#that quiet mutual shock they get at the unspoken tenderness there is in such a small gesture--picking up even the smallest of details about

[fluffs-n-stuffs]

THERE THEY AREEEEEEEEEE 😭🫵💖💖💖💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

Finished this Sacredshipping commission for @/NyeehhhSure

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[honeymoonjin]

pairing: jimin x yoongi || genre: smut - nsfw 18+ word count: 6.7k warnings: dom!jimin, sub!yoongi, exhibitionism, BDSM, sub!jk feature very briefly, masochism, pain play, impact play, spanking, orgasm control/denial, untouched orgasm, frotting (i hope that’s right, i had to google it), crying during sex but in a fun liberating way u feel me, praise, mean-mugging, pet names

summary: jimin is used to keeping his professional bdsm life and his domestic married life separate, but when his husband yoongi comes in after a hard day at work, he wants to blur those lines. 

A/N: i wrote this for the lovely and talented @joonsbean​ so thank her for inspiring me to actually write something, also this is unedited bc i just sat down for 6 hours to write this and i am not willing to stare at it a moment longer

---

After a particularly resonant flick of the whip, Jimin eyes the way Jungkook's calves tense, left foot tapping the floor in an uneven stutter. He's starting to really feel it now.

He absentmindedly reaches his hand out to smooth the reddened flesh of Jungkook's ass, gently cooing at him quiet enough that his rapt audience won't hear. While the eager submissive was the biggest masochist of the regulars, and he was likely miles away from safewording, as a friend Jimin knew the long-haired boy had three hours of lectures the next day. He'd probably relish the sore ass and take it like a champ, but Jimin was soft on him, so he knew it was time to wrap it up.

Tilting his chin towards the dark, almost purplish streak just above Jungkook's thigh, he raises his voice to address the onlookers. "As you can see, when there's only one fall, like with a whip or a switch, the impact feels a lot sharper and concentrated. The thinner it is, that effect is only amplified. For that reason, I really recommend against switches and whips as a first-timer or if you're testing it out." Jimin can't help but beam at the way every person in the crowd listens to his spiel with clear enthusiasm. He got off on this kind of spotlight in a different way to the usual exhibitionism. Sharing his passion never failed to cheer him up. "Even though floggers can look more intense, as we saw when we were starting out, the impact is more distributed, more of a thud than a sting. Now," he breaks off, giving Jungkook's tender ass a final playful swat, making the boy jump, knuckles white as they clench the back of the chair he's bent over, "let's give our little prince a big round of applause for being so helpful for us today."

Jungkook positively keens at the cheers and wolf whistles that erupt from the crowd of at least thirty, his back arching and face buried between his meaty upper arms to hide the blush. Jimin gently massages the heated skin one last time, whispering instructions to head off to the side where his usual dom, Namjoon, was no doubt waiting.

The two had been playing for almost a year now, but Namjoon was still hesitant to venture into the heavier sadism that Jungkook sometimes needed, and the three of them had found a happy medium where Jungkook helped Jimin out with demonstrations, and Jimin indulged Jungkook's occasional desire for more intense pain play. As a thank you, Namjoon even helped Jimin out with his taxes just the month before, and Jimin quite often allowed them to reserve their favourite play rooms out of courtesy. A mutually beneficial arrangement, and it certainly came in handy to have Namjoon deal with aftercare while Jimin still had his demonstration to wind up.

Swinging the chair that Jungkook was previously bent over, Jimin takes a seat facing the audience and quirks a brow. "Alrighty, before we wrap up and I set you back into the wild, any questions?"

This line always had very different responses. Once, on a basic self-bondage informational session, there were so many single kinksters interested that there ended up being almost an hour of questioning, followed by an impromptu tutorial of safe handcuff use. More commonly, Jimin fielded a few confirming questions about what he'd shown, or something related but not overly relevant to the main topic at hand. More often than not, though, he'd find a string of people awkwardly hovering around him after the crowd had dissipated, too nervous to ask their question in front of the others.

This time, however, a single hand is thrust into the air, coming from the rough back third of the gathering.

"Yes?" Jimin calls out, squinting past the few stage lights and into the darkened crowd. He can't quite make out the face, but as soon as the rumbly voice begins to speak, he doesn't need the visual to recognise it.

"I was just wondering," his husband calls out, "could I speak to you in private?"

Jimin is so startled to hear Yoongi that for a moment he freezes on stage, totally silent. Never once had his husband of four years step a single foot into the dungeon Jimin worked at. Not intolerant of the kink world, Yoongi was simply paranoid about being recognised - a renowned human rights lawyer showing up to a BDSM dungeon dressed in leathers was a tabloid field day waiting to happen - and was happy for Jimin to continue working there whenever he wished.

Now, though, that unspoken rule that had kept these two worlds of Jimin's separate had shattered with a single question, and he felt cold shock drip down his spine.

"Uh," he begins eloquently, blinking himself out of it and plastering a collected smile on again, "of course! I'll be right with you once the show ends."

Jimin closes the session in a daze, answering a few questions about physical aftercare and the best materials and brands for impact play equipment on autopilot. It feels like an eternity passing in a single second, and before he's even processed it, the audience have moved on, and his husband is placing a gentle kiss of greeting on his temple, the same way he would when he'd get home from work in the evenings.

Mere minutes after he'd been in his usual dominant persona, Jimin feels himself melting like candy floss in Yoongi's arms, wrapping around him in their usual casual intimacy. "How are you here?" Jimin asks softly, snaking his arms under Yoongi's slate grey suit jacket, feeling the warmth radiate from his body, even through the expensive cotton shirt. "You're still dressed for work, baby."

Yoongi tenses slightly, gazing around the room. A few people are still milling around in small groups, chatting, but this close to the stage, him and Jimin are out of earshot. Still, he speaks lowly, dipping into the Daegu drawl that only makes an appearance when he's too stressed to think clearly. "I took a sick day. Or, I suppose, sick afternoon," he corrects, brows pinched together. "Had to get out. Can we- Is there a place we can have some privacy, please?"

Wide-eyed, Jimin jumps up out of Yoongi's embrace. "Oh, definitely, sorry!" He tamps down his rising concern by hooking his arm around Yoongi's, locking their fingers tightly as he leads his husband out of the auditorium and down a hall.

Being a matinee opening, the dungeon isn't too packed. Jimin prefers working the day shifts, likes that everything feels a little more personal and open. Nights, especially themed ones, get so busy that the gear and rooms have to be booked sometimes weeks in advance. Jimin does his fair share of DMing (they need all the help they can get) but doesn't like to run any scenes himself in the relative chaos.

But at 2pm on a Tuesday, it's easy enough to slip into one of the private rooms, switching the sign to occupied. There's no lock on the door for safety purposes, but nobody will dare enter while it's taken.

Yoongi steps in, eying the room with surprise. It's a relatively open space, with the walls lined with bookcases on one end, and a large wooden desk with some filing cabinets on the other. The desk itself has a comfortable-looking desk chair, and the opposite side has a single leather armchair like something from a therapist's office.

Although there is a wide window, it's covered with blinds, and Jimin knows from experience that it opens directly onto a brick wall for privacy. Instead, the room is lit from above with ceiling lights that are adjustable by a dimmer. Jimin leaves it bright.

