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mostlydeadallday · 10 months

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Lost Kin || Chapter XXXIV || A Mixed Blessing

Fandom: Hollow Knight Rating: Mature Characters: Hornet, Pure Vessel | Hollow Knight, Quirrel Category: Gen Content Warnings: referenced abuse, panic attacks AO3: Lost Kin | Chapter XXXIV | A Mixed Blessing First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Chronological Notes: Apologies for the late update! Next one will likely be another month out, due to aforementioned Activities. I nearly finished another chapter—it needs a few final paragraphs, but I went "eh, good enough" and decided to upload anyway. Hollow is actually onto something important here; bonus points if you can tell what it is. It ties into the worldbuilding post I've been meaning to make... maybe someday soon.

○

They talked late into the night.

Or, rather, Quirrel talked. Asking questions, offering suggestions, building plans that Hornet hesitantly approved or dismissed. She felt worn nearly through, coherent thought gradually leaking from her grasp as the hours went on—until Quirrel seemed to notice that she had not replied to any of his questions for at least a quarter hour, sitting with her chin propped in her hand and staring into the lantern until her eyes hurt, attempting to keep herself awake.

He insisted on stopping then, although once she ushered him upstairs to let him take his pick of the abandoned rooms and came back down with another two pillows for her own bed, she was wide awake again. She lay on the hearth, listening to the barely audible sounds Quirrel made while settling in for the night. Once those died away, she stared into the dark, where the pale arc of her sibling’s horns was just visible, timing the space between each inhale, tracing the sprawled lines of them again and again, as if she could imprint them into the world, keep them alive by her determination alone.

Quirrel had been forthright about her chances of restoring Hollow to health. So much was unknown, and what he did know was not promising. He had said, however, that he was operating on his knowledge of infected mortals, that his memory pertaining to vessels was faulty at best. Hollow had already defied the odds, and they had the lineage of three gods on their side.

He had also said a great deal more than that, but Hornet remembered little of it.

Thankfully, she had what he had written down for her: an immediate plan for further communication with Hollow, a set of questions to ask them when they woke, and a few signs to add to their vocabulary. She’d laid the pages in front of her while she slept and woke to them crumpling in her hand as she panted silently, body quivering, mind still in the grip of a nightmare that she could not remember.

She’d never had this many, this often. Night after night, she woke feeling like she couldn’t breathe. Night after night, she had to drag her own name back out of the darkness, out of the clinging, grasping fear that wanted to make an animal of her.

And waking was a mixed blessing, when every nightmare fear that faded was replaced with a real one that she could not ignore.

Hornet loosened her fist, releasing the paper, and rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. Every nerve sang, her body ringing like a struck gong. Her heartbeat drummed at double speed. She wanted to throw open the door and disappear, fling out skein after skein of soul-silk, fly all the way to Greenpath without her feet ever touching the ground.

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t.

A soft noise slipped out of her mouth—a groan of disappointment. No louder than the papers crinkling, but she still looked over to make sure Hollow hadn’t woken.

They hadn’t. Nothing stirred, not even when she lifted her head to listen for sounds upstairs. The light was yet low, and no one in the house was awake but her.

The thought made her want to groan again. How long would she have to lie here, dreading the coming day, mired in memories of the night before? Recalling every crack in her control, every choked breath and faltering word that had surely told Quirrel more than she ever wanted him to know about her?

He hadn’t shown any signs of wanting to leave. In fact, he seemed more determined to help than ever—and she, more than ever, was regretting it.

Why couldn’t she have turned him away at the door? Reassured him that she did not need what he’d offered? She’d have preferred the empty house, the silence, to this low thrum of anxiety that had crawled inside her shell with her.

When her breathing calmed, her heart slowing, and the restlessness still did not fade, she stood, swallowing another complaint as her aching limbs protested. Still sore from her reckless flight, lack of sleep compounding the pain. She shouldn’t complain, not when Hollow’s battle wounds had yet to heal, but she mouthed an oath as she stretched, two of her backplates giving a muffled crack like splintering ice.

In the kitchen, the lumaflies roused as soon as she opened the lantern’s shutter. Though she was not hungry, she ate the third and last tiktik from the night before, cleaning her fangs and placing the empty shell with the others. She pointedly ignored the pile of supplies on the table and the neat sheaf of notes Quirrel had taken, bringing only the lantern with her—the beam of light narrowed to a slit—as she returned to the main room. The thought of more mending made her neck and fingers ache, but it was productive, time-consuming, and would not wake her sibling.

And, more to the point, it kept her from snatching up her needle and bolting out the door.

It was over an hour before anything interrupted her, and the sound was so soft she nearly missed it: a thump directly overhead, as of something hitting the floor.

Hornet jumped, then scowled, relaxing the muscles at the back of her neck that wanted to raise her spikes into the air. After a moment, she looked down and forced herself to keep working, motivated by a vague sense that it would be strange for Quirrel to come down the stairs and catch her staring.

Head lowered, she tracked his footsteps across the ceiling, past the washroom and onto the landing, ignoring the part of her that wanted to shove the fabric aside and grip her sewing needle like a dagger, to stand and face the threat head-on.

Not a threat. Or at least, not the kind she was used to. She might be more than half feral, but she didn’t have to act like it.

She waited until he’d descended the first flight and was three steps into the second before she lifted her eyes.

He halted, that hand once more creeping back toward his empty belt, before he deliberately relaxed. “Good morning.”

Hornet glanced at her sibling, but they did not stir; Quirrel had only spoken just above a whisper. Rather than replying, she nodded to him, then went back to her work. Polite enough, she thought; no need to waste words.

All of her etiquette classes seemed ridiculously far away.

Quirrel did not seem to mind.

She watched from the corner of her eye as he ducked into the entryway to retrieve his nail. They had agreed last night that he would take the opportunity to hunt in the morning, both for her and himself, as well as scavenge the other houses for more paper—he’d used nearly all of her stash—and some proper pencils. She would have Hollow practice their signs while he was gone and then ask some of the questions he’d suggested the night before. Hopefully, their anxiety would be reduced in his absence, allowing them to answer her more easily.

Quirrel stepped back into the room, nail and satchel at his side, kerchief tied on over his head. Hornet hesitated, then set her work aside and stood to lock the door behind him.

“Thank you.” He shivered as he stepped out into the rain. “I’ll try not to be long.”

She nodded again. He said nothing else, though his mandibles twitched beneath his mask with the beginnings of a smile.

Annoyance pricked beneath her shell, and she shut the door before he could walk away. Then she pressed her back against it, as if to keep him from coming back in, and exhaled with a groan.

Oh, this was going well.

○

It blinked awake.

The light was bluer.

This was a strange observation to make, perhaps especially so just after waking, but undoubtedly true. There was a slice of brighter light on the wall, a flickering brightness as changeable as water, emanating from a small metal box on the hearth. A lantern.

That had not been here before.

Something had woken it, however, and it was not the light.

The vessel lay still, memories flitting just out of reach. It knew if it waited, they would settle and return, although they seemed to take longer than they should, and it did not know why it knew that.

Its sister was not in the room.

Her hands stroking its back, her voice commanding it to sleep—

—the stranger, watching, watching, watching—

A sound by the door, a flash of color it could not fully see. It shifted, minutely, in the way it had learned to, and the building pressure in its chest loosened. Not the stranger. Only its sister, although to describe her as only its sister was a disservice; she was so much more than that. Warrior, princess, heir of the kingdom that it had destroyed—

And gentle. Compassionate. Merciful, in a way that belied her cool exterior, for how could she be all that she seemed and still be kind to a thing like the vessel?

She noticed it staring. Impolite, but how could it not stare at her? How could it not?

“Oh,” she said. Something in her posture eased, like a fist unclenching. “I’m sorry to wake you.” She gestured behind herself, toward the entry to the house. “Quirrel has gone to hunt. He will return later.”

A knot of emotion pulled tight within it. She could wake it whenever she pleased, and she did not need to tell it that her ally had left, but she persisted in apologizing, in giving it information that it shouldn’t need, that it shouldn’t be grateful for.

It was, nonetheless.

She approached it, knelt beside it, murmured something about it looking cramped. It had, indeed, fallen asleep in a less-than-ideal position, as its hand was currently numb, but that was incidental; its discomfort did not matter. Once again, however, she asked for it to move, to make itself comfortable, and although this was something it was unfamiliar with, it tried to do as she asked.

It settled back. As the pain rose and then ebbed, Hornet half-watched it, the tips of her claws just visible under the drape of her cloak, worrying at a catch in the fabric.

“I—” she began, and then stopped.

Tension wrapped around it once again. It was not like her to be indecisive. Whatever was to come was bound to panic it once more, and had she not just asked for the opposite?

Questioning its wielder. The vessel had grown far too careless, if that seemed reasonable. It must obey. Submit, fully, completely, to any orders she might give it, if it was ever to have another chance at usefulness.

“I know that… yesterday,” Hornet said, slowly enough that its heartbeat had time to lurch and then calm in the pause between her words, “I expected you to ask before I touched you.”

Its breath stopped.

Finally, it was happening. Finally, she would condemn it for what it had done. For the small actions taken, the slender cracks that attested to its deeper flaws—the fear, the need—that were now plain to see beneath the surface.

She had said she needed to speak with Quirrel the night before. After it fell into sleep, she might have told him anything. Everything. Perhaps her ally had made it plain that there was no salvaging the vessel’s ruined shell. That she should rid herself of it, remove the danger to herself and to the world—

“I realize now that that expectation may not be sustainable.” Its sister looked down at her claws and forced them still, though not without a sigh. “I will have to finish cleaning your wounds, and there may be other instances where I must touch without you asking.”

This—

This did not make sense.

It was not built to need context, to infer intent or interpret complex orders. Yet as long as its sister insisted on interacting with it like this, she would force it to use its ill-begotten mind to comprehend her desires.

Did she know? Was this her goal, to determine the extent of its intellect? To understand just how fully it had been corrupted, how deep its failures really went?

It pushed its chest to rise, made its lungs expand, that she might not notice its distress. She had not liked when it stopped breathing before. It should at least attempt to not upset her, if it couldn’t manage not to upset itself.

The effort drew her attention, and its next breath stuttered as her gaze sharpened. Before it could press back the building panic, she raised her hand, and her words were suddenly clearer, precise and clean-edged as calligraphy. “You have done no wrong. I am only informing you of a change in my methods.”

How could it not be in the wrong? How could she pretend to accept the wretched thing it had become?

And it was questioning her. Again.

Where was the vessel that had once waited in perfect stillness for its orders? Where was the numb patience it had once been capable of, those first days and weeks within the temple? How had it broken so thoroughly?

Its sister looked down at it, fangs twisting in distress. Distress that it had brought about, with its failure. Distress that—

Her hand was on its arm, her fingers warm against its shell. “Listen to me. Unless I tell you to lie still, you need not endure any touch you find objectionable, including this one. You may pull away, from myself or anyone else, if you wish.” She squeezed its arm, gently, her claws closing around it, and then lifted her hand away. “There. I am finished; there is nothing else.”

It—

It could—

No.

The thought that it might defy her will, might acknowledge and express a desire contrary to hers, might ever want badly enough that it would dare to pull away from her—

No, this was a thing it would not do.

It simply would not.

A cold dread crept over its shell. The last time it had sworn not to do something, it had broken that oath in mere days. It was faithless; its word meant nothing. It could not know what it might do. It could not know that it would not do this.

What would be the consequences for such a thing? Was this another test? Would its sister abandon it, or finally give it the death it deserved?

It was unimaginable that she might do nothing.

Unimaginable, and yet—

—why would she say this, if—

No. Enough. These were dangerous thoughts, thoughts it was surely not meant to have, for it was never meant to think to begin with. Its sister deserved obedience, though it cost everything the vessel had.

She was watching it, it realized. Gauging the effect of her words. Perhaps waiting for an answer. Should it answer? Should it use one of the signs she had given it to indicate understanding? What did she want of it?

Vaguely, the vessel felt that its current state could very generously be described as a mess.

Its sister—gods below, its sister knew.

She reached for it again, this time for its hand—half-clenched, trembling—and pressed its fingers open. Not to guide it into any sign, but simply to lay her palm into the vessel’s, small fingers and fine claws lacing with its own.

It lay still. Fear was, suddenly, the farthest thing from it; it felt as though it had been given something precious, something unfit for it to take, a delicate bloom trapped between its talons. It could feel her heartbeat, swift and strong, in the vein beneath her palmpads, and the faint hum of soul below her shell.

It would give her everything.

Did she know? How could it tell her?

It would die for her.

○

Well. She had obviously accomplished something.

What, exactly, that something was eluded her.

Hollow had stopped shaking. That counted as progress. The stare they were currently giving her, however, was right on the edge of unnerving. The tension in their hand, as their fingers curled slightly to hold her own between them, just shy of brushing her knuckles with their claws—she did not know what to make of that.

But they had not pulled away from her.

She knew they understood. They would not have reacted so if they didn’t. Or perhaps she was wrong, and this was nothing but utter confusion, and she hadn’t accomplished anything at all.

And since she had so handily trapped them, she could not even ask for confirmation. She had all but clapped a hand over their mouth, rendering them as mute as when they met.

Not that they would likely choose to speak to her, whether she let go, or whether they pulled free—though this had all been in service of giving permission for them to do exactly that, if they wished.

Apparently, they did not. Their grip was tightening on her hand, so slowly that she wasn’t even sure they knew they were doing it, and the pressure was absurdly light, as though they feared her shell would shatter.

Well, she appreciated the sentiment.

It was a fight, every time she had the urge to comfort them, not to ignore it. It took her back to her days in the Palace, watching them spar in practice and in tournaments, watching them take injuries that would cripple a lesser fighter. The way her breath had hissed past her fangs, her hands tightening on the balcony, as the Pure Vessel tore through scores of kingsmoulds like a scythe through dry grass, rank upon rank closing in until her sibling was limping badly, dripping void and leaking soul, and still never faltering, pushing on and on until her father finally—finally—called a halt.

And the next time she saw them, they would be whole, healed, as still and silent as ever, with new scars marking their shell.

Those events had been tests of her mettle, as much as they had been of her sibling’s. She had felt the Pale King’s gaze upon her as the blows rained down, waiting for her to flinch, watching for doubt.

She’d learned to hide those twinges of empathy. To bury them so deep that she could deny she’d ever felt them at all.

It was like opening an old wound, now, to unearth them again. Like cutting into a scar. But she would do it, for them. She would.

She could start small. Both of them were unused to this—giving comfort or receiving it. Much as she wished she could take every burden from their shoulders, this would have to suffice for the moment.

“Good,” she whispered, running her thumb up the side of their hand. “Good, Hollow. Be calm. There’s nothing to fear.”

A twitch ran through their fingers at that, though nothing else changed. She continued stroking their hand, watching for any indication that she should stop—she didn’t trust them to take her at her word, to allow themselves to challenge her, but Quirrel had agreed that it was important that she lay the groundwork and mark out exactly where they stood.

His suggestions had been helpful already, she had to grudgingly admit. And it had been like a long breath of clean air to have someone to listen to her, whether she made good use of that opportunity or not. She felt a little less out of her mind, now, after speaking to someone who could answer. Who could examine all the jumbled pieces she spilled on the table and begin to fit them together, in ways that both confirmed and challenged her own conclusions.

That did not mean she had stopped regretting having asked for it.

Quirrel. Who knew how much time she had left before he returned. She should be putting this time to good use, not idling it away.

Without letting go, she twisted round and retrieved the wrinkled pages with her free hand, then spread them out on her lap, still with Hollow’s hand in hers.

Or rather, her hand in theirs. There was no way to hold their hand that did not result in hers being completely engulfed. Not that she minded, as long as they continued to hold it so carefully. Gingerly, never so much as letting their claws touch her, maintaining the precise amount of pressure necessary to keep her fingers from slipping free.

Unfortunately, her next task would require letting go. Though if it had helped as much as it seemed to, perhaps she could find an excuse to come back to it later.

“I’d like to have you practice the signs I’ve already taught you,” she said. “Just as we did before.”

No reaction from her sibling, at least not one she could see. She lifted their hand, briefly clasping it in both of her own to feel the solidness of it, the cool weight and minute roughness of their grip. Then she placed it on their stomach, withdrawing her touch with a final squeeze of their fingers.

Was she doing this right? She hoped—oh, she hoped what she saw in them was calm, and not apathy, or terror so complete that it held them still in its thrall. They seemed to respond well to being touched and held while she spoke to them; they had not panicked nearly as much as she expected. She could only wish that she had come to this conclusion earlier, rather than holding herself apart out of misplaced concern or awkwardness.

And it was awkward, still. But that was nothing. She could tolerate awkward, if what Quirrel said was true, if they stood to gain so much with so little effort.

She did not want to overwhelm them, which might put their new permission to pull away from her to the test, but if they became stressed during practice—which she did not doubt they would—she would attempt to calm them before continuing, rather than push through until they broke.

Neither one of them, she suspected, wanted a repeat of yesterday.

Oh, what had she been thinking? She could hardly have invented a better way to terrify them. Many of her own lessons had ended with her holding back tears, out of frustration at her own ignorance and the unfairness of what her tutors were asking of her. Not all of them had made her feel that way, but… enough.

And now it seemed she was doomed to mimic her own worst examples.

At least she’d had the solace of wishing all kinds of imaginary carnage on the tutors she liked the least. If she were to venture a guess, Hollow had no such inclinations.

Or, at least, she hoped not.

She cleared her throat. “I’ll start at the beginning. When I say the word, repeat the sign I taught you.”

Their hand still shook as they moved through the signs, but not as much as she’d come to expect. It was easier to praise them, then, easier to sound like she meant it.

Progress. This might be real progress, and it almost felt too good to be true.

She reached forward when they finished reciting what they’d learned, laying a hand on their wrist while the tension slowly drained and they lay limp, staring at her in what seemed like distracted bewilderment.

That bewilderment was likely warranted. She’d never been affectionate, especially not when they came to know her. Before then, she remembered only hazy scenes from her childhood, before she could walk or climb, of being passed from one set of sturdy arms to another, or lifted up to cling to a shoulder or back as the spiders and Weavers took turns working and holding her. She had not sought that out once she outgrew it, and certainly not once she was taken to Hallownest. The Deepnest taint clung to her shell like a stuck molt, awkward and ugly, and she had been angry enough to reject any attempts at companionship, had anyone made any.

She had also been too busy causing havoc, at first. Working herself deeper and deeper into her father’s side like a thorn, half-hoping he would pluck her out and cast her away, give her back to the family she could never have again—not now that her mother was sworn as a Dreamer, not now that the Weavers planned to leave Hallownest. It could never be the same now, but that did not stop her from wanting it.

And then she’d given up, at last, and that had been the end of it. She’d accepted the role he placed on her, set foot on the path that had brought her here, and now she was stroking her sibling’s shell awkwardly, and hoping that the confusion this elicited was somehow a step forward.

In any case, it was likely better than terror.

“I have a few new signs for you,” she said, leaning back. “This is ‘sometimes.’”

Following Quirrel’s suggestions, she taught them former and latter, as well as other, signs that would be necessary to answer the questions he’d hoped to ask them. She added Quirrel, a twist of the fingers at the chin, denoting the beaded tassel on his kerchief. By then, her sibling was wheezing audibly, and their gestures had become more stilted as their hand and arm slowly seized and that strange, strained tension returned, as if they were simultaneously attempting to obey her and trying not to move.

This time, it took longer to fade, and she spent a silent few minutes rubbing her hand up and down their arm, listening to the whistle in their lungs grow fainter and die out as they relaxed.

“Well done,” she murmured when they were quiet again. “Thank you. I know I am asking… much of you.”

The confusion was back—if she was reading them right, and she wasn’t certain of that. But if she had to guess at the look they were giving her, it was somehow conveying complete bafflement without shifting an inch.

Hornet swallowed down something that hurt, something angry and inadvisable, and it burned like a hot coal in her stomach.

I am not our father.

I do not expect perfection.

I want this for you.

I want you to live.

Having said that to Quirrel the night before, she could not now forget it. She hadn’t even thought as much to herself—since learning Hollow was alive, she hadn’t dared to imagine a goal at the end of all this. She owed her life and more to them; after she had wiped out so many of their kind in stupid, blind obedience, the least she could do was offer her time and her hands and her company. She had no right to expect anything, whether protection or gratitude or companionship.

But if it was necessary to establish a purpose to work toward, it would be this, and only this.

They had been born as a sacrifice. They had given everything for their father’s plan. And even now, they were obedient to him, as best they could be—though some unknown, misplaced devotion drove them to heed her. Even when her orders clashed with her father’s, throwing out sparks like crossed blades.

She glanced out the window, past the rain tapping steadily at the glass. It had been over an hour, and Quirrel would likely be back soon. She didn’t wish to stress them much further, given what the rest of the day would hold. But they had responded well to her attempts to calm them, and she was curious; the chance to hold a real conversation with her sibling, fragmented though it would be, was too tempting to ignore.

The questions Quirrel had left her included a few that she could be relatively certain they would answer. She skipped over the questions about their pain—though she would have to ask those again, eventually.

Instead, she paused the motion along their arm, only rubbing one thumb over a seam in their elbow, her claw clicking softly across the gap between the plates. Their attention was on her already—it had never left—but she did not wish to distract them.

“I will not be upset if you cannot answer. For any reason,” she began. “But I would like for you to practice using the new signs. And these questions may help me understand how to move forward.”

Perhaps only because she was paying close attention, she noticed the shift as their arm tightened—and then relaxed—beneath her hand. Something indefinable swelled in her throat, something bitter and bloody. Sympathy. Guilt. She didn’t know.

They were trying. They were trying so hard to give her what she wanted, fighting every moment against their own fear, and as much as she wished she could avoid it, or take it from them altogether, the only way forward she could see was to push through.

She took her hand from their arm, so they would not need to pull away from her to sign, and waited.

“Are you able to read or write?” A simple question first, a question that would hopefully not distress them, but could be used to test their understanding with a specific method of answer. “Answer with ‘former’ or ‘latter’ if only one is true, ‘yes’ for both, or ‘no’ for neither.”

They considered this. Calmly, thank the gods. She gave them a moment; this was the first time she had offered this many possible answers to a question, although she suspected she already knew the answer. Still, they might surprise her.

The answer came hesitantly; if they could speak, the word would have been only a murmur. No.

She tilted her head, acknowledging. “As I thought. It is no matter.” It would have made communication easier, but not significantly so, when she could think of no comfortable way for them to write while confined to their bed. Perhaps that could be remedied once they were stronger, although she thought Quirrel far more suited as a literacy teacher than she was.

The next question was more important, and simpler still. “Are you colder or warmer than you should be? Answer with ‘former,’ ‘latter,’ or ‘no,’ if neither is true.”

As questions went, this one also seemed unthreatening. It was not related to their pain, and she assumed they would have a good sense of their natural body temperature. If Quirrel was right, then it was possible Hollow’s fever had still not completely broken.

And perhaps she could finally find out whether they needed a blanket.

The answer, when it came, was shaky, delayed, and disappointing, and she could not have been happier to see it.

Latter.

Too warm, still. She would have to do something about that—draining the rest of the infection, first and foremost. The thought made her gut turn over, with both nausea and giddy relief that they were listening and answering her.

They were starting to lock up now, shoulder creeping up toward their neck, jaw clenching tight. “Good,” she breathed, realizing too late that she’d gone too long saying nothing. “Good. I am glad to know that. Thank you.”

○

Glad?

She was—

Why was she glad?

That it was still too warm, its body still rebelling against its father’s design, was an unmitigated failure. It was a consequence of the infection in its veins, a consequence of weakness, something that should never have happened. The void within it should have stripped it so empty, hollowed it so completely, that it never knew anything but the numbness and the chill and the dark silence of the sea.

She should be ashamed of it. She should be disappointed. She should not be trying to thank it.

This did not appear to dissuade her in the least.

“I would like to know if you have needs I’ve not been able to meet.” She touched it as she spoke, her hand once more coming to rest on its arm, gliding up to the top of its shoulder and back. It could not help the way its tension bled away under her touch, though it should have felt nothing whatsoever.

She knew this. And yet she persisted.

“Although I know I have asked this before, I need to be sure I know the correct answer.” Hornet paused, chewing over her question, still absently petting its shell. “You’ve said you don’t require food. But I do not know precisely what that means.”

Ah. It had not answered well enough, the first few times she asked it. Given that it had never been intended to speak, perhaps that was allowable—

But no. A flaw was a flaw, and it was meant to be flawless. Since it could speak, it was obliged to do so with the precision and excellence that were required of it elsewhere.

