#they should not be pitted against one another... its polyamory after all

[fbdo1986]

okay but knowing the camferris and the camsloane hugs ive written are about equal in tenderness is making me so happy right now

[thesummerstorms]

This started out supposed to be a cute/fluffy oneshot with Rye and Dar both giving Etain “I missed you” kisses. It instead turned into 2,940 words of Etain not really dealing with multiple compounded traumas, including a close call that triggers memories of her death, plus some very tentative early days polyamory. 

I’m not at all sure I actually like this piece. It didn’t do anything I wanted. Iit probably needs at lead 300 words cut and some tight editing, But after the number of hours I spent on this, at this point it’s getting posted, terrible and awkward or not. I apologize in advance for the wordiness. Low key inspired by some of Izzy's recent Force fic stuff in small parts, but they do it much better and are not affiliated with this mess.

Fandom: Republic Commando 

Ships: Darman/Etain, Rhedian/Etain, the beginnings of some Rhedian/Darman and Rhedian/Etain/Dar (they either go off to make out together for the first time at the end or…)

Rating: PG? PG-13? I mean…

Characters: Etain Tur-Mukan, @clingy-ghost ‘s Rhedian, and Darman Skirata.

—

It’s zero dark thirty, local time, when Etain finally stumbles off the transport and drags herself three further blocks downlevel to their current hidey-hole. The sky in this district is aching with neon, the city pulsing with flashes of speeder lights and dingy bar signs enough to blot out the skies overhead with its own false twilight. Drunks leer occasionally in her direction, reeling out of cantinas papered with dingy, scandalous adverts. The blaster beneath her vest feels unusually heavy in the holster against her ribs.

She walks faster, knowing it would be sensible to be afraid, but this place is nothing compared to Coruscant or Nar Shaddaa, and she has spent the last hour of her shuttle ride here scrubbing the blood from her hands. The background promise of threat, threat, threat still pricks occasionally at the back of her mind, noticeable and unspecific and still-

She meets it not so much as an old friend but as some familiar noise pollution. After all, where isn’t there a threat these days? She’s never uncautious, or at least she would never admit to it, but at the moment the Force-given-knowledge is more annoyance than true concern, just one more trip to the adrenaline rush that has become semipermanent in her brain. The risk of walking through the streets this time of night is still present, but she has mostly lost the capacity to feel it. She has too many bigger things to feel afraid of.

Still, Etain is careful. She promised them she would be, after all. She sticks to the lit paths, doubles back on herself the prerequisite number of times, keeps the blaster within easy reach. This planet may be too much of a shithole for the Empire to bother with directly, filled with too many vagrants and not enough resources, but she’d never forgive herself if her lack of care lead more of her danger back to her family.

It takes another twenty minutes before she’s satisfied and finally creeps up to their motel door, several more after that to disarm and rearm their security measures. As she bolts the night away on the other side of the door, she finds herself selfishly grateful that this excursion, like all their others, has proved a failure, struck early from Darman’s list. She will be glad to see the last of this planet, to feel its atmosphere burn away to the nothingness of space, even if it further narrows their options.

Rhedian is still insisting that maybe they’d be better off in the ship, or she was at least when Etain left for her… side venture. Etain considers this as she unlaces her boots in the dark hallway, thinking of the pinched look in Rhedian’s face, the stony blankness of Dar’s.

They’re running out of places to go, of places even worth looking, the list dwindling and dwindling with every disguised excursion. The lines around Darman’s eyes get tighter every time they return beneath the earth into Kyrimorut, met by Kal’s kindly smile. Rhedian uses the extra days, the ones meant to look as if they aren’t traveling in tandem, to reach out to her old smuggling contacts. But a smuggler’s hold is no place to raise a baby, especially in this strange new galaxy of theirs. Besides, they can’t afford it. Even the ship isn’t really theirs.

Another spike of adrenaline floods her already aching body at that thought, but Etain does her best to wrestle it into submission. It isn’t a problem she can fix in the middle of the night, trapped in this grungy hallway. So she focuses instead on the stinging of her muscles as she strips out of her armored vest and boots, tossing both thoughtlessly to the floor. The holster is hung with a little more care, and then she pads barefoot into the tiny suite.

Her eyes take their time adjusting, but after a moment she can make out Darman’s door, closed, no light underneath, and Rhedian’s, slightly cracked but silent. She leans against the kitchenette, waiting, but neither of them emerges. After a moment she wonders if she should shower again. She washed her hair twice before she made the trip back and scoured her hands a dozen more times on the way, but there are still tiny flecks of blood on her tunic, lingering around the edges of the sleeves.

Etain fills a glass from the cabinet with water, frowns, and sets it down without drinking. She shrugs her way out of the tunic and kicks it somewhere under the table where, at least in the dark, she can no longer see it. For a moment the shadows seem to lurch around her, cold down her bruised spine, but she shoves that away too. She shouldn’t focus on things she can’t fix. She can’t fix what’s already happened.

Maybe she should go ahead and find the datapad she was working on before her rendezvous. Rhedian and Darman’s doors are both shut, or close enough to, and she can’t find it in her to risk disturbing them. For all that she’s exhausted, she knows her mind is still too full to sleep.

I should meditate. The next automatic conclusion, one built by years of training. But she knows she won’t. Whatever is waiting for her in the depths and eddies of the Force tonight, it isn’t something to bring her the emptiness she was taught to look for.

Still not a problem I can solve. 

Instead, she rocks forward onto her toes, fingers pressed into the pitted countertop, legs burning, paralyzed by her narrow choices. She focuses on her breathing, the way Kyrvhe taught her after she woke up, and leans her head against the cabinet. When she closes her eyes, the blood and the darkness are waiting.

When was the last time she felt like this?

But she can’t pretend she doesn’t know why.

Not a problem she can fix, maybe not a problem that can ever be fixed, after everything that has happened to her. She flexes and releases each ligament in her shaking hands, counts the pill bottles lined by the sink, some hers and some Darman’s, and tries not to hyperventilate as she feels the Force looking back at her.

She considers taking a sedative; Mij has prescribed her plenty, at a loss for what else to do. But the last thing she wants is to sink back into the nothingness, even as sharp as her racing thoughts feel against the corner of her mind.

“Tychon, Arelles, Nar Shaddaa,” she mutters, names of the planets they still have to investigate recited like a litany, as short as that list has gotten, “Taris. Amaranthine Station.”

Taris and Tychon are both unlikely- too many reports of Imperial interest lately, but they stay on her list anyway, the same six names, over and over. The last they’d heard from Mereel, brief as it had been, he’d cautioned them against the station, something about its population being too easy to track.  That was over a month ago. She isn’t surprised not to have heard from him since, but it hurts, as much as she understands. Darman wants to investigate anyway. Arelles, Nar Shaddaa, Taris, Amaranthine Station. Tychon, Arelles, Nar Shaddaa, Taris-

The walls are too close, but maybe one of these is a thing she can fix if she finds the right way into the Arelles port, if they find the right aliases to sneak into Tychon, if-

“Hey… were you planning to drink this?”

A hand presses against her shoulder. Etain opens her eyes again to see Rye, sleep mussed hair and a too-short sleep shirt, smiling with studied lightness.

“What?” Etain asks.

“The water. Are you going to drink it? I’m thirsty.”

Etain waves her wordless surrender of the glass, and Rhedian sips, still carefully nonchalant, but Etain can tell she’s worried.  Rye’s eyes are fixed just a little too intensely, and Etain has known her too long to be fooled.

Rye’s thumb strokes a casual circle between her shoulders. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“You didn’t,” Rhedian lies, like Etain’s frantic mind wouldn’t have been a beacon in these close quarters. Rye’s hand dips a little lower down Etain’s bare back, but the moment her fingers brush against the brutal, jagged scar that stretches from hip to just below her shoulder, Etain flinches away. Rhedian can’t hide her frown then, though she tries as she pulls respectfully away. “You are back early, though.”

From the look in Rye’s face, Etain’s surge of emotion is answer enough, but she grits her teeth through an answer anyway.

“It was a setup. Things got a little close. I had to kill a guard.”

She knows she isn’t imagining Rye’s small intake of breath, but Etain keeps her eyes trained on the counter and not on Rhedian’s face. She can feel the other woman’s gaze, definitely studious this time, concerned, looking for any obvious hurt. Etain does her best to show nothing back but stillness.

Rhedian is smarter than that, though. Since they were children, Rhedian was always the one Etain had the hardest time hiding from. After a moment, Rye cups her fingers underneath Etain’s chin, gentle but firm. Their eyes meet.

“Are you okay?” Rhedian asks.

It’s Etain’s turn to smile, however weakly. After all, even if they both can tell the answer, Etain isn’t about to give it. Rhedian doesn’t sleep much better than she or Dar do, and besides, it would be hard to explain. “Of course. Just a little bruised. Maybe a little shaken up, but it’s nothing a hot shower won’t solve.”

She leans her chin further into Rhedian’s hand, green eyes tilted almost shyly upwards, won’t-you-please-trust-me? She takes Rhedian’s free hand in her own, and if it’s meant to be a distraction, it isn’t one that’s primarily meant for Rye. Etain laces their fingers together and squeezes.

Rhedian looks very much as if she wants nothing better to call Etain on her shit anyway. Her brow furrows; her grip tightens ever so slightly. Liar, exclaims the downward curl of her lip. Then she glances downwards, at their joined hands, and her expression softens.

“Are you okay?” she again, just this side of tender. Etain pitches forward in response, tucking her face against Rye’s collar bone, her head just beneath Rhedian’s chin. Rhedian shifts to hold her, and this time when Rye’s fingers brush the scar, Etain manages not to flinch.

“Of course,” she lies again, “But tell me what I missed. Did we make any progress here?”

Of course they didn’t; her husband would have commed her, and he had been certain from the moment they landed that this place was a dud of a fallback plan. If Etain hadn’t had her other business to attend, they might not have stayed at all.  But Rhedian hesitates before answering all the same.

“Nothing yet. This place is… less than suitable. Especially for the little one.” Rhedian’s embrace tightens a little more, pulling Etain closer to her chest. Comfortable. “But we will find somewhere to go, Etain. Eventually.”

Etain hums agreement into her old friend’s neck. Whatever doubts she’s beginning to have that the three of them- the five of them, really, counting the baby and Scout- could ever find somewhere both safe from the Empire and out of Kal’s long shadow, she doesn’t want to admit them yet. She wants this situation to still be salvageable. She wants Rhedian to keep holding her. She wants to forget the shadows that wait for her to close her eyes.

“What are we thinking then? The station next?”

“No.” The voice that answers her is low and gruff with sleep, not Rhedian’s at all. “Mereel was right. It’s big enough but too remote. Not much inbound traffic. Too easy to track us coming and going.”

Dar. Etain is a little surprised she didn’t feel him approach. She peels her eyes back upwards for a moment, taking in the dark shadows under his eyes and his mussed hair. He’s been tossing and turning since he came back home from Coruscant, waking suddenly in the night. She isn’t surprised to see him now, just guilty.

Still, she doesn’t regret it when he comes up behind her and presses himself tight against her back. Rhedian lets go of Etain’s hand to grab Darman’s, some wordless communication passing between them. As new and awkward as this is between all three of them, the constant negotiation and testing of boundaries between each kiss, Etain thinks Darman and Rhedian have gotten good at that. Better, at least.

Not perfect, yet, though, because Dar still asks. “What happened?”

And, oh, Etain doesn’t want to answer that just now. Bracketed by their warmth, she had only just started to feel the memory, the sense of being watched recede. But Darman is tensing up, and the edge in his voice is back, of course it is, because she knows he is remembering her screaming on Coruscant, remembering his grief for her.

And then she can’t help but remember either, in jumbled flashes of near and distant past- the trap sprung, a knife glinting at her throat as her head slammed the permacrete, as she scrambled for her blaster, but the knife wasn’t a knife, it was a lightsaber dragged across her flesh, glancing across her spine, and the agony and then the darkness waiting, even as she pulls the trigger- and it’s a delicate thing to hide from Darman, who no longer takes kindly to secrets, but if she speaks, she will feel it all again.

Why is she like this? She should be better than this by now.

Rhedian saves her by answering, still so close Etain can feel her heartbeat. “Things went poorly.”

Rye volunteers no other information, but her tone speaks volumes. Darman bristles, his anger a brief spike in the Force lanced through with his fear, but Rhedian is still holding his hand. After a moment, he takes a deep breath, then presses a gentle kiss to the back of her neck. She feels rather than sees him looking up at Rye.

“Et’ika…”

“You look terrible,” Rhedian supplies, pulling Dar by his hand until they are all standing almost on top of one another, “Like you need to rest.”