Yoongi slowly makes his way to the black leather armchair, sitting down on it and leaning forward to inspect the desk. Absurdly large, it is mostly uncovered except for a diary with some unreadable scrawls on it, an ancient laptop that doesn't turn on, and a ruler. "Is this your office?" Yoongi asks incredulously.

Jimin cackles before he can help himself, moving forward to perch on the edge of the desk in front of Yoongi. "Does it look like I'd get anything done here? It's a play room, baby."

"Play room?" his husband replies dully, but Jimin doesn't miss the way his eyes are zoned in on Jimin's body, the intimidating leather jacket fixed with a tightly buckled belt around his waist, the skintight black jeans that barely contained his thighs, and perfectly glossed black dress shoes, his calling card amongst the typical stomping boots or knife-thin stilettos that most other doms wore. He always got dressed at the dungeon, leaving the house in unassuming sweatpants and a hoodie, so he gets no little satisfaction in relishing his husband's first reaction to the getup.

"That's right," he confirms with a smirk, crossing his legs. "We have five of them at the moment, though the sixth one is almost ready for use. This one is for your typical CEO or professor roleplays, we have a medical one, an interrogation one," Jimin rattles them off on his fingers, watching the way Yoongi's eyes bug out at each addition, "just a basic bedroom one for the vanilla stuff, one that actually looks like a dungeon, and the new one is gonna be an outdoor one."

"Outdoor?" Yoongi asks with a unsteady voice, before shaking his head to clear the thoughts. "Anyway, here is fine, I just- I had to get away from work, Minnie, and I... I was thinking..."

Jimin frowns in sympathy, leaning forward to stroke the back of Yoongi's hand. "I can leave early, I don't have anything else booked today, I was mostly planning on sticking to the social lounge-"

"I don't wanna go home," Yoongi slips in hurriedly, flipping his hand on the arm of the chair to link their fingers together tightly, though his eyes don't leave Jimin's for a second. "I know that you like to keep this job and our own love life separate, and I'm not going to force you, but- I came here because I want to submit to you."

Jimin's eyes widen, his breath catching in his chest. A switch at heart, Jimin had always found it a nice balance to indulge his dominant side here at work, and return home for Yoongi to take care of him, and it had always worked well. Even before they were serious, right in the early days of fucking like rabbits and pretending they weren't entirely smitten, Yoongi had always easily taken that more dominant role, though most of their sex to this day was far less kinky than the kind of demonstrations Jimin ran here. What Yoongi was asking wasn't just to be pampered and taken care of, but to be taken control of. And Jimin couldn't deny the ball of heat that was quickly building inside of him at that thought.

"Baby," he sighs, forcing himself to keep professionalism in mind, "I can't- We can't do anything here without you filling out some paperwork. The list of kinks and limits at the least. Not just as an employee, but as your husband, I gotta keep you safe."

"I know," Yoongi insists, and he frees his hand from Jimin's grip just long enough to plunge a hand into his pants pocket, pulling out a tightly folded piece of paper, handing it to Jimin.

Oddly enough, the folds are worn, not crisp, and as Jimin unfolds it, the text - printed in 12 point Times New Roman, because of course Yoongi would type it up with perfect formatting - has lost the freshly-printed gloss.

"I've been working up the courage to come here for months, Jimin-ah," Yoongi explains in a shy but determined voice. "I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to feel pressured at all either way, but please know that this is something that I've researched, and that I'm serious about." His solemn expression turns slightly cheeky, almost impish. "You literally make a living domming people, Minnie. I've been fantasising about it long before I even realised I wanted it."

A thrill of arousal runs through Jimin, straight between his legs, and he tightens his thighs, taking a settling breath. "Oh, baby," he coos, eyes dropping to read Yoongi's well-documented and organised list of kinks and limits, scanning over some surprising - and not-so-surprising - tidbits, "I'm gonna take such good care of you."

The air rushes out of Yoongi's lungs as he unconsciously scoots forward in the chair, leaning in. "Do we- Do we just start now, or do you need to go get some-" he breaks off, blushing violently, "some equipment?"

Jimin breaks into a broad smile, eyes crinkling as he steps forward, steps close, ringed fingers slipping into Yoongi's hair on either side, tipping his husband's face up as his chin rests on Jimin's lower abdomen. "Oh, my big boy wants to play with some toys, huh?" Jimin can feel when Yoongi swallows hard, his eyes not glossy with subspace, instead keen and sharp with pointed desire. "Don't worry, baby, this room isn't as empty as you think."

When he steps away, dropping all contact, Yoongi slumps like a puppet with cut strings, catching himself before he slips off the chair, instead lying back against it, chest heaving beneath the starch white of his dress shirt.

Jimin makes his way first to the bookshelves, looking back over his shoulder to catch Yoongi's reaction as he finds a notch in the framing and pulls, revealing that they aren't real shelves at all, simply disguised cabinets that swing open to reveal the hidden delights inside. The three closest to the desk are filled with clothes of all sizes, office-wear spanning pencil skirts to neckties to blazers, a few frumpy pieces that remind Jimin of dorky professors, even some school uniforms, cut far shorter than regulation.

With a grin, Jimin pulls at a pleated plaid skirt, smirking at Yoongi. "In the mood for dress-up, baby? Show off those pretty legs of yours."

Yoongi, still with some wits about him, narrows his eyes with a mock scowl, his disapproval clear.

Jimin sighs out wistfully, but lets it go. "Another time, maybe." Ignoring Yoongi's light scoff, he nudges the doors shut with his foot one at a time and moves to the last one, where the facade of stacked books hides a series of hooks nailed into the back wall.

Jimin doesn't need to even face Yoongi to know he's squirming in his chair - the squeaking leather gives it away. Strung up are floggers, whips, switches, and neatly coiled bundles of rope, catalogued by length. His husband had expressed interest in both impact play and bondage, several different types of both, and so it's no surprise that the sight of those fantasies had Yoongi breathing heavily. He leaves that cupboard open.

"There are so many things we could play with in here, baby," Jimin assures, patting the folded piece of paper that he'd slipped into his own pocket, "and your list was pretty extensive, so before we get started, any particular preference?"

Yoongi swallows again, hair slightly rucked up from Jimin's hands. Jimin can't wait to see it totally mussed up, see his husband in ruins, see him love it. With wary eyes on Jimin as he moves behind the desk towards the filing cabinets, Yoongi nods. "The- what you were doing with that guy on stage. I- I want that."

Jimin blinks, turning his back to his husband to mask his surprise, fingers hooking the edge of the top drawer of one of the cabinets, each one labelled alphabetically. "Is that so? We did a lot on that stage, baby, I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific."

Yoongi is silent for a moment, his breathing the only sound as Jimin carefully slides the drawer open, revealing neatly sectioned rows of anal plugs. He grins. A for Anal, B for Bondage, C for Chastity. The designers really took their job seriously, and he could appreciate the humour in it.

He lets Yoongi take his time, knowing that saying something is often the hardest part. Instead, he notes the location of the drawer marked P, and turns back to his husband.

Looking incredibly small, tucked up on the intentionally oversized armchair, Yoongi clears his throat, making shy eye contact. "The paddles," he says in a high tone, like he's unsure he's even using the correct word, "I want you to- to hit me with them like you did him."

"You want me to spank that pretty little ass of yours?" Jimin confirms, loving the way his husband goes bright pink.