“You do not need food to survive. Is this true? Answer with ‘yes’ or ‘no.’”

This answer was an easy one, but it hesitated. Sister’s hand was still on its arm, and it did not mean to defy her, but while she wished to touch it, it should not express otherwise—

And she realized that an instant later, and withdrew.

The rising fear retreated, slowly, but its answer was still shaky.

Yes.

“Although you do not need it to survive, would consuming food aid your body in healing?”

It knew the answer to this as well, but as its hand rose, it hesitated.

During its training, it had been injured severely. Not often, for it was a unique creation, too valuable to risk. But its father walked a delicate line; if it had not been thoroughly tested and hardened for battle, it could not have been judged fit to contain the infection. He had methods of healing beyond the reach of scholars and mages, but on a few occasions, his magic had not been enough to restore it.

He had taken it to his workshop, then, and laid it down on the table where it had been shaped and molded, its present form wrought from the softness of a nymph by the sharp intent of its father’s magic. He had retrieved a container, and given it to the vessel, and instructed it in what to do.

It still recalled the sensation of the void pouring down its throat, the thickness of it, the blank absence of any smell or flavor, the stirring within its guts as the liquid joined with what already existed within, absorbing cleanly until there was nothing left but the vessel itself, whole again, and strong.

Void was not food. Void was poison, an endless dark that consumed what it touched, that winked out mortal lives like candles.

That was likely not what its sister meant. A vessel consuming more of the substance that formed it could not be defined as eating, any more than void could be defined as food.

It had hesitated too long. Its sister was growing impatient, tilting her head in confusion, searching its eyes for any hint of an answer forming, and it froze.

But she said only, “My words were… imprecise, perhaps. Disregard that question,” and then sat thinking, as its breathing grew lighter again and the taut set of its shoulders eased.

With a sharp sigh, she spoke again. “I do not know what vessels are able to eat, or what substances would be beneficial to consume. Do you eat any of the things someone such as Quirrel or myself would?”

Relief rushed through it, though numbing fear followed close on its heels. She understood the true reason for its hesitation. She saw it, its flaws, its limitations and its defects. It must be truly lacking, for such a simple thing to seize hold of it and prevent it from answering. To force its sister to repeat herself, to rephrase her questions in order to accommodate its fractured mind.

No, it should not be relieved to have its flaws made known. It should be ashamed—or it should feel nothing. It should not have flaws, let alone the very ability to feel, and it should be trying to hide these facts from her, to bury them, not put them on display, not reveal them so clearly that she made allowances for it—

Wrong wrong wrong wrong—

If it did not answer now, it would soon be unable to, it realized. The pressure was growing in its chest again, a weight of panic like lack of air underwater.

The sign was rushed this time, and too short, too sharp, in its haste to give its sister what she wanted.

No.

Its vision was hazing white at the edges already, its breaths beginning to become gasps, and it clenched its teeth, forcing its chest to rise, forcing its throat to open, while the sound from its battered lungs rose into a harsh, fluttering keen.

She could certainly see its flaws now.

There was another sound. Another weight against it. Another hand within its own again, warm and steady where it trembled. Its sister was so small, her touch so light, and yet her every whim captured its attention completely.

Its next exhale shook and shuddered, and she reached up with her free hand, laying her palm beneath its eye, and her fangs chattered softly, a gentle, steady sound like breezes through its mother’s leaves, a sound meant to soothe, to calm and comfort hatchlings in the shell.

It blinked, and wheezed, and clenched her hand more tightly.

“Shh, Hollow.” She leaned against it more firmly where she’d settled, climbing onto the bed and pressing herself into its side, and it did not deserve this, had done nothing to earn this, had done everything wrong, and to her, it seemed, that did not matter. “Shh.”

○

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hongism · 2 years

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mists of celeste ➻ 46

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut ➻ word count: 13.5k ➻ rating: M ➻ warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

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✧✧✧ act six ➻ part five

The black water at your feet is deeper than usual tonight. Less of a shallow lake and moreso a wide hole with a gaping maw that threatens to swallow you should you slip any further into its embrace. You keep yourself sequestered on the sand with knees tucked to your chest and chin resting softly between them. It’s been a bit lonely as well; Wooyoung hasn’t come to join you yet and Daichi has spared you of any further lectures for the time being. Thankfully, the former comes to spare you further solitude before the night begins to drag into something more depressing.

“Did you have a hard time falling asleep?” You blurt the inquiry without looking back over your shoulder, fully confident that the person approaching across the sand is Wooyoung. The hum you receive in response confirms that thought, then his body comes into view in your peripherals moments later. He sinks down to the sand beside you, mimicking your posture almost like a mirror with the way he props his chin on the top of one of his knees.

“A bit,” he says through a yawn, “but you made it easier.”

A fragment of silence follows, one that you leave to hang for a few seconds.

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner? About… our past?”

Wooyoung’s initial knee-jerk reaction is to laugh loud and clear to the night sky hanging over your heads. When he pulls his focus back down, he folds his legs down to pull his feet under his knees and sits cross-legged.

“Would you ever have believed me? Someone you barely knew at the time, or at least didn’t recall knowing? If I were someone strong and confident… I think I would have told you the moment I found you in the cargo bay. Yeosang wanted to say something sooner but I told him not to. The timing never felt right, then I guess I got carried away with trying to keep you from knowing. It wasn’t something I did to spite you, I think part of me just wanted to see how much I could get away with. Which makes me sound like a bit of a dickhead.” It’s your turn to hum now, lips pursed mostly because you aren’t sure how to respond to him. Wooyoung shifts his focus as well and picks at some of the rocks near the waterline. “By now, you surely know that even though you’re a Siren, you aren’t quite like others. Not like Seonghwa, that is,” he says in a faint voice. You don’t press him to speak louder but his words are nearly lost of you with the rustling of wind through the trees behind you. “Like me, you have something more unique to your abilities.”

“I’ve gathered as much, yes. That I’m apparently able to put my hand through someone’s chest and rip their heart out if I so desire.”

“And I’m the Siren Iboun who can kill Sirens in the Dreamscape.” Wooyoung barks out a laugh as though he’s told the funniest joke imaginable. “Seonghwa doesn’t have something like that himself, no special ability.”

“Do you know why that’s the case?” When you twist to look at Wooyoung, he doesn’t look back although you aren’t sure you want to be having this conversation face to face in any case. There’s a lingering sense of distaste in the back of your mouth that won’t go away. Instead, your companion offers a hesitant series of nods.

“The two of us… we grew up on Celeste, unlike Seonghwa. Around the time we were growing up there, it was towards the end of the Siren race’s stay there. Many had already left the planet in years past, for centuries even, which allowed for cases like Seonghwa to manifest. Just like any other race, Sirens spread their seed across the universe, much like Berserkers to be honest — they also started out rather sequestered to one planet too, even if that’s ancient history now.”

“Did being born on Celeste mean that the Sirens there received different abilities?”

Wooyoung shakes his head, but this time it’s accompanied by a sharp grimace that is impossible to miss.

“We were part of a group of children used by a defunct sect of the main church… an old, defective sector that had broken off a long time in the past and taken their teachings with them. Every time a Ritual Year would approach, that sect would resurface enough to begin their research and experiments again. And of course, it was easiest to work on children because they weren’t matured or aged in the teachings of any of the churches. There were thirty children to start, all chosen from birth and offered by their families for the tests, yet each year, more and more children died. By the time the Ritual Year came along, there were only seven children left, and among them, both of us remained. Those children completed their stages of the experiments, and each one… it isn’t something I remember well because I was young at the time too. A lot of this is resurfaced stuff that Daichi explained to me. What I do know is that those experiments are what resulted in the heightened abilities we experience, along with those other five children who succeeded in surviving. It wasn’t something given at birth, not a gift from the gods — it was a harsh result of cruel and repeated testing and experimentation that kills dozens of children.

“Except, despite us successfully making it through that ordeal, we were still meant to die in the ritual, as a sacrifice to the gods. The sect — cult, really — was simply going to cut losses, take the other five successes, and escape the planet without the two of us. And while they succeeded in doing that, leaving meant that they opened the belt around the planet that protected it, and they opened it just enough for a passing slaver fleet to come through. It could all be boiled down to shitty and unfortunate timing, or a stroke of blind luck, maybe even fate intervening. The slavers ransacked the largest city, the one where the ritual was supposed to take place, and both of us and our families were present since we were being prepared for our deaths. Our families were slaughtered, butchered like faulty livestock that didn’t earn their keep, while every child those monsters could get their hands on was taken to be a slave. That’s how we got off-planet, out of the church, and in turn, to Eros where we were sold to the Kang family.”

The information settles heavily on your shoulders to the point where you can’t find it in you to respond for a while, keeping your chin rested atop your knees as you watch the wind cause ripples over the water.

“That makes things make much more sense,” you say at last when Wooyoung starts to fidget beside you.

“I didn’t want to die back then,” he adds quietly, “I didn’t want either of us to die. The feeling of being abandoned by both the broken sect and the main church was unbearable. To be set aside for a higher purpose not once, not twice, but three times. And tossed out each time. Chosen for the ritual, made a dyad, then became successful experiments. All that burden placed on children’s backs. Hell, we were fucking babies when they marked us to die, and barely able to think for ourselves when we were put through those experiments. I guess it’s good to not have to remember much of what we must have suffered. But that feeling… the feeling of being thrown aside lingers as much as I want to be rid of it. And I think that rage caused a lot of irreversible damage in me. Not necessarily what they did to us in those experiments, but how my brain reacted to it and clung to unfathomable rage to cope with that feeling of rejection.”

This time when Wooyoung pauses, he doesn’t start speaking again immediately. You have enough sense to not push him too hard, even if the lull in talking eats away at the edges of your nerves. Again, the wind picks up and drags across the surrounding forests as though it wishes to join the conversation.

“That anger made me cruel and awful, uncontrollable and volatile to insane degrees because I simply wanted to be something worthwhile. For such a long time, it wasn’t even about being human. I didn’t need to be human, I couldn’t have cared less about that — even if I had to be a tool or a weapon, I was so happy to be used for that purpose. Yeosang apologizes for what his family did b-but being a slave kept me alive as much as it rotted every fiber of my being inside and out. The person I was back then could barely be called a person, more of a thing that was full of rage and hatred ready to be unleashed on my master’s enemies. Subconsciously, I wonder if I wanted to hide our past from you because I feel so much shame looking back at who I was then. I was far from kind to you in every way imaginable.”

“Even so, I wish I had chosen to stay with you in that place,” you murmur as you tilt your chin towards him. Again, he scoffs out a laugh, then runs a hand through his hair before gripping it tight between his fingers.

“That was never an option for you. You were given a cruel choice — die in the palace or be banished elsewhere, somewhere they could take all your memories of your time as a slave to the crown away.” Wooyoung brings his other hand to his head and proceeds to bury his face in his palms like he wants to hide from you. “Though it was unfair, I hated you for your choice. I thought that dying would have been the better option because then at least you would have been there. And… and… for several nights after you told me what you had decided, I could see myself weighing your life in my hands like that was my right. If I killed you myself, in the Dreamscape, then you would have been with me forever! I hate to admit that that was even a thought that crossed my mind, let alone something I considered so heavily at the time, but it was simply where I was at that time. Another extension of the rage I harbored.”

The admission is a tough one to swallow for certain, a pill that goes down rough and settles uncomfortably in your gut, but with it comes a steady level of understanding. Perhaps it helps that you don’t intend to leave the crew anytime soon, so the mild threat that hangs in what he said isn’t strong. Or even the fact that it was something tucked away in the past and not the present.

“Does that have anything to do with you still wearing your collar?” It’s not any of your business, not really at the end of the day, but it doesn’t stop you from posing the question with the hope that he might answer. Instead, you get a glance from the man that’s accompanied by a grin that is nothing but melancholic to look at.

“I’ll tell you more about it one day, I promise,” he says, tone suddenly quiet compared to how lively it was not too long ago. “Just not now if that’s alright.”

“One day,” you echo. If it sounds any bit exasperated, Wooyoung offers no comment on that in favor of flashing his enclosed fist with just his pinky finger extended in your direction. You nearly laugh at the childlike motion in what he’s implying but mirror his gesture nonetheless. When your pinky locks around his, he doesn’t fight a genuine grin this time.

“You can hold me to that promise.”

“Did I wear one as well? Back then, in the palace?”

“Of course, yeah, you just had yours removed when you were sent away. All part of protocol, I’m sure.” Your hands fall away from each other. You don’t speak again until you’ve redirected your attention to the water, bringing your forearms back up to rest atop your knees.

“It’s more difficult than I imagined it would be, to be honest. Trying to play catch-up on all these memories that ought to be mine and in my head. But instead, I’m left knowing less than anyone else.”

Wooyoung hums before scooting along the sand until his hip knocks against yours with a rather substantial amount of force. You sway but manage to keep from flinching when he brings a hand up to pat the back of your head gently, the same hand moving down to settle on your further shoulder seconds later, and the sharp point of his chin digs into your skin as he rests it on your other one.

“We have time. I can be patient this time.” His breath is hot along your collarbone as he speaks. “Things may not be guaranteed but I trust Captain to carry us through whatever comes our way. Not just now, but for a long time.” You can’t help but wonder how much of that is blind faith placed in a dishonest man, one with skewed morals and shrouded intentions. It’s such a common thread among these men that you have to find some validity in it, of course — every member of this crew you’ve come to know has the same unwavering devotion to the man they call their captain, to the point where you’re the odd one out for not falling to his whims with the same kind of ease. You aren’t immune though; that much is obvious based on this odd fixation that your subconsciousness has with the man. And you want so desperately, so badly, to crawl inside yourself and seed that bit of you out for good.

Whatever it is that keeps you obsessed with that man — your captain, an unjust pirate, and the infamous Scourge — has a hold stronger than you thought possible. If there’s some innate need to satiate a defiled curiosity, you would sooner fall into line like a good little soldier before letting him frame your head with those knives. He asked trust and willingness from you, but you never promised blind faith in return. In the end, though, is there really much difference between that and the borderline obsession you feel yourself sinking into?

The thought leaves you with an itch under your skin that you can’t reach, and the discomfort it brings makes you wish that you hadn’t fallen into that line of thought to begin with.

Your quick diversion to change topics and disrupt the thoughts is a slip of the tongue that you regret moments later.

“Yeosang and I — we had—”

“I know, Y/n.” Despite interrupting you, Wooyoung provides some relief as he laughs and tucks his body closer to yours. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to truly. I won’t ask for details and I won’t treat you differently because of it. Him on the other hand? I’ll give him a hard time, yeah. But that’s just us.”

“…how did you know?”

“Do you think I don’t know what sex smells like, Y/n? Have you imagined me to be some blushing virgin all this time because if so then I have news for you!” He laughs something genuine this time around, but the nagging insecurities linger on the outskirts of your thoughts. While such a thing wouldn’t bother you in your own personal relationships (clearly, as evidenced by the fact that you carried on with what you were doing knowingly), the same may not be true for him in return. Despite reaching out to try and weigh how he’s feeling in that same moment, it’s nothing but cold and unknown on his end. Moments later, the man is pulling away some and angling his chin so that he can look at your face with a pout painting his lips. “Truly, Y/n, it doesn’t upset me. Not nearly as much as it used to at least, and any… ill feelings I do have are not directed towards you. If anything, I’m grateful that you could be there to take care of him when I couldn’t do so myself.”

A snort pushes out of you before you can stop it.

“I hardly did that.”

Wooyoung’s initial response is nothing more than a hum, and the hand he has on your shoulder slips down to your waist.

“It helped a lot more than you might think. He wouldn’t have visited me if it didn’t. And besides—” he waves his free hand through the air dismissively “—Yeo had a lot of negative feelings towards you to work out too, and that was probably a step in the right direction. I mean, simply talking about things would have been much healthier, but I wouldn’t say any member of our ragtag space crew is particularly good at carrying things out in a healthy manner.”

San’s words come to mind, the ones concerning Yunho, but you choose not to voice your thoughts this time. It doesn’t linger long in any case because Wooyoung startles the thoughts right out of your head as he lurches forward and drops a quick peck to the side of your face, just between your temple and ear. The action is more endearing than anything else, nothing more than something meant to ease the negative thoughts still eating away at your conscience, and you almost find yourself leaning closer to him in search of more of that comfort.

“I’m gonna go get some real sleep, not Dreamscape sleep. You should do the same too. I think you’ve earned that much.” The warmth in his tone is compelling enough for you to nod, and the last thing you feel in that cold landscape is his large hand pressed over your hip like he imagines you’ll disappear in the blink of an eye.

Whilst you don’t awaken immediately after that dream fades away, you dream of absolutely nothing so waking up hours later feels like no time has passed at all. You don’t stir too much upon waking, mostly because you have no feeling in your left arm thanks to the head that’s pressed against it. Neither you nor Wooyoung moved much in your sleep considering how his body is still tucked up against you with your arm around his waist as he cradles that same arm with fingers interwoven through yours. Given the stillness of his breathing and body, he’s not woken yet himself. You aren’t going to be the one to rob him of that peace either.

It proves difficult to untangle yourself from him, however, particularly when your foot gets caught around the edge of the sheet and you almost faceplant on the floor beside the bed instead of creeping out discreetly. If Wooyoung notices at all, he makes no indication of it and continues to doze away in the center of the bed as you slip on shoes and head out of the room.

Voices rise from downstairs, climbing up the stairs to greet you when you start stepping down to the first level of the house. You don’t think to put names or faces to the voices in favor of rubbing the sleep from your eyes and fighting off the leftover exhaustion in your system. It doesn’t take long to get down there anyway, and when you round the corner to the kitchen, none other than Minho and your captain are seated at the table. Both are leaned over the wood and seemingly locked in a rather serious discussion that you belatedly realize you are interrupting without warning. Before you can say a word, however, Hongjoong leans back in his chair and clears his throat, eyes flitting from the doctor to your sleep-swollen face. The two of you exchange no words but his disinterest in speaking to you doesn’t quite need acknowledgment. He passes a nod in Minho’s direction, stands from his seat, and takes his leave out of the cottage in the span of mere seconds.

The door slams as you open a cabinet to fetch a mug for some coffee.

“What was that about?” you ask after only a few seconds of silence. Minho laughs behind you, but the sound is muted in a way that you can only assume is because he’s taking a sip of his own drink.

“It was nothing necessarily important, in my humble opinion.” The slow trickle of coffee into your ceramic mug interrupts him although he cuts himself off in favor of waiting for you to finish without prompting. He continues speaking again once you turn around and sit in the chair Hongjoong previously occupied. “We were discussing some of my observations thus far. No breaches of doctor-patient confidentiality, of course, so don’t go thinking I’ve betrayed all your secrets to the man. General observations for his general knowledge, so to speak, and not just of you but your other companions as well, who are all characters in their own rights if I may say so.” You imagine he’s referring to Wooyoung’s outburst towards Hyunwoo, and frankly, you’d have to agree with the sentiment on his mind. Minho tilts his chin to the side, and the strands of purple hair framing his forehead fall a bit. “He also had some questions for me, more generic ones—” a laugh breaks through his train of thought as he blinks down at the table “—that made me feel an awful lot like I was being screened for something myself.”

You open your mouth to respond but Minho so suddenly looks off to the side and out the window on the opposite wall that you can’t bring yourself to speak at all. Instead, you take a long drag of the bitter coffee in your hands and wait for him to speak further.

“That’s beside the point though,” he says at last through a short shake of his head. “Your captain said he’s finished getting what he wanted out of Jisung. You’ll likely be leaving soon.” Your mug stalls halfway up to your mouth. Then slowly, it makes its descent back down to the table.

“It’s not too late for you to come along…” A crude snort follows your suggestion.

“Don’t go opening that door again, Y/n, it’s far better if you left it shut.” Annoyance creeps into his tone and across his features, given how his nose wrinkles as he spits the words out.

“You can’t possibly think that Jisung will let me waltz out of here with Ho—my crew. That’s unfathomable, isn’t it? After all the trouble he went through to get me in the first place?”

“It’s not that though.” His posture shifts to something more defensive as he leans back in his seat and crosses his arms over his broad chest. “It’s a matter of importance — is his crew more valuable to him than you? Because they’re the ones at risk right now.”

“Do you want him to choose them over me?”

“I’ve told you before that I have no moral obligation to them, nor do I have an emotional connection either. But at this rate, I’d hazard a guess that I’ll find it quite impossible to feel any sort of emotional connection to any crew after this one if I were to leave.” The breath he huffs out is unstable and shaky, one that makes his chest stutter as though he can’t suck enough air into his lungs at the same moment. “There… is another issue. One of whether Jisung — will he actually go through with killing Hyunwoo? Will you still refrain from letting him do such a thing?”

“No,” comes your hasty answer, “I won’t.”

“Ha… such a strong… sense of justice you have.” Although he spits the sentence out rather quickly, he stutters so drastically that it makes you lean over the table a little to gaze at him with a curious stare. To the naked eye, there seems to be nothing wrong other than the slight fidget to his form. The morning light streaks across the room just enough to coat his face in its warmth, and through that, however, you can see the almost wild glaze to his eyes that makes his pupils blow wide for no immediately discernible reason. A sharp turn, given the composure he showed minutes ago in front of Hongjoong.

“Despite how much I hate him right now, I do not want to rob his family of having him in their lives,” you continue through the mixture of concern and confusion. “But what reason would Jisung have to kill him at this point, given that Hyunwoo isn’t the one taking me from him any longer?”

“Ah, yes, of course, yes, that would make more sense then, wouldn’t it?” It would, and that much is abundantly clear in your eyes but it’s more concerning that the doctor you’ve found to be nothing but perceptive since meeting him. Your first thought is, of course, that Hongjoong startled this sort of reaction out of him. That can’t be the case though as Minho seems far from afraid and rather like his thoughts are in a scrambled mess and he can’t fully grasp them at the moment.

“Are you alright, Minho?”

“Hm, would it… if he were to — yes, yes, then we could—”

“Minho!” You cutting him off seems to do the trick well enough given how quickly the man snaps out of his daze and blinks across the table with widened eyes. “Are you not feeling well?”

“Ah, just — yes, um, the painkillers, that’s what it is.”

“Are you injured?” Your questions persist as you lean over the table. It puts Minho on the defensive, however, and he pushes his chair back to put more space between the two of you. “Do you need medical help of some sort?”

“I’m fine. Thank you. I… we — we can speak later.” His tone holds no real malice to it. There’s some confidence there, even if it is shaky at best. What catches you off guard the most has nothing to do with his tone or the way he looks all around you but never quite at your face: it’s the trembling in his fingers, his knees buckling under his weight the moment he stands, and the franticness that you both move with to keep him from falling to the ground. You’re at the disadvantage given your position across the table and it also means that you can’t grab hold of him. He thankfully has it in him to catch the edge of the wood and stabilize his body just enough to prevent any real harm. You don’t think the air in the cottage has ever felt stiffer than it does in this moment right now with Minho shaking and sweating across from you with no discernible cause in sight.

“What has Jisung done to you, Minho?” It’s nothing more than a whispered inquiry that doesn’t beg an answer and merely hangs between your forms.

“No one amongst him and his crew are responsible for the worst of my afflictions, Y/n. I’m afraid leaving does nothing more than make matters worse for me.” He says it as though he’s tried to escape before, and been successful in that regard because such words wouldn’t come from a man with no first-hand experience. “I applaud you for trying as hard as you did and for putting a good word in for me with your captain. I only hope that you leave swiftly before the curtain can drop further and I ruin whatever pretty image you have of me contained in that head of yours.”

He stands, and you slap a hand down on the table between you, rising to your feet in the same moment. Stubborn to a fault, as always, but justified this time around. Your other hand stretches out as though to grab hold of the doctor but he’s too far away and your fingertips don’t even reach his sleeve.

“You don’t seem well,” you persist still, for what it’s worth.

“When did you first figure that out, Ghost?” You aren’t sure whether the usage of the codename is meant to get on your nerves or merely put a knife in whatever bond you’ve built up in your shared time here. “Was it only just now, or have the signs simply stacked up too high?” Perhaps you do have a fate after all, and perhaps it is to chase broken people and pray that you’re able to fix them but you hardly know how to do that much effectively. Minho leaves the room in such a rush that you’re incapable of stopping him. It feels like a hefty defeat.