Darman snorts at that, but puts his free hand against her hip, just shy of Rhedian’s on her back. His stubble tickles her scalp. “You look like osik. Rye’s right. You should come to bed.” Etain shakes her head, but he presses on, a little less certain. “Did you need, ah, -”

“I don’t want to take a sedative. I don’t care what Mij says.” That, at least, she’s certain of. Her skin crawls at the thought of being trapped. “I’m too worked up to sleep, anyway. ”

Something in Rhedian’s expression changes again, and Etain winces. This isn’t fair to them, to be held hostage in the middle of the night by her paranoia and restlessness. She can find some way to distract herself. Go through the Arelles data, maybe. Make herself useful instead of burdening the people she loves.

Tychon, Arelles, Nar Shaddaa. She rocks suddenly forward onto her toes again, the impulse translated automatically to movement but Rhedian holds her tighter, and Darman makes a discontented grunt. She hastens to reassure them both. “It’s fine. I’ll just find the datapad and make some shig and-”

“Or…” Rhedian cuts her off, then hesitates. Rye was never one to hesitate when they were children, or even as adults when the feelings between them finally crashed into the open. But something is different here. She leans in and brushes her lips against Etain’s cheek. Etain wants to tell her, to remind her that this isn’t necessary, that she doesn’t need to waste her time and precious sleep, but then Rye looks up and her gaze isn’t for Etain at all.

Whatever the silent cue is, Etain feels Darman freeze, considering, then nod ever so slightly. His bare chest is still warm against her back. He squeezes her hip. “… Or you could let us help?”

It comes out a question, uncertain, but Rhedian smiles and stands on her tiptoes. This time, she kisses Dar’s cheek. Etain bites her lip, turning her neck further than is comfortable as she tries unsuccessfully to look at them both. Darman is flushed, that much she can tell, but something in the way he’s eyeing Rhedian makes her think they’ve talked about …whatever this is before. At the very least, he seems reassured.

“I-”

This is not something Etain wants to just take. Not with everything still so tremulous and new. Not with the mess she fears she’s already made tonight. She doesn’t want Darman or Rhedian to feel obligated.

But fierfek, if she doesn’t feel better between them. Anchored.

Rye’s smile turns teasing, but her voice is still gentle. “We could just kiss if you like. Kisses are excellent diversions for adrenaline.”

“Cyar’ika,” Dar says, his voice suddenly husky. “Let us help you feel safe.”

She isn’t, of course. None of them really are, and tonight was just a reminder. This whole trip is a reminder. But in that moment Etain wants to pretend they are. It that moment, if she pretends not to remember, she almost feels like they are.

Besides, she loves them.

She leans forward and kisses Rhedian on the mouth. Lets Darman start to pull them both in the direction of one of the sofa.

She loves them, and they want her to be safe. That has to be enough for now.

[ladywinchester1967]

Double the Fun: Part 3

Title: Double the Fun: Part 3

Links: AO3 & WattPad

Square Filled: Dom/ sub

Rating: E for Explicit

Tags: choking, SMUT, oral (male and female receiving) dom/ sub dynamics, polyamory, threesome(ish) no J2 action, Dom!Jensen, Sub!OFC. This is all porn, damn near no plot. Unbeta’d, all mistakes are mine, pics are not. This is a work of FICTION and doesn’t mean any disrespect to Gen or Danneel. 

Created for: @spnkinkbingo

Jensen opened the door for me and followed behind me, placing his hand on the small of my back.

“Why thank you.” I said with a smile as he kissed my temple.

With beers in had, we walked over the fire pit where Jared was waiting for us. It was a balmy night in Texas, perfect weather for a cookout and a fire, which is exactly what we had decided to do. I handed Jared his drink as he thanked me and kissed me.

It had been more than four months since we'd started our relationship and it felt like a dream since everything had been going so smoothly. It felt like we had fallen into an easy routine after the guys had asked me to move in two weeks ago.

“You're here more often than you're at your apartment anyway.” Jensen had pointed out.

In the present, I sat back down in my seat between the two men, my back against Jensen's shoulder and my legs in Jared's lap as we talked. One thin I felt that we had as our advantage was that we all genuinely enjoyed each other's company. It didn't matter if we were out and about or at home, we just liked to be around one another.

“What’s something you’ve always wanted to try?” Jared asked me.

“In general or in the bedroom?” I asked and they both laughed.

“Yes.” Jared answered.

Jensen playfully raised his hand and said

“I know this one.”

“Let her answer.” Jared said.

I blushed hard and said

“Outside the bedroom, scuba diving, inside the bedroom it's the dom thing.”

“You two never did that?” Jared asked, looking surprised.

Jensen shook his head

“I’ve dominated her plenty of times,” he said “she wants to try being the dominate one.”

Jared raised his eyebrows and smiled.

“So she’s a sub?” Jared asked and Jensen nodded.

“She’s a good girl,” he said, smiling at me fondly “aren’t you?”

His words shot straight to my core and I eagerly nodded.

“Yes sir.” I answered, practically rattling with anticipation.

He raised his eyebrow and a wicked grin crossed his face.

“You wanna show Jared what a good girl you are?” He asked.

It took everything I had in me not to come in my pants right then and there.

“Would that make you happy sir?” I asked.

Jared was watching our exchange with fascination.

“Yes,” Jensen said “it would. Get changed, you have five minutes.”

“Yes sir.” I answered and went into the house, up the stairs and to my room. I opened my drawer where I kept all of my naughty lingerie and changed into a black bra with a wine colored ribbon and panties that matched. I tied my hair back into a ponytail and then sat on the bed, waiting. When the door finally opened, Jared walked in first his eyes going wide when he saw my get up and made room for Jensen who was in total Dom mode. The way his shoulders were squared so he was drawn up to his full height and the way his jaw clenched had me nearly in a puddle on the bed.

“Good girl.” he commented as he shut the door behind him. Jared sat himself in the corner and I sat up on my knees. Jensen was smiling, but he was in his element. I crawled to the edge of the bed where he drank me in. “I like these,” he said as he tugged at the waistband of my panties as I sat up on my knees again “these are keepers.”

“I’m glad you like them.” I told him “May I touch you?”

“You may.” He said.

I slid my hands up his wide forearms as the tension seemed to leave his body. He placed his hands on my hips and I moved my hands up his arms to his shoulders.

“You’re gonna be a good girl for me aren’t you?” He asked.

“Yes sir,” I answered automatically “I will.”

He seared a kiss on to my lips and then tilted my face up to meet his gaze, his eyes were full of adoration and control.

“Up off the bed,” he told me and took my hand to help me down “walk over to Jared.”

I did as he told me to and I walked over to Jared, who was unabashedly staring. I stood in front of him as Jensen walked up behind me and then said to Jared

“She does whatever I ask, unless she uses her safe word. Tell him your safe word.”

“Red.” I answered as Jensen placed his hands on my hips. He kissed my shoulder as he gripped me tightly.

“Whatever you ask?” Jared questioned as he shifted in his seat.

“Yep,” Jensen said with pride in his voice “I could tell her to ride you and she’d do it.”

I froze, Jensen usually didn’t share when he was in his dominate head space. He let his fingers curl around the base of my spine and said in my ear. “I’m showing you off baby,” he reminded me “the only cock you’re about to ride is mine. Don’t worry about him.”

“Yes sir.” I told him as he took my hand and spun me slowly around so Jared could get a good, long look at me. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water as he drank me in. I could tell he was uncomfortable, sitting with a raging boner as Jensen ran his hands all over my body.

“What should I do with you?” Jensen asked “I could bend you any which way I want.” He kissed along my jawline and pulled me close to him. “Or I could be generous.” I looked up at him and he seemed to have made up his mind. “Be a good girl and go suck Jared’s cock.”

“Yes sir.” I said as I got on my knees in front of Jared, who looked surprised.

“You’re gonna share this sweet little toy with me?” Jared asked, slipping into his role easily, I slid my hands up and down his thighs and looked up at Jensen.

To this, I watched Jensen shrug.

“She sucks dick like a champ,” he said with a gleam in his eye “that I’ll share.”

I bit my lip and unbuckled Jared’s belt.

“You ready for me handsome?” I asked as I eased his pants and underwear down to his ankles. He eagerly nodded as I freed his erection, proud and long, against his belly. I licked my lips and took him into my hand first. I licked him from root to tip, flattening my tongue as I moved it along his length. He groaned deeply as a gripped the arms rests of the chair. I watched as Jensen inhaled sharply as he watched me.

“Take him in your mouth sweetheart,” Jensen told me “show him how good you are.”

I nodded and took Jared bit by bit, my hand compensating for what my mouth couldn’t hold. He slid his hands over my ponytail and jerked my head upwards.

“No hands.” He told me.

I looked at Dean, who crossed his arms over his chest.

“Be a good girl and listen to Jared.” He told me. I nodded

“Yes sir.” I answered and put my hands behind my back, taking as much of Jared as I could in my mouth, he thrust up into my throat, making me gag and tears pool in my eyes.

“Fuck,” Jared moaned as he made his thrusts a little more shallow, I sucked harder on him and he groaned louder “oh you are a good girl.”

“I told you.” Jensen said as he came up behind me. This bra hooked in the front so when he undid the hooks, my chest was immediately on display for both of them. Jensen took my breasts in his hands, teasing my nipples with his fingers while I sucked hard on Jared’s cock. His fingers snarled in my hair as he bucked up into my mouth and I let out a moan. Jensen tweaked my nipples just right, making an electric feeling shoot straight to my core.

“You liking this sweetheart?” Jensen asked in my ear “Jared’s cock in your mouth while I play with you?”

I popped off Jared and said

“Yes sir, I love it.”

“Let him fuck your mouth until he comes,” he told me “and you’ll get a reward.”

“Yes sir.” I told him and took Jared back into my mouth, my tongue swirling around his shaft as I sucked on him. He held my throat and thrust into my mouth. I swear he could feel himself buried deep in my throat as tears pooled in my eyes and drool leaked out of the corners of my mouth. Jared squeezed my throat and groaned.

“Ah fuck, fuck that feels-FUCK!-fucking good!” Jared shouted and moved a little faster.

Jensen slipped his hand down into my panties and growled.

“Oh baby, you LIKE Jared throat fucking you and choking you?” He asked in surprise.

With my mouth otherwise occupied, I nodded as best as I could.

“Fuck, I’m close, shit!” Jared yelled.

“Mh, you’re doing so good baby girl,” Jensen purred in my ear “such a good girl.”

He parted my lower lips and let one finger glide through my soaking folds. I felt my eyes roll into the back of my head and Jared let out a sharp cry as he spilled into my mouth and I swallowed everything he gave me. He was literally shaking as I looked up. He looked wrecked but he was smiling.

“Fuck, that was intense.” He said as he breathed heavily. I gave him a cheeky grin as Jensen added another finger and I used my tongue to clean up the corners of my mouth as best as I could.

“Go get cleaned up for your reward.” Jensen told me.

“Yes sir.” I answered.

He took his hand out of my panties and helped me stand up. I made my way to the bathroom and swished some mouthwash in my mouth, then cleaned up Jared’s remnants with a tissue. When I was finished, I sauntered out of the bathroom and over to Jensen, who kissed me.

“Take your bra off and lay on the bed for me.” He told me.

“Yes sir.” I answered with a smile. I did as he told me and laid back against the pillows, discarding my bra. Jared joined me on the bed while Jensen took his shirt off and crawled across the bed to me, like a predator stalking its prey. He flattened his hands down my sides, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of my panties. He dragged them down and off my legs, then spread them wide. He looked up, smirked and then licked me from hole to clit with his flattened tongue. Jared kissed me and I whined into his mouth, my back arching.

“Jensen was right,” Jared said as he took my face into his hands “you ARE a good girl.”

“I-ah fuck!-try to be.” I struggled to say as Jensen’s tongue wound through my folds. He lapped over my clit as I squirmed in Jared’s arms, making him chuckle. He kissed down my jaw and throat.

“What the hell?” Jensen asked and Jared and I looked up. “You put a hickey on her thigh?!” He asked, looking perturbed.

“Yeah,” Jared said with pride “I sure did.”

I shrugged as Jensen shook his head and sucked a darker mark into my opposite thigh.

“Fuck!” I whined as he did this.

“Much better.” Jensen said and went back to flicking his tongue over my clit. Jared kissed the hollow of my throat and down to my breasts where he cupped them in his hands, tweaking my nipples. I bucked my hips into Jensen’s mouth and my toes curled as I tried to hold out.

“Oh my god,” I breathed “I wanna come, please!”

“Little bit longer.” Jensen said as he devoured me, using his lips and tongue to drive me insane as Jared lapped his tongue over my nipples. Whatever was beyond incoherent, that’s where I was as they lavished my body with their attention. I was a screaming, writhing mess when Jensen finally said

“Come. Now.”

