”

“What?” The Falcon is stunned. “Can they do that now? Program someone’s brain?!”

“We talk to a tree that calls a raccoon his father, so…” Hill comments without taking her eyes off the screens.

“And the raccoon shoots big guns.” Natasha adds, as if that’s a valid point. “Well… the thing is, we don’t know when this programming thing happened. Has he always been like this? A spy with sleeper cells that suddenly woke up? Is he really a normal agent who underwent modification just before coming here? We’re doing a lot of background checks, but this guy is… immaculate. Clean. Like this glass.”

“That’s… even more suspicious.” Sam frowns. “But Dr. Lancaster said he looked just like her brother, and… I’ve seen the files. He does look like Four. It can’t be a coincidence.”

“Probably his face was altered too. We just have to figure out when.”

“In any case, I don’t think the guy is normal.” Shaking his head, the Falcon isn’t buying it for a second. “No regular person takes a punch like that from Cap and wakes up. I thought the dude’s skull was broken.”

“Where are they, anyway?” Natasha starts typing on the screen. “I think Steve should be part of this conversation. Where is he? Making the windows foggy?”

“Unfortunately, no,” says Steve as he walks into the room, resignation in his voice, though his steps are steady and recovered. “She’s in R&D3 already. Back to work.”

He shakes his head. There was no way you’d go home and rest after being discharged, and honestly, he wasn’t comfortable leaving you alone. So, the best place for you (after promising for the 26th time you wouldn’t do any heavy work) was a lab full of people where you could put your mind elsewhere.

“As we all should.” Natasha raises an eyebrow at Steve. “No one here can afford to be a porcelain doll, y’know?” She’s not easy to break and far from being easily corrupted. She doesn’t say it, but her expression makes it clear.

“I know.” Steve nods with a serious expression. Yesterday, you had shown remarkable strength, remaining composed even when restlessness set in.

“Since we’re on the same page…” Commander Hill approaches the table and leans with a professional smile. She really doesn’t have time to waste. “We need to talk about the 1,278 security protocols that Stark wanted me to discuss with you.”

“Ugh,” Steve says with irritation. But then, this is your security they’re talking about, so he surrenders. “Fine.”

You didn’t know about the struggles Steve was going through as he listened to the extensive, detailed, laser-focused report Maria was giving him regarding ‘how many scans people had to pass just to approach you or your lab’ or ‘the perfect plan for your girlfriend to walk through the campus with you holding hands without being posted on social media’.

No, you were in another state of pink haze because the man you loved had said, “I love you.”

Ahh, the sky was blue, the clouds were like cotton candy (not that you’d know because you’d never tasted it before), your plants were growing strong, and yes, you had a terrible past. There was this guy who had leaked information to God knows who super dark organization, letting them know you were an ex-Hydra agent blended within the Avengers.

And by the way, that guy looked just like your dead brother and he tried to manipulate you through brainwashing. You had stitches in your knees and arms, and you shot yourself enough tranquilizer to kill a cow…but ha… who gives a shit, the most perfect, gorgeous man has said that he loves you. Like, priorities, right?

“Someone is in a good mood…” Your colleague slash friend Dr. Lin observed you and swirled around in the chair. “Alright, alright, so the mysterious date has become…a boyfriend?”

“Oh no, he is not…” You were caught off guard, and that made you think for a moment.

Wait…

What are the social protocols for calling Steve your boyfriend? Is that something people would assume after some steps of development in their relationship? Or was it a conclusion people would reach after certain premises: like intimacy, living in the same house, or having to face some dude who tried to brainwash you together?

Is it something that you or he would be entitled to call each other after those steps were fulfilled? And also, there’s this thing about… are you the only one? Yes, you live in a society that has historically been monogamous in most cultures. But things are different now. Polygamy is becoming more accepted. You wouldn’t like that, but of course, you couldn’t force him into that. Like, there are gorgeous women around him, that’s true…

“Honey…” Dr. Lin could see the ‘loading…’ sign on your forehead now that you were frozen in thought. “Is there something you wanna talk about?”

“I have some questions, Dr. Lin… no, Robert.” You put the computer in sleep mode and turned around. “Would the fact that he said ‘I love you’ make him my boyfriend?”

“Well… did he introduce you to his friends as his ‘girlfriend’?”

“Um… no.”

“Did you talk about it? Like, in which place are you standing? Or where are you heading?”

“Um…” You looked up as you remembered. “No. But we did talk about ‘making more beautiful memories’ together”.

“Oh shit.” Robert’s face shifted to ‘Gurrlllll…’ He carefully chose his words but wanted to be really clear: “And, uh… did he mention or hint that he wanted to be your boyfriend?”

“Mmm… no.” You shook your head. Not literally, at least.

“And you’re sure there’s no one else in his life?”

“Well. Yeah.” You made an obvious face. It’s not like he has the time; he is with you (or inside you) every night.

“I’m just saying…” Robert raised his hands. “There are a lot of dudes who’ll say anything to keep their bed warm.”

“Well… he is special.” You felt compelled to defend Steve. “He never lies.”

Robert almost choked. “Alright, darling… look, just make sure he’s not just banging you and planning to break your heart, okay? There are a lot of assholes out there, and trust me… you’re like a blank canvas for them, which makes you incredibly hot and attractive, but still… there are a lot of douchebags…”

“Mmm.” You were immersed in your thoughts again, analyzing what Dr. Lin had said, and as your “Loading…” sign appeared on your forehead, Robert just left you to it.

You had this way of getting so lost in your thoughts that the outside world faded away. You operated on autopilot, so you didn’t even realize how you’d gotten up at lunchtime and wandered into the common area where Steve was waiting. You didn’t notice the worried look on his face, nor the glance he exchanged with his teammates when you all sat down at the table, ready for lunch.

‘Ask her if she’s okay.’ Natasha’s eyes silently urged Steve.

‘Of course she’s not okay. After everything she’s been through.’ Steve replied with his glare.

‘Maybe she is just tired?’ Said Maria from the other corner. 

‘She does look sad…or confused.’ Observed Tony too.

‘Can you pass me the salt, please?’ Sam added to the silent conversation.

While the Avengers exchanged silent signals, you made up your mind to ask the questions that had been gnawing at you directly.

“What does it mean when people say that ‘you’re just banging me’?” You turned to Steve and asked.

Natasha spat her water out in Clint’s face, and Sam choked on a peanut.

"And I’m not against polygamy, but I think I’d be better in a monogamous relationship. If… we’re not just ‘banging.’" You nodded, speaking with honesty.

“I…” Steve tried to respond, but was interrupted by the hysterical laughter from Tony and Natasha as they rushed to save Sam from choking. (“Why would you have peanuts at lunchtime?!” Black Widow asked in a mix of laughter and disbelief.) Steve didn't know what to say, but a smile finally spread across his face as he looked at you in awe.

After the nightmare you’d all gone through yesterday, it felt like a lifetime since he’d actually smiled or felt any joy. Yet here you were, as you always are when he’s with you, with your clever, unexpected comebacks that washed away all his anger, anxiety, and rage. And your strange yet brilliant mind made him feel… so happy.

“Babe…” he chuckled, squeezing your hand and using a word he never imagined he’d use: “We’re not just banging…”

“We’re not?” You looked at him, a little confused, noticing his ears turning red. Lowering your voice, you added, “But that’s what we do every night… isn’t it?”

“OMG!” Clint stood up, covering his ears, trying not to burst out laughing. “Dr. Lancaster, may I kindly remind you this is a room full of people with extraordinary powers, including super-sensitive hearing… something we can’t exactly control?”

“Oh.” You blushed slightly, realizing how blunt you’d been, and leaned closer to Steve. “So ‘making love’ would be the right word?”

Steve chuckled as the rest of the team erupted in laughter. He squeezed your hand and smiled. “Yes, honey, that would be correct.” he said, amidst laughs and coughing.

Of course, you weren’t just banging. Steve had made up his mind to ensure you had no doubts about that. After the hilarious, "we'll talk about this for years" lunch, he gathered everything he needed to prove it to you and headed to the lab.

It was well past dinner when he arrived, and the place was empty, the only light coming from your desk. You knew he'd be late, so you waited for him to pick you up.

Leaning against the doorway, Steve watched you quietly for a moment, a soft smile forming on his face. You were completely absorbed in your work, brow furrowed in concentration. He didn’t want to interrupt, captivated by the focus you showed, his heart swelled as he took a few steps toward you.

"Hey… just… one minute…" You noticed his footsteps and quickened your typing. "I’ll wrap this up."

"There’s no rush at all." Steve sat in the chair beside you, smirking, though you didn’t notice, still immersed in your work.

"Just… borrow your hand, please?" he asked softly, knowing you were on autopilot. Without looking away from the screen, you automatically lifted your hand.

You felt something delicate wrap around your ring finger. Glancing up, you saw a slender golden thread circling it, secured by a tiny knot. Your eyes followed the thread as a delicate silver ring slid down, fitting perfectly. Startled, you looked up to see Steve raise his hand, revealing the other end of the thread tied around his own ring finger.

"What… what is this?" you asked softly, surprised.

"Well… I didn’t get the exact ‘sparkling glitter golden thread’ like you described, but… you get the idea." Steve smiled, standing up to kiss the back of your hand. "This is proof that I’m not just banging you, or…" He chuckled, "something that asks if I could bang you for the rest of our lives."

He paused, trying to remember Tony’s exact words.

"And it’s also a 'high-frequency, multi-sensorial ring capable of real-time biometric and geospatial transmission. Embedded with micro-electromechanical systems that continuously monitor and broadcast vital stats—heart rate variability, galvanic skin response, and core temperature—with GPS coordinates. Plus, a predictive analytics algorithm to interpret physiological fluctuations, allowing for real-time detection of anomalies in health and emotional state.'"

"Oh wow…" you breathed, genuinely shocked. "Did you memorize all that?"

Steve laughed and nodded. "Tony insisted you should know exactly what you were wearing."

"Awww, babe…" You couldn’t stop laughing. "This is the most romantic stalker device I've ever had."

He let out a hearty laugh and showed you his ring. "It’s connected to mine," he said, pulling you closer, his hands settling at your waist as he pressed his forehead against yours. "And I used a golden thread—the one that represents life—because you’re my life now."

"Steve…" You gently caressed his face, looking down at your hands, the rings connected by the golden thread. Really in shocked.

"And… you’re sure? Won’t people notice?"

"Trust me, I went through 1,278 protocols before deciding on this. Honestly, I made up my mind long before that. Hill said I could've spared her the torture of explaining all those, and she wanted to punch me right in the face afterward, but…" His voice softened. 

"I don’t want you living in shadows or secrets anymore. I’ll be with you, always, by your side. And…"

"And since whoever our enemy is already knows about me, they’ll think twice before coming after us, seeing that I’m with the Captain of the Avengers." You nodded.

"Yeah, that. But more importantly…" He kissed you softly after laughing. 

"Because I don’t know how to live without you. This ring… it’s just a way of showing how serious I am. How much I love you." 

He smiled suddenly, a memory flashing in his eyes. "Do you remember what you asked me the first day we met?"

"I think so…?" You hesitated, unsure which moment he was referring to. "We talked for like 10 hours that night."

"You asked me, when you added your number to my phone, 'What do you want me to be, for you?' And I answered…"

"‘My Everything,’" you whispered.

"That’s right." He sealed it with a kiss. 

"You are my everything."

You were quiet, and in awe. Just like the night you met him. For so long, you’d been searching, drifting in and out of the shadows, living in the remnants of broken fairy tales. But now, standing here with him, you realized those tales had never really been broken. They’d just been waiting — for this. 

You were no longer lost, no longer broken and sifting through the ashes of old stories. You’ve found this. Your own spectacular fairy tale, and the best part? It’s real. You had been given the right to love, to be loved, to finally be someone’s everything.

And for the first time, you truly believed it.

End

Continue to:

7: Hypnagogia |

8: Lull |

9: Vigil |

10: Eclipse |

Divider Credits: to the wonderful @cafekitsune

Andddd I'm sorry I'm posting so late today, but having two full time jobs is hitting really hard, will try to maintain regularity as I can. But its getting hard! Thanks for reading thus far and I hope you enjoyed the chapter, mayb posting a different story next friday ;) See you then!

Tag list: @vioplay19 / @jamneuromain / @steviebbboi / @heletsmelovehim

Love.,

Moon.

[holidayinhell]

Whumpay: Attack!

Panic or heart attack implied. You be the judge.

Characters: actual psychopath/ serial killer Whumper, simp Whumpee CWs: restraints, electrocution, male whump, eyeballs (?), murder, it's pretty dark, you have been warned!!

“Push your ankles against the legs of the chair.” He unrolled a length of duct tape. 

Whumpee’s smile dropped. He wrinkled his eyebrows, puzzled, and stared open-eyed at the larger man skeptically. “More?”

“It’s for the thrashing.” He reasoned. “Like I said, you need to be completely still if you’re gonna get high.”

“This is really weird.” Whumpee dismissed. But if this is what it took, fine. He’d go along with it.

Whumper wrapped the tape around his legs and ankles, securing them to the legs of the narrow wooden chair.

Now that his ankles were tethered down in addition to his wrists, Whumpee couldn’t move anything but his head.

“Good, good. You’re a trooper. Getting excited yet?”

“Not really.” Whumpee said flatly. In truth, being tied to a chair had excited him, but certainly not in the way Whumper was inquiring about.

“C’mon. It’ll feel really good once it gets going.” Whumper cracked a smile “Trust me, it’ll be worth it.”

The scholar crossed the room to the couch that was heavy with clutter; books, equipment, and garbage it looked to be. The entire basement had a stinking, foul odor, Whumpee wondered if it was coming from the junk piled high on the sofa.

Whumpee tried rolling his wrists and ankles to loosen the tape securing him to the chair, but they were wrapped snugly in their duct tape cocoons.

“God damn this is uncomfortable. Argghhh! My nose itches and I can’t scratch it.” 

Whumper disregarded Whumpee’s objections. The man grabbed a silver and black case resting on the cluttered couch, popped the latches open and removed a camcorder box. He unfurled a roll of canvas containing a tripod. 

Apprehension settled over Whumpee as he watched from his chair, his anxiety mounting with every passing second. A rancid smell in the air made him recoil. “Can you smell that? It kinda stinks down here.”

I should really stop complaining, Whumpee thought to himself. He didn’t want to annoy Whumper, much less offend him. He considered himself lucky that Whumper had even chosen him, of all people, to assist with his thesis project. 

Thankfully, it seemed Whumper didn’t hear him. He was entirely focused on assembling his recording gear.

Whumpee felt a pit in his stomach. Whether he was being annoying or not, he reminded himself that he had to make his boundaries clear before they did this thing.

“Hey. Hey. Whumper!” he yelled to get Whumper’s attention for the first time. “Remember what I told you, I’m gonna to tap out after twenty minutes. Hard stop then, okay?” Whumpee said emphatically. “Got it?”

“Yeah, sure. Got it.”

Whumper silently loaded a roll of film into the camera, snapping the plastic compartment closed with a click. He pressed the power button and framed Whumpee in the center of the video screen.

“...and now,” Whumper hit the red recording button. “We are officially ready to begin.”

Whumpee’s breathing increased. He had anxiously awaited this moment since he agreed to it days ago. Whumper had been so happy he volunteered to help with his project, he reminded himself that this was a small sacrifice for the greater good, this was the first step towards forging a real friendship. And if he played his cards right, maybe something even more.

He steeled himself and summoned every last ounce of courage from the depths of his being.

“Oh shit, I forgot. Safety first.” Whumper retrieved the object he’d been fingering in his pocket. A short leather strap. “I have to put this in your mouth--”

“What is th--!” Whumpee tried to interject.

“--so you don’t bite your tongue.” 

Whumper already grabbed a handful of Whumpee’s hair and tilted his head back before he could protest. The bound man jerked his head back and instinctively pursed his lips closed. Whumper attempted to push the strap past his lips but they were closed tight.

“Wha — STOP! Stop it!” gasped Whumpee, breath ragged and nerves shaken by the sudden assault. “Fuck. What the hell was that??!”

Shit. Too heavy handed. Impatience always got the best of Whumper.

“Heh, sorry, sorry. ‘M sorry.”

“Sorry?! That was fucked!!”

“I’ll be nice this time. Promise. Here. Now bite.”

Whumpee looked at the man incredulously and sighed, but bit down on the gag obediently. He had to stay in Whumper’s good graces, he’d come all this way. Plus he really didn’t want to bite his fucking tongue off.

“Comfy?”

Whumpee firmly shook his head no.

“Well you look like a million bucks. Ya ready?”

Whumpee’s sigh was muffled by the strap of leather trapped between his teeth. He was completely immoble and incredibly uncomfortable, with absolutely no control of his body beyond his mouth and head. To add to his discomfort, a looming putrid odor hung in the stale basement air and the anticipation of being electrocuted made him nauseous.