You don’t move to sit back down, and the coffee staring up at you from the table only makes your stomach twist in all the wrong ways. In reality, there’s a wide variety of emotions churning in your gut — guilt, disgust, shame — along with the startling realization that you are in no position to be trying to fix this man, or anyone around you at all in actuality because when it all comes crashing down, you too are standing at the center of the carnage with your own demons at your back. What business does a broken person have in attempting to heal another? Here you sat offering some sense of salvation when less than twelve hours prior, you were rolling in your own sin and begging for punishment in return.

Religion has nothing to do with it, really, but it’s a cold wash of reality in the aftermath of something terribly ugly. Martyrs and saviors have an awful lot in common. At some point along the way, you think you started to view yourself as such, even if unintentionally, without stopping to ask if any of those you tried to touch actually wanted to be saved.

Amongst all those negative feelings leeching away at your conscience, self-realization is perhaps the harshest of them all.

It also makes you decide that you feel physically grimy and dirty too, and whilst you would usually have a shower nearby at a moment’s notice, you lack that simple pleasure here. The only option you have is to bathe outside in the pool and wash away what you did with Yeosang (which is rushing back to you with a new wave of guilt now) for good. You would much rather not be alone with your thoughts. And yet, it seems that is a majority of what consumes your time these days. Immediately your thoughts go to San, but just as quickly something else hits you out of the blue.

The thought stops you in your tracks halfway up the stairs back to your temporary bedroom, and your slipper catches on the lip of the next step up, nearly causing an ugly tumble if not for your iron-tight grip on the railing. If all along your subconsciousness has been pushing you towards broken people in the hopes of fixing them, then what does that make San to you? You lay a hand over the wristband biting into your skin. If you said such a thing aloud to him, you know well enough that he would reassure you and litter you with sweet words of comfort, but thinking of him doing so right now only deepens the pit of guilt in your stomach. What have you done to earn his affection and care in all these months? In retrospect, all you’ve managed to accomplish is to endanger him multiple times.

Wooyoung sleeps as soundly as he did when you left him not too long ago, and you continue to do your best to not disturb him as you seek out a new change of clothes and a towel to bring down to the bath. It’s faint, but his soul reaches out to yours despite being fast asleep like it’s simple instinct. A small flare of comfort, but a flame nonetheless, and you grab hold of it greedily to ease even just a little bit of the ache in your chest.

So, even though you wish you could take more than that for yourself, you leave well enough alone and slip back out of the room with nothing more. You also push down the urge to call San for verbal reassurance. The quiet surrounding you as you move about the house and into the outdoors isn’t the issue as much as the overarching loneliness is. San is awfully chatty, as are both Yunho and Wooyoung, and while Seonghwa isn’t much one for talking a lot, the two of you often were doing other things in place of comfort. No, right now in this moment, the person you find yourself missing the most is Jongho, with his silent yet persistent presence throughout the ship that you drifted towards almost naturally. Talking through the feelings swirling around in your heart would make you feel childish more than anything, so it’s his kind of comfort you crave to have with you again.

I ought to ask San about him when we talk next. You hesitate by the edge of the steaming pool of dark water. There are plenty of things you ought to do, perhaps, but dealing with Jisung should be at the top of that list.

A wave of realization hits you as you’re slipping into the warm water, clothes folded neatly and promptly abandoned beside the towel you brought along with you. The biggest of your issues before Hongjoong arrived was the possibility of Jisung killing Hyunwoo. Your shoulder still aches something awful thanks to the bullet put through you, and although Minho settled your panic about being hunted by some unknown predator, there is still a lingering sense of wrongness to the whole situation.

How does this end for the three of you? If it came down to it and you had to choose, is there any way you could make such a choice in good conscience?

Thinking about it now, you would admit that the two men are on the same level in terms of wrongdoings, but doubt has crept into the cracks in your resolve. They share in the blame for what was done to you, and as much as Jisung made you believe Hyunwoo was dead, Hyunwoo played right along without stopping to correct his mistakes. He, in many ways, took the easy way out with no intention of looking back, while Jisung at least made an effort to right his wrongs. However, killing Jisung would free Minho from his lingering bonds, as well as the entirety of his crew, and it would assure Hyunwoo’s safety with his family. The mother of his child as well as that child he helped bring into this universe.

“I didn’t want you to look at me the way you look at Jisung. I was genuinely trying to protect you, you have to understand that. Please, Y/n.”

Six years spent trying to erase every bad word spoken against his name, and the admission that you did such a thing to the man’s face, along with baring your heart when telling him how difficult those years were for you — where was his sympathy then? He threw it in your face with a vial of blue liquid meant to block out the bad once more.

Justice isn’t yours to weigh, not even a little. As easy as it is for you to lift a gun to a man’s head and pull the trigger, you find yourself fumbling and afraid in the face of this decision. You can’t pinpoint whether it is because you know both of them or simply that you know what is at stake. Were his family out of the picture, you would pick Hyunwoo in an instant if only because the wound on your heart is fresh and festering off the back of your last confrontation with him. If her scales have tipped one side all the way down then how much of yourself do you have to push onto the other to justify your conscience? You — for better or for worse — don’t get the chance to weigh that moral quandary because your thought process is brutally interrupted by a raspy tone coming from the edge of the pool.

“We need to talk.”

You’d know his identity even if he hadn’t announced his presence, because the short-heeled boots atop the stone several feet away from you are unmistakable.

“Can it not wait until I’m done bathing?” you question in return, pulling your chin up out of the water some to stare him down better. Hongjoong cocks a hip out as he brings both hands up to rest just under the tapered waist of his coat. It’s not his usual one — a detail that was far and away from your thoughts when you first laid eyes on him upon his arrival — but it looks equally old and used given the frays in the seams. Even the deep brown has worn down to a dull tan in places, giving sharp contrast to the gold-plated belts and buckles all around the garment.

“No, I’m afraid not, I’d like to get everything done and taken care of before the end of today so we can leave later this evening.” The denial comes with a shake of his head as well, one that makes you want to roll your eyes but you restrain yourself. “I’ll just bathe as well.”

“I don’t see why that’s necessary at all,” you start to protest, but the words fall on deaf ears as that coat you were analyzing seconds earlier starts getting pulled from the captain’s form without further ado. You look away in a panic, jerking your head so far to the side that it makes your neck hurt some. “Truly, this is far from necessary, Captain.”

“Hardly imagined you to be so prudish, Ghost.”

You wish to level him with a glare right now but the risk of seeing parts of him that you are far from ready to see exposed keeps you from doing that. Instead, you fall into a compliant kind of silence and continue to stare off at the further possible point imaginable until the rustling noises screech to a halt and the water around your body stirs. You give it another two seconds just to be as safe as possible then decide to tear your gaze back to where Hongjoong is now half-submerged in the pool with you. This is something you have seen before, and yet the awe of seeing the black ink spreading over his chest and down to his abdomen hasn’t subsided fully. Especially seeing the full expanse of the artwork now when it was so obstructed before. What’s more fascinating in your eyes, however, is the odd collection of scars down near his right hip with a long and stretched scar laid overtop. He only allows you a glance; it fades into the deep green water as he comes to sit down as well. It does nothing to stop the image of the scars from being burned into your brain. Such an orderly set of marks, it’s hard to believe that they were put there randomly, especially with the one running diagonally through the tally mark-like scars underneath it.

A question hovers on the tip of your tongue. You slip down further on the step you’ve found purchase on though instead of speaking up and let the warm water cover your mouth for a moment.

“How do you feel about Minho as a doctor?” Hongjoong doesn’t push for an answer right away, although he doesn’t explain his line of questioning either despite your less than subtle glaring. You tilt your chin up enough to expose your lips.

“What happened with Yunho?”

“We’ve finished questioning Jisung so he’ll likely want to see you now that he can.”

“What are those scars on your stomach?”

“Have you decided what you are going to do about Jisung? Hyunwoo?”

You puff your cheeks full of air and sit up straight once more. The waterline stops just beneath your shoulders, granting you some privacy despite the intimate yet vulnerable position you’ve found yourself in with this man.

“We seem to have a lot more to discuss than imagined, don’t we?” Hongjoong huffs out a dry chuckle and leans back against the wall of the pool. You try to keep your curious gaze from getting too greedy as he lifts a heavily inked arm and motions in your general direction. “You are free to speak first if you so desire.”

You gnaw at the inside of your lip in quiet indignance. True to his word, however, the pirate does nothing to rush you nor does he speak himself. He does have a (rather good) point because it isn’t that you can’t think of anything to say to him but rather that there seems to be such an abundance of things to talk about that you don’t know where to even begin. What you do know is that you would rather have this conversation be as amicable as possible, if the two of you can survive without being hostile towards each other at all.

“Thank you for bringing Wooyoung along for my sake,” you say under your breath, gaze dipping back down from his insistent eye contact.

“Hm? You’re rather far away, could you say that again?”

You’re about to repeat yourself in a rush to get the gratitude out of the way when you blink up at the man, and the expression he wears stops you dead in your tracks. Every bit of appreciation you just felt towards him dissipates in a cloud of smoke as you take in the little smirk curling the corners of his lips until the smile is more that of a cat than of a human.

“I believe it was you who claimed that I have no care for you. Am I remembering that correctly?”

“Or maybe you did it because you want me to comply.”

“Unless you’re expendable in my eyes.”

You jerk your chin up a hair, just enough to come up fully out of the water.

“My weapon, as you once called yourself.” He’s looking solely at your face yet his gaze is so piercing in that moment that you almost feel violated by the heat of his gaze on your features. “Then my Siren, my key, my treasure… fascinating that amongst those things there is but one commonality.”

Your teeth sink into your lower lip with enough force to break skin. If Hongjoong sees you wince, he makes no effort to point it out, although that’s likely because he has another point to make right now.

“That you’re mine.”

His aim is, as always, faultless.

“Regardless of what you are to me, you’re still mine, Y/n.” He pauses to give a little shrug and the smile dips down to give you a moment to breathe easier. “At least, that’s how you view this issue and what you’ve communicated to me time and time again.”

Except, upon further reflection, you cannot recall a time in which you’ve referred to yourself as his key, let alone his treasure. In fact, if you think about it, the only time you’ve heard him say such things was when the words came from his own mouth and not yours. Something seems to have been mixed up somewhere along the way: the line of thought Hongjoong attributed to your views of your place on the crew morphed with what he imagined you would be for him.

“What did you do to Jisung?” Switching the topic at hand is far easier than confronting whatever issue would come out of further conversation on that subject.

“Hm…” Hongjoong lifts both arms up out of the water, draping them over the edge of the bath’s rim. “Yeosang shot him in the foot one time but that’s the extent of the harm done to him. The doctor came by and patched him up after it happened so there’s nothing to worry about. He can be rather compliant when there’s more on the line.”

The context of being shot in the foot seems a bit hazy in your eyes but also when it comes to a man such as Hongjoong who operates on a hairpin trigger of insanity, such a thing isn’t the most deranged activity you can think of on a whim.

“He’s aware that he isn’t getting out of this with you anymore.”

“And you expect me to believe that he’ll simply roll over and let me walk away?”

“No, I fully anticipate that he wants to put up one last fight. With everything on the line, what more does a man in his position have to lose?”

“His life.”

“And as I already told you… that decision rests in the palm of your hand. Do you wish to leave without a fight? I can give you a gun, and you may walk into that barn and put a bullet between his eyes if you so desire.” Hongjoong speaks without blinking, and the steady eye contact is so uncomfortable that you find your gaze trying to find purchase anywhere but the man across from you in the water. “I wonder if his doctor can rectify such a wound though.”

Oddly enough, you don’t imagine that Hongjoong is talking about the wound that would be placed on Jisung through such an ordeal; rather, he seems to be referring to the impact it would have on you. Part of you ought to be flatter that he seems even vaguely concerned about your mental well-being. The overwhelming majority, however, finds offense.

“The stitchwork on your shoulder seems to be holding up nicely though.” He shifts his arm just enough to motion to your bare shoulder, where the evidence of your wound still resides albeit much cleaner and less gruesome than it was in recent days.

“It feels alright.” As though by instinct, you reach up to thumb over what’s left of the stitches. A fleeting thought passes through your head, urging you to have Minho take one last look before you go if only to try to convince him to leave with you one last time. “I think I prefer Yunho’s work more though.” It’s a quiet appraisal to see how Hongjoong might react to the mention of the healer, but nothing slips on the captain’s features unfortunately. “Minho is… a good mental doctor in my eyes. Someone suited to be a therapist of sorts. If I’m speaking honestly, I’m not sure that he has much experience with physical injuries beyond learning basics in school.”

“But he’s a suitable therapist?”

“In my eyes, yes, but I’m no expert in the matter.” Your comment comes with a quick shake of your head, and this time you pursue eye contact with the man in front of you. “And while I… begrudgingly accept that it’s neither my place nor my decision, I would like to see him out of Jisung’s grasp. I’d like to he–”

“Save him, you mean,” Hongjoong interjects, barely letting you get your words out before he’s cutting in sharply with a smirk twisting one corner of his pinkish lips. “You wish to save him since you have something of a hero complex.”

“Ah, why should we need to outsource a therapist when one happens to be sitting naked in a bath with me right this instant?”

“I believe that I’m merely stating the obvious, Y/n. If you take offense to such things then I imagine that’s why you find me so insufferable. San—” you don’t need him to give out a laundry list like this but it seems that he wishes to do exactly that as he continues down the line, pausing between each name like he wants them to hit like a punch every time “—Seonghwa, Yunho, Mingi, Jongho, Wooyoung… Yeosang. You begged me to allow Soojin on the ship, and with her, a mute child. Asked for my help in clearing your friend’s name before learning the harsh reality of the matter. I believe at one point you foolishly imagined that you could save Han Jisung himself from the demons eating away at his heart. Now I have this doctor informing me that you wish to help him get away, and here you are confirming that same desire with your own lips. I wonder how long the clock will tick until you try to save Nightingale as well. You’re not a ghost because you’re good at what you do but rather because you get up and run when you fail.”

You push to your feet in a rush, nearly slipping on the bottom of the pool, and Hongjoong at least has the decency to keep his stare locked on your face instead of looking further down. However, you desperately want out from under that stare, and the only solution you can think of is to turn towards the coping for a moment. It’s useless in the long run but it serves whatever purpose you were after in the heat of the moment.

“We’re pirates, Y/n, in case you forgot that technicality. Criminals of planetary and universal law, and by most people’s standards, criminals of moral law as well. I’ve been more than a little gracious thus far, but I can guarantee that I won’t always give you what you want on a silver platter. And I need you to understand that.”

“What are you asking of me?” Your tone sounds a little clipped as it is, but Hongjoong doesn’t show any sign of being bothered by that.

“I’m asking you to accept losses and quit while you’re ahead. You can’t save them all.”

“I don’t think you’re the judge of that though?”

The man leans forward so suddenly that it catches you off-guard. You imagine if he had the chance, he would either throw something in your direction or hit the nearest surface with enough force to startle.

“Don’t try to save Nightingale, don’t try to save Seonghwa, and stop trying to save San.”

“No care for the man who keeps your bed warm I see.” The words come out in a tumble and without a second thought, although you come to regret not thinking further about it the second you see Hongjoong’s expression. The rage on his features isn’t quite immediate, however, as for a moment, his initial reaction is nothing but sheer shock at what you’re implying.

“I hardly think you’re in any position to speak on a relationship you aren’t part of.”

“Yet you seem to think you can do the same about my relationship with San?”

In a move that feels awfully childish, Hongjoong brings down his hand against the water, and while his intention doesn’t seem to be to splash you, the residual effect does cascade water over part of your face. It, if nothing else, expunges some of the anger that radiates off his being from all the way across the pool.

“The scars you saw near my hip…” he starts in a much more level tone after heaving a deep sigh. “Every time I lose a crew member, I add another mark to my collection. Sixty-five thus far, amongst the seventy-four crew members I started with and had at my side over the years. I do not wish to add any more, and if you keep putting San in danger the way you have recently, how can I not worry?”

Much to your chagrin, he has a point, and it’s one that you cannot ignore either. Although, the question that bothers you the most is the unanswered one of who is included amongst the crew members who have not been lost. It’s rather easy to count the seven he had when you first slipped onto the ship. Thus the mystery remains of who those last two unaccounted members might be. You know you aren’t included in that bunch since you came after that initial group of seventy-four. Two remain, two who clearly aren’t on the crew right now as they aren’t on the ship, and it’s just another messy enigma to add to the long list with your captain.

“If I were to die, would my life be added to that collection?” you inquire instead, more out of a morbid curiosity than anything else.

“Even if I had to be the one to end your life.”

It’s an answer that isn’t much of an answer in a lot of ways, but his firmness is what gives away what he really means by that. You suppose that some part of you should feel grateful that at least you’ve solidified your place in his crew enough for that honor. Discussing the details of what would happen after your death, however, is nothing pleasant and you don’t wish to dwell on it any longer than you have to. Turning to the side, you put your back to your captain and fiddle mindlessly with something amongst your pile of belongings outside the bath.

When you glance back over your shoulder at Hongjoong, he too has turned to his side of the coping. With his chest pulled up out of the water, it’s just enough for you to get an eyeful of the mess of black inking over his back. It stretches over the expanse of skin available to your eyes to the point where it’s hard to find where one line ends and another begins, but you can’t deny the art in the pieces that weave together. A story to tell, you’re certain of it, but you aren’t about to ask for that tale, at least not now. And amongst that pile of ink, you struggle to find anything that looks familiar under it all. Although you imagine if there were truly something under his tattoos that would look familiar to you, it would not be all too difficult to simply conceal them with other markings to the point where it erases all possible recognition. Silently, you sit back down on your little stair under the water, pulling your knees up to your chest and hugging them tightly as you examine your captain from a distance. On a whim, and partially out of an obscene interest in knowing whether there is some other reason for your inexplicable obsession, you try to reach out mentally, a stupid little shout of his name in your head while his back is turned.

He doesn’t even so much as flinch.

When he sits back against the wall of the pool, something dangles between his lips. It takes you a moment to realize what exactly it is, along with the context clue of an old-fashioned lighter in his right hand, and your chin tilts in question.

A cigarette.

It’s not something you’ve seen him partaking in before, although you can’t particularly claim to be surprised that he does such things. You watch with a careful gaze as he cups his free hand over the end of the thin tube and presses the lighter close. A small huff of opaque smoke clouds up around his face after the first puff. You don’t catch his next motions until he arches a brow at you and leans his head down like a poor attempt at a nod. It’s then that you realize Hongjoong is offering you the same pleasure, a nearly empty packet extended in your direction.

“Want one that badly?” he inquires around the butt of his own.

“I wasn’t aware you did such things,” you murmur. For a moment, all you get in response is a soft shrug of his shoulders. It disturbs the surface of the water and brings ripples over it until they lap at your skin.

“Rarely on the ship because it’s dangerous, according to some.”

You have no need to ask who he is speaking about with that comment; it’s clear enough through the sharp yet somehow fond gleam that passes over his dark eyes. You step up from where you’re perched once more, only to wade through the warm water on your tiptoes and reach his side of the pool. His eyes linger on your hand as you reach up to take one of the cigarettes, only retreating to place it back outside the water when you place the item between your lips. As he shifts, his foot knocks hard against your ankle, and you slip over the slick floor without warning, lunging forward just to keep yourself from flailing back and wetting the cigarette. It serves you more harm than good: as you throw a hand out to the wall of the pool to restabilize yourself, the flat of your hand reaches Hongjoong’s bare chest instead, skating over the tattooed skin that’s warmer to the touch than the water the both of you are in. You correct your mistake as quickly as you can manage and jerk over to grip the lip of coping around the pool’s walls.

The blunder surely can be read on your expression as well, and you don’t doubt that you look as flustered and panicked as you feel — not to mention slightly humiliated because of course this would happen with Hongjoong of all people, the one man you would truly love to strangle more often than not. Because along with the obvious intimacy of the position and beyond the closeness of your bodies, another issue remains glaringly apparent in that you are both fully nude under the water and that your bare chest is just shy of being pressed flush against his. That, however, pales in comparison to the horror you feel as you realize your knee is now pressed between his legs and up against other unmentionables that reside where your leg rests.

In stark comparison to your panic, Hongjoong chuckles around his cigarette, smoking curling up from his lips. The water between your bodies quivers some more when he lifts his elbow up to flick the lighter under the end of your cigarette. The heat in your cheeks amplifies as he snaps the cap back down with a loud click. The grin stretching the corners of his mouth seems to accentuate the mockery in his laughter.

“That much of a savior complex yet you don’t seem interested in saving me at all, Ghost,” he murmurs, twisting to toss the lighter over his shoulder and onto the pile of clothes he retrieved it from. His sharp stare turns into something resembling a glare moments later. “Makes me wonder why that is exactly.”

You pull your hand back to latch onto the cigarette between your lips instead of replying. As you start to put more distance between your body and his, Hongjoong leans forward and catches you by the wrist of your free hand. Water sloshes up to your shoulders. It still gives you the opportunity to yank your knee back from his crotch.

“There are some people who simply can’t be saved,” you whisper. The smoke in your mouth tastes bitter, although you aren’t sure if it’s truly from the cigarette.

“Is that so? What an honor it is to be counted amongst that lot.” Hongjoong slips down from the step he’s found purchase on and plants his feet in front of yours at the bottom of the pool. You wouldn’t say he’s much taller than you, nothing drastic, but now as you stand almost chest to chest, you feel that height difference more than ever before. “I think you’re more afraid of failure than anything else, Y/n. You’re scared you won’t be able to save me from all the crimes I’ve committed, won’t be able to absolve me of the neverending list of sins on my roster.”

“What reason is there to try in that case?”

He tilts his head down, and you scowl as you’re forced to lean back to keep him from puffing smoke into your eyes.

“It’d be fascinating to see you try.”

“So you can be pleased with yourself when I fail just like everyone else who has tried?”

“I have a penchant for corrupting those who make such attempts. Take a look at my healer, my Spectre, my precious lieutenant even. Would you not agree that I’ve made them all worse along the way, knowing what you know and seeing what you’ve seen?”

“I can’t decide whether you’re encouraging me to fail or to simply stay away as I fully intend to.”

“People like you… they go from person to person desperately seeking to save whoever they can get their hands on all because they know they can’t save themselves from what they’ve done in the past. That’s what pushed you to fuck Yeosang last night despite him hating you so damn much, isn’t it?” Hearing such crude words fall from his lips shouldn’t shock you the way it does. Perhaps it’s moreso his knowledge of what happened that surprises you. “You’ll stay away until you run out of people to save, then you’ll come crawling to me on your hands and knees begging for just a sliver of a chance to fix me, to play the savior again.”

Your heart clenches with nerves. Hongjoong tugs his cigarette out of his mouth and when he leans over you more, you’re forced to squeeze your eyes shut and turn your face away as he exhales a puff of smoke down on you.

“And what then, little dove?”

Fingers grip your face. A deep scowl paints your lips as Hongjoong forces you to look at him once more with the pads of his fingers leaving deep imprints on your cheeks.

“Go on ask me what happens then,” he hisses through his teeth.

“What then?” You spit back with a snarl of your own. Your own hand trembles where it hovers above the water, still eager to keep it from dipping below the surface.

His expression softens to become a smile that doesn’t match the cruel gleam in his eyes.

“I’ll give you that chance, just to make you think for a fraction of a second that you can do it before I corrupt you and leave you to rot from the inside out.” He pauses to take another inhale from his cigarette, and this time he lets the smoke pool in his mouth rather than sucking it down entirely. “So, tell me, Y/n, do you still wish to play the hero?”

You answer that question with a glare rather than words. Hongjoong pushes forward a few more steps, and you step back with each one he takes towards you. There’s nowhere to run in here, however, depending on what level of humiliation this man is after. He corners you against the opposite side of the bath, the side you started on, and you get no warning before the backs of your knees hit the step. When you stumble back onto it, there’s no saving the cigarette in your hand, but in hindsight, you’re a bit grateful because you had no interest in finishing it off anyways. The larger and more prevalent issue comes when Hongjoong simply continues in his warpath to corner you against the coping, hands moving down to cage you in as you feel one of his legs press down against the step on either side of your own. Even that proximity isn’t enough for him. He finds it necessary to lean over you as much as possible, to force you to slide down until your neck is nearly submerged, and to loom over you with that minimal space between your bodies. He doesn’t lay a hand on you but what’s worse is that the more you move, the more his hips press against yours. As much as you try to ignore it, it’s rather impossible with the two of you in the state you’re in, and the thought that if anyone were to interrupt at this exact moment, it would look as though you were doing something else entirely.