It felt like something broke in my mind as I let go; my vision went white and it felt like heat and ice went down my spine at the same time. For half a second, I was convinced that I’d died and gone to heaven because of how blissful I felt. When I finally came down from my high, both men were smiling at me.

“Good girl.” They said at nearly the same time. Jared got up as Jensen took his place on top of me.

“You two have the fun.” Jared said as he headed for the door.

“Jared,” I said as I watched him go “no.”

He smiled and walked back to the bed as he kissed me.

“It’s okay baby,” he assured me as he pushed some of my hair off my forehead “I had my fun, we have to share.”

I looked at Jensen who went from apprehensive to happy seemingly in a second.

I nodded and he said

“I’ll make you a snack for after and who knows? Maybe I'll let you dominate me.”

I nodded and he gave me another quick kiss before leaving the room, closing the door behind him. Jensen hovered over me, kissing me deeply as he wrapped me up in his arms. We didn’t talk as we removed his clothes; under his intense gaze, soft touches and sensual kisses, we didn’t have to. He buried himself deep in me as we both cried out. He kissed me hard as he started to move, my rhythm matched his as we moaned into each other’s mouths.

“Fuck,” he breathed “oh fuck me Lorelei, fuck me.”

I hooked my leg around his waist and pinned him under me as I started to ride him. He buried his fingers into my hips as he bit his lip to keep from crying out too loudly. I placed my hands on his chest, feeling his heart hammering under my hand. He snapped up and wrapped his arms around me as he moved with me. I slid my hands through his hair, kissing him hard.

“I love you,” I murmured to him “I love you Jensen.”

“I love you too.” He said.

My eyes fluttered open and he was looking at me with such adoration that it nearly had me in tears. We kissed again as I held his head in place.

“I’m gonna-“ I started

“I know,” he said “I’m close, fuck I’m so close. Bend over for me baby.”

I untangled my limbs from his as I got on all fours. He quickly slammed inside me, both of us groaning as he slid home. He fucked me harder as his rhythm faltered. With a moan of my name, he came deep inside me as I tightly gripped the sheets.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Hope you guys enjoyed that!! Like I said in the tags, this was just gratuitous smut......but I figured what the hell? It was begging to be written! 

As always, your kind feedback is appreciated more than you know! Don’t forget to like and share with your friends; smash that “follow” button if this is your first time here and you wanna see more content from me. I can’t believe I’m nearly at 700 followers!! like WHAAAAAAAAT?!?!?!?!? Also, my tag lists and boxes are open so if you wanna be tagged or just want to chat, feel free!

The Squad:

@waywardbaby​​​ @waywardnerd67​​​ @familybusinesswritingbro​​​ @ain-t-bovvered​​​ @mrswhozeewhatsis​​​ @unholyqu33n​​​ @dacleverfox​​​ @emoryhemsworth​​​ @bobasheebaby​​​ @deanscarlett​​​ @myinconnelly1​​​ @mogaruke​​​ @imma-winchester-addict​​​​ @purpleskiesandcherrypies​​​ @dean-winchesters-bacon​​​ @animerose96​​​​ @coffee-n-fanfiction​​​​ @drakelover78​​​​ @curly-haired-disaster-deactivat​​​​ @roonyxx​​​​ @snffbeebee​​​​ @ezilyamuzed​​​​ @mirandaaustin93​​​​ @srsllydunnodoncare​​​​ @latetothewinchesterparty​​​​ @emilyshurley​​​​ @atc74​​​​ @midnightsilverafterdark​​​​ @adoptdontshoppets​​​​ @biawol​​​​ @supernatural-teamfreewillpage​​​​ @spaceystacey123​​​​ @bella-ca​​​​ @clo-heda​​​​ @closetspngirl​​​​ @thekatherinewinchester​​​​ @maddiepants​​​​ @idreamofplaid​​​ @love-those-boys-in-flannel​​ @flamencodiva​​ @blueberrykushlovexoxo-blog @sandlee44

Dean/ Jensen:

@spnbaby-67​ @akshi8278​

[winetae]

⇾ tessellate 02

⇁ hoseok x female reader x jungkook

⇁ smut, slight angst || fuckboi!au

⇁ public sex, exhibitionist themes, angsty sex;

⇁ 10.1k

. . .

“ Triangles are my favorite shape Three points where two lines meet.” (tessellate)

Triangles are supposed to be the strongest and most stable of all geometric shapes. You wonder how true this statement is if applied to real life situations. The way you see it: triangles aren’t a reliable structure for relationships, especially if the parties you’re involved with find commitment to be a foreign concept.

↳ or : a fuckboy’s guide to polyamory

⇀ start | 01 | 02

.

.

Your life is a mess — figuratively and literally. Empty coffee cups fill up your wastebasket; messy notes are strewn across your desk. Your sheets are in desperate need of washing — not that you can bring yourself to care when you’ve been falling asleep at your desk for the last three days. 

Sleep itself has become a foreign concept. Cup ramen and dry shampoo are now your trusted best friends. Although you do require ten different alarms on your phone to make sure you don’t miss class, your body miraculously manages to function properly enough for you to trudge through the week more or less unscathed. 

The past week in question is a blur; one never-ending, miserable routine that starts and ends with schoolwork. When your days aren’t eaten away by your part-time job and classes, you spend the rest of your time cram studying in cafes or finishing off your semester project in one of the available art studios on campus. You’re too caught up with your mountain-high pile of workload to dwell on any relationship troubles, especially when finals are knocking at your door, ready to promptly drag you down to your grave. 

"Rough night?" 

One of the only classmates you’re acquainted with, Joo, slinks into the chair beside yours, her leather messenger bag dropping to the floor with an audible thud. The familiar aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafts under your nose, and your sleep-deprived eyes are immediately drawn to the venti-sized cup she nurses in her hands. Your stomach growls — a loud reminder that you’ve been living off nothing but shots of caffeine and instant noodles.

"Is it that obvious?" You cover the undersides of your eyes self-consciously with your sleeve-covered hands. 

Has your concealer worn off already? The drugstore brand isn’t renowned for being long-lasting but it should, at the minimum, last longer than an hour… What the hell? You had been relying on the product to make you look somewhat human. You grown inwardly, already imagining how frightening you must look with your panda eyes and greasy hair haphazardly tied into a poorly put together bun. You make a mental note to stay away from the sight of your reflection only because you want to spare your eyes the pain.

Your clothes don’t help your case, either — the wrinkled hoodie that dwarfs your form makes you look like an unidentifiable blob who has been living in the same outfit for the past week...which, admittedly, wouldn’t be too far from the truth. You’re sure anyone who takes one glimpse in your direction would think you’ve given up on looking like a normal human being. Between the fight with Hoseok and finals looming over your head like a dark cloud, you’ve been neglecting to take care of yourself properly. And, in all honesty, you would rather sleep an extra fifteen minutes than get up to apply a layer of makeup.

"Don't worry, you don't look worse than anyone else here..." She gives you a friendly pat on the shoulder after noticing your gloomy expression.

A cursory glance around the room confirms Joo’s statement. Her words, however, fail to cheer you up. To know that you’re not worse off than the rest of your classmates is not the most comforting piece of information. A sea of red-rimmed eyes, sunken expressions and grayish complexions surrounds you; it’s a sight you would expect to see in post-apocalyptic movies, not in a 10 am painting class. 

"I stayed up until four finishing the damned thing. Thank God for coffee, right?" ” Joo’s lips curl into a frown as she pulls out her essay from her overstuffed bag. She curses under her breath when she notices the front page is dogeared and runs a hand over it in an attempt to flatten it out.

"Yeah.... I haven't been able to sleep much. I wish Professor Park would give us some slack.”

"Him? Give us a break? Yeah, right. He gets off watching us suffer. Why else would he give us this much work before finals? Fuckin' sadist.” She leans forward to press down harder, face contorted in a frown. “He can't wait to see us breakdown from the stress alone." Finally, she kicks one of the legs of the chair in front of her and slumps in her seat, apparently having given up on fixing the crease that mars the cover of her assignment.

Right on cue, the door slides open, and she peeks though her fingers, probably expecting Park to storm in right then. Her tense shoulders relax when the last students shuffle in instead of Park. She waves one of her friends over to the vacant chair next to her, her expression perking up.

You don’t recognize her friend, but, then again, you’re disgustingly bad at remembering faces. If Joo hadn’t struck up a conversation with you several weeks ago, you probably wouldn’t remember her, either. Your eyes stay peeled on her approaching form, partly out of secret admiration; unlike the rest of the zombie lookalikes in the class, her skin glows and her hair is perfectly sleek and shiny (the shampoo-advertisement glossy perfection you see on TV, not the gross kind of oily).

"You lot look like you've gone to hell and back again." The tall girl says in lieu of greeting, turning up her nose at the sight of the two of you. The look that crosses her face suggests she’s accidentally planted her heeled boot smack dab in a pile of cow dung… It does wonders for your ego. 

"That's 'cos we have.” Joo grumbles behind the rim of her cup of coffee. “Did you forget the 12 page essay due today?" 

"I'm more surprised you remembered. You're so unorganized, it’s a wonder you get any assignments done on time. It stresses me out every time I see you write your homework down on your hand. You can’t keep living this way… It’s April and you still don’t own a fucking planner!”

"Yeah yeah, whatever, mom. I'm not the only one who looks like death. Why don't you scold ____, too?"

You freeze up as they both turn to look at you, feeling the weight of their stares sweep over you.

The look Tall Girl appraises you with makes you flatten the top of your hair in a half-assed attempt to look more presentable. You don’t need confirmation of your repulsiveness when you're already all too aware that your tangled and knotted tendrils look like an open invitation for birds to come make their nest atop your head.

"I overslept today, s'all, didn’t have time to brush my hair," you mumble intelligibly between your teeth. You tug the sleeves of your sweater further down so that your fists are covered in the soft fabric, silently wishing that the ground would choose this exact moment to swallow you whole.

"It's cool that you're so confident in your appearance. I think if I dated someone so handsome, I would worry a lot more,” she says, leaning forward on her elbows to get a good look at you. You’re running dangerously low on sleep and patience which is why the mention of Hoseok instantly puts you in a crappy mood.

"Not everyone is that superficial, Lin. Exams are next week. Only you would care enough to get a Brazilian blowout four days before exams start." Joo forces out a laugh, trying to dispel the silent tension that had inched its way into the conversation. “Lin is a bit of bitch, don’t take it personally.”

“We all have our faults,” she shrugs, unbothered. “I’m a superficial, materialistic bitch — the kind trophy wives aspire to be. But at least I’m upfront about it. Say what you want, but I’m not the worse of the batch… Some people don’t have any morals.”

“You have morals? I’m surprised that you have a soul,” Joo snickers, earning an eye roll.

“Some things just go against my principles. I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing UGG boots, for example. Not even if you paid me to.” You can’t help but look down at her outfit — the sparkly pink ensemble looks straight out of the set of Scream Queens. “I only smoke weed on weekends and I don’t kiss boys who are taken.”

Mr. Park chooses that moment to enter the classroom, and you silently thank him for the save. You’re not sure what you could have replied to that, anyway. This is why you try not to interact with anyone, you think to yourself.

As the voice of your professor drones on, going over the study material for the nth time this week, your mind unwilling drifts back to Hoseok, prompted by Lin’s words.

It’s not like you’re actively thinking of him every second of every day. The God honest truth is that you’re trying your best not to let yourself be consumed by thoughts of him. For the most part, your method works well. You’ve got so much to juggle on your plate at the moment that your romantic woes are on the bottom of your growing list of concerns. Yet there are inevitable times when you’re forced to acknowledge the jumbled feelings you haven’t been able to sort out since the night you walked out on him.

Now being a prime example.

Lin’s words bring you back to last week’s fight, the incriminating messages found on his phone and his refusal to explain himself. You still have no clue what you should make of it. Your experience is limited; none of your past relationships have ever been this complicated or dramatic. The entire situation makes your heart clench with anxiety. Bubbling panic brews in the pit of your stomach when your thoughts linger on this subject too long.

Avoiding Hoseok will only postpone confrontation but you would rather battle one fight at a time. Finals are the most important. That’s what you tell yourself anyway, trying to justify your actions when you refuse to call him back after he leaves yet another voicemail.

Mina [10:21 am] you owe me lunch

Mina [10:21 am] it’s been a week

Oh, right… Mina had ordered you a cheese pizza last week when you refused to come out of your room. You had promised to pay her back, only to eventually forget. 

You glance ahead, trying to type your reply back as surreptitiously as possible.

Mina [10:22 am] pls feed me today

Mina [10:22 am] i’m broke af rn. my paycheck doesn’t come until the end of the month

You [10: 24 am] okay, fine. meet up for coffee at 12?

