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be-lovas · 8 months

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Serendipity- part 2

How can I apologize for these months of inactivity??? omg guys i'm SO sorry....... I spent the whole summer working on my master thesis so I got carried away from this but I am back now!!! I've tried to tag everyone who asked me to do so, tell me if something's wrong with the tags <;33

Warnings: some men being dicks (but what's new), loose proofreading (I really suck at this I'm sorry), reader's bit sad, helaena being a sweetie

(Flashbacks are in italics) previous part - next part

"Tell me it is a farce, Aemond. I beg of you."

Alicent is on the verge of tears: she thinks of Rhaenyra and how she must be feeling. The loss of a child. She also feels sad for the boy himself, because although he was a bastard, he was merely a child. A feeling of regrets washes over her as she recalls that night in Driftmark, when she wanted to claim his eye for Aemond's lost one.

Aemond does not say a word. He does not feel the courage to do so. He never killed someone before. He has always thought that killing someone wouldn't do anything to him. Yet, to take someone's life,despite the someone being the boy who took his eye, procures him no satisfaction and no sense of justice. All he can think of is his nephew's body hurtling into the sea foam.

Aemond solely waits for everyone's anger, but not everybody seems angry. His mother definitely is, but his Grandfather and Aegon do not seem furious. Otto Hightower seems worried, because he has known Daemon for a long time, and he knows having him against you is not a luxury. Aegon is simply trying to supress a smile at the corner of his lips.

"Well done, brother," he comments.

"We need to secure Aegon's position," Otto eventually says, ignoring Aegon's comment.

Alicent lets out a histerical laugh, unable to control her nerves. "I believe Aemond just did that by killing one of Rhaenyra's heirs, Father."

"By marrying Aemond and Daeron off to great houses from the Realm."

"I chose Floris Baratheon," Aemond intervenes. "I intend to perform my duty."

He does not want to marry her, but he always promised himself to do his duty regarding his family. He has always seen Aegon minimizing his and wandering around the Silk Streets as he has always had the heavy duty of potentially becoming King someday. Aemond hates the fact that his brother tarnishes this honor, and he does not intend to do the same.

"We must find someone else," explains Otto.

"Perhaps the Dornish Princess? They might send troops in exchange," Alicent offers.

"They would rather die than openly take part in this war," Ser Criston comments, stepping up into the conversation for the first time since they entered the Great Hall.

"The Lannisters do not have any female child. Same goes for House Tyrell."

"What of the North?" Aegon suggests, and everyone goes quiet.

The North is ostracised. Its people may be a part of the Realm, but they do not identify as the rest of the Country. Otto Hightower has always seen them as a group of savages that attempt to appear civilized while hiding their gods in forests. However, Otto Hightower has always granted them their blinded loyalty towards each other and their considerable army.

"Rickon Stark swore loyalty to Rhaenyra," Alicent hastens to say. "He would never break his oath."

Her voice is unequivocal. She does not appear to acknowledge what she just suggested, but Otto does and gives Ser Criston a sidelong look.

"Rickon Stark is dead, My Queen."

You slowly emerge from sleep and keep your eyes closed, afraid not to recognise the ceiling of your chambers in Winterfell and to have the confirmation that you are indeed into your personal purgatory. You're feeling uncomfortable, and you remember that you're still wearing your wedding gown from yesterday. Worse, you realise you are alive. You thought that you would be dead by sunrise, but your husband finds it was not an express necessity to get you executed for mocking him.

A soft knock on your door startles you, and as if you were scared to be caught doing something wrong, you quickly get off your bed. You allow them entering and when the door opens, you are relieved to see that it is just a young servant.

"Good morning, my Lady. Queen Helaena and the Dowager Queen would like you to join them for tea," she indicates.

You rub your hands on your gown, looking at your dress before glancing back at her. None of you says anything, but you are positive that she has definitely understood your husband and you did not fulfill your marital duties last night.

"I will fetch a maid to help you get dressed, my Lady," she bows and leaves without expecting a reply, and you feel sick at the hearing of the way she adresses you.

As your feet obediently follow the maid who came to wake you up this morning through the dungeon's hallways, you gradually realise where you have been taken: in some of the books of the Winterfell library, the fortress is described as being so high that not even the three original dragons could penetrate the walls. The stone that built the tower was more refined than the stone of Winterfell's walls: in the North, everything is more raw. Here, everything seems shaped and moulded.

Your feet mechanically come to a full stop when your eyes spot something very familiar: an heart tree. You think of the leaf your brother gave you before leaving Kings Landing, claiming that the gods will travel South in order to protect you. For the first time since you got here, you somehow still feel close to home.

Just as you were expecting to have tea in the Dowager Queen's chamber (which you know too little about), Anna, Queen Alicent's servant, takes you to the court garden, which you did not know existed until now. When you arrived, you thought you would have to live within four walls and never see vegetation as far as the eye can see again. To your great surprise, you find the garden delightful and it is, in your eyes, a breath of fresh air in this fortress that seems far too anxiety-provoking.

When you see the Queen and her mother sitting at the table among the flowers, you force yourself to smile and slowly approach, a servant pulling the chair out for you to sit on. Before doing so, you make a brief curtsy to greet them.

"Good morrow, goodsister," Helaena is the first to greet you.

If you have prejudices about all of Aemond's family and Aemond himself, you have none about his sister. On the contrary, she seems very kind and gentle. It doesn't surprise you that you've heard that she is very popular with the people of Kings Landing.

"Your graces," you reply, verbally greeting Alicent simulteanously.

On her lap sits a small boy with silver hair. The child is eating a sweet without caring about what is going on around him.

"Did you sleep well?" Alicent asks, and you see her eyes drift to her maid for half a second.

Anna must surely have told her that she found you in the same dress as yesterday when she came into your room this morning. If she hasn't already, she's probably giving her a little nod, letting Alicent know that things didn't go as planned.

"Uh, I—"

"I was told you bled last night. Do not worry, it is completely normal. It means the wedding has been accepted and granted by the gods," she smiles, cutting you off. "You were saying?"

Words struggle to come out of your mouth. No one has checked your sheets because the only people who have been in your room have guessed that you were not deflowered by your husband last night. Or maybe it's just a set-up by the Queen Mother so that people around can witness her words, and thus seal this marriage. Whatever it is, you don't stand in her way.

"I slept well, thank you," you evasively reply while nodding your head.

"I have not yet seen Aemond. He usually stops by to greet the children before starting the day. Do you happen to know where he has gone?" Helaena asks you, wiping off some crumbs from the boy's mouth. "Maelor has been asking for his uncle since he woke up."

In all honesty, you do not care about Aemond's whereabouts. You'd rather not have to see him. Given the short but heated exchange the two of you had last night, you feel it would be better for both of you if you two come across each other as little as possible, it will make this marriage easier to bear.

"He has not spoken to me about it. I—"

Maelor's voice prevents you from finishing your sentence. The little boy flaps around on his grandmother's lap while babbling words you don't understand.

"Aemond!" Helaena stands up quickly, almost running towards her brother. "Where have you been?"

If Helaena looks excited to see her brother, the Queen Mother's features cannot say the same thing. Sitting across from you, you see the Queen's features harden, which tingles and causes you to turn around to see what could the cause of such a change in Alicent's humour.

Opposite you is Aemond accompanied by a woman. Not a young woman like you. A mature woman.

You analyse her without shame: slender, with hair as black as berries and an unmatched beauty. She is incredibly beautiful. You feel her gaze on you with an air of competitiveness, as if she is trying to challenge you.

Then it strikes you, and you find yourself wanting to laugh, feeling foolish for not understanding Aemond's words last night.

My heart will never be yours.

It can never be yours because it belongs to someone else.

Somehow, you find the empathy to feel bad for him. You did not want this union because your heart did not choose it and it was forced on you. Aemond did not want this union, or the union originally planned with one of Borros Baratheon's 4 daughters, because his heart belongs to her and as strong as his words were towards you yesterday, you feel some semblance of sorrow for him.

"Mother," Aemond greeted his mother with a nod. Then, just like a child afraid to be grounded, he glances at you. "Wife."

It still sounds off to hear this word. It still seems odd to consider yourself married, you do not really feel married. But that is only because all your life, you've pictured marriage in a very different way.

"Husband," you mutter as you swivel around on your chair to get back into your original position.

Facing you, Alicent's features harden even more as she keeps her eyes on her son, who sits silently at the table. The mysterious lover imitates him, searching for the Queen Mother with her eyes.

"Would you have the decency to tell me who this woman is?" Alicent's tone is cold and firm, and she doesn't bother to address the main interested party.

Alicent Hightower is known as far north as Westeros for her dexterity in matters of good behaviour. She didn't experience love during her marriage, but she always put on a good show. Inviting a lover to the royal table does not seem to be a decision she considers wise.

"This is Lady Alys Rivers," Aemond introduces, Alys reacts with a gentle smile. He's now playing with Maelor on his lap, the boy running to his uncle as soon as he saw him.

You level up your eyebrows at the mention of her name. Rivers. A bastard of House Strong. You exchange glance with Helaena, not that she realises the gravity of her brother's action, but she seems as uncomfortable as you are, and it selfishly soothes you.

Then all eyes set on Alicent as she lets out uncotrollable giggles, which makes her grandson laugh. "Lady Alys Rivers," she says, more to herself than anyone else.

"It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, your Grace."

Her voice is smooth and seductive. If Aemond wasn't a Prince, you would have wondered how she could have laid an eye on him: not that Aemond is a bad-looking person, but his personnality is not attractive at all. He is not a talkative person and does make you feel uncomfortable if your presence is not wanted. While Alys Rivers seems to be a very seductive woman, both with men and women.

She knows she does not fit in whatever plan the Queen Mother has planned for her son, but she tries her best to earn the lesser part of respect Alicent could someday accord her.

Alicent forces a thin smile before adressing Aemond once again: "may I speak to you?"

Not waiting for Aemond's answer, she immediately gets up and vaguely excuses herself, Aemond on her footsteps.

The life that has forced itself to you does not seem real. You feel like you are watching a play where the plot evolves around people close to you, but you do not intervene in any part of this plot.

"Aemond spoke a lot about you, your Grace," Alys tries to reach Helaena, who is far away in her thoughts. In fact, she simply reacts by smiling slightly, her eyes focused on the lemon cake displayed on the table.

Maelor, who seems to feel his mother's anxiety, surprisingly reaches out for you and for a moment, you do not really understand how the boy has grown fond of you, but you eventually let him sit on your lap, whispering some words to his ear.

"The whole North heaps praise on your beauty, and I now see why," she says, and you do not look up right away, focused on Maelor's babbling and truthfully thinking that the compliment was meant for Helaena. But when you do, you see that she is staring at you.

You do not really how to respond. Should you compliment her as well? Strike up a conversation? Ask her why is she complimenting the wife of her lover?

"Thank you," you timidly say, not really comfortable with the situation. The only thing that makes your anxiety lessen is Maelor, not having any idea of what is going on right now and eating his lemon cake slice.

You feel imprisoned in the middle of a play. Someone else's play.

Your days are very similar to one another: you get up, get dressed, join Queen Alicent and Helaena in the gardens where you eat, you wander in the gardens for the whole afternoon and spend some time near the heart tree before getting supper, where Aemond and his lover sometimes grant you the privilege to eat with them, before going back to your chambers.

Not that your days in Winterfell were very special, but it is home. Was home.

Your mother and brother are still not back in Winterfell. The trip is difficult and long, but your mother keeps you informed whenever they stop by in a place that she considers safe for them.

The rare moments when you have to get out of your chambers, you do your very best to avoid everyone from the Greens, except for Helaena and her children. Helaena is very often lost in her own thoughts, but she is very nice to you when she tries to have a conversation. As for the children, you appreciate their unawareness and their innocence as you watch them play together.

Maelor has turned out to be your favorite one out of the three children: not that she intends to, but Helaena's favors for the twins is undeniable, and the youngest Prince seems almost naturally to seek comfort in your presence. In truth, you somehow seek comfort in the boy's company, too: you've grown fond of him, and he is now following you for the most part of the day, for the greatest pleasure of Alicent.

Alicent has been plotting to remove Alys from the court since the day she arrived, but it does not seem to be effective. Whenever she leaves, Aemond leaves with her. Your relationship with Aemond consists of avoiding each other, and greeting the other by a timid nod when the encounter becomes inevitable.

But now, as you are wandering in the streets of Kings Landing hiding your clothes under a cloak and you just happened to chance upon your dear husband, he too hidden under a cloak but easily recognizable with his eyepatch, you are both surprised to meet the other one in such a place.

"My Prince," you eventually say, growing uncomfortable with the heavy silence between you. You discreetly hide the ink you just bought below your cloak.

This is the first time you go outside the walls of the Red Keep. You have grown curious about the City after watching it from your window and just as you wanted to send a letter to your brother in all discretion, you have decided to take the plunge.

"What are you doing here?"

The bluntness of his question catches you offguard. You let out a humourless laugh.

"I could ask you the very same question."

You do not consider yourself arrogant, not at all. You would rather say confident. But Aemond carries a certain look on his face that irritates you as soon as he lands his eye on you.

You expect him to answer with a vile comment about whatever thing he can hurt your feelings with, but he simply replies: "I live here. This is merely a morning walk."

Your eyebrows raise at the reply, noting that Aemond does not even try to sound convincing. He simply does not wish you to know about his whereabouts around the streets of Kings Landing.

"Is there a piece of advice you would give to someone who has never been to Kings Landing before?" You ask him, feigning innocence, too.

Around you, people cross the street without even giving a second glance to the two of you, too busy in trying to find the suitable item among the many street merchants.

"Avoid Flea Bottom at all cost," he tells you, "unless you wish to end up dead or raped."

"I meant advice about the shops," you specify, remembering you were speaking to Aemond Targaryen.

"I think you do not need my advice, as you already found what you were looking for," he nods at your cloak, and you cannot help but frown. You quickly try to hide your ink more astutely under your cloth, hoping that he is bluffing and that he hasn't seen the item like he pretends.

"There is no need. I saw you coming out of that bookseller, and a book wouldn't have fit under that cloak," he points out, attempting to soothe the smirk forming on his lips without much success.

You think of something to say to persuade him this isn't what he thinks it is, but quickly surrender when you spot the way his lips twitch into a smirk.

"Are you following me?" You ask, struggling to hide your growing anger.

"I wasn't, but the gods seem to be protective over some Northern newcomers."

You snort slightly, doing your best not to roll your eyes. His gods would certainly not protect you. On the opposite, they would gladly send you to their supposedly hells: you wonder which one you would belong to.

"By sending you?" You raise your brows, displaying your doubts.

This is the longest exchange your husband and yourself have done since the two of you were married, and Aemond's clenching jaw and your growing impatience for his lack of response show how you aren't a matching pair: you're asking too many questions and his answers are to evasive.

"My Mother would like to speak with you," he announces, stepping forward and you stumble lightly at the move. "I shall make sure you join her in the Sept."

The second you were told that you would marry him and therefore move to Kings Landing, you knew your beliefs would be jeopardized. Indeed, the folk on the southern part of Westeros isn't fond of the old gods, especially with a Dowager Queen who venerates the newly seven. You knew your love for the old gods wouldn't be welcomed here, but you still kept them close to your heart by paying a visit to the weirwood tree in the fortress.

"The Sept?"

Aemond stops in his tracks as he hears the sound of your voice, and even though he is standing with his back to you, you can see the top of his body slowly rise and fall, probably because he is sighing.

"Come," he simply tells you, though it is rather a command.

You reluctantly follow him through the crowd piled up in the different streets of the city. He seems to know it like the back of his hand, and you wonder how many times he wandered throughout it for him to know every single corner of every single street.

Aemond does not need to inform you that you have reached the Sept when you are in front of it, as the tall and imposing building speaks for itself.

You wonder why Alicent wishes to see you, and especially why it cannot wait until she's finished praying to her gods. Will she force you to pray with her? Does she want you to admit that you do not believe in the same gods as herself and her son?

As Aemond grips the door handle of the Sept, the movement allows you to have a glimpse of the underside of his cloak and you notice some sort of herb sachets underneath. Yet, you make no comment and enter the building silently, your husband holding the door for you.

"Lady Stark," your hear Alicent's voice echo through the sept, and you spot where she is knealing. She is in front of an imposant statue where candles are lit all around. You would lie if you say that there isn't something comforting in the silence emaning from the Sept. Outside of these walls, Kings Landing seems to never be quiet: including when you couldn't sleep during the hours of the night, you could hear the wandering guards trying to speak lowly outside of your doors.

You carefully walk towards the Dowager Queen as you see she does not move, waiting for you to come over.

"Your Grace," you slightly bow your head, hands clasped in one another.

"Join me, please," she smiles at you, and you see her hand patting the empty space next to her.

You attempt to hide the discomfort you feel towards her invitation: you do not wish to get on your knees to pray the Seven, but this is clearly an invitation in order to test the waters.

Having her on your side is essential if you consider leaving this place someday: from what you have understood since you arrived here, she is Aemond's safeguard from madness. She would be the one reasoning him if he tries to put your life at risk, not because she is a decent person that took a liking of you, but because she is a good manners woman.

You reluctantly kneel beside her, your eyes wandering around the ceiling before staring at your knees.

"Do you often pray, my dear?" She asks, handing you a votive candle that isn't yet lit up.

"I do, your Grace," you respond, moving the candle nearer the fire of those already burning. Once your candle catches fire, you delicately set it down next to the others. As you catch Alicent setting her gaze on you, you do your best to keep your composure and to prevent your hands from shaking.

Then she lets out a sigh. "I've always wondered about the religious habits of people from the North. It is said that many still believe in the old gods."

You're tempted to say something, but the end of her sentence does not sound as the end of a speech, so you let your sentence die and keep silent.

You see her smile, but the smile doesn't reach her eyes. "They are proud and loyal people. Loyal to their roots and to their oaths."

"Indeed," you answer, not sure where she wants to lead this conversation.

"You see, I fear for those people," she lets out a sigh. "Have you heard of the Shepherd?"

You say no with your head. "See, this man is out there, trying to persuade the people of Kings Landing that the King does not represent the Faith of the Seven."

You listen carefully. Aegon is indeed not a very accurate representation of the Faith: marrying his sister and therefore breeding incestuous children is a sin, whether in the Faith of the Seven as in the eyes of the Old Gods. You also learned that he was very often visiting the most luxurious brothels of Kings Landing: his bastards must be running freely around the streets of the city.

"He is setting the common folk against its ruler," you comment, getting where she wants to lead you.

"It is our duty, I as the Dowager Queen and you as the King's good sister to show the people our devotion to our gods."

This is why she wanted me here, you think. So that you could be seen entering the Sept.

"People are everywhere. Around the streets, outside the gates but also within the Keep," she explains, and you understand her innuendo.

No more visit to the heart tree.

"We must be irreproachable. You must seem beyond reproach," she cautiously says, softly gripping your arm. You glance at her hand on your arm, and all you can see is her bitten and chapped fingers. "Do you understand, my dear?"

The Targaryens are in danger, but so are you. You're all threats in the eyes of this Shepherd.

"I do, Your Grace."

Since the Queen Dowager has expressly asked you to be convincing in your role as follower of the new gods, you thought you'd start by paying homage to the Mother, reason why you're currently heading to the Tower of the Hand to discuss the idea with the man.

However, your good brother has decided otherwise as he comes the other way, flashing a smile as he takes you in.

"Lady Stark," he calls out. "We haven't got the time to discuss yet."

"Your Grace," you bow, returning a shy smile. "Sadly we have not."

You would have been happy not to change the course of things, but you've noticed that Aegon likes annoying people and does not prevent himself.

Aegon Targaryen is a strange man. You sometimes see him wandering through the halls of Maegor's Holdfast struggling to walk straight, a cup of wine in one hand. He is not the man crafted to be King, you would even say that the crown he is wearing does not even fit around his many white curls.

"Is Kings Landing to your liking?" He asks.

"Though it is not very similar to Winterfell, I find myself liking it, Your Grace," you lie.

"I am content you're happy here," he says, dismissing his guards by a handwave. You look at the two guards retreating, leaving you and the King alone. You instinctively look down, somehow uncomfortable with the mere thought of you two alone.

"What of my brother?" Aegon questions and you look up to find him taking two steps forward.

You do not really know how you should respond: given the undeniable satisfaction your marriage to Aemond gave to Aegon, the two brothers do not seem to get along.

"What of your brother, Your Grace?"

"Is he kind to you? Is he treating you well?"

"He is, Your Grace," you lie. "We are getting a-"

"Do not lie to me, goodsister," he interrupts, his eyes boring into yours as you feel his hand grazing the skin of your cheek. "Lying to a king is not a wise thing. Don't you think?

You feel your face flashing red. He can sense your uncomfort, but does not seem to care.

He wants to make you feel uncomfortable. He wants you to know he has the upper hand and could do anything he wishes to you.

"There is no need to be ashamed, Lady Stark. Perhaps I could show you how-"

"Your Grace."

The voice calling out Aegon instinctively makes you close your eyes, relief invading your whole being as you hear footsteps approaching.

"Brother," Aegon's hand beats a hasty retreat from your face and he smiles, but his smile does not reach his eyes. "I was just discussing with your dear wife."

"The Lord Hand is waiting for Lady Stark and myself in his study."

Not without some courage, you slowly step backwards until you are nearly standing next to Aemond. He does not look at you, he is staring at his brother in silence. You could almost find the silence uncomfortable: turns out you're to stunned to notice the uncomfort of the scene.

"Of course, he probably wishes to speak to you about Casterly Rock," Aegon explains and you furrow your brows, displaying your ignorance. What is it to know about the Lannisters' home?

"Please do give Daeron my regards, will you?" Aegon says to his brother.

Aemond does not make any comment but simply bows and you imitate him, a breath you didn't know you were holding escaping your lips when you see Aegon going backwards and eventually turning around.

Aemond seems to finally notice your presence and turns to you. His eye is scanning your face, searching for any trace of harm Aegon might have left. Only when he hears you sighing of relief do his features slightly soften.

Then, without being aware of the words leaving your lips, you whisper: "I am sorry."

You do not really comprehend the reason of your apologises. Perhaps it is for your recklessness. Perhaps for his affair with Alys Rivers that will never flower the way he wants it to do so, or even for your mere and arranged marriage. You do not actually know, but you feel the need to say so.

Nodding his head, he simply responds: "come, my Grandsire wishes to speak to us."

You have quickly noticed that he isn't a very talkative person, so you aren't surprised when you don't receive a formal reply. But for the first time since your marriage, you almost feel at ease standing next to him.

Tags: @yentroucnagol @tempt-ress @crazymusicgirl104 @unclecrunkle @brie-annwyl @pax-2735 @castellomargot @bellaisasleep

#aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #hotd #aemond x fem!reader #aemond imagine

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rielzero · 6 months

Note

Just saw your post about ascended Astarion and male Tav fanfic. I am willing to rise to the challenge

If you need any prompts! here's some concept I've danced with in my head (up for anyone to use) inspired by my own character's potential AUs. Please do not claim ownership over the ideas, I'd love to see people's different spins. Please keep it to Male Tav, there's so many Female Tav fics out there already- I had ideas specifically with a male character in mind. M x M focus is preferred. I'm not bi or pan, so anything hinting to tav being exclusively gay is nice.

THESE ARE all PROMPTS / IDEAS not demands. I'm not here to control anyone's creative progress :V

I'm just a nerd be nice

Brain Damage Tav has used the tadpole powers but refuses to become half-illitid and keeps it how it is. Tav ascends Astarion- but is convinced by Jaheira or someone else that he is incapable of feeling love now and becomes afraid of him- (Astarion still is very much capable of love) Astarion responds of course like a scorned ex, and lies through his teeth when the break up happens and breaks tav's heart. Timeskip- it is revealed Tav's altered brain still has mindflayer powers, but because of the trauma of the final fight he suffers from severe memory loss and pretty much got themselves in a position were he is dying- only for Astarion to come around and save him by turning him- then be met with guilt and over-protectiveness when he realizes Tav does not remember their time together anymore. (would work for a series, this concept is what I intend to use for an AU of my character but it would be very different.) Lots of angst but soft ascended astarion towards male tav :3 very gentle- very protective.

You were There too AU were Tav was kept by Cazador but never turned, just kept as a snack- so Astarion knows him and they may have fallen in love during that time. During the ritual Cazador threatens to replace Astarion with Tav- Astarion goes feral.

I forget you're an Urchin Playing into the fact that Astarion was a corrupted Noble- knows what luxury life is like- inspired by how my tav is an urchin and very unfamiliar with luxury- Tav is Astarion's consort- but is very awkward not knowing ANYTHING about noble life, from etiquette to wearing jewelry and fancy garbs. Wholesome stuff- Probably lots of fluff. Astarion spoiling Tav and showing him off.

Three of them AU were Gale and Astarion and Tav are a in a polycule, after ascension Astarion becomes a little overly possessive over Tav- Gale notices a bit late and feels left out, but supports his loved ones new life goals... Of world domination.

I'm married, get over it Au were male tav has an horrible ex who breaks in the mansion because he thinks tav is enslaved to Astarion- but he's not- He's just as evil as Astarion. And they're very affectionate- Astarion enjoys rubbing it into the ex's face. Extra points if the ex is a human cleric, paladin, or bard with too much facial hair. (COUGHS)

Warlock? cool Any fic that plays into the warlock theme openly for tav, not similary to Wyll- all though I don't want to restrict anyone to a specific type of patron. (my patron is a great old one) keep in mind there's warlock patrons outside of the subclasses in the bg3 game if you need inspiration. If tav's patron is female, give them a mother-son kind of bond since tav is gay.

Other, Tropes I like described vaguely cuz my brain stoopid but ideas that can be expanded into one fic or more -oh shit you're dying don't worry I can fix it with a bite -you're so beautiful I want a 100 paintings of you akjdkhgkfhgk -The gods literally made you to ruin me god damn it I should've known -tav is small / fragile looking man but he can stab you 100 times over -tav can sing, or is creative but he doesn't like sharing this side of him (loki is 100% exactly this lol) hes easily embarrassed -tav is internally panicking because he is very very very gay. -tav has scars too and is very insecure about his body. -overprotectiveness, lots of handholding keep you close kinda stuff -wholesome physical affection, does not have sexual implications even if they talk dirty or flirt silly -words being used like petite, twink- or cute in the right context. -maybe a fic focussing on tav being half elf and the struggles that come with it. Otherwise leave race up to reader. -Tav was already a vampire before they met, or is a dhampir -Astarion and tav knew each other 200 years ago -I will pet you aggressively and affectionally and you will like it -who the fuck are you drawing? wait thats me??? oh -Astarion is creative too and might doodle. -love at first sight but in denial.. cuz its funny -tav has insomnia and needs cuddles... -tav is a necromancer and familiar with vampire lore. -anything reflecting the vampire bride/groom lore in a scene. (there's a reddit post explaining this) -Vampire hunters coming after tav in attempt to hurt Astarion because he's become pretty untouchable -Vampire Tav does not want to feed on his victims because he finds that too intimite -Vampire tav is a vampire lord too- but not an ascended one- and he isn't corrupted by greed. -Astarion technically can compel Tav, but has no desire to do so and voices this openly to anyone who tries to argue Tav is a slave. -If Astarion hurts tav by accident in any way he feels horrible and will shower him in gifts or thousands of love language things just to affirm that it was an oopsie and he did not want to do that. He'd never do that willingly. -consent consent consent anything with consent- love language is consent -tav was a sex worker himself before they met but not anymore -lots of fluff stuff -scheming husbands plotting the downfall of the world together, bonus points if tav is the mastermind and a genius -Polycule with Gale, either as Triad, or Triangle -Admiring from afar, staring- lots of staring- intense consential staring -astarion beating up tav's abusers while tav sips from a chalice like a spoiled consort -dramatic vampire parties and all the normie vampire lords are scared of Astarion and his consort -vampire politics are kind of like ballroom hissing contests with fancy banquets and showing off your partner -I will go feral if someone hurts or touches you -steer clear of the consort, or the master will gut you -jealous vampire lord tries to seduce tav but tav is very loyal to astarion and not having it -astarion gets a cleric or powerful mage in his court just to revive tav if tav dies -You offended my husband? I'm setting your village on fire -Everyone thinks the consort tav is weak- but the consort might actually be more dangerous oh no -None of the above lines have to be necessarily restricted by ingame universe, can all be AU- does not have to include the whole mindflayer drama. Rule of Cool.

Avoid these please? I personally dislike that -misgendering tav (babygirl, queen, girly, strictly effeminate- any words that might demasculinize tav, as a gay man this stuff makes me really uncomfortable) -Overly describing tav's features as if they're set without leaving it open to the reader (long hair, skin color, favorite colors, etc) -Astarion knew tav when tav was still a child and Astarion was an adult. -Astarion abusing tav physically, just.. Please no. -...they're teenagers in high school... *dies* -brainwashing.. No offense to people who like some tropes I don't- You're fine :V We all have different tastes!

Headcanons for how Ascension works that you can use (inspired by ingame dialogue and such) -Tav isn't a regular spawn, but a vampire groom- He was turned differently, not buried for 2 days. Astarion can sense Tav is in danger if he is a groom, or sense strong emotions from him. -Tav is not immune to sunlight unless he stays in close range of Astarion. (based on dialogue) -Astarion might be a bit warmer to the touch since he is a living vampire now. He does not have to feed on blood- but Tav still requires blood and is cold to the touch.

Might edit this post later with more.

#bg3 #male tav #astarion x male tav #astarion x male reader #prompts #these are some of my preferences #vampire #ascended astarion #astarion bg3 #fanfiction #fanfic prompts #ideas

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welcometothejianghu · 2 months

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Welcome to another round of W2 Tells You What You Should See, where W2 (me) tries to sell you (you) on something you should be watching. Today's choice: 心宅猎人/Psych-Hunter.

Psych-Hunter is a 2020 drama about a hot young amnesiac who, accompanied by a rich psychiatrist with major daddy issues and a rich girl who cosplays as a cop, uses his Inception-style psychic powers to solve crimes that are part of a shadowy conspiracy orchestrated by a mysterious figure.

True story: Once I couldn't remember the English name of the drama, so I called it "House Haunters," and now my brain insists that's the real English title. If only!

Do not, under any circumstances, labor under the impression that this show is good. It's not. It's incoherent. The writing is bad. The villain is absurd. The vibe is comically melodramatic. People make inexplicable and out-of-character decisions all the time. Countless complex mysteries get set up with no way to resolve them. There's a thin lampshade hanging over it that blurs the line between bad decisions made on accident and bad decisions made on purpose, but the net result is largely the same. This is the show that first inspired my wife to declare something dumb as a guinea pig in a roller skate.

But it's fun. It's a sea of colorful chaos with brilliant pieces that shine through like strange gems. It knows how to work an atmosphere and does so to create some legitimately creepy moments. It spins a wild yarn filled with bizarre and loveable characters. And it has some twists that truly have to be seen to be believed. In the mood for some beautiful nonsense? Here's five reasons that despite everything I warned you about in the previous paragraph, I think this one's worth watching.