“Can you move your fucking dick?” you hiss out through gritted teeth, blinking furiously to erase the wash of embarrassment you’re feeling right now.

“You’re the one who has it trapped between our stomachs. I didn’t ask you to move down now, did I?” With him directly above you and his chest the only thing in front of you, there’s nowhere for your gaze to escape to. Squeezing your eyes shut you huff out a scoff and move to push him off of you. “What? You afraid that touching it is gonna make you want me more than you already do?”

“More than I — excuse me?” You were pointedly trying to ignore what you were feeling against your abdomen, but that’s quite difficult when he’s laid atop you the way he is currently. And as much as you don’t want to think about it, your brain latches onto the thought that the length of him that is pressed into your stomach is pinching your skin quite a bit more than is natural. You aren’t chaste enough to not realize why that is, maybe because you’ve fucked San who has a piercing of his own in said region — although clearly elsewhere and not nearly as many as Hongjoong seems to have — but you don’t want to even entertain the thought of thinking about this man’s dick more than you have to. You fully imagined to never have to think about such things as it relates to Hongjoong but life seems to have a funny way of exceeding all your expectations in less than pleasant ways.

He is capable of mercy, however, as he pulls off your body just enough to let you scramble back into a sitting position. You yank your knees up to your chest for good measure even though it feels as though you’ll have the memory of his dick shoved into your abdomen imprinted on your brain for eternity.

He takes a step back from the step, moving to pull a drag out of his cigarette again.

“You can be so demure when you’re not fucking every member of my crew.”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you!”

“The key difference between us being that I don’t pretend like sex fixes every problem.”

“Seonghwa initiated things just as much as I did back then,” you retort, “and what happened between Yeosang and I was just… a release of pent-up anger. I’m not pretending either here.”

“Do you truly think you’re so innocent?” Hongjoong huffs out one last puff of smoke before snuffing out his cigarette along the surface of the water. When he tosses it by your head, you’re merely grateful that you don’t flinch under his stare. He steps closer again, but this time he doesn’t move to pin you down and instead stands to your side and grips the rock coping that lines the pool. “You’re just as bad as Yunho in that regard.”

He opens the door to a bigger question that has been eating away at you, but even with such direct permission to speak about it, you can’t shake the feeling that it’s still overstepping an unspoken boundary. You glance at the man out the corner of your eye. He doesn’t stare back, head hanging low with his chin tucked to his chest.

“Just what do you think you’re fixing in doing any of that?” The question is more rhetorical than anything else in your ears, which is almost good because you don’t have an answer for him. One that could be addressed to Yunho for all you know, and the larger part of you wonders if that’s why he’s drawing similarities between the two of you in the first place.

“Do you want him to fix you?”

Hongjoong laughs but the sound is haunting and hard to listen to, accentuated by the way he tucks his head further and tangles his wet fingers through his own hair without preamble.

“Fix me” begins to sound a lot like a plea as you hear it more, less like mockery and jeering as you wear away at the metal walls he’s constructed around himself.

The only question that remains, however: is this simply a ploy to lure you behind those walls?

The way he stares at you now, hands splayed over the same rock that’s digging into your skin and biting at your shoulders, holds such malice and contempt that the thoughts of it being desperation quickly wither away.

A man like Kim Hongjoong is hardly desperate, not when he knows exactly how to get his hands on what he wants.

In that same vein of thought, as it pertains to you, you’ve pushed yourself into position on his little invisible game of chess. Right into the line of fire with the option to either move forward or retreat as far back as imaginable.

Something tells you that you will do exactly as he claimed you would earlier.

You’ll wind up at his feet begging for mercy and a chance to be spared, and if it is to be a slow and torturous descent then you can’t imagine pulling yourself out of that freefall quick enough.

“I’ll do my best to have Minho brought back with us, but I cannot force him to come if he does not wish to do so.”

Being naked in front of this man is the last of your worries, you decide, as you’ve just now come as close to having him in less appropriate positions as you can get without it actually happening. Thus, without sparing him a second glance, you push yourself up and out of the water in a futile rush to preserve some of your dignity.

“No need to rush on my account. I won’t look where I’m not supposed to.”

“How chivalrous,” you snort back, but true to his word, he’s turned fully around when you glance back over your shoulder.

“You can see Jisung if you’d like. He ought to still be in the barn.”

You hesitate, slowing your movements as you pull a towel up around your body.

“Are you going to kill him?”

“Are you?”

“I don’t think so,” you admit after a moment of silence. Hongjoong doesn’t respond immediately himself, and what follows is a quiet that’s only disrupted by the sound of water and you drying yourself off with your towel. “I don’t think it will give me any closure.”

“I hope you don’t intend to ask me to bring him back as well.” It’s more a joke than anything else, and the levity of his tone brings a laugh out of you as well.

“No. I think this is one bridge I’d prefer to leave burnt behind me.”

He offers up a laugh in response himself, more of a quiet huff than anything else. Compared to what you heard earlier, you much prefer that sound out of him. “Once you’re done with him, we can head out. Unless you have more you wish to say to your other friend.”

“I don’t.” Given how Hongjoong nods his head at your quick refusal, you imagine you’d see a smirk painting his life if you were looking at his face. Silence passes after that, allowing you to dress in peace and gather your belongings under your arm. “Please — and I truly don’t say this with the hope of saving him — do what you can to convince Minho to leave. I simply wish for him to not have to live like a slave. I trust you still have that sliver of morality left in you.”

“I give you my word, Y/n.” You barely hear the words over the din of nature, but you catch them nonetheless on your way out of the small clearing, leaving the man in the pool alone feeling just as lost and confused as you did when you went in.

You don’t bother taking your belongings back to the house as the barn is closer, and frankly, you don’t envision yourself sticking around to chat with Jisung for long. That’s your initial thought; however, actually setting foot inside the building to find the man seated on a paltry-looking bed mat and looking terribly pathetic, you feel the tiniest tug of sympathy towards him. Slow and deliberate, you push the door to the barn shut behind you and set your bundle of clothes down near the latch.

Jisung’s eyes flit up to your figure only when you clear your throat to announce your presence. He looks none the worse for wear, in fact, you’d almost argue that he looks better than he did before his extended stay in this building. It isn’t enough for you to want to get too close to him, and it’s with careful steps that you stop yourself several feet from where he’s sitting.

“Finally she graces me with her presence. The darling damsel in distress was saved from her captor at last.” As mocking as his words are, you find no hostility in Jisung’s tone. It doesn’t take much for you to realize that he’s speaking from a place of defeat, that his luck has finally run out, and he’s at the end of his rope. “Have you come to gloat?”

“Maybe I should have,” you answer, but you’re none too bold about the way you speak to him. “I hear you were shot in the foot though.”

“Just a little.”

“Could’ve at least evened it out and shot you in the other one too.”Jisung blanches, face shifting from one of humor to seriousness in a split second as though he’s wary you’re about to whip out a gun yourself.

“I think you’ll be happy to hear that Hyunwoo has shown his true colors instead.”

Jisung sits up, propping himself up with both arms as he juts them out behind his back.

“It’s hardly worth anything now but I told him not to tamper with your memories a second time. That once was enough, we did our damage then, and doing it again wouldn’t change anything at all.” He makes a show of dragging his tongue over his teeth. For once, he refuses to look your way, finding purchase anywhere except for where you stand across from him. “I’m no saint, but I did try. I see it did nothing to dissuade him though.”

“Minho was the one who refused to do it.”

“Ah.” Jisung wets his lips then nods a few times. “Hyunwoo is perfectly capable of administering the serum himself. He did so the first time. He must have wanted to pass off the guilt to someone else this time.”

“Why did you really bring me here, Jisung?”

“I already told you, didn’t I? I didn’t lie about that much. I truly didn’t think Hyunwoo would suggest what he did.”

“Yes but… you knew he had a life here, that he had moved on and found — that he’s at peace here.”

“Yes, I knew that. And I thought that if you saw it for yourself, you would want to move on too.”

“I’ve wanted to move on for a long while, Jisung. The one thing holding me back was wanting to redeem him.” You kick at the dirt under your feet with a little scoff. “In hindsight, I can’t believe I was going to sign pardon papers for him.”

“Ah, so that’s what you were after…” The man draws his knees up and shifts to rest his elbows against them. “It’s never too late to sign them for yourself.”

And oddly enough, that isn’t a fate you’ve entertained for yourself. Never once did you think your way out was through signing those papers for your own freedom, even before you knew the reality of what went down all those years ago. It was never something you wanted for yourself, only for Hyunwoo, and now you almost think it would be easier to burn those papers than to give them to anyone else. Sure, there’s a long list of people who deserve them much more than Hyunwoo and much more than yourself. But —

“No,” you mutter through a slight shake of your head. “It’s not too late, but it isn’t about the timing of things either.” Your thoughts go back to the crew, back to the ship and the ones there now, to the ones here with you now. What right do you have in pardoning yourself while remaining by their sides? “I don’t think it’s my fate to have a sense of peace like Hyunwoo’s. Perhaps my fate is to die out in the black sea with the people I care about instead.”

“Guess we won’t be buried next to each other on Kebos then.”

“Was that a promise we made?”

Jisung wrinkles his nose a little, and when he shifts to look at the wall, you see a certain shine to his eyes that’s unmistakable.

“Yeah, I suppose it was.”

He doesn’t deserve an ounce of your sympathy. You know that much. But you’ve always been weak to someone whose very will has been broken down before your very eyes, and seeing him like this certainly sheds a light of understanding on some of his less than savory behaviors.

“For whatever it’s worth, Y/n, I’m sorry. I know — I know that won’t fix anything I’ve done, but I’m at least capable of remorse.”

“I know you’re looking for redemption, but I can’t be the one to give it to you.”

“Maybe that’s what I’ll do after all this is said and done. Don’t know what I’m gonna do otherwise. Your Scourge has already promised that I won’t get out of this with my crew.”

“There’s always Echidna,” you suggest. “You could find work there without the risk of being arrested.”

“I think I’d still like to be buried on Kebos though. Perhaps I’ll go back to Vladimir.”

You don’t voice it, mostly because you think he’s already well aware, but if Jisung were to crawl back to such a man now, he would likely not survive the ordeal. You hate that you take so much pity on the man before you after all he’s done because of all his mistakes and yet you still find yourself trying to offer some reprieve.

“Maybe you can find work there that isn’t so… bloody.” Jisung laughs hard enough for the sound to echo through the barn a little. “I still kinda want to punch you in the neck though. Several times. With a steel pipe.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, little lady!”

“And yet somehow I don’t want you dead.”

“I suppose that’s the biggest compliment I could ask for from you after all’s said and done.” He shrugs, and a quaint little grin twists his lips as he finally looks up at your face. “I doubt there’s any value in saying thank you, is there?”

“I really don’t want your gratitude, so — sorry to disappoint.”

“Well then this is just awfully fucking bittersweet, isn’t it?”

It does leave you with the feeling of someone constricting your heart.

“Killing you would hurt a lot more than it would help.” You aren’t sure why you share that but the words come out without thought. “I’m just ready to move on now. But if you show up one more fucking time, Han Jisung, I swear to god I’ll pu—”

“Yeah, got it, no need to hammer that point home.”

“Let’s both move on, together… but apart.”

Jisung lifts a hand to his temple, pressing his index and middle fingers together as he gives a cheeky showing of saluting you.

“Roger that, little lady.”

“We’re killing daylight now it’d probably be best if we left sooner rather than later.”

“I think your friendly little Elitist was coming back to put some cuffs and chains on me any minute now.” His gaze shifts past your shoulder, and the moment his brows draw together in question, you know that something isn’t quite right. There’s the sound of wood rubbing against wood, then a telltale click of metal locking into place. You spin on your heel to face the door only to find a familiar head of red hair standing over by the door. The latch has been pushed into place, and his gloved hand is still falling away from the clasp when you set your gaze on him.

“Hyunjin…?” you call out, taking a few tentative steps in his direction. He turns around slowly, but his face is hardly visible under the black mask he has pulled up over his lower face. The visage is something equal parts startling and horrifying, as all you see from a distance is a glint of blue in his eyes as he drags his eyes from Jisung to you.

“Jisung isn’t going anywhere.” He reaches behind his back slowly, and when his hand comes back into view, there’s a pistol clasped between his fingers. “Jisung won’t be leaving at all.” Except when he lifts the gun, you find its aim pointed at your head rather than Jisung’s. “So let’s take a little walk up to the cliffside, Ghost.”

✧✧✧ a/n: HI HI! it’s been a long time hasn’t it eeee T-T i’m sorry besties!!! i’ve been mega affected by a lull in inspiration and motivation both so! if this feels a little rough that’s why ;-; however here we are <3 she’s a doozy and a half yee hAW! but im glad i finished it bc the pace is finally gonna pick UP again ! as always thank you for being patient with me eee i love u all <3 i hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!

Mists of Celeste is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

#ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez fluff #ateez angst #ateez series #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #yeosang x reader #wooyoung x reader #san x reader #mingi x reader #jongho x reader #yunho x reader #ateez fanfic #mists of celeste #caly.writes

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fyodcrs · 2 years

Text

Fyodor dismissed Sigma’s bafflement with a wave of his hand. “Oh, just assume I know everything.”

“Everything,” Sigma echoed flatly.

Snow - Read on AO3 here!

He dreamed of snow.

A blizzard raged in empty skies, white against white. In the midst of the swirling eddies he drifted, but he did not feel the cold. Softness below him and around him, he was cocooned in a lightless, floating warmth, trying to catch each snowflake as it passed him although it did not seem he moved.

There was nothing else with him in this endlessness—nothing but a sound, very faint at first and then growing, a sound that filled the snowy sky, one he knew but didn’t know, at once intimately familiar and wholly strange, a rhythm aligned with his own breathing, or maybe it was that his breathing aligned itself to that rhythm. It came from a far distance, but as it rose, the storm around him began to calm, until he could count each tiny snowflake as it fell.

Sigma woke slowly.

He sat up, hair tumbling like a curtain over his face, and looked around, at first completely disoriented. Little by little, he realized he was still in his bedroom in the Sky Casino. Last he remembered, he had been sitting on the couch looking through papers on his patrons, desperately studying every detail of each one, trying to commit all to memory—names, faces, backgrounds, quirks and personality traits. At some point he must have fallen asleep. The papers had been strewn about haphazardly across the table, a few errant ones scattered on the floor, but someone had stacked them neatly into two piles. On top was the file he recalled he had been looking at last. This same someone must have also been the one to tuck a pillow under his head and drape a blanket over him as he slept. Who—?

The sound he had heard as he had surfaced from the depths of his dreams and floated in the quiet liminal space between sleeping and waking he could still hear—the mellow strains of a violin, coming from somewhere in the other rooms of his living quarters. He thought he recognized the melody, faint as it was through the walls. Blearily rubbing his eyes, he stood up. He was still fully dressed. He gathered himself, running a hand through his sleep-tussled hair and fixing his clothes, and left his bedroom, following the music. He knew who it was, and a dim uneasiness stirred a chill at the base of his spine. Glancing at the clock as he passed through the main room, he saw that it was early morning, and he checked the date. He had not expected any of the others to be coming today, or anytime soon.

Sigma found Fyodor Dostoevsky in a room adjoining the combined living room and kitchen. This was an extra space he used mostly for storage. Fyodor was standing near the small table, playing a violin. The instrument’s case was propped up on the sofa. His eyes were closed, and he did not appear to notice Sigma, absorbed in the music. His body swayed gently with the rhythm, guiding the bow across the strings as long, delicate fingers danced. The melody was one he had written himself; Sigma had heard him play it before.

Sigma leaned against the doorframe, watching him. Fyodor preferred the cello—so he said—but he was just as proficient with the violin, and with pretty much any string instrument he decided he wanted to give a try. Fukuchi-san had brought him a Chinese erhu once, and it had taken him no time at all to adapt to the new instrument; in hours he had been playing it as if he had done so all his life. Nikolai Gogol said Dostoevsky was something of a musical prodigy, and “one of those assholes that can do anything, basically” (his words). Apparently, whenever Fukuchi-san discovered a string instrument he had not heard of before or just saw an interesting one in a music store somewhere, he bought it for Fyodor. Fyodor had been amassing quite the collection, so Sigma had heard.

It had been a while since Sigma had heard Fyodor play. It was mesmerizing, in a way, to watch him, to watch how he moved, how light and graceful the bow was in his hand, the rise and fall and rise again of the music. A figure in white, tall and elegant and almost ethereal in the soft light of the room.

Nikolai had said once that Fyodor was like a winter storm, cold quiet death, serene and enchanting and pure like the new falling snow. Sigma had been dreaming of a winter storm, of unbroken white skies and swirling, driving snows that consumed vision and sound and sensation. He had been thinking of snow yesterday, too, remembering that in Japan the winter had come, although up here where the Sky Casino drifted solitary like a great cloud there was hardly a trace of changing seasons. He had been thinking, in an absent sort of way, of Fyodor Dostoevsky, this strange man who seemed to be everywhere and nowhere at once, like a shadow half-seen on the edge of perception, this strange man who always stood at a distance from him, as if to move too close to Sigma would scald them both, this strange man who spoke to him in such a kind and soft voice that Sigma sometimes forgot who he was, what he was—what they were.

He dreamed, sometimes, of Fyodor. These dreams were neither pleasant nor unpleasant, but they stayed with him as dreams were not supposed to do, lingering always at the back of his mind, as Fyodor himself always seemed to linger on the periphery of his awareness. There was something about Fyodor, something Sigma thought he should know, needed to know. He could find out, perhaps, if he used his Ability, but he was afraid to try to touch Fyodor. He did not know what Fyodor’s Ability was—no one knew, not even Fukuchi-san, who had known Fyodor for many years now—but he knew that Nikolai was right about him. He was death. He was silence, endlessness.

And sometimes, Sigma had the feeling, illogical though it was—but what about any of this, any of them, was logical?—that even if he tried to reach for Fyodor he would not be able to touch him, that his hand would pass right through the other man, as if through mist. As if Fyodor himself was a dream, a ghost, there but not really there at all.

Lost in his own thoughts, he did not notice the music had stopped until Fyodor said his name. “Sigma?”

Sigma jumped, and then flushed, realizing he had been caught staring. “He-hello, Dostoevsky. I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“Did I wake you?” Fyodor asked. He was smiling a little, but as usual, it did not seem to reach his dark violet eyes. He set the violin on the table. “Izvinite. I did not mean to.”

Sigma shook his head. “No—no, that’s okay. I, uh—you don’t have to stop playing.”

Fyodor’s expression softened, just slightly, and for a moment Sigma might have believed that little smile was true. “You’d like me to keep playing?”

Sigma’s blush deepened. “Well, if you’d like to—”

Fyodor hummed, glancing thoughtfully down at his violin. After a beat, he said, “Perhaps I could play, and you could sing?”

Sigma blinked, uncomprehending. “Sing?”

“Sure. Nikolai tells me you like to sing. And you write your own songs, don’t you?”

“How did you—”

Fyodor dismissed Sigma’s bafflement with a wave of his hand. “Oh, just assume I know everything.”

“Everything,” Sigma echoed flatly.

Fyodor’s smile had a mischievous edge to it when he turned back to Sigma. “Indeed. Last time I was here, I remember you humming a song to yourself a lot. One you were working on, I presume? I can try to play it, and you can sing it for me. If you’d like. I’d like to hear it.”

“Oh, well, I—I mean, I’ve written lyrics, but I don’t really have a clear idea what the music should be, just…a basic rhythm, I guess.”

“That’s okay. Let me try.”

He picked up the violin and started to play again, and Sigma listened, bemusement turning to astonishment and finally to frank amazement as the vague and unfocused tune he had started to form in his head while he wrote the short verse of the song found cohesion under Fyodor’s practiced fingers, notes he recalled humming without much rhythm coming together in a sweetly melancholic melody exactly as he had imagined. It was short; when he reached the end Fyodor stopped and looked at Sigma, and maybe it was just Sigma’s skewed and unreliable perception, but there seemed to be real warmth in his eyes, in the curve of his pale lips. Not for the first time, Sigma thought that Fyodor was beautiful, in a distant, enigmatic kind of way.

Sigma walked over to the couch and sat down, taking in a deep breath. Fyodor took that as invitation and picked up the melody again, a slow building rhythm, sweetness tinged with a touch of sadness, loving but careful, unsure. Sigma closed his eyes and listened, finding the words he had written, some time ago now, but still clear from many moments absently repeated as he went about his daily tasks. He did, in fact, like to write songs, though usually they were more like snippets, refrains with no connection to a larger whole. He sang, softly at first, gaining confidence as he went on, following the rhythm Fyodor set:

“I’m just like the falling snow,

Drifting softly into your hand

I know I have found my home,

Even as the cold comes again

Time, it seems, has ceased its flow,

I could count each flake in the air

Tell me I am not still alone,

And I will follow you anywhere.”

When the song ended, and the music faded away, Sigma opened his eyes again. His face felt approximately the temperature of lava. But there was still that warmth in Fyodor’s face when he lowered the violin once more and set it back down on the table. The look he gave Sigma was almost…fond.

He said, “Have you picked a name for the song yet?”

“Not really. I have it as ‘Snow,’ but that seems kind of…plain, I guess.”

“Plain is not always a bad thing. What about ‘Yuki’?”

“‘Yuki’? Oh! That’s ‘snow’ in Japanese.”

“Da. Or…” He paused. “Or ‘zima.’”

Winter. Sigma smiled. “I like that one, I think.”

Fyodor nodded, and for a moment, Sigma didn’t feel like there was really so much of a distance between them, at least not the yawning chasm of empty space he had felt there was. Of the other members of the Decay of Angels, Fyodor was the only one Sigma could bear being in the company of for any length of time. Fyodor was the only one of them who talked to him like he was a person, the only one who had ever offered him kind words and advice. He was, really, the only one who seemed to see him.

“Yes, me too,” Fyodor said. “It’s good. I thought it would sound best on the violin, as opposed to my cello.”

Sigma looked at him, surprised. Had he brought his violin here specifically for this?

Fyodor walked over to the sofa to retrieve his violin case. He gave Sigma as wide of a berth as he could, and Sigma felt himself deflate a little, familiar uneasiness starting to creep back in. Watching as Fyodor laid the instrument carefully into its case, Sigma reminded himself there was a distance that separated them, as wide and desolate as the desert he had found himself the first day of his memory. He could not let himself forget what this was, and what Fyodor was. Perhaps there had been a part of him remembering his dreams as he wrote those lines, remembering the feeling of trying to catch innumerable snowflakes as he drifted thoughtless and content through vast nothingness. But he did not have a home. He did not have anyone to catch him, if he too fell. He had only this casino, and the terrible price he would have to pay to keep it.

Still, he remembered the smile Fyodor had given him in that moment, as the last echoes of a melody only the two of them knew faded in the air.

#Bungou Stray Dogs #Fyodor Dostoevsky #Sigma #BSD #might have written THE most self-indulgent fanfic #Fyodor plays the violin as well as the cello because I say so #also he's soft because I say so #meant to be platonic mostly but can be considered either or #Fyodor #*fics

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abbsartuni · 2 years

Text

Task 7 - Interval + Repetition + Site

Partner in this work: Connor James

This week we were tasked with taking to random materials and creating a work that demonstrates intervals and repetition. I found this task really difficult at first as I did not know how I would create forms using materials like sand; however, we realized by adding water to the piece, we could construct more physical forms. After experimenting for a while, we chose to work with sandballs on a specific tile section - our area or grid for the work. Once choosing our space, we wanted to primarily have an irregular rhythm to the work; however, in hindsight, I realize depending on the way the audience views the work it can also have a regular rhythm. The irregular rhythm is the inconsistent spacing between each sand ball. The regular-looking rhythm is the sets of two sand balls that look in line - this can be seen in the first image. When doing this task we accidentally had some interruptions in our events (sand balls) when the sand balls accidentally crumpled. Although it is nice that there is some difference in the flow of the works axis, I prefer having consistency in works that have an explicit rhythm to them.

Breakdown Reflection

What did I learn: How to create sandballs.

How was repetition used: was demonstrated by the repetition of each event (sand ball)

Other Images of the work

Work in Progress/ Experimentation

Artist Research

John Chamberlain

American Sculptor Notable Works: Penthouse, Mermaidmischeif

John Chamberlain is an assemblage artist that creates abstract works that have significant curves, bends and volumes in all his pieces. Using mediums like scrap metals, as an artist, he tries to articulate ideas of 'genders and sexualities (Getsy, 2015). What I enjoy most about his work is how he recycles materials to create his sculptures (Guggenheim, 2022). In regards to the visuals of his works, I enjoy the scrunching and compressed elements in the way he manipulates his materials. Furthermore, I love the way that most of his work looks like all his forms are supported primarily through propping to keep themselves together - Examples of this are works like Fantail and Son of Dudes.