Mina [10:24 am] yes!!! I love you <33

Mina [10:25 am] is now a good time to tell u I finished your apple pie this morning

You [10:25 am] !!!!!!

You [10:26 am] I fucking hate you

Mina [10:28 am] sorry :-( will do your laundry for a week

You type back the last message with more force than necessary, a frown marring your features.

A voice interrupts your internal monologue, “Miss ______.”

The call of your name makes your head snap up, your wide eyes meeting the stern gaze of your professor. Although you feel like a deer in headlights, you try to mask your dread with a look of innocence. Several students have turned around to glance at you, and your cherry cheeks burn under the scrutiny.

“Yes?” Your response comes out as a nervous squeak, the sound betraying you. As you clear your throat with a loud cough, the hand that grips your phone under the table trembles.

Park heaves a sigh, the sound echoing in the silence of the room. “Please come see me after class.” The expression etched on his face informs you that whatever discussion he wishes to have with you will most likely not bode well for your future.  

“Yes, sir,” comes your meek reply.

Joo shoots you a sympathetic smile you weakly reciprocate.

It seems like your week from hell can get worse, you despair, holding back a groan. Stress eats away at you and you find it impossible to concentrate on the lesson when your thoughts cycle between Hoseok, your professor, and how your life just monumentally sucks. 

When class is finally dismissed, your shoulders sag with the weight of your accumulated troubles. You plod on over to your teacher’s desk, your apprehension visible on your face. 

“Your essay on George Seurat and Neo-Impressionism you handed in last week was, quite frankly, a disappointment,” is what he says once the last students have cleared out. 

Your stomach drops and you think you’re about to feel sick. Being told you’re failing class is not on the list of words you want to hear, now or ever. Back in high school, your work was always highly praised with a stellar grade to prove it, but you feel like your luck is about to change. 

“This isn’t the first month of college anymore. We’re almost at the end of the year, so I expect more from you. If you turn in something like that on the day of the final exam… Don’t expect a passing grade. I’m telling you this because I know that you’re capable of doing better.” 

He hands you your paper, red scribbles smirching the entirety of the first page. You take it back gingerly, afraid to read through all of your teacher’s commentary. Clutching your paper to your chest like a shield, you brace yourself for further criticism. 

“The factual content on the color theory is not false but your explanations are muddled and clumsy. If you follow the methodology we went over in class, you wouldn’t be having this problem. You seem distracted lately, and today was not an exception.” You respond to the pointed look he aims at you with a sheepish expression. 

“You don’t have a lot of time left, so make sure to straighten out your priorities. You have to get yourself back in the game, _____. Don’t lose focus of the objective now! You don’t want to see me next year again, alright?” The small smile he gives you makes you nod automatically. You thank him and promise him that you’ll try harder.

Outside, Joo looks up from her phone when you finally come out of the classroom. Lin stands behind her, inspecting her nails with a bored look plastered on her face. “So, how did it go?”

“Oh...it went fine. He’s not as scary as he looks,” you force out a smile, feeling a little dead inside. There’s a head-splitting ringing in your ears that makes your vision spin — almost as if someone has just hammered you over the head.  “He just wanted to go over the essay we turned in last week.”

“Cheer up,” she pats your shoulder awkwardly, your hand falling back to her side. “We’re going to work on our paintings this afternoon in Studio B. You should come too, if you’re not busy.”

“Yeah, okay.” The corners of your lips hurt, but you continue smiling. 

Your body moves on autopilot for the rest of the day — your feet two lead weights you drag across the floor to your next class. The only thing you look forward to is your lunch date with Mina. You’re so down that you don’t mind spending an extra ten bucks on sweets because you’re in serious need of a pick-me-up. 

The café you usually study in is packed; tables all around you are taken up by the MacBooks of students. You manage to find a seat in the very back, next to a lady in her seventies feeding her Chihuahua the crumbs of her cookie. There is not much elbow room, but Mina somehow manages to fit the tray of Danish pastries and her plate of Black Forest cake on the small table. 

She doesn’t waste a second — her fork attacking the desserts like a woman possessed.

“You aren’t getting that?” she mouths around a bite of Spandauer.

Your phone buzzes four more times on the table, a selfie of Hoseok with his older sister's dog you’ve set as your lockscreen staring up at you.

'Two Missed Calls from Hoseok' your phone alerts you, making your roommate raise an inquisitive eyebrow in your direction.

You choose to ignore both the call and the look she aims at you, your face schooled in a mask of nonchalance. “Hm? It can wait. I’d rather spend my time with you.”

“How sweet,” she says, not without her suspicions. “It's fine, you can answer. It might be important, you never know... And please.” She rolls her eyes. "Don't say that when it’s never stopped you before.”

“Ha ha," you say drily, cursing how she's able to see right through you. "Is it so hard to believe it when I say I would rather talk to you? It's been a while since we've spent time together.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you would rather be sucking Hoseok’s meat stick. Not that I blame you… I’d suck that dry if I could. Not that I would since you’re dating him but y’know. I’m getting pretty desperate... I’m this close to letting Dandruff Dan take me on a date. Don’t look at me like that! You don’t know what it’s like, okay? My vagina hasn’t had any action in so long, it’s starting to feel dusty.”

Next to you, an old lady splutters into her coffee cup, shocked no doubt by the vulgarity of today’s youth. One look at the scandalized expression carved on her face and you don’t know whether to laugh or to feel embarrassed. A nervous, strangled giggle leaves your mouth before you can stop it, earning you another glare. You’re thankful at least Mina has the decency to mouth her apology while handing the elderly woman a stack of paper napkins.

“I’d love for her to have a chat with my gran,” Mina says under her breath after making sure the white-haired woman could no longer overhear your discussion. “She used to be a groupie and followed rock stars around from city to city. If you knew the stuff she did… Makes pornos look tame. Ah, I really miss her… She’d be so disappointed in me if she knew I haven’t had dick in over six months...”

She takes another bite of cake, looking thoughtful. "Are you sure Jimin isn't down to mingle?"

"Dunno..." You twirl your stripped straw around your smoothie, refusing to think about Jimin. Jimin makes you think of Hoseok, and Hoseok is a problem you can't bring yourself to solve.  "Haven't seen him around much lately."

You've never interacted much before, but now that you're giving Hoseok the silent treatment, you're hell bent on avoiding any of his friends as well.

"What's going on? I can tell something's up. You've been biting your straw non-stop since we sat down and just look at your nails." You look down, finally taking notice of the tragic state of your nails, uneven with chips of fading blue nail polish still coloring your thumbs. "And it's not like you to blow off Hoseok twice in a row like that."

"Just, you know...  Stupid stuff."

"It's not stupid if it's bothering you. You can tell me what's wrong, if you want. I'm not the best at giving advice, but I don't like seeing you like," she waves a hand around at your face, "this. You look like…”

“Death came knocking at your door this morning," she supplies with a grimace. "Jesus, when was the last time you took a shower? Seriously… What's bothering you so much? Is it Hoseok? Did you guys finally have a fight?"

"Finally? What is that supposed to mean?”

"Well, yeah. It was bound to happen sooner or later.”

"Wait, what? You aren’t surprised?”

“Honestly?” Hesitation crosses her features as she mulls over her words. The beat of silence speaks volumes and gives you your answer before she finally speaks again. “Not really. What happened exactly?"

"I found some weird pictures on his phone. This girl he's been talking to sends him semi-nudes."

Mina shoots you an apologetic look. “I’ve always thought relationships built on sex don’t last long. Don’t take offense, okay? But all you two do is fuck. Any of your interactions involve getting each other off some way or another. I’m not saying that he should take you out to a fancy restaurant or anything, but... Do you guys even talk? What do you guys even do?”

“We do talk!” You’re quick to argue, used to defending yourself from accusations. “We text each other and we call each other when we can. Both of us are really busy right now, that’s why we haven’t been able to spend time with each other as much as I would’ve liked...”

“Okay...” She smiles, unconvinced. “And what do you guys talk about exactly?”

“Just, like...normal, mundane stuff. How our day went, what we’re having for dinner. But we’ve never argued before this...”

“So...superficial talk. You could have the same conversations with anyone else, am I right? And what do you even know about him? What’s his favorite color?”

“We don’t have to know everything about each other,” you argue. “We just started dating! You can’t expect us to know every single, little thing about each other. And, besides, I don’t know much about you, either, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t close.  Knowing or not knowing his favorite color shouldn’t be a reason enough to be with him or not.”

“It was an example, gosh. What I’m trying to say is that I don’t see what’s changed between now and the time you guys were just casually fucking. Like, cool, he calls you his girlfriend now, but what does it matter if he’s off wetting his dick whenever you’re too busy to let him come by.”

“I don’t know about that. He did say that he didn’t get with her since he started dating me... I shouldn’t care about who he’s been with before that.”

“You actually believe that excuse?” Mina lets out an unattractive snort. Stabbing a fork into her slice of chocolate cake with more force than necessary, she scoops out a huge mouthful that she somehow manages to swallow in one bite. “Honey, he could at least try to sound a little more convincing. He got that straight from a 'How to be a fuckboy' manual.”

"Hoseok isn't like his friends," you insist, stubbornly.

"Sure, sure. Take off your rose covered lenses for a second and hear me out. Birds of a feather flock together. Even if he's not as bad as his fuckboy posse, he can't be squeaky clean either. He and his friends name themselves the Pussy Terminators... Not only is that cringe as fuck, it's also a quite telling."

"I think Hoseok mentioned Jimin was the one who came up with that..." you add as an afterthought.

"That's not the point here! The point is, those types of guys are good for a fuck, and that's it. I'm glad things were working well with Hoseok, but I also don't want you to get hurt. So talk it out, listen to what he has to say, but don't let him play you like the naive freshman he might think you are."

She takes one of your hands between her own, “Don’t let him step all over you, okay? I know you like him a lot, but I can see how stressed out and miserable you look.”

You chew on your bottom lip, mulling over her words in silence. While she does have a point, you want to give Hoseok the benefit of the doubt, even if you aren’t sure if he deserves it. 

The dilemma that rages inside your heart but be readable on your face, for Mina squeezes your hand in comfort. “Go home, take a hot shower. You’ll feel a lot better, trust me.” 

It turns out that Mina is right about at least one thing. The hot shower does wonders for the crick in your neck, and you feel like a different person now that your hair is clean and the thin layer of grime has been scrubbed off your body. A hot shower is not a miracle solution for all of your problems, but it’s one step in the right direction. 

Feeling rejuvenated in clean clothes, you head on over to the art studio to advance on your semester paint project with a spring in your step. Painting always helps your clear your mind — once you get in the zone, no one and nothing can distract you. 

The scaled down frame forces you to focus on the tiniest details, invisible to the untrained eye. With meticulous brush strokes, streaks of golden brown start to fill in the stenciled field. Every measured stroke is thought out and calculated; your hand is steady, your breath synced to each subtle movement of the paintbrush that glides across the smooth surface of the canvas.

Any of your previous worries are pushed to the back of your mind, out of sight. You don’t even notice when Joo and Lin eventually leave the studio, too immersed in the task at hand. The sun shifts in the sky, casting shadows that make it impossible to continue your work. 

It's when you finally set down the tool in your hand that you begin to register your immediate surroundings. The hands of the clock hung up on the wall indicate how much time has slipped by and, distantly, you tell yourself that you should hurry on home if you want to catch the first few minutes of the TV show you've been into lately.

However, instead of heading back home, you stare blankly at your unfinished painting. Intense dislike twists your insides and you have to fight down a scowl. 

The bright, warm hues of your painting are meant to reflect inner peace and happiness, but one glance tells you that the mix of colors look startlingly wrong. The blue of the sky is too icy, the golden field of wheat grim and inhospitable. You feel nothing when you stare at it, and that vacancy in your chest leaves you feeling bitter. 

Nothing in your life seems to be working out right now. 

You have no idea how to repair what’s been broken or where to even begin. Mina’s right, you think, you are miserable. Being with Hoseok had only been a temporary bliss, but it wasn’t a solution to all of your existing problems. While the rest of your life slowly spiraled out of control, you found refuge in his touch and his whispered words of reassurance. 

A quiet knocking at the door breaks your concentration. Speak of the devil and he shall appear... Somehow, you know who it is before the door even opens. Call it intuition. 

The thick wooden door slides open, and the face of the person you've been avoiding appears. Your heart stops, and, for a second, you think you’ve mistaken a dream for reality. 

Hoseok is dressed in sweats and the university jersey, his hair pushed back beneath his snapback. Being familiar with his schedule, you suspect he’s come straight from practice. The dance studio he trains in is situated on the other side of campus, and judging by how sweat still clings to his brow, his face glowing with a sheen of perspiration, you surmise he must've rushed here right away.