His cheeks burned and he prayed Whumper didn’t notice him blushing. Whumpee reminded himself: he was going to be fine, Whumper wouldn’t hurt him, and he was lucky to even be there.

“I’ll start with the calf.” Whumper commented, touching the cattle prod to Whumpee’s leg. His breath audibly quickened.

“Easy. Shh. Relax.”

ZAP

It felt like all of the air, light, and sound had been sucked from the room and replaced with searing pain.

“Mmmmmmph!” His leg jerked upwards involuntarily, if he wasn’t tied to the chair he’d have kneed himself in the jaw. A biting soreness ran from his toes to his hip even after Whumper pulled the cattle prod away.

It was intense, the most blinding agony Whumpee had ever experienced. But now that it was over, Whumpee felt strangely... good?

Whumpee spat the strap from his mouth, and the saliva-coated leather fell on Whumper’s shoulder. The slimy gag slid down the taller man’s shirt like a snail leaving a path of slime, and plopped to the ground unceremoniously.

“Oh shit!!” Whumpee cackled as Whumper rose to stand. “My bad, my bad.” He felt delirious, but amid the chaos of his mind there was a course of energy that left him invigorated. He giggled at the trail of saliva that glistened against the larger man’s black sweater.

Whumper glared at the discarded leather gag on the floor. His eyes shot back to the human filth sitting in front of him. He exhaled slowly. A tempest of rage brewed beneath his calm.

“There is some kind of weird pleasure, I guess.” Whumpee offered, “I see what you mean. But it hurts like frikin’ hell.” Whumpee started laughing again and turned to Whumper. “I wonder what pervs actually use this to get off. Maybe we should think of a safe word.” He giggled.

What, like this was supposed to be some fucking sexual exercise? 

The very concept made Whumper want to gag.

Playtime was over. 

His vision went red. It was time to end this fucker.

Whumper retrieved the roll of tape and wrapped it around Whumpee’s mouth, circling his head once, twice, three times.

The man under him struggled to fight against his motions, bobbing his head and trying to bite at him as he layered his face in duct tape. But the ambush happened quickly, and Whumpee was powerless to stop him.

Whumper felt like all the duct tape in the world couldn’t silence the miserable brat.

The large man rolled the dial on the cattle prod to maximum voltage out of curiosity. Holding the device against Whumpee’s skin, he administered white-hot pain directly into his forearm. The small man heaved in his narrow wooden chair and nearly fell backwards.

Whumpee screamed. He screamed so much that his yells bled into one another. If his mouth were free it would have been the loudest he’d ever shrieked, but under his adhesive gag he could never eke out more than a muffled MMMmph!

Whumper pushed the device deep into the flesh of his arm, stabbing the prongs into him with so much force it nearly drew blood. Whumpee thrashed wildly, the excruciating electric shock traveled up his arm all the way into the deep veins of his neck.

“Mmm. Mmm-mmph!!” Whumpee hummed into the tape that sealed his lips. He awkwardly blinked to get the moisture out of his eyelashes, which were heavy with tears. It was all he could do at this point: blink.This was the only thing he could control in the entire world right now.

“What was that? Use your words, Whumpee.” He grinned wickedly. “You’re crying now? We’ve barely warmed up!”

Whumper took his captive’s chin in his cold hand and tilted it back to get a good look at his face. Tears rolled down Whumpee’s cheeks rapidly and his breathing was rugged and quick. He averted his eyes from the larger man’s intense, hungry stare.   

“Time to come clean, Whumpee. I know you’ve been stalking me all years. The way you’ve injected yourself in the background of my life--” A remorseful tear ran down Whumpee’s cheek.

 “--what, you didn’t think I noticed? It’s not like you were subtle about it. You’re like a fly and shit, your presence is a constant annoying buzz in my ear. So I thought, what’s the best way to kill an insect?”

“Do you know, Whumpee?”

Whumpee groaned.

“Zap ‘em.”

Whumper retrieved a box cutter from his pocket. “Don’t get too excited.” He warned, pressing the blade from its plastic sheath. The knife found the neckline of Whumpee’s shirt where it traveled down his torso, digging into his flesh in places. Whumpee sliced the shirt into jagged strips and let them fall to the ground, one by one. 

Whumper took a moment to admire the pearls of blood that seeped from the shallow gashes he made on Whumpee’s bare torso. He stepped back to ensure everything was in frame of the camera’s viewfinder.

“You only have yourself to blame for this one, Whumpee. I mean who the hell volunteers to get electrocuted?” The scholar grinned wickedly.

He thought they were supposed to be friends, he thought he was helping him with his project…

“I’ve never even been to college. Didn’t even graduate high school, not that I needed to. Did you know that, Whumpee?” Whumper rounded the corner so he was out of Whumpee’s sight, not that he could see much through his watery vision. “I was pretty convincing though, wasn’t I? You didn’t make it easy on me, with you stalking me for so long.” Whumper came back, holding a heavy metal object and thick rubbery wires. “I appreciated the challenge at first.”

He sat the car battery on the floor at Whumpee’s feet.

“But now it’s annoying. So I came up with this solution.” Whumper retrieved a box of cigarettes from his pocket and placed one between his teeth.

“I had to do a little practice with Big Bertha over here.” He said with the unlit cigarette hanging from the corner of his lips. Whumper tapped the car battery with his foot. 

“Winston was fucking old as hell-- you remember old man Winston right? The fucker up the street with the dog that bit me that one time?”

Whumper raised his eyebrows at his captive, silently demanding a response. Whumpee didn’t realize. He nodded his head, sniffling.

“One little zap and boom, he was gone. You wouldn’t believe it.” He shook his head. “Must’ve been like two, maybe three minutes? I don’t know. It was disappointing.” Whumper lit his cigarette.

“But his eyes did shoot out of his face, which was pretty funny.”

Whumpee squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could. His muffled cries intensified, he shook his head violently. Snot ran down his tape-covered chin and he was screaming bloody murder into the sticky adhesive that silenced him.

Whumper’s fingers grazed his hot wet cheek.

“I kept one of his eyes. And you know what I did with the other?” A sinister grin crept across his face.

“Fed it to his dog.”

Whumpee was reduced to a puddle of wailing mucus.

“All that to say that the old man actually did teach me a little something about electricity. So I went to the library-- like a real goddamn scholar-- and I did a little research on how to control this shit. Check it out: this is an alternator and this one is a voltage regulator.” He presented the two small devices. 

“You want to know why I went to all this trouble?” He took a drag and exhaled a plume of smoke.

“Because, Whumpee, I don’t wanna just zap you like a mosquito. I want a real show.”

“And you’re going to give me one hell of a show, too, because this gear was fuckin’ expensive.” He glanced at the bifold doors to the closet. “At least Winston picked up the tab.” 

Whumper crouched down to assemble the parts of his machine, leaving Whumpee helplessly taped to the chair, awaiting his impending doom. Tears welled in his eyes and he was silently thankful that they blurred his vision almost entirely, at least he wouldn’t have to watch as his life was literally fried out of him. All he could see through the haze in his eyes was the steady, rhythmic pulsing of the camera’s red recording light.

Whumper rose to his feet, his full focus fixed on Whumpee, who shivered in place.

“Now then,” he declared, ashing his cigarette. “Let’s get started for real this time.”

((more Whump oneshots))

[szilverer]

hewwo

made this blog primarily to dump oc content & maaaybe liveblog a bit! (its my first time engaging in a fandom space like this so im pretty lost, do lemme know if i mess up with tagging or etiquette or smth. more about me here.)

my FL acc is from 2016 but i only really started playing this august! ive finished my ambition now but theres still a lot i dont know about the lore n stuff. IGN is Hreisz, feel free to send a CC or even just random in-character letters & menace help reqs.

im always open to asks/interactions here as well, just keep in mind i might take A While to respond as i am but an hermit with the barest of executive functions

trying to use this hyperfixation to practice digital art so there'll be random experimental doodles here as i try to find out wtf i am doing. everytime i open a canvas its a surprise. youve been warned

tags:

#chaindoodles -> art tag, #chainrambles -> text tag

#the twilight phantom -> the blorbo

#nightmarriage -> my blorbo hoards trash. block this to be spared from witnessing their latest questionable decision

content warning tags:

#light fingers spoilers

#suggestive in case i draw (or write?) smth that can be perceived as saucy, spicy, horn knee, overtly kinky or implied nsfw. there wont be anything Actually explicit here though

i like #blood and injuring my characters both mentally and physically. so uh. that. possibly violence.?

??

#poor edward

So who's this "Twilight Phantom"?

nearly everything about H_______ Reisz is dictated by my actions playing FL, so they're developing in real time. been lots of fun to see this clean slate (and i mean clean - i knew nothing about the setting, the lore, or who they were, so naturally, this guy didn't either) get shaped by the narrative And my mechanical wiki-fueled decisions.

ill make a better, dedicated post eventually but for now have a vague intro + some refs under the cut:

The first thing you notice about them is the cowl lazily draped around their head and shoulders, swaying behind their back like a cape in the colours of sunrise-- or, perhaps most familiarly, the velvety twilight that the newest star every so often provides to London.  The second thing is the deep scars covering one side of their face, and the third thing would probably be the heavy eyebags under their sharp, dark eyes.

A relatively freshly-minted Silverer, H. Reisz spends more time in Parabola than London nowadays. Not that they had been in London for too long anyway, and it's not like anyone knows where they were before that either. The surface, yes, but it's a big world out there, right? They don't actually remember seeing the sun, or the sky, but H cannot deny the soft colours of twilight and sunrise have a special place in their heart. They recognise it without the memory of experiencing it, just like they recognised love in the depths of a certain Labyrinth. Hmm, two Labyrinths, actually. There was that one heiress too... and the Orphanage was inside one hell of a maze too... if they had a coin every time they found themself inside labyrinths, they'd... Uh, where were we? Well, anyway, being a new face, they had nothing to be known for so they simply gave out their surname instead. Or well, what they assumed to be their surname. "H. REISZ" were the letters sewn-in on a diminute corner of the tattered black veil that wrapped their head back when they woke up for the "first" time. They were surrounded by near-empty bottles of dried mouldy honey, absinthe, and who knows what else. Ah, the decadence... they couldn't even remember what honey could do at the time but they could recognise the stench of self-destruction right away, haha.  Alas, if things were so bad they got to that point-- maybe this explains why moving on was so easy. Maybe they had somehow lobotomized themself on purpose. Who knows? They sure don't. It was only now, a year or so after waking up, that an epithet has started to stick around-- specifically by their actions as a Silverer and the services they provided. From nightmare-slaying to fishing out vestigial memories (the irony of an amnesiac doing this is not lost on them) to guiding and safeguarding lost dreamers, their glimmering signature cowl and the way it flowed rather phantasmagorically in Parabola started to leave an impression. To many dreamers, seeing a hint of pastel twilight colors signaled safety. It signaled someone you could trust to get inside your head. :)

[lilypadlys]

Artistic Vision

Summary: The ghoulettes are going all out to ensure Aurora, the new summon, is feeling welcomed and at home. When she discovers an innate talent for painting, the rest of the girls are more than happy to help her find the perfect canvas.

Characters: Aurora, Cumulus, Cirrus, Sunshine

Word Count: 882

Rating: General Audiences, SFW

Tags: fluff, domestic fluff, ghoulettes!!!, the ghoulettes being besties

AO3 or below the cut

Aurora hadn’t been entirely sure what Cumulus had been talking about when she’d invited the new ghoulette to a manicure party. Aurora just shrugged and accepted, happy that Cumulus had wanted to include her.

Now she sits in the pack’s common room, gathered in a circle with the other ghoulettes. She watches curiously as Cumulus unboxes her nail supplies and sets an array of brightly colored bottles on the coffee table.

“Which colors do you want?” Cumulus asks. Cirrus and Sunshine blurt out their selections simultaneously, before bursting out into giggles.

Chuckling, Cirrus waves her hand to Sunshine. “Go ahead Sunny.”

“Hehe, sky blue and gold!”

“Okay! Cir?”

“Dark blue and silver please.”

“How about you Aurora?” All three ghoulettes turn towards Aurora who shrinks under the sudden attention.

“Uh, I’m not sure yet. What does the color do? Is it important for a ritual?”

“Nah, it’s just pretty.” Sunny chirps. “Nail polish just makes your nails look nice.”

Aurora hums in understanding. “Oh I see. I was wondering what you were talking about.” She titters.

“Sorry about the confusion.” Cumulus laughs embarrassedly. “You can pick whatever colors you’d like. And if you don’t know yet, that’s okay too. Take your time.” She smiles and takes one of Sunny’s hands. “Do you want little rhinestones like last time?”

“Yes!”

Aurora watches studiously as Cumulus gently files Sunny’s nails, rounding out the tips. Next, she picks out two bottles from the line up, one light blue and the other gold. She opens the blue one first, revealing the little brush coated in liquid color. Then she expertly dabs the polish onto Sunny’s thumbs, pointer fingers, and pinkies. She follows up with the gold on the middle and ring fingers. Once the polish dries she adds a top coat and glues on tiny rhinestones in little sun beam patterns.

“Ooh, Pretty!” Aurora admires Sunny’s freshly painted nails. “Can I try?”

“Go right ahead!” Cumulus waves at the selection of colors.

As Cumulus gets started on Cirrus’ nails, Aurora scans the bottles. She ends up selecting mint green, cerulean, navy and violet. Rather than doing only one color on each nail, Aurora experiments with laying down a base of the dark blue and then using q-tips to swirl the other three colors on top. Once that dries, she uses the gold and white to add little dots. The end result is galaxy-like; little stars in the milky way.

Cumulus looks over from her own nails and gasps. “Rora, that’s gorgeous!”

Cirrus and Sunny squeal in delight when Aurora holds out her hands for them to see.

“Thanks.” she blushes. Then frowns at her nails. “Hmm, it didn’t quite turn out exactly how I meant it.”

“Whaddya mean?” Sunny tilts her head. “They look amazing.”

“Yeah, you really seem to have a talent for painting.” Cirrus muses.

“It’s just. It’s all squished up. I need a bigger canvas.”

Cumulus shares a grin with the other two ghoulettes. “Then let’s get you one.”

After a trip to the hardware store to ransack the paint aisle, the four ghoulettes stand in Aurora’s room, necks craned so that they can look at the walls and ceiling. They’re painted an awful tan and are devoid of character.

Aurora frowns. “Are you sure this is okay? Do we need to ask for permission first?”

Cirrus snorts. “You kidding? The walls of this place have seen so much worse. A little paint isn’t going to kill anyone.”

“Okay, let's do it then.”

The ghoulettes get to work. They cover the floor and furniture in drop cloths and post a sign on the door reading: Wet Paint. Boys stay out. Looking at you Dew and Swiss.

They start out with ladders but find it easier to use their air magic to buoy Aurora in the air so she can reach the upper walls and ceiling. Their magic also comes in handy to float supplies around and dry the paint quickly.

Cirrus, Cumulus, and Sunny watch in awe as Aurora’s vision comes to life. Like her nails, the ceiling takes on a galaxy-like feel but her real intentions come through much better on the bigger surface. Three days later, it’s finally done. Exhausted but pleased, all four ghoulettes lay on Aurora’s bed to stare up at her masterpiece. It's a picturesque rendition of the new ghoulette’s namesake, the aurora borealis.

The northern lights take up most of the ceiling, backed by a deep navy blue night sky. The blue extends into the edges of the ceiling and onto the upper corners of the walls before transitioning into leafy evergreens covered in sparkling snow. The frost and pine needles look so realistic one would be tempted to reach out and touch them.

“It’s beautiful Aurora!”

“So pretty!”

“You’re so talented!”

Aurora flushes at the praise and smiles. “Thank you!”

The boys, finally allowed in now that the paint was safely stored away, are similarly awestruck.

“Wow Aurora, I didn’t know you could paint! You did a great job!” Aether praises.

“Do my room next!” Dew grins. “I’m thinking like a volcano erupting and-”

“Nah,” Swiss interrupts. “She should do mine next-”

“Get in line boys.” Cirrus teases. “She’s already agreed to do mine first!”

Aurora just giggles.

Before long, she’s become the abbey’s resident artist.

[corviride]

Welcome to the webbed site friend :)

Let's start off simple - glance, canvas, hair - for any OCs of your choice.

Y'know what, I'm gonna do all three! Or-- Well, I guess it's two and a half since Jsashe is based on a canon character? Anyways, first is Daighre, the Dragonborn.

glance: At first glance, what stands out most about your OC's appearance? What's their distinguishing feature?

It's easy to tell at a glance how poorly Daighre has taken all of this Dragonborn business - her hair is messy and has not been washed in a while, her eyes are ringed with bags and rarely does she ever take her hood down -- she doesn't want to be noticed, and that sort of thing is itself rather noticeable.

canvas: Does your OC have any scars, piercings, tattoos, or other markings? Do they display or cover them up at all?