Heather Cassils

Canadian Performance Artist and Body Builder Mentioned work: Becoming An Image

Although Becoming an Image by Heather Cassils is a performance work that focuses on ideas of body, identity, and expression, I believe the forms, volume, and visual language of these sculptures are fascinating (Getsy, 2015). These large hulking clay forms have intriguing and textured planes that communicate the pain and emotion behind the works. When viewing images of these works up close, it is absolutely amazing to see the clashing curves and directions of the clay due to the impact of the artist's punches on the medium. Lastly, I enjoy the way the artist transforms a simple geometric form of clay into something unique - I love how this visual language reflects the context of the artist being Trans and Queer (Getsy, 2015).

Bibliography

Getsy, D. J. (2015). Abstract Bodies: Sixties Sculpture in the Expanded Field of Gender. London: Yale University Press.

Guggenheim. (2022, 8 28). John Chamberlain. Retrieved from Guggenheim: https://www.guggenheim.org/artwork/artist/john-chamberlain

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ayamturd · 3 years

Text

cuddles│technoblade

summary: you want cuddles, but techno’s busy; laughs turn insecure, yet love overpowers it all

prompt: “Why won’t you let me love you?”

warnings: none, only fluff

pairing: in-game c!technoblade

a/n: this is my entry for @mayasimagines‘ 600 writing event!! huge props and congratulatory once more, they’re such a talented and creative writer (pls go give them love!)

i was really tempted to make it angst, i won’t lie lol (also techno visual based off SAD-ist design cause pretty pig make yam go brrrr)

wc: (1.4k) - m.list

“Techno.”

Tilting his head to glance behind him, Technoblade’s ear twitched once spotting you. You were dressed comfortable from the cold weather despite the roaring fire besides him. Holding a pillow you carried from bed, you rested your chin above it while clutching the soft fabric close.

He turned back to his work before addressing you, mixing the most recent ingredients he gathered the same day in a small brewing pot. The potion glistened in the dark of the night, the concoction dyed a subtle grey as it was unfinished.

“What?”

You padded closer to him, and with him sat low at the work bench, you leaned onto him from behind, resting against his back while laying on his shoulder. He barely moved from your current position on him.

“Cuddle.” He gave a small noise to indicate that he heard you, but continued to stir his potion. Being the patient person you were, you waited until the color slowly shifted its hue as a sign it was finished. Setting the spoon aside, Techno grabbed the nearest rag and began cleaning his hand.

“I’m busy,” he murmured, still distracted as he looked back to his current elixir on the stand. You frowned from his words, and as if he could sense it, he tried to reassure you. “But I’ll try for later if I can.”

That wasn’t good enough, you thought. With the pillow trapped between the two of you, you moved your arms around him and held his torso, hooking your hands together to secure him.

“But… cuddles?”

In spite of your attempts, Techno disregarded the small and childlike tone you used. You started to pout from his lack of response and narrowed your eyes in annoyance. Moments passed without an answer, and you lifted your head back up the stairs while still settled close to his neck, the idea of going to bed alone making you discourage to make the trek back.

With a slight sigh, you let go of him completely and hugged the pillow again, gathering yourself before heading towards the fireplace. Picking up the disregarded throw blanket on the armchair, you dropped the pillow close to the fire and plopped yourself on it, crossing your legs while wrapping the blanket around you comfortably.

The warmth from the fire would have to do in place of Technoblade’s body heat, and with your backed turned towards it, you leaned onto your placed palms to observe him.

After a few minutes, Techno couldn’t ignore your staring any longer, sighing and turning towards you. He had his hand against his knee with the other rested on his table, twisting his body.

“What are you doin’?”

Slightly smirking from his question, you took his appearance, it being the first time you could fully saw him with his attention on you for the first time that day. His hair was disheveled, yet fluffy as it encompassed his face, like a halo to emphasize his handsome features.

Though white and sometimes argued empty, you loved staring into his eyes. They always expressed more than what he was willing to voice, and although they currently were squinted from confusion, they were filled with a charm most wouldn’t see from him.

You looked him up and down, noting his casual wear and the way he rolled his sleeves up, before concentrating on his face again.

“I wanna be near you, you’ve been busy all day.”

He chuckled lightly, shaking his head and shifting his body completely to face you, resting his elbows on both his knees and tilting his head down at you.

“You sure are bein’ clingy, huh?” Your dazed grin dropped immediately from his teasing, and the action made Techno laugh loudly, it devolving to his classic snickering.

Reaching behind you, you snatched the chair cushion and chucked it his way. Technoblade obviously caught the aimed projectile mid throw but was weak to his current laughing fit.

You pushed yourself promptly off the ground, and with a roll of your eyes, began walking away. Techno reached out to grab you, his laugh fading with a big smile.

“Wait, wait-” You stepped back before his hand could nab you, and crossed your arms at him.

“No, leave me alone. You’re being mean.”

He chuckled, and stood up, his height in full as he towered over you. Shrieking from his playful glare, he bounded for you while you tried to run. You were quickly caught and yelled loudly once picked up off the ground.

With his hands on your waist, he spun you fast, laughing with you and pulling you close to him. His breath tickled your neck while his tusks rubbed gently against your hair. He continued to spin you relentlessly, your feet pathetically dangling helplessly below.

Eventually you grew tired and dizzy from the notion, shouting out in giggles for him to stop. He paused from your protests, and without warning, threw you up in the air.

You gasped from the unexpected action, voice caught in your throat from the sudden motion and the fear that gripped you. Before you knew what was happening, you were back in his arms, instead held bridal style within his arms.

Gripping onto his dress shirt and with wide eyes, you looked up at his proud grin. What a show off.

You smacked him, though not hard, and he laughed again. Wrapping your arms his neck, you laughed with him, smothering yourself into his chest and breathing in his scent. You really did miss him today, and with his hands holding you, you melted from the close contact.

While your laughing waned, his did not. You stared up at him like before, watching how beautiful he was in the dim lighting against the crackling fire and the open starry darkness of the night in contrast. You adored him for his openness with you, you loved him for being him around you.

Tenderly, you put a hand on his cheek, turning his focus onto you. You lifted yourself up in his arms, and ever so slowly, leaned up to kiss him. Before you could, however, he turned his head away, the action small yet noticeable to your acute senses and knowing eyes.

You pouted lightheartedly, hanging your head back dramatically as a joke.

“Why won’t you let me love you?”

Techno became silent, swallowing a harsh inhale from the innocent and obviously meaningless tease. Despite the previous laughs, the room’s atmosphere changed, a now empty and tense space.

Your feigned heartbreak-act softened, though the frown remained in place. You knew what he was doing; he was going too deep in thought and over analyzing, letting the voices reign control over insecurities and fear. No matter how strong or vicious he may seem to others, you knew him and that essentially, he was a man who was too anxious and too doubtful of himself for his own good.

With a comforting smile, you called his name, bringing him back after briefly falling into the void.

“Hey love?”

Blinking repeatedly to regain control, Techno snapped his head at you, your voice calm and firm in spite all that he was forced to hear. He hummed as to answer, and you cupped his cheeks before he could escape your attempted kiss again.

He was still for a few seconds, before becoming undone and lifting you closer towards his lips, fingers curling tightly on you as to express the uproar of emotions he held for you.

You pulled yourself up, hand reaching into his hair while the other remained kindly to his light stubble. Techno supported you further by shifting you, his arm now against your back that cradled you into a sitting position.

The kiss was tender and passionate, yet more gentle than one would assume. All you could feel was him and him alone, nothing breaking the pure moment of bliss and true pleasure between the two of you.

You pulled away suddenly, while fast, but to express anything left unsaid between your shared acts.

“Love you,” you whispered, still out of breath from the loss of air. Techno couldn’t help the adoring gaze he showed for you, his own voice bright from the high of your taste. He met your forehead halfway, and closed his eyes while speaking so closely to you.

“Heh, and I you, darlin’.”

“Cuddles now?”

Techno nodded, using his hands to carry your thighs as they moved to wrap around his torso instead. He walked you both towards the stairway to your bedroom, his hold on you never faltering against him.

“Yeah, cuddles now.”

#technoblade x reader #technoblade x you #technoblade x gn!reader #technoblade imagines #mcyt x reader #mcyt x you #dream smp x reader #dream smp x you #dreamsmp x reader #dsmp x reader

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stanknotstark · 3 years

Text

5 Times You Shared a Bed with Loki and 1 Time You Made an Excuse to Share a Bed

Rubs hands together. Lets do this. 😈

One

It’s after a battle, to start.

Everyone is exhausted and Tony spent nearly two hours, two, arguing with the hotel concierge about the rooms. You and everyone else sat in the lobby letting Tony work his magic.

Tony comes back and gives everyone keys. When he stops in front of you he winces then says, “YouhavetosharearoomwithLoki.”

You blink at Tony slowly and he sighs, rubs a hand over his neck with a grimace on his face.

“You have to share a room with Loki because you’re the newbie.”

You look at the key card in Tony’s hands, up to Tony’s face, then over at Loki who sits napping while sitting up, his head tilted back on the wall while Thor talks to him about his battle he fought.

You grab the card from Tony and make your way to the gods. When you reach them you smile at Thor who goes quiet and stare at Loki. Loki who feels someone staring at him squints open one eye to look at you.

“What?” He says, trying to put malice behind it but he’s too tired, it comes out more of a sigh than anything.

“We’re sharing a room ‘cuz Tony doesn’t like you and I’m the newbie.”

Loki looks at you for a second, closes his eye, sighs, then opens his eyes and stands. He waves a hand indicating you to lead the way.

When you both get into the room there’s only one bed causing you and Loki to groan out loud.

“Tony, I swear to god.” You mumble.

“You’ll have to kill him before I do.” Loki says softly, flopping on the left side of the bed.

You don’t even think that you could call down to the lobby and order a cot. Why did that never cross your mind? In hindsight, you’re happy you didn’t think.

Instead, you strip to your panties and bra and climb into the right side of the bed, facing the wall. You do not care that you’re in your lingerie while sharing a bed with Loki, he can deal with it. You’re tired, don’t have your pajamas on hand, and you refuse to sleep in your suit.

When Loki finally gets up, he magics into pjs, and lifts the covers to see you nearly naked causing him to sigh again. When he’s comfortable under the covers he waves a hand into the air and you gasp as soft silk envelopes your body.

“Thanks.” You whisper into your pillow, nearly asleep.

Loki hums noncommittally and you both knock out.

Two

You both don’t talk about how you woke up facing each other but completely intertwined by the legs and arms the last time you shared a bed. So, when Tony tells you guys that it’s happening again you both give a little resistance.

“Listen, I shared a room with him last time, I think we should take turns.”

“You say that like it was atrocious to share a bed with me!” Loki says, you’re not really sure why he’s affronted you were all pretty tired from the battle today but not enough to be delusional.

“So you want to share a bed with me?” You throw at Loki who actually blushes.

“I didn’t say that!”

“It’s implied.” Tony throws in with a shrug.

Loki brings a hand up to his face and covers the irritated look that passes his face.

“Give me the damn card.” You grumble, swiping the card from Tony’s hand.

Tony gives you one more pitiful look then wanders off.

You grab Loki by the arm and pull him along. He gets the point and yanks his arm from your hand but still follows you.

When the door is closed you shut yourself in the bathroom and let Loki do whatever it is he wants to do in the room.

You close the toilet’s lid and sit there with your head in your hands.

You’re upset about this whole situation because you actually liked sharing a bed with Loki. He was warm but not overly, so you didn’t sweat when you woke up curled into his chest. When you woke up first, the last time you both shared a bed, you had looked at Loki and really appreciated his smooth features. He was a very handsome man when he wasn’t constantly sneering or frowning at you. Although Loki did arm his insults and sarcasm with barbs you enjoyed the bickering with the god. You liked Loki.

You liked liked Loki.

Fuck.

You only shared a bed once. What the hell is going on?

Maybe all your interactions had lead up to this and sharing the bed was the tip of the iceberg.

This is all Tony’s fault, you’ll tear him a new one, you think.

You shake your head, look up at the door and sigh.

Lets get this over with.

You stand and make your way outside of the bathroom to the bed. Loki lays under the covers staring at the ceiling with his hands behind his head.

“Are you finished crying?” Loki asks with animosity.

You chuckle tiredly, “I wasn’t crying, I don’t hate sharing a bed with you, that’s why I spent so much time in there.” You say, starting to pull your clothes off.

When you’re slipping off your pants Loki says, “What?” Without looking at you.

“I kind of enjoy it, if I’m being honest.” You tell Loki, too tired to hide it anymore.

When you’re slipping under the covers Loki magics you into the same silk pjs as last time. You give a small thanks that goes unanswered.

You both lay in the bed, now facing in opposite directions, the lights off. You listen to the shallow breathing from both of you almost ripping through the air.

Loki makes the first move. You feel him turn around and stare at the back of your head. Then he gets confident and slides across the small space in between you both and brings his chest to your back. He puts one hand under your pillow your head lays on and the other hand slips over your waist. You relax into him and bring your arm to cover his arm over your waist.

Loki nuzzles into your neck.

“You smell like sweat.” He states after a few moments.

You laugh in shock and kick one of the legs he has intertwined with yours.

“If you don’t like it you don’t have to cuddle me.”

“I didn’t say I disliked it. It was a mere statement.” Loki says, his breath ghosting over your neck causing you to get chills.

“Goodnight, asshole.”

Loki chuckles softly but doesn’t answer.

Three

You both still refuse to talk about what has happened the two times you’ve shared a bed. By the next time you’re having to get a hotel room you both kind of hope you get paired together again.

Tony comes up to you and looks sheepish.

“Sharing a room again?” You ask with a raised eyebrow.

Loki comes out of nowhere and scares you a bit when you feel his presence at your side but you refrain from jumping.

“Yes, but this time I ordered two beds.” Tony says.

You make yourself not deflate in front of Tony and smile at him instead, taking the card with a small thanks.

You don’t make a comment when Loki is tense beside you.

However, when you get to the room you smile wide.

There’s only one bed.

You look back at Loki who is looking at you with a smirk.

Loki raises his hand to magic you into pjs but you hold up a finger. “I need a shower first.” You say touching the sticky residue on your suit with a disgusted face.

Loki nods, magics your favorite silk pajamas into his hands then hands them to you to take into the bathroom.

You gladly take them and quickly shower. Loki figures he wouldn’t mind some hot water to relieve some of the stress from the battle earlier and takes a shower too.

When Loki comes out of the shower rubbing at his head with a towel, you gasp. He is in nothing but a towel that hangs dangerously low on his hips. You appreciate his lithe form, his creamy chest, the barely there abs. He even has a small happy trail of black hair that leads under the towel.

“Like what you see?” He snickers at your slacked jaw look.

“Is it not obvious enough?” You throw back at him.

Loki shakes his head and turns around. You see him throw the towel for his hair into the corner of the room then he drops the towel on his waist and bares his ass to you. You appreciate it for a second but turn around and face the wall with red cheeks.

When Loki climbs into the bed and snuggles into you he chuckles at seeing your still red cheeks.

“You are acting like an absolute virgin, darling.”

You let out a nervous giggle, “It’s not every day I see a god’s naked body, I apologize.”

Loki hums into your damp hair. “I could remedy that.”

You slap Loki’s hand that is wrapped around your waist.

“Go to sleep.” You tell the god.

“Good night, darling.”

Four

This time you’re pretty sure Tony does it because he has noticed Loki has become closer to you. Loki had taken to searching you out when he was bored around the tower and while he didn’t interact with you he appreciated your company of being in the same room.

Tony hands you the card with a smirk. You squint suspiciously at him but take it. You don’t even have to indicate to Loki to follow you, he just does.

Ok, so you’re realizing things are a little more obvious than originally thought.

When you reach the room you sit on the edge of the bed and look at your hands that fiddle in your lap.

“Loki?” You say in a small voice.

Loki lets out a sound of inquiry.

“Are-” You frown as you watch your fingers pick and rub your other fingers. “What’s happening?” You finally ask.

“What do you mean, darling?” Loki says as he slips under the covers and looks at your back while propped on his elbow.

You turn your body so you can face Loki but stay in your spot on the edge of the bed.

“What’s going on between us?” You ask, biting your lip.

Loki watches as you bite your lip, his eyes flickering to yours when you let go of it.

“If I’m to be honest...I’m not quite sure.” Loki says slowly.

You frown a little, your eyes looking at Loki but zoned out. You focus on him again when he clears his throat. Loki isn’t looking at you anymore, his other hand is now on top of the covers, playing with a piece of thread, his eyes following his fingers. “I do know I like you more than anyone else on the team. I do not have a bond with anyone else like I do with you. I can back off from these developing emotions if you would prefer?” Loki finishes a little wary.

You can’t help the pitiful sound that leaves your throat at the question. “No! I don’t mind, really,” You reassure when Loki looks at you a little doubtfully, “I just want to know what to label...us as. But I can live without knowing right now.”

Loki stares at you, an unreadable expression on his face but he quickly nods and lifts the covers, indicating for you to get in.

You stand and undress and join Loki, this time coming to him. When you’re both comfortable you’re facing each other. Your legs tangle with his, rubbing on his legs. your right arm is curled under the pillow and your head, your left makes a trail on Loki’s chest, exposed from his unbuttoned shirt.

Loki’s left hand is curled under his pillow like yours, his right comes up to grab your arm, trails up and intertwines his hand with yours and brings it down to the bed, in between you both.

“Would you mind if my feelings develop into something stronger?” Loki asks, his cool breath fanning over your face you’re so close to him.

Your eyes flicker to his but end up looking at his facial features, memorizing them as you think.

“No, I don’t mind.” You whisper.

Loki hums, his thumb caressing yours under the covers. “I’m assuming you have some feelings of your own?”

You give a little nod.

“Say it.” Loki demands in a gentle voice.

You look into his eyes and smile a little.

“I have feelings for you, Loki.”

Loki doesn’t quite smile but you can see the mirth in his eyes at the returned affection.

“Go to sleep, we have a early morning ahead of us.” You tell him but don’t close your eyes, you wait for him to close his first.

When he doesn’t right away you pout. Loki rolls his eyes with a smile but relaxes and closes his eyes. You follow him and both of you fall into sleep quickly, surrounded by warmth and comfort of someone else being there.

Five

This time you know Tony deliberately got you a shared room with one bed because you’re next to him when he orders the rooms. When he tells the concierge a room for two, one bed, you open your mouth. You quickly snap it shut when Tony looks at you with a raised brow, challenging you to challenge his decision.

Loki comes up and asks what the problem is, seeing as you’re glaring at Tony and Tony is now smirking at you.

“Nothing.” You snap at Loki, nodding your head to the concierge, telling Tony to continue on without words.

When Tony hands you your card he grabs you, leans in to whisper in your ear, “If I don’t hear you screaming his name out tonight I’m separating you two. It’s time to make it official.”

You gasp, slap Tony in the chest as he backs off with a nod to Loki, still smirking, and goes to give the rest of the team their cards.

As you and Loki ride up in the elevator Loki questions you.

“What did Tony tell you?” He asks

“Nothing important, he was just being an ass.” You give up lamely. You can tell Loki is even more curious now but you’re thankful he doesn’t push it.

Instead when you’re in the room you hesitate to undress yourself because your mind is revolving around the whole sex thing Tony brought up.

Loki obviously notices your hesitation because he points it out. “Tony said something that has obviously upset you. If it upsets you it concerns me. Tell me what he said.”

“It’s-” You sigh, bring a hand up to pinch the bridge of your nose and close your eyes. “He made a sex joke and now I can’t help but think of you expecting sex out of this right now.”

Loki doesn’t say anything from his side of the bed. So, you drop your hand and look at him. He stands there with a raised brow but otherwise his face is passive.

“Look, I want sex with you, in time, but right now the whole subject makes me a little jumpy because I just don’t connect with people this fast and it makes me a little dizzy with how fast I’m starting to like you, like really like you and listen can you please say something so I’ll shut up?” You gasp out.

Loki chuckles, shaking his head he runs a hand through his hair then looks back up to you and finally speaks.

“While I do want sex out of this I will not push you, I do not expect it, I would rather wait till you’re confident in your choice because I want you to want me... Not to do something about the situation because someone else thinks you should be doing it.”

As Loki speaks you feel yourself relaxing, enough so to start undressing again. As you’re pulling your shirt off you smile at Loki.

“You’re perfect, you know that?”

“I’m concerned that you’re calling me perfect for something men should do, and say, without hesitation.”

You laugh a little breathlessly, you’re in the middle of falling for Loki, harder. “Ya, no, men here on Earth can be total d-bags about sex. You’re perfect.”

Loki scoffs, “As long as you don’t compare me to those men then we shall be fine.” He says as you both climb into bed and meet in the middle.

You’re a little too excited about the whole situation and as you reach Loki push into him to kiss him but you end up just hitting your face on his. Loki pulls back with a disgruntled look and you bring a hand up to hold your hurting face.

“Ow.”

Loki blows breath out of his nose and lightly grabs the hand over your face. You look at him as he pulls your hand under the covers and then brings his other hand up to cup your jaw.

“I believe this is what you were trying to do?” Loki asks as he leans in to your face slowly.

You can’t help but stare at his pink lips. He’s obviously going slow to give you an out but you glance to his eyes and see hesitation which causes you to lean in and capture his lips first, to show you want this, that you’re confident in your choice right now.

When your lips meet sparks don’t fly, you don’t naturally know how to kiss him just how he likes, the kiss is anything but elegant. However, when your lips meet you do melt inside, your body feels weak, your stomach has so many butterflies it makes you jittery, and you’re sure you would love to do this more so you could learn how to please Loki in every way possible.

You both pull from the kiss and Loki looks at you with adoration. You’re not sure what you look at him with, you’re still a bit dizzy, but it makes him smile as his thumb caresses your cheek.

“Good?” He whispers over your lips.

“Good.” You say in a small voice.

“Would you mind if I did it again?” Loki asks.

You feel yourself come back from cloud 9 and smirk at him.

“I wouldn’t be adverse to trying it again.” You say, almost in a sing-song voice.

Loki rolls his eyes, causing you to snicker, but he takes your lips into his again.

You both don’t get much sleep to say the least.

+ One

Things aren’t actually official but everybody knows because Loki is touching you a lot more. Not PDA per se, rather they notice that when he walks past you he will let a hand glide over the small of your back. When you stand near each other his pinky will search your hand out and purposely give small caresses. He also never fails to catch you when you fall during missions. He’s hovering a bit.

It’s obvious.

But Tony wasn’t lying about that whole sex thing apparently.

That pisses you off but you don’t say anything because it’s not necessarily official.

“You have your own room.” Tony says, giving you your card with nonchalance.

You quickly find Loki’s eyes, he’s a few feet away talking with Thor but stops talking at your worried look. He makes his way to you and Tony.

“Ah! Perfect, here’s your room card.” Tony exclaims, slamming the card to Loki’s chest a little too aggressive but quickly moves on to the rest of the team.

Loki frowns down at the card in his hands then up to you with a blank face. You look back at him but say nothing.

Both of you head to the elevator and when you reach your floor first, you don’t move to get out of the elevator. Instead you both stand there in silence staring at your cards.

Loki is the one to break the silence. “You know, an enemy might know our location and attack at a moments notice. I could stay in your room to better protect you if such an occurrence should happen.”

You let a wide smile break out over your face. You look at Loki. “I think I would feel better if you stayed with me. I don’t want to get hurt, you have a point.”

Loki smiles quickly and presses the button to open the elevator doors that had fallen shut, leaning across your front and as the doors open he looks back and smirks at you, leans back and holds out a hand for you to lead the way.

You both make your way to your room a little too excited and a little too fast but neither of you will speak up on the matter.

After tonight, you both decide it’s best to make it official.

#loki x reader #loki #my writing #loki odinson #5 times #5 times you shared a bed with loki and 1 time you made an excuse to share a bed #one shot #reader insert

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spinster-sisters · 3 years

Text

Arrangement. psh

TW: Oral, fingering, corruption, unprotected sex, public sex, reader is kinda selfish but in the oblivious way not the malicious way, seonghwa is seonghwa. Honestly I was going for something kinda specific here and i dont think i succeded, its not bad or anything just not what i was going for but i dont think yall will be able to tell hopefully.