1. Psychonauts for Jazz Age homosexuals

Honestly, that phrase alone should let you know if this is the thing for you. But just in case, let me explain the basic premise of the show:

Jiang Shuo, a man who has lost his memory and been adopted by circus folk, is capable of jingling his keys and diving full-body into someone else's subconscious, represented by lovely and thematic dreamscapes. He does this to solve crimes. Sometimes he takes along a handsome doctor who seems like he might know more than he's letting on, by literally tying their hands together with a red string.

Also, when they do this, they get gorgeous steampunk magical girl costume changes, complete with the cutest little pony nub you've ever seen.

This show can be stunningly beautiful. It knows how to manifest dream logic eerily well. Most of these cognitions are gorgeous, and many are done with primarily practical effects, like it's a stage play. ...And it's good it relies on that so much, because the CG it has is kinda cheap and terrible! So, yeah.

(Side note for the DMBJ fans: This is directed by the same guy who directed Sand Sea, which I assume is related to how this both is a visual treat and completely falls apart on the back end.)

The reason I'm a bit surprised that this hasn't taken off more among the creative set is what a great piece of worldbuilding this Psych-diving is. These boys (and, once, the girl) get to short-term manifest bodily in someone else's materialized mental state, where the person whose brain they’re in neither controls the experience nor remembers what happened after it’s done. Were you writing weird Arthur/Eames fic a decade ago? I got a new best thing for you. Can you say freaky dream sex? Because I can.

The base premise should be more than enough to get your gears going. Come ready to get weird with it. There's so much potential here, and so much of that potential is incredibly gay and wearing impeccably tailored suits.

2. Your friendly neighborhood circus family

As I mentioned before, Jiang Shuo lucks into the best possible fate that can befall an amnesiac: being picked up by carnies.

The troupe includes Ventriloquist Man, Really Big Dude, One-Eyed Acrobat, Other Acrobat, Cheerful Fat Girl, Boy Who Looks Like A Kid But Is Actually Played By An Adult So I'm Not Exactly Sure How Old The Character Himself Is Supposed To Be, and Silver Fox Circus Dad, who manages the whole crew. They're a ragtag bunch of performers who all live together in this cute little compound in some very nice slums, and sometimes they open the gates to their lavish compound and put on a circus show for all the common people!

Now: You know this is not going to be the wokest, most sensitive portrayal of body differences, because of course it isn't. But damn, it's pretty not-bad. The show treats all the circus members as valuable people worthy of affection, whose (occasionally exasperating) quirks are no more or less exhausting than those of the non-circus weirdos in the rest of the supporting cast.

I was half-expecting them to disappear after the first arc, but no! They’re a constant fixture through the show! They’re mostly there to support the show’s more comedic moments, but some of them get wrapped up in more emotional plotlines as well. And every now and then you get to see them actually do their circus shit, which is great.

I will admit that my fondness for them is related to how much I generally love fictional Freaks — you know, misfits who have banded together because society considers them unacceptably weird, but together their weirdnesses make them strong. When you find them, they’re usually the bad guys (e.g., the Gung-Ho Guns from Trigun, the Scorpion crew from Word of Honor) whose freak statuses make them formidable and occasionally sympathetic antagonists. But not so here! The Psych-Hunter Family Circus is good guy support all the way through to the final episode.

I know "found family" is a term that suffers from overuse, but that's the best way to describe what's happening here -- really, it's a family that's already found itself even before the show starts, and now they all live together as an unconventional collective of astonishingly flexible people. How did they find one another? Doesn't matter! What matters is that they all love and would do anything for their newest member, and they think it's great when he comes home with his attractive rich friends, who often arrive bringing snacks, which is really the best use for rich people, if you think about it.

3. Two hands, one ring

Now, if you've seen the series already, you know the moment I'm talking about. But if you haven't (and, statistically, you haven't), know that what I mean is the relationship between these two losers.

Together, Qin Yiheng and Jiang Shuo form the emotional core of the series. They're both drawn to one another because of mysterious circumstances that have started to align. Jiang Shuo's memory is missing, Qin Yiheng's dad has vanished, and all signs point to those absences as having something to do with one another.

Very early in the show, we see Qin Yiheng pull a "come with me if you want to live" on Jiang Shuo, giving the impression that he knows just what's going on in this crazy city. Except, no, he doesn't. Or does he? No, we're pretty sure he doesn't. Or he does, but he's forgotten what he knows, if he ever even knew it in the first place. Anyway, time to tie their hands together and jump into someone else's brain!

I'd say they're in love, but that's not quite it. Dr. Qin Yiheng, high-class homosexual, is in love with Jiang Shuo to the point where he's about to murder someone (possibly Jiang Shuo himself) out of frustration about it. Jiang Shuo, on the other hand, is much more sticking his fingers in his ears and going LA LA LA YOU CAN'T CATCH ME GAY THOUGHTS while trying get a girlfriend in an effort to pretend that all the shit they get up to together isn't tremendously romantic.

That is, until the scene that leads to the which-hand ring guessing game, at which point the burden of their relationship falls on Jiang Shuo (and the Inception parallels get unignorable) for exactly as long as the show will allow it to, before it freaks out and has to add another girl love interest just to make sure all the homos got no'd.

It's not textually gay, because seriously, have you met Chinese television? But it's pretty gay. Or, rather, I think Liu Dongqin (Qin Yiheng) is playing his character as a dedicated homosexual on purpose, and Hou Minghao (Jiang Shuo) is just ... kinda like that? I mean, everything I’ve seen him in, he gets real dreamy-eyed around strong men who pay close attention to him. Maybe it's just his thing as an actor. I'm not judging.

However, the main cast isn't just the two of them. One of the things that led me to this show was the promise of an OT3. And does it deliver on that promise?

Well ... sorta.

Qin Yiheng, Jiang Shuo, and Yuan Muqing are a pretty standard MFM not-love-triangle trio of Male Bestie, Main Guy, and Girlfriend (respectively). There's about five seconds at the beginning of the series where it looks like Yuan Muqing might be into Qin Yiheng, but no, that evaporates almost instantly and is never spoken of again -- and with it disappears most of their interactions with one another, period. So it's less an OT3, and more a case of bisexual cutiepie Jiang Shuo getting both a boyfriend and a girlfriend in a world where censorship will only let the latter relationship exist textually.

But damn if these boys aren't made for one another. Sure, there's a level of conscious comical queerbaiting to it -- I mean, there's straight-up an "only one bed" moment, so you know the show isn't stumbling into rainbow territory on accident. No matter how sexual or nonsexual or whatever you read it as, though, their dynamic is the spine that holds the story together. Really, it's almost sad how often the relationships are set parallel to one another, because when you do that, it becomes obvious how intense Jiang Shuo's bond with Qin Yiheng is, and how largely lackluster and comphet most of his canon romance with Yuan Muqing is by comparison.

Like so.

sidebar: The Girl

I am not going to go into a full-throated defense of The Girl this time, as I am wont to do, mostly because I think Yuan Muqing is full of potential in concept but so badly executed that there's really no hope for her. Her entire personality is whatever they need her to be in any particular scene. It's just that once in a while, what they need her to be is completely insane -- like, seeing-things-that-aren't-there insane -- and it's so great that it makes me mad! She could have been like this all the time! But noooooo

As it is, she has a perfunctory canonical romance with Jiang Shuo that's about as endgame as anything is capable of being (see point 5), and it actually gets pretty cute when it finally gets to the point where it's not just awkward obligation! But alas, it only does that so late in the series that it's not even worth it getting invested in it.

She is a creation of the show. She has no novel counterpart. Her entire function in the drama is to un-gay the dynamic between the boys. You can tell that she was initially supposed to have a different role -- to be the muscle of this trio -- but the narrative forgets pretty quickly that she's got that skill set, and she regresses to being The Girl. She makes dumb decisions that forward the plot. She gets put into danger whenever it's convenient. She demands Jiang Shuo do manly things for her because that’s what a girl is supposed to do, I guess? And then there are moments where she’s cool and crazy and it’s awesome! But they never last.

So if you are going to watch this, be prepared for the fact that the female lead is badly written to the point of frustration. I feel her actor is doing the absolutely best with what she's got; the problem is that what she's got is pretty crappy. Still, Muqing gets some pretty charming moments here and there, and I think it's worth hanging onto those and imagining the character she could have been, if the writers had cared just a little more, or even at all.

4. Powerfully surreal worldbuilding

I'm not even talking about the way people's psyches are structured according to dream logic -- the "normal" waking world is almost equally bizarre. The story takes place in sort of the real world c. 1930, except that a lot of things are off. For example, Japan and England are real locations, but China kinda isn't -- instead, the show takes place in a Shanghai-like city-state run by this moustachioed generalissimo with a faux Latin American dictator aesthetic. The place has its own flag and government and police force (where all the cops have coordinating surnames) and diplomatic relationships with other countries, so it’s clearly its own thing. But what that thing is? What it’s even called? Look, don’t worry about it. Nobody else is worried, so you shouldn’t be either.

You will, at every point in the series, be wondering if the show is trying to telegraph to you that Something's Not Quite Right Here, or if it's just making weird decisions for the sake of artsy weirdness. But don't worry -- there's absolutely no way to tell the difference between the two! Just roll with it.

There's a weird mix of universe rules happening throughout, where everything is mostly period-appropriate for a while, and then somebody builds a clock with levitating parts, or causes someone else to have very specific memory loss — or, again, swings some coins in front of a person’s face and gains the ability to treat their subconscious like a VR amusement park.

You can sort of reconstruct the evolution of this weirdness: The book has actual factual ghosts in it. Well, that’s fine for books, but TV isn’t allowed to have ghosts. But TV can have people who imagine ghosts, so long as it’s all in their heads. Okay, but you know jumping bodily into those imaginations isn’t actually a thing real people can do, right? Well, then let’s make it scientific. How can that be scientific? I don't know, it’s psychiatry. I don’t think that’s psychiatry. Look, it could be. Well, it’s definitely not psychiatry in 1930s Shanghai, and that’s the set we’re allowed to film on. Okay, what if it weren’t actually Shanghai? What if it weren’t actually 1930? What if all of this were at best a weird approximation of the period that adheres to no rules except the ones we want?

Once you’ve thought that, the sky’s the limit.

The show has a very inconsistent grasp on reality, and I am listing that as a pro instead of a con because I am choosing to embrace it as a deliberate choice rather than assume it’s the result of craven incompetence. There's something to be said, though, for how pervasively inconsistent it is. It'd be one thing if there were just a few plot holes here and there (and there are), but this is more along the lines of: We woke up in a mysterious boat and got taken to an island with a giant sea monster skeleton on the shore! What's that all about? Couldn't say! Was it real? Maybe! Moving on!

Let the number of "it's fine! who knows!" comments I've made throughout this rec indicate how much this is the kind of show you just have to roll with. If you are a nitpicker or someone who is troubled by unexplained nonsense, this is not the thing for you. If you love artistic magical realism and high strangeness, you will eat this up with a spoon.

And the lampshade that hangs over all of this worldbuilding is...

5. THE STUPIDEST POSSIBLE ENDING EVER

Okay, usually I am coy about when I think an ending has problems. I am going to drag this one out front and center: Psych-Hunter has an ending so jaw-droppingly, head-clutchingly stupid that I'm actually listing it as a selling point, because it has to be seen to be believed.

When I first watched it, I suspected the show ran out of time or money or something and just had to slap together the quickest possible ending ever. But no! This is the ending they meant! If you go back to the rest of the series, you can see that this is what they were (kinda) setting up the whole time! They just set it up so poorly and decided to make the twist hit at such a late point that not only is it complete nonsense, it actually renders moot the entire emotional stakes of the show! Absolutely incredible!

Now, as I've said before in other places, I don't begrudge the actual twist itself. I mean, it's stupid on its face, but I think they could have done something with it — if they'd had it happen halfway through the series, when the characters would have had time to adjust to the new knowledge. Instead, they slap it on at the last possible moment, when there's no time to have any reaction to it. It's just jarring and baffling, and then the whole thing's over.

I've seen lots of people say "season 2 when???" Season 2 never, friends. There was never going to be a season 2. The only reason you think this was an even remotely acceptable narrative move was that you were assuming that this would be the midpoint, not the end. You're having the same reaction I did, only I can tell this was always meant to be their spectacular dismount.

(To me, it's clear what happened: They J.J. Abramsed themselves into a cool premise for a mystery with no idea how to solve it, hoping they'd figure it out along the way. When they got to the end and still hadn't figured it out, they simply ... opted out of solving it.)

Now, if you want a normal viewing experience out of this show, watch to the end of the next-to-last episode, close your browser window, and have imagination adventures about how you think all the mysteries should resolve. But you're not going to. You are going to continue on to that last episode, and you are going to realize that nothing I could have said here could possibly have prepared you for this. And somewhere, I am going to feel the urge to cackle wickedly and not even know why. Except I'll know why. We'll both know why.

Want to watch this hot mess?

That baby's an iQiyi exclusive! But you can watch the first episode on YouTube, if you feel like getting a taste that way.

Look, I know I may have spoiled my pitch somewhat with that last selling point. After all, why would you bother watching a series if you know it has a shit ending?

I refute your objection thus: Knowing it has a shit ending changes the whole game, because it removes the feeling of betrayal that hits upon your discovering that the ending isn’t what you wanted. You know that already now, so there can be no betrayal. The ending goes from being an unpleasant surprise to being exactly the unexpected thing that you expected. With that in mind, you can dive right in (ha ha) knowing that you’ll never get the closure you crave, and therefore whatever you make up along the way is perfectly valid.

This is obviously a turnoff if you prefer shows that are like seeing someone start a magic trick, perform it without breaking a sweat, and walk off calmly, leaving you wondering how on earth they accomplished such an amazing thing. Think of this more as someone starting a magic trick, accidentally letting the rabbit fall out of their hat, saying “I meant to do that!” like thirty times, and suddenly vanishing through a trapdoor, leaving you wondering what the trick was even supposed to be in the first place — but they were really good-looking and well-dressed, so at least whatever they were doing was nice to look at while it was happening.

See? They're having fun.

#psych-hunter #心宅猎人 #house haunters #i made this #rec post #please watch this and then write more fic for it #I have a very selfish agenda here

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falseroar · 2 months

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Murder on the Warfstache Express

Part 5: Buddy System

((Abe attempts to reassure the other passengers that he has the situation under control before beginning his investigation, starting with the body.

Links to the previous chapter, Part 4: Putting on the Brakes and to Part 1 here if you'd like to start from the beginning.))

He’d been through similar situations before, more times than he ever cared to remember, but all of that experience told him just how important it was to take charge, and fast. Panic could spread faster than any measly rumor, and in a confined space, so far from any help or backup where escape wasn’t an option, for either the killer or potential future victims?

Yeah, that kind of scene never ended pretty.

Which is why Abe turned to face the other passengers pressing in behind him and raised both his badge and a lantern so they all could clearly see it.

And the dozen or so pictures that came tumbling out of the wallet with it, but no time to reopen those old wounds.

Instead, Abe said, “Okay, listen up everyone: we’ve got a dead body here, and it looks like foul play. There’s no way anyone’s walking off this train in the middle of that storm out there, or at least they’re not getting very far, which means whoever did the deed is still here with us. And you better believe I’ll be finding the person responsible before this train starts moving again, and not just because it’s going to be a few hours before the engine can be dug out of the snowdrift it's currently lodged in.”

Despite his clear words and obvious determination, Abe noticed the others in the train car didn’t look as reassured by that announcement as he’d been hoping for, but he pressed on.

“Benjamin, I want everyone in the lounge car while I examine the body. You’ll all be safer sticking together until I can interrogate each and every one of you, which means buddy system: no one goes anywhere by themselves, got it?”

Benjamin hesitated and everyone else milled around, looking at each other as though hoping someone else would speak up.

Everyone except Dorene, who shrugged and said, “Well, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep after this. Can I pick up a few things from my room, just to make the wait in the lounge a little more comfortable?”

“No,” Abe said, at the same instant Benjamin answered, “Of course, madam.”

The two men glared at each other, and Benjamin continued, “I would suggest everyone at least grab their blankets and something warm to wear—the boiler and thus heat may still be working, but the more comfortable everyone is in the lounge, the easier their stay will be.”

“Meaning the less excuse they’ll have to start complaining later,” Abe mused, once again realizing that should have stayed an internal thought, but now that Benjamin had said it everyone was ducking back into their rooms.

Even Benjamin was starting to head toward one of the compartments, but Abe caught his arm and lowered his voice so no one could overhear when he said, “That master key for the passenger compartments, give it to me.”

“What?” Benjamin really could pull off the affronted look whenever he felt like it, couldn’t he?

“I want to make sure no one else can access Happy’s room,” Abe said, the lie plausible enough that Benjamin, with only the slightest hesitation that seemed to accompany everything he did when the detective suggested it, handed over the key. “Thanks.”

Abe let go and pocketed the key while Benjamin ducked into his compartment. In just a few moments he was back and shepherding the other passengers toward the lounge car, Abe watching the procession until they were safely on the other side of the car doors.

Leaving him alone, with the body.

Over the years, Abe had become intimately familiar with a wide variety of bodies, almost all of them dead. Not something he was particularly proud of, but in moments like this it meant he had the experience to know what he was looking at as he examined the agent’s body to find the cause of death.

It also meant that when he sat back a few minutes later with the feeling that something was off, he knew what he was talking about.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Abe muttered.

“Oh really? Do tell!”

Abe staggered to his feet and away from Wilford, who was peering over his shoulder at the body with benign interest.

“Don’t do that!” Abe yelled.

“Really, it’s on you for not expecting it at this point,” Wilford said, echoing Abe’s own thought. “How many times is this now? Because I really don’t remember, and I’m not entirely sure where we are in the story at the moment.”

Abe tried to ignore the heart hammering away in his chest and asked, “What are you doing in here? Didn’t you hear what I said earlier, you should be in the lounge car with the other passengers.”

“Au contraire, I did hear what you said!” Wilford planted one hand on his hip and used the other to shake a finger at Abe. “Buddy system, and I don’t see you with any buddy. Unless we’re counting this fellow sleeping on the floor?”

“Wh—he’s not sleeping, he’s dead!”

“Really? Could have fooled me.”

Abe couldn’t—no, he could absolutely believe Wilford would joke at a moment like this, but he still pointed out, “I don’t see how he could be anything but dead after what someone did to him. Poor sap’s been shot, poisoned, stabbed, and bludgeoned to death.”

“In that order?” Wilford asked.

Abe shook his head and admitted, “I don’t know. I think the injuries must have all happened fairly close to each other, but the body’s not…it hasn’t had time to start showing signs of decomposition. Which makes sense, since he was alive when Benjamin and I walked up front to talk to the engineer.”

“Oh, you got to talk to the engineer? Did he let you do the train whistle thing?”

“Did you hear the train whistle?” Abe asked and Wilford shrugged. Abe turned away and paced the floor, or at least that bit of it not occupied by the body or covered in blood. “Everyone else was in their rooms when we walked down the hall, which means they were all close enough to get in this room while Benjamin and I were gone.”

He rubbed his temples with his fingers and continued, “Then we came back and I went into my compartment, which means Benjamin had the time alone to do it too—except no, that doesn’t work, we all would have heard the gunshots if it happened after the train stopped.”

Abe’s chest ached and he remembered the nightmare he’d been having before the train slammed on its brakes, the familiar faces disappearing under his touch with each gunshot. Had the sound just been in his nightmare, or was the nightmare caused by the sound in real life?

Abe turned back on Wilford and said, “You. Did you bring your gun on board the train?”

“You mean this?” Wilford asked, casually drawing out the gun, that same damn gun.

“Put that down!”

“Well do you want to see it or not?” Wilford asked, the barrel of the gun waving back and forth as he held it loosely like it was just some toy until Abe took it from him. “Hey now, be careful with that. It’s an antique, probably.”

“I’ll tell you what it is, it’s—” Abe stopped, the tip of the gun inches from Wilford’s nose, and looked at the weapon in disbelief as the wrongness of the weight and feel of it finally registered.

He examined the gun and then, pointing it toward the window just in case he was wrong, pulled the trigger. The gun made a popping noise and a little flag popped out of the tip that said, in colorful cartoon letters, “Bang!”

“…It’s a toy?”

Abe stared at the gun, the same gun the Colonel shot him with back at that nightmare of a house before turning it on his partner, one of the very real bullets it shot still lodged somewhere in his heart.

“This…this doesn’t make any sense,” Abe said weakly, unresisting as Wilford took the gun and pushed the flag back in before tucking it into his waistband.

“And your point is?” Wilford asked, prodding him along like a teacher directing a student to keep moving toward the answer.

“…You didn’t do this?” Abe asked, before reason caught up with him. “Or at least you didn’t shoot him with that gun, but it doesn’t mean I’m ruling you out as a suspect. Tell me what you did after leaving my compartment earlier.”

“Mm…Hard to say. Really I just kind of do my own thing until the plot gets interesting again. Which would probably be when I saw this guy head up toward the luggage car, looking all sneaky-like. That’s when the shootout happened, but it barely lasted any time at all before the train stopped and everyone was yelling about the lights going out or something.”

“Wait,” Abe said, but he didn’t even know where to start breaking all of that down. “You saw Happy heading toward the luggage car?”

“Well he didn’t look very happy at the time, but yeah. Probably. I don’t know, he looks different without his fancy hat on his head, and for a moment I thought it might have been you. He really stole your old look, didn’t he? The hat, the long coat and suit and whatnot, but then he had to go and ruin the vibes with that silly ‘pew pew’ gun of his.”

Happy’s gun!

Abe pulled back the dead man’s coat to reveal the holster at his side and pulled out the single strangest gun the detective had ever seen.

While Wilford’s gun looked real and turned out to be a toy, the agent’s gun wouldn’t have looked out of place on a shelf in a toy store except that the grip was sized for an adult.

It had the general shape of a gun, or at least the important bits—trigger, barrel, the end you didn’t want to be on the wrong side of—but there was no sign of a cylinder to load the bullets or a magazine of any sort, and what Abe at first assumed to be the safety had three settings instead of just “on” or “off.” There were symbols by each of the settings, that in theory seemed straightforward enough: skull and crossbones, a crossed-out circle, and the setting in between that the gun was currently set at, which was marked with a set of jagged lines like lightning bolts.

Abe hesitated and then put the gun in the pocket of his jacket for now, figuring he could test it out later and see if it was a working weapon or not.

But then why would the agent have a fake gun on him?

Following that thought, Abe rifled through the agent’s pockets but all he turned up was a ticket to ride the train, the badge Happy had flashed earlier, and a folded piece of paper.

Abe flipped open the badge and paused. “Huh. Hey you, can you read this?”

He didn’t expect much, and in that way Wilford didn’t disappoint when he casually glanced at the strange writing on the badge next to the photo of Happy and said, “Nope! Can you?”

“It doesn’t look like any language I’ve ever seen, but more than that, I don’t know these insignias,” Abe said, straightening up as he spoke. “I’ve seen badges for FBI, CIA, MI6, STARS, BSAA, you name it, I’ve seen it. So what group was Happy working for?”

“You never asked?”

Abe scowled, mostly because he knew Wilford had a point. “I had more important things to worry about at the time, like finding you.”

“Aww, you think I’m important?”

Abe didn’t dignify that with a response, and instead turned his attention to the folded sheet of paper. Opening it, he found a letter written in the same strange letters as Happy’s ID, the official-looking letterhead at the top of the page identical to that of the badge.

So some kind of communication from the agency he worked for. Abe had a feeling that Happy’s whole reason for being on this train and the motive for someone else to kill him was right here in his hand, if he could only read a single word of it.

“Did you see anyone else going to the luggage car before or after Happy?” Abe asked.

“Can’t say I did,” Wilford answered, and Abe wondered why he even bothered asking when the man had a way of answering any question like he was just waiting for the other person to get the joke. “Hold on, where are you going now?”

Abe paused at the door, stuffing both badge and letter in yet another pocket. As much as he hated the idea of Wilford tagging along, he could hardly leave him alone with the body.

“Out of the room, now,” Abe said, turning back to find the compartment empty (minus Happy, of course). He spun around and glared at Wilford, who was tapping his foot impatiently in the center of the hallway and continued to do so while the detective locked Happy’s compartment behind him. “What are the chances of you going to the lounge car if I asked you to?”

Wilford clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Buddy system, remember? And we’re buddies, right?”

Abe ground his teeth together and closed the distance between them so Wilford could hear him clearly as he said, “We are not ‘buddies,’ we are not ‘friends’ or ‘pals’ or anything! You’re coming with me, and that’s only because I still think you’re the reason that man back there is dead!”

Wilford shrugged and asked, “Okay, so where are we going now?”

“If you saw Happy going into the luggage car, I’ll need to check that out, and question the engineer or conductor or whatever he’s supposed to be on what he saw and heard again. Not to mention interrogate all of the other passengers and crew. But before that…”

Abe held up the master key Benjamin gave him and said, “We’re going to have a look around these other rooms.”

((End of Part 5. Thanks for reading! Sorry this one is a bit shorter, but later chapters will make up for it.

Link to Part 6: Room by Room.

Tag list: @silver-owl413 @asteriuszenith @withjust-a-bite @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy @95fangirl @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-star-eyes @shyinspiredartist @avispate @autumnrambles @authorracheljoy @liafoxyfox @hidinginmybochard))

#markiplier #fanfiction #wkm detective #wilford warfstache #agent harold apless #murder on the warfstache express

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dannystheone · 11 months

Note

Lee Kenny with the spot being feet?

Ah sorry I know it's been a while since you sent this in but I finally had an idea for it! Another anon sent in a request for SOT that someone could be thrown in makeshift stocks as punishment for screwing up the game after reclaiming the stick of truth from Clyde, and my brain just kinda created this mashup lol

So here's a teeny SOT drabble of Kenny getting what he deserves teehee I'm trying to work on my drabbles more and not have quite so many details in my writing without taking away from the atmosphere of the story if that makes ANY sense

also i finished this at 3 am if its crap spare me plz

Revenge On Princess Kenny! (Lee Princess Kenny/Ler Stan and Kyle)

WARNINGS: Kids swearing, feet tickles (with and without socks), and SPOILERS for the Stick of Truth game

The boys get Kenny back after what Kenny subjected them to at their final showdown!

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"MMPH!! Guhuhuymph! Wehehem cahahaham tahahahamlk ahahahaboumt thihihihimph!!" Princess Kenny's eyes screwed shut as she kicked her ankles in protest of what was currently being done to her. Elbows secured her ankles in place as fingers scribbled up her feet in an experienced way.

"No way dude, you totally traitored us. Just because you have a kickass backstory doesn't mean you can backstab your friends." Kyle angrily commented, and dug his fingers in Princess Kenny's toe spaces. Princess Kenny squealed as the sensation zipped up her thigh like a jolt of electricity.

"Yehehehemph ihihihihihimph dohohohomph!! Thahahamph mahahamph imph cohohohool!!" Princess Kenny giggled behind her hood as her legs tried to pull back from the tickles skittering up and down her feet. Stan and Kyle had her ankles in a tight headlock as her upper body was free to move. She couldn't do much to free herself with all her wriggling, however.

"Princess Kenny if you wanted to have a dark and angsty backstory you can hang out with the goth kids. You're either a cute pretty princess from Japan who controls unicorns, or you're a half-orc half-human who watched her people get wiped out before her very eyes. You can't have it both ways, God." Cartman, who was spectating from the couch, butted in. He was watching the scene with the New Kid sitting next to him; the New Kid watching with that usual blank stare.

"B-Buhuhumph I ahahahamph bohohohomph! Tehehe-hmhmhmph!" Princess Kenny was suddenly overwhelmed with giggles as Stan formed his hand into a big five-fingered claw and shook all five fingers in Kenny's foot at once.

"Yeah Kenny, just 'cause you have a dark backstory doesn't mean you can be an asshole and steal the stick for total power. Like, what kind of a dick move is that. You saw how literally NO ONE else moved for the stick when it was offered to them except for you, right?" Stan added while keeping up his claw technique. Kyle had Kenny's foot lodged in the crook of his elbow and his chest, making it easy for him to scribble his fingers back and forth to wherever he wanted to target.

"Ihihihihimph wahahahamph juhuhuhumph plahahahayimph myhyhyhy chahahaharachtermph! MhmhmHMHMHMPH!! MMM!!" Princess Kenny's dress ruffled as her struggling grew more erratic. Stan found a choice spot in the middle of the ball of her foot. He scritched a blunt nail down the line of it and tightened his grip on her ankle. Thankfully she was wearing shorts underneath that dress.

"Oh I see, so you're saying if you were to be offered the Stick of Truth again and kill all your friends in the pursuit of dominant universal power, you would do it again?" Kyle questioned, and started slipping off Kenny's white sock in preparation for his potential answer. Stan and Kyle halted their tickling for just a moment, and looked back at Princess Kenny for her response.

Princess Kenny had a hand over her beating chest as she caught her breath. She adjusted her golden wig and crown as she thought of her honest answer. Her bare toes flexed as Stan also stripped her of her sock. Would she be honest and tell the truth, or try and save her skin?

Cartman loudly slurped on a juice box in the background, filling the would-be tense moment with sucking noises.

"Mmm, yemph. Imph parmt omph my bamchphory thamph I plot againmph orcs amph humamphs, so I woulmph tamph themph stimph againmph for powermph amph fame. Amph boobiemphs." Princess Kenny muffled behind her hood. She seemed confident in her answer. She even crossed her arms over her chest.

Stan and Kyle exchanged glances with each other, their eyes lidded with knowing looks. One look at Stan's face adorned with his steel helmet and one look at Kyle's face donned with his thorn crown, and they immediately launched their fingers back into Princess Kenny's bare feet with renewed energy.

"N-MHMHMHMMHM!! MMM! MHMHMHMPH! GUHMHMHMPHS!!" Princess Kenny squealed and bucked as she kicked her feet back and forth to try and dislodge her attackers. Kyle and Stan kept tight holds on her ankles as they curled their sides into her and shook their fingers into her skin.

"Don't you remember how you traumatized King Douchebag, Princess Kenny? You, the fairest maiden of all the land, inflicting the most damage upon our most sacred warrior? Have you no shame? And you dare say you would do it all over again for fame, power, and... boobies? Well, to be fair, that does sound pretty sweet. But still, not cool dude!" Cartman scolded. The New Kid silently watched as Princess Kenny twisted all over the carpet as her friends scribbled their fingers into her defenseless feet.

"LOOK PRINCESS KENNY! LOOK HOW TRAUMATIZED HE IS! HE WILL NEVER FORGET FIGHTING NAZI ZOMBIE UNICORNS AND SWALLOWING YOUR PRINCESS NAZI ZOMBIE BARF!! HE'S JUST A BOY FOR GOD'S SAKE!!" Cartman reached over and squished the New Kid's face with both hands to accentuate his innocence. The New Kid sat there plainly without saying a word as his cheeks were squished.

Stan looked over to Cartman and saw him with his hands on the New Kid. "Cartman leave the New Kid alone. He's not traumatized, Jesus." Kyle shook his head at the scene and put his fingers between Kenny's toes to tickle between all his spaces. That got a big reaction from him.

"Jesus wasn't even a part of the battle because of how gritty it was! The action! The suspense! You'll never be completely over it, will you, New Kid?" The New Kid opened his mouth to speak, but Cartman put a finger over his mouth.