Of scars she has plenty, but none are particularly notable. More notable is her tattoos, of which there are many. I haven't come up with a design yet, but her left arm is covered in a full sleeve that'll extend onto her back and the nape of her neck. Will have to think more on a design!

hair: as far as I can tell, this one is not from the og ask game, but I'll answer it regardless cause hair is important!

Her hair is a dark brown, and she cut it short somewhere on the road between her home village and Markarth - formerly, it was worn down, hanging down in between her shoulderblades, but now it's just hanging low enough to cover the back of her neck. For pure practicality, of course - shorter hair takes less maintenance. She usually wraps the little hanging hair she has left up. It's still not the cleanest hair - girl hasn't really had the time for a bath recently. _ Next up, Aerikke, the warrior.

glance

Aerikke is a giant, even for Nords -- standing 6'6, with a weapon to match and a character that certainly does not, she looms large in any environment, quite literally. With her deathly-pale skin and glinting silver eyes, she looks a bit otherworldly, as if she were pulled from prehistory and placed in a time she could not possibly belong in. She is, however, the most well adjusted of the three, and also the only one who can actually talk to people, so once you get past the shock at how tall she is she's actually quite nice to be around. Dings her head on doorframes sometimes though.

canvas

She is absolutely covered in scars - what do you expect of a nord, exactly? A few notable ones include:

A cut that crosses her palm; she got it working at a lumber mill -- she was sharpening an axe when her hand slipped and she split open her palm.

A sabrecat's claw's mark across the right side of her jaw; I don't believe I need to explain how that happened. She killed the sabrecat, though, so who really got the last laugh?

A gash along her right forearm. That she got in a bar fight - someone drew a knife, she can't remember who.

She regularly touches the scar on her palm - it's a nervous tic.

hair

Her hair is a bright, silvery-blonde, fastidiously cared for, long and, usually, worn in a braid. She wears jewelry woven into the braid. She's easily the most well off of the three of them.

-

Finally, Jsashe, who cannot be said to be anything as of yet, but she's gonna be a witch!

Okay i actually need to think about this one more because I am still formulating her in my head. Get back to me later on this.

[adhonoremrp]

look around there's another mask behind you.

the haunting halls of the mansion continue to show the fears and memories of its current inhabitants. visages that linger and remain as confused as the guests. some that seem impossibly at odds with both time and reality. there is more to discover at each turn.

near the stables, a father with warm and friendly eyes assists a limping graphorn. while a woman with a stark and noble face seethes in the wine cellar, another stands outside the drawing room simply begging to be believed. a fragile little boy watches with fear and awe as a girl with a wicked, toothy smile leaps from the banister of the grand staircase. a kindly woman in a hospital gown crochets in quiet serenity from the sunroom. the shadow of a young deatheater cannot be pulled from watching a disappointed man drop his wedding ring into the courtyard fountain.

feast.

that same eerie voice returned. it beckons the crowd to ornate wooden doors in the main hall which had previously been locked which opens to reveal a grand dining hall. round tables that sit ten to twenty people littered the hardwood of the ostentatiously large dining hall. each place is set with fine china and silver cutlery. the smell of dill, sage, curry, and thyme wafts through the air. any desire, from finger food to fully stuffed turkeys, sit waiting for consumption.

another set of doors remain closed on the far side of the dining room. the faint sound of music can be heard drifting through as specters roam freely.

sitting right outside the ballroom, a dark featured woman with sleek hair paints a detailed oil masterpiece on canvas as a well-natured and mannered gentleman comments on its brilliance. a street rat pickpockets a woman reading an old medical journal outside the servants quarters. a couple of women wearing headscarves discuss matter of politics and propriety near the foyer, and quietly, an auror with a stern face studies the étagere in the front parlor.

even they seem eager for the ball to begin.

OOC NOTES

thank you all for participating once again and making this event such a good time! the feast has now begun and all characters are welcome to congregate and eat together with the haunts. the anticipation for the grand event is palpable. just like last time, if you sent in a haunting and it is not mentioned in this post, fret not, they will be included as the event concludes, but please feel free to go ahead and interact with them now if you would like. expect the last portion of this event to commence on october 31st.

[anotherghoul666]

If the confessional is still open, may I please take my turn?

I’ve seen so many delicious scenes that make me bright and flustered in the most amazing and worst of ways, but the thing that made me flush the most was when you mentioned your penchant for knives. So I kindly ask, would you carve me up? Tease me with the gentlest touches of the cold cold blade. Use my body as your canvas and my blood as your paint. Please.

-Knife anon 🗡

My confessional is still open. I'll be here to hear your confessions and give penitence until I crash and go sleep, but I will send out a message when I'll log off so nobody waits in vain for me while I'm asleep. I think I'll leave the confessional booth open, as in, the asks can keep coming in, but I'll answer them when I have time to write on here, which might be insonsistent. Still pondering it all. This one confession ask joke turned into a beautiful temple of sin and kink and some wonderful connections made over this silly thirsty blog of mine, it warms my heart too much and I cherish it dearly now, so I want to keep it going.

That being said. Let's focus on you, knife anon. An anon after my own heart. You speak poetry when you speak of knives and the art of it, and immediatly I now you legitimately love them the way I do. I literally just answered another ask where I described how knife play is painting on a human *consensual* canvas for me, and I promise I didn't read your own request before I answered that one. We think the same way.

I would love to give you a taste of my knife dear anon, especially when you so politely ask. You make such a good show of character, it's only fair I show you how kind I can be with the most cruel tool in my hand. I would let you see the knife I'll use first, present it, so the image of it's bright silver color, of the details of its handle, of the shape of its blade burns itself into your brain. I'd even let you hold it, if you want to, to feel it's weight. Understand the gravity of what will soon touch your skin.

I'd have you close your eyes next. For some people I would go for a blindfold right away, but given how polite you've been in your ask, given your tone, I trust you to respect my instructions. You'll at least get a chance, before the blindfold goes on if I catch you peeking. I would start to run the knife on your skin. We would have discussed areas of the body that are fine within your risk profile of course, in case a cut does happen. You wouldn't be able to tell, I believe, wether I'd use the spine or the cutting edge, the blade being so cold, and you deprived of sight, reliant solely on your sense of touch, you would know something's touching you, but you wouldn't know wether the risk is real and imminent or not. Would your breath hitch for me, anon? Would your pulse quicken in pace with fear? Or would you be so serene when faced with the possibility of blood being drawn you would keep calm?

And then there's the question of actually drawing blood, dear knife anon. You speak of blood, but are you really ready for that? For me to mark you, potentially permamently? Even the smallest scar can stay for years, depending on how your skin heals and reacts. We barely know each other, are you ready for such a deep commitment?

[maytheoddshq]

Luca Acero (he/him). Sponsor. Twenty-nine. Manny Montana.

(TW: STARVATION)

Born into the poorest district of them all, nobody would have thought that Luca would eventually end up a sponsor for the games. His family was large, squished into a tiny house with very little other than the four walls around them. His parents loved their children more than they loved themselves, and eventually that meant that their meal portions were cut in half, and then halved again, until there was nothing left. It didn’t take long, for their bones to poke through their skin and their movements to slow until they stopped all together. Luca’s mother died when he was four and not long after his father joined her.

Word got out a few weeks later when peacekeepers dropped by and found a group of children trying to fend for themselves. They split them up, right there, each child screaming for the other. They thought that maybe if they told nobody, they could stay together. It was silly, childish, exactly what you would expect from a group of siblings all under the age of twelve. Luca was skin and bone at the time, but the Capitol couple who picked him out of a line up of other orphaned children thought his eyes were pretty. They scrubbed him clean, fed him until he puked and stuffed him into clothes that were worth more than his entire house back in twelve.

For a long time, Luca didn’t speak. They brought him to psychologists, speech therapists, they even tried a psychic, but nothing drew the words from his lips. He drew though, and he was good. One of his teacher’s entered him into a competition when he was eleven and he won, a painting of a simple silver spoon still hung proudly in his parent’s living room. That is when his parents decided to accept him as an artist and leave him be.

Slowly, he began to open up, to his art teacher first, and then to everybody else after. He spoke now, but tried not to waste words like most, as if there was some limit only he knew about. As he grew older his paintings only improved, but Luca was never really interested in the galleries and spectacle of it all. He spent the majority of his time in the tattoo shop he’d first opened with the first bit of money he had made himself. Now, his paintings sell for more than he can even comprehend, and without the drive to spend the money on himself, he got into sponsoring, hoping to do a little good, even if it might not be completely thought through.

Luca doesn’t agree with the premise of the games. He doesn’t enjoy seeing innocent children killed off twice a year. He is focused on his art, and his tattooing, but has been driven towards the rebels and their cause, pumping money into their headquarters in hopes he might be able to put an end to these games, especially as his daughter will soon be eligible herself.

Luca considers his main occupation as a tattoo artist, although most would disagree, calling him one of the most eminent artists of their generation. He also never thinks of himself as a sponsor, mostly because he doesn’t fit the usual brief. He doesn’t come from old money, doesn’t wear suits or engage in small talk about the latest capitol gossip. He is an outlier, always has been, and he usually tends to support tributes of the same character.

Luca is not unfriendly, but he is also not outgoing or very social. He treats most people the same, as passers by who he doesn’t really want to get to know. He has some friends, who he can joke and laugh with, but for the most part Luca is quite solitary. He enjoys the company of a canvas and a brush rather than a person most of the time.

If you don’t know Luca well, he may come across as rude, or hostile. Usually this is actually just shyness, and once he opens up, he is quite smart and creative. He enjoys conversations about art or innovation, but can also fall into sarcasm and humour if he finds the right person.

+ Passionate, creative, intelligent

- Quiet, reticent, restrained.

PENNED BY: ELLE

[amatchinwater]

Pairing: Steo

Characters: Stiles Stilinksi, Theo Raeken, Malia Tate, Scott McCall, Corey Bryant, (Mason Hewitt, Tracy Stewart, Hayden Romero, Josh Diaz are mentioned, but Stiles doesn't remember their names)

Warnings: Memory loss, head trauma, kidnapping, mentions of coma, mentions of a car accident, Stiles is in pain whenever he remembers something (really bad headaches and nausea)

Words: 4511

Prompt: @badthingshappenbingo square for Memory Loss (card at the bottom)

a/n: memories/flashbacks are in italics...I should definitely be sleeping right now.

Missing Pieces (ao3)

---

You know those naps you take in the middle of the day and when you wake up you don’t know what day it is and there’s this moment of haze that you don’t even know where you are? Add in a splitting headache and that’s exactly where Stiles is. Except, there’s no moment of clarity crashing into him when he jolts awake to settle him in comfort realizing this is his bedroom. Stiles doesn’t recognize the bed much less the sheets on it. The room is even less familiar.

What the hell is going on?

Where is he? 

With a groan, Stiles raises a hand to the side of his in hopes to quell the throbbing. Cool metal licks his temple and he jerks his hand away, staring at his fingers. Finding a silver band adorning his ring finger. When the fuck did he get married? Okay, just take a breath. No need to have a panic attack. Surely there’s a reasonable explanation to this. Sleep is still clinging to him a little too hard and once he splashes some cold water on his face, Stiles’ be good as new. You know, just as soon as he remembers how to get to the bathroom. 

At least he seems to be in his own clothes, Stiles notices, throwing plaid sweatpant covered legs out of bed onto dark blue carpet. Did he even have a hand in decorating this place? It doesn’t seem like there’s a single piece of him here. He wouldn’t paint the walls cream. Nor would he have light gray furniture and ugly, yellow bedding. Is that a ‘Live, Laugh, Love,’ canvas hanging above the door? Stiles might throw up before he makes it to the bathroom. 

What is this place? 

Opening the stark white door to the bedroom, Stiles enters the dim hallway. It’s during the day, but no lights are on to show any signs of life other than him. Seeing a staircase to his right and more doors to his left, Stiles chooses the doors at random. The first seems to be an art studio of some sort. Finally, the first thing in this damn house that screams him. He’s always wanted a studio of his own. Maybe the bedroom was pre-furnished and he just hasn’t gotten around to tearing it apart. 

Before he can open the next door, he’s frozen in place by a photo hanging on the wall. It’s a wedding photo. His wedding photo. Next to him is a pretty brunette whose face he almost remembers. Like a tickle in the back of his brain begging for recollection. Wouldn’t he remember his own wedding day? Or the fact that he’s married to begin with? To be quite honest, Stiles can’t even remember graduating high school. But he must have considering he’s living in some house with a ring on his finger. 

But thinking about memories too hard makes his head hurt even more.

Brushing the feeling off for now, Stiles opens the next door, grateful for finding the bathroom. Maybe there’s some pain killers in the medicine cabinet that will help with the pounding in his head. At least the bathroom isn’t as horrendous as the bedroom. A little more modern with a generous sink and a simple black curtain covering the shower. Even better? Extra strength tylenol sits behind the mirror. Without hesitation, Stiles yanks the cap open, popping two in his mouth before sticking his face under the running water to drink them down. 

Splashing the cold liquid on his face, Stiles takes his first calming breath since waking up. Only to look at himself in the mirror and see quite the five o’clock shadow on his cheeks and jaw. He’s been able to grow facial hair since he was seventeen years old. But never, not once, does he ever actually let it grow. An angry growl of his stomach derails his thoughts in finding a razor to rectify the situation. He’s got plenty of time for that later. 

First, food. 

Stepping back into the hallway, Stiles heads downstairs and deeper into this twilight zone of a house. He really wishes that he could remember something. Anything. Thinking too hard about it still makes his head hurt worse and he’d really like the meds to do their job. Along the way, he passes more pictures of himself with the girl- his wife. Jesus, that’s fucking weird to say. Just before he rounds the corner and enters the kitchen, he’s shell-shocked with another picture. It’s been cropped. But the distinct tattoo on the other person’s arm stabs at his brain like an ice pic. Two solid lines on top of one another.  

“Scotty,” Stiles murmurs, brows furrowing. 

His best friend since he was five years old. 

How in the actual hell could he forget Scott? 

“Fuck!” Stiles yells, clutching his head with both hands as his knees buckle, crashing to the hardwood floor enough to hurt. His gaze flickers back and forth, images dancing in his vision. 

We could try Knob Hill…

Or we could wait until we actually get into college and then figure out where we’re going to live.

I have a vision, dude. Don’t mess with the vision.

Him and Scott were making college plans together. So, why doesn’t he remember going through with them? The stabbing sensation behind his eyes lessens enough that Stiles can get back to his feet. Food can wait a second, he needs to find a phone and call his dad. At least that’s one memory that didn’t leave him. There’s a comfort in the fact that Stiles didn’t forget his own father. Searching the thankfully inviting living room, Stiles finds no cell phone or even a laptop. He searches every room in the house only to come up empty handed. He found a charger for a phone, but not the actual device. 

This is getting really irritating. 

His stomach painfully reminds him of his initial goal and Stiles goes back into the kitchen. Wary of literally every opened snack in the cabinets and pantry, he opts for an unopened can of mountain dew from the fridge and a sealed can of spaghetti-o’s from the cabinet. It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing. He can’t quite explain it, but something doesn’t feel right. Sitting down at one of the tall, brown bar stools by the granite counter, Stiles digs into his bowl of food. 

Not two mouthfuls later does the front door open. Being able to see it from the counter, Stiles watches as the girl from the pictures enters the house. She smiles the moment she sees him sitting there, “you’re awake!” She hastily closes the door, rushing his direction and throwing her arms around him. Pulling away, the girl kisses him. 

Stiles is so shocked he doesn’t return it. “I’m sorry if this is rude, but, who are you? And where the hell am I?” Just because he’s confused or whatever the hell, doesn’t mean he needs to be rude to this girl. Obviously they have a history. There’s literally photographed proof of that. Stiles just needs a reminder is all. 

The girl's face falls slightly, but she doesn’t seem entirely put off. “I’d hoped they were just being overly cautious. I’m your wife,” she tells him with a warm smile, showing him a small diamond ring on her hand, “Malia.”

Blinding pain wracks his brain again and Stiles drops the spoon into the bowl. Groaning, he clutches his head again. Pinching his eyes closed, he’s taunted with more fuzzy visions. 

I can’t do this anymore, I’m sorry.

Stiles, please, don’t do this. You don’t mean it. I can’t do this without you.

I’m sorry, Malia. We’re done. 

If they broke up, then why are they married? Surely they wouldn’t be the first couple to break up and get back together. But still. If the gaps in his memory could fill a little faster, that’d be great. Stiles would really like this unsettling feeling to go away. 

“You were in a car accident and suffered a head trauma, so you’ll probably have a lot of headaches. You were in a coma for two months.” Malia sits down in the stool next to him, “last week you woke up, but then went right back to sleep. The doctors said you were healed enough that I could take you home, but that there might be some gaps in your memory once you stopped going in and out.” 

“And how long have I been doing that?” Stiles asks, trying to blink the pain from his skull. “Going in and out, I mean.”