The first thing i write in probably well over 2 weeks and its something that nobody but @deja-vux wanted. what can i say? this idea gave me brain rot.

One last thing, this is kind of a part 2 to the corruption kink blurby thing I wrote for Seonghwa (can be found in my master list) but it’s not a direct continuation or anything and you don’t have to read that to get this.

Your jaw ached in strain as you held your mouth open, trying to keep your throat relaxed. Seonghwa’s grip was tight in your hair as he thrust his dick shallowly past your lips. The position was altogether uncomfortable. Seonghwa laid across the back seat of his vintage car, back propped up against the door with one knee raised. You were knelt between his thighs, bent over in a painful arch trying to keep still in the tight space. But all of that was inconsequential, the breathy groans and crooked smirk of the man in front of you were enough to drown out the pain.

As his hips pushed into your mouth again, dick sliding further down your throat than before, in a desperate attempt to please the man you did your best to swallow around the long length of his cock although tears pricked in your eyes. His grip on your hair tightened and you looked up just in time to see his head thump back against the glass window followed by another low groan and a face screwed up in pleasure, his normally perfectly styled black hair now tousled and falling into his eyes. Deep satisfaction ran through you.

To your surprise, the hand in your hair yanked you back and off him. You whined at the roughness, despite the way it sent shocks down to your core. Seonghwa’s eyes cracked open to peer down at you with a grin.

“You're getting good at this, princess.” He compliments in his velvet voice. His words elated you and a smile crept onto your lips.

“You’ve come so far in so little time, you could barely take me in your mouth without gagging a month ago, now look at you. You should be proud.” Seonghwa continued, running his hand through your hair once before regaining his grip on it. You practically purred. While you looked back on those first few times with Seonghwa fondly, you much preferred his smooth praises to the harsh words and instructions he gave you before. But you were still glad for them, there was no way you would have come this far this quickly if he hadn’t been hard on you.

Seonghwa’s hand was pulling you back down again before you could voice anything, “come on princess, show me how much you’ve learned.”

Back to work you went. He gave you a tad bit more freedom this time around, not making any move to thrust into your mouth, instead, allowing you to show your newfound mastery of dick sucking. But you kept his preferences in mind, he always wanted to draw things out, to take his time with you. So you began by kissing gently along the red tip, then lapping at the precum that spilled from it. The taste was definitely an acquired one, your face had screwed up in disgust the first time I touched your tongue, but now you sought it out as it meant you were doing well.

Taking the tip completely in your mouth, you hummed as you swirled your tongue around it for a moment before popping off and caressing the underside with a flick of the tongue. Seonghwa hummed in approval, nudging your head forward again in gentle encouragement. You took him into your mouth again, this time hollowing your cheeks and bobbing your head in a firm rhythm. You kept your tongue pressed into the underside of his dick, running along the most prominent vein. Each time you took more and more of his impressive length into your mouth, moaning in satisfaction as you went.

You couldn’t help the way your legs pressed together as more wetness pooled in your underwear. Your mind flashed with the first time Seonghwa had taken you completely. Your body had shuddered as he eased his cock between your legs and into your cunt. It had been uncomfortable sure, and the sensation had been unfamiliar, but Seonghwa had taken care to prepare you enough before ruining you in that way. Your first time had been exceptional needless to say.

You were drawn back to the present by the low growl rumbling out of Seonghwa’s chest as his dick hit the back of your throat, all of him save for the part you had your hand wrapped around for support was now gracefully sliding past your lips. You ventured another look up to his face. He was watching you intently with fire behind his dark eyes. You looked up at him with wide eyes, barely able to meet his strong gaze. His elbow rested on his bent knee and his head was leaning against his hand. If it weren’t for the low sounds he released from time to time you would never be able to tell what you were up to between his legs from his face.

The sudden desire to break his composure overtook you, to make him feel as desperate as the ache between your legs. So as you removed your hand to take his length all the way down into your throat your hips began rocking back and forth, rutting into nothing as your legs pressed tightly together.

“Keeping going like that, and I’ll cum down your throat.” His voice rumbled.

You doubted that. Another thing you had learned about him was that he was unbelievably composed. The kind of restraint that came from much experience. He wouldn’t cum unless he wanted to, his words were only to encourage you. But regardless you took them with glee. Seonghwa had long since discovered that nothing encouraged you more than the thought of his cum, the very reward for your efforts.

Despite his promise, it was several more minutes before he spilled into your mouth, having finally decided that you had sufficiently proven your knowledge. His head had fallen back against the window and he let out a trail of deep groans as he spilled against your tongue. You swallowed it appreciatively, beaming up at him from between his legs, awaiting the praise for your efforts.

When he looked at you again it was with a crooked smile and a gentle hand stroking your hair.

“Well done princess,” he spoke far too casually for having just cum down your throat. His free hand took your hip between his fingers and hoisted you up to straddle his lap. He adjusted to sit normally in the seat and he took a moment to size you up. His gaze burned as his eyes trailed over your body and your legs tried to squeeze together again as another bout of wetness spilled out of you, but Seonghwa’s hips kept them apart. He noticed the attempt, however.

With a smirk, Seonghwa slid his hand into the waistband of your shorts and into your panties. You sucked in air only to release it with a whine as his cold fingers slipped between your folds, releasing the slick into his palm. He chuckled at you.

“Oh what have I done to you,” he started with mock remorse, a small pout painting his features, “only a true slut could get his wet from sucking dick, I suppose I have truly ruined you,” he finished with a wild smirk. Your hips ground into his palm subconsciously.

“Mmmhmmm” you sighed in agreement, absolutely loving when he spoke to you like that, only Seonghwa’s words could ever affect you like that. If anyone else said them it would sound vile.

“Yours,” you added with a hoarse voice, rocking your hips into his still hand again.

“Mine?” He asked, pretending to be confused, tilling his head to the side as if asking for clarification. Though the next words to leave your lips were no surprise to him, as he had taught you them.

“Your slut.”

It was getting harder to avoid Seonghwa at school. Not because either of your schedules changed, not because he stopped ditching as much as he did. In fact, those things hadn’t happened at all, it just seemed like they had. It seemed like everywhere you went you saw him. Either sauntering his way through the hallways, gathered with his like-minded friends in the courtyard, or even sitting in the far back of the single class you shared flipping his pen between two fingers as he stared absently out the window.

Once upon a time, before you had seen him as anything more than trouble making pretty boy, it had confused you how he had even managed to be in the same advanced literature class as you and it hard infuriated you when you discovered that Park Seonghwa had the audacity to be smart. Your one-track mind had seen it as a waste for him to have even a shred of intelligence behind his starry eyes when it was clear school was the last thing ever on his mind. But at the time you had pushed the thought aside, thinking that as long as you still stood at the top of the class it didn’t matter.

But when you found it most difficult to avoid Park Seonghwa was when he was leaned against the locker of some pretty face showing that crooked half-smirk that you had become so familiar with. And it caused quite a few unnamed emotions to stir in your stomach each time. Each time you shoved those emotions away before they had the chance to manifest. You had no right to feel them. It was your reputation at stake if the student body discovered that you were Park Seonghwa’s latest pass time, not his. In fact, it would probably gain him a feather in his cap from his crowd if they knew. You and Seonghwa had never discussed the exclusivity of your arrangement, you hardly had the clarity of mind to do so at any moment his gaze was focused on you, so you could never be sure if his velvet words had led him between the legs of any of the pretty faces you saw him with. And you didn’t allow yourself to dwell on it, even though very deeply wanted to know. Once again, you pushed the thoughts from your mind, as long as you still to be with him the most, it didn’t matter what those other people did with him.

But as the school slowly emptied at the end of the day, and you were making your way to the student council room once again (trying your hardest to not remember when he had taken you against a table in there as well) you found Seonghwa loitering in the hallway with a girl leaned against his chest inches away from his face.

You came to a dead stop. The gears of your brain are either unable or unwilling to comprehend what you saw. Why this particular time bothered you so much was a question you could not answer, it was not the first time, nor would it be the last. Normally you would simply turn your head and keep walking as though you had seen nothing, and you had almost convinced yourself to do exactly that when the girl noticed your presence.

“Do you need something?” She spat, clearly from the crowd that thought the student council was all prissy know it all’s, and you had to remind yourself that until very recently that is exactly what you were. But you were also stubborn. You composed yourself quickly and kept your eyes on the girl.

“Unless you have somewhere to be, I suggest you move your groping elsewhere. Somewhere off school grounds preferably.” You called in an even tone, thankfully your voice had not betrayed the way your stomach was churning.

“Come on, don’t be such a prude,” the nameless girl countered. Her choice of words temped you to glance at Seonghwa, but you had a feeling he would be looking at you, which you don’t know if you could handle.

“Trust me, the rest of the student body would be just as grossed out as I am, whatever is going on here is not as ‘hot as you think it is,” you added air quotes around the word for good measure. The girl smirked at you.

“I don’t know, I think they would be lucked to see such a sexy couple.” She retorted, her arms curling around Seonghwas middle. At the word “couple” you couldn’t help it, your eyes flashed to Seonghwa. He had the audacity to look amused as if the back and forth was the best entertainment he had seen all week.

You didn’t like that she used that word. You had absolutely no desire to be in a relationship with Seonghwa, quite the opposite, in fact, it would ruin you. But your mind flashed with the one word you heard him use perhaps most often, “mine.” Granted, you had never called him ‘yours,’ but the experiences he gave you seemed somehow cheapened if he was giving everyone else the same ones. You felt spiteful, what was the point in teaching you all those wonderful things if he could get them elsewhere. Those were the thoughts that spurred on your words.

“I’ll let them know when I find one then.” You deadpanned. It took her a moment to realize what you meant, then her mouth hung open. She looked ready to retort before Seonghwa cut her off.

“Why don’t you go home, leave this conversation to the big kids.” He said, looking at her for the first time since the conversation started. Once again, it took her a moment to realize it was her he was talking to, and then she gapped like a fish. Seonghwa had turned his eyes back to you, not bothering to entertain her shock. Finally, with a huff she stormed off, leaving you and Seonghwa alone in the hallway, locked in a stare-off.

“Kinda slow isn’t she? You can do better than that.” You grumble, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Oh I know I can,” he replied without missing a beat, but the less than subtle once over and the knowing smile he gave you only served to tick you off, rather than flatter you.

“Then why waste your time with her?” As soon as the words came out of your mouth you regretted them. They sounded far too much like jealousy for your taste, and based on the look in his eyes; an invitation as well. Seonghwa’s lean body pushed from the wall and took several long strides towards you, till he stood over you. His hand came to rest all too familiarly on your hip.

“Why? Have something better I can do with my time?” He said, not at all trying to hide his suggestive undertone. You scoffed, in an attempt to keep the burn of his stare away from your mind.

“Your disgusting,” you said, though it came out far less convincing than it sounded in your head. You took a step back from the all-to-magnetic boy. If someone came across you two now, you needed as much distance between him and you as possible.

“Are you going to report me? Madam President?” He replied in a moc disappointed tone.

“As if I adding today onto your record would change a thing. We have a filling cabinet for just you and your friends, Seonghwa. I don’t want to overflow it.” You threw back.

“I didn’t know the student council was such fans of my work.” He replied casually without missing a beat. You opened your mouth to retort but he cut you off.

“Come find me tomorrow night if you're still looking to help me waste time, princess,” he began, turning to grab his bag from the floor, “I think you have a council meeting to get from, wouldn’t want to get in your way of upholding the high standards of the school.” As he spoke he began walking away, only to throw a smirk over his shoulder at his last four words. Leaving you alone in the hallway.

You did not find him the next day. You had decided you were upset with him, not because of the girl, you told yourself, but because of the patronizing way he spoke to you. Not that that was different from normal. It just seemed to be the best way to allow yourself to be mad at him without those unwanted feelings worming their way into your brain.

Whether Seonghwa had even noticed your boycott was impossible to tell. He would never come to you, he wanted you to come to him. He never seemed even the slightest bit bothered in the few times you had glanced at him from the corner of your eye. He laughed with his friends without a care in the world and his blank face during class held no emotion besides boredom. You on the other hand, now that was a different story. You had become used to meeting up with him once or even twice a week in various places around town for your “lessons” and you had become “insatiable.” (his word not yours)

Your resolve to be mad at him was cracking as the days went on and was replaced with the need for him. Him and only him. No one else would do.

But in an effort to keep your resolve you threw yourself in the opposite direction, instead, making plans with the Vice President of the student council, a lovely girl named Marie.

Marie was your friend. She chose to use the words “gal pals” from time to time. An airy upbeat girl who rarely let her soft smile fall from her face. And right now, the furthest possible thing from spending time with Park Seonghwa.

So on Wednesday, both you and Marie piled into her silver car and drove off to her house. You both stumbled into her orderly bedroom with a fit of quiet giggles at the expense of several other council members. You shrugged your bag off your shoulders and plopped down onto the plush carpet beside her bed as she did the same.

“Oh my gosh, I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever! Outside of council meetings obviously, I mean, I was starting to think you had found a different best friend and I was-“ Marie started rambling almost as soon as she sat down. You couldn’t help the small smile that found your lips. It’s true you had been neglecting her as your friend for the past month or so, instead of spending time with, well, him. But now that sat in her familiar room, seeing the pictures of the events you had planned together scattered on the walls, the sudden realization that you had indeed missed her was shocking.

“Sorry about that, there was some stuff going on at home, that needed my attention. But now I’m back!” You replied, trying to match her seemingly boundless energy. Her face screwed up in worry at your words.

“Oh no! Is everything ok? Do you want to talk about it?” She asked in her characteristic wide eyes. You shook your head.

“It’s not serious I promise. My parents were just redoing the garden and my mother insisted I be home every day to help planting and stuff.” You continued with the lie you had prepared. It was the same thing you had been telling everyone when they asked about your general absence.

She looked content with your answer, smiling and pulling her binder from her bag.

“So, the basketball game this Friday, I know we have the event mostly planned out but I think that we still need to-“ she started again, going right into her work. And you held up a hand to slow her.

“Woah hold on,” you started with a smile, “we have been planning this game for 2 weeks I think we can take a break tonight. You know? Just hang out a little?” You asked. She looked at you surprised.

“Since when have you ever wanted to take a break?” She asked with a curious glance but it broke into a smile, “come on, it’s the first game of the season and the coach asked us specifically to make sure that the whole school showed up and it runs smoothly. Besides if I do a good job I might just beat you out for president next year.” She said the last part with a low voice and a wiggle of the eyebrows.

But that wasn’t the part of her outburst that surprised you. She was right, when have you ever been the one to want to take a break? Surely you have been indulging yourself too much lately. You recovered your momentary lapse.

“Oh you wish,” you replied with a coy smirk that broke you both down into giggles once again.

The rest of your night was flung into a casual discussion with homework and planning galore.

Perhaps there are better places, and there are definitely better times. But since it came down to either the locker room showers or the back of Seonghwa car, at least the showers had more room.

Outside the door, the basketball game was raging on and I likely would be for the next hour. You could hear the school cheering along with the game, and the surprisingly loud squeaks of the player's shoes on the gym floor. Nobody would be coming in here till the game was over, you had until then.

You had been leaning against the sink when Seonghwa walked in. One look at him was all it took for you to be willing to break your streak, it’s hard to be mad at someone when you can’t glance at them without your mind flashing with every dirty thing they have done to you. So the moment he crossed over to you, you flung yourself at him. Your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck when your lips meet his. You could feel him smirking on your lips, but at the moment you couldn’t care less.

Seonghwa’s hands fell to your hips and to your utter dismay he used his grip to gently push your body away from him. A whine pulled from your lips as you looked up at him with pleading eyes. He looked amused.

“Hold on there princess, what’s the rush?” He asked head tiling to the side with a patronizing look. You huff at his words, tightening your arms around his neck you push yourself flush against him again.

“The rush is that I haven’t had time to see you all week and I’m going insane.” You convey in a tone that clearly says ‘shouldn’t this be obvious?’ Seonghwa’s eyebrow raised accusingly.

“Oh, is that what it was? That you didn’t have time?” He asked, though his tone suggested he knew the answer. You could feel yourself blushing, so he had noticed you had been avoiding him. Honestly, you didn’t think he would.

“Because I’m pretty sure I saw you and miss congeniality meeting up every day after school.” You wish now more than ever that you had more experience in the “relationship” field, even if this wasn’t one because you could not for the life of you decipher Seonghwa’s expression. His face was relaxed, showing no sign of anger or disappointment or any other emotion, but his eyes were staring you down with great intensity. But then again, he always seemed to do that.

“Council stuff.” You mumble in reply, trying with all your might to speak as casually as him. At this, Seonghwa gifted you with an expression you understood. Fake surprise.

“Oh, is that what it was?” He began, looking up at the ceiling as though pondering the idea, before looking back to you with that damned crooked smirk. His grip on your waist suddenly tightened. A moment later he had pushed you back against the sink, caging his arms around you.

“Or is it because you were jealous?” He was grinding madly now.

Jealousy. That was that emotion that you had been shoving down all week. How you had not realized it before was a mystery. But to hear it come from his mouth? It made you see red. Suddenly you were far angrier than you had any right to be. Your gaze hardened quickly and you did your best to put space between your bodies, though it was practically impossible with his arms changing you in and head leaning down into your face.

“Do you want to waste time talking, or are you going to fuck me?” You spat. He processed your words for a fraction of a second longer than necessary before he had the audacity to look amused.

“So you were jealous.” He practically giggles, shaking his head and looking down in amusement. The tips of his fluffy black hair brushed your nose and you almost swatted at it. How dare he? You pressed your hands into his shoulders and pushed against him, trying to move him away from you. He allowed you to move him, but not by much, just enough to give you a little room while you fume at him.

If you had the slightest bit of hindsight at this moment, you would have realized your anger was misplaced. You were angry at yourself for feeling that stupid emotion in the first place. But at present, blaming him seemed easiest. And the fact that your anger only served to amuse him made it feel a bit more justified.

“What’s so funny.” You spat, crossing your arms in front of your chest. He peered at you, and your clearly ticked-off demeanor before chuckling. His hands still gripped the porcelain sink behind you and for a brief moment, his hand flexed against the hard surface, holding some unseen emotion in the action.

“You are, princess. For someone so smart I forgot how absolutely clueless you can be about anyone who isn’t yourself.”

You almost stormed out of the room. And you probably would have if it wasn’t for the placement of his arms. But he continued speaking despite your livid expression.

“I was keeping up appearances.” He said in a flat tone. You could now add confusion into the storm of emotions brewing inside you.

“What does that mean?” You said the words with venom but there was a clear tone of lack of understanding in your voice. He, once again, found this amusing.

“Exactly what it sounds like. How would it look for me, if I suddenly started to ignore every advance made on me? Believe it or not sweetheart but I also have a reputation to uphold. Just the same as you. And since your the one who is so adamant that nobody knows about our ‘meetings’ it’s business as usual.”

Realization washed over you like water to a flame, all the rage dissipating just as quickly as it appeared, and your face softened. And then came the guilt. You just basically blew up on the man for doing exactly what you wanted him to, for doing exactly what you were doing by avoiding him. You had never before considered Seonghwa’s reputation in your musings. Your eyes glazed over a bit as you looked down, letting out a quiet “oh.”

You kept your gaze rooted to your shoes, unwilling to look at Seonghwa for fear of what you would see. You jumped when you felt his touch. One hand came to your waist and a gentle caress and the other took hold of your chin more firmly and tilted your head up to his eyes. And to your surprise, a coy smile lay across his features.

“It’s ok princess, your obliviousness was what drew me to you in the first place anyways. You were so caught up in your own little self-centered world you didn’t even notice how badly I wanted you till I had you pressed against the wall. I don’t think this would be as fun if I didn’t have to teach you a thing or two along the way,”

you blushed again at the memory and he slid his thumb against your lower lip. Your mouth parted automatically to wrap your lips around it, lulled into the submissive trace his silken words always put you in. He chuckled at you. “At least now I know you haven’t been messing around with anyone else. You’ve been too busy sulking over me to even notice if any other guys tried to seduce you.”

You hummed around his finger, slightly comforted by the fact he would have been jealous too. His words suggested that he wanted you to himself as much as you felt the same about him.

His thigh was suddenly pressing into your core and the hand on your waist dragged your hips across it. The skirt you wore did nothing to shield your panty-covered cunt from the rough denim of his jeans and your mouth hung open to mewl at him, his thumb still dangling from your lips. He leaned down to whisper in your ear.

“You wouldn’t let any other guys touch you, right princess?” He mumbles though he spoke like he already knew the answer.

You garbled put some kind of agreement as quick as you could. With a smirk, Seonghwa hiked up the fabric of your skirt to expose your damp underwear and lifted you ever so slightly by the waist onto the edge of the sink. There was a sliver of pride in his eyes at the way you spread your legs willing for him, presenting yourself as best you could, just as he had taught you. He pushed the fabric covering your pussy to the side and slide a fringed through the slick that gathered there. And you muffled a whine into his neck as your arms flung over his shoulder.

“I’m gonna have to be quick with you today sweetheart, the game is almost over, but wouldn’t want the whole basketball team to come piling in and see you like this would you.”

You shook your head as best as you could with your face nestled into his collar bones. Your eyes were screwed shut as his fingers continued to glide through your folds, sometimes barely slipping inside you before pulling out. He was working you up with well-practiced hands. He had learned his way around your body much faster than you had learned his, knowing all the ways to make you tick.

“No, this is for my eyes only, right sweetheart?” One of Seonghwa’s slim fingers caught your clit and you gasps, gripping the shirt covering his shoulders. He tutted at you.

“Don’t tell me you've forgotten what all I’ve taught you in just one week. Come on and use your words.” You could feel his words rumbling in his chest for how tight you held him. You were hesitant to pull away, but the edge in his voice urged on. Moving away just enough to let your voice carry.

“Only for you,” you mumble. Despite your quiet tone, you meant the words far more than you anticipated. Seonghwa pushed two long slim fingers inside you at your response, stretching your walls with ease. You gasped at the intrusion and buried your face in his chest again, trying to muffle any noises that may come out of you. There was still a game going on outside after all.

Seonghwa’s fingers arched inside you, brushing against the most sensitive place on your walls and your back arched. You could feel yourself getting louder and louder with every passing moment, but you were still unbearably on edge of being discovered.

“You especially responsive today, maybe leaving you alone for a while has its benefits.” Seonghwa mused into your hair as he worked, pulling even more sounds from you with every movement of his hand. His practiced fingers touched and toyed with you so well, it was impossible to keep quiet.

“No-“ you started in a shaky voice, not wanting to go so long without his touch like this again.

“Only joking sweetheart,” he giggles in your ear. But at that moment he pulled his skilled fingers away from your core and you choked on air. He ran his free hand up your spine in what was meant to be a gentle caress but it sent shivers through your body regardless. Your face stayed hidden against his body, at this point, his body heat seemed to be the only thing grounding you right now.

With your vision obscured there was a brief moment of heated silence where it seemed like nothing was happening, then the distinct sound of a belt clicking open and a zipper being pulled down echoed in the room. You pulled away from his chest and looked up at him with wide star eyes. He was already watching you with a smirk. Your mouth hung open with anticipation. He took in your face with a pleased expression, one hand coming down to cup your chin and tilt your head further up.

“I love it when you look at me like that,”

As soon as the words ended Seonghwa was crashing his lips onto yours and without missing a beat he thrust his length into your cunt in one quick movement. You were suddenly very thankful for the kiss, as it did well to muffle the cry ripping pst your lips. His grip on your hip was like iron as he began to set a pace. Each time pushing if possible even deeper inside you. You forced your legs to spread wider as your hands clawed down his back. Each time he filled you completely your body twitched as he brushed over your most sensitive spot.

Seonghwa still held your chin tightly in his palm, keeping your lips locked in a heated kiss. He seemed to be timing the kiss with his thrusts, which meant it was incredibly fast. He was kissing you as though he wished to devour you whole and at the moment you wanted nothing else but to allow him. Every few minutes the kiss would break as you both panted for air before it resumed with that same fervor.

Quite suddenly it became all too much, you were melting into him. Every stroke of his dick against your pulsing walls felt like fire shooting through your body in the best way, making you twitch uncontrollably. Your body acted of its own accord, hips bucking to meet his with every thrust and your hands grasping wildly against his back, trying to bring him impossibly closer. Several times you tried to break the kiss just to moan but his mouth chased yours and swallows up the sounds before they could escape.