"Spare me your sugar-coated lies, my lamb! Do not cover for the Princess! She's aware of her actions and she said she would inflict them upon you once more for materialistic treasures! Have you no heart, Fair Maiden? Have you no heart..." Cartman covered his heart with his hand as he was now standing on the couch in his drama.

Stan and Kyle slowly stopped tickling Kenny and let him go eventually as they watched where Cartman was going with this. The New Kid craned his neck up to watch as well as Princess Kenny smoothed out her dress and retrieved her discarded socks.

"What are you going on about, fatass?" Kyle asked aloud. Cartman's eyes opened as if he just became aware of where he was. He dropped from the couch and picked up his juice box to slurp obnoxiously from it again.

"Oh, I dunno. I just got super bored and made up a gay poem out of nowhere. Anyway, you guys wanna see Asses of Fire 2? They just released it in the theatre." Cartman announced and threw his juice box behind him when he was finished.

"Oh pfft, like you have to ask? The hell are we doing here then? Come on, let's go see!" Kyle exclaimed. The four guys, New Guy included, started for the door. Kenny trailed behind them and threw her hands up.

"Omph, whamph themph fumph? Guymph, I don'mph hamph money to see imph!" Princess Kenny shouted behind her hood. The guys looked at each other while New Kid stayed silent.

"Uh, anyone paying for Kenny's ticket?" Stan asked.

"Uh no."

"Fuck no."

"Yeah me neither."

"...."

A moment of silence passed as Princess Kenny crossed her arms angrily. They all shrugged as they started for the door again.

"Sorry about that dude! Maybe don't traitor your friends if you're not even gonna be successful with the stick next time." Kyle shrugged as they all shut the door in Kenny's face.

"Fumph youmph guymphs, serioumphly."

#south park #south park tickles #lee princess kenny #princess kenny #kenny mccormick #lee kenny #stan marsh #ler stan #kyle brovlofski #ler kyle #eric cartman #new kid #stick of truth #stick of truth tickles

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mikalara-dracula · 2 years

Text

💙 Ruki's turn-ons & turn-offs—

Warning: 18+ content below; don't read if you're a minor and aren't comfortable with slight NSFW. This is a fictional work and should not be taken seriously.

Caution: Unfortunately, Tumblr has a history of admins quarreling over completing carbon copy asks due to users sending the same request(s) to multiple admins, thus, resulting in unintentional plagiarism. With this, please DO NOT send the same request to multiple blogs as it can cause unintended plagiarism discord to other blogs across Tumblr. The word “plagiarism” stems from the early 17th-century Latin word, “plagiarius,” meaning “kidnapper.” So please, do not send in the same request to multiple blogs and make admins appear to be “kidnapping” other people’s work when it isn’t their intention. If this is to occur with any of my posts, please contact me so we can work something out.

These are his general turn ons/offs.

Bear in mind that even if his partner doesn’t have the traits listed, he’ll love them for what they have. These are just his preferences and not something he’s totally set on because even turn-offs can evolve to turn-ons (and vice versa too).

Plus, it’s also important to remember he’s the vampire version of Christian Grey xDD.

Turn-ons:

Curly hair—like this a total turn-on for him, mostly because he likes to feel the softness and twist of them when he’s getting intimate with someone.

The way ankles look in heels. There’s something that he finds so sexy about this, especially if his lover is wearing a short dress with stilettos of some sort.

He also likes the way a girl’s calves look when she’s wearing heels, especially from the back since he can imagine himself caressing them.

If both him and a potential lover are exchanging glances from across the room and looking away whenever they look in each other’s direction. This is a big turn-on for him because he likes the mystery, let alone the chase if he follows her and she continues to avoid him.

And if it’s a masquerade ball, this only riles him up more, mostly because she’s behind a mask and is giving him those tempting glances.

Intelligence—this is a big one for him. He likes a partner who’s clever and goes above and beyond everyone else. Plus, Ruki’s an academic, so being able to share his theories with a partner is quite important to him.

A girl’s wrists and the way they look when she’s delicately grabbing something—he just finds the elegance of it to be so satisfying.

Likes to provoke arguments with a girl he finds attractive or with his s/o (if he has one) and hopes that it leads to angry sex.

He likes twirling a lock of his s/o’s hair during aftercare while he talks to them.

Collarbones—they get this boi pretty worked up, mostly because it’s one of his favorite places to bite.

Likes it if his s/o tries to cover up the hickies he gave them, he’s just so amused by it.

His s/o’s back—it's a big thing and loves tracing his fingers down it until he reaches the tailbone, being shameless enough to even clutch his s/o’s ass if he wants to get a reaction out of them.

Hips—it’s one of his favorite body parts, mostly because he loves the fact that he can latch onto them when he’s pounding into his s/o.

And if his s/o surprises him by wearing underwear and heels, you can best bet the night’s going to be wild.

He also finds it to be a turn-on if his s/o doesn’t admit things easily. It amuses him and he won’t stop until he gets an answer, and definitely loves to tease regarding this factor.

Oh, and if his s/o has a smart mouth, he’s definitely turned on. Like, he thrives on this.

Turn-offs:

He’s can’t stand incompetence. He’s a perfectionist (well, maybe a little less than Reiji) so he expects things to be done properly (of course in the person’s control).

Lying—oh my, he honestly can’t stand this and will go to great depths to figure out the truth if he suspects/knows his partner is lying to him.

Doesn't like someone who talks a lot or that doesn't dress to his standards.

Giving up easily—he really can’t stand it. He’s pretty ambitious when he’s after something and will stop at nothing to achieve it.

Hates it when stuff falls behind schedule. It just stresses him out.

If his s/o is too fixated with their looks, he’s just annoyed. He likes them for who they are and doesn’t want them to change.

Is not a fan of female dominance in a relationship.

I mean, we all know how he is when it comes to topping.

If someone gossips, he just can’t stand it. He’s called Kou out for it so many times—he deems it as a childish thing to do.

Curiosity—he hates it when people get nosy.

Not a fan of when girls cry. And it’s not because he has a weakness for this, he just finds it foolish since crying doesn’t change the situation.

He also thinks it's a way to grab attention, which he also hates.

#diabolik lovers #diabolik lovers headcanons #ruki mukami #mukami ruki #diabolik lovers ruki #anime #anime requests #anime headcanons #diaboys #dialovers #diahell #diabolik brothers

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thessalian · 1 year

Note

Please say more things about the dragon design if you have thoughts because I have been WAITING for someone else to geek out over them with

Please remember that you asked for this. And there will probably be more later - for space reasons, if nothing else. Please keep in mind that I was the one who spent most of the Game of Thrones series ranting that Daenerys was the mother of wyverns rather than the mother of dragons because two legs plus wings is WYVERN, godsdamnit. Let’s just say I have a Biology A-level and a healthy interest in cryptozoology.

Okay. So. Body habitus, colouration, horn shape / placement, wing shape etc on the Chroma Conclave, and why it all works, in my opinion,

Vorgual - did you notice that the tips of his wings were more sharply pointed than the others' wings? I looked up arctic birds, just out of curiosity, and a lot of arctic birds have similarly sharp angles to their wings. It honestly makes sense when you're living in someplace with occasionally very sharp and harsh winds; you want enough wingspan not only to catch the wind when you want it, but to not have to tilt the wing too far in order to avoid windshear dragging at your speed or worse, damaging your feathers (or wing membranes, in this case). Not to mention that more points of attachment to the body means there's less effort expended to keep the wings close to the body in windy conditions. I bet Vorugal could do one hell of a death-from-above swallow-dive, and the expanded length of wings means that he could make like someone wearing a wingsuit - shut the wings entirely and do a controlled plummet, then open everything up and slow or stop the fall exactly where he wants. The other reason it’s good to have a wingsuit-like wing build in the kinds of arctic climes a white dragon would generally pick is because their lairs are generally going to be in caves carved in icy cliffside. You’re going to want something that lets you glide as much as possible in an ice canyon, to take advantage of the updrafts that ensue in that kind of terrain and to fold in close to the body while going through a particularly narrow area, counting on momentum to get you through it with as little potential tearing of the wing membrane as possible. In fact, Vorugal’s wings were the most intact of the bunch - no edge-tears, no little holes, nothing. There were marks on the wings that looked like holes, but no; in fact, they were less light-permeable than the wing membranes themselves. Given the care they took with the designs, I don’t think they’d make a mistake like that, so those dark patches would be part of camouflage markings. Because according to the Monster Manual, ancient whites latch onto walls and ceilings (also like a bat, which makes the wing shape make even more sense), so blunt horns that look like craggy bits of ice and wings that give the appearance of rocks scattered on a whitish surface (suggesting ice or snow) makes even more sense. Imagine Vorugal wrapped up in his wings like a bat, clinging to the ceiling of his lair. He’d look like a very large icicle in anything but very direct light - which you’re not going to get when lair actions include dense fog. So Vorugal’s design is basically perfect.

Raishan - snake parallels aside, consider the membranous crests that aren’t just at the head and down the neck, but also along the tail near where it meets the body. Greens traditionally hide their lairs in vegetation, or in or around water - behind waterfalls, caverns you can only get to by diving in a stream, something like that. That makes the additional cresting on Raishan’s body serve as either additional camouflage (with the right vegetation, green semi-opaque membranous tissue looks like just more leaf) or an aid to swimming (like fins). She clearly has control over their movement, so either works. It’s a far cry from the Monster Manual talking about that single crest on the neck up to the head, but it works a lot better because it’s got some evolutionary benefits. Honestly, so does the narrower body; after all, if you live in an area with a lot of trees, having a narrower body makes it easier to move around in. I mean, consider Umbrasyl (who I’ll talk about in a minute); similar narrow build, and greens and blacks often compete for territory in marshy woodland areas. As for the head shape ... everything from eye position to the rounded snout says ‘pit viper’, which immediately makes a person think ‘poison’. Which is what you want to be thinking when looking at a green dragon. (Well, that and ‘RUN’.)

Umbrasyl - like I said, talking about him in a minute, and he’s also perfectly designed for the swamplands he would generally call home. The crest of spikes on his head that looks like it’s got thick cobweb or vegetative growth stretched between each spike, the various hooked spines along his body from nose to tail that could look like half-rotted limbs and branches, the extra bits of spine at the junction between tail and body up at the top that looks like it could theoretically open into some kind of fin ... Umbrasyl’s entire body was clearly designed to blend into a swamp setting. Also, unless I’m mistaken, the spots where wings meet body are narrower than the others; it looks like there’s more room for movement in the front legs without wings being in the way, which would make sense given that blacks get more use out of a dragon’s amphibious nature than any other colour. The wings would be too big to really help in a swimming situation that involved the equivalent of a bayou or billabong, but imagine Umbrasyl swimming like a crocodile - wings close to his body so that only the hooked bits at various wing joints and tips show, that spiked tail and body making him look like a few water-swollen fallen trees ... the fact that their regional effects include making the plantlife in the area particularly thick and twisty, which would block more light and make him fit in better with the local vegetation really works. Also, just from the standpoint of aesthetics, his acid gland is very prominently on his short-by-comparison-to-others neck in a way that suggests a bullfrog puffing its chest out, thus drawing us back to the swamp comparison.

Thordak - Thordak’s our grey area, but honestly, when you’ve got a heart crystal jammed into you, all bets are off, probably. His wings and body habitus are closer to the ‘average’ dragon than the others, but then again, when you’re bright red and live in volcanos for preference, you’re probably not going to bother with camouflage that much. Still, it’s obvious that Thordak isn’t what the design team would have designed for the ‘average’ dragon. Some parts are - the bits that didn’t need to change, like wide broad wings designed to catch thermal updrafts, a certain amount of ‘heat vent’ (which we know is the average because Vorugal has a similar ‘power vent’ for his ice breath and he doesn’t have a heart crystal stuck in him), and a tail that’s weighted like a mace. However, I think the most telling thing about Thordak, apart from the horns that do look like a crown or a ceremonial headdress of some kind, is the range of movement in his limbs. Specifically - to date, he’s the only one of the Chroma Conclave that’s gone bipedal without shapeshifting into something naturally bipedal. He’s got one forelimb braced on a section of slightly crumbly wall, but if he put his full weight on that, it’d just collapse. That and the position of the other limbs leads me to believe that it’s something he could do. Not for long, and not without the help of the horns and tail and wings all acting as counterbalance for each other, but he doesn’t just rear up on hind legs - his shoulders (for lack of a better term) go back, and while the hip alignment wouldn’t do well with walking any distance that way, it allows him to stand almost unaided. That’s a power play, and the exact kind of power play a red would make. So I’m not sure whether that’s something red dragons as designed by this animation team can all do or if it’s something the heart crystal gave Thordak (because that requires some serious skeletal realignment, honestly, or being double-jointed to ludicrous degrees), but either way, it shows the kind of individual Thordak is - he is going to lord it over everyone, even (hell, especially) his ‘fellows’ in the Conclave.

Summary: the design team thought hard about this. And they did magnificent work.

Yeah, there will probably be more, but you wanted thoughts on the dragon design and so now you have them. Thank you for encouraging me; I have the imposter syndrome where I worry everyone wants me to shut up, and I just love poking the Jenga Tower of Logic about stuff like this.

#tlovm season 2 #tlovm s2 #tlovm spoilers

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dustard0315 · 1 year

Text

Who judges the judge?

Dusttale is a harsh AU for sans.

Murder!Sans, he is both a judge and a sinner,

committing countless sins with the sole intention of stopping humans.

Deep down in his soul, he longs for someone else to judge him, but they don't exist in his basement.

Who can he entrust that disposition to? The only judge in his basement is himself, and he just keeps piling sins on his shoulders.

And so, as time rewinds for what must have been the hundredth time, boredly repeating the same thing,

an anomaly occurs in his basement: a passageway opens before his eyes, leading to who knows where.

Murder!Sans takes a step, out of curiosity and whim.

His basement senses coordinates that don't exist, that shouldn't exist.

Underfell.

It's a world where the entire underground has lost its light due to the despair of the king, Asgore. But at the same time, it's a world that's fixed on a "happy ending".

There are betrayals, confrontations, and conflicts along the way, but in the end, there is a fixed ending where everyone lived happily ever after. Unlike Murder!Sans, this AU has a judge who doesn't have to worry about being driven insane by humans over time.

The Judge here, Fell!sans, also feels the anomaly and heads to the place.

On top of having a disgustingly high LV, there's a skeleton standing there,

covered in dust. It's him. Murder!Sans

It's a welcome encounter for Murder!sans, who should have been left to his own devices underground, but unfortunately - and understandably - the meeting of the two judges doesn't go smoothly, as Fell!sans isn't about to let a danger from another timeline sneak in unannounced.

A brief conversation of checks and balances begins. It turns into a battle of bones, with Fell!sans leading the way.

Whether you're trying to intimidate them and chase them away, or you're trying to kill them and get rid of any potential danger.

Murder!sans is momentarily mesmerized by the referee's attack. This is because he has hoped that there will be a judge for the judge, a judge who will judge him. However, I have no intention of collapsing yet.

Bones clash, Gaster Blaster blast light, and magic collides with magic.

Shortcut attacks and dodges ensue, and the crowd gathers around the commotion.

Just as the overwhelming LV difference is tipping the scales in Murder!Sans' favor, a few of Fell!sans' hastily fired bone lose control and fly into onlookers.

Instead of dealing with the attacks flying at him, Murder!Sans uses his body to block the attacks directed at the stranger.

At this incomprehensible behavior, Fell!sans stops his attack and demands an explanation, but instead of giving him one, the injured Murder!Sans walks away from the Underfell. Fell!sans watches where he left with confused eyes.

Then some time goes by.

UF!sans will step into Dusttale this time. The reason is, I don't know. Is it out of curiosity? Is it a spirit of challenge? I don't think he knew either. You can't find a living person in a ruined underground.

Everywhere is dusty and full of signs of battle. As he wanders through these basements, he opens the door to Grillby's. There's the skeleton he's been looking for.

Wearing the same bloodied coat as when they parted ways, Murder!sans has apparently not tended to his wounds. Fell!sans, who owes him a favor, tries to heal him but is rebuffed. Fell!sans is forced to heal him, though, because a reset will make everything go back to normal.

Then, with one of my eyes burning, I ask him: What are you doing here?

As if in confession, Murder!Sans tells him everything that has happened here and the sins he has committed.

But the judgment he was expecting doesn't come.

Instead, they become friends.

A lot has happened since then. Murder!Sans asks Fell!sans to kill him as a judge in case he goes completely insane. Fell!sans initially rejects the offer, but eventually accepts.

Then, the time comes.

After many rounds, Murder!Sans' sanity begins to fail him, and he is overtaken by madness.

Fell!sans judges him, which results in a fatal error in Dusttale that causes the timeline to collapse. No longer a part of Dusttale as he should be, Fell!sans is banished to the Underfell, where we hope his friend is laid to a long-delayed rest. And so the curtain falls on a friendship.....

Humans reset the game again. Let's get back to the fun game.

The curtain won't come down.

The repaired timeline is changed back to Dusttail by humans, and the same encounter is repeated.

Even though the returned murder!sans forgot everything, UF!Sans didn't forget about him, so his bad relationship will continue. Until Murder!sans is truly given eternal rest.

#Dustard #Dustard STORY

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declinlalune · 11 months

Text

Jirt and Tie || Andy & Ryan (Ray)

TIMING: current. PARTIES: @spaceforanother & @declinlalune SUMMARY: andy runs into ryan again while thrifting after he saw her stealing the last time. CONTENT WARNINGS: Brief mentions of memory loss.

Andy heard the bell above the door ring and turned around to see Ryan as he walked in in the sweater she had helped him pick out the last time they’d run into one another, which, coincidentally, had been at this very spot. “That thing makes you look a little aged, I warned you.” She let out a laugh before moving down the row of hangers, moving aside a rough looking jacket that could not be saved. She had already found a few things for herself and Alex, and was beginning to look for Kaden, just as a means to let him know that she was grateful he was around. With her basket of findings hanging over her arm, she sighed as she moved away from the lost causes.

The last time she and Ryan had run into each other, he had seen her slipping something into her bag. Instead of saying anything, he turned a blind eye and had asked about the sweater he was currently wearing. Andy picked out another jacket that looked a little too small for Kaden and held it up to Ryan with a tilt of her head. “This is more in line with the trends, I think. That still matters, right?” Not that she would know– she never had much of a life that existed within said trends.

Ryan had certainly gotten better at taking over Rays body since the first time. And the first time had been months ago, back when he’d first bumped into Andy actually. She’d let all his odd mannerisms pass her by as he fought to keep control. Or perhaps she was being kind because he’d not said a single word about her pinching something off the racks. Who was he to judge, he was stealing someone else's life at the moment after all. He’d even given her his real name, a mistake he hadn’t made since then, but it made him feel so normal to see her. So he’d come back thrifting often, getting into the habit not only to potentially run into a prospective friend but also to indulge in the more outdated clothes places like these held…clothes that reminded him of his own style before he’d died.

“Can’t hurt to look a little older right? More respect from the oldies on the street this way.” Ryan shot back with a cheeky grin. He held out both arms when the jacket was lifted to Rays form, letting her size him up. “I’d say it depends on your aims, are you trying to be trendy or do you prefer comfy? Or maybe you even want to look at little aged.” he teased her slightly. “What are you looking for today anyway? Anything specific?” Looking back to the racks he started to shuffle the fabric around.

“I mean, I guess?” Andy arched a brow at Ryan’s comment, not truly understanding him, but deciding not to fight him on whatever respect he wanted to delve out in the form of a sweater that looked like it’d been from a vintage magazine. “Is that the grandpa sweater thing? I think I saw that on tik tok, teens just going thrifting for the sake of finding old people’s sweaters they either donated or were forced to donate, if you know what I mean.” The whole concept was kind of sad.

“But obviously comfort is key, anything else, and what the hell is the point?” Even if Andy had lived a different life— one with normalcy like a regular education, a high school education, she would have preferred comfort to style any day. It showed in the dungarees she wore and the way her converse were worn in. “Eh, nothing really, not for myself. For my sister.” She pulled a t-shirt off of the rack and quirked her lips to the side after noticing the bleach stain. “I could probably tie-dye this or something.” She’d done that a lot, in the past— to make it seem like she and Alex had new clothes. A new appearance could do wonders for the grueling day-to-day they once lived. “What about you? Out here for more grandpa sweaters?”

“They’re doing that? That’s a bit offensive…I’m not a grandpa and I like this sweater.” Ryan pouted a little. But if he really thought about it, at least a familiar style was coming back into style, it’d be easier to act more of this time if he spent some of Rays money on anything. Casting an eye around he wondered if any of his old stuff would surface in a thrift like this. Maybe his parents had donated all of his things, maybe his roommate back in college had stolen a few things that didn’t fit anymore. He hadn’t really thought about it too much.

“What sort of thing does your sister like? Is she all for comfort over style as well?” Ryan let Rays face bloom into a smile. “Now tie-dye is something I can get behind.” he complemented. “Oh nothing specific, but also something very specific…you know…the usual thrifting situation.” he joked shuffling through the racks idly, just happy to be chatting. “Maybe I can help you look for something…or cause a distraction?” he said, amusing himself quietly and flashing a smile to Andy to show he meant no harm.

The way that Ryan seemingly fell into thought wasn’t lost on Andy. She watched him for a moment, but decided that asking him why it seemed like he’d seen a ghost was pushing too far past any kind of private barrier that’d been set up. She knew she had her own, and the wall grew larger with every day. Who was she to ask her new thrifting-friend what was going on in his head? “Being a grandpa is in though, remember?” She grinned at him before pushing the t-shirt back onto the rack, deciding that the beach stain was in too weird of a position for it to be redeemed by a tie-dye job.

“She wears a lot of… t-shirts.” That didn’t really help at all, but did it matter? Before they’d gotten to Wicked’s Rest– before Andy had gotten a proper job, they simply got what they could afford. Now that they both had a means of income, even if it were on the smaller side, they were better able to express themselves in their style. “Think of a hiker, then think of somebody who plays soccer?” She let out a laugh before moving onto the next t-shirt. At Ryan’s question, Andy rolled her eyes. “Yeah, ha-ha, funny. I’d do that even without your distraction, thanks!” She leaned against the rack and stared across to the other side of the aisle where a pair of denim cargo shorts stood out to her. “Had no clue they made those in denim.”

She brought Ryan out of his thoughts with her comment and he felt a small tremor shake Rays body as if he’d lost a bit of his control being so lost in thought. Wiggling his fingers as discreetly as he could he pulled another sweater off the rack and shook it at her in mock outrage. “Damn right it’s back in. It should have never left. It’s the perfect style if I do say so myself.” Shaking off his melancholy thoughts he dove back into the task at hand.

Ryan glances at Andy with a slight raise of Ray's eyebrows at her less than descriptive answer. Even as she expands he doesn’t quite know what to do with that sort of information. “They don’t really go together in my head I’ll be honest. But I can try my best to match the idea.” he chuckles, starting to search for some sort of jersey, or maybe a t-shirt with a funny caption on the front. That was hiking attire as far as he was concerned. “Ah but think about how much more you could get with a little more time and effort.” he waggled Ray's eyebrows another time for good measure before following her gaze towards the denim. “Everything should be denim, all things deserve a denim twin. Full denim is what you should get your sister. That’s proper hiking clothes, durable and versatile. Would she suit it?...who am I kidding, anyone would suit denim on denim.” he walked around the racks and found a denim jacket to vaguely match the shorts.

“No, they go together. I think you just need to see her, or it, in action.” Andy had figured out her sister’s style and that it wasn’t too far from her own. While Andy wore a lot more overalls than Alex did, they had been able to exchange shirts back and forth for the most part since the height difference didn’t matter quite as much. At the mention of denim on denim, Andy shook her head with a laugh. “Hell no. Do you know how much denim makes you sweat? Please don’t tell me you’re hiking in denim.” She scrunched her nose and pulled at the nylon t-shirt. “This is better than denim.”

Even though he’d clearly been joking, she couldn’t get the idea out of her head. “Hey, don’t they call that something? Canadian tuxedos, or something?” She swore she had heard the saying before. When, she wasn’t sure– possibly on the television in a motel room or something. Who the hell knew. Andy put the shirt back onto the rack and hummed under her breath. “I don’t know anything about style, really, but I do know that that jean jacket you’ve got in your hands? An eye sore.”

“Whatever you say,” Ryan agreed idly as he’d shifted the racks in order to find what he was looking for. He lowered his prize at her displeased face. Denim on Denim wasn’t coming back? But sweaters were? God what were kids his age in this decade even doing. He didn’t think the kids at the college looked too terrible, but they were clearly missing some of the real flare of the last few decades. “I only hike in denim.” he pouted at her rebelliously, not telling the truth but not willing to let this issue pass by.

“Do they?” Ryan asked curiously. He’d not heard that, but then again it seemed he’d missed a lot in the darkness before he’d found Ray to possess. He recoiled dramatically and clutched the jacket to Ray’s chest. “No way. A masterpiece, I’m going to wear this every day from now on and you can’t stop me.” he jutted out Ray’s chin and took the coat off the hanger. He looked at it for only half a second to register that it was indeed a womens small before he put a great deal of effort putting arms into the sleeves and trying his very best to get it over broader shoulders than he was used to on his old body.

“You sound like my little sister.” Really, he seemed her age, too, which meant that in theory, he should be able to help her with the current trends, but with his grandpa sweater on, Andy wasn’t all too sure he knew them much himself. “You only hike in denim?” She arched a brow and shook her head with a laugh. “Sure, and I’m sure you wear clogs while doing it, right?” Wearing denim while hiking wasn’t entirely unheard of, but it sounded uncomfortable. She only wore it when she knew she wouldn’t be outside a lot of the time, and out of anything, flour had an easier time coming out of her jeans than it did anything else.

“They do. Is that not a thing anymore?” Andy questioned reality for a moment, thinking back to the show she’d seen it on, but she couldn’t recall the exact timing of it, or decade it had taken place in. “Maybe you can bleach it, make it look a little bit acid wash, really fall into the vibe you’re obviously trying to set for yourself.” She watched him as he started to put the jacket on, and it was then that she noticed it was going to be way too small for him. Andy snorted before stuffing a t-shirt that looked okay enough for Kaden into the basket. “You know, I don’t think that being able to make things larger in the washer machine works, just the shrinking thing.” Which she’d done a lot of, if she were being honest.

“Of course I wear denim, it’s all about the warmth and durability of your clothing on the open trail.” Ryan insists. He’s definitely joking, Ray doesn’t own a denim jacket, and he wasn’t quite ready to start financially running the kid just yet. At least not on something like that. He was fine with hoodies for the moment. “Clogs? We all have our limits. Clogs might be mine. Are you saying you have seen someone in clogs recently? Is it your sister? Is that why she won’t wear denim on denim?” He teased making a face at her as if this was the more horrific news he’d heard recently.

Not willing to give up so easily, he tried to turn Ray’s shoulders this way and that in order to squeeze every millimeter of him into the jacket. It was very much not working. But Ryan was having fun trying. “Are you kidding, this is my exact size, I’m but a tiny little guy. The smallest guy around, I’m a small I swear I am.” he insisted. At some point his grip on the fabric slipped and he was unable to reach the ends of the jacket anymore. It was sticking up at the back like some sort of tiny cape in the breeze, except it had also trapped his arms and elbows to his sides. He was pinned. Not willing to admit defeat, he turned around like nothing was wrong and nodded at the t-shirt she’d found. “A good find? Is that your sister's style?”

“I can’t argue against that, considering the amount of times I’ve used jeans as a blanket.” She paused for a second before picking back up, “I sometimes get lazy and forget my comforter in the dryer.” That was a lie, but Ryan didn’t need to know that. Andy squinted at Ryan with a raised brow at the mention of clogs. “You know, I think she might be the kind of person to be into clogs. They might make her taller.” Andy was only about five inches taller than Alex, but she sure held it over her sister’s head. In fact, it was the only thing she held over Alex’s head.

Andy leaned against the clothing rack as she watched Ryan attempt to fit the jacket the rest of the way over his shoulders. It looked like the seams would pop in protest at any moment. “Yeah, you definitely are. Got the t-rex arms going on and everything.” She pointed out the fact that his elbows hadn’t even reached through to where they should have been. It was an occurrence she faced often– getting too toned for some of her favorite jackets. She hoped it never looked this comical. “You should get it, I think you look great in it.” Andy grinned at Ryan before turning her attention back to the t-shirts. “A good find, something that doesn’t have holes in it, and something that will make her feel good, yes. I guess. That pretty much sums it up.” She shot a look at Ryan who was still stuck in the jacket. “I think you ripped it at the back.” It was a lie, but she wanted to cause him even further defeat, just as a means of having fun.

Ryan paused for a second and turned to give Andy his full attention after hearing her words, and then she clarified and he averted Ray’s eyes. Was she a liar? Perhaps. Was HE a liar? Definitely, so who was he to try and pry and judge. They were only acquaintances after all, just friends of the thieving kind. “Aren’t…” he hesitated for another moment wondering if he was going to sound crazy, he really was still only learning the trends these days. “Aren’t crocodiles technically clogs? You know that squishy shoe people like?”

“Yeah if you’re not wearing your jackets with t-rex arms what are you even doing, clearly nothing good. You should really get yourself sorted, you know.” Ryan laughed a little when she played along and agreed. “Maybe I will.” He scanned Ray’s eyes over the racks and nudged a few more shirts up towards where Andy was looking through for her sister. It sounded like she was making a good attempt to cheer her sister up if he had the right end of the stick at least. He was willing to help any way he could, even if it was being an accomplice to more crime. What would he care anyway, if they got caught it’d be Ray going down for it, he was sure the kid could figure that out for them. A small shiver of worry filled his soul as she mentioned ripping the back. Maybe he WOULD be the one taking something today. “You’re kidding right?” he said, trying to look over at the back of the jacket unsuccessfully. He then attempted to remove his arms to get it off…and could’t. He shot her an imploring look. “Help.”

“You can’t wear crocodiles.” It took her a moment to realize that he had meant the shoe, after he clarified. “Oh! Well, maybe?” She knew that crocs were expensive, but maybe she could either find a discounted pair or a knock-off brand and gift them to Alex. Andy knew that they had charms, too. She’d seen a girl with them once and had commented on the rainbow flag. The girl lit up like the fourth of July at being recognized. It made Andy feel good.

Andy rolled her eyes, a small smile curving at the corners of her lips. Ryan reminded her of Alex a little. Nothing in the appearance (clearly), but in their mannerisms. Alex was a little more cold towards people she didn’t know, but that came with the territory of what they’d been through. Andy was far more outgoing, and even it was a stretch to claim that she was at all. “You got me there. Maybe you should get one of those masks, too. Like at a costume shop.” She continued to look through the rack only to admit defeat a couple of seconds later. There was nothing else good that anyone in the house would appreciate. When Ryan asked for help after struggling to look over his own arched shoulder, Andy snorted. “Yeah, yeah.” She set her basket down and helped Ryan out of the jacket. She held it out for him to take after they’d gotten it off his arms.

“You should try to go smaller, I bet those would fit great. Like a kid’s shirt.” Andy picked her basket back up and turned her attention to a different rack– overalls, she could use another pair.