No one makes a move. Time is suspended — seconds seem to stretch into minutes in front of your very eyes. Beneath this silence, there's a tension that lingers in the air, an awkwardness that was never present before.

"Hey." Hoseok has his hands buried deep in his pockets. He tries to sound casual, like nothing is out of the ordinary. 

It only confirms everything you've been thinking about for the last few days. The two of you tend to ignore the problem in the hopes that it will fade and disappear by itself. Still — he's here now, isn't he? That has to mean something. 

"Hi," you say back, but even to your own ears, the greeting sounds contrived. You wonder how long you’ll keep on dancing around the elephant in the room.

As much as you would rather not have this conversation, you know that you can’t keep running away from confrontation forever. This is why your relationship isn’t working in the first place; because the both of you have been turning a blind eye whenever any kind of problem arises. 

Now that you've acknowledge that there's an issue, will you really keep on ignoring it? How can you possibly keep pretending that all is okay when you feel the weight of all that was left unsaid pressing down on your shoulders?

Hoseok must feel it, too.

“Can we talk about this now? Or are you still mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you,” you clarify with a sigh, setting down your palette.

To this he raises a brow, evidently not convinced, “Well, how else am I supposed to interpret all the missed calls and unanswered messages? Would you have even talked to me if I hadn’t come here and sought you out?” Although he’s trying to stay levelheaded about this and speak calmly, you can detect traces of frustration slowly seeping into his speech. "If Kook hadn't told me where to find you, I wouldn't even be having this conversation with you right now."

He leans his weight against the doorframe, his head tipping back as he lets out a frustrated exhale. The column of his neck is exposed to your stare, making it easy to spot the fading pink bruise you had left him near his chiseled jaw. "I don't blame you, if you are. But we should be talking this out, yeah? You never gave me the chance to explain the other night. Well— " He pauses, chewing his bottom lip as he measures his next words carefully. "That night, I didn't tell you everything so...I can understand why you would misunderstand. I don't know if I'm too late but I'd like to explain myself now."

“I’m sorry, I should’ve told you I needed some space, but I needed time to think about...us.” A beat passes as you gather your thoughts. You’re thankful he doesn’t jump to conclusions right away and gives you the time to speak free of interruptions. "

“Did you work it out?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“Good. I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings between us — especially about this. Yuna? She means nothing to me. Not even — we never… I’ve never hooked up with anyone else since we started being together. I know I don’t have the perfect reputation, so I don’t blame you if you don’t believe me, but I’ve never cheated on you.”

“Hoseok, who is she?” The silent accusation is loud enough for him to flinch.

His tongue swipes over his dry lips. You expect him to give you a roundabout, vague answer that will only add fuel to the sparking fire.

After a moment of silent debate, he inhales deeply, choosing to stick to the truth. “We hooked up a few times over Christmas break before New Year’s. I thought we were on the same page, that those few times didn’t mean anything but good fun, and for a while Yuna didn’t do anything to make me think otherwise. Sometimes, one night stands think that they’re something more and it’ll complicate things, but Yuna was always chill."

Hoseok notices your expression and continues, "But ever since we started dating, I don’t know what’s gotten into her… No matter how many times I tell her I’m not interested, I can’t shake her off. There’s not much I can do but ignore her messages and leave her calls unanswered...”

“So…you’re telling me that she’s the one making passes at you? And that you can’t do anything but reject her over and over again…” Saying it out loud makes his explanation all the less believable.

“I know. I know it sounds like a weak ass argument. God, I’m sorry, you deserve better," he berates himself, the corners of his lips pulling into a frown. "I wish that I could tell her to fuck off for good.”

“Then why can’t you? Isn’t this harassment? You have to tell her to stop! This isn’t okay, and I’m not just saying this because I’m dating you, or because I’m jealous or want you to myself or—” You inhale deeply, catching your breath before you continue, "This isn’t okay, Hoseok. If a guy kept sending me dick pics even when I clearly told him I wasn’t interested—"

“I know," he cuts off your rambling with an exasperated sigh. "I know and I try to avoid her when I can, I do, but she’s in the fucking Mayday Showcase. If she was any other fuck, I would set her straight, but I don’t want to pick a fight right now. Our teamwork already sucks as it is… The showcase means too much; I can’t let myself screw it up.”

“You’re not the one screwing anything up. If this is true, she shouldn’t be acting this unprofessional in the first place.”

“Yeah, but it’s also my fault for not following the rules. We’re not supposed to fool around with anyone on our team for this exact reason. I should've known something like this would happen.”

“So what? You’re going to let her come onto you until the year is over? How in the world does that help your teamwork?” You cross your arms, lips pursed in displeasure.

“What else am I supposed to do? Jun even told me to deal with it on my own. ‘Keep your side fucks in line’ is what he said. Crude, but he has a point. It’s my fault, right? As the saying goes, I've made my bed so now I have to lie in it."

“Jun’s a dumbass…" Shaking your head, you don't know who you're more annoyed with — Jun for giving the world's shittiest advice or Hoseok for accepting his words without protest. "No wonder the teamwork is shit, when you have him as your captain. Maybe you should take it up with your dance instructor instead. Surely they’ll intervene, right?”

“So they can, what, pull Yuna from the showcase? And mess with the dance formations? We’ve been practicing this for months, it’s not something so easily changeable. If that happens, it’ll take more effort to adjust and rearrange the choreo. Dance comes first, it always has. It’s all I have, you know? It's all I’m good at. If I lose this chance, then there won’t be anything left for me to do.” He trails off, his eyes fixing a stain on the wall with feigned interest. He tries to mask his discomfort but you can see right through his act. It's not often Hoseok divulges his inner thoughts and insecurities; he probably feels embarrassed and regrets speaking too much.

A pause laden with tension follows, filling the empty void between the two of you, as you try to make sense of what he said. You're momentarily at a loss for words. Normally, you would provide gentle words of encouragement, but this time they get stuck in your throat. You still don't know whether or not to buy his explanation. It would be so easy to give him the benefit of the doubt and just go back to how things were in the past...

"Don’t get me wrong." The silence is finally broken with an awkward cough. "I don't care about Yuna; I don’t even consider her a friend. But I can deal with it. It’s a major pain in the ass, but I can deal with it."

You nod, not sure who he's trying to convince — you or himself. What is that even supposed to mean? Is he doing you a favor by letting this girl send him pictures of her in various states of undress? Mina’s words of warning ring through your head again, reminding you not to let him take you for a fool.

“I… I just don’t understand why you couldn’t have told me this earlier,” is what you say about a bout of silence. “Why did you have to hide this from me? Don’t you think this is just a little bit important?”

“I guess I… It sounds dumb, but I didn’t want to ruin things between us. Things are stressful as fuck right now, but when I’m with you, I forget about all that for a while. For the short amount of time I get to spend with you, things become easier to swallow. No deadlines, no practice, no drama. But I don’t want to make up some lame excuse. It was wrong, I know I should’ve told you right away and I’m sorry I didn’t.”

“Alright.” The curt reply is all you can manage. Talking has only made you more frustrated. So you’re just a stress reliever to him? That’s what he’s getting at right… What are you supposed to make of that? Does he expect you to be grateful?

The residual anger hasn’t washed away yet, and you feel the traces linger.

“So, we good?"

"Are we?” You’re tired of brushing things under the rug. “I don't think we've ever been good... I've been doing a lot of thinking lately, and talking to Mina helped me straighten my thoughts out.”

Your heart feels like it’s about to burst from the confines of your chest. You can feel the thrum of your pulse in your throat. Hands curling into fists at your side, you try to steel yourself. 

“I...I thi— I think it's best if we break up."

“y/n…”

“What we have isn’t a relationship—”

“Is that what Mina said?” He scoffs, slightly mocking. 

“It’s what everyone is saying!” You throw your hands up, your pent up anger exploding. 

“And since when do they matter? They don’t know anything about us.” The exasperated look he shoots you only irritates you further.

“But are they wrong?” 

“Okay, fine." He huffs, his brows pulling into a frown. He continues the next sentence in the same heated breath, "Maybe things aren’t ideal between us. Maybe we aren’t perfect together. I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not the poster child for any 21st century romance. But since when are relationships supposed to be a smooth sailing? Throw those ideals out the window. The stuff you read about in books doesn’t exist."

The look of frustration he pins you with roots you to the spot. You can't remember the last time he's gotten so worked up over something. Pushing himself off the wall, he stalks over to you, closing the distance in three long strides.

"But you know what’s real?" Hoseok doesn't wait for your answer, "I don’t need other people telling me how I should feel. I know what’s real.”

For the first time since you've met him, the words aimed at you are harsh and scathing. It feels like he’s digging an accusatory finger up against your chest even though he isn’t touching you at all.

“How you feel?" You can't keep the incredulity out of your tone. Scoffing, you cross your arms in the hopes that you won’t waver. You need to be strong, you remind yourself.

"Please don’t try to convince me to stay when you don’t even love me. Do you — Do you even like me?"

"Do I even—?  That's not the issue. Of course I like you.” He looks horribly affronted by your underlying suggestion, the crease between his brows deepening. A wounded expression falls over his face then, and he suddenly avoids your gaze. “But I— You’re right... I don’t know if what I feel is love. But at least I can say that I’m trying. Are you really going to run away at the first sign of trouble? I don't know much, but I don't think that's how relationships work."

“You always claim that you’re not the ideal boyfriend, but I’m not perfect either… I’m selfish, and I want a lot more than I lead on.” Your cheeks burn scarlet as you toy with the hem of your sweater, trying to distract yourself from the embarrassment that comes with your admission. It’s the first time you’ve been so honest, and, honestly, it makes your stomach turn. “I’ve never liked someone like you, I’ve never… I’ve never liked someone as much as you, either. But I feel like I’m investing a lot of myself in a relationship that isn’t going to work out. And as much as I want to be with you, I’m scared that I’m going to end up with the short end of the stick.”

Hoseok repeats your name, one of his hands tentatively reaching up to cup your jaw. His eyes don’t leave yours, like he’s trying to silently communicate the feelings he’s unable to voice out. You fix the tall bridge of his nose instead, then his pink lips — anything but the chocolate brown of his eyes. You’re afraid you’ll end up projecting your own feelings...and the last thing you want is to interpret his look for something else. You don’t need the false hope. 

“I’m really sorry,” he whispers, thumb stroking your chin, your lips. “You’ve always deserved better. If you’re selfish then what am I?”

When his lips meet yours, your eyes have already fluttered closed in anticipation. If you gasp into his mouth, he’s quick to swallow down the sound before it can reach his ears. 

Your hands fist the collar of his shirt, pulling him down closer to match your height. Greedily, you drink him in. His mouth tastes like the familiar, sweet flavor of Wrigley’s juicy fruit gum and the bittersweet taste of finality. You realize then how much you have missed him — his touch, the scent of his cologne that clings to his clothes like fabric softener, the way his lips work against yours with the intent of pulling you apart from the very seams.

"Ah, fuck," he curses under his breath when you nip the underside of his jaw, your tongue soothing over the mark with kittenish licks. You reach to pull off your pink hoodie, discarding it somewhere on the floor. The thin tank top you have on underneath draws attention to your cleavage which Hoseok can’t resist venerating with his gaze.  

The art studio isn't a private space. On the contrary, anyone is free to walk in unannounced just like Hoseok had moments ago. But like every single one of your risky encounters in the past, this knowledge only fuels your arousal. The desire that sparks within you whenever he's around always wins out.

One day, your kinks will surely get you arrested, you think self-deprecatingly. Arrested or kicked out of school. The thought barely forms in your mind before Hoseok tilts your head to deepen the kiss, wiping out your train of thought. His lips dull your senses — or rather they make him your sole focus. Whenever you’re with him, you don’t realize how severe your tunnel vision is. Lost in the moment, all you can do is concentrate on the way he gently cradles your jaw between his palms. Heat blooms inside of your chest with every swipe of his tongue against yours until you can’t remember anything but his name.

Hoseok seems to sense your urgency; he reciprocates your advances, his grip tightening around your waist as he backs you up against the window. Your back hits the cold surface with a thud. A throbbing heat spreads at once, your body reacting to his like it’s been conditioned to do so, but the pain doesn't have time to register, not when he presses himself against you and you find yourself sandwiched between the glass panel and his toned body. 

He pulls back and levels you with a heated look, "You want it here?" 

Your breaths mingle as he rests his forehead against yours while waiting for your verbal assent. With the way his arms cage you in his hold, you find it impossible to look away from the expression of lust that paints his face in bold streaks. It's like ripping off a Band-Aid, you think to yourself, convinced that it'll hurt less if you just fuck him out of your system for good. Hoseok interprets your silence for uncertainty so he adds quietly, "You can always say no. It's okay."

"I want this." Your answer spills from your swollen lips, too quickly for your liking, revealing your desire for the man in front of you. Having nothing left to hide, you decide to drop all prior pretences. "I always want you."