And the kiss was something else entirely. You had kissed the man before but never like this. This felt so raw and unyielding. Every swipe of his tongue against your own felt like an invitation or a promise, for what you did not know. All of a sudden it felt entirely too intimate, too real. The kind of kiss reserved for true lovers in a moment of passion, not two teenagers fucking in a bathroom. But you couldn’t break away, not that you wanted to.

A gasp rang through the room. And in a moment that felt not unlike plunging into a freezing ocean, you realized that it had not come from you, or Seonghwa for that matter. Seonghwa had stilled to a halt inside you from the moment he heard it. He abruptly broke the kiss, sidestepping just enough that his broad back blocked the exposed parts of your body. But you couldn’t focus on the surprisingly chivalrous way he had protected you from sight, or the way he was mumbling under his breath as he righted himself and his clothes before doing the same to you.

No, your eyes were locked on the door. Where a mortified-looking Marie stood with her mouth hung open.

so can yall see what I was going for? or did I fail miserably lol.

#ateez smut #ateez reactions #ateez scenarios #ateez au #ateez timestamp #ateez headcanons #ateez imagines #seonghwa smut #seonghwa scenarios #seonghwa headcanon #seongwha timestamp #seonghwa au

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sweater-daddiesdumbdork · 3 years

Text

Appointment Scheduled

Summary- 2.7k Ransom Drysdale x Reader. Since that night at your parents, you haven't been to see Ransom. Not that he wasn't always on your mind. But you continue to defend your 'FWB' term that is all he is. Ransom gets tired of receiving physical silence from you.

So he made himself an appointment.

Warnings- somewhat mad mean Ransom, reader in denial of her feelings, some in the office over the desk sex. This is a cheater fic, the reader is cheating on her boyfriend and Ransom is encouraging this. Please if this bothers you, do not read it.

A/N- another self-indulgent fic featuring these two? Yes please, it's what I wanted, so it's what I wrote. As always, thank you for reading, comments and reblogging. You all have to thank @sagechanoafterdark for Ellie showing up in the story. We were talking that the reader needs a best friend who is like "Duh, you two are meant to be, it is so obvious." to our reader.

Masterlist

“Ellie no I haven't seen him since my dad's birthday party. I mean a few messages here and there, but nothing more about meeting up.”

You hear your best friend scoff on the other line. She was your confidante, your tried and true, better or worse, the bitch who will help you bury the body friend.

She also lacked sugar coating anything.

“Well, you two are just dumb. One of you has to open that line of conversation, might as well be you.”

You hit the button to the lift, sighing into the phone as you watched the numbers ding. “I don’t know what conversation you are talking about El.”

“Uh, the one where you two have been in love with each other since basically middle school? The one where whenever you feel lonely, that's the man you call? Or how about the one how he runs to you whenever you even put out a HINT that you might need him? That one Y/N.”

“We are just fuck buddies-”

“Really good, rock your world, the best sex and head you’ve ever gotten, buddy. Right?” Ellie’s tone is dripping with sarcasm now and you pinch your nose in aggravation while stepping onto the elevator.

“Exactly like that.” You go a bit quiet. “Listen, I’m at work, so talk later, okay?”

“Sure, I miss you. I wish you would move back to the city.” Ellie softened her tone a bit. “Girls weekend soon? I love you.”

“I love you too and of course!” You hit the end button and stuff it in your bag, staying quiet the rest of the ride up.

Working as a lawyer's assistant wasn’t too bad. Although it's often said couples shouldn't work together, you hardly saw Neil while you were there. He was usually in some kind of pissing match with another DA in the building, which made for some interesting rants from him when he got home.

You dutifully listened, but with little interest. They got old and boring, which was how you were feeling in this ‘safe relationship.’

Really you felt something must be fucked up with you. Neil was a good guy, supportive, he didn't have much of a jealous streak, although you wished once in a while he would get a bit riled up about when someone was checking you out when the two of you went out for a date night. Everything was stable in your relationship, aside from the fact you basically were away to Ransom's bed any chance you could.

Then there was Ransom. The man you were able to actually swear yourself off from two years straight and got your life in order.

So you thought. It took one drink and conversation to fall back to where you two were two years ago. Only this time you found him missing him while you were away, thinking about him more.

You opened your office door and propped it open for your boss's clients to come inside and wait, your boss's door opened on the other side. Shaking off your over-the-top feelings going on, you went to pour Johanna's coffee and grab the files for today's cases. She was on the phone, so you just set them down with a small wave of your hand and settled behind the desk to get started transferring her notes into the system.

Ransom though was never far from your mind when you gave your cell the occasional glance.

Lunchtime approached which meant you would meet up with Neil and head to the small cafe on the corner. He would ask you about your work, you would ask him about his. There would be pleasantries shared. You sighed once more to yourself at the thought of it.

Johanna closed her door with a sudden click. You jumped a bit in surprise as she shouldered her handbag. “You okay Dear?” The woman asked kindly and you smiled, brushing it off.

“Caught up in these files.”

“Ah, yes there is a lot with this case. Sorry about all the extra notes. I know it's a tad boring. But take your break, stay out with Neil a little extra. It's a nice day and you've earned it.” She smiled kindly.

“I will be sure to, maybe Neil and I can breeze around the park before returning.” Fat chance�� you thought as you smiled kindly at your boss as she took her leave. You picked at your cell phone, working your lip about to message Neil that you would meet him when a rather loud distinctive tone filled the entryway to your and Johanna's office.

“I have a meeting lined up with Johanna Klein, if you could let her assistant know that Ransom Drysdale is here to see her.”

Dropping your cell phone, forgetting about Neil, you rise out of your seat and go to your door, peering out. Ransom is leaning against the desk to the receptionists of the lawyer's offices explaining how it was your lunchtime and you were out of the building.

Ransom’s voice was about to release, you could see him drawing in the air to make himself a bit more imposing at the idea that he wasn’t allowed to see you when his icy orbs lifted from the receptionist to you, a perfect smirk crossing those pale pink lips that could be so soft at the moment while dropping venom just as easily. “She looks like she is available to me.”

The receptionist spun her chair to see you in the doorway. “It’s okay, Johanna booked him as the last one this morning.” You lied while Ransom made his way around the desk to enter your office. The receptionist looked like she was about to say something more when you quickly clicked the door closed and pulled the shade over the frosted glass to keep from anyone seeing the two of you in there.

“What are you doing here Ransom?” You ask yet again, while he was leaning against the desk with his arms folded over his chest.

“I have an appointment. Seems it's the only way to properly see you again.” He pushed up the sleeves of his long sleeves over muscled forearms. You being you, was absolutely unable to take your eyes off that action.

“Well, I’ve been busy and you never made mention of it again.”

“Kitten…” His tone lowered with a warning. “I didn't think I had to imply that you could come over whenever. But if I'm going to have to do it this way from now on.” He pushed off the desk to stalk the small space to you. “Guess that's what I will do. Book my appointments between-” a slight snarl darkened his face, the crease between his eyes deepening as his hand rested in your lower back and pushed you closer to him.

Overwhelmingly closer. His muscles through the shirt flexed under your hands coming to rest on his pecs and his cologne made your mouth water with the familiarity. The scent of bergamot and cedar gave an almost smoky scent, a touch of sweetness with vanilla had you inching closer to Ransom. “- your time with Neil.”

Your eyes flashed angrily at him then, pulling back a bit in his hold. “What does it matter to you, Ransom?”

“It doesn't. Like I told you before Kitten, you and I will never be over.”

“Feels a lot like jealousy to me then.” You spat a bit. “Since we're just this.” You shrugged a bit, now your temper is getting the best of you. “What was it that Ellie said to me this morning. Fuck buddies.”

“Your term, not mine Kitten.” Ransom yanked you in close again, this time his kiss was a lot different than that night in your bedroom. It was harsh and demanding, forcing you to open your mouth to him and swallow his passion. “You know fucking Neil is skating on thin ice, keeping you all the time.” He shoved you roughly against your desk, your hands flying to the paperwork you were working on before and it went flying for the most part. Some of it fisted in your hand as your ass arched out and pressed against Ransom's groin, making you hiss when he jerked your hips further back.

“Neil is technically my-” You started when a hand slapped over your mouth, fingers digging into your cheeks roughly.

All of it was turning you on, making your thighs squeeze together and you breathe harshly through your nose the more excited you got. “Don’t say it Kitten. Not right now, this is my time. Remember. I made an appointment.”

You felt your skirt get rucked up around your hips and Ransom leaned over, his chest pressing into your back as he flushed hot kisses on your neck, a yank to your shirt dragged your shirt over your shoulder. It wasn't gentle kisses, it was deep leave his mark there that was making you tilt your head and push back into him once more while he fumbled with his own pants to yank them open.

“Yes, yes your appointment. Did you miss this pussy?” You purred, mimicking the nickname you had earned. His fingers pushed aside the bit of cotton that was now sticky clinging to your folds and he stroked you with precision, spreading your slick all around till he swirled a finger against your clit.

“Enough to come searching your ass out.” He remarked when you felt his cock take over where his fingers were, thicker, velvet hardness in your soft folds make you mewl while gripping your desk's edge.

It was the right call, as soon as Ransom felt you start to take him, he pressed harder. Making you both hiss, your head falling against your desk as he stretched you open, his cock filling you quickly. His teeth sunk into your shoulder, registering the sting of it when he rutted into you, slamming your hips into the desk suddenly. “Fuck Ransom,” You hissed out and bit your lip to stifle a moan.

“This perfect round ass that is so fuckable.” His hand came against a cheek while his hips slammed into you steadily. Jerking you on the desk. But it all felt so good, the stink of the slap making you tighten around his cock while you gave a yelp in protest.

Again his hand came around your mouth, stuffing fingers in your mouth which you wrapped your lips around and sucked on them, making your eyes roll when you tasted yourself on them. “Shut it Kitten, suck yourself off me like a good girl while I fill this perfect cunt.” Ransom snapped his teeth near your ear. You moaned, trying to confirm that you would, you would do just as he said while he fucked you harshly from behind.

It clouded your mind, forgetting everything you had been stressed about all morning. Ransom's cock pounded into your wanting body like it was all you ever needed. Your smooth walls flexed around him, tightening till you felt the throbbing ridges that dragged and pulled through you.

It wasn't just his cock driving you mindless. It was the grunted words in your ear. “Perfect little clock slut, Kitten you love getting fucked on your desk don’t you?” He hissed in your ear as another drive made you moan incoherent at him. “Just so cock drunk slut, who is too stupid to answer me.” A tongue was dragged on your tongue, kisses right at the hinge of your jaw made you whine and press back against him. He knew that it drove you crazy to feel the flush of his lips along your neck, driving you mindless. “Just my sweet little Kitten taking it so well.”

All you could do was mewl around his fingers stuffed in your mouth, drool escaping from the corners of your stretched lips and dribbling on the paperwork you had crumpled in your fists. Your chest pressed harshly against the desk, making you wheeze under Ransom’s weight. It was smothering, him all over caging you against the furniture, pumping his cock harshly into your core and your mouth stuffed with his fingers keeping you quiet.

It was too much and not enough, cause you still weren't quite there. The heat burned in your belly, wanting to implode you into oblivion. Ransom gritted his teeth as he wedged a hand under you, fingers feeling for your throbbing clit that ached for his touch.

The roll of his fingers made you moan at the tension. The rush made your spine snap and fight against Ransom, which he felt as you squealed in protest, his teeth snapping near you while he sputtered.

“Just fucking cum Kitten, then you can relax. Your boss will be back any time now.” Nearby you glanced at your phone that somehow was still on the table, the time wavering in your sight, as well as some ‘Where are you?’ texts from Neil.

Ransom wanted you to relax and cum, which is what you wanted as well. The numbing release was right there with his help and you let go. The wave was mind blanking. You sagged under Ransom, and he tightened his hold on you as he used you. But you were in bliss as he grunted over you, hot shots of cum filling you while he sagged in relief against you.

Jerks of his cock still quivered your sensitive walls as he took a few last slow pumps into you before he plated his hands against your messy desk and pulled himself up, pulling out of your messy cunt.

“Gonna have to go the rest of the day like that Kitten.” He chuckled as he straightened your panties back in place and pulled your skirt down over your ass. His hand went around your waist and he helped guide you back to a stand to face him. Brushes of his thumbs over your face was an attempt to fix your makeup which made you wince while you rubbed the drool from your chin.

“How bad is it?”

Ransom winced when you asked. “Pretty bad… looks like you've been crying… or got properly fucked. Take your pick.” He said as his hands dropped to pull his pants back in place and zip them back up, the button going back through the loop.

It was unfair that Ransom didn't get completely ruined like you did when this sort of thing happened. You rushed around your desk to grab some wet wipes to wipe the smudged lipstick and mascara off.

‘You know… I never have this problem with Neil.” You muttered and Ransom snapped back as he watched you, leaning down to pick up some of the papers that fell and shuffle them together while you did a quick reapplication so no one would question it.

“Kitten, obviously the man isn't fucking you right then.” A smirk flashed up at you as he handed you your papers and you were quick to tuck them away.

You broke into a small dirty smile, a roll of your eyes playing with him. “Well… you are correct in that Ransom. Now split, Johanna will be back soon.”

“Nope." A pop of the p that made you huff at him. "I have an appointment Y/N.” He swept down into a seat just as Johanna clicked open the door and stepped back in.

“Y/N, did you have a good lunch? I didn’t expect to see you back so soon. But I was told my next client is here.” She glanced towards the corner of the room where Ransom was picking at his sweater. “Mr. Drysdale, come on in with me, please? We will get started.” She smiled warmly as she went around your desk to let herself into her office, Ransom moving to a stand with a chipper.

“Absolutely, thrilled to get started. Y/N here has been a perfect host in the meantime.” He winked at you with a light brush of his fingers along your arm before disappearing into Johanna’s office, the door shutting behind them.

You could only begin to guess what Ransom was up to coming all the way here. Which you would find out later, either from Ransom or Johanna.

Right now you had to deal with standing up Neil, which when you picked up your phone, chewing your lip that you still could taste yourself on from Ransom’s fingers, you read the message.

Y/N, where are you? I have been waiting for an hour for you.

You started to text out your lie of an excuse hoping that this wouldn't be the day it would all blow up in your face.

#ransom drysdale au #ransom drysdale and reader #ransom drysdale x kitten #ransom drysdale fan fiction #knives out au #knives out fanfiction #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale x y/n #amber writes #sweater writes #chris evans characters #chris evans characters fanfiction #tw cheating fic

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ronnieiswriting · 3 years

Text

Sweet Dreams- Boxer!Paz x Baker!Freader

Inspired by the events of Foul (following straight after) and the Boxer Din AU created and written by the wonderful, amazing, brilliantly talented @djarinsbeskar! WC: 1,641 Tags: 18+, mentions of smut, its a smutty AU ya'll know the drill, sickeningly sweet fluff I have been driven to write this to deal with all my Paz thots- it will become very clear that I make up for the fact that I can't write hot smut by writing the softest shit. Excuse the lack of editing, also, its quite the mess x

After Din had stormed off with his “not-girlfriend” at Avika, Paz was more than ready to go home right then and there, thoroughly unwanting to deal with the feral frenzy that Din had stirred up in and out the ring. But there was no doubt that there would be more calls for blood. And even if that weren’t the case- even if Din wasn’t on the lists tonight- Paz had to stay.

It was his job after all. And one he enjoyed more often than not.

But when he thought about you, Paz’s priorities became trivial- like dust in the wind.

He hadn’t been dating you for long but he already knew that he was in deep. To Paz, you were the one that hung the stars in the sky; you, a hardworking baker with a smile that made his heart ache and hips that made his cock twitch. It was love, the realest he’d ever found, and every day he swore his gratitude to whatever force had sent him to you.

It was almost a taunt to watch Din leave Avika with his “not-girlfriend” tucked into his side- he’d been disqualified from any more fights that night but he couldn’t look any less content about it- when Paz had to stay behind with nothing but the thoughts of you waiting for him back at his place to keep him company.

To pass a bit of time between the words that were being exchanged between Boba and Din’s opponent’s trainer, Paz checked his phone- his mood instantly brightened when he saw a notification from you.

From: Sugar Cookie💖

Hey babe, I just got home. Did you feed Kitty yet? He’s begging me for food rn but I know he’s probs got a full belly and is just being a little gobble guts lol. sent 4:13am

I gave him a tinyyy bit of kibble to hold him over in case you didn’t. Kitty knows I can’t resist him. Sorry for messaging you at work btw. I know you’re busy xx Love you xx sent 4:19am

Paz checked the current time. 5:30am. Shit. He must’ve missed the buzz of the notification amidst the chaos. Usually, your shifts at the bakery ended closer to midnight but he knew you to be a hard worker, proud of the bakery you ran by yourself, and always likely to get caught up in a task until it was done to a high standard. It was just another thing for Paz to love about you.

His thumbs hovered over the reply box; you had probably already gone to bed, exhausted from your own long day of work. He couldn’t bring himself to disturb you but he pushed past that doubt a second later, typing out a response, softened when he reread your messages about his kitten.

“Vizsla!” Boba’s voice pulled him back into reality. “Are you listening at all? This does concern you.”

Paz managed an easy half-lie, fingers tapping away as he switched contacts and began typing another message, “I’m sending Din a text- trying to figure out what started all this.”

…

When Paz finally did get home it was pushing 8am. Expecting to find you curled up in his bed, comfortably asleep, he was shocked to see you as soon as he opened the door to his apartment. You were propped up against a wall of cushions on his couch with a book resting in your lap and his kitten snoozing on your chest. Head thrown back and peacefully still, he could tell you were fast asleep.

Just the sight of you, the shape of your body outlined by the drape of the blanket that was thrown over you, your features illuminated by the warm light of the lamp, the splay of your hair over the pillows- just looking at you relieved him of so much of the stress he had carried home. His eyes traced over your form, picking out the dip and curve of your hips, and he was struck again with the amount of love he had for you. He still couldn’t believe how quickly he had developed such deep feelings for you but that fact made them no less sincere. The softness and simple intimacy (whether that be primarily sexual or emotional) that your company alone promised never ceased to amaze him.

Trying to be as quiet as he could manage, Paz shut the door behind him, put his backpack down by the door, and crossed the room to kneel down at your side. He considered leaving you there for the rest of the night- if he did he could go take a nap and then come back and wake you up by eating you out before making you breakfast- but ultimately he wanted to, needed to sleep next to you… and he couldn’t manage that on the couch.

He got the best sleep when you stayed the night, your chest made a far better pillow and your arms though relatively small provided him with so much warmth that he would be more than content to sleep without any covers (which happened sometimes when you hoarded the blankets).

Paz let out a silent sigh and reached out to stroke the hair away from your face. You stirred in response and he leaned in to press a kiss to your nose, “Hey, baby, it’s just me.”

You let out a soft moan, eyes scrunching up before blinking open, looking up at him blearily, “Paz~”

His heart could have burst at the sound of your gentle voice laden with sleep. Carefully so as not to disturb your place, Paz eased the book from your fingers. The exhaustion was palpable on your face, the weight of many hours of work pulling at the edges of your eyes. “I thought you’d be in bed by now.”

You eased yourself up on the cushions, one hand bracing the kitten against your chest. “I wanted to stay up for you. I didn’t mean to doze off.” Fuck. Paz was slipping his arms under you faster than you could process and when he stood you were tucked against his chest, kitten, blanket and all. You didn’t even seem bothered by the shift, curling your fingers into the neckline of his shirt. The simple touch drove him wild- the burn of your warm skin against his throat like a blowtorch- and the fact that you seemed oblivious to that only made him ache for you more.

When he had gotten you halfway to the bedroom you spoke again in that voice that threatened sleep, “I would've been able to stay up for you if I didn’t have to spend three hours on a last minute order for a wedding cake.”

Paz opened the door with his hip. “You don’t have to say yes to every job you know.”

“I know- but the couple was so sweet, I couldn’t say no. Plus they paid me double and half on top because of the short notice.”

He laid you out on the bed and replaced the throw blanket with his thick quilt, kitten moving to curl up beside your head on the pillow. The comfortable setting was luring you quickly to sleep again but you were still determined to see him next to you before you shut your eyes again fully. When he didn’t immediately join you, you frowned.

Paz eased the crease in your brow with a kiss there, “Don’t pout, sweetheart. I just gotta take a shower.” He could have skipped one for now, knowing you wouldn’t protest his sweaty skin, but he wanted to be rid of the flecks of blood that had stuck to him, everything that had stuck to him from that ring, before he touched you. You started to protest but Paz silenced you with a searing kiss to your lips, “I won’t be long, I promise.”

If he had thought you would be back asleep by the time he finished he was fooling himself. You scooched backwards on the mattress and petted the space you made in front, “come here.”

Paz went willingly, instantly. He eased back the covers and shuffled in next to you, clad only in a pair of boxers, hands instantly finding your skin to greedily palm the warmth that radiated from you. You cozied up to him just as naturally, arms wrapping around his neck so that he could tuck his face against the crook of your neck. With the covers pulled over the both of you, Paz felt surrounded by your presence and it calmed any remaining stress he had.

Although he had reprimanded Din for taking a violent approach to defending a woman’s honor, Paz couldn’t deny the fact that he’d be just as likely to take a similar action if anyone spoke about you like that- just thinking about those vile, entitled words directed at you made his jaw clench subconsciously. And yet just as soon as that anger stirred up in him, it dissipated again, soothed by the thump of your heart against his chest and the delicate fan of air you puffed over his damp skin.

He was reminded of the first time he told you he loved you; not long ago, in the middle of a good hard fuck when he had you by the hip, lost in the emotion of your eyes to the point where his confession had come out as a babble that became a mantra that he punctuated with each thrust of his hips. You had been on the verge of tears then, overstimulated and shaking, when you returned the words to him from your own lips: I love you too.

“I love you.” Paz whispered.

You snuggled against him tighter, a sleepy sigh escaping you when his hands ran up and down your sides. “I love you too.”

#the mandolorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #paz vizla au #paz vizla #paz vizsla #paz vizla x reader #paz vizla x you #paz viszla #paz x reader #paz vizsla x reader #the mandalorian modern au #boxer!paz #baker!reader #boxer au #ronnie's actual writing

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what-i-call-men · 3 years

Text

The Evans w an independent significant other/how clingy the Evans are

The Evans x Gn!reader

Warnings: Some possessiveness, some mentions of killing

Tate:

Tate absolutely hates when you're independent. If it were up to him you’d stay in the house with him all day and you’d be dependent on him for everything. He hates when you leave the house, when you eat without him, even if you shower without him. Let’s be real though, if you're in the house you're not alone because even if you don't see him, Tate is there watching you all the time- hell he doesn’t have much better to do. If you tell him you're staying at a friend’s or going out at night, not sure when you’d be home, he would immediately try to stop you from going. When you eventually get off the property he waits at the window for you to come back just like a needy puppy. “But babe, why go to a party with sweaty horny teenagers when you could stay here and we could play a board game?” “Tate we played Monopoly, candy land, twister, uno and parcheesi today. I don’t even think we own any more board games.”

Kit:

Kit kinda finds it attractive. He obviously has his moments of wanting to be the provider and take care of you, but he also loves that you listen to him about his work and retain alot of it. He’s watched you diagnose a problem on your own car and you were completely correct on it when he took a look. On a night he had to stay late at the shop working on one car that wouldn’t seem to start, you show up to his work dressed in some jeans and one of his work shirts, offering to help him with the cars so he could get out of work a little sooner. Man, he almost creamed his pants then and there. He watched you as you looked under the hood, tweaking and filling and checking, not asking him for any help, and Kit was immediately reminded of why he loved you so much. Eventually he’d have to shake himself out of it, bumping your hip with his own. “Hey, suga, as great as you look bent over this car, you’re showin’ me up.”

Kyle:

Kyle absolutely loves watching you be independent and strong. You were in some of his engineering classes and you always seemed to know what you were doing. He had stopped you after the lecture and asked you for some help on one of his projects, and he was honestly wowed at your understanding of the work, having only been explained it 10 minutes earlier. He loves when you very blatantly turn down other guys or tell them that they’re wrong. He also boasts you up and helps you look better, a lot of the time this happens when you present research in class. Usually you read him your speeches as you write them, and he will ask questions after you present so you can reiterate your main points. “Any questions?” “Yeah can you tell us more about what you consider the biggest pros of solar power?” Post-death Kyle kinda depends on you so you had to be very independent. He likes to watch you carry the groceries by yourself or take care of the garden outside your small house. This includes when you have to fix up things around the house, you always muttering how you don’t need some old man coming into your house and telling you to turn a couple screws and charging you for it. Although Kyle never knows what you're doing or how to help, he is very good at holding flashlights and handing you screws. “Kyle, could you hand me the drill? No the drill… the drill… You know what, just hold this flashlight for me, hun.”