Having decided that perhaps one instance of being trapped for the day was enough Ryan found the empty hanger for the denim jacket again and hung it back amongst the other clothes. “As much as it’s the fashion I don’t think I could spring for a coat like that. Someone will have to bring back denim on denim without me until his next paycheck.” As he said this his phone lit up in his pocket. He pulled it out and cringed visibly, unable to smooth that over if she’d seen he spoke quickly so as to avoid suspicion. That had been Ray’s co-worker at the restaurant texting him to remind him of a swapping of shifts. Not one to completely ruin his host's life Ryan would have to give control of the body back as soon as possible to let the kid earn money. “Ah damn I forgot I had a shift at work.” Ryan explained quickly to Andy. Sliding the phone back into his pocket Ryan flashes her a smile. “Happy hunting? I’ve got to run. See you next time!”

Ryan didn’t wait for much of a response before heading for the door. If anyone watched him closely as he made his way down the street his whole body shuddered through a few steps before he blinked… or rather Ray blinked. He was dazed and confused looking down at the phone in his hands open on a text. Right. Work. Got it.

Andy frowned. “So much for the Canadian tuxedo.” She flicked through a few more items, watching Ryan out of the corner of her eye as he took out his phone. He looked visibly uncomfortable with whatever was reflecting on the screen back at him, but Andy didn’t think anything of it. “Oh–” She turned around to watch Ryan as he ducked out of the shop, not giving her any time to give him a send off. He was a weird kid and kind of funny. For once, she was glad that there was nothing inherently supernatural about him– it was easy to get lost in a conversation without the constant reminder that she was the predator and those around her were unknowingly prey. “See ya.” Andy muttered under her breath as she turned around to continue shopping.

#para: jirt and tie #para: ryan (ray)#memory loss tw #wickedswriting

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dearryker-loves · 2 years

Text

I pledge Allegiance to The New American Dream

T.W : Mentions of sexual abuse, gun violence, lack of bodily autonomy/abortion rights &racism

When you are the sole

Survivor of a train wreck

It is not uncommon to feel

The immense guilt of

Being spared.

Always

Wondering why it was

You,

And not anyone else.

With each passing second

Wishing there was someway.

Anyway.

To bring the other’s back.

As you sit back

And watch the devastating impacts.

Is that what this feeling is?

Because

I have been watching

This train

Slowly crash

Since I stood

Three feet and nine inches tall.

Not a care in the world.

Young, wild and free.

I held his hand.

And I have never been able

To understand

If it was my fault...

Or his.

The train.

Screeching. Grinding metal. Deafening.

We went from

Holding hands,

To his lap,

To his bed.

To my body.

Before I learned how to properly communicate,

I learned that I was not safe,

When a man from the house next door

Grabbed my waist

And told me wanted to

“F**k” me.

As he proceeded

To take my clothes off.

Feasting eyes.

Wandering hands.

Lustful sweat dripping down

His forehead.

I’ll never forget the

First time

I saw true rage

In my mother’s eyes.

When she learned that

Her now twenty three year old

Knew what the word

F**k meant

At just five years old.

And then she learned

Where I first heard it.

I was never allowed

To wear shorts back then.

Only dresses and skirts.

Maybe that man next door simply

Thought

I WAS JUST ASKING FOR IT.

Now I only wear

Jean shorts and cargo pants

And I always wear a

Belt to make it harder

For them to be so easily

Stripped away from my body.

Never again.

Once I first said

What had happened

Out loud

I started taking classes

To learn

How to protect Myself.

This train was well on it’s way to ruin.

Tiny hazel eyes...

Watching

Death Live.

My parents kept

Crying and hugging

Me that day.

Apologizing profusely

For having never known

And for failing to keep me safe

From only 300 feet away.

I met death face to face

Before I knew it’s name.

At age twelve

I finally learned

To close my eyes

Pitching them

Shut

As this train started

Striking. Shaking. Breaking.

Breath taking.

You can’t think

About it really

Or it will tear you to shreds.

Each time

They talk about more

People dead and

Their bodily autonomy

Stolen

From men who use their power to

Use and Abuse.

They come into

Our villages,

Our towns,

Our cities,

Our neighborhoods,

Our streets,

Our homes,

Our lives.

Until they are close enough

To think they can

Penetrate our sacred bodies

And

Shoot down our life’s

Greatest potential.

All without any accountability or repercussions.

Coming to America

I pledged allegiance to a flag

Knowing full well

That politicians

Will choose to protect

The second amendment

Before they choose to

Protect little

Smiley faced innocent kids

Like me.

The train derailing.

I can’t even open

Any of my social media

Without crying .

I stopped trying.

What’s the use

Fighting?

Why didn’t someone...

Anyone...

Stop Him?

He just kept lying.

Means

But maybe he hadn’t

Learned what it meant

Before he learned

He could lure the cute

Blonde haired kid

Into his retched compound.

And now I say

One Nation Under God

Damn.

They really do take that part seriously

And Not

For manifest destiny.

As much as controlling

Women,

LGBTQ+ people,

And Children’s

Autonomy.

Corpses

Have more control

Over their Bodies

Than me.

Why am I crying?

I got to move to the

Greatest Nation In The World.

A Global Superpower.

A f*cking Freedom machine.

Fighting more wars against

More enemies

With more military funding.

Indivisible.

Immigrants still chasing that

“American Dream”

And apparently

We don’t have

The heart to tell them

That it is not what it seems..

They will

Never

Give you a seat at their table.

Afraid your

Beautiful Brown and Black skin

Will stain their

Preciously pressed

White napkins.

They’ll kill you first

And be able to

Get away with it since

Your menacing melanin

Made you look dangerous

To them.

The train tipping and flipping

I feel sick again

Suddenly

I realize

That my life will be held captive

No matter where I go.

As I struggle with $1000′s worth of

Monthly medicine.

Nobody told me that getting sick

Is only for the rich.

I see my friends rationing insulin

But I earn less than them

And somehow that makes me lucky

Because

I don’t have enough money

At my job

Because the time I

“Take off”

For my mental health, sick day’s or for doctor’s appointments

Makes me just poor enough

That this country’s flimsy

State healthcare programs

Do cover some stuff.

WITH LIBERITY AND JUSTICE FOR ALL

That train crashes.

I imagine myself

Standing in an airport

With a visa in my hand.

Sights set on a

New land

Pursuing a

Safer and higher education,

An owned home,

And a partner who adores me,

An amazing family.

And as though that

Didn’t already make me the most luckiest

Person in the world...

I would get back the rights

To my own body.

Not afraid that one more

Hospital visit will put me on

The streets permanently

And WHEN

And IF

I decide to carry a baby...

If that’s right

For me...

I can send them off

On their first day of school

With a kiss and a

“Have a good day!” wish

Knowing they’re

Safe enough

In that space to learn

Without

Their

Bulletproof vest,

And I’ll teach them respect

BEFORE ANY GOD DAMN PLEDGE !

The guilt washes over me...

I feel them on my shoulders...

All the other kids that were there

In that dreaded compound...

All the other Americans...

Still trapped within the borders.

As I travel across the sea

To another new land

Because I decided it was about damn time

That I stop purely imagining things

And actually

Start chasing a

Better Life,

Like my ancestors before me.

This Is

The New

American Dream.

#childsexualabusesurvivor #abortion #prochoice #gun violence #keep your laws off my body #us healthcare system #immigration #americanracism #immigrants #mentalhealthinamerica #gettingsickinamerica #women in america #lgbtq plus people in america #children in america #people of color in america #what the fuck is happening #roe v wade #rapidlyspiralingoutofcontrol #2022

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invisibleanonymousmonsters · 3 years

Text

This Game of Yours

Father of Mine – Part 1 and Part 2

Jason was beautiful.

And somehow that scar that went from the right corner of his mouth up to his temple only made him that much more beautiful to Y/N.

Those blue eyes were the same color of water on a stormy day in the Irish sea. And somehow Y/N knew they held the same tempestuousness.

The white streak weaved with his jet black hair so naturally that Y/N would’ve believed he was born with it.

His shoulders were so broad, making his 6’3 height feel even more imposing. He had a presence. People noticed every time he walked into a room. It made Y/N wonder how he was ever able to sneak up on people as Red Hood.

He was wearing a black hoodie underneath his black moto jacket.

Y/N knew Jason didn’t give a shit about fashion. Yet he was well-dressed without any effort – more so than most of the models Y/N had shot throughout her career.

Not being able to control herself any longer, Y/N raised her camera and took a photo.

Jason stopped surveying their surroundings and his gaze snapped to her.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

But his growl didn’t scare her in the slightest.

“Anyone who’s by me when I have a camera is at risk of getting their picture taken. No one is safe. Not even you,” she answered his question unapologetically.

Y/N was working on a personal passion project for her next show. Her collection would be about the poverty and crime of Gotham. Half of the photos would show the heaviest crime areas of the city. And the other half would expose the lifestyles of the wealthiest people in Gotham.

Why did so many suffer from the same system that helped the rich get even richer?

When Bruce found out Y/N was going to Crime Alley and the Bowery by herself, he was visibly upset.

But he realized that Y/N would do as she pleased, so his plan b was to give her protective detail.

However, Y/N didn’t know that Jason had volunteered, almost immediately.

Instead, all she heard was Jason grimly telling her, “You’re lucky you haven’t been fucking murdered yet.”

She had only responded with a roll of her eyes.

“I’m not your escort so you can take my picture. I’m here so you don’t get raped or murdered.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you have a way with words?”

His only response was a glare.

Jason loved playing this game. The game of pretending to be irritated with her when actually he was absolutely infatuated with Y/F/N Y/L/N.

“The easiest way to stop getting your picture taken is to always be the one holding the camera,” Y/N added with a smirk and wink.

Jason didn’t answer, only thinking what a shame it was that no one got to photograph her.

Suddenly, the sunlight hit the top of his head perfectly, creating a halo around that thick and messy hair of his.

Y/N snapped another photo.

“Will you stop?” He warned.

It only succeeded in making her laugh.

And that just excited his heart even more.

“Jason, you were born to get your photo taken.”

There was no joke underneath her words, only sincerity.

“Whatever,” he mumbled.

Jason had a hard time believing that. His skin was riddled with scars. And he was convinced that she’d be singing a different song if she saw his chest, with its thick autopsy scar amongst the so many others. The absolute last word he’d use to describe himself was beautiful. Strong and imposing? Yes. But never beautiful – or any other positive adjective, for that matter.

“I’m not kidding. If you ever want to stop the whole vigilante thing, you can easily become a model.”

Y/N had noticed it as soon as Jason took of his helmet that night. His domino mask had done nothing to prevent her from noting the obvious.

It didn’t take long for Y/N to realize Jason wasn’t like his “brothers.”

“Brothers.” What a strange word.

Should she consider all of them as hers?

Only Damian was actually related to her – and technically he was only her half-brother.

Y/N had watched Jason get on his motorcycle and leave the cave that night she’d almost died.

She’d agreed to stay for dinner and get to know everyone. And a part of her brain was excited to get a better read on the masked man that sat by her bedside as she’d recovered.

“He’s not staying?” Y/N had asked Bruce as he guided her to the stairs that led back up to the manor.

He only shook his head, but she noticed the disappointed expression.

Soon she found out that Jason was the black sheep of this strange family that had taken her in.

Dick was the one who told her about Jason’s dark past. All of it seemed unbelievable: murdered by Joker and brought back to life from a mysterious pit. Only to return to the family who appeared to have replaced him and never sought vengeance on Jason’s behalf.

But it was true; Y/N had seen no lie in Dick’s eyes when he filled her in.

Suddenly there was yelling coming from around the corner.

Without hesitation, Jason shoved Y/N behind him.

He reached for one of his guns and then realized that he didn’t have any.

Y/N was rather vocal about hating them, claiming they made her extremely uncomfortable.

Her expression alone as she said it was enough for Jason to swallow his stubbornness and leave the things at home.

Bruce was rather taken aback by the gesture. Nothing he’d ever said was enough to get Jason to do that.

A gang of young men came marching around the corner like they owned the place…because they did. This was their territory.

Jason immediately recognized them as some of the Russian mob.

Despite pulling Y/N behind him, they still caught sight of her and looked her up and down without an ounce of shame.

“Hey, beautiful. How you doing?”

“Продолжай идти, придурки,” Jason growled at them.

He was outnumbered. But there must’ve been something about his body language that made the gang realize they shouldn’t pick a fight with him. Maybe it was the muscles or his height or that he looked like he wouldn’t even blink before murdering them.

So they just…walked away. Some of them mumbled threats or insults at him. But they realized they shouldn’t even so much as look at Y/N.

A split second before they were gone, Y/N took a picture of Jason.

“Really?” He asked.

She shrugged. “You look like a different person when you’re protective.”

Y/N was beautiful.

Jason watched as she passionately explained her work to a potential buyer.

He recognized the man as a local politician – luckily, one of the few that hadn’t been corrupted from this shitty city.

Y/N had the intimidating energy of her father, but the kind eyes of her mother. At least, that was what Bruce had told everyone, and they all took his word for it.

She wore a stylish white jumpsuit that made her look like a 1980s villain and black stiletto heels.

Jason watched as men cowered in her presence, hating the fact that she proudly stood taller than them. She was just one less woman they could intimidate or manipulate – and they couldn’t stand it.

But Jason loved watching the emasculation in real time.

The bastards didn’t deserve her anyway.

Dick was one of the very few men Jason knew who didn’t blink at a woman towering over him. In fact, his older brother had a track record of preferring it.

“Surprised to see you here,” Bruce said beside him, catching Jason watching Y/N.

“Well, I was her personal bodyguard through all this. Figured I should see if it was worth me wasting my time or not.” Then he tossed back his champagne and slammed it on the tray of a waiter passing by. “Plus, free alcohol.”

Bruce just quirked an eyebrow, silently telling Jason that he knew he was lying.

“Are you buying something?” Jason asked, trying to change the subject.

“I have been strictly forbidden,” Bruce sighed.

Jason chuckled.

He knew if Bruce had his way, he’d buy every single on of Y/N’s pieces.

“I have to know,” Bruce began. “What exactly is holding you back?”

Jason finally ripped his gaze away from Y/N to give Bruce a questioning look.

“What are you talking about?”

“Y/N. You care about her.”

“All of us do,” Jason brushed off. “Even the demon spawn.”

Bruce knew there wasn’t a chance Jason would admit his feelings – especially to him.

“Not that I think you care…but you have my approval.”

Little did Bruce know, Jason did care.

Jason had convinced himself that their rocky relationship and past fights meant that Bruce would die before he let Jason be anywhere near his daughter.

And Jason could hardly blame him.

He didn’t deserve to be loved. He lost that right after he died and came back a monster. And that was the story Jason told himself over and over again.

So he would love Y/N from afar. And hope she would pick someone who was worthy of her love.

“She’s basically my sister,” Jason groaned in fake disgust.

It was quite the performance.

Bruce narrowed his eyes. “We both know that isn’t what’s stopping you. And you’ve made it clear you don’t consider us your family.”

“Whatever, Bruce.”

Jason walked away, having enough of the subject.

“What was that about?” Clark asked as he joined Bruce’s side.

“Jason refusing to let himself be happy,” Bruce sighed.

Clark already knew what Bruce was talking about. He’d seen Y/N and Jason dancing around each other for months now. He’d never really seen Y/N take an interest in anyone before, so it was all new for Clark.

“Don’t worry. Y/N won’t let him get away with it for much longer,” Clark said through a smirk. “She gets what she wants.”

And Bruce believed him.

“It doesn’t bother you – the two of them together?” Clark asked with genuine curiosity.

“Jason reminds me every day that I’m not his father. And I’m hardly Y/N’s.” A soft smile formed on Bruce’s lips. “He’ll look after her. And she…I think she’d be good for him. I just want them to be happy. Both of them.”

——

Jason headed home rather early.

He’d never actually went to say congratulations or even hello to Y/N.

Every time he was about to go over, someone else stole her attention. He didn’t want to get in the way of her talking to potential buyers or even just friends.

Jason was just about to make himself something to eat when there was a knock at his door.

He froze.

Very few people knew where his apartment was.

Jason grabbed a gun and tiptoed to his front door.

With a peak through the peephole, he let out a irritated sigh.

Jason whipped the door open, “You’re lucky I didn’t shoot your head off.”

“Maybe don’t own guns and you wouldn’t have to worry about shit like that,” Y/N snapped back.

“What are you doing here?”

“You come to my gallery opening and don’t even say hi?” Y/N accused as she stepped around him and into the apartment, not waiting for an invitation.

Jason eyed the paper bag that was in one of her hands.

“By all means, come on in,” he called sarcastically as he slammed the door behind her.

Y/N started searching through his cabinets. “Where are your glasses?”

“The one to your right. What are you doing here?”

Y/N had the brightest and almost mischievous smile as she pulled a bottle of champagne from the paper bag.

“I brought this as my thanks for you making sure I don’t – and I quote – ‘get raped and murdered.’”

Jason glared at her.

Here was the game again.

Y/N being charming and hilariously provoking..and Jason pretending like he hadn’t fallen for her.

She poured them both a glass. They weren’t flutes or coupes, but she couldn’t care less.

“We’re chugging these, by the way,” Y/N informed Jason as she handed him a glass.

He sighed, but obediently clinked his glass with hers and tossed it back.

Barely giving them a second, Y/N immediately refilled them.

“So, why didn’t you come over and say hi?” She repeated.

“Didn’t want to bother you,” Jason mumbled with a shrug.

She narrowed her eyes at his answer. “You’ve never bothered me before, Jason.”

Now he felt guilty.

Jason bowed his head. “I should’ve come and talked to you,” he agreed. “Your work…it looked – it’s amazing, Y/N. Congratulations.”

Apparently Y/N hadn’t expected such a sincere compliment from him, and she was stunned to silence.

“Thank you,” she managed to whisper once she’d recovered.

She cleared her throat, trying to maintain her edge. “And really…thank you for being my own little security detail.”

If Jason was healthy about expressing is thoughts and feelings, he would’ve told her that it was the highlight of his weeks. That he looked forward to her calls or texts, telling him that she was going to photograph another shady area. “Be there or don’t. I’m going no matter what,” she’d text him with her usual snark.

But Jason didn’t express his thoughts and feelings.

He kept them bottled up – with the same energy he used to keep Y/N at a distance.

So instead, Jason said, “If it wasn’t me, one of the others would’ve done it.”

Y/N winced slightly at that.

‘You’re such a fucking asshole,’ Jason told himself.

“You know…we can see each other even you’re not my bodyguard.”

Jason was impressed by her boldness. But she didn’t know what she was doing. She didn’t understand that he wasn’t good. He couldn’t play the loving boyfriend role. She belonged with someone like Dick or Clark – or literally anyone but him. And Jason was willing to be an asshole to make sure she understood that.

Y/N took a step closer to him, invading his personal space.

Without breaking eye contact, she threw back her second glass of champagne and then placed it on the nearest counter space.

She stepped even closer.

This was simultaneously Jason’s worst nightmare and most desired dream.

Her eyes moved from his eyes to his lips.

But before she could make her final push, Jason took a step back and cleared his throat.

He looked down at the ground as he said, “You should go.”

When he looked up, he expected to find Y/N heartbroken or embarrassed.

But she was neither.

No. She looked irritated.

Not because she wasn’t getting what she wanted, but because she was sick of his games.

Y/N sighed and stepped back. “Fine.”

Jason rubbed his face in frustration as she grabbed her purse and started for the door she had walked through only minutes ago.

She opened it and paused.

“You know what? No. Fuck that,” Y/N snapped before slamming the door closed.

She whipped around and strutted back to him with purpose.

Jason was suspended with both fervor and awe.

Y/N grabbed his face and pulled him down to her lips.

All self control went out the window. Jason couldn’t continue his game. It was all over for him.

He kissed her back almost immediately. How could he not?

Y/N bit his lip slightly, making him hiss in surprise. It was his punishment for making her wait all this time.

Eventually they needed a moment to breathe.

But Y/N didn’t let go of his face when their lips finally parted.

“Choose your next words very carefully,” she breathed.

He swallowed nervously. “You’re kind of fucking terrifying. You know that?”

Her smile was pure evil.

Apparently this was the right response.

“Are you done being an idiot?” She asked.

He nodded quickly.

Her hands moved down and then lingered on his neck, tracing the bottom lines of his jaw.

She smiled again and then looked him up and down.

“What?” He questioned.

“Nothing,” she laughed. “I’m just…I’m not used to being shorter than men.”

“Is that the only reason you like me? Huh? My height?” Jason goaded.

“Of course not,” Y/N scoffed. “It was the whole ‘I look like I could murder everyone and I can, but deep down I’m a big softie’ that did it for me.”

Jason’s grip tightened on her waist. “Oh, yeah? You’re one to talk…”

“Me?!” She yelped. “I couldn’t kill anyone, even if my life depended on it.”

“Maybe. But your terrifying in basically every other way.”

Y/N laughed at that.

Jason couldn’t stop himself from smiling at the sound

“So…still want me to leave?” She asked.

And this time, she would if that’s really what he wanted.

“Fuck no,” Jason answered, almost threateningly.

Then, for good measure, he picked her up by the back of her thighs and carried her to the couch, before he started to kiss her once again.

Y/N knew things weren’t always going to be this simple.

Jason had his demons.

And honestly, so did she. They were nothing like his. And maybe they were silly in comparison. But she wouldn’t be the perfect partner. Just like he wouldn’t be.

They’d drive each other crazy. But it would be the good kind of crazy.

------------------------------

+ Childhood

#father of mine bonus content #father of mine #bruce wayne x daughter #bruce wayne x daughter!reader #batman x daughter #batman x daughter!reader #bruce wayne's daughter #batman's daughter #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd reader insert #red hood reader insert #clark kent x platonic!reader #superman x platonic!reader

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jackrrabbit · 4 years

Text

Sidekick /// Dabi x f!Reader x Shigaraki (18+)

Summary: During a rescue gone wrong, a rookie sidekick catches the attention of two villains.

A/N: Thanks for 1k followers!! This is the fic that made me create a smut blog/lowkey inspired this. imho this might be the spiciest thing I’ve ever written 😳 also wanted to call out @kazooli because this is highkey inspired by her lol thanks queen

Tags/warnings: quirk kink, reader’s quirk makes other quirks stronger, noncon, threesome, lots of foreplay, outdoor sex, mild overstimulation, degradation, mild violence, threats, chronological/temporal inaccuracies, fucking long

You can hardly be blamed for not recognizing them. It’s only been three weeks since you debuted as a pro, and you’re not even really a hero. You’re a sidekick, and apparently you’re not important enough to have been briefed on the major villains you need to look out for. You’re just…doing your duty. Rescuing civilians indiscriminately. Stupid, naive little sidekick. It’s not your fault that the lives you just saved belong to the two most notorious villains around.

Still, Shigaraki can’t wait to see the look on your face when you find out.

///

The disaster you ‘rescue’ them from—the League’s bar crashing down, the result of a small-time villain’s poisonous gas quirk—isn’t even a disaster. It’s a minor annoyance, sure, but Shigaraki and Dabi would have been fine without you…even though both of them missed Kurogiri’s warp gate and ended up trapped under a wooden beam in the wreckage of the building… Okay, it’s more than a minor annoyance. Shigaraki hacks violently as the cloud of foul-smelling steam and powdered debris enters his lungs. The poisonous quirk doesn’t seem to be having the same acid-burn effects on his body as it did on the building, but he can’t assume it’s harmless.

Father… Shigaraki took Father off his face to drink at the bar earlier before the gas hit, and now in the confusion the severed hand is either buried underneath the rubble that used to be the League’s main base or somewhere else out of view. “Father? Father!” Shigaraki calls out, attempting to shift under the crushing weight of the beam.

“Shut up,” Dabi says from somewhere to Shigaraki’s left. “Kurogiri took it in one of the portals, I saw it.” He looks worse than Shigaraki feels—something hit him in the face as the bar collapsed, and a few of the staples (piercings? stitches? whatever) on his right cheek are torn open and bleeding.

“Are you lying to me?”

Dabi sneers and rolls his eyes. “Let’s just get out of here.” His palms glow blue and Shigaraki follows suit, letting four fingers sit on the wood that’s pinning both of them to the ground. It’s too heavy to lift, so they’re going to have to get rid of it…a task that seems significantly more difficult when it becomes clear that neither of them are positioned at the right angle to touch it.

Shigaraki tries to wrest his arm out enough for his thumb to touch the wood, but it’s impossible. Beside him, Dabi’s having the same issue. “Shit, I can’t reach—“

“Is someone there?” Confident, clear, and oddly robotic, your voice cuts through the din of gurgling water from cracked pipes and police sirens like a lit flare in the darkness. Shigaraki tenses and halts his attempts to get free from the beam, and a second later Dabi mimics him.

“I heard voices.” The same unfamiliar voice rings out through the half-light, now accompanied by a body—your body, taking a series of awkward jumps down the piles of rubble to land in front of the two of them. The outfit you’re wearing is ridiculous: a pair of metal boots that clang against the cement wherever you step, matching braces on your arms, and a space-age chrome motorcycle helmet to top it all off.

A hero. Shigaraki’s lip curls in disgust as your head turns his way.

You scan the scene quickly, eyes resting on the two men trapped in front of you for a moment before you turn back to the opening in the wreckage. “Found two civilians!” you call out to the rescue workers just in case they’re within earshot, although it’s unlikely.

Dabi snickers under his breath. Civilians? Even in the chaos, you should’ve known the second you saw them who you’re looking at. Are you faking ignorance? Got something up your sleeve? It’s either that, or you genuinely don’t recognize them. Priceless.

You kneel down in front of the fallen beam and give a half-hearted attempt to pick it up. It doesn’t budge. No surprises there—if it were light enough for you to lift by yourself, the two men held down by it would have no problem getting out with their combined strength. You’re going to have to use your support gear to get it off them.

But first—you search for a memory of your rescue training. Reassure the victims. They’re probably panicking.

“It’ll be okay,” you tell them, your voice coming out mechanical and distorted from the helmet you’re wearing. “You’re going to be okay. I’m here to save you.”

This time, Dabi has to bite his lip to keep from laughing out loud. Ah, yes…they’re so lucky that there’s a do-gooder little hero around to rescue them, because they’d be helpless otherwise. The laugh is still audible, though, and Shigaraki shoots him a glare.

You raise an eyebrow at their expressions. Did he just laugh? Well…you’ve heard that people sometimes have inappropriate reactions in times of crisis. The dark-haired man seems more badly hurt, so you creep toward him first, careful not to disturb any of the debris and trigger an avalanche reaction. “I’m going to check your injuries now,” you tell him, and your gloved hand brushes away a sweep of spiky hair to examine the sizable red bump growing on his forehead.

Ouch…there’s no way that doesn’t hurt, but the man’s not letting any of the pain show on his face. Instead, he looks disinterested at best, and at worst? You almost get the feeling that he’s eyeing you up under your hero costume. Not that you can blame him. Damn this skin-tight bodysuit—it leaves basically nothing to the imagination.

“Does it hurt a lot?” you ask him. “I don’t think this is too serious, but they’ll look you over for a concussion when I get you to first aid.”

Dabi shrugs and you frown. Is the non-verbal response because of the ripped stitches in his face? Is it too painful to talk? Or could there be brain damage? Or maybe he’s just a man of few words or something…?

“Can you get on with it? Pick up the fucking beam already,” Shigaraki hisses.

Startled, you pull your hand away from the other man’s forehead. That ungrateful little…nope, nope, don’t get annoyed, he’s just in shock. “O-Of course, sorry. Just gotta make sure it’s okay to move.”

Luckily, the beam doesn’t look like it’s supporting anything else that’ll fall if you pick it up. You crouch down next to one end and steady your feet against the cement, lifting up with all your strength while activating the effects of the support items you’re wearing. When you feel the metal on your arm braces grow warm, you remind yourself again to thank the developer of your costume. You may not be a fan of the way-too-tight bodysuit that clings to everything, but the strength-enhancing armor that you wear on your arms and legs more than makes up for it.

A second later, you hold back a grin. It’s moving! You try to ignore the unpleasant screech of metal against stone as the beam slowly lifts into the air. As soon as the men get out from under it, you pant and let it crash back into the ground. “You guys okay?”

“Mm…yes,” Dabi replies, running a hand over the torn piercings in his cheek. “Got any more gas masks for the poison mist?”

“Don’t worry! The Commission is familiar with the villain who created it, and the gas isn’t harmful to anything living. Only buildings. It’s a troublesome quirk, but we’ve got it under control.”

“Then what’s with the helmet?”

He can hear the hesitation in your reply, even distorted and tinny through the metal speakers. “Uh…I, well…”

Now that you’re getting a good look at them, the two scarred faces in front of you seem weirdly intense, considering you’ve just saved them from a collapsed building. The dark-haired man’s eyes are…very, very blue next to the burned-looking skin underneath, and the other man’s greyish-blue hair isn’t quite long enough to obscure a pair of red irises that are scrutinizing your face with obvious hostility.

You give a nervous shake of your head to clear it. “Um, the helmet is…it’s dangerous if I take it off. I should get you guys back to the rescue area, I need to meet up with my hero…” Without thinking, you take a step back and then one more, not knowing exactly why you’re backing away when you’re supposed to be escorting them. “I’ll just lead the way?”

With your third step back, though, you bump into something hard. What was that? Your head jerks around but before you can identify what it is that stopped your retreat, you feel the faint sensation of something tapping lightly on the back of your helmet.

And then…it just…crumbles.

What just happened?

You cough and shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut against the sudden onslaught of dust. A breeze whips through your hair, sending a chill through you in more ways than one. How? No one pulled the helmet off; you would’ve felt it if they had. More dust sticks to your face, and you rub your eyes so you can open them.

Behind you, Shigaraki waits with outstretched fingers an inch away from your neck. If he had to explain the decision to decay your helmet strategically, he could—you’re a hero, a potential threat, and he wants to know what you’re hiding under that outfit just in case you figure out who they are and decide to turn on them.

But really? He didn’t think about it that much. It was an impulse reaction to you walking away from them; a tantrum. Child-like.

Once your stunned face is exposed, Dabi has to wonder what you were even trying to hide. You’re…surprisingly ordinary. Young-looking—a rookie, fresh from hero school graduations a few weeks ago maybe? Large, expressive eyes, lips parted in shock, but nothing particularly interesting. Shigaraki cocks his head to the side to study your face too, and both of them are so focused on your appearance that it takes a moment for them to notice the feeling.

Well, feeling isn’t really the right word, but there isn’t a word for the way your quirk works. Dabi’s eyes widen when it reaches him and behind you, Shigaraki stiffens. You notice.

There’s an involuntary quiver in your voice as you break the silence. “Y-You guys must have strong quirks if you can feel it just from that.”

Dabi sucks in a breath. So this is your quirk? It’s different…he’s never felt anything like it, not that he’s exactly sure what it is. There’s some kind of energy in the air around you that he’s breathing in, a feeling like taking a shot of espresso after days of sleep deprivation.

No, it’s stronger than that. The head rush after doing a line of cocaine would be a better metaphor.

Either way, he’s awake—more awake than he can remember feeling in a long time. Heat rises to the surfaces of his palms unbidden, his quirk appearing without him calling it. “What is this?”

“…It’s called Boost,” you say, licking your lips as a dry wave of heat radiates out from the man in front of you. “I can strengthen other people’s quirks. That’s why it’s dangerous—if the villain finds us—“

“It must have been hard to get through hero school with a quirk like that,” says a raspy voice from behind you.