Malia purses her lips in thought, “just shy of two weeks.” Stiles scratches the stubble on his jaw, contemplating her words. “Sorry about that,” she gestures towards his face. I was too worried to try and shave it in your sleep. If it helps at all, I think you look pretty cute, angel.”

That name. That name scratches the back of his brain something fierce.  

“Right,” Stiles says, nauseous all of a sudden. “I think-” he takes a deep breath, pasta and meatballs threatening to come back up. “I think I’m going to go lay back down.” 

“I can take some of your pain, if you think it would help,” Malia offers, grabbing his hand gently. Black veins appear on her skin, rippling and the nausea subsides. Stiles’ eyes grow wide and he yanks his hand away. “Stiles?” He jolts out of the stool, staggering on his feet. “Stiles, what’s wrong?” 

He doesn’t get to answer. His vision blackening and consciousness fading away. 

You’re not a monster, you’re a werewolf.

I’m a thousand years old, you can’t kill me!

What are you?

Better?

I came back for you. 

You can’t say anything. Stiles, please, don’t say anything. 

Heartbeat’s rising, Stiles. Am I getting to you that much? You can tell me, if it’s too much, you know. I don’t want to push you too quickly. 

When were you going to tell me that you two got together?

As soon as I figured out how to word it, Scotty. 

I’m not upset or anything. I just want you to be happy, that’s all. 

He does make me happy. 

He. He makes me happy. Not her. He. Stiles blinks open bleary eyes, finding himself in the same ridiculous bedroom. He either wasn’t out for very long, or he slept well into the next day. Were those dreams or were they memories? Stiles can’t tell. But that face. Dark brown hair and beautiful blue eyes telling him that he came back for Stiles. Surely that’s not a face that Stiles’ imagination can just conjure up, right? 

No. That’s not right at all. The brain can do many incredible things. But while dreaming, it can’t simply create new faces. Even if you’ve only seen one in passing, it can throw it into a dream. Pairing that with the conversation with Scott and the Nogitsune, something is seriously wrong here. Yanking the covers off, Stiles ignores the pain in his head and rushes out of the room to find the pictures of him and Malia. Upon closer inspection, the space around their necks is blurred. Like they’d been poorly photoshopped on the bodies. 

They’re fake. 

Stiles screams, falling to the floor again. Forehead to the cold, wooden floor he takes deep breaths, trying to stop the visions, but they come full force. Clearer than before, but still pretty splotchy. Not even the dream about Scott being a werewolf or all of the other supernatural bullshit he’s dealt with hurt this badly. 

“I can’t let you do this,” Malia growls, eyes swimming with unshed tears. 

Stiles scoffs, “there isn’t any letting me do this. You don’t control me, Malia. We’re not together anymore. We haven’t been for months! Why can’t you just let me be happy? Even Scott doesn’t have a problem with this. And if anyone should, it’s him!”

“Because, Stiles,” the coyote snarls, “you should be happy with me. So if I can’t have you, no one can! Definitely not your little mutt either,” Malia rushes him, bashing him upside the head so hard that it knocks Stiles out cold. 

Tears spill from Stiles’ eyes as he stays on the floor. Malia kidnapped him. She- she attacked him! He has to get out of here. But how? There’s no phone to call for help. No laptop to try and email someone. Maybe her car isn’t the only one here? Stiles gets up on shaky legs, hobbling down the stairs. Feet firmly planted on the ground floor, the human dashes through the kitchen, yanking open the door that’s hopefully for the garage. But when he opens it, he’s met with boxes and storage containers. No other vehicle in sight. 

“Dammit!” Stiles curses, slamming the door closed. “Come on, Stilinski, you’re the son of a sheriff for fuck’s sake. You can figure this out. All you need is a phone.” He paces the kitchen, thinking of his next move. There’s no way he can take a werecoyote head on. No way. Surely there’s something he can do. Running isn’t exactly the smartest option, he hasn’t got the slightest clue where he is. He’d sooner end up dead in the woods surrounding this house than anywhere near civilization. 

Maybe, Malia will take him into town and he can get some help that way. But how? What’s a good enough reason that she won’t suspect something is wrong? Telling her flat out he wants a phone is just a surefire way of raising all kinds of red flags with the coyote. But she did seem worried when he winced because his head hurt. Maybe…that’s it!

Stiles bolts back up the stairs and into the bathroom. Jerking the medicine cabinet open, the human grabs the bottle of painkillers. Without a second thought, he pops open the cap and dumps the contents in the toilet. Flushing it and watching as the little red pills swirl in the water and down the drain. Now, he just has to wait for Malia to come home. 

God, this better work. 

From the fragments of his memory trickling back, someone he’d called Peter had taught him how to steady his heart while lying to a supernatural creature. Peter, whoever the hell you are, thank you. You might just save Stiles. Heading back to the living room, he grabs one of the books off the shelf that he’s read countless times and opens to a random page, setting the empty medicine bottle on the side table. Making it seem like he’s been sitting here reading all day rather than plotting his escape. A few chapters later, just as Luce is about to stretch one of the black blobs into a portal, the front door opens. 

Where does she keep going that she always comes back empty handed? You’d think for someone trying to keep someone kidnapped, they wouldn’t leave the house so much. Maybe he should’ve tried his luck running.

“Oh, good, I was worried you’d still be asleep,” the coyote smiles at him. Coming over to sit beside him on the couch, Malia lifts his legs into her lap, gently stroking his shin. He so badly wants to yank himself away. “How are you feeling? Anything come back to you today?” 

Stiles can hear the trepidation in her voice, like she’s concerned he remembers everything. While the human remembers the important stuff, he’s not about to tell her that. So he shakes his head, “nothing major, just a few things. My head hurts pretty badly though,” he offers, pointing to the painkillers beside him. “But I ran out of meds.” 

“Oh no, you poor thing,” Malia says, “let me head out, I’ll go get you some more.”

The coyote tries to get up, but Stiles stops her, “no!” Malia’s eyebrows raise in question. “Uh, I-” the human clears his throat, trying to remain calm. Aloof. Nothing suspicious going on here. “I was hoping that I could go with you. Get some fresh air. Might help with the headache, you know?”

Malia doesn’t look convinced, “aren’t you afraid of being back in a car so soon?”

"You taught me to face my fears," Stiles says, willing his heart to remain steady. He’s also not really lying. He’s scared as hell but still going head first. 

"I did?" 

"Yeah!" The human smiles, trying to seem excited and genuine. "By going after your mom, you taught me that even if something scares you, you should do it anyway because you'll come out stronger. Just like you did." 

“Oh, honey,” Malia coos, lifting his hand to kiss his knuckles. “Okay. Go on and get changed and we’ll head into town, okay?” 

Stiles smiles, not showing too much excitement at her agreement, “thank you.” When he gets up from the couch, he pushes further and kisses her on top of her head. Hopefully that kills any doubt the coyote might possess. 

---

Calling this place a town is generous. Might as well be a village. The town limit sign they passed said the population was 138. That’s not a lot of people at all. Actually, that might work in his favor. With that few people living here, maybe there’s a chance that it’s one of those everyone knows everyone sort of deals. And them just randomly showing up will raise enough suspicion. At least that's his hope. 

It was a task in and of itself to get Malia to let him go inside with her. The coyote is clutching his hand almost painfully as they walk down the aisle for the needed medicine. Stiles grabs a few things along the way. Like a soda, a random candy and a bag of chips. Malia simply smiles at him as he makes his choices. Good, believe that he’s making the most out of this little impromptu trip. Grabbing the bottle of medicine, the coyote all but drags him towards the checkout area. 

So much for stalling. 

What’s the thing all the videos on the internet say? Blink twice if you’re in trouble? Surely that’s just a joke to them, but maybe it will actually work in his favor. 

“Aww, aren’t you two just cute?” The dark skinned woman at the counter beams at them. “You just passing through?” 

Stiles pointedly blinks twice. Earning him a strange look from Angela, so her name tag reads. 

“No,” Malia gruffs, “we live up the hill.” 

“The old Jameson place?” Angela smiles, “that’s a lovely property.” Stiles blinks twice again. “You okay, hon?” 

No. 

“He’s fine,” Malia speaks for him. “Can we just get the medicine, please? He has a headache.” 

“Sure thing,” the clerk oozes with faux niceness. Her customer service voice is in full swing though Stiles can see the irritation in her brown eyes. “Anything else?” 

“No,” the coyote clips, swiping her card, not bothering to look at the total. Before Angela can say anything else, Malia snatches the bag and yanks Stiles away. 

Help me, Stiles mouths at the woman, but Angela just looks confused. Shit, shit, shit. This was his one shot! His only chance of getting out of this! 

“Hey, can we go get some food?” Stiles asks, pointing at the diner across the street. “I’m hungry,” the human says. Maybe he can make a break for it in the bathroom. Write a coded message in his fucking ketchup. Something. 

Malia looks over his shoulder and growls deeply. “There’s food at home,” she gruffs, shoving him towards the car. 

“Malia, wa-”

“Stiles?” A male’s voice calls. Stiles whips his head around seeing the boy who keeps showing up in the flickers of his memory. He’s with three other boys and two girls. All look worried and almost relieved seeing him. “Stiles!” He yells, once his blue eyes lock with the human, his footsteps picking up pace in their direction. 

White hot pain splinters Stiles’ skull.

“Theo, are you sure?” Stiles asks, though he can’t hide the smile pulling at his lips. 

“The Beast is dead, the Dread Doctors are gone, and you’re finally fucking safe,” the chimera grins. “I’m more than sure,” his red eyes flicker for a second. “There’s nothing I want more than you.” 

“But-”

“Do you trust me?” Theo asks, grabbing both of Stiles’ hands, rubbing his knuckles. Rain sprinkles around them as they stand on the outskirts of the preserve fresh from a fight. 

“You know I do,” Stiles whispers. He hasn’t had any mistrust for the chimera for a long time now. 

The Alpha smiles brightly, rain getting harder, “then say you’ll be my boyfriend.” 

“Okay,” Stiles agrees, his smile broken from Theo’s lips crashing against his as the sky pours around them. Soaking them to the bone, but neither boy cares. They finally have each other. 

“Let’s go,” Malia snarls, trying to drag Stiles away and closer to her car. 

Stiles tries to pull her hand off, grunting, “no.”

“Stiles!” Theo yells again, hastily following after, his pack hot on his heels. “Miecz, wait!”

The human trips over his feet, the name shooting sparks in his brain, blinding his vision with more memories. Faster and in quick succession. So much cycling through his head, it makes Stiles dizzy. He’s going to throw up if this doesn’t stop soon. Until one final memory comes into sharp focus. 

The chimera curls closer to him in bed, rumbling softly in his chest as Theo nuzzles into him. “You know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, right?” The Alpha asks, placing a kiss to the back of Stiles’ neck. “I’d follow you anywhere,” he says. At least when Theo says it, it sounds reassuring and sweet. 

Not stalker-ish like Malia.

“Yeah,” he whispers, thinking back to earlier in the day when Theo had to kill Donovan. The Doctors had revived him and he’d been in hiding for months. Waiting for the perfect time to strike. Just when everyone was thinking things were finally calming down again was definitely the right time. They almost lost so many people, Stiles included. “Thank you for saving me.”

“I’ve done it before and I’ll do it again,” the chimera assures him. “Anything, Miecz, I mean it. I’d put a ring on your finger right now if you’d let me just to prove it to you.”

The human sputters out a laugh, “yeah, right.” 

“You think I’m kidding?”

“A little bit, actually, yeah,” Stiles turns in bed to face the Alpha. 

“Haven’t you learned by now not to underestimate me?” Theo smirks, releasing his hold on Stiles to get out of bed. Digging around in his nightstand, the chimera produces a small black box with a little purple ribbon. “I was saving this for after graduation,” he explains and Stiles bolts up into a sitting position. Theo drops to one knee, “Mieczysław, I love you more than anything in this world,” glassy blue eyes look up at him. “Will you marry me?” 

Stiles’ breath hitches in his chest, the chimera opening the box to reveal a simple silver band. “Yes, Theo, yes!” He exclaims, flinging himself off the bed and into the Alpha’s arms. “I love you so much, Theo!” Slamming his mouth into the other boy’s mouth, Stiles can’t stop giggling. 

When he finally pulls away, Theo grabs the ring from the box, “I got in engraved with our initials.” Tilting the band, sure enough there’s an S and T with a heart beside it. “There,” the Alpha smiles softly, sliding the rind onto the human’s finger. “I love you, Miecz.”

“I love you too, Theo.”

“Tracy, stop her,” Theo growls, eyes burning red only a few paces away from them. Malia dragging Stiles as he desperately fights against her hold. Why are there no people on this fucking street? The pair slams into them. In their haste, Stiles ends up encased in the Alpha’s arms while the coyote falls to the ground, unable to move. The human narrowly missed her claws in the scuffle.

“What did you do to her?” Stiles asks, “is she a kanima?” 

“You don’t remember?” Theo pauses for just a moment and the human shakes his head no with teary eyes. “I promise, I’ll explain everything, just let me get you safe first, okay?” Theo asks, scooping Stiles into his arms. “Corey,” the chimera calls, one of the boys rushing to their sides, “get us out of here.” 

Suddenly, the world has a green hue to it. Stiles is so confused, his head throbbing painfully as more memories flash behind his pinched eyes. The ring on his hand was never from Malia, but Theo. Saving Scott from trying to kill himself with gasoline and a road flare. “It’s all coming back. My head,” Stiles groans, curling into Theo’s chest as he cries from the pain. From the recollection of his life coming back. “I’m so sorry, Theo.” 

The Alpha shushes him softly, whisking him away from the scene. The two boys following behind them while the girls stay with Malia. “It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m here. It’s not your fault, angel. I’m going to keep you safe, okay?” 

“It hurts,” Stiles sobs into the chimera, fingers aching with how tightly he’s clinging to Theo’s jacket. “Theo, it hurts,” he whines, shaking from the pain.

The Alpha adjusts his hold, wrapping his hand around Stiles’ exposed wrist, “better?” He asks and the human can feel the pulling sensation of pain being taken. Knowing for certain if he looked down, there’d be black veins on Theo’s hand. Stiles nods tiredly. “I’m taking you home.”

“No,” Stiles panics, jerking in the chimera’s arms, “please, I don’t want to go back there.” 

“Hey, hey,” Theo brushes their noses together, speaking softly. “Our home,” the chimera corrects. “You never have to see whatever place she had you in ever again. Unless you’d like to go back and burn it down. I wouldn’t be opposed to that idea. Preferably with her inside of it,” Theo growls, his eyes flashing red in his anger. 

Stiles’ heart slows back down, anxiety washing away at his actual fiance’s words. “She hit me really hard,” he explains. “I still don’t remember everything, but it’s coming back in pieces.” 

“We’ll see if Deaton has a way to fix that when we get back, okay?” Theo assures him. “But first, we have to get you out of here and get you to your dad. He’s been going crazy without you.” 

“Thank you,” Stiles mutters into the Alpha’s neck.

“For what?” 

“For saving me.” 

“I told you,” Theo chuckles softly, holding him tighter, “there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, Miecz. Get some rest, we’re almost to the car. You’ll be home soon.” 

Stiles doesn’t hear much after the nickname, falling asleep in his Alpha’s arms. His memories might not be fully intact, but he has enough recollection of Theo to know that it’s going to be okay. That even if they don’t fully come back, his Alpha isn’t going anywhere. For now, he’ll sleep. 

Safe for the first time in months. 

[americxn]

Hey! I love ur writing so much. I'm happy ur a part of this community<3🥰 I was wondering if I could request a super dominant reader and James March smut?? He is so dom himself that I rly crave an uno reverse card on that. like, choking him, ordering him around, him shocked af at your dominance but enjoying it immensely, maybe even caning him with his own cane?? wekdjfksjfke 🌝 thank U in advance & it's totes ok if not, mwah have a gorgeous week<3

Satiated (James Patrick March x Fem!Reader)

this is... I don’t even know what this is but it’s not good lmao, I’m so sorry; I’ll probably rewrite this but I didn’t want to leave this request waiting for too long

wordcount: 4.3k warnings: NSFW, caning, penetration, riding, choking, swearing

“I want to try something.” You announced, shouldering open the door to your shared bathroom, James’ dark eyes flicking to you in the mirror, the scars littering the strong, pale planes of his bare back like slivers of silver in the bright light. “Yes?” He drawled, turning partly to you whilst continuing to pat his face dry with the freshly laundered hand towel in his grasp; your eyes scanned the pronounced valley of his back, trailing downwards to the loose waistline of his black slacks clinging low on his hips, his braces having been pulled from his shoulders and allowed to dangle at his thighs. Stalking for him, you took one of them in your grip, pulling on it harshly and forcing his body to angle fully towards you. He surveyed you, curiously setting his dark eyes alight, the pristine towel tumbling from his grip as he blinked at you, the force with which you had maneuvered his body utterly out of character.