"Y-yeah," he replies breathily, dropping his gaze. "Will you?"

Despite the raging fire inside him, Jimin's heart leaps fondly, so in love with his husband and all his endearing mannerisms. "Of course, baby. But let's start slow, hm? Gotta make your first time special, don't we?"

Yoongi laughs, then, full of air and barely audible, his lips lilting in a small smile that still shows his teeth.

Jimin tilts his head to the side. "What?"

With a tiny head shake, Yoongi contains his grin. "I just really wanna kiss you right now."

Jimin is moving before he's even finished speaking, his hip barely missing the corner of the desk in his haste to join his husband, knees straddling his lap without hesitation, holding those soft cheeks in both hands as he presses his lips firmly against Yoongi's, eyes fluttering shut.

Their parting kiss before Yoongi left for work this morning feels too long ago, and for a moment their new arrangement is forgotten as they fall into their usual motions, years of marriage making every inch of Yoongi's lips feel familiar, the bump of their noses and brush of eyelashes like home even in such a different environment.

With no rush, Jimin lets himself indulge in it, burying one hand in Yoongi's hair, carding through the choppy black locks that are no longer gelled back. His other hand slides down Yoongi's jaw, neck, and chest, tugging at the knot of his tie to loosen it. He makes no effort to be gentle, and his husband just groans into Jimin's mouth at the rough treatment.

It's all too easy to shift into his dom space, a practiced scale of gradually increasing intensity. It begins with the tie, but soon enough Jimin punctuates their ongoing kiss with hard sucks and quick nips of teeth, Yoongi tipping his chin up to drown in it more. Testing the waters, Jimin rocks his hips once against Yoongi's taut crotch and yanks once on a fistful of hair, baring the pale expanse of Yoongi's neck.

The debauched lawyer bucks beneath him, hands flying to grip tightly at Jimin's waist. His long, beautiful fingers and wide palm have always made Jimin feel weak at the knees, and feeling them grasp at him not in command but in desperation feels addictive.

"You like that?" he breathes, voice low enough to almost growl, and Yoongi shivers as he nods his affirmation. "Good," Jimin praises, and dives down, teeth grazing down the sensitive skin of Yoongi's throat, skimming until he feels the throb of his pulse point. Yoongi can't risk marks at work, certainly not in court, but it's a Friday, and Jimin is feeling more possessive than usual. He nips lightly but laps at the skin thoroughly, knowing the best he can get away with is a reddened bite mark which would fade over the weekend. The hickies were best saved for other areas, he knew.

Yoongi is panting like a horse now, air punched through his nostrils as he bites down hard on his own swollen lip. Jimin knows the effect he has on his subs, and grins against the glistening wet skin of Yoongi's neck at the hardness that has grown between his legs. "Wuh-want more, Minnie," he gasps out, "need more."

Jimin hums, making sure Yoongi can feel the vibrations in the hollow of his throat, sliding up to press kisses to that hyper-sensitive place just behind Yoongi's ear that always made him tremble.

It doesn't disappoint, Yoongi letting out a shaky breath as his arms wrap around Jimin's waist, trying to bring him closer.

Jimin doesn't let him, though, pulling back to sit on his haunches, running a thumb down Yoongi's reddened lower lip to watch the way it springs back into place. Yoongi sits still, eyes cloudy as he lets his dom for the night play with him. The thought pleases Jimin; that Yoongi truly was wanting this, truly was willing to give up control to him.

He spares a glance down between his own thighs, where the cool grey of Yoongi's slacks makes no attempt at hiding his bulging erection. Pouting in sympathy, Jimin reaches out with a single finger to trace the outline, watching the muscles in his husband's thighs tense as he fights to stay still. "So hard already, baby," Jimin drawls, "do you think that pretty little cock of yours can wait its turn while I spank you, hm? Can it be patient for me?"

Yoongi flushes, whining Jimin's name under his breath. "Yes," he admits, huffing out a reluctant sigh.

"Yes what?"

Yoongi grimaces at Jimin, but the dom just raises an expectant brow. "Yes, my- my pretty little cock can be patient for you," Yoongi murmurs in the quietest voice he can manage, cheeks red hot.

"That's my boy," Jimin beams, rewarding his husband by popping the button and pulling down the zip on the fly of Yoongi's slacks, releasing some of the pressure. Yoongi groans, deep in his throat, but his relief is quickly thwarted once Jimin stands up off him.

Making his way back to the filing cabinets, Jimin quickly slides open the one labeled P. Splayed out neatly lie five different paddles. Three are plastic, one a basic rounded shape, another that same shape only with several small holes drilled through for a sharper impact, and a final one a rectangular shape. The next one is hard wood, heavy, Jimin recalls, and the one tucked at the back is a softly upholstered pleather one for beginners. Then there's the ruler, of course, though that's a little cheesy for the current mood.

He assesses the five inside at his leisure, knowing every moment of anticipation will feel like an eternity to his husband, and finally makes a choice. He slides the cabinet drawer closed.

Yoongi makes a wounded, cut-off noise in his throat, but Jimin sends him a firm gaze.

"I'll give you what you want, baby," Jimin assures, wetting his lips, "but first I want to feel you myself. Pants and underwear off, jacket off, I want you bent over my desk."

Yoongi sucks in a sudden breath, but stands up on wobbly legs and slips off his blazer. It's probably too expensive to be dumping it on the chair behind him, but Yoongi clearly isn't worried about that as he kicks off his shoes and pants too, only hesitating once his fingers are hooked on the elastic waistband of his underwear.

"Off," Jimin demands harshly, "I won't ask again."

This time Yoongi obeys without delay, and Jimin takes great pleasure in watching the way his husband's cock leaps up once it's freed, pretty and pink and wetter than he'd ever seen it before. Though Yoongi always tended to top, his cock was smaller - more slender, at least - than Jimin's, but he loved it, loved that a hasty three fingers was enough prep on those times that they just couldn't wait to devour each other.

Now, though, with mussed hair and wrinkled shirt, naked from the waist down bar a pair of black ankle socks, Jimin's husband looked positively adorable in the most erotic way, and Jimin wanted nothing more than to make him wait, make him work to cum.

When Yoongi folds himself over the desk, side-on to Jimin to make use of the length of the surface, his hands awkwardly hover on either side of him, keeping himself slightly upright still. The back of his shirt is just long enough to cover the tops of his cheeks, and the sight of his rounded ass and dripping cock peeking through is enough to make Jimin actively restrain himself, taking a moment to breathe and appreciate this opportunity.

He steps forward, planting a hand between Yoongi's shoulder blades and presses, slow enough that Yoongi has time to move his face to the side to avoid banging his chin, but firm enough that there's no resisting. Yoongi goes willingly, however, his back arching as the table is just lower than his hips. Like this, no fabric obstructs Jimin's view, and he hums, pleased. "Good boy."

Yoongi trembles, his legs tight together and knees shaking just slightly. He's nervous at the vulnerable position, but no less aroused for it.

With the tip of his shoe, Jimin guides Yoongi's legs apart, until his socked feet are wider than his hips, until he needs to lean his weight onto the desktop to keep stable.

"That's it," Jimin praises, "my perfect little slut. So obedient."