Jimmy:

Jimmy gets confused sometimes. Sometimes when you offer to carry props or set pieces, he will refuse your help and ask Eve or someone else, thinking that his significant other should never have to lift a finger as long as he has something to do with it. It isn’t until he loses his hands that he has to let you do everything. He watches as you lift set pieces, or pull down a rope and just kind of watches in awe because you are so much stronger than you look. He secretly loves watching you show off your strength, especially when you kicked a heckler right in the balls and the man passed out from the pain. When another heckler started insulting you during a show, you fully began to roast him in front of the crowd, this never failed to amaze Jimmy. He always loved to watch you deal with people like that because you were so quick to tell them off in a way that made them drop the fight all together. “Darlin’ you know if I could help it you’d never have to lift a single finger?” “Jimmy, you can’t even feed yourself, I have to lift a few fingers.”

James:

James gets conflicted by your independence. He loves when you ask him for help or when you search him out for encouragement, but when he saw you murder a man trying to abuse his girlfriend, and you dragged him to one of James’ body chutes, James couldn’t have been more proud. He loved to watch you murder alone, but he absolutely hated when you would leave the hotel to go out or go to work. He knew you didn’t need protection from him but that didn’t stop him from wanting you to jump into his arms and ask him to help you. He didn’t love it when you would go to the bar alone, all dressed up, drinking and eventually getting others to join in on seudo karaoke, but he loved to see you enjoying yourself and sometimes you’d make him join in. Most of the times you did ask him for any kind of help, you never let him do it all. Sometimes there would be a body you couldn’t lift, so James would offer his help a few times before you finally said yes, only letting him help you lift it, then shooing him away and taking care of the body by yourself. “Dearest, do you need help?” “No.” “Darling, you’re going to hurt yourself, let me help.” “No, James.”... “James, Can you just lift his feet up for me?” “Of course my love.”

Kai:

HA you thought. Kai doesn’t want you to be independent AT ALL. If you were independent before meeting him, that definitely changes when you’re with him. He doesn’t like you going out alone, if somehow you get him to budge on that, you’re not driving yourself, if you somehow do, you have a curfew to be back home by before he comes out and picks you up. Usually that leads to some sort of argument or fight. You always have to have your location on on your phone if you do go out. He also may or may not have a tracker on your car just in case. If you’re the kind of person that’s chill with not being independent, Kai will usually keep you within eyesight if you’re in the house. If you need to pee or want to make food, usually Kai will either join you or silently pick up whatever he’s doing and move with you into whatever room you’re going into. It’s less of a clingy thing as it is paranoia for him- he wants to make sure you’re loyal to him all the time. “Where’re you going?” “The bathroom to take a shower.”... “I’ll join you.” You could never really fight him on it.

Malcolm:

Malcolm kind of expects you to be independent, but he does enjoy it when you two hang out. He can’t spend all the time with you and you both have jobs that take up your time so being clingy or obsessive is a no-no for him. He likes to send you texts and pictures during the day though and he also enjoys facetiming when you can’t see each other. Overall being with Malcolm is one of the most healthy and non-toxic relationships you could be in. Even when you two move in together, you were both very independent and respectful of each others space. The only exception was on days Malcolm felt sad or lonely, he’d come over to the couch where you sat on your laptop, laying his head on your lap in the way of the screen, pouting up at you. “Can we watch some cheesy reality show and get drunk?” He’d ask and you’d laugh. “Want me to play with your hair too?” “Fucking of course.”

Jeff:

Jeff could be either one of the extremes. He’d either be extremely obsessed with you, wanting to provide you with everything you asked for before you even asked for it, or he’d tell you you’re in an open relationship and treat you like a choice. There’s really not too much in between. If he’s clingy, Jeff would put your relationship in every aspect of his life, even offering you more than your job paid you so you could just sit at his desk every day and do coke with him. He would never let you drive to work alone and would spend pretty much all day talking with you or even just staring at you as you did your own work on your laptop. “So how are you doing?” “I’m the same as I was two minutes ago.” If Jeff was ok with your independence, he’d pretty much expect it from you. If you were going to independent, so was he, pretty much meaning the two of you were not much more than fuck buddies. Sometimes though he’d get jealous of how much you got drinks bought for you at a bar, or how many other people you’d post on social media with, wishing he had the guts to ask for more from you, but never actually doing it. “Y/n can I ask you something?” “yeah.” “Do you… Would you… You want some coffee?” “Nah i’m good.”

#tate langdon #kit walker #kyle spencer #Jimmy darling #james patrick march #kai anderson #malcolm gallant #jeff pfister #the evans #the Evans x reader

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latte-fairytaekwoon · 3 years

Text

𝐷𝑖𝑙𝑓!𝐴𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑧: 𝐴 𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑀𝑎𝑛 𝐺𝑒𝑡𝑠 𝐶𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑇𝑜 𝑌𝑜𝑢 (𝑅𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑)

Warnings: NSFW content/Older Ateez but age differences is written withing legal boundaries.

Continuation to this reaction.

❥𝓚𝓲𝓶 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓳𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓰

Peeking his eyes up from the test papers he was currently grading, Hongjoong glared as he saw how the student that had recently transferred was eyeing you up. He tried to look away but it truly disgusted him to see him stare down at your legs. His hand then clenched into a tight fist as you crossed one leg over the other, exposing more of your skin which the student did not shy away from gawking at, even tilting his head to see if he could get a glimpse of something else.

As if on cue to keep him from slamming his hands on the desk, the bell rang for all the students to go back to their dorms or other living spaces.

"Miss Y/N, could you please stay a moment?"

You smirked to yourself as it seemed your plan had worked. Putting on the most innocent face you could muster, you leaned your hands on the desk in front of your teacher, purposefully bending over so your cleavage could be seen by him.

"Yes Mr. Kim? Do you require my.... assistance?" You wiggled your eyebrows at him.

Knowing what your little game was, Hongjoong slid off his chair and slowly walked to the other side of the desk. His hands went to your waist and moved you so you could face him. His bottom lip poked out while his hands went underneath your skirt to toy with the hem of your panties.

"Miss Y/N, I'm afraid these skirts of yours might prove to be too distracting for classes."

You nearly threw your head back and laughed loudly, but instead you opted for pulling your sexy teacher closer to you by his tie.

"For whom exactly? The other students.....or you?"

Hongjoong breathed in deeply when you swiped your tongue across his bottom lip.

"I would prefer it if they only distracted me." He admitted as he began sliding your panties down your legs.

You let out an amused hum as your hands began to rub across his chest, giving his nipples a little harsh tug through his button up shirt.

"Whatever happened to those words you said the other day? Remember? About not wanting to mess around anymore with the school's cum bucket?" You began prying his buttons open.

He swallowed hard as he began regretting calling you that, not knowing you didn't mind at all and instead used it to fuel your plan for revenge on him. Sighing softly, his hand cupped the back of your head.

"I don't want to hear anymore gossip or whisperings about anyone else fucking you ok? I don't even want to think about any other asshole getting their dick anywhere near here. Got it.?"

You giggled at his confession. Propping yourself up on the desk so he could fully tear your panties off you, you spread your legs out for him, letting him inhale your scent of arousal.

"Then why don't you claim it as your own? Right here, right now, on this desk?"

❥𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓢𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓱𝔀𝓪

Having been under a lot more stress than usual, Seonghwa was extremely irritable and often walked around with a scowl. It was starting to bother you honestly.

"If you don't want to be here, you can just leave you know." You spat out one day while you two were in bed.

Turning his face to you, he looked at you with a warning glare.

"Don't you talk to me in that tone missy."

You rolled your eyes and scoffed at him.

"Last time I checked this was my house, meaning I can talk to you however I want to." You reminded him.

Grunting angrily, Seonghwa sat up and began dressing himself. It kinda had you worried that he was going to leave you for good.

"You're leaving me?" You hid away your disappointment.

"Obviously. Why would I wanna stay here any longer with a slut like you?" He didn't actually mean those words and he instantly regretted spewing them out, but he was stubborn and prideful so he simply left you without another word.

You were fuming, enraged that he'd dare just walk out on you like that. You weren't going to let him leave so easily though. And if you had to take drastic measures to ensure he'd be back in your arms, so be it.

"Slut you say? You don't even know honey." You mused to yourself.

For the next few days Seonghwa moped around his home, sighing to himself. He'd often look over the walls that separated the two of you, wondering what you were doing and if you were thinking of him. One day while his wife was out, he sat quietly on his bed, glasses on as he read one of the many books he owned. He was disrupted by a loud pounding against the wall. The obnoxiously pornographic moans gave a huge clue as to what was going on.

"Oh fuck! Your cock feels sooo good."

He gritted his teeth as he heard your voice being mixed with another male's which didn't belong to him. He slammed his book close, outraged that you'd be fucking someone else so soon.

"Oh yes! Cum inside me!"

Punching the wall, Seonghwa got off the bed and stormed out the room, not wanting to hear anymore and waited by the front door to catch a glimpse of your new lover. When he finally did see him, he scoffed at the young lad, shaking his head furiously. As soon as he left, he went straight over to your place, letting himself in as he pressed you up against the wall.

"If I remember correctly, only I was allowed to cum inside that hole of yours right?"

His snarling against your ear was making you get turned on once more, your legs parting when he drove his knee up your crotch.

"After all you did promise to give me a baby....."

He grinned evilly as he peppered kisses along your jaw.

"And I'm holding you to your word."

❥𝓙𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓨𝓾𝓷𝓱𝓸

He knew......he knew that sometime, sooner or later his relationship with you had to end. Only he hoped it would be much later...much later. Yunho always blamed himself. He tried to remind himself over and over again that there was absolutely deep between you two. It was strictly a no strings attached relationship.

So why was he getting bothered by someone else coming in your life hoping to steal you away? After all, if either of you wanted to see other people, you had every right to.

"What's on your mind little one?" He asked you out of nowhere earlier that day as you poked at your food, hardly taking a bite out of anything even though it included some of your favorite dishes.

You shrugged, not really wanting to talk about it. Scooting his chair closer to you, he lifted your face up so he could look at your eyes.

"Tell me." He urged you.

You still kept quiet though, afraid that if you said anything he'd be mad, hurt or anything of the sort. But Yunho only chuckled and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"Go see that boy."

You were startled by his words, wondering how on earth he knew about it.

"Go on your little date with him. Who knows? Maybe you two will hit it off or something. Have a little fun."

Although he encouraged you enthusiastically, now he was sitting on the couch watching the hours go by. It was late, well not too late, but still late. He started thinking if perhaps you would spend the night with this new guy, but his mind quickly shut away all those thoughts. He hated admitting it, but it pained him to picture you in someone else's arms. He started cursing himself for allowing his heart to develop feelings for you when you probably didn't even think of him in that way.

Little did he know you were sulky at having him encourage you to see someone else like nothing, like he did not care about you. And although you had a nice date, the guy wasn't who you wanted. The person you wanted was waiting back home no doubt, so you made it back home early, hoping he was still there, which thankfully he was.

"Hey, had fun on your-"

You didn't let Yunho finish his sentence when you suddenly straddled his lap and began kissing him fervently. He could only groan as he pulled you closer to him.

"You know I'll still take care of you? You don't have to do this if you don't want to." He pulled back to remind you that, bracing himself for your answer.

"I know.....but do you know that what I want is you?" You finally admitted, shocking Yunho to the core.

He let out an involuntary smile as he realized his feelings were indeed reciprocated on your part. Stroking your hair in an affectionate way, he pulled you into another kiss.

"You're either really young and naive, or really dumb my little one." He teased you, squishing your cheeks together.

You frowned at his teasing, hating how he constantly reminded you of your age difference and used it to baby you.

"Shut up and make love to me already old man, that is if you can even get it up."

Yunho giggled at your snarky remark, flipping positions so he could pin you on the couch.

"Trust me my little one, with you around it's impossible to keep it down."

❥𝓚𝓪𝓷𝓰 𝓨𝓮𝓸𝓼𝓪𝓷𝓰

Yeosang was restless ever since you went on vacation. Since it was summer break and his daughter was spending time with her maternal grandmother, there was no need for you to stay with them for the time being and honestly, you deserved a nice break to enjoy yourself and go be the free, young spirit you were after spending months cooped up inside that mansion looking after an intelligent and adorably sardonic 8 year old.

His mind was no longer focused. He didn't have a lot of things to do and even the small tasks he had to do he found them too difficult. He couldn't stop thinking about you. His thoughts kept revolving back to you and the nights he spent by your side, either when he snuck inside your room or he brought you into his room while his wife was away. He was missing your body, missing you, missed talking to you as he caressed your body after a passionate night of love making.

He was in the middle of those thoughts when his trusted butler came in, the sly smile on his face signaling he had useful information.

"Well? How is she? Is she all right?" Yeosang asked, having had his butler go stalk you out and report back to him on how you were.

"Oh you'll find Miss Y/N is in good health and.... in very good hands." He let out a muffled chuckle as he placed a folder in front of his master, containing photos and all sorts of information he deemed useful and interesting enough for Yeosang to know.

Not exactly liking the taunting tone the man used, Yeosang poured over the folder's contents, his eyes narrowing in on the rather attractive young man who seemed to be on almost every picture with you. You seemed to be having a lot of fun with him given that you were going out clubbing with him always by you, his arms always draped around you. Or you'd be seeing taking walks with him, his stance too close to you for Yeosang's liking. His nose twitched in disgust and he began tearing up any photo with the young man in it.

"Get the car ready and your swimming trunks in a luggage. We're going on a little trip." Yeosang smiled passive aggressively.

"I take it Madame must not know of this?" The old man raised a curious eyebrow.

"Exactly. Precisely." Yeosang chuckled, the two partners sharing a knowing and mischievous look.

After a long night at a beach party and too many margaritas, you dragged your feet to your hotel room, nearly stumbling in due to how tipsy you were but you were caught by strong arms that you had recently been missing.

"Mr. Kang.." You immediately sobered up as you stared at his handsome face.

"Remember what we agreed on? That I want you to drop the formalities?"

You giggled as he began pressing soft kisses on your lips, one after another.

"Go on. Say it."

Giving in, you wrapped your arms around his neck.

"Yeosang."

Sighing contentedly, Yeosang held you for a while, just enjoying your warmth as he inhaled your scent that he missed. But he soon grimaced when he detected a strange odor on you.

"You reek like him." He huffed out, clearly annoyed at smelling another man on you.

"Is that the reason you came all the way out here?" You snorted, yet flattered to know he cared that much.

You squealed as he picked you up and carried you to the bed.

"Just don't talk and let's get rid of that disgusting stench. I don't want you smelling like anyone else but me."

❥𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓲 𝓢𝓪𝓷

San glared for the hundredth time at the classmate who lately had been irritating him to no end by coming over just to go see you at work. He rolled his eyes as he heard the airhead dick say how he didn't understand a certain assignment just to have you bend over and pour over the information with him. You were too nice to say no.

"And too dumb to notice he's only paying attention to your chest." He let out a disgruntled sigh as he organized the books on the shelf for the 7th time, not wanting to move from his spot in case the little shithead decided to try anything on you.

Wanting him to go away, he sneakily crept up behind the counter and sneakily brushed his hand across your ass, fingertips slightly ruffling the hem of your skirt.

"Y/N if you're done with your little tutoring session, I need you to help me look over the accounting ok?"

You nodded, realizing you had wasted enough of your boss's time. Giving your classmate an apologetic smile, you told him you'd help him some other time. Although saddened by not spending more time with you, he did not want you to lose your job or get you in trouble.

"You truly are an angel Y/N. What would I ever do without you?" He pouted at you, trying to look as cute as possible.

"I'm sure your hand has kept you company quite nicely all these years, you'll be fine." San couldn't help but smirk as he said that loud enough for both of you to hear, shocking you and embarrassing your classmate, who quickly walked out of the book shop with his head lowered.

Not very happy with his little joke, you looked over at your boss who had his back turned to you as his eyes stared at the computer screen.

"That was rather rude and disrespectful don't you think?" You shook your head at him.

"Not as rude and disrespectful as annoying someone at their job with lame excuses just so they can get a peek at a nipple or an ass cheek." He replied nonchalantly, unbothered and unrepentant of his behavior.

You let out a sarcastic laugh.

"That's a bit rich coming from you don't you think? Given all the times you've stared at me when I've bent down or stood on top of the stool." You reminded him.

Turning his head to look at you, San smiled at you with such a deceivingly sweet smile, accentuating his cute dimples that never failed to make you melt.

"See here now my young apprentice, if I remember correctly, you would purposefully bend over just for me, you were begging me to check you out, even started cutting the length of these skirts so I'd look at your legs."

Humming softly, your hands went to his collared shirt, undoing the top buttons to expose the top of his chest.

"Guilty as charged then Boss..... so... are you gonna write me up or cut my pay for slacking off at work yet again?" You taunted him as you brushed your lips against his.

Playing along with your little game, San chuckled and gripped your waist.

"Oh no my little apprentice. I'm not that type of boss. I prefer a different punishment."

You let out a gasp as he suddenly turned you around and pressed your upper body down against the glass case, his foot separating your legs apart as he fumbled with his belt.

"I'm gonna bend you over and fuck that pretty ass of yours til it's stretched open."

❥𝓢𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓲

You were starting to get pissed off at the thought of Mingi blowing you off on yet another date. It was the third time he had done it and you were starting to get fed up honestly.

"For someone who claims to be responsible and mature he sure can't seem to freaking keep his word." She muttered angrily to yourself as you swirled the leftover ice in your drink.

Out of nowhere, a young stud slid onto the seat right in front of you. With two drinks in hand, he slid one of them across to you. You eyed the drink suspiciously, wondering if he was one of those types to add some kind of drug just so he could easily kidnap you or something.

"Relax doll face, I promise I didn't spike it or anything." He assured you.

Shrugging and realizing you had nothing to loose, you instantly downed the drink with ease. You tried not to grimace at the fruity beverage the stranger got you.

"What does he take me for? A little pussy that drinks bitch beers?" You thought to yourself, though you couldn't blame him. You were pretty young and most mistook your youth for inexperience or naivety. Little did they know you could down the hardest of liquors down as if it was water.

"Tell me doll face, why are you here all alone? Looking all moody and dejected?"

You pondered on whether you should really say anything or make up something. Neither it seems. You opted for a more vague explanation.

"Just tired of being stood up I guess. No biggie." You rolled your shoulders back.

The man looked at you with a sad and pitiful look. He began to wonder why would anyone stand up such a beautiful and gorgeous woman like yourself? Whoever they were, they were either stupid or blind.

"Well the night is still young. Why don't you come back with me to my place and have a little fun? No strings attached and I can promise you you'll be more than satisfied." He offered, his eyebrows wiggling suggestively.

You looked him up and down. Truthfully you'd turn him down merely for being so close to your age, still not very attracted to younger males, given that they promised more than they could offer. But sizing him up, he seemed to be well endowed, definitely above average. And besides you were frustrated by Mingi blowing you off that it wouldn't hurt to have a little rendezvous with someone else.

Sensing your hesitation, he smirked and began pulling your chair closer to him, his hand slithering its way up your skirt.

"Trust me doll face. You have nothing to worry about."

"No but you will if you don't take off your filthy hands off her right now."

You were startled yet amused when Mingi popped out of nowhere and pushed the guy's hand off you before grabbing your arm and pulling you up.

"Come on let's go. We're leaving." He gave you no choice as he began dragging you away, only to be stopped by the young man as he stepped in front of you two.

"Hold on here, you can't just haul her away like that. What are you? Her dad?" He scoffed, arms crossed as he looked Mingi up and down with disdain.

Instead of getting offended, Mingi simply smirked as he slipped his hand around your waist, pressing your body against his.

"Yeah, I'm her daddy, at least that's what she calls me at night."

❥𝓙𝓾𝓷𝓰 𝓦𝓸𝓸𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓰

Wooyoung's eyes pierced daggers into the man that was currently talking to you. He had seen him countless times at the strip club where you used to work. He knew the man had more than just a crush on you, he was practically obsessed with you. More than once he had tried to get a private show from you but Wooyoung always made sure those plans were thwarted since he didn't want anyone else looking let alone touching his prized possession. Hence why he took you out of there and kept you all to himself.

And now he was fuming at this crazed fan of yours wanting to get close to you once more, no doubt trying to get in your pants. He saw how he kept leaning close to you or stepping up to you. Each time he did, you would step away, slightly uncomfortable by his close proximity and even more uncomfortable at how he talked with so much detail about your previous performances at the club, detailing things that not even you remembered.

"You know I don't even go there anymore. It's a waste of time." He admitted, a frown on his face.

"Oh really?." You asked, trying hard to hide your sarcasm, not really interested in anything he had to say.

"Yeah, you're not there anymore so what's the point? Although...."

You froze in place when his hands came up to cup your chin.

"I would give anything to see you strip one last time." He winked at you.

His hand was harshly pulled away from you by Wooyoung, who shoved him so hardly he actually landed on the floor.

"Too bad you're never going to see that ever again you punk."

Linking your arm with his, Wooyoung dragged you back to the car where he then drove full speed back to your apartment. As soon as you both stepped inside, his hands were all over you, mouth devouring your own as a trail of clothes leading into your bedroom was scattered on the hallway. You had never seen Wooyoung jealous before and it turned you on so much. His possessiveness was even more evident as his nails dug into your skin, his hips slamming into your ass as his cock plunged deep inside you, threatening to pull another orgasm out of your body.

"You're my little whore, no one else's."

You let out a yelp when his hand came down to strike one of your already burning cheeks once more, his hand printed all over your ass.

"My little fuck toy that I can play with as I want." He growled, pistoning his cock even deeper in you.

"Ah! Yes! I'm your toy Wooyoung!" You cried out, breathing heavily and whimpering loudly as tears streaked down your cheeks, your vision starting to go blank once more as you felt yourself ready to burst once more around Wooyoung's cock.

"Fuck! Yeah. My little fuck toy. All mine and no one else's."

❥𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓲 𝓙𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓱𝓸

Jongho fought hard not to scoff or roll his eyes at the man sitting across from both you and him. He was a nice young man that recently started working for your father, very responsible and efficient. And your father liked him so much he took it upon himself to have the two of you meet up in with hopes of getting you two together. The man of course was elated by you. You were so pretty and charming and was already head over heels for you.

Jongho and you were not very happy about it though, Jongho more displeased than you. At least you could mask your dislike of him better, being all smiles and kind to him. It honestly sickened Jongho seeking you be all fake, proper and polite when he knew better than anyone your true character.

"Sweetheart, you know this young man was the one who suggested we strike that deal with that other company? And his plan worked out brilliantly." Your father couldn't stop gloating about the man's accomplishments.

"Oh really? Do tell me all about it." You feigned interest.

"Oh my fucking god, I swear to hell-" Jongho fought back the urge to slam his fork against his plate, not wanting to listen to another boring and excruciatingly painful gloating from the idiot in front of them.

Minutes into the story and Jongho was already dozing off, bored to death by the incessant chatter coming from the man across you both. Looking over at you, he could tell you were bored too. A wicked plan came to his head. But you were both bored so why not make it fun. You at first thought nothing about having him press a hand on your thigh under the table, he'd often do that every now and then. But you started to worry when he began to travel his hand further up to cup your clothed heat. It was such a risky thing to do at the dinner table, with your parents and a guest right there. You tried to stop him when he tried to tug your underwear down, but were met by a pinch against your inner thigh. You covered your mouth with your napkin and pretended to cough in order to hide the squeak that escaped you. Giving in, you slightly lifted yourself off your chair and let Jongho slide your panties down.

He pretended to drop his phone just so he could stoop down and pick up your panties off the floor. You watched as he stuffed them in his pocket, the corners of his lips curling into a smirk. Suddenly you felt your phone vibrate in your purse. Glancing briefly, you saw a text from none other than your secret lover right next to you.

"After dinner. My place. You're lucky you're off for the next few days cause I'll make sure you won't be able to walk after I'm done with you."

Gifs not mine. Credit goes to their respective owners

#ateez #ateez reactions #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez fluff #ateez smut #ateez angst #dilf!ateez #ateez dilf au #ateez headcanons #ateez hongjoong #ateez seonghwa #ateez yunho #ateez yeosang #ateez san #ateez mingi #ateez wooyoung #ateez jongho

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