It's a truth you don't like to admit but can't bring yourself to deny. How can you pretend any differently? You've always been too honest about your intentions and your feelings, ignoring the warnings from your sister to never wear your heart on your sleeve. Although you understand the need to protect yourself from heartbreak and disappointment, you would rather experience that then live through a cycle of regrets and 'What If's'.

Hoseok's features soften at your admission, his thumbs hooking themselves in the loops of your jeans. Silently, he draws you closer still, your bodies perfectly intertwined, like two puzzle pieces slotting to make a match. Only a few layers of clothing separate you from him — you're so close you swear you can feel the drumming of his heart against your right breast.

From this close, you can't help but notice how the fire in his eyes is now smoldering rather than scorching. Sometimes the heat of his passion is so intense you feel like you'll combust into a mess of flames and smoke. If Hoseok is the sun, you are the fool who can't resist singeing her wings. But this way, it's bearable, you think to yourself, his darkened gaze making you slowly melt into a puddle instead.

"You're so good to me." His breath grazes your skin, his eyelashes fluttering as he stares you down. A thumb traces the curvature of your bottom lip like a sculptor admiring a finished masterpiece. "My good girl."

The words sear through you, no longer providing the comfort they used to. But the ache they leave in their wake is momentary, your mind refusing to dwell on the painful feeling.

Hoseok’s ministrations help distract you. Deft fingers inch under your shirt, caressing your supple flesh as gently as a bamboo brush sets ink to paper. The drag of his digits across the canvas of your skin is feather-light, almost hesitant, and you suspect this is Hoseok's way of making sure you truly want this as much as he does before going any further.

When you don't immediately back out or push him away, he pulls your top down far enough to expose your bra-clad chest, and cups your breasts over the last strip of fabric until you’re moaning against his mouth. The skimpy lace material leaves you vulnerable to his every ministratio — the soft squeezes of his hands on your mounds and the heel of his palm rubbing into you to provide delicious friction — and you can confidently affirm that no other man knows how to get you as riled up as he does. Hoseok is so familiar with your body that he could probably find each of your weak spots blindfolded. He uses this knowledge to his advantage, immediately honing his attention on your sensitive nipples, his thumb dragging over the lace covered buds until they're stiff and aching.

"A-ah, Hobi please..." Your tongue molds the words with familiarity, so used to begging for him.

"I know you enjoy that. Are you getting wet for me? Hmm, not yet?" He pinches you through the lace, the fabric chaffing your sore nipples. Your body jolts, breasts bouncing in his hands as he continues to play with your swollen buds. You have to swallow down your moan, unable to articulate the traitorous thoughts running through your mind. The longer this pleasurable torture continues, the more your body yearns for more. Still, you refuse to give in completely, wanting to test how long Hoseok could hold back.

Whenever you played this particular waiting game, victory had never been on your side. Not because Hoseok was unaffected — but because your desperation eventually became too much to tolerate.  

But expressing your desire through lidded eyes is a challenge; Hoseok chooses that moment to trace the slope of your neck with his lips, his head now buried in the crook of your neck, hidden from you. You tug the hairs at the nape of his neck, trying to make eye contact again but he doesn’t let you steer him away from his goal.

Hoseok presses each kiss onto your skin slowly, with purpose, as if you had all the time in the world to indulge in each other.

Why is he acting like this right now? Your teeth catch your lip in their hold out of sheer frustration. Each delicate print of his lips on your body reminds you of what you can't have, and your heart aches, heavy in your chest. The soft material of his jersey crinkles under your grip as you try to keep yourself upright and composed. You hate it, the way he his tender touch sparks something inside of you, chipping away at your resolve.

Over his shoulder, the clock on the wall catches your attention, and your spine straightens as reality sinks in.

"Hoseok," you tug insistently at the collar of his shirt in your attempt to remind him you were both short on time.

"Mmm, be patient." His teeth nip your ear lobe to accentuate his command.

"But we don't have—"

"If you want me inside your cunt, I want you nice and wet for me. Wait a little longer, okay? Be good." His sickly sweet smile is a hoax; it tells you right away that he's taking the utmost delight in making you squirm in his hold. Upon noticing the glare you sport, the corner of his lips quirk into a smug smirk, confirming your suspicions.

Patience is not your strong suit. On normal days, Hoseok is usually kind enough to cut to the chase, but for some unexplainable reason, he seems to want to draw this out.

Slow sex is welcome on lazy Sunday mornings, under the cover of thin sheets, in the privacy of your room. It's not convenient nor desired when you are running late for afternoon lectures, and even less so when the place you're trying to get it on is an empty classroom anyone is free to walk into. Of all the locations for a quick romp, it had to be the fucking art studio…

You know that if you want him to fast-forward the maddening pace he's set you need to lead the game. Hoseok knows your body inside out — but the same could be said for you; you know what makes him tick, what gets him unbearably hot under the collar, which cards to use to get his heart pounding.

Jutting your bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout, you lower your voice into a sultry purr "B-but I'm dripping already." You almost tack on the word 'Daddy' for good measure, but you aren’t in the mood to play that game today. You don’t want him to be sweet or caring; you don’t want to trust him blindly anymore. All you want is to wash him out of your system as painlessly as possible. 

If Hoseok doesn't react verbally to your confession, you don't let that deter you. The rigid muscles under your clutch tell you that you've hit your mark.

“It’s not the same without you,” you continue, lust making you shameless. “I need you.”

You’re scared to acknowledge how much truth there is to these words. Deep down, you know they’re spot on, but you refuse to acknowledge it. You don’t want to be dependent on him, not for your pleasure nor anything else.

Thankfully, Hoseok doesn’t let you linger on those thoughts for too long. He unbuttons your jeans and slides them down your legs, pulling your underwear along with the denim. Material barriers now gone, a breeze of cool air caresses your exposed skin. 

“You’re right,” he smirks, thumbing over the incriminating wet patch on your panties. You can’t bring yourself to be embarrassed about it, too impatient to get it on. One of his hands reaches past the waistband of his sweatpants and pulls out his hardened member, the thickness making your mouth go dry with desire. 

“Wrap your legs around me,” he orders as he picks you up by the meat of your thighs, the prints of his fingertips digging into your skin. You loop your arms around his neck like a lifeline; breath caught in your throat as he positions your hips over his erection. 

“Oh fuck,” you groan, feeling the head stretch out your walls as he pushes himself in inch by inch. You’re lubricated enough so that it isn’t painful, but there’s no dismissing the way his girth slowly works you open. However, the uncomfortable sensation quickly melts away and leaves room for pleasure.

The week you haven’t been with him feels like a month, and your body is eager to make up for lost time. 

“God,” he moans, brow creased, evidently as affected as you. His nostrils flare, muscles in his neck tensing, and he shudders when you clench around him without warning. Sweat drips down the side of his face, the tiny beads of perspiration making his skin glisten under the late afternoon sun. Your eyes drink this sight in, subconsciously trying to commit every minute detail of his face to memory. 

His hands keep you pinned against the wall as he works his hips against yours in careful strokes. You can feel the delicious drag of his cock inside of you as he pushes in and out, your body adjusting to the gentle rocking. He buries his head in the hollow of your neck, mouthing at the spots he knows make your knees buckle. 

"Always feels good with you." You almost miss the way he murmurs the praise against your shoulder blades. It's delivered so quietly, you can barely hear it over the hammering in your chest and the roaring in your ears, and you wonder if he means for it to reach you. The words aren’t said for an added kick or for show, you realize. 

"I want it d-deeper."  

He's already giving it to you so good; the fluidity of his movements, the way he angles his hips into yours and keeps your legs hoisted up around his middle — all of it a lethal combination intended to make you scream out his name. But desperation claws at you — you need more, need the pleasure to numb all other distracting thoughts. You want to overindulge until you’re so full from pleasure that you’ll never need to come back for seconds.

"Yeah? No one can give it to you like me. You love it when I fuck you out," he rasps, the sound rough around the edges. A whine leaves your parted lips when he lifts you back down onto unsteady feet. His hands slip down to your waist, keeping you stable as he turns you around so that your back faces him. “Turn around for me. That’s good, yeah—right against the window.”

Wobbling only slightly, you brace yourself against the windowpane, the position all too familiar. Except now, when you look down, you can see a swarm of students below, some walking to their next class, others sprawled across the freshly mowed lawn as they try to bathe in the last rays of afternoon sunshine. From the fourth floor window, you’re capable of distinguishing their faces if you squint, so you’re sure that if they happen to look up, they’ll be able to spot you, too. Even though the glass panel only exposes your face and the peak of your cleavage, you know any student who catches a glimpse at you whilst in the throes of passion won’t be duped into thinking otherwise. 

Eyes blown to comically wide proportions, your pulse kick-starts at the thought of someone observing you from below. Your breaths come out in short pants, and you can physically feel shivers run down your spine. Hoseok’s hand is steady on your waist, grounding you. 

“If you want to stop at any time, just tell me, okay?”  

“Just go,” you gasp, breath fogging up the window. 

Hoseok heeds your words of advice, not wasting any additional time as he lines up his slick shaft along your weeping entrance. When he pushes into you, your mouth parts to let out a high-pitched moan of pleasure. It’s only now that he’s stretching you out that you realize how much you’ve missed this, craved this. 

With one hand groping your left breast and the other tight on your hip, he fucks up into you, his hips slamming into yours from behind. He quickly abandons the slow, languid pace from before, his thrusts now rough, fueled by the need to reach his end. 

The lewd sounds that echo in the studio could alert anybody standing outside the door of what you’re doing. You wonder who is most likely to find out what you’re up to — a person walking by in the hallway or a student down below. With the way he’s fucking you, there’s no way of knowing.

It’s a miracle no one’s caught on yet. Not that you would have noticed them. Every piston of his hips makes your skin flush, perspiration making your shirt stick to your torso. His cock feels so good inside you — like it was meant for you — and you have a hard time controlling your facial expressions, your arousal evident with each mewl of pleasure to spill from your lips. 

“Is it wrong that I want them to see?” Hoseok breathes into the shell of your eat, the hot air making you shiver. Your mind ruses to supply the image his words conjure up and you can’t stop yourself from clenching down on his hard cock. “I want them to know that I own this pussy. They’ll take one look at us and know they’d never compare.”

His words make you tip your head back and you’re weak to resist the way his tongue finds your own, fucking your mouth to match the steady rhythm of his hips. It doesn’t take long for you to fall apart on his twitching cock, not when he knows how to please you so well. Hoseok’s pace falters as he feels your walls try to milk his cock. He ruts into you, swiveling his hips as far as he can go, his fingers bruising against your skin. He chokes your name between grunts before emptying his seed inside of you in thick spurts.

When your beating hard slows down enough for it to be bearable, your fingers twitch against their position on the wall, yearning to reach down and keep Hoseok inside of you. He pulls out almost too soon for your liking, leaving you truly empty with only traces of semen running down your inner thighs. 

It’s ironic...or maybe it’s fate, you think to yourself as you pull up your jeans, skin sticky with sweat and bodily fluids. 

You and Hoseok have finally come full circle, it seems. You started your relationship with Hoseok with sex and you ended it the same way. A relationship built on sex isn’t meant to last long. 

“I’ll see you around?” Hoseok says awkwardly. It’s strange seeing him at a loss. With you, he’s always taken the lead, so self-assured and experienced. The timid, unsure image of him in front of you makes you soften and grant him a small smile.

“Of course,” you humor, knowing the words are said for formality’s sake. Now that you aren’t dating or having sex, there’s no reason to bump into each other. Your classes aren’t on the same side of campus and you run with different circle of friends. 

Hoseok opens his mouth to say more but ends up swallowing his thoughts and keeping them to himself. You know the feeling. No matter what you try to tell yourself, you know that it won’t be that easy to move on — for you or for him. It’s only a matter of time before both of you somehow find a way back to each other. 

Unbeknownst to the both of you, the figure leaning against the oak tree readjusts his cap, dark eyes never leaving the window where your figure was pressed up just moments ago.

[verdigrisprowl]

Feb 22 Random Movie Night - Agatha Christie’s Poirot: The A.B.C. Murders

Prowl was invited over to spend the night with Soundwave while he’s recovering from his injury. Soundwave wanted to double-check that his mental faculties were in order. Hence, mystery movie.