What—? Your head twists around. When did he—

Shigaraki grips your shoulder with three fingers, holding just tightly enough to keep you from stumbling forward and away from him. His pinky and ring finger hover an inch over your costume, careful not to disintegrate the fabric he’s touching—although with the power sparking through his veins at the moment, it almost feels like three fingers would be enough.

“…Doesn’t really seem like the kind of quirk a hero has.” His voice, soft and pondering (a weird contrast to the harsh architecture of his facial features you’d seen earlier), feels very close to your ear. Something soft tickles your cheek. His hair?

A voice (an instinct?) deep inside of you is telling you to run. You ignore it. This is normal, right? It’s not uncommon for civilians who’ve just suffered a traumatic villain attack to have questions, even if those questions seem irrelevant to the situation at hand. You have to answer, even if your gut is churning. “I’m not really a hero. Not yet. For now, I’m a sidekick to one of the pros—and speaking of which, I really need to find—“

“But how does it work?” Dabi doesn’t notice himself making a conscious decision to step forward, but he does anyway and being closer to you feels right. He can see the trepidation on your face as he gets close enough to reach out and touch you, but you can’t really ask him to stay back, can you? Not when your quirk feels this good?

“I—“ Is it unreasonable that you think you’re being trapped right now? They’re just a couple of civilians, right? The question itself is common enough. People often wonder how you can be a hero. It’s a concern you’ve had to address dozens of times over the years. “Well, I work with rescue operations, especially with other heroes who have healing-type quirks. I can also assist in combat in some situations.”

“In combat? If you’re with a hero and a villain, you’ll enhance both quirks. Seems counterintuitive,” Dabi says, half aware that his voice is getting lower.

“And you clearly don’t have physical abilities. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have…these.” Shigaraki taps three fingers on the metal brace on your right arm.

“The effects can be unpredictable. And I can increase the degree of the enhancement with physical contact.”

“Contact?”

“Yeah. The gloves of my costume come off. My quirk is way stronger when it’s skin-to-skin.” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them.

You shouldn’t have said that.

Shigaraki’s ring finger and pinky, which were hovering over the arm brace, come down to rest on the cold metal. The effect is instant: no crumbling, no slow decay—it’s there, and then it’s dust. His quirk in action, boosted by yours.

“What—What are you doing? What did you just do?” You try to pull away from him, but he holds you tight by your collar. His other hand comes up to grip your chin, and in one long sloppy stroke, he licks you from your neck up to your jawline.

You shudder. So does Shigaraki.

“It’s my quirk,” he tells you slowly. His breath is steamy warm on the cold, wet trail of saliva painting your throat. “Decay. Have you heard of it?”

You flinch away from his hand and your back falls against his chest. Of course you’ve heard of the Decay quirk. You might be a rookie, but even civilians know about the young, impetuous head of the League of Villains. Jesus, how had you not recognized him earlier? White hair, red eyes…you should have known. You should have left him under that beam. “Shigaraki…Tomura.”

“So you’re not completely clueless. Do you know me, then?” Dabi asks. He would think he’s the more noticeable of the two (the burn scars usually identify him), but you just stare up at him with the same deer-in-the-headlights look as before. Smirking, he lights a blue fire in his palm and it jumps up toward your face—not just the small spark he intended, but a bright, high flame. “Maybe this will help you remember.”

“The Forest of Beasts incident. You’re the one who started that fire,” you whisper. You’ve seen the TV coverage of the attack on UA’s training camp, the abduction of that teenage student, the forest lit up blue from wildfire. No wonder his skin looks burned.

“Dabi,” he corrects you.

Breath is coming out of your mouth in shallow puffs. Are you hyperventilating? Is this what hyperventilating feels like? You’re definitely panicking. They’re so close to you, caging you in between them. The smoke from the blue fire is uncomfortably hot over the exposed skin of your face, and Shigaraki’s lethal hands are still touching you. If they want to kill you—and why wouldn’t they?—you’re fucked.

The flame goes out and Dabi’s hands come down to squeeze your wrists. His palms are hot like he was holding them in front of a lit stove. It’s not painful, but it’s a threat.

“I’ll fight,” you say.

Your voice is trembling, and Shigaraki likes it. The effects of your quirk, the way he felt when he licked your face… And you’re afraid. He can see it in your shoulders, the quivering of your torso pressed into him. It’s nice. He wants to feel it more.

You’re struggling against their hold, and Dabi feels the urge to laugh. “You’ll fight…the two of us.”

“If you try to kill me, I’ll—“

Before you can finish your sentence, Shigaraki’s hands flit down to your metal support gear and disintegrate it. Shit. He’s fast, and you’re helpless.

Dabi releases your wrists and cups your face in a mockery of intimacy. His eyelids flutter closed as his skin meets yours… Fuck, he could get used to this. You smell so good, sweet and soft and clean, like fruity shampoo. What is that, watermelon?

Life must be difficult for you, hm… Everyone around you must want to touch you constantly. It seems like Shigaraki enjoyed licking you—maybe bodily fluids are an even stronger conductor of your quirk? Pushing easily past your resistance, Dabi forces your jaw upward and kisses you.

Oh…yesyesyes, just like that. Perfect. Dabi has to bite down a groan as his tongue enters your mouth. It’s ridiculous for someone else’s spit to taste this good, but he’s right—your quirk is amplified by the contact from the kiss.

After a moment he has to break it to regain focus and make sure he’s not burning you. You cringe away from him, your cheek brushing against Shigaraki’s neck, but Dabi tangles his hand in your hair to pull you back. He runs a finger against your closed lips, letting the pad of his fingertip heat up until your mouth drops open in response to the threat.

“What the hell are you doing?” Shigaraki asks, voice laced with revulsion. Privately, you agree. What’s going on? You were sure you were about to be either burned to a crisp or decayed into the equivalent.

Dabi laughs under his breath. “Try it. It feels crazy good.”

Curious now, Shigaraki wrenches your head around and tilts your jaw up to repeat Dabi’s action. When you refuse to open your mouth, he taps your jaw warningly and a hiss of fear escapes you. Would he really kill you? He decayed your support gear so quickly—would it be the same for your body?

Well, what’s going to stop them?

You open your mouth.

Shigaraki’s lips are harsh and unsentimental against yours. His tongue sweeps over the inside of your mouth, invasive and brutal. He grips you forcefully, his face pushing you deeper into the strained hold with your head twisted toward his. You’ve never been kissed like this before. His spit—it’s in your mouth.

And Dabi’s hands are on your waist. “How do you get this thing off?” he murmurs, pinching the fabric of your bodysuit.

A surge of panicked adrenaline gives you the strength to pull back away from Shigaraki. “What? No, you can’t!”

“Are you going to stop us, little sidekick?” Dabi mocks. “I think I can burn it off without too much damage.”

“Let me.” Shigaraki takes hold of the cloth, careful so when it dissolves into dust his hand isn’t touching you, and within a second—a second—you’re left shivering in just your underwear and boots.

“Help!” The plea squeaks out and you hope blindly that there’s a hero close enough to hear you. But is there even anyone who can fight them? You certainly can’t. “Help me! Somebody!”

“Shut up.” Dabi sends up a tongue of flame from a fingertip and you shriek as the heat sears against you. “Oh, come on. You should feel lucky. Bad guys like us usually don’t hesitate to take heroes out.”

“I don’t— Please, I’m just a sidekick, I’m a rookie— What do you even want from me? Just let me go, I won’t tell anyone! Please let me go.”

“Well, I think I know what I want.” Dabi traces circles over the tender skin of your hips, playing with the elastic of your underwear. He meets Shigaraki’s eye over your shoulder. “I think he wants that too. Right?”

“Yeah, I want…I want to fuck her,” Shigaraki hums. This isn’t like him, but he can’t help himself. You’re different. Leaving you here and never feeling this stimulant again isn’t an option. He buries his face in the juncture of your neck and shoulder, bites down on the soft skin there, and sucks.

You whimper, half from his answer and half from the sensation of his chapped lips on your neck. “Why are you doing this?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but…you smell like something I want to eat. Especially this.” Dabi kneels down in front of you and hitches one of your legs up over his shoulder so you feel his hot breath washing over your clothed pussy.

You whine and attempt to wriggle back away from him, but Dabi’s grip on your thigh holds firm. His other hand brushes against the fabric of your panties to rub up against your slit and another surge of panic jumps up your throat. You can’t let him do this.

You kick your foot against his back, desperately attempting to make contact using the heel of the high boot that’s the only piece of outerwear still left on your body. It hits him awkwardly and he growls. “Damn it. Can’t you keep her busy?”

“Ahh…” Shigaraki ceases his oral assault on your neck and scratches a fingernail against one of the bright red marks marring your skin. He feels almost dizzy from the way your quirk is affecting him. Behind him, the broken expanse of wall digging into his back is the only thing keeping his focus. “Behave, sidekick.”

Before you can respond to the mocking title, Shigaraki’s face is against yours and his tongue is in your mouth again. Rough fingertips work up under the band of your sports bra and pushes it up over your tits. You screw your eyes shut at the sudden feeling of cold air on your nipples, and you know without looking that they’re standing up. Shigaraki gropes you thoughtlessly, keeping one finger lifted off of your skin, and you gasp on his tongue.

“That’s better.” Dabi’s mouth returns to brush against your panties. To be honest, eating you out isn’t the first thing on his mind. What he wants—what he really wants—is to shove you up against the wall and fuck into you and find out what your quirk feels like when you’re wrapped around his cock. But you’re probably not wet enough for that, and it’s not like Shigaraki is going to do anything to take care of you. Dabi would be surprised if the other man’s ever eaten pussy before in his life.

Besides…you smell good. It’s not even just the feeling of your quirk exciting him. The rich, feminine scent of your pussy is inches away from him, and Dabi is dying to make you cum in his mouth.

A moan curls up from deep in your throat as Dabi caresses the lips of your pussy through your underwear. You don’t bother protesting—at this point, it’s unlikely that any plea you could muster would stop them. Your earlier begging didn’t do much besides spur them on, but you still cry out as softly as you can when an unnaturally warm fingertip slips under the cloth of your panties to dip into your slit.

“Oh? You’re wetter than I expected. Are you enjoying this?”

Your frantic denial falls on deaf ears. Shigaraki rasps out a laugh and bites down on your neck again. He’s supposed to be keeping you still, but he can’t help enjoying the way your almost-naked body feels as you press yourself back into his chest, trying to force some space between yourself and Dabi.

Your squirming is no problem for Dabi, though—you’re so soft and vulnerable and the velvety skin of your inner thigh looks so delicious… He nuzzles against the area of bare skin and latches on to it, sucking until he’s sure you’re going to have a mark in a few minutes. The thought of leaving hickeys on you like a teenager is sickeningly nostalgic. You’re probably going to try to forget this when they’re done, aren’t you? But you won’t be able to, not when you’re covered in love bites and bruises. You’re going to be marked up for weeks.

Fuck, he’s hard.

Too impatient to bother taking off your panties, Dabi just pushes them aside to gain access to your damp cunt. His fingers feel hot—too hot, almost unbearably hot; you feel like you could melt into a puddle and your pussy is certainly slick enough as he pets your clit and slides one finger in, then two… You whimper and shake your head, silently denying what’s happening to you. The intrusion is uncomfortable, but Dabi’s fingers quickly find that rough patch inside of you that makes you want to beg like an animal. You hate it, but it feels good.

“She’s so tight,” Dabi says with something like awe in his voice. You can hear Shigaraki panting behind your back.

“Get on with it,” Shigaraki says.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

For a second you just feel Dabi’s humid breath against your dripping cunt before he closes the space between the two of you and his tongue slides onto you, laving over your cunt to come to a rest on your clit. A sound you’ve never heard yourself make before forces its way out of your mouth as Dabi eats you out in earnest, rubbing his tongue against your clit in a stuttering rhythm that gives you no time to catch your breath.

Oh my god. Oh my god. Your head rolls back onto Shigaraki’s shoulder. You feel like crying for a million reasons at once. Maybe you’re already crying—the sounds you’re making are almost like sobs. You want him to stop. You never want him to stop. Your hands twitch as you fight the impulse to fist them in the villain’s hair and pin him down between your thighs.

“Fuck, oh fuck, no stop please stop, ah…!” The stream of gibberish coming out of your mouth crescendoes into a real sob as you feel your climax coming. No—you can’t—you can’t cum here, in this broken-down bar, on the tongue of a villain, but it doesn’t matter that you can’t, because you’re going to cum anyway.

“Please don’t, please let me go—“ You writhe uncontrollably as the desire to cum sweeps over you, but Dabi just curls one arm around your thigh and pulls his face away so he can push his fingers back in, angling his palm to grind roughly over your clit. The harsh, rough texture after the warm wet softness of his tongue is enough to push you over the edge and you cry out your orgasm, your pussy clenching onto Dabi’s fingers as he works them in and out of you.

Unable to support yourself, you crumple like paper, and only the two villains you’re sandwiched between keep you upright.

“Fucking finally,” Shigaraki growls, and he pushes you down so your knees scrape painfully into the rubble. Your earlier resistance was cute, but so is your dazed compliance as he pulls your hips up to meet his.

“You’re going first?” Dabi asks incredulously. After he did all that work getting you off? No way.

“You can use her mouth,” Shigaraki tells him. His cock is straining against his pants and he groans as he releases it and rubs it over your panties. He could decay them, but…they’re cute. Pale pink, peach-pink, except for the wet spot over your cunt. Precum is already dribbling out of his cock as he pulls your panties to the side and lines it up with your pussy. Jesus-fucking-christ, you’re wet, sopping and slimy. Doesn’t that mean you’re begging to get filled up? Shigaraki hears himself sigh as he slides the head of his cock up and down your slit so it’ll be wet enough to go in.

You’re still out of it, dizzy from your orgasm and the tension of the situation, but you snap back to your senses with the feeling of something hard pushed up to your entrance. “Wait!” you yelp for what feels like the hundredth time. The gravel scattered over the wreckage where you’ve been forced onto your hands and knees digs painfully into your flesh as you pull away from Shigaraki, but he holds fast to your hips with pinkies raised.

“Uh-uh,” Dabi admonishes with a grin, as if he’s reprimanding a dog for not coming when called. He settles himself in front of your front and kneels again. Your hair is mussed but still silky soft and he takes a moment to enjoy the way the strands slip over his skin before he tangles his fingers close to your scalp and yanks your head in his direction, forcing your cheek to chafe against the crotch of his pants. It’s not difficult to tell what the the thick bulge is through the fabric, and you try to flinch away only to be caught again and immobilized.

“You’re going to take care of us,” Dabi tells you. “Like I took care of you. Okay?”

No, it’s not okay, it’s absolutely not okay, and you would say so if you didn’t see Dabi’s expression darken at your obvious denial and feel a wave of acrid heat coming from his hand in your hair. The smell is worse than the feeling, honestly—you’ve had enough run-ins with hair curlers and flat irons to recognize the smell of hair when it’s three seconds away from burning. “Okay! Okay,” you answer, panicked, voice muffled by the fabric of Dabi’s pants.

“Good girl,” he purrs, and the heat fades.

“I’m not waiting any longer,” Shigaraki says from behind you.

“Then don’t.”

You whine, too scared to try to get away again or even plead with them to let you go, but it doesn’t matter. Shigaraki’s cock presses into your pussy, and there’s nothing you can do to stop him as he slides into you, inch by inch, torturously slow. Is there anything to bite down on? You need to do something, anything to distract from the pain of Shigaraki’s cock stretching you out. He’s big, impossibly big.

Eyes squeezed shut, you bite your lip until you can taste copper and scrabble around blindly until your hand finds loose fabric to grip. It’s something of Dabi’s, probably the coat he’s wearing if you remember correctly, but your brain isn’t exactly working right at the moment—

“You were right…shit, she’s…she’s so fucking tight.” Shigaraki’s voice is low and labored with the effort of not thrusting into you all at once. “Feels like…she’s trying to push me out…”

Fuck it, he thinks. Would it really be so bad if he did push all the way into you in one stroke? It’s better to just get it over with, isn’t it? Yeah…you’d probably prefer him to do it quickly. And besides, he can’t wait another second to feel you all the way up to the base of his cock.

Your strangled whimper is drowned out by his satisfied groan as he shoves the rest of the way into you in a single sudden thrust. The pain knocks the breath out of you in a gasp, and your eyes fly open as you clutch Dabi’s coat like a lifeline.

“It hurts—!”

“Yeah…yeah, I bet it does,” Shigaraki pants, holding your hips steady as he thrusts in and out of you. The bored nonchalance of earlier is gone, replaced by a feral intensity as his cock carves its way through your pussy. If you didn’t know better, you’d think there’s something affectionate in his voice.

For Shigaraki’s part, he can hardly think of anything aside from the soft, hot, wet cunt wrapped over his dick. It’s taking every vestige of concentration he has left to make sure he’s holding a single finger on each hand away from your skin. It’s pure bliss. Your body was made to be fucked like this. He wants to live inside your pussy, he wants to do this every day, every minute. Fucking you raw is the best he’s felt in months…years. And it doesn’t hurt that your quirk is still working on him, still sending pleasurable shocks of energy that make him feel simultaneously like he could keep you pinned down for hours and like he could cum any second.

“Oh, she’s crying,” Dabi says, tilting your chin up so he can look into your eyes. You flinch and try to jerk your head away, but his hand is still holding you by your hair and he’s so much stronger than you are. They both are, even without using their quirks. “Look at me.”

You comply, more by reflex than any real desire to obey. It’s pretty striking to Dabi how cute you look as Shigaraki pounds into you so fast and deep you can hardly catch your breath. Your eyes are glittering with unshed tears, your tits bounce with every thrust, and you’re still holding onto Dabi’s coat like your life depends on it. It’s almost like you’re pulling him closer. Adorable.

“She can…take it,” Shigaraki responds breathily between thrusts. “Such a good whore, taking my big cock in her tight little pussy…”

The backhanded compliment jars you and you feel hot tears spill over your cheeks. “I’m—not—a—whore,” you manage to say, each word punctuated with Shigaraki’s skin slapping against yours.

“Really?” Shigaraki’s pace slows and he leans closer to you so he can reach an arm around and swirl two fingers against your clit. You mewl like a kitten at the unexpected stimulation and he laughs rudely. “Feels so good…can’t believe the heroes don’t want to fuck you like this all the time…”

You shake your head desperately and bury your face in Dabi’s chest, barely noticing him stroking your hair and then reaching down to unzip his pants.

“No, no, I bet that’s what you do as a sidekick, right?” Shigaraki’s thrusts are back to frenzied jerks, and he rubs over your clit just as roughly. “Spread your legs for your hero…you’d make a great personal cocksleeve. Or maybe they rotate you around so every pro hero gets a turn…?”

“No, I don’t! No! Ah— ahnnn…” The denials pierce the air uselessly as the villain’s cock fills you up again and again. You’re not a whore, you’re not…even if it’s getting harder and harder to ignore the growing pressure of Shigaraki teasing your clit in time with his cock rubbing against your sweet spot. It still hurts—he’s so big, bigger than anyone you’ve ever had sex with before, but there’s no way you’re going to admit to yourself that it’s starting to feel good.

“…Is my cock better than All Might’s?” Shigaraki’s words are cut off by his own grunt of pleasure as your cunt twitches around him.

“Shut the fuck up,” Dabi cuts in. “I’m sick of hearing a guy’s voice moaning. I’m going to get soft.”

Past the point of comprehending the situation, you look up at him gratefully, only to reel back in shock as Dabi frees his own cock from his pants and it brushes against your cheek. Trying to pull away from him is more instinct than rational thought, but he holds you just as easily as before and forces two fingers into your mouth. You tense, ready to bite down, (and hopefully take a few knuckles off) but he sees it coming and suddenly your mouth is horribly burning hot.

“You’re going to suck my cock now,” says Dabi conversationally, extinguishing the flame almost as soon as he started it. It’s not so bad—probably more like a coffee burn than anything else—but you’re coughing and spitting anyway. “Say yes.”

“…Yes,” you whisper, voice barely intelligible.

“Good little sidekick. And you’re going to be very careful. You’re not going to use teeth.”

You nod, unable to mount a defense with Shigaraki mercilessly fucking you from behind.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“Y-Yes!” you squeal as Shigaraki finds a particularly sensitive spot inside you.

“Good.” Dabi drags your head down to hover over his cock and massages your jaw until it falls open. “Suck.”

One of his hands falls to your shoulder to try to stabilize you, but you can’t help feeling the threat in the motion. You quickly duck down and attempt to ignore the heady smell of sweat and precum as you trace your tongue up the underside of his dick. He’s big too, maybe thicker than Shigaraki, and you hate yourself for feeling lucky that it’s not this cock inside your pussy right now.

The stunt Dabi pulled burning your mouth made you salivate, and you let drool coat your tongue as you lick around the head. But it’s not working—you rock forward every time Shigaraki stuffs his dick back in your aching pussy, and Dabi’s cock smears over your mouth haphazardly.

“I said suck. Not lick.” Suddenly (although you don’t know why you keep expecting some kind of warning before these villains find a new way to violate you), Dabi grabs the back of your head and shoves his cock into your mouth. Your throat constricts involuntarily as the thick head triggers your gag reflex, and all three of you shiver in unison.

“Do…do that again,” Shigaraki says, voice strained. “She tightens up…when you do that.”

Dabi smirks and thrusts into you again, relishing the warm, humid cavern of your throat around his cock along with the pure swell of energy from your quirk enhancing his. His rhythm matches Shigaraki’s and his cock hits the back of your throat with every rapid pump, making you gag and clench like you’re trying to milk the cum out of him. What a perfect little slut… He can see from Shigaraki’s sloppy movements that you’re squeezing around his cock every time too.

The feeling of having one villain cock buried in your pussy while another ravages your throat is unthinkable, even more so with Shigaraki’s fingers on your clit coaxing out an earth-shaking orgasm. But you’d almost be able to forget what’s happening—god knows you’re delirious with sensation, barely able to keep track of who’s doing what to you—if not for the sound. The wet slap of Shigaraki’s hips against your ass, the horrible squelching from your (dripping wet, even if you don’t want to admit it) pussy as his cock pistons in and out of you, your choked moans and gagging noises, and above it all, the unrestrained voices of the villains fucking into you.

You feel like a fuck toy, a sex doll, used without mercy by the two most evil people you can think of…and you’re about to cum.

Your voice is getting louder by the second, and the pulsing of your cunt around Shigaraki’s cock is telling him exactly how close you are. He curls his body over yours to get a better angle to rub your clit, enjoying your high-pitched whine in response. “Yeah…that’s right…good girl. Cum on my cock…like a good little sidekick.”

You keen and goosebumps rise on your skin as Shigaraki licks at the sheen of sweat on your back. He feels your climax almost as soon as you do… If your scream wasn’t stifled by Dabi’s dick in your mouth, everyone within a one-mile radius would know you were getting fucked silly, yeah? The walls of your pussy clamp down on Shigaraki’s cock, your body begging for his cum, and he grips your ass to make sure you can’t get away as he comes to his own orgasm inside of you.

Fuck… Shigaraki could die right now and be happy. He keeps stroking your clit, knowing it’s cruel, knowing you’ll be overstimulated and sensitive and that it’ll hurt to keep touching you like this after you already came, and not caring because every time the tips of his fingers push that little magic button, you shiver and squeeze him like you’re trying to milk him dry.

Shigaraki gives a few last thrusts, pushing his cum deeper into your body, fucking it into you so you’ll be dripping white for hours, and then finally pulls out. The slurping sound your cunt makes as his cock leaves your pussy is obscene. So is the cloudy trail of mixed white and clear fluid that connects your pussy and the head of his cock until he pulls it away. He loves it.

Knowing that Shigaraki came—inside you, no less, the inconsiderate bastard—Dabi grips the back of your head and tugs you down to deepthroat him. Your walls twitch involuntarily and Dabi groans, letting himself shoot his load down your throat. “Yes…yeah…yeah…just like that. Swallow.”

You don’t swallow. You don’t do anything but gag on his cum and gasp as he thrusts into you. Dabi pulls you off of him, annoyed and ready to threaten you into submission again…until your head lolls to the side and he can see that your eyes are closed.

“Shit, she passed out.”

“…What? Are you kidding?”

Dabi slaps your face lightly. You wince in your sleep but don’t wake up. “Nope. Must’ve been when she came the second time.”

“Is she…” Shigaraki trails off, not sure how to end the question. ‘Okay’ isn’t exactly right.

“She’s breathing, if that’s what you’re asking.”

The two of them wait for a moment, but you don’t move. When he catches his breath, Shigaraki wipes off his dick and pulls up his pants. Dabi does the same. Without them holding you, you flop down into the fetal position on the broken concrete. “What now?” Shigaraki asks.

Dabi wipes the sweat from his forehead. “You tell me, leader. I’m surprised Kurogiri hasn’t opened another warp gate to get you back. Guessing you don’t have your phone either?”

“…We can go to Giran’s place to meet up. They’re probably waiting for us there,” Shigaraki says, scratching at his neck.

“Do you have cab fare?”

“I don’t have my wallet on me. You?”

“Not enough for a cab. We’ll have to take the train. You can owe me.”

Shigaraki looks down at you. You make a pitiful scene, naked except for your boots, sports bra, and cum-soaked panties. Your neck is bruised red and purple, and you’re shaking, shivering in the cool air now that the sun has sunk further toward the horizon and you’re not being touched. “Are we going to leave her here?”

“What, you want to bring her on the train with us? You don’t think that’s gonna look suspicious?”

“Well…” Their eyes meet and Shigaraki knows Dabi’s thinking the same thing he is. You have a lot of potential as an asset. They haven’t even had the chance to see how your quirk boosting works in combat, but Shigaraki almost wants to pick a fight just to give it a try.

And fighting power aside, Shigaraki isn’t a fan of the possibility that he’ll never get to fuck you again.

“Yeah, I know. But she’s a pro hero’s sidekick. She can’t be too hard to find.” Dabi shrugs off his coat and crouches next to you. You’re limp enough that he has no trouble lifting you into his lap and guiding your arms through the sleeves of his coat. Once you’re wrapped in the black fabric, he does up the buttons, combs through your hair with his fingers, wipes the mixed cum and spittle off your chin, and admires his handiwork. Sure, anyone looking closely at you will know at least a little about what happened—you’re still sweating in the cold, you have that undeniable ‘just got fucked’ look all over you, and the smell of sex is overpowering. But at least you won’t have to walk back to the rescue tent in your filthy underwear.

In your sleep, you nuzzle into Dabi’s chest, reaching blindly toward the source of warmth. He grins and strokes the back of your neck, soothing warm fingers over the bruised skin there and enjoying his last opportunity to touch you and feel your quirk working…for now, at least. “You know, I wonder why villains don’t get sidekicks. Seems a little unfair, right?”

Shigaraki’s sneer matches Dabi’s as he bends down to run his fingernails over your cheek, almost hard enough to hurt. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

#Dabi x reader #Shigaraki Tomura x reader #Shigaraki x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha imagines #Shigaraki #Dabi #bnha #boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia imagines #mha #my hero academia #mha imagines #my hero academia imagines #boku no hero academia x reader #my hero academia x reader #smut #tw noncon

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kill-your-authors · 4 years

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Another Van Scene Take

The thing about the van scene that gets me is...I really don’t think Joe goes off like that on a regular basis. Like, I’ve seen so many posts about how Joe gives that speech every time someone says something homophobic, or I’ve seen posts about how Joe just waxes poetic all day long to Nicky about his love for him and like...believe me I Dig That Too. It’s both funny and very sweet to think about.

But my personal impression was that the van scene was actually a special occasion. For starters, because of the most obvious: They’ve been captured. Regardless of how dangerous their job is on a regular basis, regardless of how often they’re injured or killed, I don’t think it’s every day or even every once in a while that members of the Guard get captured. It’s my guess that this is the first time anyone’s captured them, only hours after Nicky explained to Nile that being captured is pretty much their worst fear because it could potentially mean centuries of imprisonment or torture.

One theory someone else had on this site (unfortunately I can’t find the post just now) was that Joe allowed himself to be captured because Nicky had already been killed and captured, so even though Joe had the opportunity to kill a few of the guards or try to escape, he didn’t because he wouldn’t permit himself to be separated from Nicky, nor permit himself to die, therefore leaving Nicky to wake up alone in the van or next to Joe’s captured dead body. It would be horrifying. Traumatic. The scariest moment of Nicky’s life undoubtedly.

And so, they’re in the van, Joe is alive and trying to make sure Nicky comes back to life. Nicky comes to, realizing they’re captured and surrounded by armed guards. They’re speaking Italian so as to not be understood by the guards. It’s apparent, that in this moment, regardless of how scared they are, they’ve got it under control. They’re pros, after all. But nonetheless, this had to be the scariest God damn moment of both of their lives.

And then, the guard makes that fucking comment. “What is he, your boyfriend?”

And Nicky makes that exasperated face.

I see a lot of people theorizing that that face is Nicky’s “Oh here we go again” face, the face he wears the moment he realizes Joe is about to go off, reciting poetry in the name of his love for Nicky on the spot. I like that theory. It’s funny. But I really don’t think that’s what’s happening.

I think that’s the exasperated face of someone who has been the victim of others’ ignorance for centuries now, taking different forms based on time and place, but nonetheless, the discrimination these two must have witnessed over the years...All after Nicky himself, personally overcame his own bigotry to be with Joe. Nicky was literally ONE of these men back in the crusades. Sure, it wasn’t over sexuality but it was nonetheless rooted in ignorance as he himself describes Joe as one of the people he’d been taught to hate. And imagine how fucking infuriating it would be, to witness people mindlessly HATE just because they’d been taught to, for centuries. It would be fucking soul-crushing. It would be the kind of thing that makes you lose faith in humanity. For fuck’s sake, sometimes I lose faith in humanity because of this and I’m 26! Let alone 900 some years old. Plus we all know from watching Andy how critical it is to what they do and to enduring being immortal (and especially to Nicky who states more than once that he does what he does because it is the right thing to do), to believe in humanity.

And I think in that moment Joe saw Nicky’s face, and he saw how hopeless Nicky felt, and knew how scared he was, and realized that Nicky, who is the type of man to look Merrick in the eyes and tell him his time is coming and look the doctor in the eyes and tell her she’s immoral, essentially, Nicky, who is the type to tell someone exactly what he thinks of them, Nicky, who is usually the one to give the speeches to the latest homophobe or bigot or just fucking asshole in their presence - not even have the energy or motivation to acknowledge this guard let alone look into his soul and say something that will echo in his ears until he dies. That look on Nicky’s face breaks Joe’s heart.

So what does Joe do? He does it for Nicky because Nicky can’t. He goes off tenfold. He tells them not only that they’re ignorant but goes way above and beyond to show those men how little the implication that A) they’re dating and B) that that is worth mocking in their opinion, matters to him. He makes it a point that he’s only offended by the guard, not because he implied that Joe is gay, but that he would reduce their love to something as inadequate as boyfriend.

And you can see how this effects Nicky right on his face. How touched he is. How inspired he is. He’s reminded of all that really matters - Joe.