Yoongi's right knee buckles at the exact moment that he hears the pet name, and Jimin grins. The piece of paper in his pocket had a long list of suggestions for names he was okay being called, and the dom couldn't resist picking out his favourite. The perfect mix of praise and degradation, it flowed so well on his tongue; the smooth, melodic sounds punctuated by the sharp hit of the t. Slut. Jimin muffles a groan, pressing on his own straining erection.

Unable to help himself, he reaches out, both hands grabbing at the plush ass cheeks in front of him, spreading them to watch the way Yoongi clenches at the sudden exposure. This must be what he looks like when they play together, Jimin thinks. He wonders if Yoongi is enjoying the change in pace just as much as he is.

"I'm going to start you off with just my hands, baby," he introduces, running a palm under the hem of his shirt and up Yoongi's spine to watch the way he shivers. "I'm sure you're well aware of the traffic light system, hm? Tell me what the colours mean."

Yoongi shifts, fingers curling uselessly against the tabletop as his eyes remain squeezed shut. "Red means stop, yellow means slow down, green means go," he recites, the exact phrasing off the dungeon's website, and Jimin bends down to press a single soft kiss on the top of Yoongi's ass as a reward, making him twitch violently. "Fuck, Jimin-ah," he sighs, arching his back even more.

Jimin grins. "Good. I'm adding another colour, just for you," he explains. "Gold. Can you guess what gold means?"

Yoongi swallows, shifts his weight, and shakes his head.

Jimin digs his fingers into the flesh of Yoongi's ass, watching them pillow in roughly. "Gold means more. Gold means harder. Okay?"

Yoongi nods quickly, hair even more tangled with every movement.

"Good boy," Jimin croons, and without further comment his left hand rises and comes down in a single strike.

Yoongi seizes up for a second at the shock of it, but there's no power behind the hit, and his brain realises a moment later that no pain follows the loud noise. He huffs in need and pushes his hips back, silently asking for more. "Gold, g-gold," he mutters offbeat, already panting.

Jimin hums in pleasure, and swats his right cheek this time, feeling a sting bloom across his palm. Still not nearly the hardest he can go, it's clearly not enough for Yoongi, as he remains stoic, waiting for more.

The next time, Jimin lets his hand really catch the air on the way down, but he doesn't stop at one hit, raining down three in quick succession on the same spot. Yoongi breathes through the first impact, freezes in surprise at the second one, and an unbidden moan falls out of his mouth at the third.

"Mm, that's better, isn't it?" Jimin muses rhetorically, soothing the slightly pinked patch of skin with his warmed hand. "Just need a bit more pain to let go."

"Please," Yoongi breathes, "jus' keep going."

"Bossy," Jimin teases, "I'm meant to be giving you orders, baby. If you don't quit it, I might not give you what you want at all."

"Sorry, I'm sorry, ple-please hit me again," Yoongi begs mindlessly, and Jimin can't help but indulge him, his husband sounding so pretty when he whines.

When he returns to spanking again, it's in earnest. Instead of pausing to check in each time, he relies on his husband's telling cues to moderate it, as well as the sweet pleas of gold, gold every time Jimin spent too long between swats.

Much like the rest of him, Yoongi's ass blooms candied pink, and with every strike, Jimin can't help but venture further, wanting to colour him in all over. The spanks that fall on Yoongi's upper thighs make him restless, squirming and moaning wordlessly. The ones that land on the fatty portion of his ass have him sighing happily, crooked smile slicked in drool against the wood of the desk.

The two of them slip into an unspoken rhythm for a while, alternating these hits on either side, of varying number and intensity, until Yoongi has almost fallen into a trance of sorts, mouth hanging open slackly as a whine or moan or whimper is falling out of his mouth with every single thwack.

Jimin's arm begins to tire, and just as he pauses to shake out the joints, Yoongi pants a, "wait, wait," making him pause.

It takes a moment for Yoongi to catch his breath, but Jimin waits patiently, scanning his ass and thighs for any sign of something that could be causing undue comfort, but he comes up short. With a weak, slurred voice, Yoongi lets out a sob. "I wanna use the paddle, Minnie, I wanna feel it," he pleads, "I've h-had enough of the spanking."

Jimin furrows his brows in concern, massaging out the sore tissue as Yoongi goes lax beneath him. "If you've had enough, baby, we should stop. I don't wanna push you."

Yoongi actually tears up, biting hard on his lip as he shakes his head. "Please, Minnie, just a few times, I just need it to be- to be heavy. I don't know, but I need it. Gold, please gold."

"Okay," Jimin is agreeing softly, squatting down to press reassuring kisses against the hot flesh, feeling his own palm stinging. He leaves only to slide open the drawer of paddles, selecting the wooden one. He knew from subspace himself that sometimes those base, thoughtless needs stemmed from something deeper, from an emotional need tangled up daily life. Once, in the early days of doing demonstrations at the dungeon, Jimin had gotten stage fright and done such a poor job of a fingering tutorial that the sweet sub he was working on didn't even cum. He'd come home to Yoongi bawling in humiliation, and his husband had lain him down on their bed and made him cum so many times that he couldn't even think, couldn't move a single limb. Now, Jimin had no doubt that the need to feel a heavy impact had something to do with the reason Yoongi had taken an uncharacteristic sick day.

Talking about it wouldn't help, would only break the escapism of the scene, so Jimin just runs the face of the wooden paddle over Yoongi's sore ass, letting him grow accustomed to the feel and texture. "Just two hits," Jimin declares, "one on each cheek. No more. Focus on them, baby. Eyes closed, just feel them."

He waits until Yoongi settles, spreading his legs wider with wiggling toes, and catching his breath, one hand pressed over his teary eyes.

Jimin swings the paddle backwards, not up, and lets it impact on Yoongi's left cheek first, a wet, strangled moan leaving his husband's mouth at the thuddy feel. The wooden paddle didn't hurt like spanking or a lighter paddle. It was about the weighty feel of it hitting your skin, a light hit so as not to cause bruising.

A line of tension disappears between Yoongi's clothed shoulders, the sweaty fabric clinging to his back. He's calmed down, fully, waiting patiently for the second strike. The second Jimin rains that final hit, he drops the paddle onto the carpeted floor, exhausted himself, and moves around to the side of the desk, bending awkwardly over it to press his mouth to Yoongi's, who makes a muffled sound of surprise before responding in turn.

Jimin's hand is curled around the nape of his husband's neck, keeping him close as tears mingle with spit, their kiss salty and desperate.

He feels a vibration between them before he hears anything, has to focus hard to hear Yoongi as he chants over and over like a prayer, thanking Jimin.

He slows the kiss after a sweet eternity, letting their heartbeats return to normal. Jimin's own eyes sting, love and concern a potent combination, but as the adrenaline settles back to normal, Yoongi calms down too, and seems to come back to himself.

He pulls away to let out a tired breath, laughing voicelessly. "Fuck," Yoongi curses with eyes still closed in bliss. "I get it now."

Jimin beams, a chuckle leaving his own lips as he sees the peace on his husband's face. After a moment, though, a frown appears as Yoongi furrows his brows. "What is it?"

"My dick hurts," Yoongi whines, managing to get his elbows under him to lift his chest from the table, head in his hands.

Jimin startles, standing bolt upright as he rushes down to look for any injury. "Oh shit, did I hit it?"