ItsyBitsySpyers 10:03 pm *Soundwave settles on his usual couch, multiple cubes at his side - along with a few chunks of silver, because like Pit is he refusing to treat himself after such an embarrassing injury and the horrid effect it had on him - and waits for his guest. He knows the perfect test to make sure the missing memories are the ONLY things wrong. It's been so long since the last one...* FakeProwl 10:08 pm *he arrives exactly when he said he would, and immediately zeroes in on Soundwave.* How's your head? *not that he expects it's much changed since his last visit, but still has to check. Good to see him outside a medibay, at least.* ItsyBitsySpyers 10:11 pm [[Everything for the last...five Earth days is still gone or muddled.]] *Yes, that is a sulky and vicious bite off one of the silver bits.* [[But he is conscious, and it has stopped throbbing.]] FakeProwl 10:14 pm For what it's worth, to my knowledge nobody came to your room and confessed to any deep secrets. *he takes his seat.* Let me know if you need anything. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:16 pm *Slow look at Prowl, slow blink. After a moment, a small, somewhat tired smile.* [[Kind of you to save them until he is able to process them again.]] *Can he lean? He would like to lean.* [[He will. Thank you.]] FakeProwl 10:19 pm It wouldn't be much of a confession if the recipient didn't remember it, would it? *he can absolutely lean, and Prowl will take an opportunity to wrap an arm around Soundwave's waist.*

... Knock Out polished you. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:20 pm [[No. ... What confession do you have?]] *Obviously his personality is still intact. He cozies himself up against Prowl, resting his helm between chest and shoulder, and hums agreement.* [[Knock Out polishes everyone.]] [[Waste of a good crocodilian.]] FakeProwl 10:22 pm None at the moment, but I'll let you know if I think of any. FakeProwl 10:23 pm That poor man is never going to finish his hunting story. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:24 pm *Soft huffing. He brings one of the cubes up to his mouth, sticks out his mlah, and begins working on the slow process of draining it. Got a lot of time to make up.*

[[It will either be very important or very boring.]] ItsyBitsySpyers 10:26 pm *Another glance up.* [[...You should get detailed, some day. He really is skilled.]] FakeProwl 10:27 pm ... Does he do digital art? ItsyBitsySpyers 10:28 pm [[...He does not know that.]]

*He'd meant the physical frame, not the avatar. Something good to spite the horrible circumstance of its acquisition.* [[What kind of joke is that.]] FakeProwl 10:29 pm A very poor one. But not one that justifies an arrest, unless said "jokes" were made recently and intensely in the days leading up to her death. He should absolutely be a primary suspect. But until there's a speck of evidence he shouldn't be arrested. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:31 pm [[How to stop him from running, if it is him?]] ItsyBitsySpyers 10:33 pm *Oh. Oh, it's a game.* FakeProwl 10:34 pm Unfortunately, you just have to risk him running. The alternative is arresting people who might be innocent just because you think they're shady. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:35 pm [[Can they be followed? In secret?]] *What a dramatic letter.* FakeProwl 10:36 pm They CAN be. While they're in public. But it takes an officer away from other duties based on mere suspicions. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:37 pm *Squints. The dog barking is not the most pleasant sound right now.*

[[Hm. All right.]] FakeProwl 10:37 pm ((i like how the title was Strawberry Blonde but they zoomed in on the b in strawberry)) ItsyBitsySpyers 10:37 pm ((right??)) FakeProwl 10:38 pm It tells you that she let the killer take off her belt. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:39 pm *Wonders if the murder weapons are alphabetical as well.*

[[...Someone she knows, then? Or - or took a liking to?]] FakeProwl 10:39 pm One of those, yes. I would suspect the latter, personally. FakeProwl 10:41 pm The killer knows their victims well enough to know their last names, so they aren't total strangers—but the probability that he knows twenty-six people with alphabetical last names who live in or can be lured to neighborhoods with the right names is highly improbable. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:41 pm *Places the empty cube down and picks up a crystal to nibble instead. Quiet hum.*

[[The movie is not long enough for that.]] FakeProwl 10:42 pm Hff. I see we're doing some meta detective work. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:42 pm [[He will take any advantage while he is recovering.]] FakeProwl 10:42 pm That's fair. FakeProwl 10:44 pm Mm, there we go. Probably someone she didn't know well but whom she was interested in. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:45 pm [[Hm.]] *Nods and continues nibbling. No need to worry overmuch about getting shards anywhere, but he will take care to avoid it as much as possible anyway. It's only polite* [[...Humans might be murdered less often if they were not so obsessed with monogamy, he thinks.]] FakeProwl 10:46 pm I can't argue with that. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:46 pm [[...Public police campaigns for polyamory. Imagine.]] FakeProwl 10:47 pm Pfff! "It's okay to have a threeway. This PSA endorsed by your local police chief." ItsyBitsySpyers 10:47 pm *Weak trembling.* [[...What is a post mark?]] FakeProwl 10:48 pm ... *nuzzles* ItsyBitsySpyers 10:48 pm *Hmwhat? Mmm. Nuzzles back, carefully.* FakeProwl 10:49 pm I'm not sure. They pointed at the stamp in the corner of the... *vague gesture* the little folded packet that the letter came in. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:51 pm *Annoyed huff.* [[It is difficult to solve other species' puzzles. We must have more Cybertronian mysteries.]] [[Some day....]] [[Do the trains not keep... logs, records. Something. Of the passengers.]] FakeProwl 10:54 pm I don't know. You'd think they would. Maybe they don't care as long as they're carrying a ticket. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:54 pm [[They will now.]] ItsyBitsySpyers 10:57 pm [[The young human has a point.]] FakeProwl 10:57 pm He does. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:58 pm [[They should make announcements. Broadcasts.]] *Light wave of one hand before popping the last of the crystal into his mouth and picking up another cube.* [[All D names, stay inside tonight.]] FakeProwl 10:58 pm Not a bad idea. ... Hmm. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:59 pm *Pleased biolight pulse. Compliments from Prowl.* FakeProwl 10:59 pm They'd all made recent purchases? ItsyBitsySpyers 11:00 pm [[From the killer?]] *Blink.* FakeProwl 11:00 pm It's possible. That would be how he knew their names and where to find them. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:01 pm [[He wonders how far ahead the killer has been planning.]] [[How many - letters. Names.]] FakeProwl 11:03 pm Mm. Good question. He probably wouldn't have started if he wasn't fairly certain he'd be able to see the game through to the end—so he quite likely knows of at least one person with the right name in the right neighborhood for every letter. That's 26 victims chosen, if not fully planned out. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:05 pm [[Why do they ask that. "How do you do." Nobody answers that. They simply keep talking.]]

[[Before the war, did you ever... were there serial killers that accomplished? Twenty-six.]] FakeProwl 11:06 pm It's a stock phrase. Stock phrases are like that. FakeProwl 11:07 pm And yes, certainly. There's one I personally investigated who killed far more than twenty-six. Arrested him myself, in fact. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:07 pm *Wants to know what's in the packets.*

[[Tell him, when this is over?]] FakeProwl 11:07 pm Oh, there's not much to the story. Shortly after his arrest, he broke out of prison, assassinated Sentinel Prime, and started a war. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:09 pm *A confession already?*

[[...Megatron?]] FakeProwl 11:10 pm *a sideways glance. ... humor ping.* ItsyBitsySpyers 11:10 pm [[He does not understand the humor ping.]] FakeProwl 11:11 pm ... It was a joke. Describing Megatron like he's a random little-known mass murderer rather than. Well. Megatron. Never mind. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:11 pm [[-Oh.-]] [[He apologizes. He was thinking too seriously. It is much clearer now.]] FakeProwl 11:12 pm It was probably too obscure. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:13 pm *Soundwave lifts his hand to touch a finger to his helm. He opts to believe it is a leftover effect.* FakeProwl 11:13 pm Ha! The stockings. I thought the stockings might be a significant detail. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:14 pm [[How in the PIT are they supposed to find anyone with a description like that.]] FakeProwl 11:16 pm He's been described as stooped, glasses-wearing, and selling silk stockings. That's enough to work on. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:16 pm [[But not in a shop. They would have to find a wandering seller.]] [[And they wander.]] FakeProwl 11:16 pm They know what neighborhood he's going to be in. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:16 pm [[Oh. Yes, true.]] FakeProwl 11:17 pm And somebody who sells silk stockings has to get them from someone. They could look for companies that sell them and get a list of their employees. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:17 pm [[What if he buys them from a store.]] [[To make it harder to trace him.]] FakeProwl 11:19 pm Then they ask stores that sell stockings whether any of them have sold large masses of stockings to one customer. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:19 pm [[Hmm.]] *Slow nod.* [[He would not like to plan a murder against you, were he the average citizen.]] [[No. That is the wrong wording.]] [[A murder you would be solving. Against you as an opponent.]] [[Not that he would like to plan a murder -of- you either. Far from it.]] FakeProwl 11:20 pm I should hope most people wouldn't like to plan a murder against me, in either sense. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:20 pm *Soundwave just. Puts his hand over his face and vents. Obviously he's still a little scattered.* FakeProwl 11:21 pm To be fair, though—if you DID plan a murder of me, you at least wouldn't have to worry about me investigating it. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:21 pm [[He does not know that he should take your belief in his probable success as a compliment.]] FakeProwl 11:22 pm I'm afraid you know where I live, when I sleep, and how to get in. ... I suppose we'd have a shot if we woke up fast enough to combine. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:23 pm [[...You would break through the ceiling and floor.]] FakeProwl 11:23 pm What better way to throw an assailant off-balance? ItsyBitsySpyers 11:23 pm [[He supposes he -would- have to waste time bridging up to the head.]] [[But it is moot. He would never.]] ItsyBitsySpyers 11:24 pm *Frown.* [[Perhaps if you slaughtered all of his minicons or attempted to destroy Cybertron or something like that. But that is - unthinkable, to him.]] *No. Not a pleasant thought. He leans harder and snuggles up properly, wrapping his arm around Prowl in turn. No murders.* FakeProwl 11:27 pm *Prowl wishes he could say he'd never do anything that might make Soundwave take back his "never." Instead, he holds Soundwave tighter.* FakeProwl 11:28 pm ... Hiding a murder in a series of unimportant murders. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:28 pm [[But it's taken them right to him.]] [[Or it will, probably.]] FakeProwl 11:29 pm Perhaps—but it's still brilliant. If it weren't for Poirot's leap of logic, they never could have drawn that conclusion. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:30 pm *Will accept the tight hold in lieu of what Prowl can't say. Better the truth than a lie meant to comfort. It wouldn't have done so.*

[[They are fortunate to have a human as skilled as him, then.]] FakeProwl 11:31 pm Indeed. He used his own real initials? ItsyBitsySpyers 11:32 pm [[That is the single stupidest thing...]] FakeProwl 11:32 pm It is. FakeProwl 11:35 pm If your only explanation for a crime is "because he's crazy," then you haven't explained the crime. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:36 pm [[Elaborate?]] *He's a little too muddled right now to make sense of that statement. A bit of clarification would do him some good.* FakeProwl 11:37 pm "Because he's crazy" dismisses whatever real reasons a criminal might have for committing his crime. FakeProwl 11:39 pm "Crazy" doesn't mean "reasonless." Everyone has reasons for their actions, reasons with internal logic. If someone is called "crazy," that means their internal logic is inadequately comprehended by other people—not nonexistent. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:41 pm *Someone's been using this poor human from the start.*

[[...Wait. Wait. He's... he has a thought.]] FakeProwl 11:41 pm "He did it because he's crazy" stops the investigation cold. It dismisses the existence of the internal logic. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:42 pm [[Poirot thought the murders were all to hide one specific murder. Why does it have to be the last one?]] FakeProwl 11:42 pm ... Indeed. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:42 pm [[Thank you for the explanation, by the way.]] FakeProwl 11:43 pm You're welcome. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:43 pm *And now he's quiet, listening. He wants to see if it is what he thinks.* FakeProwl 11:45 pm *gestures* And, as you can see here? If they'd stopped here at "he did it because he's crazy," they wouldn't have solved the murder. They would have accepted that Cost is "crazy," rather than look for the internal logic to his actions—and find there is none, and he was framed. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:50 pm *Nodding attentively.*