  Your confidence faltered under his scrutiny but you spurred yourself to continue, reaching to his other hip for the elastic of the brace residing there and simultaneously tugging on both, James’ hips knocking into yours as you claimed his lips with your own. James bit back his dazed grunt of surprise as your lips connected to his, teetering slightly on his bare feet before allowing his eyes to flutter closed, surrendering himself to the determined warmth of your lips. You hummed at his softness, retreating slightly to reangle your head before crashing your mouth onto his with renewed vigour, giving him a mere moment to adjust to your new approach before prying his lips apart with your tongue and flooding into the heat of his mouth. Much to your delight, James shivered, his back arching slightly further into your body as you ran the tip of your tongue along the roof of his mouth before meeting his own tongue, answering to his demanding nudges with possessive ones of your own. You smiled onto his mouth, pleased with how he was responding and reaching to the waistband of his pants, ensuring to keep the kiss deep and claiming whilst your fingertips worked to unclip the brace dangling limply by his left thigh, then the one at his right hip. He didn’t even seem to notice, too indulged in simultaneously tasting you and silently willing you to taste him more, his velvety tongue brushing against yours with demanding fervour. Having successfully detached the accessory from his pants, you brought it up around the back of his neck, looping it around and holding it in a tight grip with one hand at the hollow of his throat. Detaching your lips from his, you swiped your lips softly across the tip of his nose in a lingering touch, smiling in anticipatory delight as you tugged firmly at the brace around his neck. James took a responding step forward. You evaded his advance by taking a step back of your own, his eyes alight with timorous curiosity. You passed him a wickedly sweet smile before turning, your grip tight on the thick elastic around his neck as you began walking casually back into the main room of your shared suit, James staggering after you, both full of apprehension and eagerness, enticed by the newfound domineering sway of your hips as you lead him from the bathroom. You dragged him over to the bed, giving the makeshift leash at his throat a harsh tug, eliciting a surprised intake of breath from him as you forced him closer to the mattress before you, the backs of his knees hitting the edge of the wooden bedframe. Releasing the brace from his neck, James’ eyes caught on it as it fell to the floor, his gaze shifting to you as you uttered a soft praise at his cooperation, his eyes darkening even further when your fingers dropped to the front of his slacks, the clinking of his belt filling the thick silence of the room as you deftly worked to undo it. James shuddered under your touch as you moved to the buttons holding his pants together, your knees bending to follow their journey down his legs until you were knelt before his feet, your hands reaching up to grip onto his pale thighs. His chin rose as you tightened your grip, his cock twitching from the confines of his cotton underwear, trying to strain for you as your nails bit into his skin. Leaning in, you placed a single lingering kiss to his navel before rising, allowing your fingers to trail up his thighs, journeying across the material of his loose fitting underwear as you stood to your full height, the corner of your mouth curving into a self satisfied smirk at the smattering of goosebumps that rose onto his skin in the wake of your fingertips, the column of his throat working as he swallowed thickly. “May I inquire as to where this has come from?” He asked feebly, his fingers itching to take ahold of your waist. When he reached out to try you batted his hands away, offering him a reproving glance from beneath your lashes. He shrunk under your disapproving scowl, his lips closing tightly. “You’re always in charge. Now it’s my turn.” This was your only explanation before you commanded him to remove his underwear, stepping back to watch as he did as instructed, a small blush rising onto his cheeks as he fully exposed himself to you, any remaining dignity stolen as you watched on, fully clothed. You took a lingering glance at his semi-hard cock as it presented itself proudly to you, his thighs tensing under your branding gaze. Dragging your eyes back up the quilted surface of his torso, you painted a lovingly unforgiving expression onto your features, bringing your face close to his. His eyes drifted shut, lips parting slightly in anticipatory invitation, wanting to feel your mouth on his once more. Instead, you took ahold of his hips, rubbing your thumbs along the swell of protruding bone. “Where’s that cane of yours? I want to put it to good use.” Unsurity swarmed gaze but he dipped his chin in an obeying nod, shuffling around your body, the prominent muscles in his ass working as he strode to the corner of the room, retrieving the cane that was resting against the far wall; a thick sheet of arousal draped over you at his unfaltering compliance, all of your attention narrowing in on the shifting of his powerful muscles beneath his tight skin as he hurried to obey you. “Thank you.” You crooned when he hastened back across the space to you, the polished dark wood of his cane gleaming in the dim light of the room as you took it from his grasp. Reaching out a hand, you drew the tip of your finger up the centre of his torso in one long stroke, your nail scraping softly as it completed its trail up the column of his throat to his chin where your finger stilled to force his head to tilt up towards the ceiling. “I didn’t think that you would be so willing to surrender to me.” You mused quietly, applying more pressure to the bottom of his chin with your fingertip, his eyes never straying from yours as you forced his head back further, displaying the full length of his throat to you. He fumbled for words, eyes scanning yours as you pressed your body closer to his, your clothes soft against his too sensitive skin. “I’m intrigued.” He finally whispered to you, the tip of his cane striking the floor as you loosened your grip on it, leaning your weight onto it slightly. Smiling sweetly at him, you took ahold of his hips, harshly turning him and shoving him down onto the bed. His body bounced slightly atop the mattress, his elbows grappling to gain purchase on the surface of the bed to push himself up. You waited until he had rose partly onto his elbows before reaching forwards to place your palm flat between his shoulder blades and forcing him back down flat with a firm push. Giving him no time to recover, you adjusted your grip on his cane, raising it into the air before bringing it down on his bare ass with a harsh crack. His body lurched forwards in response, his stunned grunt muffled as he buried his face into the soft covers. It took him a moment to retrieve his senses following the burning lash you had laid across his bare skin, by which point you were already raining a second strike down across the pale curves of his ass. And a third. And a fourth. He groaned, his teeth latching onto the sheets beneath him in a futile effort to stay quiet as your assault on his ass continued, each strike fuelling the burn radiating across his skin. With several more strokes administered to his increasingly flushed skin, he seemed to succumb to the pain, became drunk on ecstasy, greedily feasting on the hurt you infused into him; not accustomed to being the one receiving any sort of physical punishment, his back arched of its own accord, his pert ass parting in a silent plead for more. “Pitiful.” You tutted, reached forwards to rake the tips of your fingers through the red welts highlighting the pale canvas of his skin. He mewled, toes curling in perverted bliss as you painted smaller marks onto him with your nails, relishing in the simmering warmth radiating off his abused skin under your touch. James was mumbling incoherently around the mouthful of sheets caught between his teeth as you stepped back, delivering several more strokes to his ass with the hard wood of his cane. He shrieked when you laid the final, harshest, strike on his ass, the pain both sweet and strenuous, some drool escaping from his lips and soaking into the covers beneath him. Admiring your handiwork, you gazed across the gracious curves of his ass, marred with ever deepening sangria welts rising onto the contrastingly pale mounds. Reaching for him, you lightly tapped his hip, encouraging him to turn over; he heeded your wordless request and winced as his tender ass rubbed against the soft sheets. You cooed at the sight of his fully engorged cock, the purple head swollen and dripping a pearly bead of precum, his liquid need having left a small damp patch on the covers beneath him. You let out a breathy chuckle as he lifted his hips up, rutting his cock into the air in shameless need, showing you the effects that your rough treatment of his ass had pried from him. “I didn’t think that you were so much of a whore to get off on me hurting you; you’ve proved me wrong.” Your words had a broken noise cracking from the back of his throat, suspiciously close to a whine as his cock twitched, beckoning you to give it attention. His eyes were glazed with undiluted arousal as he stared up at you, and you noted the way that his eyes flicked feverishly from your face to the cane still tightly gripped in your hand, yearning to feel its impact upon his skin once again. With a pointed smirk, you placed it on the covers beside his head, his arousal radiating off body, turning the air that coated your fingers warm. Withdrawing your hand, you turned away, ensuring that all of his focus was fixed on you as you slowly rid yourself of your own clothes, discarding each article in a neat pile by your feet until you were just as exposed as he was. He scanned your body with greed as you turned back to face him, his hips once again making a futile thrust into the empty air above him, the swollen tip of his cock screaming for attention. “I could leave you here like this.” You mused, taking a step closer to the bed. He threw his head back in premature despair at your softly spoken words. “I could make you wait for your pleasure. I could reduce you to nothing but an unending pit of desperate need; I could make you crave me.” He let out a shakily spoken “no” of disagreement. “No?” You pushed, taking another step towards his tense form on the bed. He lifted his head to watch as you crawled onto the mattress, positioning your knees on either side of his thighs, his cock straining up to reach you. “No.” He bit back in confirmation. You cocked your head as you settled onto his upper thighs, lifting a hand and brushing your thumb over his tip so gently that the touch barely registered to James, who didn’t dare take his eyes off your hand as you gathered the single drop of precum threatening to spill; lifting up onto your knees, you reached to bring your hand up to James’ mouth, who instantly closed his lips around your thumb, his tongue swirling over the soft pad of it. He groaned at the bitter taste of himself on your skin, his lips parting to allow you to withdraw the digit. You decided that you could spend hours upon hours toying with him, watching him pitifully roll his hips up into nothing, the sight of his puffy lower lip caught tightly between his teeth to prevent any undignified noises from slipping out absolutely delightful. But your own arousal was causing your patience to slip, and so you maneuvered back down his body to where his cock was stretched to attention. Lowering your core to him, you laid your palm flat to the curve of his shaft, spreading your legs in order to part your cunt before rubbing yourself along the underside of him. His eyes drifted shut, his head falling back onto the covers beneath him as you steadily rubbed him between your engorged folds, your wetness smearing onto his vein decorated shaft as you drew yourself from his head to the very base of his length, your hand flat as it held him to your pussy. A string of breathily mumbled curses fell from his parted lips; you smirked. James very rarely swore and the rare profanities only spurred you on, pressing him further against your core as you continued to rub yourself up and down him. “More.” He stated after several more moments of this, his obedient demeanour slipping as you continued to tease him, drawing out the soft pleasure you provided him with your slickness. “Sorry?” You questioned, halting your movements; with a pitiful grunt, he bucked his hips into you, trying to use you for his own pleasure. “I don’t recall allowing you to make demands.” You finished, pushing yourself slightly up on your knees to hover just out of the reach of his cock that now glistened with your juices.  “You’re playing too much.” He complained, pushing himself up onto his elbows and reaching for you. With a scowl, you slammed your palm into his throat, closing your fingers tightly around his neck and forcing his upper body back down. “Ungrateful bitch,” you spat, pinning him to the mattress by his throat. His eyes flashed in surprise as you increased the pressure of your grasp, fingertips burrowing deeper into his skin. With a flush working its way into his cheeks, he seemed to instantaneously surrender to you once more, his body settling back into the mattress as he seemed to recognise how direly he had underestimated your determination to switch the roles for once. “Maybe I didn’t cane you hard enough.” The words were carried on an exaggerated sigh as you sat back, moving to push yourself off the bed entirely. “No!” James sputtered, his lithe fingers closing around your hand that strayed from its hold around his throat as you made to stand. Pausing, you raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m sorry. Please, just do something. I need you. I need to feel you. Please.” Your stomach twisted in sick delight as you watched the man who had never begged for anything in his life moan his defeated craving for you. Grinning down at him in savage delectation, you settled fully back onto him, taking his length in your palm and guiding him into your cunt. His jaw fell slack, his pupils seeming to dilate with pleasure, pleasure that was only magnified at the returning grasp of your hand around his throat. Sinking fully down onto him, his groan of relief was sweet to your ears. You rocked your hips experimentally, pausing to reach for the cane beside his head. He accepted it as you guided it horizontally into his mouth, his teeth closing tightly around the hard wood which groaned under the force of his bite; the cane was ornate, expensive and thus, heavy, and a dim ache spread along the length of his jaw almost immediately with his efforts of keeping its weight balanced between his teeth. Picking yourself off his cock slightly, you slid down its length once more, ensuring that he was seated fully within your slick channel before rising once more to repeat the movement. James shuddered beneath you, his eyes drifting closed and his hands closing around the wood of the cane at either side of his head. The grip of his fingers was just as tight as that of his jaw, needing something to ground him in the midst of the vast pleasure already unfurling within him. With one more rise and fall on his cock, James was bucking his hips up into you as you sunk back down his length, unable to keep still beneath your ministrations and forcing his cock to plunge even deeper inside you. Your eyes shuttered as he did so, the walls of your cunt tightening around him, attempting to pull him deeper; the urge to reprove him was strong, but the pleasure that his rutting sent skittering along your nerves was even stronger. The sensation of him fully filling you drew a broken moan from your throat and you lifted yourself up once more, only to slide slowly back down his length, repeating the unrushed action several times, drawing out the pleasure that the simple movement gave you. James let out a soft groan around the polished wood of his cane, his eyes fluttering with his tongue pinned beneath it and rendering him inarticulate. His pulse fluttered beneath the palm still pressing into his windpipe, the sheen of stubble populating the skin prickling into your touch. Your clit pulsed steadily as you seated yourself fully back onto his cock, your need to touch him, to feel him, becoming indescribable as James resumed his reciprocating action of lifting his hips up to meet yours, the two of you establishing a feverish pace, the swollen head of his cock hitting hard and deep, your movements becoming increasingly febrile. With you own pleasure mounting, the sight of his face, scrunched up with bliss, a red hue coating the skin from your harsh grip on his throat, the lightning shaped vein forking through his forehead was divine and all other thought but of that of him inside you, of the pleasure you were evidently giving him, evaded your consciousness. A breathy moan of your own drifted from your lips, James’ eyes cracking open so that he could watch you ride him through a heavy-lidded gaze, eyes glazed with gratification. You continued to pick yourself up on his cock before fully slamming down once more, again and again and again, your slick, sensitive walls pulsing around him, his head continuing to hit deep, each thrust ripping away at the bundle of pleasure glowing in the pit of your stomach, the orgasm hidden at its centre your goal as you fucked yourself on him. You clenched the inner walls of your tender cunt, letting out a shakily moaned “fuck” as it forced James’ thickness to press into the entirety of your slickness. James mewled beneath you in response, much to your satisfaction, his teeth tightening around the wood of his cane, biting down hard as you rode him closer and closer to release, the series of pleasure filled whimpers that tumbled from his lips quietened by the intrusion. You groaned deeply in response, James’ eyes almost rolling at the sight of you trailing one of your hands down to your cunt, rubbing at your clit harshly as the other hand came to grapple with one of your tits, fondling the soft mound whilst you pleased yourself. His eyes were wholly dark as he watched this, his mouth going utterly dry as you let out a soft gasp, your eyes drifting closed. Your fingertips brushed against the very bottom of his shaft as you drew ever larger, harder circles onto your clit, drawing in a hissing breath. You knew James was getting close when the fervour with which he thrusted up into you faltered, his grip on the cane turning bonewhite, his knuckles visible beneath his pale skin. Slowing your pace, you giggled in cruel, blissful amusement at the despairing groan of protest that leaked from around the cane in his mouth. “I’m tempted to finish myself off on your cock and then leave you here.” You mused softly in a honeyed tone. James shook his head to the best of his ability with his teeth latched onto his cane. “No?” You hummed in patronising question, sinking yourself even deeper onto his cock than before, your knees slipping further apart in order to fit your hips snugly onto his, grinding onto him slightly. James threw his head back, a single tear of aggravated need leaking down the side of his face. You cooed at his pitiful display of desperation, stilling fully on him as you continued to work yourself with the tips of his fingers. A small thread of drool leaked from the corner of James’ mouth at the sight. “Go on,” you groaned, deciding that you needed your own pleasure to be provided to you by his cock just as much as he needed his pleasure to be provided by your cunt. “Use my cunt. Make yourself cum.” He slammed up into you immediately, the force with which he rammed his entire length up into you nearly throwing your body off of his, both of your hands falling to rest on his torso to ensure that you remained seated on his cock. The tendons in his neck become more pronounced as he slammed into you again and again with reckless abandon, your heavy, aching tits bouncing with the force and your knees struggling to maintain purchase on the silky bed sheets. You blinked, trying to clear your blurring vision as your eyes strained to retreat into the back of your head, James’ cock stretching and filling you so perfectly that you felt intoxicated on pleasure, your toes curling and fingers trembling in their place on his flexing torso. He knew the exact angle with which he needed to pound up into you, his swollen head hitting deep, abundantly fuelling the pyre of ecstasy building within you, his breaths coming out hard and fast, fogging the polished wood of the cane lodged between his teeth. “Look at me.” You ordered when his thrusts became dangerously messily, leaning forwards to catch his tightly clenched jaw in your sweat coated palm, the muscles within feathering and twitching under your touch. His eyes locked with yours, a shuddering, drawn out groan floating from him as his hot seed spilled up into you, catalysed by the look of pure hunger he beheld in your meeting gaze. His unleashing of hot, liquid bliss had your own orgasm crashing into you, it’s force utterly euphoric as it passed through you in waves of electrifying heat. Your eyes rolled, pupils becoming lost to pleasure as the planes of James’ abdomen clenched, the tightening and pulsing of your slick walls around him drawing out his own release as you struggled to gain control of your body amidst the throes of your own, your face contorting in bliss. James was released from his orgasm with a strained grunt, his body melting back into the mattress, the tight planes of his body coated with sweat as he watched you recover from your own orgasm, completely sated beneath you, his back teeth digging into the wood of his cane further and exacerbating the ache threading through his jaw. Your fingers trembled, struggling to grapple onto his scar flecked skin, needing to grip onto something in a futile attempt to ground your mind that was lost to abundant pleasure. With a shuddering gasp, your eyes righted themselves, jaw falling slack as your muscles were released from the tight knots that your pleasure coursing through you had forced them into. Panting, you collapsed forwards, James’ skin hot beneath your lips as you planted a kiss onto the hollow of his throat. His cock softened within you, his eyes glinting with appreciation as you reached up, coaxing his fingers to loosen from the cane and withdrawing it from his lips. Shallow indentations had been left by the fierceness with which his teeth had sunk into the hard material. You crooned softly at the sight, bringing the length of the cane to his eye level to show him his handiwork. He smiled weakly, satisfied at the marks he had left, a constant reminder of the pleasure you had given him. Patting his cheek, you offered him a softly spoken praise, genuinely thanking him for handing you the power that he usually exercised so keenly before capturing his lips with your own in a sweet, healing kiss.

taglist: @kitwalker02 @three-eyed-snail @forevercountess @kitwalkerangel @milly-louise @thecountessesglove @undeadcortez @kitwalker64 @samsassinparvismagna @xmaximoffic @divineruler @liandav @tatesweaterweather @evanmybeloved @tatelangdonsupremacist @ikkleroniekins @ananad1 @shlutnutt @sanni333 @mossybank (dm me to be added or removed <3)

[dandelionflower]

She tours alone

Marinette had gone to sleep right after finding a hidden path back to the manor, thank you, Culpa the kitty, and woke up feeling refreshed. Since today they were going to be touring the ballrooms, she elected to wear her ‘composers outfit,’ inspired by Nickolas Lafin, an incredible musician who lived in the manor.