The laugh returns, bubbling out of Yoongi as he turns himself with great effort onto his back, chest still rising and falling dramatically. "No, Jimin-ah, don't worry," he assures, wincing when his ass-cheeks meet the unforgiving surface of the desk. "But if I don't cum soon, I think it's gonna explode."

Jimin's mouth falls open, relief and disbelief flooding his veins equally as he's faced with Yoongi's cock, so flushed with blood it's almost purple in places. "I- Okay, do you- do you want me to get you off, or do you want to keep playing?"

Yoongi looks at him like he's insane. "I mean... Preferably both, Minnie."

After the moment of scare, it takes surprisingly little time before that thrum of arousal is dialed up again, and Jimin smirks, running his hands up and down Yoongi's inner thighs to watch the way he naturally and obediently parts them for him.

"Do you know what I realised, baby?" Jimin coos, stubbornly avoiding the weeping cock in front of him. Yoongi mutters a weak response. "I realised that so far I've been doing all the work so far, haven't I? That isn't really fair, wouldn't you agree?"

Wary, Yoongi pauses and nods, the blur of tears long since replaced by the haze of arousal, of subspace beginning to creep in once more.

"I'm glad we're on the same page," Jimin drawls, flattening a hand heavy on the soft flesh just above Yoongi's cock, making the man moan and wriggle to escape the pressure. "So I think, if you want to get off, you should put a little work in yourself. Make some effort, baby."

Yoongi takes a few heaving breaths, before slowly, so carefully, lowering his hand down to wrap around the base of his cock, immediately groaning at the touch. He's leaked so much precum that it takes a single shaky stroke to coat the sensitive skin, and a relieved smile spreads over his face at the thought that he's finally going to get off.

But where's the fun in that?

"Don't you think you're being a little selfish?" Jimin spits stiffly, and flicks once at the very tip of Yoongi's dick.

His husband practically howls, curling up with a depraved cry. "Wha-at?" he sobs, hand trembling as it hovers on his thigh, fighting his desire. "What do you want, Minnie?"

"How sweet of you to ask," Jimin praises in a sugar-sweet voice, reaching down to unzip his own jeans. "Those hands are big enough to fit the both of us, aren't they?"

Blearily, Yoongi looks down as Jimin slips his aching cock out from his pants, fitting himself between Yoongi's spread legs so that their bobbing lengths bump together.

Even that contact is enough to make Yoongi hiss, but he's desperate and so he nods quickly, fingers trembling as they grab Jimin's cock, pinning them together in his grip. He pauses, panting as he stares up at Jimin for permission.

Jimin smiles placidly, bending forward to press a single chaste kiss to his husband's lips. "I don't want you cumming before I do, okay?" he asks sweetly, though the threat is thinly veiled.

Using the strength of his abdomen to lift his upper half off the desk, Yoongi stabilises himself with an elbow while his other hand jerks the two of them off together, thumb running over the sensitive heads, paying extra attention to Jimin's.

"That's it," Jimin groans, biting hard on his tongue. Truth be told, it was hard enough for him to hold back, feeling threads of an orgasm already knitting together in his stomach. But he's not willing to let go of the pretty sight of Yoongi just yet, so debauched and far gone as he shivers with every stroke, torn between making Jimin cum and preventing his own climax.

After mere minutes, Yoongi has collapsed back onto the desk, ankles curled around Jimin's back to hold him close, hand shaking violently.

"Please," he begs occasionally, but the moment his hand slows down to give himself a break, Jimin pinches his inner thigh in warning. They both knew marks there were allowed.

It's not until Yoongi is quite literally biting down on his own knuckles to hold back an orgasm that Jimin can't keep himself from cumming anymore.

Greedily, he runs his hands over Yoongi's sides, skimming the shirt up to put his chest on display, flicking at the delicate pink nipples. Jimin cums so hard he almost buckles forward onto Yoongi, spurting white all over Yoongi's hand and cock.

He holds himself up shakily, spouting praises to Yoongi as the wave of pleasure rushes through him, making his toes tingle and his fingers curl, scratches down Yoongi's chest and stomach.

"Oh, god, I'm gonna- Mi-Minnie, can I cum, oh fuh-fuck, no!"

One last liberty taken in his time as Yoongi's dom, Jimin pulls himself away, pinning Yoongi's wrists to the table and watching as his cock, dripping white, bobs desperately in the air, seeking friction.

Yoongi babbles pleas and curses, hips jerking, but it only takes Jimin leaning down, blowing a single thin stream of cool air over Yoongi's cock for Yoongi's thighs to tense. He cums, untouched, shuddering and seizing on the table as Jimin takes mercy and wraps his hand around him to stroke him through it.

"Look at you," Jimin croons in wonder, watching cum spill between his fingers, the two of them mixed together indistinguishably. "Baby, you look perfect like this. Please tell me you want to do that again."

Yoongi makes a strangled, guttural noise as he goes limp on the table, legs dangling off the edge. "Fuck, not right away, you demon," he protests grumpily, "now come kiss me again."

With a fond beam, heart so full with love and post-orgasm endorphins that he can barely handle it, Jimin tugs him up by his forearms and joins their mouths together, Yoongi's one dry hand tangling in his hair as he smiles into the kiss.

It takes only a few moments, however, for the sticky reality to sink in, and soon enough Yoongi is parting, letting his forehead rest against Jimin's. "I don't suppose there are any wet wipes in here?" he ventures.

Jimin chuckles, leaning back. "Cleaning materials in the desk drawers," he divulges.

With crazy sex hair and wide eyes, Yoongi makes quite the picture. "Fuck, I love this place. Let's try the interrogation one next time, yeah?"

[051093]

shaking faith | 707

wc: 2958

pairing: saeyoung “707″ choi x reader

genre: canon compliant, angst w/ smidge of fluff, mutual pining, sad fic for sad boy

description: in which he comes to check on you after a fight, only to find you asleep — and he confesses things he shouldn’t have.

my masterlist.

Saeyoung has more work than ever, and he can’t do any of it.

Every time he finds himself close to being productive, his memory betrays him, bringing him back to fated encounter with Saeran a few days ago. His long lost twin brother with hair the color of cream and coral, turquoise irises like black holes. You, your back pressed against Saeran’s chest, your neck lodged in the crook of his arm as he threatened your life. The sentence you cried out, your frightened eyes swimming with tears—

I love you!

“Fuck,” he hisses, nimble hands lifting from the keyboard to knot in his crimson hair.

Try as he might, he can’t forget how your words made him feel: how high his heart leapt, how a tide of fierce happiness seemed to soothe every ache in his body. When the syllables left your lips, everything was okay, and you were just two young adults in love. He wanted so badly to cross the room and sweep you into his arms like he should’ve done on day one, to hold you close and promise you he’d spend the rest of his life shielding you from harm.

But the fantasy only lasted a few meager seconds, and reality returned like a dagger to his stomach: your life was in danger and Saeran was deranged. And both were his fault.

After Saeran had left and the countdown stopped, Saeyoung was left with a horrible clutter of emotions he couldn’t decipher, his head swimming with fear, confusion, hatred, betrayal, and hope all at once. He went into overdrive, like his laptop sometimes did when he had too many programs running, and he ran the last command he could: yelling at you.

“Luciel…” He hated that name but loved the way you said it then, so fondly and kindly that it filled his frozen heart with warmth. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help?”