Not only that, but following this Nicky’s attitude pretty much does a 180. They kill the guards (I imagine they would have anyway. I really don’t think they killed the guards FOR being homophobic, even if that was the icing on top. I think they’d have killed any men who are in the business of kidnapping people for the profit of a corrupt CEO, particularly ones putting their own safety in immediate harm’s way) and as soon as the armored van doors are open Joe and Nicky are both, as a team, mocking Copley and the rest of his team of guards. Nicky nonchalantly asks about removing their restraints - as if he doesn’t know that isn’t going to happen. Nicky’s once again able to look someone in the face and tell them exactly what he thinks of them - this time it’s Copley he tells that they’re usually a better judge of character.

Joe joins in, complimenting the plane, and the two trade back and forth. Nicky mentioning the TV and Joe asking about Champagne.

This behavior, while first and foremost is just fucking hilarious, I think serves a greater purpose in the characterization of Joe and Nicky and their relationship. By the time they’re on the plane they’re back to their old selves. They’ve gotten their bearings enough to externally appear calm and unworried in the faces of their capturers, for one. But also, I think just about everything they say to each other, almost everything they do throughout the movie, but especially from the van scene on, is a purposeful attempt to always be comforting each other. To always be strong for the other. Mocking their capturers on the plane. Bumping heads after Joe has been stabbed. Talking about Joe’s bedhead. Bringing up Malta. Everything they do until they’re free, is a purposeful attempt to be strong for the other.

It’s really...so fucking well written, you guys. The portrayal of Nicky and Joe in this movie, and especially the van scene, is one of the most realized fictional relationships I’ve ever seen.

#the old guard #joe x nicky #immortal husbands #yusuf x nicolo #meta #long post

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wwilloww · 3 years

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the bodyguard | ksj

pairing: bodyguard!jin x reader

genre: smut, fluff

rating: explicit

wc: 5k

summary: As your bodyguard, keeping you safe from the world comes with rules for Kim Seokjin. But you’re used to getting what you want, and you want him.

warnings: nudity. pining. makeout. YN always gets what they want. no pronouns used to address reader. public sex. exhibitionism. unprotected sex (pls be smarter than these fictional characters). creampie. fingering. oral sex. multiple orgasms. fluff. oh my god so much fluff.

AN: The first part of this fic was written entirely wined up with the INTENTION OF IT BEING A DRABBLE. The second part of this fic was written with the intention of showing all the love to Jin, but then came the idea of smut and bam here we are. 1 million thank yous to @jin-fizz, who beta’d this at the very last moment and helped me rearrange some things. SMOOCHES to you, you lovely!

The Bodyguard

“Help! Someone, please, Help!”

The cry rings through the rooms, splitting through walls, through the heavy wooden doors of the almost-empty city manor.

Jin’s footsteps echo from what sound like too far away, climbing the stairs, sprinting down the creaking wooden boards. He bursts through the door to find you, crouched and hunched over your leg on the floor.

“What! What’s wrong?” he almost yells.

His gaze flicks around the room, taking in every detail possible. The unmade bed, the open perfume bottle on your vanity, the doors open to the balcony, curtains fluttering in the late-night breeze.

“My leg!”

In a split second the man your father has hired to be your bodyguard is on his hands and knees next to you, large hands reaching for your palm, gripping it tight.

She had shown you exactly how to do it. Mixing the expression of pain and beauty so expertly on your face. Your mother, despite all the awards and golden trophies she had won for her Hollywood success, had always been the best kind of actress at home.

His eyes light with the slightest amount of relief as he scans your face.

Alright. She’s alright.

“Where?”

Before you can even say anything, he’s gripping your ankles, pulling you to him, looking for any sign of injury.

“Higher.” You lace the pain so particularly into your voice.

His deft fingers kneed into the flesh of your calf, searching for the cause of your cries.

“I don’t see-”

“Higher,” you insist.

His fingers trace so delicately, so carefully, over your knee, pressing into your thigh, higher, higher, until he’s brushing back the silken fabric of your nightgown.

And then, breath drawn so quickly through his nose, fingers digging into you, holding you tight.

“Oops,” you breath. “I must have completely forgotten.”

“To put panties on?”

“Mhmm. Exactly.”

With a quick movement, he’s wrapped both of his hands around your calves and tugs you forward to him.

“You’re a liar,” he drones, your legs nearly wrapped around his waist.

“I am.”

“And a cheat.”

“Of course.” You grin. “You know more than anyone that I don’t like to play these kinds of games by other people’s rules. And I know that you love it.”

He doesn’t respond. Just closes his eyes, takes a long controlled breath. When he exhales it brushes so teasingly across your face.

“I might be a liar, but I know you’re not.” You reach for his cheek, and you think you see his eyelids flutter at the touch. His hands are still wrapped around your leg, the warmth of his palms seeping through into you. “So tell me you haven’t been thinking about this,” you whisper.

He growls softly, his eyes flashing bright and conscious towards you.

“You know I can’t.”

“Are you saying you don’t want me?” You draw on your prettiest of pouts.

“I can’t.”

You just blink back at him, letting your eyelashes brush against the warming rise of your cheeks.

“That’s not a no.”

“Your father would kill me.”

“Father’s not home.”

“He’ll be back by morning. And he’ll take pleasure in killing me if he were to know,” Jin asserts, running a hand through the falling wave of his sky-dark hair.

“You’re avoiding the question. Why do you always avoid my questions?” You push yourself closer to him, coming to wrap your hands around his neck and tug on the fresh pressed angle of his white dress shirt collar. He looks away from you.

“Because you always ask all the wrong questions.”

“I do not. In fact, I’d argue I’m asking all the right ones.” You glance up at him. The look in his eyes is unmistakable. Desire. Mixed with restraint. You know which one he’ll let win out over the other, and within a second he’s proving you right.

“I should go.”

He begins to pull away from you.

“You should stay.” You push yourself forward, wrapping your legs around his torso and slinging your arms around his neck. Impulsively, his hands press against your lower back, supporting you. So when he stands, you’re face to face. He blinks, taking a second to realize your position.

“Stay. Please,” you whisper.

He continues to stare at you, eyes tracing the shadow of your brow, the press of your lips, the mound of your warm cheeks. Your confidence crumbles in his silence.

“At least tell me you want this. Tell me I’m not making it up. Tell me I’m not alone in this.”

Finally, his eyes flick up to yours. It’s there. The answer. But he remains silent, his breath moving through his chest, and then through you. The stillness of the moment — being held by the man you can’t get out of your mind — mixed with the bitter taste of a lingering question. You can’t. You can’t hold it all, not in one body: the tenderness of his being and the acrid promise of his rejection.

And so you release your arms from around his neck. Unhook your legs. When your body drops softly to the floor he lets you go.

“It’s okay,” you say. “If you want to go, you can go.”

Without looking at him, you pad silently to the cracked open french doors. With a light push, they swing open before you and the crisp of the night air ruffles through your hair and the thin fabric of the night gown you’re wearing.

Silly. Silly. Silly.

You squeeze your eyes shut, letting the breeze swirl around you and prickle with ice against your skin. If only you might lose yourself in it. If you could lift yourself up off the stone balcony to fly through the city streets, feeling nothing but the brush of strangers against you.

Had you mistaken it all? The lingering gazes. The tightened grip on your waist when your father introduced you to potential suitors — all of whom you’d quickly turned away in front of Jin, by the way. Did you misread the way that his gaze had begun to latch onto you to trace not just your safety, but your sense of being in a way that surpassed his usual loyalty? And most important to you, the way he’d begun smiling around you for the first time. Letting cracks show in his usually pristine professional behavior.

You wait for the sound of the doors to your bedroom slamming shut and Jin leaving, but you must be so lost in yourself that the sound never comes. It’s just the wind, howling. The beating of your heart in your chest. The bite of something that tastes like regret nibbling at your throat.

“How could you think I didn’t want you?” It’s so soft you can barely hear it. But you do.

Spin back towards the room.

Jin stands between the doors, his broad frame flickering gold in the soft light behind him. His face is shadowed in blue as he faces out into the night, out towards you, but his eyes shine with a warm light.

“How dare you?” he says softly with a smile playing against his lips. He steps towards you. Before the smile can fully take position on your lips, he’s so close to you you can feel the warmth of his large body radiating out towards you. “How dare you think I don’t want you.” A long pause. And then, as softly as if the words might break him: “You’re all I can think about.” Tentatively, he reaches out towards you.

And then he stops, just as his hand is about to touch your burning cheek.

You do the rest, stepping back into your usual tradition of goading him on. With a soft movement, you reach for him, interlacing your fingers with his and letting his touch fall across your face. You sigh into it. His thumb strokes slowly over your cheek bone.

“How dare I?” you say. “How dare you make me wait this long.”

He just smiles back, his dark eyes reflecting the streetlights back to you.

“Will you let me kiss you, now? Finally?”

“Finally, yes,” he says.

You reach up, pressing your fingers to the back of his neck where his hair has grown long in the past months, tangling your fingers into them before his lips have even reached yours.

None of your other first kisses have been like this. Sure, you’ve kissed other people. Other men. But you’ve never kissed Kim Seokjin before.

Your lips meet like wings brushing against each other: soft and fluttering, finding a path through the air with ten thousand questions etched into each feather. He wraps one of his long arms around your back, spreading his fingers wide and pressing you lightly into his chest, all the while his opposite hand brushes so lightly and tenderly against your cheek, guiding you ever closer, ever deeper into his affections.

“You,” he whispers against your lips, “are an absolute gift.”

“I don’t know how you did it,” you whisper back.

“What?”

“Resisted me for so long.” He snorts against you and you can’t help but giggle. “I swear to god I’ve been trying for so long to let you know how I’ve felt,” you explain, leaning your forehead against his.

“I’m a dumbass, baby.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

“Please,” you look up at him. “Kiss me again.”

For a split second he hesitates.

“What?” you ask. The silence that opens between you two opens up something else inside of you.

“If…” He wets his lips. “If I kiss you again, I won’t want to let go.”

“Then don’t.”

The smile that spreads across his pretty face is wide and splitting, but it is only a half second before he is recapturing you in his hold, pushing you back against the stone railing of the balcony as his lips meet yours a second time.

Whereas his first kiss was like a ring of petals opening slowly to the dawning sun, this kiss is midday heat. It is searing, pressing through you like a flash, lighting every nerve within you on fire. It is red and pink and all the warm colors on the spectrum of life. It burns you tender with its quickness, but all you want is more.

As if he is feeling exactly as you, his kiss quickens. He bites your lower lip and greedily swallows the moan that slips out of your mouth. When you tangle your fingers in his long hair, he hisses back at you and you can feel the curl of his smile against you.

“You like that,” you note quietly when he moves to nip at the cut of your jaw.

“I like you.”

With a graceful move, Jin twirls you around, slamming your back against the open door, effectively slamming it shut and leaving you in privacy on the balcony. Your breath rushes out of your lungs in a gasp.

“Jin?”

“Darling?”

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to get as close to you as possible.”

“Then, goddamnit, get closer.”

He grins, takes your begging, and runs with it.

With the kind of grace and speed you were so used to seeing abound in him while he was working, he dives for your neck, intertwining the pillowed press of his lips with sharp nibbles against the sensitive skin.

“Closer.”

He chuckles and does as you bid. With his awkward strength, he lifts you, balancing your weight on his hips as you wrap your hands around his neck for balance. An unfortunate time to remember your current situation: entirely unclothed except the thin slip you donned just at Jin was sprinting up the stairs.

He adjusts you and your bare cunt brushes against the silky smooth fabric of his dress pants. But that’s not what makes you gasp. It’s the bulge that nestles hard and hot against you as he dives back in for your neck.

One hand tangled in his thick locks, you can’t help but grind your hips down on him. The sound that spills from his lips is needy, desperate, and it reverberates straight through you.

“I want you,” you whine as his hand graces up your torso. He pulls back. Cocks his head to the side ever so slightly.

“You want me?”

“As if having me half naked and wrapped around you isn’t enough to convince you of that?”

“Isn’t that a little… fast?”

“Is waiting four years a little too fast for you?”

“Good point.”

And he’s diving back in, nipping at the already blossoming marks on your neck. Throw your head back, relishing in his every touch and the even more divine gift: his entire attention focused on you.

“Please, Jin, I don’t want to wait anymore. I mean it.”

“What do you wan—”

“I want you to fuck me.”

“Oh.”

“Here.”

“Here?”

“Mhmm.”

“On the balcony? Where everyone can see?”

You kiss him then, taking his lower lip between your teeth and relishing in the gasp that you pull from him.

“No one will see. And if they do, then they’ll know.”

“Know what?”

“That I’m yours.”

He grins back at you. “Mine?”

“If you want me.”

“Of course I want you. Don’t you know what you do to me?”

“You could tell me about it.”

“I could, but then I’d miss out all on this.”

Gently he lets you down, but his lips never leave yours as his hands come to meet your hips and guide you where he wants. You let one of your hands drift down from where you’ve kept them locked around his neck. Kissing him still, you pluck open the first two buttons of his dress shirt and trace your hands down the burning skin.

If you’re known for anything, you’re known for your impatience. So you don’t linger long on the smooth planes of his chest, and instead glide your hand down his torso until you reach his belt buckle. You make as if to dip underneath his pants, but at the last moment you pull away and cup the impressive bulge he’s already sporting.

“Shit,” he hisses as you trace a manicured nail around the shape of his cock. But all sound chokes in his throat as you grip his erection through the fabric of his pants and begin to stroke him. “Need you. Now.”

“Good.”

You begin to turn, to pull your nightgown up over your bottom, but he’s tugging you back towards him and spinning you around so you’re pressed to his chest.

“I want to see your face.”

It’s hasty work, him pulling himself out of his pants, wrapping his veiny hand around his throbbing cock and notching the head of it against your dripping folds. But you’re no more patient, hopping up so you’re seated precariously on the balcony railing and kissing at his neck steadily and reaching down to part your lips just for him.

He only teases you for a moment, stepping between your legs and dragging the head of his cock against your clit. He wraps one hand around your waist, securing you tightly to him.

“Please,” you breathe against his chest and he pushes into you in one swift thrust. The sensation of him filling you is everything. It clouds your vision. It resets your senses till all you can think of, can feel is this man’s existence, beating so close to yours.

“Fuck—” he hisses as his cock settles inside you, as you adjust around his thick girth.

“You’re so—” you pant against him.

“Is it too much?”

“Big. Just give me a moment.”

He does, reaching to cup the back of your neck and press a kiss to your forehead. It’s almost too intimate, the way he holds you so softly, so tenderly, all while his cock throbs within you. It’s in that moment that the discomfort of the stretch shifts to pleasure. Warmth, spreading from your abdomen outwards. You relax in his hold, hands falling from his neck to the strong muscles of his arms.

“Please,” you murmur. “Need you.”

His hips rut against yours as if he’s never had anything as good as you before.

“Want you to feel good,” he tells you. “Tell me—”

“Just need you—closer.”

You weren’t sure that he could get closer but it’s what your body craves and it’s what he serves. He wraps his arms around you, hands spreading wide and pressing you impossibly close. In the moment, you wish you two were bare as your bodies move against each other as if they’d known the shared rhythm all along.

He fucks you like that, like you’re suspended in air. The warmth of his body keeps you grounded as the height that hangs behind you reels through you, adding a giddy, heady feeling to it all. Or maybe the giddiness comes from the way you relish in the quick pants and desperate grunts that fall from his lips and to your shoulder. Or the way he gasps your name like a monk’s chant into your ear, the sound of it like nothing you’ve ever heard before. You don’t want to hear it any other way either.

When he comes, spilling deep inside you, it’s your name on his lips. When you come, it’s his name splitting through the silent sky.

Jin holds you there, pressed still against his chest for a long moment as you both catch your breath. It’s only when he feels the slight shiver of your body that he pulls back.

“You’re cold?” You nod. “Let’s get you inside.”

He helps you down carefully from the balcony banister before tucking himself away and grabbing your hands in one of his large ones.

“Come, I’ll take care of you.”

You can’t help but let the joy show on your face as he leads you forward.

He reaches behind him, opening the balcony doors. The light curtains wash out into the room with the cold air, brushing around Jin like some kind of ethereal welcome.

Welcome back to my world, you think. But the thought of reality, of the conversations, the negotiations, the reality that will await you in the morning slips out of your mind as Jin twirls you into his arms and suddenly your whole world is warm again. Suddenly your world is Jin again.

He peppers your whole face with kisses as he walks you backwards, loud smooching sounds echoing through the large room coupled with your giggles that turn into full blown laughter.

“Hey hey hey!” you chide, grabbing onto the loose collar that now teases the delicious arch of his collar bones and neck. “You can’t do that!”

“What!” he snaps between kisses. “I can’t kiss you!”

“Not if you’re going to be that ridiculous!”

At that moment you feel the soft edge of the bed hit the back of your knees and you are tumbling backwards, eyes widening with shock. At the last second he’s reaching behind you, catching you and lowering you slowly to the soft mattress. You reach for him, but he kneels at the edge of the bed, just far enough that your grabbing hands only find empty air.

“So then tell me, if I can’t drown you in kisses, can I at least do this?” His hand teases the hem of your slip, tracing circles on your upper thigh. The touch is simple, but it raises goosebumps all over your body. He slaps away your reaching hands.

“Or this?” His fingers dip beneath the fabric, tracing up your thigh to dance around your hip. “What about this?” He pulls the fabric all the way up to your waist. With the quickness of a fox, he’s bending down and licking one long line up the slick folds of your cunt.

“Fuck!”

His tongue swirls around your clit, still bathing in soft sensitivity from your most recent orgasm. He seems to sense this as he blows lightly against your lips, forcing your back to arch into the mattress, your hand reaching out instinctively to tangle in his hair.

“Okay, okay, I get it!”

“What, you act like it’s some kind of punishment.”

“It is, when it means you’re not up here, fucking me.” He blinks, still not quite used to your explicit language. “And anyways,” you pant, “doesn’t this kind of foreplay usually come before the mindblowing sex?”

“And who’s rules are you playing by now?”

You grin, giddy at the cleverness of your own words turned back on you.

“No one’s.” You push up to your elbows, taking in the beautiful man above you. “But if I’m making the rules, then I need you inside me, now.”

“Patience, darling,” Jin smiles, sitting up.

“No,” you say, reaching for him. “I will not be patient. Not for you, anyways.”

“No?”

“No.” You’re moving to unbutton his shirt, and he lets you, but doesn’t do much else to help you along. “Off, off, off,” you grumble, tugging on the collar of his now wrinkled shirt, but he stands there like a limp fish. You sigh, sitting back on your heels. “Please?”

Jin throws his head back and laughs that full-belly laugh. “Will I ever be able to say no to you? To this?”

“No,” you smile. “You won’t. And I won’t have it any other way.”

“Good.” He presses a kiss to your lips, one that lingers long and sweet. Sweet enough that when he pulls back, you miss the taste of him. But he’s doing as you’ve asked and quickly tugs his shirt over his head and drops his pants to the floor.

You don’t know if you’ve ever seen something as beautiful.

Jin had always had the power to command a room with his large but quiet presence, but seeing him like this, bare and breathing hard for you is something entirely different. There is both something soft and sweet about the tenderness of him, and something sharp about the desire he lets swirl through his body. You want it all.

“Your turn?” he asks softly, reaching for the slip that pools around your hips. “I want to see you.”

You nod and he pulls the light fabric up over your head with an unspoken gentleness.

“Look at you,” he breathes, but his gaze doesn’t linger long on your body. Instead, it’s latched onto your gaze, watching for every thought that will flicker across your expression.

“Come here.” You open your arms wide and he is tumbling into your embrace, pushing you back into the bed. You’re both giggling in the sensation of falling, giggling at each other's laughter, giggling because, really, what else is there to do when you’re finally wrapped up in the person you adore?

And then you take a breath. Let the silence of the room, the old, ticking clock in the hallway, the sweeping sounds off the streets filter through both of you. For a moment both of you become everything around you. For a moment, both of you are only the sensation of looking at another and wondering.

It doesn’t last.

It’s too difficult to resist reaching up for him, pressing your fingers lightly against the arc of his neck and drawing his lips back to where they belong: against yours. You’re not sure how, but each time he kisses you it’s a whole new world. This time, it’s spring. Ice melting against the promise of warmth. He melts against your touch and you wrap your legs around his waist.

He pushes into you without resistance. This time, your body welcomes him with ease, wrapping warmly around his throbbing length. He reaches so far into you.

When he begins to move, it’s too much. The spear of pleasure shoots through your abdomen and you arch your back. He stills immediately.

“Look at me,” Jin says. “I want to see your eyes when you come around my cock.”

You smile. Nip at whatever skin is accessible to you. Press yourself as close to him as you possibly can and chase the pleasure of having him, finally, in your bed.

When you grind your hips against his, he grunts and thrusts deeper.

When he lowers his weight down on you, he does it at an angle, one hand near your chest, the other one coming down on your hips. His fingers wrap around your waist and he begins to move you in time to his thrusts. It’s with even more power that he enters you now, but his pace has slowed just enough that your own orgasm dangles in front of you like he’s teasing you with sweetness.

He’s always teasing you, isn’t he.

Pleasure ripples across his face, marking his brow, dancing across his lips like a fleeting ghost. You want to memorize the way his delight radiates out into the world, want to return to it everyday like a favorite book.

He holds you like he has so many times before, but this time there’s a new edge to his gaze. Trust. He knows you’re his. Knows that the blossoming purple on your neck and the breath coming quickly from your lungs are marks of him. That even if the red blessing of dawn tears him from your bed and your arms that this moment is marked, is held, by him.

For now that will be enough.

He has you wrapped up in his arms, your gaze fluttering between pleasure and weariness.

“You’re a gift.”

You don’t know what it is about that phrasing. If it’s the way the words take shape on his pink lips, if it’s the deep sound of his voice flooding through you. If it’s the devotion swimming in his eyes. Either way, your cheeks flood with warmth and you cut back: “You said that already.”

“And I meant it both times.”

He notices your flickering gaze and the heat painting your cheeks and reaches for you, stroking his thumb against the burning flesh.

“You’re so warm.”

“I’m embarrassed,” you say softly.

“What?” He leans in. “The crown jewel of the city embarrassed? By a measly little affection?”

“You’d be surprised at the list of things you do that can bring a blush to my cheeks,” you cut back too quickly — only to realize it’s not as much of a cut as you thought it was.

“Oh?” He rolls closer. So his chest is once more pressed to yours. He lets his hand drift up to tug on a loose strand of hair that falls into your face. “Tell me more.”

“Really?”

“Give me the juicy details.”

“No!”

“Give them to me,” he grins. “I want to know exactly why the hell you’ve fallen for me, me of all people.”

“Fine — that, uh—” Suddenly you are overwhelmed with all of the moments and instances that this dear man inspired you with. Where to begin? “I can’t get you out of my head.”

“I know. You’ve made that quite clear.” He punctuates his meaning by flicking his gaze towards the discarded nightgown at the foot of the bed. “But why?”

Moment after moment flies through your brain and before you can think of censoring yourself, you’re grabbing on to the first one that sparks your attention. “That thing you do when you throw me over your shoulder and run. It’s a little excessive but I promise you it gives me plenty of time to admire your broad shoulders.”

That crinkling scrutiny in his eye glimmers again.

“It’s just my body. Hm.”

“No! No…” You correct him, bringing your hands up to his cheeks and tugging his face closer to you to make sure he is listening.

“Your kindness.”

“Sure. My job is to beat people up for you and you fell for my kindness?” You see the flash of shyness in his expression and suddenly you’re devoted to making him understand. He doesn’t see it.

“Really.”

“Really?”

“Really. You know… when you aren’t out there performing you’re actually quite riddled with kindness and… intricacies.”

He laughs. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“Like… that one time you woke me up at 3am because it was our only night at the beach and you weren’t going to pass up the chance to go fishing — and refused to leave me alone just to do something you loved — and how you sat there with your little frown and waited for hours only to realize that we were in the completely wrong spot to be fishing in the first place. You love it. And you’re horrible at it. And in this stupid world where everything either has to be for perfection or for money — that’s so fucking refreshing.”

His laughter echoes through the room, bouncing off of the cold stone and landing warmly in your chest. “That-that’s it? My horrible fishing skills. What about the time-”

“At the gallery?”

“Where I literally-”

“Took a bullet-”

“To my shoulder!”

“Your prized possessions,” you wink.

“Yes, the time I saved your life. That’s not it?”

“Sure, sure,” you flap your hand. “I can find a man to take a bullet for me on any street corner, any day of the week.”

“Sure, sure!” Jin scoffs back at you, but he’s smiling. Watching the way his plump lips stretch towards his cheeks, you realize you could list the reasons you can’t let him go until the sun bridges her gaze over the horizon of city buildings — and still not be finished. And yet, you continue.

“Here’s one: The way you listen. You take things in and notice — but, no, it’s not just noticing. You process them and turn them quietly into something deep and beautiful and meaningful and it never fails to surprise me. And! And the way that sometimes when you laugh it sounds like something horribly squeaky and delightful.”

His jaw drops.

“Something squeaky!”

“Like windshield wipers… Sometimes! Only sometimes! And it’s delightful!”

His brow narrows.

“I’m going to kiss you now to shut you up before you say something even worse than that.” Your eyes widen. “If you’ll have me.”

“Yes-yes, god, I’ll have you.”

THANK YOU FOR READING!

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joontopia · 3 years

Text

Forget Me Not | KNJ Oneshot

pairing: kim namjoon x female reader

genre: smut, slight angst, dashes of fluff, basically porn with a dollop of plot

au: exes to lovers, valentine’s day

rating: explicit, nsfw, 18+

word count: 20.3K

warnings: slight angst, assumed cheating, cursing, alcohol consumption, dry humping, some heavy petting, heated make out sessions, daddy kink, slightly bratty reader, dom namjoon, pet names, dirty name calling, slight degradation, cocksleeve kink, use of sex toys (vibrator), unprotected sex, condom got lost in the mail, cumshot, creampie, oral sex (m & f), blowjob, throat fucking, fingering, squirting, pussy slapping, clit slapping, spit play, namjoon got a big ol’ cock, nipple biting, marking, biting, overstimulation, orgasm denial, orgasm control, multiple orgasms, wall sex, some gentle choking

banner made by: @kimtaehyunq

a/n: My day for posting has finally come! This fic is twice as long as I thought it was going to be. Big, big hugs and smooches to Maggie and Tina for beta and editing this beast at the last minute for me. You two are a lifesaver and I love yall so much. And thank you again, Maggie, for recruiting me to be a part of this valentine’s day collab! I had such a great time!

Beta readers: @kimtaehyunq @escapingreality4now

This is a part of the Be My Bangtanvine Collab - go check out the other fantastic writers and their stories!

“So what’s your name, anyway?” The once cute, bleach blonde male asks you as he leans in closer, his breath reeking of the IPA he is nursing. You lean away from him in your seat at the bar, rolling your eyes as you grab your drink. “What does it matter?” you say taking a big sip. “You’re not going to remember it anyways.”

“What makes you say that?” He slurs, leaning even closer to you. His eyes half closed from drunkenness and a lazy smile on his face. You push him away from you gently, a soft huff coming from his mouth as his back hits the bar.

“Because I’ve told it to you four times already?” Your tone doesn’t match the smile you give him as he lets out a laugh. You take another sip from your drink, your eyes roaming around the bar again looking for your best friend, Tina. She invited you out tonight, with the promise of some much needed girl time. Guilt tripped you with the fact that she hasn’t spent much time with you outside of work or your apartment after your breakup six months ago. You were four episodes deep into a new TV show when she came barreling through your door, taking full advantage of the spare key you had given her weeks earlier for ‘emergencies only.’ She dragged you off the couch, going on and on about how “Enough is enough. You need to get out and be around people. Not sitting here moping over some stupid guy.”

Hauling you into your bedroom, she dolls you up in the black, sparkly bodycon dress you bought for your anniversary dinner with your ex but never got to wear. Promised that tonight was just going to be you two girls. No boys allowed. No worries of running into a certain someone because “it’s not like he ever had the time for things like this anyways.” It didn’t take long until she was whisked off to the dance floor by some silver-haired beautiful man with the plushest lips you have ever seen. You willingly let him sweep her away. You didn’t have the heart to say no, not with the absolute lovestruck look in Tina’s eyes.

Unfortunately, it left you alone at a crowded bar top, susceptible to being bothered by drunken bar patrons looking for an easy score. You first didn’t mind when this one came up to you. He seemed charming, up until the point he was asking for your name thrice in five minutes. Your nose crinkles as he leans back in again, placing a hand on your shoulder to balance himself as he almost stumbles forward on to you. “Come on, tell me your name. I promise I’ll remember it this time.”

Rolling your eyes, you finish your drink, readying yourself for the long back and forth once you tell him you’re not interested. You place your empty glass on the bar top and brush his hand off your shoulder. Your eyes widen as you see your drunk intruder start falling forward from his loss of balance, only then realizing you should’ve made sure you had supported his hand on something else. You brace for impact, eyes closing shut while your arms are out in front of you as you wait for him to come crashing down. Hoping you’d be able to push him off of you in time before he takes you crashing to the floor with him. But the body weight never comes, only replaced with a deep, honey rich voice that you haven’t heard in months causing your eyes to snap open. There the owner of the voice stood, his arm out in between you and your drunken company, pushing the latter back towards the bar top and away from you. “N-Namjoon?” you sputter, completely caught off guard to see your ex-boyfriend standing beside you.

“Excuse me, but I think it’s about time you left her alone,” Namjoon says, his eyes narrowing at the drunken gentleman as the sides of his mouth turn up into a tight, polite smile. He feels taller than what you remember, towering over the other bar patron by almost half a foot.

The drunken man looks between you and Namjoon, puffing his chest as he crosses his arm, trying to make himself seem taller than he really is. “Chill, dude. We’re just talking, having a good time. What are you? Her boyfriend or something?”

You shift in your seat just slightly, Namjoon noticing out of the corner of his eye as he clears his throat, moving to place his hand on the back of your chair. “Or something…” he says, his cheeks rosy-ing just a bit as he side-eyes you again, waiting to see if you were going to interject. You stay quiet, looking at him with wide eyes as you’re still trying to process the fact that he’s here in this bar with you. What is he doing here?

He takes your silence as permission to continue, turning his full attention back to the other man. “Thank you for keeping my friend company while I was away. Now if you excuse us, we’re going to try and enjoy the rest of our night.”

The drunken man hardens his gaze at Namjoon for a moment, slightly swaying back and forth and you wonder if he’s about to lose his balance again. He breathes out, rolling his eyes as he scoffs at Namjoon, turning to walk away from the bar. “Whatever man,” he mutters, walking away and disappearing into the crowd.

“Everything okay, Joon?” The bartender asks, having walked up shortly after the drunken man took his leave.

“Yeah, man. All cool. Can you get us another round?” The Bartender nods, turning to start a new round of drinks for the two of you. As soon as he walks away, Namjoon turns to you, his cheeks rosy-ing once again as he lifts one of his hands, scratching the back of his head. “Uh, hey Y/N. Interesting running in to you here.”

“What are you doing, Namjoon?” You feel your face warm up with annoyance. Never once in the year that you were together did he ever come out to a bar with you. Always too busy with work to make it out with you and your friends. But now here he is, in front of you being treated as if he’s come here his whole life.

He chuckles nervously, his feet shuffling just a bit as he clears his throat. “What do you mean?” His seemingly innocent question makes your annoyance and frustration grow even more, and you try hard to hold back the bite in your tone.