Nickolas was primarily a conductor, but he often composed his own symphonies and gavots as well. Despite his incredible work, Lafin wasn’t much of a prominent character in the manor’s history and instead was reported to mainly follow his girlfriend, Anya, around. After Anya drowned, it was said that Nickolas spent all of his free time in the attic, until eventually, the boxes and trunks fell on top of him and killed him instantly.

Marinette had on a long blue coat with black and white music notes dotted along the bottom. Her shirt was crisp and black, matching her pants perfectly. She also had on a pair of rectangular earrings and red bowtie that matched Nickolas’ favorite.

After a quick breakfast where Marinette checked in on Allegra again, Grace picked them up to check out the ballroom. Adrien sidled up to her with his earnest smile and the two walked hand-in-hand next to Alya and Nino.

“Alya seems a bit shaken, is she okay?”

“She’s okay, just had an allergic reaction to the ice cream she got.”

Marinette looked at Alya again. She was leaning heavily into Nino’s side and was giving wary glares at any cup or water container she saw. She’d have to make sure she didn’t get dehydrated.

“...and here is the grand ballroom!” Grace pushed open the doors with a grin. “It’s a bit dusty since we haven’t exactly been hosting any parties lately, but with a little elbow grease it’ll be spectacular!”

Marinette looked at the dark, dusty room. Thick curtains covered the windows, but it allowed for a small sliver of light to illuminate the flecks dancing from the ceiling to the floor. Even in the faint lighting, she could tell that it was beautiful; all pastels and silvers and golds.

“What a dump.” Lila commented to Alix and Kim beside her. “Prince Ali’s ballroom is much better than this waste.”

“Actually,” Grace’s wide smile sharpened into something vengeful, “even in its current state, the Culpa ballroom is still considered one of the most lavish ballrooms in the world. Prince Ali’s ballroom isn’t even ranking.”

“I- ah well, it must have been remodeled since the last ranking.” Lila floundered, and after she looked at Adrien’s sympathetic face, Marinete almost felt bad for her.

Grace was looking casually at her phone. “Seems that the last ranking happened just a few days ago. That would have been when you were in Paris, correct?”

Almost.

“I guess I must have forgotten which ballroom I was thinking of.” Lila shrugged. “There’s been so many.”

“Yes, I’m sure.” Grace mumbled with shrewd eyes. She perked back up. “Anyway! I was thinking, as your project for your visit, you can produce a replica of the infamous Ross ball. We can have people working with flowers, costumes, music, and guests.”

The class murmured their agreement already turning to their friends and discussing what they wanted to wear.

“Ooh! Can I wear a suit?” Rose bounced on her toes, hand waving.

“Of course! We have dozens of old clothes that could easily be refitted for you and everyone else! We just need a-”

“Designer!” Nino shouted, pointing down at Marinette’s head (tall people, disgusting). “We’ve got one right here!”

“Great!” Grace didn’t seem surprised at all, even though a teenage designer isn’t someone you meet every day. “Your main job will be refitting and redesigning all the costumes for your friends. That sound good?”

“Yeah, sounds great!” Rose’s suit would of course need to be a pink, but a faint floral print on it too would look beautiful. Making it period accurate would be tricky, but the internet had all kinds of references for suits and dresses.

“We’ll need people for all the other tasks I mentioned, but for now just look around the room and check out the closets for anything you may need for the ball.”

The four of them immediately gravitated to the closets at Alya’s behest and Adrien’s adventurous spirit. There were instruments of all kinds and colors; it was like a sculpture and Marinette felt all kinds of inspiration welling up in her.

“Not much in this room.” Alya remarked. “Let’s check the next.”

“I used to really like music.” Adrien said as he followed Nino and Alya out the door. “Still do.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Marinette stayed behind, pulling out her phone to take a few pictures. A rustle from behind the cello caught her eye, and she glanced back at the open door. Another rustle, and she committed to it, stepping forwards to investigate.

“Meow.” Culpa was sitting prim on top of a drum. He was looking at the ground then at her like he just noticed another being was in the room.

“Culpa!” Her hands reached out to rub the cat’s ears, fingers vibrating with the feline’s contented purrs. “Hey, kitty. What’re you doing in here?”

Culpa offered no answer aside from leaning further into her hand and purring louder. She’d take it. After a few minutes more of petting, Culpa batted her hand away and moved towards the very back of the room, tucking into a thin passage she hadn’t noticed in the dark. When he realized there wasn’t a presence behind him, he turned around and mewled for her attention.

“Right, right. Coming.” She slipped her phone in her pocket and slipped into the passageway, which was just wide enough for her to stand comfortably in.

She followed Culpa’s flashing blue eyes through the tunnel until she stepped into a wider, well-lit hallway. Unlike the closet or the ballroom, the hall was absolutely pristine. Both of the walls were decorated with portraits, and Marinette took her time inspecting each one.

It was the Culpa family. Each one through the ages until it ended with the image Culpa showed the most attention to; Felix, eyes cold, unseeing on the canvas. Right next to it was a small framed photograph in black and white; Bridgette and Felix, laughing while leaning against each other.

She lifted the picture and smiled down at it. It was much better than the painting; it showed much more emotion. And that dress! Marinette could totally design a dress like that. It would look beautiful in pink.

“It’s a nice picture, isn’t it?” Allegra was standing in a doorway a bit behind her. She hadn’t noticed her come in.

“Yeah, they both look so… so happy. Why wasn’t this room a part of the tour?”

“We didn’t want people touching this part of the manor’s history.” She shrugged, walking forwards. “It just seemed right to keep it separate from the rest of it all.”

“Yeah, I get it.” This place seemed- sacred, in a way. She followed Allegra out of the hall and watched her lock the door.

“How’d you get in there anyway?”

“Oh, I found this cat and he led me through some passageway in the back of a closet.” She pointed over her shoulder to Culpa who… wasn’t there. “And he’s gone. That’s weird.”

“A passageway, huh? That’s cool.”

“I thought so too. Probably wasn’t the smartest idea to just go through it without telling anyone though, huh?”

“Probably not.” Allegra agreed

They walked a while longer before they were back at the ballroom. Alya and Nino were talking near one of the back doors that lead to the closets and looked up just as she walked in.

“Girl! Where have you been? We’ve been looking all over, come on! Adrien’s playing the piano.” Alya grabbed her and dragged her through the hall of closets. When she passed the one with the instruments, she glanced in, trying to catch a glance of the passage to show Alya.

She didn’t see anything at all.

.......

The rest

@merry-madness @calliopeia @drama-queen-supreme @kaydenth3gayden @mcheang @nomiegnome @never-say-donuts @vixen-uchiha @miracul0us-multishipper @hauntedfreakdeputyhero @chocolatecustarddanish @iwantswifttoblessmysoul @digitalmagpie @ilseofskadi @nerdy-and-a-little-birdy @minty-goose @nataladriana9 @aestheticnpoetic @constellation-king @animegirlweeb @persephonebutkore @ahalloweengirl @r0sebutch @marinettepotterandplagg @beelzzebop @akalovelymaybe @pleasefollowmeuwu @angelost4r @constancetruggle @speaknowtome @some-oxymoron @nerdy-scifi-birdy @purplesundaze @aestheticnpoetic @neptuningkai @2confused-2doanything @goggles-mcgee @grumpy-kitten-vixen @artemisdragona @lookatthestars1 @demonicbusiness @toodaloo-kangaroo @crazylittlemunchkin @vice-artist

[wwilloww]

sugar | ksj

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

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

|| masterlist || moodboard || ao3 ||

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ONE YEAR AGO

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

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

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

“Who is this?” Jin asks.

“Huh?”

“The painting. Who is it?”

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

“Oh, that. Moi.”

“Who?”

“Me, dummy.”

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

“Yeah, if you can call it that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Look at you, grinding yourself against me.”

You groan as he thrusts his clothed cock against you.

“Bed. Now,” you demand.

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

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

It’s all he needs to hear.

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

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

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

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

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

“Now,” you reply.

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

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

“Get me into the Whitney,” you joke.

“Done.”

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

“I’m not joking.”

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

“I’m serious.”

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

“Do you not know who I am?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh, no.”

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

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

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

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

“After breakfast though?”

“After breakfast.”

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

Subject : Acceptance to Whitney Museum of American Art.

————————————————————-

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

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

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

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

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

CURATOR OF THE YEAR, the text reads.

Oh. Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

“Jin?”

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

“I got into the Whitney.”

“Wait, what? That’s amazing!”

“And I figured out who you are.”

His eyes widen.

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

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

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

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

“That’s too much,” you frown.

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

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

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

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

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

You flush at your slip of tongue.

“I-I mean—”

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

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

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

PRESENT DAY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Have you now?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Aphrodite. No doubt."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright, then,” Jin says.

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

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

“Behave,” he whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook’s jaw is hanging open.

“Oh my god.”

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

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

“Wait—really?” Jungkook looks flabbergasted.

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

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

“Anytime.”

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

“Sure.”

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

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

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

It’s just like him to make you wait.

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

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

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

You gulp as his eyes land on you. Finally.

“You’ve been ignoring me,” you say.

“Have I?”

“Are you punishing me?”

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

"Jin—" you say.

"Sir," Jin corrects.

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

"God, you're wet."

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

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

And just like that, his hand is gone.

"Are you gonna be good?"

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

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

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

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

"My-my dress," you gasp.

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

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

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

"You were the last one to touch me."

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

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

“Never what?”

“Never fuck another man.”

“Your actions tonight tell me something else.”

Your brow furrows as Jin adds a second finger.

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

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

"Yes, sir," you mumble back.

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

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

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

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

"Safeword?"

"Peaches."

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

You nod.

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

“I disobeyed you.”

“And?”

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

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

“Flirting with him.”

“Who? Say his name.”

“Jeon Jungkook.”

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

“Yes,” you admit.

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

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

“I said, count.”

“One,” you say, your voice strong.

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

“Good girl.”

Smack.

“Three.”

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

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

"Color?" he says softly.

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

“Only two left.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Kneel."

Your knees hit the cold marble floor.

"Suck my cock."

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

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

"Keep going."

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

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

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

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

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

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

"Sir, may I?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something gleams in his eye.

“Up against the window,” he orders.

“Wha—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like what you see?”

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

“Do you think you’ve earned it?”

“Yes, sir.”

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

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

“Please—” you gasp.

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

“But—”

“Color?”

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

“Green.”

“Good.”

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

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

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

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

He stops.

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

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

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

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

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

That does it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No."

"Sir, please."

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

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

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

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

“Tell me who you belong to.”

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

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

“Good girl. Cum. Now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yours?”

He nods, shyly. “Mine.”

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

“Yeah?”

“But only if you’ll be mine, too.”

“I think we can arrange that.”

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

"Put this on," he says.

You open the box to reveal a small black number.

"We're going back?" you ask.

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

“What do you mean, winnings?”

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

“—You?”

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

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

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

|| masterlist || moodboard || ao3 ||

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

[artisticaromantic]

So happy to finally be back! I’ve been working on this for a while, but it’s finally here... my reference sheet for Briar! I’ve been really trying to work on and improve my art style and i’m really happy with and proud of how far I’ve come.

As of posting this (which you can tell i procrastinated on doing, because i finished it on the 2nd and now it’s the 10th... whoops lol), I am currently working on a reference sheet for Evie, so if you’re a fan of the Rolls of Fate podcast and enjoy her as a character, keep your eyes peeled for that! I’m hoping to get it out a lot faster than the time this one took lol

[Image ID: Image is a reference sheet for Briar Valentine, an individual that has brown skin with freckles, curly black hair, and purple eyes. He has multiple scars; one across his face going from under his right eye across his nose and then up his face, one on the right side of his neck, one on his right shoulder, a small round scar in the middle of his right hand, multiple scars on both arms, as well as a scar on his right leg. Overall there are four full-body poses of Briar on the left side of the canvas, and on the right side there are six busts of him.

The first full body pose is of him in his standard outfit, which is a torn and patched-up brown trench coat worn closed over a dark reddish brown sweater, grey pants, and black boots. He is also wearing his teardrop shaped lapis pendant, several silver piercings, a black ring on the ring finger of his right hand, and round glasses with red lenses. His hair is up in a ponytail. In his left hand he is holding a take recorder, and he is holding it up in such a way that he might speak into it. In his right hand is a gun, his arm is down and the gun is almost tucked behind him, as if to attempt to obscure the view of it.

The second full body pose is of him standing in a slightly more casual pose, his legs farther apart and his hands tucked into his coat pockets. His coat is open here, and under it he is wearing a grey sweater and dark brown pants, along with the same black boots. He is still wearing his pendant, piercings, and glasses. His hair is still up in a ponytail. He is looking off towards his right (so to the left).

The third full body pose shows Briar from behind. His coat is the main focus here, and you can see that it has patches on the back as well as the front to help hold it together. He is wearing the same black boots and glasses with red lenses, with his hair still up in a ponytail, and he is once again looking to the left of the screen, though he is facing more directly that way this time.

The fourth full body pose is a much more shy pose, with his legs partially crossed and his arms in front of him, hands clasped together. Unlike the other three full body poses, he is now wearing a red dress with cold shoulder sleeves and a long ruffly skirt that is slightly longer in the back than in the front. He is wearing what appears to be the belt from his coat over the dress as an accessory, as well as his lapis pendant, glasses with red lenses, black boots, black ring and his usual piercings. His hair is also down, instead of being up in a ponytail. He is wearing slightly more noticeable makeup, with his lipstick and eyeshadow both being red now. He is smiling shyly and looking towards the ground.

The top left bust is of Briar in his outfit with the red dress. He looks distressed or concerned, and he is gently holding his right shoulder with his left hand.

The top right bust is of Briar in his outfit with his coat and brown sweater, he is facing towards the left and looking very frustrated as he has his eyes closed and is pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

The middle left bust is of Briar without his coat, but in his grey sweater and with his hair up in a ponytail. He looks frustrated or even angry, his expression is a mix of a scowl and a grimace, and he has his hands out in front of him in some sort of hand motioning gesture.

The middle right bust is of Briar once again in his dress outfit, he is looking to the right in a shy or flustered manner and has his left arm folded up as he is holding his face in his left hand, though it is mostly obscured by his hair.

The bottom left bust is of Briar still in his dress outfit, though this time without the glasses so you can actually see his eyes which are purple. He is looking mildly shy or nervous. His arms and hands are not in view.

The bottom right bust, the last of the sheet, is of Briar without his coat but in his brown sweater with his hair up, he has his glasses back on, and he has a very unimpressed facial expression. Both of his hands are up, with the middle fingers raised in a flipping off motion.