“No,” he snapped back. “Not only that, but I don’t think you should be in the RFA anymore. Forget about us. Forget about the party. As soon as it’s safe, leave.”

Even without looking at you, he sensed the flash of hurt in your expression. “Why are you deciding my future?”

“Because I know what’s best for you.” He closed his eyes, exasperated. “Look, you’re free to do whatever you want, but my thoughts won’t change.”

“What are your thoughts?”

“This is nothing for a person like you to get involved in.” He swiveled, eyes ablaze. “ I am nothing for a person like you to get involved with. You’ll only get hurt, you understand me?”

“I’d like to decide that for myself,” you responded coolly.

“Then you’re asking for it,” he snarled. “The darkness, the loneliness, the heartbreak, the demons. When you’re engulfed in these things because of me, you’ll remember that you were stupid enough to want it.”

“I want you.” Your response came through louder and clearer than anything Saeyoung could’ve spat through his lying teeth. “I want you. Let me help you fight these demons. Let me guide you out of this darkness.”

“That’s…impossible,” he muttered, averting his gaze. “I need to work. Don’t bother me.”

You stood up from your seat, making long, confident strides across the apartment until you were standing so close that he could smell the lovely scent of your hair.

“Aren’t you being too one-sided?” You breathed. “What am I supposed to do about my feelings for you?”

His heart danced with a maddening flutter, but his face told a different story, contorting with rage. “I said don’t bother me!”

He hated the way you flinched and stepped back into the kitchen counter. He hated how sad you looked. He hated himself.

“I don’t care about your feelings, alright?” He spat. “Get your priorities straight. You’re living with a bomb right now.”

“Luciel—”

“You could’ve died today.” His voice cracked. “It’s not the time to think about your feelings for me. Just worry about staying alive, will you?”

You only blinked back. He wished he could shake some sense into you, he was so frustrated, but he knew he couldn’t—he couldn’t keep himself at a single touch.

“How can you be so naive? So calm?” He sighed deeply. “Please, Y/N, for the first time in your life, put yourself first. If you ever get hurt, I’ll…” He forgot how to speak. “I’ll…”

“I know,” you said, quietly but firmly, “that this is your way of caring about me.”

“Yeah, right,” he scoffed, but his voice lacked resolve and you both knew it. “You’re free to think whatever you want, because we’ll never see each other again once this hacker thing is resolved. Just do yourself a favor in the meantime: stop wasting your emotions on me.”

You looked like you wanted to touch him too, your hand twitching at your side, and he would’ve liked nothing more than for you to cradle his jaw with a caring hand, to smooth away the creases of stress in his face. But he was glad you didn’t.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Like he held all the stars in the sky, like he was the only man in the world. He turned, drawing his jacket closer to his chest. “God, this won’t do. I’m going out to the hallway and I’ll come back when you’re asleep. Sort yourself out in the meantime.”

Unable to look at you another time, he left the apartment, pacing in the hallway and muttering to himself agitatedly. He came back a few hours later to a dimly lit and silent apartment, indicators that you’d indeed fallen asleep. He drew out a chair, opened his laptop, and tried to work, juggling restoring the apartment’s security algorithm and getting Vanderwood and the agency off his ass. But it’s been a vicious cycle of almost focusing, remembering you love him, and losing any sense of concentration all over again, and he’s starting to think he won’t get anything done tonight no matter how much longer he spends staring at his screen.

He closes his laptop, turns off the light, and, without really thinking, makes his way to your room.

Cast in the soft glow of a night light, you’ve been reduced to a lump under the blanket in your unconscious state. Saeyoung slips soundlessly past the door and stands by your pillow, his golden gaze taking in the long lashes splayed against your cheeks, the subtle rise and fall of your breathing, the tousled hair that shrouds your face.

For as long as he’s known you, you’ve been headstrong, bold, outspoken; incredibly, unconditionally kind, always standing up for what you think is right. In the last few days, especially, you’ve been hovering over Saeyoung’s shoulder despite him begging you not to, drilling into his head to please use you as a resource; to let you help; to let you into his head and his heart. Between planning the party, communicating with the other R.F.A. members, and nagging at Saeyoung, you haven’t even stopped to take a breath. And his heart aches with contentment, so much that it nearly physically hurts, to see you so peaceful.

He comes to a crouch, and just being so close to you brings a flush of color to his cheeks. You’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen no matter what expression you’re wearing, but you look younger now that your face is absent of worry or sadness. He wishes he could capture your innocence right now and store it away in a place where the dangers of the world can never taint it.

He’d do anything to keep you from harm, to keep you so undisturbed, even if it means taking the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“Y/N,” he breathes, your name hardly a whisper on his tongue. “You’re asleep.”

You don’t stir. Again, so naturally he barely thinks beforehand, he sweeps your hair from your face with a gentle hand, tucking the stray locks behind your ear.

“You’ve been talking all day, but you’re so quiet when you’re sleeping,” he continues. “You’re so damn weird, you know that? I had to have hurt you by saying all those things, but you still manage to be so bright…”

And thank goodness you’re asleep, because the way he’s looking at you right now and the tenderness in his words contradict everything he shouted at you earlier today.

“You’re so genuine and honest. And I’m just complicated and two-faced.” He takes a deep breath. “The 707 from the chatroom is optimistic, supportive, friendly…but that’s just a mask. This icy person, Saeyoung, is me. My background, my upbringing — everything about me is so dark and pessimistic that I will always be incapable of making you happy, no matter how much I wish I could. I want you to know that.

“You should get angry at me,” he mutters. “I wish you would once in a while. But no, you just have to be so understanding all the time. I can’t believe you’re real sometimes — that one person can be so wonderful, that I got so lucky to meet you.

“God, what am I doing? I — I clearly need to get some sleep. But before I go, I want to tell you this, Y/N, regardless of whether you can hear me or not.

“Don’t trust me.” He fights to keep his voice steady. “Don’t trust me, don’t trust V, and don’t trust anyone in the R.F.A. Please be less nice to me, so it’ll hurt less when I have to disappear. And, when I do, forget about me and be happy. Please. You have to be happy, okay?”

His trembling hand finds yours beneath the blanket and he squeezes gently, an unspoken farewell. He stays that way for a few heartbeats longer, then rises from his crouch and turns around, padding back towards the door.

“Saeyoung?”

His knees nearly give out from beneath him, he’s so shocked to hear your voice.

“Saeyoung,” you say again, and he slowly turns around, his breath batted.

Your beautiful eyes meet his, the blanket falling a little lower as you sit up. You’re wearing a white blouse that leaves your lovely neck and shoulders on full display. You’re so damn beautiful, your skin and hair set aglow by the soft light behind you, an angel sitting barely-clothed in bed with his name dangling from your sweet lips. He’s absolutely gutted. And panicked , because he’s nowhere near ready to have this conversation with you right now.

“How much did you hear?”

You hesitate. “Every word.”

He starts to turn away, face flushing with embarrassment.

“You don’t have to talk,” you say, and he stops in his steps. “I just…want to be with you tonight.”

He swallows around a dry throat. “I don’t think — ”

“Today was really scary,” you say, your voice softening. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep if I don’t have company.”

He stands still for what feels like entire minutes, his lower lip between his teeth, every limb in his body gravitating toward you but his head screaming at him to stay put.

“Please, Saeyoung?”