“What are you doing? Here, just now. You hate bars.”

“I don’t hate bars. I just never had the time for them.” His voice trails off at the end, the ghost of arguments past flashing before his eyes.

You scoff at him, rolling your eyes as you cock your head to the side. “Oh, what? And you do now? Work finally not keeping you so busy anymore?” The resentment dripping from your tone makes Namjoon squirm just a bit in his spot. You’d feel good about it, knowing how uncomfortable he was feeling right now, if it wasn’t for the little fact that he just saved you from a potentially embarrassing incident. You briefly scold yourself, telling yourself to at least show him some level of gratitude before biting his head off again.

“Sorry, that was rude--” You’re interrupted by the return of the bartender with your drinks, placing them on the bartop as Namjoon turns to grab them. You take the brief break in his attention as a chance to calm and compose yourself. Knowing his sudden appearance didn’t allow you to react the way you wanted to after seeing him again for the first time in months. You let out a sigh, letting your shoulders deflate just slightly, taking you out of your defensive mood. You allow yourself to take a better look at Namjoon, trailing your eyes from the floor up to his face. You can’t help but notice how good he looks. He looks like he just came from a work meeting, wearing dark grey slacks and a whilte long-sleeve button up. The form fitting sleeves rolled halfway up his arms, showing off the toneness of them. “Has he been working out?” you think to yourself. You look back up at his face, his dark brown hair pushed back out of it, giving you a nice view of his jawline as he’s turning back around from grabbing your drinks.

He holds out the drink to you, your eyes now on his hand as it’s holding the glass in front of you. The way his long fingers are wrapping around the glass stirs something inside your groin. Memories from long-heated nights of the two of you together coming forth in your mind. Memories of the very same hand creeping up your body and wrapping firmly around your -- “Y/N?”

Namjoon eyes you curiously, an eyebrow quickly shooting up as he looks at you and you hope he’s not able to easily read your face to know what you’re thinking about. “Jesus, Y/N. Calm yourself,” you think to yourself as you mentally facepalm.

You clear your throat, your cheeks warming as you grab the drink from his hand and take a sip. “Thanks,” you mutter, clearing your throat again as you regain your composure. “And thank you for a minute ago. I didn’t think I was ever going to get rid of that guy.” You both chuckle. Namjoon’s dimples poking out as he smiles, nodding his head as he murmurs a “you’re welcome.” Your eyes flicker to his cheeks, a ghost of a smile on your lips as you take in the sight of his adorable features. You feel a flutter in your stomach, realizing how much you missed just being able to look at him.

“So…” you start, pushing your hair behind your ear. “What are you doing here?” you ask him curiosity sinking back in as the possible reasons start popping up in your mind. Is it work related? Did he quit? Or get fired? Does he actually have time to go out now? Oh God, is he here to meet another girl?

“Actually, I’m kinda here because of work,” he says, taking a drink of his beer.

“Of course he is,” you think, your eyes rolling involuntarily, causing Namjoon to jump quickly into further explanation.

“I’m out with a few people from work,” he spits out quickly, a nervous chuckle slipping past his lips at the end. “A couple of the guys asked if I wanted to go out with them a couple of weeks back and I thought it would be a nice change. That’s actually one of them over there, dancing with your friend.” He nods towards the dance floor and you turn just in time to see the silver haired dreamboat locking lips with your best friend. You turn back towards Namjoon as he continues, “I knew you liked going to places like this. Just wanted to see what I was missing.”

You hum in response, taking a sip from your drink as you look at him. He’s staring right at you, eyes meeting yours as they glint with a deeper meaning. Could it be that he’s been just as miserable these last few months as you? “And how has that been going?” you ask him.

“Turns out what I’ve been missing is you.” You smile wide at his words, cheeks warming up as you look away. He looks down as you both let out a little laugh.

“Well,” you say as you cross your legs in your chair, your foot now grazing the inside of his thigh. “Here I am.”

Namjoon’s eyes flicker down to your foot, his eyes trailing up your leg and growing wide as if he’s finally taking in the form fitting dress that you’re wearing. “Here you are,” he says with a smirk. “You look amazing.”

You’re not sure how it happened exactly. The events leading up to right now, how you agreed to meet Namjoon for brunch the night after seeing him again for the first time. The multiple drinks and shots you took with him more than likely the sole perpetrator.

One minute you’re still at the bar, drinking and laughing with your ex-boyfriend. Catching up on the last few months spent apart. Next thing you know, you’re thrown up against the brick wall in the back alley behind the bar. Namjoon’s one hand on your ass as the other has both your wrists secured above your head. Your own legs wrapped tightly around his waist to help keep you from falling. The rough bricks scratch at your exposed skin, but you hardly notice, your attention stolen by Namjoon’s tongue down your throat. The definite bulge in his pants grinding against your core takes any feeling of discomfort away. You don’t remember how long you two were like that when Namjoon pulls his lips away from tours, allowing the two of you to catch a much needed breath.

After the burning in your lungs starts to subside, you lean in towards him, trying to capture his lips into another kiss, only for him to pull away again. A little pout forming on your face, causing him to chuckle.

“Wait, wait,” he says, his chest still expanding rapidly from his heavy breaths.

“What’s wrong?” you ask as he lets go of your wrist, your hands dropping to his shoulders as he unwraps your legs from around him. Still holding on to you as he helps you balance yourself on the ground.

“Nothing, uhh…” he murmurs, rubbing the back of his head as he looks away. “This, um, just wasn’t exactly the way I had planned for it to go.” He lets off a nervous chuckle as he looks back at you and you smile at him. “You see, I had this whole scenario planned in my head of what I would do if I saw you again.”

“And having me pinned up against a wall dry humping me wasn’t part of it, I’m guessing?” You cock a brow at him, smiling when you notice his cheeks growing scarlet.

“No, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a nice surprise.” You both laugh as a cool breeze sweeps down the alleyway. You rub your arms, your body finally acknowledging the chilly temperature outside.

“I wanted to ask you out for coffee,” he says, his palms moving to rub your arms on instinct, trying to help keep you warm. “Wanted to get a chance to talk to you, ask for you to give me another chance.”

“Okay.”

He blinks at you, looking at you as if he was confused by your short answer before it hits him. “Okay?” he repeats, a smile growing on his face causing his dimples to reappear.

“To coffee,” you clarify. “There’s still a lot we need to talk about before I say yes to a second chance.”

And that’s how you found yourself here, walking into Namjoon’s favorite coffee place. The very one you avoided the last few months because you didn’t want to run into him. As you enter, you look around the cute little shop. Your face lights up with a smile when you see Namjoon already here, sitting in a corner booth with two cups of coffee on the table in front of him. As you approach, he looks over as if he sensed your presence, smiling as he stands up to greet you by giving you a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“I’m happy you’re here. Kinda was a little worried you’d change your mind,” he says, sitting down in the seat across from you.

“It crossed my mind.” Namjoon’s eyes grow wide and you giggle, letting him know it was just a joke. You grab the drink in front of you as Namjoon smiles shyly.

“Two scoops of sugar, a pump of caramel and toffee nut flavoring with creamer on the side, right?” He asks, the question rhetorical, as he pushes a few cups of creamer towards you.

“You remembered,” you whisper, smiling as you stirred in some creamer to your coffee. He smiles, taking a sip of his own Iced Americano. You both sit there for a few minutes, neither one of you talking. The silence being broken by the waitress coming over to take your food order. Namjoon, once again remembering your usual order and you smile wide, saying a thanks as the waitress walks away.

“I’ve missed you, Y/N. I’ve missed this,” he says suddenly, catching you slightly off guard. You knew this was why you were both here, but you didn’t expect him to start the conversation so suddenly. “I really want to get back together.”

You let you a soft sigh, pushing a fallen strand of hair behind your ear. “I don’t know, Joonie.”

“Why not?” he asks softly, eyeing you intently as he gives you his full attention.

“We broke up for a reason, Joon,” you say as you look up to meet his eye. You see the adoration and the deep determination in his gaze. His deep, chestnut eyes pull you in as you get lost in them, almost making you forget the reasons why you broke up. Almost.

You look away, the memory of your break up resurfacing. Your mind starts to wander to that early fall evening. Namjoon showing up to your apartment late from work. Too late for the dinner reservations you had made for your one year anniversary. You were already out of your dress, lying in bed in your pajamas when he came knocking on your front door. You had let him in, not wanting your neighbors to hear the argument that was sure to come. And came it did.

You had said something about being tired of coming second to everything with him. How he spent more time with work and not with you. Always going in early and staying late, never making time for you unless it was for sex. He countered with how important his work was to him, how you said you admire that about him when you first got together. How he was doing this to secure his future, a future that he saw with you. This was his passion, and he didn’t get how you couldn’t understand that. He didn’t get what the big deal was that night, simply forgetting what day it was. Told you that if it was that serious to you, if you really couldn’t put up with his shit anymore, to just break up with him.

So you did. The moment the words fell from your mouth, so did the tears. Namjoon just stood there in the middle of your living room staring at you. Tears still falling harder from your eyes as he turned, snatching his work bag from the floor and walking back out of your apartment, slamming the door behind him. No rebuttal, no attempt to fight for you back. He just left. No communication or to be seen again until last night.

“I know,” he says, his voice bringing you back to the present. ”I had a lot that I needed to work on. I neglected you, put more effort in my job than our relationship and I know it took a toll that night. I took you for granted.”

‘It wasn’t just that… That night was our --” you start softly before he interrupts you.

“Our one year anniversary, I know.” He lets out a huff and he rubs his face with his hands. You look up at him, blinking owlishly. “God, I’m such an idiot. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I realized it the moment I left and I should’ve turned back around. I should’ve fought harder to keep you.”

“You didn’t fight at all,” you state meekly, your tone just above a whisper. Namjoon looks down at the table softly nodding his head.

“I was an idiot. And too stubborn to know what I had.” You both sit there for a minute, staring at your own coffee drinks, not saying a word. You went over his words, happy to hear him admit the things he faulted in your relationship. A little flower of hope blossoming in your heart that just maybe you two could work things out.

“Why now?” you ask, breaking the silence. “What made you want to try again?”

“You remember the producer position at work that I wanted?” He looks up at you. You nod your head, remembering how he used to talk so passionately about that being his dream job. “Well, one of the producers left, allowing for a position to come available. I got it.”

A huge smile grows on your face as you reach and grab his hand, not even realizing you had done it. “Congratulations, Joonie! That’s so awesome!”

He smiles back at you, covering your hand with his other as he looks down where they are joined. “Thank you,” he says with a smile. “It was a bittersweet moment when I had gotten the news. Of course, I was happy when I got it, but I had no one to celebrate with. And the only person I wanted there was you.”

You feel your heart swell, your smile only growing bigger as you look at him. He gives your hand a squeeze, smiling back at you before continuing, “I realized that if I wanted you back, I was going to have to change. I want to be better for you.”

“It wasn’t just you who needed to change, Joonie.” You give his hands a squeeze back as he looks back up at you, his brow furrowing in confusion. “I could’ve been more understanding. Maybe we can work on it together.”

His eyes light up, growing wide for just a second as he sits up in his chair, leaning forward into the table towards you. “Yeah?” he asks, his tone dripping with hope and enthusiasm.

You giggle, smiling at his reaction. “Yeah. Let’s give it another shot.”

You spent the rest of the brunch date eating your own meals and talking. Outlining the issues you two needed to work on, setting rules and guidelines for trying again. The conversation carries over and continuing on your walk home Namjoon joins you on. Namjoon promises to make more time for you, you promise to be patient and a little more understanding. You also set the rule of no sex, at least until you both are confident that you two can make this work. The moment you state the rule, Namjoon lets out a whine, causing a giggle to escape your lips from his cute reaction.

“No sex?!” he exclaims, as you enter the door to your apartment complex causing an older couple to turn and give you two a scolding glare. “Not even fooling around?”

“No sex,” you say after shooshing him, giggling again as the older couple walk into their apartment. “Kissing is fine, but no sex. Not even fooling around.”

“But if I recall, sex was never part of our problems.” Namjoon wiggles his eyebrows at you, leaning up against the wall as you make it to your front door.

“Namjoon!” You slap his arm, playfully glaring at him and scolding him as you dig for your keys out of your purse.

“I’m just kidding! Kind off...:” he says, winking at you as you unlock your door. “Fine, no sex. I can do that. It’s worth it to prove to you that I’ve changed.” You flick on the lights to your apartment, placing your purse on the side table by the door as you turn to look back at Namjoon. He’s now standing in your doorway, leaning up on the door frame as he looks down at you, smiling. “So I guess I’ll call you later then.”

You give him a nod, once again finding yourself mesmerized by his presence and unable to speak. You never thought you’d be here with him again, having him drop you off at your doorstep after a date. He leans in towards you, his hand rising to cup your face as his lips meet yours for a soft kiss. Your body is electrified with the feel of his lips on yours and you feel yourself melt into his touch. He deepens the kiss just briefly before pulling away. You fall forward slightly, your lips still puckered as the chase after his, wanting more. Namjoon smiles, a knowing look in his eye as he walks backward away from you. “I’ll see you later, baby.” He doesn’t even wait for your response as he turns around, walking back down the hall and out into the street.

“Tease…” you mutter as you close the door behind you. Your fingers brushing your lips slightly as you smile, still feeling the softness of his lips on yours.

“You agreed to WHAT now?” Tina shouts as she follows you into the breakroom at work. Eyes wide as she watches you pour yourself a cup of coffee before the Monday morning staff meeting, having just finished going over your weekend events after she had left you alone at the bar. “Are you out of your mind? Why would you agree to a second chance with him?” she asks, her loud tone causing passing coworkers to peak into the break room as they pass by.

“Can you chill out?” You say to her, walking past her and back out to the hallway. She follows you, walking side by side as you both make your way to the conference room. “He’s changed, Tina. He’s recognized the areas that he needs to work on and has promised to do so, together. Why shouldn’t I give him another chance?”

You enter the conference room, finding two empty seats at the large oval table adjacent to each other and you both sit down. One by one, your fellow co-workers file in, filling up the table. “Fine,” Tina huffs, rolling her eyes as she leans back into her seat. “But I’m watching him. I won’t say I told you so, but I will be the first one to kick his ass if he breaks your heart again.”

You give her a smile, taking a sip of your coffee as you wait for the meeting to get started, jumping just a bit when Tina sits up quickly and grabs your arm, smiling when she turns to you. “Oh! Remind me to fill you in on my weekend with Jimin. Over lunch. My treat.”

You snicker at her, wiping the little droplets of your coffee that fell on the table. “You owe me lunch for abandoning me on our girls night anyways. But not today. Namjoon is taking me to a cute little sushi spot near his office.”

“Wow, look at Mr. Work-a-holic finally taking a break from busy, busy schedule,” she mutters under her breath, followed up by a soft “Ow” from the light kick you give her under the table.

“He’s trying, Tina,” you whisper to her as your boss walks in, seating himself at the head of the table and kicks off the meeting.

“Right, okay, sorry. I’ll give him another chance too.”

Lunch time sneaks up on you, too busy being nose deep into an article for the magazine you work for, putting in the finishing touches before sending it to your editors to get ready for the February Issue. Your phone buzzing on your desk alerts you to the time of day. You check it to find a text from Namjoon, announcing his arrival at the front of your office building. 12:30 PM on the dot. You lock your work laptop, waving bye to Tina as you place your phone into your purse and head to the elevator bay. Once down in the lobby you quickly walk outside, spotting Namjoon leaning up against a taxi waiting for you. You wrap your arms around his neck, greeting him with a kiss before he opens the car door for you, following you into the back of the cab.

The little sushi place he takes you to is delicious. Being your first time there, Namjoon orders a whole spread. Each roll consists of something you like, from tempura shrimp to avocado in the middle. Some rolls topped with eel. You eat your fill, feeling satisfyingly full once the two of you are walking out of the little restaurant.

“What time do you need to be back?” Namjoon asks you, taking your hand into his as you walk down the street.

“Maybe not for another hour? I’m already done with my article, so I’m in no rush to need to get back.” You walk alongside him with a smile on your face, the feel of his hand in yours bringing you a comfort you haven’t felt in a long time.

“Would you want to stop by the studio with me then? I got something I want to show you.” You smile at him, nodding your head as he smiles back, quickening his steps as he pulls you toward his office building.

Arriving at Namjoon’s work, you were excited to finally step into the world that had preoccupied so much of his time when you were together. You had been here multiple times in the year you were with him, coming here to drop off food for your overworking boyfriend. Never making it past the lobby desk until now. You follow him through the lobby, past the front desk and towards the elevator. You turn towards the long hallway you remember he would appear from during your prior visits when he instead guides you to the elevators, hopping on to an open cab and pressing the button for the 5th floor.

You pull your phone out of your purse, sending Tina a quick text saying that you might be late coming back to the office. After a few exchanges of where you were, she asks you to say hi to Jimin for her before you slip your phone back into your purse and turn towards Namjoon. “Since when did you move off the first floor?” You ask as the elevator continues to move upwards.

He smiles at you, a glint of excitement in his eye as the cab stops, the doors opening to the new floor. He leads you out of the elevator, his hand pushing gently on the small of your back. “That’s what I want to show you. Remember that promotion? It comes with some new perks.” He continues to lead you down the hallway and you look around, taking in the new scenery as Namjoon stops you in front of a closed door.

“Y/N!” You hear your name being called from the other end of the hall. You turn to look at the newcomer, a dark haired man jogging down the hall with his arms open towards you and Namjoon. His wide, heart shaped smile bringing an equally wide one to your face.

“Hobi!” You giggle as he wraps you in a big bear hug, picking you up off the ground and spinning you around.

“It’s good to see you again,” you say as he steadies you back on the ground.

“Likewise! It's nice to see you and Joon together again. He’s been a real stick in the mud while you guys were apart.”

You let out another giggle as Namjoon glares at his co-worker, opening the door and guiding you in. “Thank you for that, Hoseok,” he mutters, following the two of you into the room.

You take a look around the room, various recording equipment litters the room. There’s a lone couch against the wall opposite a large desk fitted with mixing equipment and a computer. You watch as Hobi plops down on it, pulling out his phone as you continue to observe the room. A guy around your age with mint colored hair sits in front of the computer and mixing equipment, headphones on as he’s bopping his head up and down to whatever is playing. You see the ‘Recording in progress’ sign lit up and realize he’s in the middle of recording someone. Namjoon closes the door behind him, walking over to pat the mint haired man on the back. The mint haired man looks up, his features growing into a gummy smile as he looks at Namjoon, taking his headphones off his head and pressing a button on the switchboard in front of him.

“Ah, Joon. Just in time. Jimin’s finishing up one of his tracks for his debut,” the mint haired man says, standing to give Namjoon a quick hug before pressing another button on the switchboard and speaking into a mic, “Jimin, come on out.”

“Jimin’s in there?” You ask without thinking. Realizing you have yet to officially meet the man that swept your best friend away on your girl’s night out. The mint haired man and Namjoon look over at you and you realize you interrupted their conversation, causing your cheeks to flush slightly.

“Yeah, he is,” the mint haired man says to you. “Big fan?”

Hobi snorts from the couch, “Watch out, Joon. Might have some competition.”

You smile while you shake your head. “No, um, he’s kind of dating my best friend.” You watch as his eyebrows shoot up, nodding his head as Namjoon places his hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“Let me not be rude,” Namjoon says as he gestures between you two. “Yoongi, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is Yoongi. My coworker and fellow producer.”

Yoongi reaches out to shake your hand, giving you another gummy smile as he addresses you. “Nice to meet you, so you’re the girl Namjoon has been lovesick about. Heard all about you. Nice to finally put a face to a name.” He gives Namjoon a nudge with his shoulder, the both of you looking at each other with matching cheeks as a door on the other side of the room opens up. A familiar silver haired man walking out, his unforgettably plush lips spread wide into a smile.

“Sup guys. Ah, Y/N. Good to finally meet you,” he says, walking over to you and giving you a hug. It catches you by surprise for a minute before you return it. Jimin breaks away from you at the sound of Namjoon clearing his throat, giving you a wink as he moves to sit by Hoseok on the couch.

“Anyways,” Namjoon says as he walks over to you, throwing his arm around your shoulders. “I just wanted to introduce you guys before I showed her my office.”

“You have an office now --”

“Oh, Joojoo, I thought I heard you in here.” You were cut off by a tall, petite girl who just entered the room. The pencil skirt and blouse she was wearing a little too short and form fitting to be considered professional. You look at her, noticing how pretty she was and the way she was looking at Namjoon, all wide eyed and dreamy. You instantly become annoyed, too focused on the awful nickname she just used to notice the brief look of distaste on Namjoon’s face at the sound of it. You instinctively lean more into Namjoon, crossing your arms as the new girl continues to talk, barely aware of your presence. “Joojoo, I need help getting something down from the supply closet. Can you help me?” She coos while batting her eyelashes. Her eyes move from his face to the arm around your shoulder, clicking her tongue against her teeth as she looks you up and down. “Whose this?”

“Oh, Areum. This is Joon’s girl, Y/N. Y/N, this is our floor assistant, Areum,” Hobi jumps in, quick to the introductions with a mischievous smirk on his lips.

Areum looks at you, eyebrow raised in confusion. “Y/N. Like, your ex-girlfriend, Y/N?”

“We’re working things out,” you snap, wrapping one of your arms around Namjoon’s waist as he looks down at you, raising an eyebrow of his own. A ghost of a smirk hiding in the corner of his lips.

“Whatever,” the girl mutters before turning to Namjoon again, an annoyingly bright smile adorning her face. “Joojoo, could you help me?”

“I got it!” Yoongi shouts, already moving past the group of you and out the door. Areum lets out a soft “Oh” as she turns to follow, briefly looking back at you and Namjoon before exiting the room.

Your lips twitch up in a smirk as you turn to look up at Namjoon. “So, what’s this office you were talking about?”

“Yeah, Joon. Why don’t you show Y/N your office,” Hobi teases as he gets up from the couch, following after Yoongi and the office assistant. Namjoon sputters and you let out a giggle, grabbing his hand and walking out of the recording room.

Namjoon regains his composure, leading you back down the hallway, Jimin following closely behind, taking the chance to strike up conversation. “So what do you guys say to a double date this weekend? Give us a chance to get to know each other and have some fun. Tina talks very highly about you, Y/N.”

“That sounds great. What do you think, Joonie?” You ask just as Namjoon stops in front of another door, digging a set of keys out of his pocket and unlocking it.

“Yeah, that sounds great,” he says, flicking on the lights to his office. The three of you barely enter into the little space when Hoseok shows up at the door, looking straight at Namjoon.

“Hey Joon, looks like we need your help after all. Yoongi severely underestimated how high up this box was.” Hobi lets out a laugh as he walks back down the hallway. Namjoon turns to you, giving you a quick kiss on the forehead as he tells you he’ll be right back before slipping out the door way.

You let out a little huff as soon as he’s out of sight. “Has she ever heard of a step ladder,” you mutter under your breath as you take a look around Namjoons office, his ever growing Kaws figurine collection decorating the shelves on his walls.

You hear Jimin snicker and you jump just a bit as you had forgotten he was there. “We have a step ladder, actually. Areum, tends to misplace it a lot,” he says, air quoting around the words misplace it as he rolls his eyes. “She has the biggest crush on Namjoon. Tends to always need something from the top shelves just to have an excuse to talk to him.”

Your face contorts into a scowl, causing Jimin to laugh and throw his hands up in defense. “Don’t worry. Namjoon barely even notices. He’s always been wrapped up in his work. Or talking about you. Yoongi, however… Well, he has it bad.”

You nod a little, taking comfort in Jimin’s reassurance. He gives you a small wave bye as he leaves you alone in Namjoon’s office. You sit down in the empty desk chair, noticing a picture frame by his laptop. You pick it up, recognizing the picture to be one of your favorites of you and Namjoon. A cute selfie you took in the comfort of his apartment a few months into you two dating. You place it back on the desk, humming gently in content as you push the brief incident with the office assistant to the back of your mind. Reminding yourself that you promised to be understanding and you try not to dwell on if there was anything there that you would need to worry about.

Your first week back with Namjoon was nothing short of amazing. You were amazed and surprised by how attentive he is to you, fully prepared to expect him to still be busy with work, especially with a recent promotion. But, alas, he is keeping true to his promise so far. The two of you spent more time together in the past week than you did in the last few months you were together. The both of you have been making great progress with the things you both promised to work on. Holding true to the rules and guidelines, you had set out, the no sex rule included.

You’d be lying if you said it hasn’t been hard to not break that rule. Namjoon being right when he said that sex was never a problem between the two of you. It didn’t help that the both of you gained pure enjoyment out of teasing the hell out of each other. Between the gentle brushes of his hand across your ass or the strategic placement of your hand on his thigh when you’re sitting next to him, it is easy to get one another flustered. It is equally just as hard to keep each other’s hormones at bay.

No other time have you two come close to breaking that rule than you have tonight. Laid out on your back on your living room couch, Namjoon on top of you. The both of you in the middle of a heated makeout session. His hand up your shirt while yours is on his ass, pushing him closer into you as he grinds his clothed bulge into your core. You know you should stop. No fooling around being part of the rules you both had set, but it all just feels too damn good to stop. Your living room is filled with the soft sounds of your shared moans, the movie Namjoon brought over for your night in playing softly but forgotten in the background. You both had opted for a night in instead of going out to dinner. Your planned double date on Saturday and the fact that you had to work late helping your fellow writers finish their articles playing a big part in the decision making. Namjoon had picked up takeout and a movie for the two of you, waiting at your apartment for you to get home to spend as much time as possible with you tonight before he would have to leave to go to sleep.

What started out as an innocent foot rub after your dinner has speedily turned into a tickle fight. That very tickle fight quickly escalated to the situation you find yourself in now; Namjoon’s tongue wrestling with yours as he cups your breast with his hand, finding your nipple hidden by your bra and giving it a quick pinch. You let out a muffled moan, one he quickly swallows with his lips still on yours. You slide your other hand down, reaching in between you two to grab a hold of the button on his jeans. You almost have it undone when Namjoon suddenly pulls away from you, grabbing your wrist as he breathlessly asks you to hold on. He pulls his hand from out under your shirt and lets go of your wrist as he sits back on the couch, running his hand through his disheveled hair to try and put some of it back in place.

“We should probably chill out a bit. Don’t want to get too ahead of ourselves,” he says, scooting just a bit away from you to give you room to sit up on your side of the couch. You stay as you are, looking at him with a pout on your lips as he chuckles at you. “Besides, I probably should head out soon. Need to run into the office tomorrow before our date.”

He stands from the couch, holding his hand out to help you up and you take it, wrapping your arms around his neck as you stand up in front of him. “Why don’t you just spend the night? Leave for work from here in the morning?” you ask in between kisses. He chuckles at you again, grabbing your hands from around his neck and walking you to the door.

“And break the rules you clearly set out for us? I would never,” he teases you, laughing at you as you let out a whine. “I’ll see you tomorrow baby. I’ll let you know when I get home,” he reassures you as he slips his shoes on and opens your front door. He turns back to you, slinking an arm around your waist to catch your lips in a deep kiss as he pulls you towards him. He releases your lips, leaving you breathless once again as he rubs the tip of his nose against yours. “And we’ll continue this later.” He smiles at you, giving you a wink and another quick kiss before releasing you completely and closing the door behind him.

You let out a little huff. “Tease…” you mutter as you smile, shaking your head as you lock up the door before turning back towards your living room, getting ready to clean up and go to bed.

The double date with Jimin and Tina went better than you expected. The whole mini argument you had with Tina in her apartment as the two of you got ready proving to be inane. Her plans of giving Namjoon the third degree to check to see if he’s really changed never came to fruition, much to your relief. The moment the two boys arrived at her doorstep to pick the both of you up, all thoughts of interrogation were forgotten, her attention solely on Jimin and Jimin alone.

The steakhouse you attend for dinner is delicious. The drinks you all share help keep the conversation light and entertaining. You are happy with the way work has stayed away as a topic for the evening. The only exception was the mention of Hoseok’s mixtape release party that is taking place the following Wednesday. When leaving the restaurant, talks about needing to do this again came up. You mention a new Italian restaurant that just opened up down the street that you all should try next, if you guys were ever lucky enough to get a hard to book reservation.

Namjoon holds your hand the entire cab ride back to your apartment. Not much conversation taking place due to the numerous glasses of wine at dinner making you feel warm and sleepy while leaning up against him. You nearly doze off before you make it to your apartment, Namjoon nudging your shoulder slightly to let you know of your arrival. He’s still holding your hand as he walks you to your door, making sure you were safely inside before letting go. He stands in your doorway, smiling at you as you brace yourself against the wall to balance as you take off your heels.

“What are you smiling about?” You tease him, crossing your arms as you walk back towards him after removing your footwear.

“I’m just happy to be doing this with you again. Walking you home, making sure you get here safe.” You can’t help the smile that graces your face from his confession, leaning up on to your tiptoes to place a quick kiss on his lips.

“So,” he starts, still smiling at you as he hovers over you in your door frame. “Hobi’s release party is this Wednesday.”

“So I heard,” you cooed, your heart warming at the flash of his dimples from his smiling growing wider from your teasing.

“I was wondering if you wanted to go with me,” he asks you, pausing momentarily before continuing, “As my date.”

You smile wider, leaning up to give him another kiss. “I thought you’d never ask.”

The next few days flew by in a breeze. You weren’t able to see much of Namjoon other than lunch breaks or a quick dinner date as he was helping Hobi and the company prepare for the release party. You and Tina spent your free evenings shopping for the perfect dresses. Finding two cute matching bodycons with keyhole cut outs and heels to match. Wednesday evening comes before you know it. Namjoon had ordered a car to pick you and Tina up, him needing to be at the venue early to help get everything set up. Not wanting you to feel rushed, he arranges for your transportation to drop you off right at the venue doors, allowing you and Tina to enjoy a full red carpet experience for the release party.

The party venue is located at one of the nicest hotels in town, taking place in one of the ballrooms fitted with a DJ booth, a mini dance floor, and a well stocked open bar. Namjoon is there to greet you at the door, catching the eye of every woman (and man) walking by him with the way he’s fitted in his well-tailored suit. His hair is pushed back, styled out of his face. You can’t help the smile that grows on your face as you look him up and down, walking towards him. Knowing that this beautiful man is all yours. The moment he notices you walking towards the ballroom, his smile matches yours, if not, brighter. His mindset also matches yours as he shamelessly looks you up and down as you grow closer.

“Hey Handsome,” you say to him, throwing your arm around his neck as you give him a kiss.

“Good evening, baby. You’re looking exceptionally beautiful tonight.” He kisses you back, slipping his hand around your waist.

“How nice of you to say, Joonie. I didn’t think you noticed,” Tina teases from beside you. Namjoon rolls his eyes, giving you another kiss before taking your hand in his.

“You look exceptionally beautiful as well, Tina,” he says, gesturing his hand towards the inside of the ballroom. Tina gives him a thank you before winking at you and walking forwards into the ballroom, now on a mission to find Jimin. You giggle, following behind her and Namjoon as he leads you toward the bar.