Behind the set of full body poses and the set of busts is each a square of pastel purple; above the purple rectangle of the full body poses is “Briar Valentine” in purple lettering. In the bottom left corner is handwritten “TinyTieflingDM”, in the middle of the date “05/02/2022″ typed out, and under the bottom right corner of the purple rectangle of the full body poses is handwritten “@ArtisticAromantic”

There are two more images, but they are just the first one separated into just full body in the first and just busts in the second, though the date and watermarks were copied over to be shown under the busts as well for that one.

End Image ID]

[elencelebrindal]

Female Cloths that have no reason to exist

You all know what I’m talking about, right? Yeah, you do. You absolutely do. 

I’m talking about three specific instances of Silver Cloths that, instead of looking like armor and acting like armor, are more like... oh, you’re a girl? Let’s show that body! Let’s have nothing but a pathetic excuse of armor that should you try to fight will have you easily stabbed in the guts. 

What pisses me off is not the (bad) design itself. It’s the fact that the Silver Cloths are described are armors that cover the body more than the Bronze Cloths. Yet, we have Marin, Shain and Yuzuriha wearing nothing.  These Cloths should adapt to the body of the wearer, right? Well, I want you to imagine how those pathetic armors would adapt to a man’s body. It’s so painfully clear that those armors (or lack of armors) were designed without keeping practicality in mind, but just to have something revealing.

This is a really long post, so I’m hiding it under the “read more”, but I wanted to put my thoughts out there because I’m honestly tired. 

We have example of functional armor. We have June (who’s still better in Awakening as far as design goes, imo), and we have Thetis. 

So first of all, let’s take a look at those good ones, shall we?

This is, in my opinion, one of the best armors I’ve seen worn by a woman on this series. It’s not different from an armor you would see a man wear, just adapted to fit a woman’s body. It has everything; gauntlets, boots, cuirass, pauldrons... nothing’s missing.  A perfect example of how an armor should look. Not a comparison for a Silver Cloth, because the probability of a Silver Cloth having less pieces is high, but a comparison between a good decision and a bad decision. 

This is really good for a Bronze Cloth. The amount of armor, given the description of those Cloths, is perfect. She has everything, and at the same time not too much, perfect for an armor of that rank, since we know that the Bronze Cloth cover the smallest amount of the body when compared to Silver and Gold.  The only thing I don’t like is that she has an impossible “catsuit” (I really don’t have any better ways to call that) under it. It would make way more sense if the upper part was more like a tank top, than whatever sorcery is going on. You ever tried to wear sleeveless anything? You know that stuff slips off continuously.  Aside from that, she’s amazing. 

The main reason why I wanted to present these examples to you is to clarify that I’m not complaining about how much of the body is shown. There’s plenty more male characters that literally are unable to stay dressed on this show (Shiryu, I’m talking to you, wear a goddamn shirt for once).  I’m complaining about how unfair it is to have female characters being so... in a way, objectified. We have good examples, so why not using those examples for characters that should need more than what they’re given?

To make this even more clear, another armor that has no reason to exist is this:

Because honestly, a Surplice covering nothing of importance is really useful. 

I’m focusing on the female characters here because, while half a Surplice is bad, is not as bad as women wearing Silver Cloths that are supposed to be a better protection than Bronze Cloths and instead they get to wear metallic underwear.

This little armor: 

only makes sense for a Bronze Saint. They are supposed not to have a lot of it. And yet, this example in particular has more pieces than the classic Eagle Cloth. It does nothing, but it literally covers more than a Silver Cloth. This armor also has boots, of course. 

Let’s tackle the problem, shall we?

Try to convince me that she’s not wearing just a goddamn metal bra. Come on.  This is not armor.  This is Marin opening her closet, finding one of her fanciest bras, and wearing it alongside those gifts that are actual armor parts. 

The smallest Bronze Cloth of the classic series has a large total of pieces. Boots, gauntlets, some kind of cuirass, pauldrons, knee guards, helmet (in Saint Seiya the definition of helmet is weird, by now we know). Some of them also have those pieces that in a suit of armor could be faulds or tassets, some of them have simple belts, some have cuissess. Give or take 1 to 3 pieces, basically.  The smallest proper Silver Cloth has the same pieces, only they cover much more of the body. Or at least, they should, but we have examples of Silver Cloths literally being the same as Bronze Cloths. It makes me kinda frustrated, but knowing that those armors are stronger gives me a bit of peace.  The best Silver Cloth is the Lyra Cloth, obviously, since it actually matches the description accordingly. 

So... we have what? 2 for the boots, 2 for the gauntlets, 1 for cuirass, 2 for the pauldrons, 2 for the knee guards, 1 for the helmet, and give or take 1-3 pieces for the “optional” ones I mentioned. It’s 10 pieces of armor. 

How many pieces is the Eagle Cloth composed of? 0 boots, 1 gauntlet, 1 breastplate (in absence of other words to call that), 1 plauldron, 2 knee guards, 1 helmet.  It’s 6 pieces of armor.  She’s supposed to have the same, if not more, compared to a Bronze. 

Not only that, have you seen what she’s wearing under it? How is that even remotely comfortable in battle? You know how many times that weird... what the hell is that? A tight high sock? would slip down during a fight? Unless she glued it in place, I highly doubt it’s a good fighting outfit.  It would have been better for her to wear either a single catsuit, or even to keep the leotard but have both of the red tights (preferably leggings uh, you don’t go to battle in tights) be a full piece. 

The manga armor actually has one more piece. It’s not much, but it’s something. It resembles way more how other Cloth’s are treated, when the breastplate is so small.  However, it’s still missing boots. There’s literally no other Cloth, save for Ophiuchus, that doesn’t have boots. What now, they are too much for a woman to handle? June and Thetis have boots.  Marin gets leg warmers and shoes she has to personally provide, apparently, because her Cloth is a discount one. I get that it has to resemble an eagle, but come on. There’s totems depicting smaller animals that have more stuff. 

This artwork I found is from CamilleAddams on Deviantart:

See how easy is to give her a proper armor? It’s still missing the boots, but it’s already much better. It looks like a Silver Cloth, now. And this is only one of the many “updates” I’ve seen made by artists way more talented that I could ever aspire to be. 

This is my own sketch of a proper Eagle Cloth:

Is this really so unrealistic? To have an actually good Cloth for a Silver Saint?

Now, time to take a look at Shaina.

How many pieces is this armor comprised of? 1 breastplate, 2 pauldrons, 0 boots, 1 gauntlet, 1 helmet, 2 knee guards. A total of 7 pieces, just one more that Eagle. 3 less than a basic Bronze Cloth. 

The same exact discourse applies to the Ophiuchus Cloth. Copy-paste what I wrote for the Eagle Cloth and use it here.  Also the hot pink leg warmers paired with yellow HEELS (which yes, are stupid), green leggings and brown leotard are a spectacular combo. Who in the fresh hell decided the colors for her, this is a disaster more than her Cloth. 

At least she actually has no gaps between leotard and (hopefully) leggings.

I can’t believe I’m actually saying this, but the Omega Ophiuchus Cloth is so much better than this, at least in base concept. The art is as ugly as my face in the morning, but the concept is legit. 

Look at this, ridiculous but PROPER armor. 

Once again, the manga has one more piece. It looks like she’s not wearing shoes, but it’s the manga, I give that a pass. 

But this particular Cloth makes me unbelievably angry, and you know why? Because the Ophiuchus Gold Cloth exists. And the Ophiuchus Gold Cloth is the proof that this thing doesn’t need to be so useless, because if that can be proper armor, this could be as well.  It’s a design choice, and it’s a poor one to say the least. 

Look at the Gold Ophiuchus Cloth (render by LadyHeinstein on Deviantart):

Look at this, and tell me that a decent suit of armor couldn’t be conjured for the Silver Cloth as well.  The Ophiuchus constellation is literally a man holding a snake. There’s no excuse for not having a human-like Cloth like, I don’t know, the Andromeda Cloth.  Instead, Shaina gets a version that’s not even half a human figure, with nothing to wear but discounted armor that honestly should go straight back to the shop where it came from. 

This is what makes me even angrier when it comes to this particular Cloth. 

Again, this is an “updated” version of the Ophiuchus Cloth by CamilleAddams on Deviantart:

See how much better it is? How much more realistic it looks, when it comes to Saint armor? It looks like a proper Silver Cloth like this, even with no boots. 

In comparison, here’s my own sketch (much lower quality, I know) of the Cloth:

It’s not that difficult! Just have them wear the same stuff their companions wear, is this so much to ask?

But now we come to the best one. Peak character design. So amazingly appropriate for battle that it’s stunning. Crane Yuzuriha from The Lost Canvas. 

What. The. Absolute. Fuck. 

How is that a Silver Cloth? How is that a Cloth? Come on!

Leaving aside the fact that I hate how she doesn’t wear the mask (I made a post about this whole issue, back in the day, I’ll try to link it as soon as I can), she has basically no armor on expect for her legs and arms.  Whatever bullshit is going on on her chest is everything but armor.  She has sandals, for gods sake. Sandals. You don’t want to be a Saint wearing sandals, this is not Ancient Romans having wars for breakfasts, this is a supernatural warrior constantly kicking the shit out of stone and trees (generally speaking). How are sandals something appropriate for a Saint? This is the same exact stuff I wrote for the skirts of the Saintias, it’s not appropriate for the setting. 

But let’s leave this, and let’s tackle what she (doesn’t) wear under her armor. Yuzuriha, my dear, I know that you have abs of steel and you want to show off, but that’s an excellent way to get injured all over with no effort whatsoever. Unless you have invulnerable skin, you’d want to wear something better than booty shorts and bandages that are apparently glued on her boobs. Wear at least something like June, if you don’t want to have sleeves.  This is a design flaw, not something beautiful. The concept is good on its own, but a Saint should NOT be dressed like that. They’re constanly being thrown at whatever surface is the hardest at the moment. Imagine your bare skin sliding at the speed of sound on rocks and dirt.  It’s not only unpractical, is technically dangerous. And I get it, this is an anime, everyone is invulnerable unless blood is needed, but even then this is utterly ridiculous. 

And now, the most ridiculous thing of them all: the breastplate.  It’s literally two sheets of silver feathers apparently glued to her skin. Nothing more. It’s not armor, it just... it’s literally nothing. She’s better off not wearing it, at this point, because it’s useless. 

She would just need a better breastplate/cuirass for that Cloth to be appropriate. Everything else is fine (minus the heels, but at this point why do I even try).  In comparison, a male Saint wearing that Cloth would probably end up shirtless, either the Cloth adjusts itself to the body or not. Who in their right mind would go in battle shirtless????? (yeah yeah, Shiryu and Dohko, but those two have armor on when they don’t act like strippers, at least pay them good money dammit). 

What infuriates me is knowing how the other Silver Cloths are like. It’s painfully obvious that Yuzuriha had to be the edgy woman with revealing clothes and armor, when you look at the REAL Silver Cloths of this series. 

Those shrtless dudes also want trouble, but at least they are somewhat covered. They still need to wear a goddamn shirt, but they also have more armor.  Why they can be THIS normal, but Yuzuriha has to look like she lost half her armor in a dumpster fire and tried to make to with the remnants?

I really like her as a character, and I don’t mind her wearing what she wears (dude, she’s can afford to dress like that, I wish), but the Cloth is terrible. 

The women in Saint Seiya Omega were better equipped than these three poor souls. I don’t like that series at all, and I forgot at least half of it (if not more) since the last time (aka the first) I watched it, but they do have more properly designed armors.  These three - Marin, Shaina, and Yuzuriha - are a perfect example of what you don’t have to do when designing armor for female characters, unless you don’t actually need the armor and it just aesthetic.  June and Thetis, on the other hand, are the perfect example of what you HAVE to do when designing armor for female characters, following the circumstances and the setting. 

Thank you for reading my (way too long) essay. Have a good day. 

[binniesthighs]

hello stranger | reader x changbin |

Part 3 

Pairing: self insert, female reader x seo changbin, female reader x han jisung 

Genre: strangers to lovers, fluff, smut, angst 

Tags: (of this part) college au, rapper!changbin, rapper!jisung, artist!reader, establishedfwb!jisung, skz side characters, explicit language, conflicting feelings angst, reader has past trauma/trust issues (implied), fingering (f receiving), multiple orgasms (implied), fluffy n’ intimate body touching (this is a thing I think lol), lil bit of nipple play, seo changbin being the soft soft dom of my SOUL 

Word count: 4.6k 

Chapters 

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

ding-ding-diNG! 

Your teeth chattered, battling the early morning frigid air. White wisps of your shaking breath vaporized in front of you. Your arms were tightly wrapped around your chest and your knees bounced with a little dance to keep your blood flowing. 

[02:29] CB

me: where the hell are you? are you coming down? 

Your dry and cold fingers typed out the words hurriedly on your phone screen. One more time, you smashed your finger on the buzzer button. You figured that if he had fallen asleep after inviting you over, you would kill him. 

“Come on, come on,” you hissed into the open air. 

Thick footsteps came clomping down the stairs from the other side of the frosted glass door, and your attention quickly whipped over. 

As expected, he had adorned himself in nearly all black clothing. Nevertheless, he had thought to pull out his silver chain over the padded coat with white stripes down the arms. 

“Took you long enough. Let me in, I feel like my toes are frozen.” 

Changbin’s eyes cast down to your thin canvas sneakers you had put on in your haste, which were now covered in snow. 

“You should have worn better shoes then. Lets get going.” 

“--Get going??” 

He swung the door behind him closed and it locked with a little click. 

“We’re going somewhere?” 

“I’m hungry.” Changbin simply announced, then took off walking down the block. 

“I thought that--” 

“--Keep up. It’s not that far.” 

He led the two of you onward, and you snuck one more look up at him and the way that the snowflakes got tangled in his hair. 

╚ ——————————————— ╝

“Here, be careful, it’s hot.” 

After brushing off the ice crusted bench, Changbin presented to you a giant bowl of steaming noodles so large you guessed you could keep live fish in it. The smell of the broth was dreadfully nostalgic and was full of all of your favorite ingredients, almost as if he had known exactly what you would’ve ordered. You couldn’t help but feel giddy while the steam wafted up your nose. 

You wondered with full eyes, “Oh my god, what is this?” 

“-The best thing that you’ll ever have in your life. You might as well thank me now.” 

You pulled the little heater closer towards the two of you with radiating orange coils. Changbin didn’t skip a beat sitting right down next to you, letting the fabric of both of your coats intermingle. 

“This is my favorite place in the city. Their recipes really remind me of my mom and grandma’s.” 

“Well I’m really excited to try.” You blew off a handful of noodles steaming into your nose while Changbin expectantly watched you hork it down. 

“So?” 

You covered your chomping mouth with your hand. “So, so good.” 

“Hmm.” He scoffed, then there was that smug little smirk of his. 

You thought to yourself that it was kind of cute. 

The two of you sat quietly together, watching the silent sounds of the snowfall on the road in front of you, following the cars that passed. Over time, your body seemed to gravitate: bit by bit and piece by piece, closer to the boy next to you. 

Changbin set down his metal chopsticks with a tiny clink on the table. “So, are you going to tell me about yourself now?” 

“Me?” 

“Didn’t I say last time I wanted to know?” 

You remembered, but this time you couldn’t as easily kiss away the questions on his lips. 

“How do you mean? There isn’t too much to know.” 

“I don’t think that’s true. What is it that you study?” 

“You want to know what I study?” 

You nearly laughed in your surprise at the mundane question considering that the person sitting across from you had seen you turned inside out, a moaning and muttering mess upon first meeting, and he wanted to know what you studied? 

“Why does that matter?” 

“Matters ‘cause I want to know.” He simply returned, and gave you that look. 

Normally his eyes were stormy grey, like the way that the sky would sizzle with energy before lighting would crack. They clouded with severity that seemed dangerous when he was angry, or when there was something that he wanted. But, looking at you like this, there was no danger that they held. 

“Are you going to tell me or just keep glaring at me like that?” Changbin nodded to your nearly empty bowl. “Finish that. Don’t let it go cold.” 

You did as you were told--at least it wasn’t answering the question. 

“Fine. You don’t have to tell me. But tell me something else at least. Why were you at that show?” 

“My friends took me? My friend Chan is really into underground rap and stuff like that so he usually drags me and Felix with him. I don’t mind.” 

“See? Was answering that that hard?” 

You had forgotten, then laughed a little to yourself. “Chan actually was there to see you. He had heard about you from whatever those circles are. He was really excited.” 

“I’m actually glad you were there for that reason. For a second there I thought you might’ve said that you were there to see Han Jisung.” 

You nearly spat out your bite of noodles, and choked a little on the broth. 

“Guy’s a fuckin’ showboat and a cocky asshole. The girls at the shows are usually there for him.” 

“What the fuck? You didn’t just say that.” 

Anger bit like acid in your throat. 

“What? He is!!” 

It should have hurt more that he had assumed that you were one of the masses that would fall over their feet for Han Jisung, but it didn’t. Your chest twisted in knots knowing that the assumption was right--that hurt the most. You felt sick knowing now how he would look at you if he knew where you would stoop. 