But his resolve crumbles around him like snow.

He sinks into the mattress beside you, his hands quivering with nervous energy. The two of you sit in silence for a few moments more, his amber eyes locked with yours as if asking what’s next. Then, there’s a rustle of blankets, a soft sigh — and you’ve wound your arms around his neck.

He caves at your slightest touch, and you feel the way the tension leaves his body, his shoulders sagging as you draw him close. He burrows his face in the crook of your neck and breathes in the sweet scent of your skin; relishes in your feather-light hands tracing comforting circles on his back, the warmth from your body and comfort from your care. You hold him tightly enough that he can’t slip away, gently enough that he won’t break, and, maybe for the first time in his whole life, he feels cared for. Protected.

The sound of your pulse nearly drowns out the sound of your voice, you’re speaking so quietly. “Is this okay?”

“This is perfect.” Saeyoung murmurs. He curls an arm around your waist, his hand accidentally riding up the hem of your blouse to brush against the warm, bare skin beneath, and he blushes a deep red that makes his hair look monochrome. “You’re perfect.”

He feels your breath catch in your throat, your heart skip a beat. “You can’t say things like that if you don’t want me to fall for you.”

“I know,” he sighs. “It just slipped out.”

For a while, the two of you lay in silence, wrapped up in each other’s arms with legs entwined beneath the covers, hearts beating in a rapid but perfect unison. Your fingers comb through his silky hair, your touch so soft and affectionate that Saeyoung’s eyelids begin to feel heavy, all of the troubling thoughts in his mind replaced by all that you are. It’s not until he begins to drift off does your voice taint the room’s silence once more.

“It’s not Seven or Luciel that I have feelings for, you know.” A beat. “It’s Saeyoung.”

And he’s wide awake again.

“The boy who came to my rescue recently. The boy who can be cold sometimes, but only because he cares so much that he feels as if he’ll drown in it all. His line of work forbids him from having friends and family, but he does — and he loves them more than anything, and he knows being friends with him will put them in danger.” You swallow. “He knows being in love with him is basically a death sentence.

“But he's worth it. Because danger is nothing compared to everything else that comes with being by his side: care, protection, kindness, laughter, and so much happiness.”

You dust a hand beneath his jaw, tilting his chin up so you can gaze into his eyes, and his heart is hammering so hard he swears you can feel it through the material of his T-shirt.

“I meant what I said earlier. It wasn’t just a spur-of-the-moment, impulsive declaration,” you whisper. “I love you.”

His breath hitches in his throat, his blood running cold, but the way his heart sings is unmistakable. He feels the same way and he knows it, no matter how hard he’ll try denying the truth.

“And I understand if you can’t feel the same way, but I only ask that, if this really is as temporary as you say, that you remember me.” Your voice trembles. “To remember, years from now, how my heart and my soul once belonged to you. How you once made me feel like I could fly. Like I was safe.”

Saeyoung hears your words echo long after you’ve finished talking. Everything about this has him approaching sensory overload — your confession, your fingers brushing his hair out of his face, your dilated pupils and breathy tone, the feeling of your skin beneath his hands and the tip of your nose just brushing his. In his stomach, a fire ignites where there’s only ever been small flames, and he does the only thing he can think of doing, the only thing he wants to do so badly that he no longer can control himself.

He closes the distance between you and kisses you, his hands tense on your hips and his face burning. For a horrible second, he wonders if he’s overstepped his boundary, if you’re ready — but then you begin to kiss him back, and the fire grows like it never has. Your lips part and he loses all consciousness aside from the taste of your mouth, the wonderful pressure that has him reeling. Your hands navigate his skin until they flutter to the sides of his neck, your thumbs grazing his jaw and coaxing him into a blissful stupor. His entire world reduces down to you and you only, your lips so incredibly soft and sweet, and he kisses you slowly but deeply, melting into your touch.

The curious way kisses do, this one comes to its natural end in time. He leans his forehead against yours and the two of you stay there in a comfortable but sad silence, his fingers lacing through yours reassuringly.

“I love you too, Y/N,” he murmurs, his amber gaze so soft and loving that you have no trouble believing him at all. “You already knew that, I think, but I really do, so much that it scares me. And I’m sorry that this has to be so complicated. I hope you understand that I have to be cautious, as much for your sake as my own.

“But I’m done pushing you away,” he promises. “Because now that I know you feel the same way, I can’t lose you like I’ve lost everyone else. I’ve learned that the world doesn’t seem quite so bleak with you around. You make me happier and give me strength more than anyone I’ve ever known.” He cradles your hair, looking at you with all the sincerity and affection in the world. “It will be difficult, and there are so many things we need to figure out first, but we’ll get there. I’m sure of it.” He leans his forehead against yours. “There’s nothing I can’t do with you beside me.”

You lean in and seal his promise with one last lingering kiss. The two of you fall asleep in each other’s arms that night, basked in a loving, safe warmth that you’ll find out all too soon is only fleeting.

[hanalwayssolo]

The Quiet Things That No One Ever Knows

I mentioned to @hypaalicious I was going to unearth this and now here it is! Once upon a time, Crisis Core fucked me up and I wrote this self-indulgent fluffy thing ages ago because hngggh Sephiroth is a precious cinnamon roll before he became an actual sinnamon roll.

Considering all the days Sephiroth has worked with you in the field, he can’t figure out for the life of him why you’ve been acting so weird for the past few weeks.

Sure, the working chemistry between the two of you has been rocky at the beginning, but along the way, it proved the entire point of Tseng and Lazard jointly deciding to pair you up with Sephiroth for multiple assignments: your immaculate intel work and espionage skills as a promising Turk perfectly complemented his superhuman fighting prowess. You’re an additional intelligence to the already brains-and-brawn renowned war hero, and for Sephiroth, he immensely enjoyed working with you.

The thing now is, despite everything going along swimmingly, as of late, Sephiroth could not understand why you seem to be avoiding him. Like, being within his proximity just gets you strangely uncomfortable. At the back of his mind, he’s raking for reasons why, and he’s trying to figure out if there was anything offensive that he ever did to you at all. He replayed past conversations, all the dry-humoured jokes, and he just can’t seem to get to the bottom of anything. And with this, he somehow resented you for reasons beyond any plane of existence could ever understand. It’s not that there’s an existing animosity between the lot of you Turks and 1st Class SOLDIERs that warrants his ill-stemmed feeling. But for the first time in his life, there’s a mystery before him that no amount of his training in SOLDIER, nor any of his educated research could ever solve for him.

For the first time, he actually felt helpless.

And out of all the things that Sephiroth hates, this feeling of helplessness is at the top of his list.

Out of all the things that you hate, this unnamed feeling in your chest is now at the top of your list.

And for the first time, nothing ever made sense to you.

The funny thing about this is you don’t know how, or why, or when the tangle of emotions started, but every single time you see Sephiroth these days, you feel like your heart is about to erupt out of your chest. The funnier thing about that is he doesn’t even do anything that could merit a good reason for you to get all internally antsy. You try to rationalize things, just like you always do, but you end up taking the easy route which is to hate him.

True, your partnership with Sephiroth allowed you to witness and be amazed with his exceptional combat skills and his strategic mind at work, and you enjoyed every second of it. But as of late, you hate how he effortlessly executes everything he does. You hate how he sometimes smiles when Zack makes a silly joke about chocobos, or when Angeal passionately explains his gardening methods. But most of all, you hate his stupid, handsome face.