[[The more of these we watch, the more he understands how you come to do your job so well. It is enlightening.]] FakeProwl 11:50 pm *suppresses a smile* ItsyBitsySpyers 11:51 pm *Tap tap Prowl leg.* [[His brother was letter three. The one that was messed up. That was on purpose, wasn't it.]] FakeProwl 11:51 pm A good ques... Hmmm. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:51 pm [[He planned everything so neatly. Why make the error there?]] FakeProwl 11:52 pm ... By messing it up, it delayed the arrival of the letter. Meaning Poirot couldn't get there in time to investigate BEFORE the murder. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:53 pm *Pleased pulse again, and another munch. Good silver. He is late to the answer, overall, but he got a few things.* FakeProwl 11:53 pm His brother was rich—his neighborhood was undoubtedly wealthy. Wealthy neighborhood means fewer neighbors. Fewer neighbors means fewer people in the area whose last name ends with C. They could have only two or three people in the area to look out for. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:54 pm [[So they would have caught him quickly on that one.]] FakeProwl 11:54 pm Heh. *and Poirot just confirmed it.* ItsyBitsySpyers 11:55 pm *Soft puff. What good advice, Poirot.* FakeProwl 11:56 pm ((i'm glad he finally got to tell someone his hunting story)) ItsyBitsySpyers 11:56 pm [[No. No, let us hear the story--!]] [[Damn.]] ((same)) ItsyBitsySpyers 11:58 pm [[Hm. This was enjoyable. And he thinks his helm will be all right - once he finds as much as he can of what he's missing. And rests more. Thank you for coming.]] [[Are you able to stay with him tonight?]] Yesterday FakeProwl 11:59 pm Thank you for hosting me. ItsyBitsySpyers 12:00 am *Nod.* FakeProwl 12:01 am Yes, I can stay the night. If it's not going to disturb your rest? *still fretting over Soundwave's head.* ItsyBitsySpyers 12:02 am [[He does not think it will. In any case, he would prefer to still be watched tonight, but Ravage is gone for the weekend and the others are...]] *Delicate pause.* [[Noisy.]] FakeProwl 12:03 am Yes. Understood. I'll try to keep half-alert. ItsyBitsySpyers 12:05 am [[Thank you. Only as long as it does not interfere with your own rest.]] *Untangles himself to get to an extended but mostly steady rise to his feet. After a moment's thought, picks up a cube to take with him.* [[He will not bridge us tonight, in case of... never mind that. It is fine. You will get to see his shelves. A good payment for good company.]] *Offers a hand. He's not going to carry Prowl tonight, if it's fine by Prowl. Not looking to have a fall so soon after a knock on the head.* FakeProwl 12:06 am A good idea. *takes Soundwave's hand, stands, and wraps an arm around his waist again. Soundwave's getting guided and supported tonight whether he likes it or not.* ItsyBitsySpyers 12:08 am *He'd prefer he didn't have to have it, but only in the sense that he dislikes feeling weak in public. If it must be had, at least it is from Prowl.*

[[Let us go, then. And no sneaking items off the shelves, no matter how fascinating.]] *Quiet huff.* [[He catalogs them, you know.]]

*And so they shall, after a gentle kiss to Prowl's cheek, if nothing else needs be said.* FakeProwl 12:11 am I won't disturb your displays. *and he'll hold off his questions until a time when they won't be keeping Soundwave from sleep.*

*And up they go.*

[aion-rsa]

INTERVIEW: Adam Warren on A Decade of ‘Goofily Sexy’ Series Empowerment

Time flies when you’re tied up and having fun. Adam Warren and Dark Horse Comics kick off the 10th anniversary of their popular “Empowered” series this month with a three-issue miniseries titled “Empowered and the Soldier of Love,” with the first issue on sale this week. Promising the usual hijinks, damaged personalities and meta-commentary on the depiction of women in comics, the series pits Empowered against a Sailor Moon-inspired “soldier of love” who finds her abilities aren’t so endearing as an adult.

Series creator Warren is joined by illustrator Karla Diaz, author of the webcomics “Cute Sins” and “Coffee Shop,” for “Empowered and the Soldier of Love,” making her the first person to drawn an extended Emp story besides Warren himself.

CBR asked Warren some questions about the aluminum anniversary for “Empowered,” what keeps the series fresh, handing off artistic reins and what other 10th-year treats are on the way.

CBR: Adam, what’s the thrust of “Empowered and the Soldier of Love”?

Adam Warren: Well, this miniseries asks two key questions: 1) What happens to a “Sailor-Moon”-style “magical girl” who discovers, as a disillusioned grown-up, that having unearthly “love powers” isn’t quite as awesome as she thought it would be as a naive teenager? 2) And then what happens when this embittered magical girl sets her sights on an already chaotic and semi-deranged superhero universe like that of “Empowered”? Not surprisingly for the “Empverse,” what happens is everything goes to hell — but a goofily sexy and romantically supercharged kind of hell, needless to say! (Or did I need to say that, after all? Yes, I did! Ignore that previous “needless to say,” please.)

“Empowered and the Soldier of Love” #1 by Karla Diaz.

Emp and Ninjette have certainly gotten into some tangled situations in the past. How does this new foe’s arrival push them into new territory?

As “Empowered” readers well know, our long-suffering heroine Emp has endured plenty of cluelessness and stupidity from her fellow superheroes — or, less charitably, “douchecapes” — during her time in the field. Ah, but until this miniseries, she’s never before had to cope with the overheated, hormone-addled goofiness of godlike beings unhinged by love and/or lust — well, usually, both — as a mercenary magical girl’s powers turn the entire “supracommunity” upside down! As uncontrolled mask-and-tights sexiness rampages unchecked through her passion-paralyzed city, can a beleaguered Emp puzzle out the Soldier of Love’s apocalyptic endgame and save the day — or at least stop herself from slapping the crap outta her love-lobotomized, endlessly horny, perpetually “sexting” teammates?

Meanwhile, Emp’s BFF Ninjette is just along for the ride at first, katana and beer(s) in hand as she sardonically Shakes Her Damn Head at the unfolding spectacle. Ah, but by the story’s end, Ninjette will find out the hard way that she’s heartbreakingly vulnerable to the Soldier of Love’s misused magic, with shockingly dire consequences for everyone involved. Look out, Ninjette! (Also, look out, everyone involved!)

What other members of Emp’s crew will be most affected by Soldier of Love’s antics?

Well, the members of the “Superhomeys,” Emp’s already rather dysfunctional superteam, are hit hard by the Soldier-triggered surge of so-called “supraromantic churn.” In fact, three of Emp’s infatuation-incapacitated teammates spend much of their time onscreen—or “on-page” — more accurately, drooling into their smartphones while incessantly sexting back and forth with newly met superlovers — or “capes with benefits,” if you will. While the blobby Protean tests the waters of polyamory, Major Havoc and Yummy Mummy each drown in their own one-on-one sea of love, with an oblivious Yummy creeping out Emp and Ninjette with her incessant, disturbingly sexualized “daddy” chatter. (As Emp and Ninjette both have distinct sets of daddy issues, they have no time for such supposed “sexy talk.”) Meanwhile, hapless leader—and stainless-steel golem—Capitan Rivet struggles to hold the team together, making the Superhomeys HQ ring with the sound of one frustrated, Picard-style “facepalm” after another. Clang!

“Empowered and the Soldier of Love” #1 interior page by Adam Warren and Karla Diaz

You’ve worked with other artists on “Empowered” before, but this will be the longest “Empowered” story that you haven’t drawn yourself. Does that change your approach to writing?

To a degree, certainly. With a regular “Empowered” volume and its generous—if not excessive!—200+ pages, I’m allowed the luxury of planning out the book ahead of time, but then writing and drawing its pages essentially one at a time. This allows me a degree of spontaneity and flexibility that’s alien to my previous experiences in print comics, but not unlike how many webcomics are produced. Ah, but when writing for another artist, I need to take a more pragmatic and measured-out work approach, while still angling for as much playfulness and creative freedom as possible.

Gotta say that, while I’ve worked with “Guest Artists” — note the important capitalization! — on “Empowered” before, each previous occasion was a one-shot story. While I enjoyed each of these one-off collaborations, I found the abbreviated format a bit limiting, especially compared to the wide-open page count of regular “Empowered” volumes. Often, as a writer, I felt like I was just getting warmed up to both the story and the artist just as the single issue’s ending arrived. So, when Dark Horse and I were envisioning a new round of Guest Artist “Emp” projects for the series’ 10th anniversary in 2017, I was eager to try something more ambitious. Bolder, even! Daring-er! Also, importantly, longer—as in, hello, multiple-issue miniseries!

What does Karla Díaz bring to the page?

Well, from the moment I first stumbled across Karla’s work online, with her romantic comedy webcomic “NON-NON” as well as earlier online series “Cute Sins” and “Coffee Shop,” I was struck by both her hilariously expressive character work and her equally strong sense of high-energy visual humor. Of course, being a self-centered jerk as many if not most comics writers are, I immediately began obsessing over how these fine artistic qualities could be employed—nay, synergistically employed, to tell an “Empowered” story. The “Soldier of Love” character actually dated back to a separate, failed comic pitch years ago, but I’d long considered bringing her into the wacky ol’ “Empowered” universe — and Karla’s comedic sensibilities made her the perfect artist to handle the task! (Alas, all the ribbons, bows, pleats, frills and flounces of the Soldier’s flowery workwear drove me crazy every time I tried to draw her myself.)

So, after tracking down Karla online — bless you, sainted interweb! — and commissioning some sample artwork, I was thrilled with the character designs she worked up for the Soldier of Love and her magical pangolin mascot—er, that is, the Soldier’s magical mascot, not Karla’s. (I don’t think she has a talkative pet pangolin, but I could be wrong.) Her takes on existing characters Emp and Ninjette were just as much fun, with the wild “floofiness” of the latter’s ponytail being a particular flourish that cracks me up everytime I see it. Her pages for the actual issues have worked out even better, with all the energetic humor, visual flair and charming facial expression work I was hoping for — with a key bonus being her beautiful color art, as the Soldier’s story was one that very much needed to be told in full color. (Well, full color with a noted emphasis on pink, that is.)

Plus, gotta admit that I’m pleased to be able to give an opportunity to another manga-influenced artist, as the North American (print) comics field isn’t overwhelmingly open or welcoming to my sisters and brothers of that persuasion.

“Empowered and the Soldier of Love” #1 interior page by Adam Warren and Karla Diaz

As a follow-up to that thought, does manga’s large audience, but strangely small overlap with traditional comics market readership, ever affect your approach to “Empowered”?

Even though I’m all too aware of the divergence between audiences, I can’t say that it particularly affects my approach to the series. I just try to tell the best stories I can—whether humorous or action-packed or emotionally charged or daringly structured—and hope that they can reach some kind of readership. And so far, despite the inherent difficulties of being a manga-influenced series in a genre and field sometimes indifferent or even hostile to such a storytelling preference, “Empowered” has indeed managed to find an appreciative audience. Yay!

I should add that, now that “Empowered” is being serialized online from the series’ beginning, I’ve encountered yet another avenue of audience divergence—and that would be the often stark divide between readers of webcomics and print comics, two groups whose Venn diagrams seem to have surprisingly little overlap at times. Well, given the neither-fish-nor-fowl flexibility inherent to “Empowered,” I’m always happy to bl under the series headlong into areas of comics bifurcation!

Even after you started the first “Empowered” story, well after the first drawing that planted the kernel of an idea, could you ever have imagined it thriving 10 years later?

Ah, no, not in the slightest! In those bygone, dawn-era days of noodling aimlessly away at the one-off jokes that would gradually evolve into “Empowered,” I could not possibly have imagined that these modest, low-key, ambition-free strips would somehow transform themselves into the most epic, emotionally charged, surprisingly ambitious and longest-running project of my entire g-d career! Back in the beginning, I wasn’t thinking 10 days ahead, let alone 10 years. In fact, back then I assumed that I was just temporarily messing around with these goofy superhero strips before starting work for a major publisher on one of my other “Real Serious, All-Grown-Up, Brace Yourselves For My Career-Fulfilling Magnum Opus” comic proposals. Ah, but none of those big-deal pitches ever got off the ground, while “Empowered” still soars ever higher skyward! Fly, “Empowered,” fly!

“Empowered and the Soldier of Love” #1 interior page by Adam Warren and Karla Diaz

What else do you have in the works?

Well, as 2017 represents the 10th anniversary of Empowered’s first publication, Dark Horse and I are aiming for a big push for the series during this upcoming year. Next up will be the summer release of “Empowered” vol. 10, the next 216-page, drawn-by-me installment in the regular graphic-novel series. Beyond that, we’ll have more exciting Emp-related announcements throughout the rest of 2017, including further—and bolder!—developments on the Guest Artist miniseries front!

Lemme also hasten to mention that “Empowered” is now being serialized as a webcomic, with extensive — if not exhaustive — creator commentary on every single g-d page, folks! Why, we even have the very first “Empowered” merchandise ever created now available on the site, as a series of 12” X 18” color prints over in the “Store” link! You can check out the webcomic here: http://ift.tt/1HLU2fw

Beyond “Empowered,” I can assure you that I’m also hustling and scheming and conniving to get a few other projects underway. No, really! “Irons in the fire” and all that, blah blah blah. As much as I enjoy working on “Empowered” — and have no intention of stopping work on it any time soon — I do have other stories I’d like to tell.

“Empowered & The Soldier of Love” #1 is on sale now from Dark Horse Comics.

The post INTERVIEW: Adam Warren on A Decade of ‘Goofily Sexy’ Series Empowerment appeared first on CBR.com.

http://ift.tt/2ktcgL6