“I’m complimenting you!! I’m glad that you don’t waste your time on assholes like him.” 

“Since when do you get to pass judgement on who I do and don’t spend my time with? -And aren’t you one of those same assholes? Up there on that stage, what makes you think that you’re any different from the rest of them?” 

“I mean...I like to think that I’m not--” 

Your eyes rolled back so far it might’ve hurt a little. 

“You’re all the fucking same. I’m so fucking stupid.” 

The words quietly fell off your lips like venom. 

“We’re all?” What are you talking about?” 

“And what the hell is this with trying to get up all in my business? We fucked once Changbin, what more do you want from me? You think I owe you something now? I’m not falling for that again.” 

The crunch of your footsteps padded the snow when you turned out of your seat to speed away from him as fast as you could, and as far as you could. 

He was the unbelievable one. 

“Stop! I don’t get what you’re talking about. Falling for what again? You’re not making any sense! And no, I don’t think that you owe me something. I’m sorry if you thought that. I’m just--” He grabbed at your arm. 

“--WHAT?” you tore his hand away. 

“Is it a fucking crime to fuck someone and then give a damn about them? Ever heard about that happening?” 

In your life? 

Something terrible and suffocating rose in your chest that felt like a sob that you had held in for much too long. 

“Listen.” Changbin approached you closer, carefully, that look softening. “It’s freezing out here, it’s late. We...don’t have to talk about it any more. I’ll take you back to my place, I’ll call you a cab, you can go home? Okay?” 

Changbin poked out his arm looped in his pocket for you to link up to. 

You didn’t need his help when you knew the way. 

╚ ——————————————— ╝ 

Rosemary and cedarwood again. It was like it was everywhere. It was in the hoodie that he insisted that you put on and all entangled in the fabric of that blanket that he draped around your shoulders. Had you remembered what it was like under the covers of his bed, it was likely there too. 

“Warming up?” 

The bed bounced a little where he sat next to you with the tips of his ears pink. As cold as you were, you were certain that he must have been colder. 

“I’m fine. Thank you.” You crossed up your cold feet under your legs. 

“20 minutes? Then I’ll call them?” 

You nodded, pulling up the blanket hem to your nose and covering half your face. 

Changbin breathed out a little laugh. “You look like a marshmallow.” 

“Gee, thanks.” 

“Not a bad thing.” 

His smile fell, and he focused on the silver rings twisting around his fingers. He fiddled with them, and you watched, neither of you knowing really what to do with the silence. After some resolve, he crawled over next to you, to lay facing your bundled up face.

At last, he sighed, “I could tell you about me. If you care.” 

Rather than respond, you merely kept on looking at the way the silver would glimmer in the dim yellow of the light. 

“Everything that I do, I do to rap and to perform. My parents never supported me doing this kind of thing and said that if I wanted to do it, I would loose their support. After a while, I realized their support wasn’t that valuable anyway if it was going to be over something that didn’t matter to me. I moved out after high school, I’ve been doing this ever since.” 

“You like it that much?” 

He cracked his fingers, “Sometimes you just know what it is that you’re gonna spend your life doing. For me, it’s this.” 

Your eyes fell to your own hands which still were speckled with little flecks of acrylic. 

“I know what you mean.” 

“You do?” 

“I...paint. And stuff like that. It’s not my major, it could never be, but I feel like that when I’m mixing the colors together and it’s just right. Helps me get the thoughts outta my head.” 

“Yeah...it’s exactly like that.” 

In the warmth of the blankets, you felt a yawn escape your lips and your eyes grow heavy. Your vision had grown blurry, and your dry eyes begged for sleep, but you could still see the way that creeping little smile tugged at his lips. 

You thought to yourself that it was kind of cute. 

“Thank you for telling me something about you.” 

His voice was some kind of dreamy watercoloring of pale pinks and blues. You thought you had likely imagined it. The weight of his hand on your arm felt weightless too, why was it lingering here? His fingers tickled your ear while he swept your hair behind the skin. 

The way that he whispered, “You’re making me want to kiss you.” must have been some kind of dream too. 

Laying like this, right by your side reminded you for before, and the way that your brain had gone cloudy--you could’ve kissed him like that for hours. 

“You...didn’t stop yourself before.” 

Your challenge was all that he needed to take both sides of your face into his hands connecting himself to you incessantly, but gently. He spilled into your mouth kisses of sky blue and lavender, every single one more dedicated than the last. He kissed like he was dizzy and that you would make it all right for him, and like you were the one that he could find over and over. His mouth was blazing hot with warmth and he missed no part of you, moving on to kiss you in places you didn’t know needed the attention: over your bottom and top lip, in the corners of your mouth and the tip of your nose, carefully on the peach fuzz on your cheeks and the bone of your jawline. Each one was purposeful and sweet and melted into your skin snowflakes. 

His wandering hands were cold under the blankets, but you didn’t mind the sensation against your bare skin where he crept his way in, smoothing over the curves of your body. 

Changbin cascaded is way down, pulling you in by the hips closer to his own body. Your core tightened feeling his hands trickle over your waistband. 

“Can I?” He whispered into his kisses. 

You nodded: your exhaustion mixed with some state of unconscious desperation that you had entwined together, and you were completely at his mercy once more. 

“Yes. I’ve...wanted you to.” 

He popped the button and unzipped your pants with little effort, slipping those same cold fingers into the heat of your folds. You shivered with the two temperatures mingling and the pressure of his fingers on your slicked bud in little circles. 

All you could manage were a couple of attempts at forming some kind of words that would eventually get caught in your throat. With one hand, you clawed at the fabric of his tee, hoping just a little that he liked the way that your nails would dig into his skin. His digits mingled all in your arousal, and brought it back up to your clit to make it twitch. After a while he would let you throw your head back into the pillows to feel every little bit of it and focus only on the way that he would press his fingers in harder and faster, then tease you over with barely touching you at all. He would remove his fingers too, to admire the way that it would string between them, leaving you a writhing mess without him. 

“Bin, please, just wanna--” 

You didn’t need to finish your sentence before he granted your wish. He sped up for you, rubbing in perfect circles for your clit to throb under his touch, closer and closer... 

“Can I--?” 

He didn’t answer you, but instead, leaned down to fill your mouth with more kisses and maintained his pace with forearm muscles flexing slightly. 

Your orgasm was faster and much harder than you had expected: it rocked your whole body, from top to bottom where your legs thrashed and your toes curled. The muscles of your stomach tensed, and you felt your whole core spring upward as you came. Luckily, you remembered to be quiet and kept your breath short and sharp, letting only the tiniest of moans meet the air. 

Changbin helped you ride your orgasm out until you could take no more sensation, then stopped, snapping your underwear hem a little on the way up. He held you close as you caught your breath, snickering a little when your body would shake. Your euphoria calmed you down into an even more exhausted state, but the way that the endorphins coursed though you felt like a high. Greedily, the closeness and the way that your head spun made the word slip out of your mouth. 

“More?” 

Changbin said nothing while he indulged you and peppered your skin with kisses in all those places that you didn’t know needed the attention. He would smile into your lips each time that you would come undone; slipping deeper and deeper into him. 

“M-more. I just want...one...more.” 

╚ ——————————————— ╝

“Just skipping one class isn’t the end of the world. You know that you look like a mess right?” 

Minho, your assigned seat partner turned friend-in-suffering poked his pencil at the baggy black hoodie that you had forgotten to return. On the bus ride to campus, you had realized that you hadn’t taken it off. 

“I know, alright? You don’t have to remind me.” 

“You gonna tell me about it?” Minho poked at you once more with his teasing grin. You retaliated by raising your phone up as if to chuck it at his head. 

Behind the two of you, a group of two ambitious girls hushed as they organized their plethora of colored pens and highlighters. Minho bowed a little sorry in apology. 

His voice dropped to a whisper, “I’m assuming that this isn’t yours.” 

“I-it’s new. I just haven’t worn it before.” 

He scanned over the fabric and the little white brand on the left sleeve. “Huh. Must be a popular one I guess. I’m pretty sure that my one of my friends has the same one.” 

“--Will you lend me something to write on...and with? I...didn’t bring my stuff with me.”

“Really.” Your classmate tore out a piece of his notebook paper--a little extra loudly as well--just for those eavesdropping girls behind you. “You should’ve just not come.” 

To your left, your phone vibrated with the screen illuminated: 

Low Battery: 20% 

[10:39] 

felix: I can’t believe you. You went over there again? Didn’t you say that he looked at you weird or something like that?? What happened?? 

Your heart dropped a little remembering how you had pardoned Felix’s worried nagging and turned on the Find My Friends feature in your phone. 

“shit.” 

Your phone screen lit up the underside of your table as you frantically tapped through your settings to turn off the slide bar. In the corner of your eye, you had seen Minho take his phone under the table as well. 

[10:41]  

CB: good job leaving your keys at my place 

i can’t get them back to you until much later. i’ve got work. 

“shit.” 

me: i have work until later too 

and sorry 

CB: my roommate said that he could get them to you at 5. you’ll be at the library then? 

me: your roommate?? 

CB: relax. he doesn’t give a shit. 

╚ ——————————————— ╝

You read over the messages over and over, refreshing the little chat nearly every two seconds. Over the time waiting, your hand had grown embarrassingly damp, and your foot nervously tapped at the floor to the same tune that your chest thumped with your anxiety. 

This was fucking humiliating. 

Granted, you were no stranger to unsavory behavior, but somehow, this felt even worse. Furthermore, it all could have been avoided: 

What the hell had happened last night? 

It was becoming all too a common theme for you: you didn’t remember falling asleep, only waking up to the blaring of your alarm to those obnoxious Tardis sounds that were just a little too out of date...considering that you had long past all that Dr. Who stuff. 

Changbin had actually left the bed all to you, waking up some time a little before you from sleeping on the couch and offering you some horribly cheap tasting coffee. You still drank it. 

CB: just stand somewhere by the front door. i told him that’s where you’ll be. 

The library overlooked the main quad of your university. In the wintertime, the trees that encircled the usually grassy circle were reduced to craggy and bare fingers powdered in the white snow. 

“What the hell were you thinking?” You scolded yourself though clenched teeth. 

“--Y/n?” 

He had snuck up on you, coming from the right, rather than the front of the entrance. 

You squeaked out, “Oh fuck.” 

Minho twisted your jingling keys around his fingers. 

“This is...” Minho laughed out incredulously, “...a coincidence.” 

You clawed your keys from his hand with a hasty “Thanks.” 

His eyes scanned you up and down as if he was meeting you for the first time, which he certainly wasn’t. 

“The hoodie. Dammit. I should’ve known.” 

“I-I really need to get back inside, they might need me in th--” 

“--So you’ve been screwing him?” 

Your heart thumped even more painfully. 

“Wait, and you’ve been inside my apartment before and I didn’t even know?” 

“Well I didn’t know that you were his roommate!! I didn’t even plan on meeting any of you if I could help it!!” 

“So what is he, like, your type?” 

“HEY. I don’t mean to stay over, it kind of just happens...I didn’t even want to see him after the first time--” 

Minho scoffed then shoved his pink hands into the pockets of his navy and white striped bomber jacket. 

“Will I be seeing you around there now?” 

“--No.” You cut in. “You won’t.” 

Your classmate huffed out a visible breath, “You say that now, but I know that you don’t mean it.” 

“What the hell do you mean?” 

Minho rolled his eyes, then gave the top of your head a chastising pat. 

“If you’re gonna be over, you might as well bring snacks or something. No one in that damn apartment knows how to grocery shop for themselves besides me.” 

╚ ——————————————— ╝

Too many fucking coincidences. 

You had sat yourself at the exact same table that you had sat at the night before, but this time, you watched as it was Changbin who was standing behind the counter of the noodle shop, taking orders, and smiling much too widely for it to have been normal. He was even wearing one of those cutesy little aprons that the rest of the employees had: there was a little chicken embroidered in the corner next to his nametag. 

To anyone else, it made no logical sense why you had decided to show up there: but your frazzled brain still working off your embarrassment from earlier thought this was the best thing to do. You felt like yelling just to get something out of your body. It wasn’t even his fault that his roommate happened to be one of your friends. Your head however, made it his fault. 

He had clocked you from where you had sat fuming, not even looking phased at all. In fact, he had dished out for you one of those smirks. One of those stupid, cute smirks. 

“See you tomorrow.” He clapped his coworker on the back while he took off his apron. 

The shop door creaked out when he opened it. 

“Didn’t expect to see you here. You really wanted to see me that soon already?” 

You shoved the bundle of his hoodie from your hands to his. 

“Here.” 

“You came all this way just to give me my hoodie back? That and I’m assuming Minho told you that I work here.” 

“How come you didn’t tell me that before?” 

“Didn’t seem that important--” 

At last, you let yourself snap. “--You made a fucking fool of me today!! Do you know how awful it was??” 

“Ahhh Minho did say something about knowing you.” 

You had expected sympathy, but rather he teased you with that little cocky grin. Had you known any better, it was almost like he was admiring how flustered you had become. 

One, two, then three fat raindrops fell from from the sky and onto his parka, then the rest followed all at once. The bits of slushy and freezing rain barreled in suddenly and fell sideways. It slapped against the sidewalks and pattered on the shutters and gutters of the buildings lining the road.

“Great! This is just great!!” You pulled your coat over your head. 

Changbin grabbed at your hand without hesitation. “Come with me.” 

╚ ——————————————— ╝

“Open the door!! Open the door!!” 

Frozen bits of snow and rain matted your hair and dripped off into your collar; meeting your bare skin. Your entire body felt as if it had been plunged into a freezing cold ocean, and you shook with ferocity. By now, your jeans had completely soaked through with with water and the denim stuck to your legs. 

Changbin fumbled with his wallet and wet fingers, finally unlocking the door with that same, 

ding-ding-diNG! 

The heater in the little vestibule blasted you with heat upon your entrance: a welcome feeling to your drenched body. He had reached out for your hand to guide you to the elevator even though you knew the way. 

Water dropped off your bodies into the linoleum floor of the elevator and it got all muddled too by prints from your shoes. After, you followed him further into the apartment building, to the very place you had sworn up and down that you would never see again. You didn’t know how many more times you would have to say it out loud before you would actually obey your own words. 

“Fuck--it’s so cold.” 

Changbin clinked his keys into the brass keyhole in the long and dank hallway that had matted red velvet carpeting. There was an odd and old-looking stain in front of his door that you had noticed last time. 

“It’ll be warmer inside.” 

“Are you sure about that?” 

He didn’t need to, but he reached out to you once more to pull you through the doorframe. A sense of determination seemed to sweep over him, and you could just barely see that stormy expression cloud over his eyes. 

“Ah! Y/n! How nice to see you here officially at last!” 

Minho perked up from his book where he was cuddled up on one of those pleather couches in the living room. 

Changbin didn’t give you a chance to to respond, but rather tugged you away down the hallway to the bathroom at the very end nearest his room. 

“Changbin, what are you--” 

He slammed the door behind the two of you, then flicked on the lights at the exact same time as he crashed his whole body into you, flattening your back against the door and scooping up both sides of your face to run his cold lips over yours. His hands were just as cold, and the tips of his bangs dripped tiny droplets of water onto your forehead. 

In your shock, your hands were suspended in the air, but he just as quickly took them to wrap them around his sides. 

The wooden door rattled a little behind your back, but the sounds faded when he deepened his kiss: floating his tongue over your bottom lip and letting out a breathy little gasp along with it. 

“Fuck. You’re really good at making me want you.” 

His voice had turned grave with his want, and he never broke your gaze while he peeled off every single piece of your soaked clothing. His eyes ravished your bare skin riddled with goosebumps, and he immediately took to kissing into your shoulders and collarbones once he had access. You tried your best to help him take his clothes off too, but instead he pushed your hands away to do the task himself. Once he had finished, he connected his lips with yours. 

“Touch me.” He commanded of you. 

You found the request odd, but you still obliged him, starting by running your hands down this pecs then to his abs and around his waist where you scratched at the skin of his lower back. He did the same to you: tracing gentle fingers down your breasts, then going to kneed at them, tweaking the buds just slightly. It wasn’t for long until he encapsulated you completely into his arms, then drew a line into your spine with his ring finger. 

Your body warmed by the second: skin now set ablaze by his teeth grazing the skin of your neck. 

He drew you along with him, then turned on the water to the shower with a metallic sounding groan. Within a couple minutes the whole room filled with a dense steam. He lead you in to the small compartment, stopping too for a moment to watch the way that the water flowed down your body in little transparent veins.

“You’re perfect.” He whispered into the nape of your neck. 

The showering of water was too loud for you to hear, and it wasn’t like you were paying attention anyway. Your phone vibrated where it at fallen in your mess of clothes on the tiled floor. 

[23:27] 

jisung: what the hell’s been up with you the past few days? 

phone break or something?? 

you didn’t see the other texts I sent you? 

are you doing anything right now? 

...

are you 

ok?