All things considered, you and Sephiroth are a force to be reckoned with.

But all of this tension finally takes its toll when you discover out of the blue that he has requested Tseng to pull you out from all his other assignments. Without even thinking, and with the fumes of your frustration consuming you, you march through the corridors of the SOLDIER headquarters, making a beeline for the training room. You stop to look through the glass door, and the unmistakeable long, silver hair and the black coat standing in the middle of the room is your cue to storm inside.

The whirring of the sliding door catches Sephiroth’s attention. “I believe I’m not expecting any company—”

“Care to explain to me why the fuck you pulled me out of all my upcoming missions with you?” The rage in your voice is so thick and scathing, but Sephiroth’s face remained unfazed as he turns to you, his eyes as cold as glaciers.

“I no longer require your assistance, given your inadequacies,” his words were sharper than steel. He should have just stabbed you in the chest while he’s at it.

You look at him, completely aghast. “I’m sorry—me? Inadequate? Are you fucking kidding me?” You pace across the room to distract yourself from the gripping feeling smothering your chest. “After that one time I saved your wounded ass in Wutai and I am inadequate?”

The crack in your voice allowed a faint twitch of emotion to break Sephiroth’s impassive face. Your eyes are burning hot from the tears that threaten to spill over, and you keep it at bay; he’s the last person in the universe that you ever wanted to see you cry.

When he does not answer, you finally diffuse the suffocating silence.

“You know what, fine,” you begin, and the tone of your voice still resonates a hurt that neither of you could ever comprehend. “Before all of this, it was actually my greatest pleasure working with you. I just… if you wanted to get rid of me, if you hated me that much, you could have said so. And it would have been nice if I heard it from you first.” You return towards him and stop to look at him straight in the eye. “So, there you have it. Have a fucking swell career, Sephiroth.”

You walk past him, and god, you can’t wait to get out of here and let all these stupid tears out of your system. But before you can even get through the door, like a flash of lightning, Sephiroth snatches your arm and spins you around. In a heartbeat, his face is now inches from yours, and you can feel and taste his breath.

“I don’t understand you,” he grits his teeth as he whispers the words out, and all the while, you can’t help but stare at his perfectly luscious lips.

“I don’t understand you, either,” you snap back, trying so hard to sound in control. “Glad the feeling is mutual.”

He leans even closer, his forehead touching yours, and his hands gingerly take your face.

Before this painful second stretches on, you breathe, “If you’re going to kiss me, you can do so—”

It was almost brutal and terrifyingly electric, but the way his lips met yours, the shock ran through your spine like a raging torrent. You respond roughly when you sink your teeth into his bottom lip, your fingers running through his hair.

And just like that, all at once, all the unnamed emotions finally make sense.

What began as a frustrated kiss led to another one. And then another. It went on until the both of you already memorized how your lips moved against each other. It kept going until the both of you had granted each other an unspoken forgiveness, a closure for all the aching and agonizing weeks of misunderstood words and misplaced feelings.

What started as a cutthroat partnership ended in his bed that night. And the night that followed. And the nights turned into three, four, and five, until the both of you eventually lost count.

Considering all the nights you’ve been in Sephiroth’s bed, you’ve already made a habit of watching his beautiful sleeping face.

It’s certainly one sight to behold, if you’re being honest, and a tricky one to catch, too. Apart from the other obvious habit that the both of you have been doing each other every night, and with Sephiroth possessing a stamina of a mighty stallion, waiting for him to lull into sleep after sex proved to be difficult, but never impossible. He would stay up, absentmindedly twirling a lock of your hair, or pressing his lips against your forehead, until slowly but surely, his breathing steadies into a rhythm, and all his soft and tender touches come to a pause.

As you study him in the faint glow of moonlight, you find a strange serenity that inhabits his pale features; his stern and stoic face is replaced by a gentleness that mellows the sharp planes of his cheeks, a calmness similar to that of a sleeping child.

Still buzzing in the delight of a beautiful exhaustion, you cautiously sneak out of bed, careful not to stir Sephiroth out of his peaceful slumber. You take whatever piece of clothing you find discarded on the floor; you settle on Sephiroth’s white dress-shirt and slip yourself in it.

You tiptoe out of his bedroom and into the kitchen. You never really paid attention to the details of his quarters. But now that you look closely, there are a couple of plants along the counters, which you immediately assumed to be Angeal’s doing. You expected his place to be gray and bland, but surprisingly, with all the potted plants and the photos of Zack, Angeal, and Genesis plastered on his fridge, it definitely puts your boring room to shame. “Hey.”

You felt your heart leap out of your chest when you see Sephiroth standing in the doorway, shirtless and looking nothing less than glorious. He curiously watches you, and he wonders how his shirt hanging so lazily around your small frame could look so sexy, matched with your beautifully disheveled hair.

You must have been gawking hard at him too when he says, “My eyes are up here.”

“Yup. Gotcha.” You mechanically answer, making an effort to drag your eyes out of his sculpted chest and back into his absurdly pretty face.

Sephiroth casually walks over to you, and he places a chaste kiss on your lips. The scent of rose and vanilla that lingered in his skin is intoxicating. "You do know it's rude to stare, right?" "I wouldn’t be staring if you had something on." "But you have my shirt on, my love," he wraps his arms around your waist. "Unless you want me to take it off you?" You can practically hear him seducing you with just his voice. "That's a very tempting offer, but nope," you slyly counter. "Never mind—you look better with your shirt off."

Sephiroth’s mouth hangs slightly open, and you see a gentle flush creeping on his face. You try to bite back the smile on your face.

You cheekily laugh, “Did I just fluster you, big guy?”

“You and your smart mouth,” he grants your lips another kiss. He’s smiling when he pulls away, and you feel your heart doing somersaults at the sight of it.

“Well, it’s my only redeeming quality,” you flash him a sweet grin of your own.

“What are you doing here in the kitchen, anyway?” he asks, and his hands wander around your hips. “It’s four in the morning.”

Your own hands wander around his chest. “I was planning to get rid of these marks you left me—”

You squeak a little when he scoops you up and props you to sit on the counter. Sephiroth nuzzles your neck, leaving soft kisses and gentle bites. “But it looks good on you.” You giggle. “My, you’re getting cheeky now? Is this Zack's annoying qualities rubbing off on you, because if it is, I prefer you to be your usual brooding self."

He only hums in response as he continues to traverse the expanse of your shoulders with more kisses. “Just call in sick.”

“You know I can’t—” you quickly whine, and he only laughs. “Sephiroth, I love you but this isn’t funny if I’m supposed to be your best guarded secret—”

He abruptly stops and he slowly raises his head to face you. There’s confusion in his eyes, and your face drops at the grave look on his face, so you could only ask, “Did I say something—”

“Say it again.”

“I’m your best guarded secret—”

“No, the other thing.”

The realization slowly unravels in your head. But instead of saying the words again, you decide to show it to him by pulling him into a deep kiss.

For the first time in Sephiroth’s life, the mystery before him finally reveals itself. The revelation required no help from his formal training in SOLDIER, nor any of his educated research. For the first time, he felt normal and human.

Out of all the things that he can finally claim that he truly adores, this feeling of you by his side is at the top of his list.