After grabbing a round of drinks, Namjoon walks you and Tina over to your reserved table for the evening. Jimin is already sitting down, snacking on a small plate full of the various finger foods being served around the event. You barely sit down yourself when the petite office assistant, Areum, pops up out of nowhere, instantly clinging herself onto Namjoon’s arm. The dress she’s wearing contains too many cut outs and too much sheer covering to your liking, the lack of actual fabric barely classifying it as a dress instead of lingerie. Her heels, too tall to be considered comfortable to walk in, let alone stand in, you know we’re chosen to accentuate her barely covered (and annoyingly perky) ass. She doesn’t pay you or anyone other table occupant any mind, her focus only on Namjoon, much to your annoyance. Batting her eyelashes, she addresses Namjoon, her tone too high pitched to be tolerable, making the use of her god awful nickname for Namjoon sound even worse. “Joojoo, the DJ is having issues with connecting his equipment. Can you help us?”

He sighs, giving her a polite smile as he responds, “Sure.” She let’s go of his arm and you swear she gives you a smirk before turning and running off. You glare at her retreating backside. An involuntary scoff escaping past your lips. Namjoon hears it, turning to you with a questioning brow raised in your direction. A smirk, once again, dancing on the corner of his lips.

“You okay, baby?” He asks, trying to hide the smile threatening to break out on his face, always finding it cute when you show little signs of jealousy.

“Nothing, she’s just very… touchy.” You take a sip of your champagne, trying to wash away the bitterness in your mouth. Namjoon chuckles at you as he leans down to hover over you, one hand braced on the table and the other on the back of your chair to steady himself.

“She’s just friendly, baby,” he says, leaning in closer to rub his nose on the tip of yours.

“Yeah, to you,” you mumble, Namjoon’s shit-eating grin finally breaking loose on his face as he laughs.

“You’re cute,” he says, placing a kiss on your forehead. “You got nothing to worry about, baby. I only have eyes for you.” He gives you a long, soft kiss on your lips before standing back up. Telling you he’ll be right back, he disappears into the growing crowd toward what you assume is the direction of the DJ booth.

Feeling eyes on you, you look to your left to see Tina observing you, a mischievous smirk on her lips as she meets your gaze. You let out a sigh, jumping to a defensive tone as you try and predict what she’s thinking. “It’s a work party, Tina. It’s expected that he’s going to have to do some work.”

She shakes her head slowly at you as she leans forward, placing her elbow on the table and propping her hand under her chin. “Oh no, I’m wondering when you’re going to put that in its place.” Her reference is vague, but you know exactly what, or rather who, she’s talking about.

“I’m not. I don’t need to. Joonie says there’s nothing to worry about so there’s nothing to worry about,” you state matter-of-factly. Hoping your tone sounds convincing enough to end her “hoe-be-gone” plotting before it starts. You just don’t know who you were trying to convince more: Tina or You.

“If you say so,” Tina sing-songs, leaning back into her seat and into Jimin. Jimin gives her a quick peck on her temple and smiles at her.

“You little instigator,” you hear Jimin whisper to her before catching her lips in a real kiss. You roll your eyes slightly, smiling softly as you scan the now crowded ballroom, trying to spot Namjoon amongst the sea of people.

You contemplate for a minute on whether you should actually say something to Areum. You know you’ll be able to control yourself and your tone. Know you’ll be able to conduct yourself as polite, but firm. She just seems like the type to you that would cause a scene when she doesn’t get her way and you don’t want to be involved in anything that might ruin Hobi’s special night. Besides, you promised to be more understanding and trusting Namjoon on this falls under that umbrella. So you take another sip of your drink, swallowing down the sweet tasting liquid, hoping the bitter taste of your growing anxiety goes down with it.

The rest of the night followed the common theme of Namjoon being swept away by various staff members seeking his help. It never failed that once he found his way back to you, someone else was there a few minutes later to take him again. He apologizes to you every time, his kisses growing harder and deeper with each departure. You reassure him each time that it is fine, and really it is. You are enjoying yourself, spending the majority of the night with Jimin, Tina, and various alcoholic drinks. Near the end of the night, Namjoon was finally able to spend a little more time with you. Grabbing you from your reserved table and walking you over to meet his boss and to say bye to Hoseok before you leave.

As you approach the two gentlemen, Hobi’s eyes light up the moment he sees you.

The second you reach him, he’s wrapping his arms around you in a big hug, placing a quick peck on your cheek. His heart shaped smile on full display as he addresses you, the scent of alcohol heavy on his breath as he talks. “Y/N! Thank you for coming tonight. What would I do without my favorite fan?” he slurs, his rosy cheeks pushing into his eyes as he continues to smile at you.

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, Hobi,” you coo, giggling as you back out of his hug. As you stand back in your place next to Namjoon, you turn to the other man, Hobi and Namjoon’s boss, and introduce yourself.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Y/N,” he says. “Sorry, I’ve been pulling your boyfriend away from you most of the night.”

“He’s no--” you start before quickly redirecting your response. You feel Namjoon’s shoulders deflate just slightly beside you and you feel a twinge of guilt. He isn’t your boyfriend. Not yet, at least. But isn’t that exactly what you two are working back towards? “It’s okay,” you start again. “He’s been a hot commodity tonight and a hard worker. I wouldn’t want him any other way.”

Namjoon looks at you, a quick ‘blink-and-you'll-miss-it’ flash of surprise colors his features before the corners of his lips turn upwards into a smile.

“A hard worker he most certainly is. I’m going to have to also apologize in advance for the next week. We’re in the finishing stages of our next trainee’s debut and going to need all hands on deck for it.” The boss gives you a big smile, probably thinking it would lessen the blow of his news.

“Yeah, Jimin’s debut is next!” Hobi chimes in, his voice carrying a little too loud due to his intoxicated state.

“That’s right,” their boss confirms. “I promise to try and have him free by Valentine’s day.” The boss lets out a hearty laugh, slapping Namjoon on the shoulder before walking away. Excusing himself to thank the other guest for coming to the event.

“Valentine’s day…” you hear Namjoon mutter softly. You turn to look up at him, noticing his wide-eyed look as he stares into space. You grab his arm, looping your hand around it and lightly squeezing, bringing him back out of his head. His eyes focusing on you.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’ve been busy and I forgot it was coming up, too. We got a week, we’ll figure something out,” you try to reassure him, forming a soft smile on his face to try and show that it was really okay.

“Yeah,” Namjoon responds, his tone apprehensive as he rubs the back of his neck. Taking in his demeanor, the little seed of worry from earlier starts to blossom slowly in your mind. You open your mouth to say something, ask him if he’s okay when the call of your name breaks interrupts you. Looking behind you, you see Tina approaching you and Namjoon.

“Hey, you ready to go? Jimin had our car pulled around up front for us,” she asks, stifling a yawn behind her hand.

“Yeah, sure,” you say slowly, turning your head to look back at Namjoon. The unspoken question on whether you guys need to talk lingering between you. It goes unanswered and any signs of apprehension or anxiety are gone from his face. His prize-winning, charming smile is the only thing you see.

“Go ahead. I have to stay and help clean up anyways. I’ll call you later, yeah?” He gives you a quick kiss, waving bye to Tina as he walks away, disappearing into the thinning crowd.

His departure doesn’t sit right with you. Something about his behavior seems off and it only adds to your growing anxiety, much to your annoyance. You try to shake it off, following Tina out of the ballroom and into the lobby. Stopping abruptly, you realize you’ve forgotten something, calling out to Tina as you turn back towards the ballroom. “Hey, I forgot my phone and purse on the table. I’ll meet you in the car.”

Running back in to grab your purse, you notice Namjoon standing over by the bar talking to an older gentleman. You take a step towards him, planning to ask him if everything was okay before heading back to the car, only to stop once the older man steps to the side out of the way of a server. Revealing the annoying little office assistant clinging to Namjoon’s arm. You freeze, watching as Namjoon shakes the older gentleman’s hand before the same man places a kiss on top of the little leech’s head and takes his departure from the group. Namjoon, smiles down at Areum, his dimples adorning his cheeks and you immediately feel sick. You turn around, walking swiftly out of the hotel before they’re able to see you, reaching the car and hopping quickly into the seat next to Tina. She glances over at you curiously before looking back at her phone. “Everything okay?” she asks you as she begins typing away, probably sending a text to Jimin.

“Yeah,” you reply. “Just… I thought it was about to rain.” You give her a forced chuckle, hoping she doesn’t sense the lie in your tone. She hums in response. The car starts to pull off into traffic. You turn, looking back at the hotel as it fades into the distance. Hoping fiercely that what you think you saw and what was actually going on is just a big misunderstanding.

You barely hear from Namjoon the rest of the week. The weekend being no different. The “all hands on deck” call to finish up Jimin’s mixtape for his debut is the only explanation you receive from Namjoon to excuse his absence. Majority of your communication is exchanged over text messages, but even those were slowly growing few and far in between. Your daily lunch dates are replaced with specially picked Uber eats orders sent to your office. The sentiment is there but you couldn’t help but feel like he is avoiding you. The scene of Areum clinging to Namjoon’s arm replaying over and over in your mind. “Who was that man?” and “Why was Namjoon smiling at her after meeting him?” were the main questions plaguing your mind. The constant thought of maybe you DO have something to worry about causes a big negative shift in your mood that you’re unable to hide the longer you go without talking to Namjoon.

Tina notices the change in your attitude at work on Monday. Not-so subtly mentioning how your negative energy was killing her vibe. You grumble an apology and she spends most of the day trying to help bring you out of your sour mood.

“Maybe he really has been busy. His boss did say he was going to be taking up a lot of his time this week.” You let out a huff, knowing what she was saying was more than likely true, but it still didn’t make you feel any better. Noticing no change in your mood, she continues. “If it helps to know, I haven’t been able to see or talk to Jimin much, either. We can only hope that they’re making good progress and they’ll be done soon. That way we can get our men back,” she chirps, her voice going up at the end to try and drive the point of positivity with her words.

You feel bad, but the news of her not hearing from Jimin just as much does make you feel better. At least you knew you weren’t the only one and made the idea that they’re both just really, really busy easier to accept as the truth. You look over at her and give her a small smile, “Thank you. For trying to help me feel better. It’s just… I can’t help but feel like this is all too familiar territory.” Among other things. You follow up in your head, not wanting to voice it out loud and carry on that conversation here at work.

“I thought you said you were going to try and be more understanding,” Tina states, her comment catching you by surprise.

“Wait, what?” you stammer, blinking owlishly at her as she rolls her eyes at you. She sits up straighter in her seat as if she was preparing to give you a presentation.

“You were right, Y/N. Namjoon’s changed. He’s trying. Even I’ve been able to see that,” she says to you, her voice taking on a reassuring tone. “You promised that you would be more patient and understanding. Now’s the time to show that you’re trying too.”

You let out a sigh. You knew she was right and didn’t really want to admit it. You did promise to be more understanding and you definitely weren’t doing that right now. That realization does nothing to fix your mood. Only changing the reason why it was still so sour.

Tina notices the change, knowing you swapped to beating yourself up. A smile breaks out on her face as an idea blooms in her mind, reaching over and grabbing your hand in excitement as she details it to you.

“Let’s have a Galentine’s Day this weekend. The boys will probably still be busy, and if they finish up early and are able to spend time with us again, we can cancel it. Easy peasy.” She looks at you, her eyes begging you to say yes as her excitement courses through her. As if her hold on your hand was a conduit, you feel her excitement transfer to you. The infectious happiness in her smile breaking through your negative demeanor and causing a smile to form on your face. You couldn’t find it in you to turn down her offer. Her squeal of excitement rings throughout the office the moment you tell her yes.

The thought of not having to spend Valentine’s Day alone does perk you up a little. The background chatter of Tina planning out your Galentine’s day helping you get through the rest of the work day. Come clock out time, you head out of the office and make your way towards the train for home. You feel your phone buzz, alerting you of a new text message. Checking your notifications, you see that it’s from Namjoon. His name and the context of the tweet bring a smile to your face. His short text of “Miss you” with the kissy face emoji gives you a small burst of motivation to keep the promise that you had made a few weeks earlier. “Patience and understanding. You got nothing to worry about,” you tell yourself, sending back a matching message to Namjoon before slipping your phone back into your pocket.

The rest of the week drags. The still brief only-over-text conversations with Namjoon and Tina’s absence from the office due to a sinus infection being two things that have contributed to the week feeling like it’s taking forever and a day to move along.

Friday morning comes and you already feel an instant boost of happiness when you see Tina at her desk as you walk into the office. You skip to your desk, placing your computer bag down and taking out your laptop as you strike up a conversation with your best friend.

“Good morning! And welcome back! So I was thinking… There’s this cute little candy shop over on Cherry Lane that we should order some sweets from for our Galentine’s day.” After not hearing a response, you look up from your desk. Tina’s brow furrowing in confusion as she looks at you. “What’s wrong?”

“Didn’t Namjoon tell you?” she asks, her question making the anxiety you’ve been pushing down all week start to instantly crawl back up your throat.

“Tell me what?” you respond slowly, pulling your phone out to see if you might have missed any phone calls or text messages from Namjoon. Nothing.

“Jimin said they finished everything up on Wednesday. The mixtape is done.” You feel the color drain from your face. Tina’s eyes grow wide as she notices and quickly adds on to her news. “But maybe he meant HE was finished with everything. Joon and Yoongi probably still have things to finish up on the production end.”

You nod your head meekly. Forcing yourself to breathe in and out as you try not to jump to conclusions and hope that her assumption is right. “Yeah, maybe.” Your voice comes out squeakier than you like. A brief flash of pity shows in Tina’s eyes as she gives you a soft smile. Clearing your throat, you straighten up in your chair, plastering a fake smile on your face as you start on your work. “No, you’re right. He’s probably just finishing up the rest of his part. I’ll probably hear from him later today.”

Tina nods her head slowly, turning back to her computer as she gets back to work. You struggle to maintain your smile throughout the rest of the day, doing your best to not to show a break in your mask every time Tina snuck a quick glance your way.

The end of the workday finally arrives and still no word from Namjoon. You skip out of the office the first chance you get, waiting for Tina to have walked away from her desk so you could sneak out without her noticing. You knew she would ask about Namjoon and it wasn’t a conversation you were really wanting to have right now. Walking towards the subway, you decide to stop at the Chinese restaurant along the way to pick up some takeout, not really in the mood to try and fix something at home. After placing your to-go order, you take a seat in the lobby, scrolling through your phone when you hear someone call your name. Looking up from your phone, you’re surprised to see Yoongi standing in front of you, having just exited the bathroom on the other side of the lobby. “I thought that was you. Picking up some food for you and Joon?”

“Ah, no. Just me.” You smile back. “Are you heading back to the office? This was a long way for a dinner break. This mixtape must be working you two into the ground.”

Yoongi shakes his head, the slightest hint of confusion painting his features. “Actually, I live around here. Just grabbing a bite to eat with some friends. We actually finished up on Wednesday. Didn’t Namjoon tell you?”

Your eyes go wide for a second as you feel your heart drop straight to your stomach. You force a closed lip smile on your face, trying to fight back the anger and frustration rising in you. “Yeah, right. Sorry, must have slipped my mind.”

Yoongi goes to say something else, only to be cut off by the restaurant host calling out your name, announcing that your to-go order was ready. You jump up from your seat quickly, grabbing your food from the host and turn to rush out the door. “It was good to see you, Yoongi. Have a great night!” You run out the door before he can respond. Once again trying to avoid an uncomfortable conversation revolving around Namjoon.

The moment you make it around the block, you stop right above the subway entrance. Grabbing your phone out of your purse, you quickly dial Namjoon’s number, taking deep breaths in and out of your noise to try and calm the boiling anger inside of you. The phone rings twice before the call is picked up. You’re ready to start your onslaught of the many questions that you have the moment he speaks, but the voice you hear at the other end knocks the breath straight out of your lungs. The perky, high pitched voice unmistakably belonging to the one person you would have never thought to be answering Namjoon’s phone. Areum. “Hello, Joojoo’s phone.” Her sickening sweet tone makes your stomach churn and you take in another deep breath to keep yourself from vomiting.

“Where’s Namjoon?” You applaud yourself for how level you keep your tone, not wanting to let her know that the very fact that she answered his phone bothers you.

“He’s busy. Can I take a message?” God, you really don’t like her.

“Just let him know that his girlfriend called,” you say, emphasizing around the word girlfriend.

“Ex-girlfriend. But I’ll let him know. Bye bye now.” She hangs up before you could say anything else. The abrupt ending and her emphasis on the word Ex not helping your growing irritation. You toss your phone back into your bag and continue on your way home.

You don’t look at your phone the whole subway ride home. Not daring to take it out of your bag until after you make it home and finish eating your Chinese. Pouring yourself a glass of wine, you finally retrieve your phone from your bag, noticing the one missed call and the three text messages from Namjoon.

Namjoon: Hey, Areum said you called. Everything okay? Namjoon: Y/N? Baby, you okay? *Missed call from Namjoon* Namjoon: Call me back when you get a chance.

You take a deep breath before typing out your response, repeating “patience and understanding” like a mantra in your head. You tell yourself to give him the benefit of the doubt. Give him a chance to explain. He hasn’t given you any reason to doubt him. At least not until now.

You: Hey, sorry. Was eating dinner. Namjoon: Hey, it’s cool. Everything okay? You: Yeah, I didn’t mean to worry you. Just hadn’t talked to you today. I miss you. Namjoon: I miss you too baby.

You pause for a moment. Contemplating how you want to continue the conversation. You wanted to call, not leave the interpretation of your tone through your text message to be misconstrued. But you feel like he wouldn’t give you a full explanation if he had anyone around him.

You: Why did Areum answer your phone? Namjoon: She did? I don’t know. I had left it on the desk when I ran to the bathroom. What did she say? You: That you were busy. What was she doing with your phone? Namjoon: We were working on something in the recording studio. Guess I left my phone in there when I had run to the bathroom. Please don’t think too much into it. You: I’m not. Just curious. Is she helping with Jimin’s Mixtape? How’s that going? Namjoon: Uh, yeah. It’s going well. Hoping to have it down by tomorrow night. I should probably get back to working on it. I’ll call you later, baby.

You read his last text over and over. Your body starts to shake as angry tears begin to spill from your eyes. He lied. He just told you a flat out lie. You don’t even respond back, throwing your phone on the coffee table as you fall onto the couch. You curse at yourself, feeling like such a fool for believing Namjoon had actually changed. He hasn’t changed at all. If anything he picked up more bad habits along the way. Adding a liar and a cheat to your list of reasons why you two won’t be able to work things out. “Well, not a cheat,” you think to yourself. “It’s not like we were back to being boyfriend and girlfriend.” The single thought makes more tears spill down your cheeks as bitterness coats like an undissolving film on your tongue. You turn to your side, curling up into yourself on the couch, the soft sniffles from your crying slowly lulling you to sleep.

Saturday goes by in a blur. You spent the whole day moping on your couch, ignoring every call or text that came your way. You once again cry yourself to sleep. The two glasses of wine and the Valentine’s themed rom coms playing on the TV helping contribute to your tearful state. You wake up Sunday morning after your crying session the night before. Determined to not waste another day moping over your failed relationship, you jump in the shower, giving yourself a quick pep talk as you refuse to let some stupid boy ruin the rest of your weekend.

Getting dressed, you slip on a pair of sweatpants and a tank top, forgoing a bra. You aren’t planning on leaving to go anywhere anytime soon. Perfectly content with spending your day alone in your apartment with trash tv and a bottle of wine. You continue to ignore Namjoon’s calls and texts throughout the day. Turning your ringer on silent and placing it face down on your kitchen countertop. The subtle buzzing noise from the vibrations is not as aggravating to your nerves like the noisy ringtone.

It’s just nearing 6PM when you open your fridge, pulling out the unfinished bottle of Moscato from the night before when you hear your phone buzz again. Your curiosity as to why he has called and texted you more in the last 24 hours than he has in the last week gets the best of you. Snatching your phone off the countertop, you see Namjoon’s name flashing on your screen. You swipe to answer the call and bring the phone up to your ear.

“What?” You bite into the phone, the current mood you’re in does not allow you to feign any sense of civility for the start of this conversation.

“Wow. Hello to you, too. Everything okay?” Namjoon speaks cautiously on the other end, worry and confusion evident in his tone.

“Everything’s peachy,” you say, popping your ‘p’ as you pour yourself a glass of wine and take a big gulp. “How’s the mixtape going?” You know Namjoon is able to feel the sarcastic bite to your words, but he doesn’t call you out on it. Continuing on as if he doesn’t notice.

“About that. I wanna show you something. Can you meet me at the studio? And, uh, wear something nice.” His easy tone and his blatant disregard for your obvious annoyance angers you. You take another big sip of your wine and decide to not hold back your frustration any longer.

“Why don’t you show Areum,” you respond, your voice doing a terrible mimic of hers when you say her name.

“What?” Joonie questions. “Y/N. What are you on?”

“You tell me, Joon,” you bark into the phone, your voice starting to raise in volume as you lean back against your kitchen counter. “She’s the one you’ve been spending all of your time with lately. Considering Jimin’s mixtape was finished Wednesday.”

You hear him curse underneath his breath, letting out a sigh before he speaks. “Who told you?”

“Does it matter?” You wait, allowing for time to see if he would at least speak up to try and defend himself. Throw out whatever random excuse to talk his way out of this. But you’re only met with his silence. Every wordless second from him pushes a dagger into your heart. Your chest constricts from the pain and it makes you want to hurry and end the phone call right then and there. “Anyways, I can’t come and meet you. I have company. For a Galentine’s Day.”

“Y/N, I know Tina is out with Jimin. Just please come and see me,” Namjoon says, his tone beginning to sound exasperated.

“I have other friends, Namjoon.” You don’t. Not really. At least not anyone that you’d be hanging out with outside of a work function, but he didn’t have to know that. Nor did he need to know about your canceled Galentine’s plan.

“Come on, Y/N. You’re being ridiculous,” Namjoon huffs into the phone, his tone scolding. You can picture how he looks right now. Fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he tries to control his simmering frustration with you. “Just please come meet me at the studio and I’ll explain everything.”

“No, but I agree. It was ridiculous of me to think you’ve changed. It was ridiculous of me to even try and give us another chance.” You pause your speech as your voice begins to crack. Taking a deep breath in and out of your mouth before continuing. “Now, I have to go. The very deliciously ripped male stripper has arrived. Have a fun life with Areum.”

“For the last time, nothing is going on… Wait did you say a fucking strip --” You end the call, cutting Namjoon off midsentence. A sly smile stretching across your face as you turn off your phone. The smile only lasts for a few seconds until the realization hits. The fact that you and Namjoon are once again ‘no more’ sinks in as quickly as your heart sinks to the bottom of your chest.

Grabbing the wine bottle off the counter, you pour yourself another glass as you walk to your living room, plopping down onto your couch.

You must have dozed off sometime after you finished your last glass of wine. The loud knocking on your door ripping you from your wine induced nap as you’re quickly sitting up on your couch. Your head starts to spin from the quick movement. You stand up, grumbling under your breath that you’re on your way as you walk to the door, unlocking and wrenching it open. “Can you cut it out?” You yell before even looking to see who the crazy visitor was. The moment your eyes focus on the obsessive knocker, they grow twice in size, your mouth dropping open just as wide. “Namjoon?!”

There in your doorway, dressed in the same button up and slacks from the bar weeks before, stands your ex boyfriend. Jaw clenched as he storms into your apartment, throwing the bag he is holding on to your couch as he takes a look around before letting out a scoff. “You cheeky little brat. You lied about the stripper just to make me angry, didn’t you?”

Your face flushes with anger at his accusatory tone. You, the liar? He’s really going to point that finger at you? “Seriously?” you screech, slamming your front door in frustration before walking up to him. “YOU are going to scold ME for lying? How about you explain why you lied about you and Areum before you say ANYTHING to me about lying.”

“Nothing is going on between me and Areum!” He yells back, the growing frustration evident in his tone. The top two undone buttons of his shirt gives you a peek of the red flush growing up his chest and neck from his anger.

“I saw you at the release party with her. I saw the way you had smiled at her as she was clinging on to your arm,” you bark back, blinking back the tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

“What are you talking about?” His questions coming out through a disbelief laugh.

“After you thought I left. I came back in to grab my purse and I saw the two of you all close and personal while talking to some man.” You cross your arms, waiting to see the “oh shit” look flash on to his face knowing that he’d been caught. But it doesn’t come. Instead, he lets out a sardonic laugh, shaking his head as his hands move to rub his face.

“That was Areum’s father. He owns that Italian restaurant you’ve been wanting to try. She was introducing me to him so I can secure us a Valentine’s Day reservation. You know, for tonight!”

Your mouth drops down into an ‘Oh’ before you quickly shut it. That explains the night of the release, but it doesn’t answer for his behavior this last week or the fact that she was with him Friday night. “Then why lie to me about the mixtape? Why have you been spending so much time with her at work?” Your voice is softer, but the underlying hurt is still evident in your tone.

“I promised her father to help Areum create some demo tracks in exchange for him squeezing us in for a reservation,” he says, dropping his hands from his face to look at you. He takes in your teary expression, his shoulders deflating slightly as he softens his own town before continuing his response. “I just wanted to do something nice for you. And the pressure to try and get Jimin’s mixtape and her demo done before tonight made me tunnel vision on just that.”

You don’t say anything. You stand there just looking at him as he leans up against your couch, guilt creeping into the pit of your stomach. When you don’t say anything, he takes it as a chance to continue. “I thought I had shown you up until then that I’ve changed. I thought I could trust you to be patient with me. That you’d be more understanding.” He looks away from you at the end of his words, clenching his jaw as he looks down at his feet.

“Wow,” you breathe out, not able to think of anything else to say. You both stand there for a few minutes in silence, neither one of you looking at each other as you take in everything he said. It dawns on you that Namjoon wasn’t in the wrong here. Not really. Things could’ve been handled better by him but the same goes for you.

Things were going so well. You had lost yourself in the comforting warmth that came with having him back in your life. The bliss and happiness from experiencing his instant change in attention to you and your relationship overshadowing any thoughts of doubt that existed in your mind, practically making them appear nonexistent. You start to wonder if, in the back of your mind, you were trying to look for something he was doing wrong. Your underlying fear of failure jumping into action the moment anything wrong exposed itself. Latching on to your subconscious and leaking negativity and doubt into you like a poison. Knowing it was your fault that the night he had planned for the two of you was ruined, you knew it was up to you to try to fix it. To try and turn it around. And you have a small inkling of just how you could do that.

“I’m sorry, Joonie,” you say to him as you take a step closer, leaning in with your hand on his chest to give him a quick kiss. He turns away from you just slightly, jaw still clenched as you place a small peck on his cheek. You feel terrible, knowing you should have given him the benefit of the doubt that he wasn’t reverting back to his old ways. That he was really trying to prove to you that he changed. You place another kiss on his cheek, following it up with a few quick kisses on his neck that you feel make him shiver. Your lips twitch up into a smile, knowing you’re breaking through his cold demeanor.

Suddenly, an idea pops into your head. A name he loved that you called him, one that you used to your favor to help get you out of trouble. You make your way up to his ear, nibbling on it just slightly before you whisper seductively, “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

You feel his body stiffen as you trail your hand down his chest and to the front of his jeans. Your palm barely grazes his growing bulge when he grabs your wrist in his hand, snatching it away from him causing you to back away in surprise. He wraps his other arm around you, his palm pressing at the small of your back to keep you close to him. Your eyes flicker to his and you let out a small gasp as you meet his hooded gaze. The beautiful swirls of cinnamon and honey that paints his irises are gone, disappearing behind a dark, seductive shade of lust. Falling deep into the dark depths of his lustrous gaze, you barely notice the smirk he gives as he leans in towards your ear.

“Oh, no baby. It seems like someone has forgotten her manners.” The deep timber of his voice sends shivers down your spine, straight to your core. You feel the wetness of your arousal leaking from you and you involuntarily rub your thighs together to try and find some relief as he continues the seductive assault on your ear. “Only good girls get to call me Daddy. Disobedient little brats call me Mr. Kim.” He pulls back just slightly away from you, his dark eyes meeting your gaze once again. “Now what do you have to say for yourself?”

You cock your head to the side, licking your lips before you give him the most innocent smile. “I am so, so sorry, Mr. Kim.”

Namjoon narrows his eyes at you. His dark orbs piercing into you as he clicks his tongue against his teeth. “You know,” he sneers, pushing himself off the back of your couch. Still holding on to you as he walks you a few steps backwards. “You’ve been acting like a real brat lately. I guess that’s something about you that will never change, hmm?”

He lets go of you, his hands moving to unbutton his shirt as he steps away from you, turning to walk around your couch. You take a step forward to follow him, stopping in your tracks when he raises his finger at you. He wags it back and forth, making a tisk noise as he continues his way around the couch. “Nuh-uh. You stay right there until I call for you, brat.”

The deep, domineering drawl to his voice has your knees weakening. A fresh gush of arousal seeps out of you, pooling in your panties as you continue to rub your thighs together. Still searching for some sort of relief. You know if you were to look right now, you’d bet your underwear would be almost completely soaked. The way the cotton fabric is sticking to your lips a clear indication that your guess is right.

You watch as Namjoon finishes unbuttoning his shirt, leaving it on but open as he stands staring at you with the couch being the only thing between you. He reaches down, placing his hand on top of his growing bulge. He starts moving his arm back and forth, slowly palming himself as if to taunt you. Teasing you with every slow stroke he takes up and down his long, clothed length. His dark orbs scour your entire body. You feel your body tingle as your skin grows hot from his piercing stare. The feeling of hot flames of lust licking at your every nerve ending as his hungry eyes graze over your body. Slowly tracing every dip and curve of your standing figure. You bite your bottom lip, trying to stifle a needy whine that threatens to escape. The verbal reaction, betraying you, rumbling up your throat and slipping past your lips. His eyes flicker up to the subtle movement. His pupils dilating with want at your feral sound. The tension in the air thickens. Your hand twitches from the need to touch him; your mouth beginning to water from craving his taste. Your legs feel restless, the urge to close the distance between you two cause your knees to gently buckle. The need to wrap your legs around him, to push him deep inside you growing stronger by the second.

Namjoon cocks his brow at you. Silently daring you to move before he calls for you. Testing your resolve, your patience, as he continues to stroke himself. You knew this game, loved it. It was one you two played many times before in the year you were together. You knew if you behave, play by his rules, there would be a pleasurable payoff for you in the near future. “Good girls get rewarded,” he once purred into your ear. The memory of past earnings sends a shiver down your spine. But with the way he was looking at you, the anger from your argument still fresh on his mind, you know you would have to work for your reward. Your punishment for misbehaving would come first. The idea of receiving a punishment from Namjoon for the first time in months excites you. The walls of your pussy fluttering and clenching around nothing with just the thought of what he has planned for you. You would never admit it to him, but sometimes you enjoy the punishment a lot more than the reward.

Satisfied with your obedience so far, Namjoon smirks at you. Turning his back to you as he sits down on the couch, digging into the bag he threw on to it just moments earlier, taking something out before pushing the bag off the cushion. The bag hits your living room floor, the remaining contents making a noise as they knock together. “Did he bring a bag of toys with him?” you think to yourself. Your thoughts are soon cut off by the sound of him calling out to you, “Come here, baby.”

Your legs move on instinct, your body just a slave to his voice the moment he ignites your carnal desire. You move slowly around the couch, standing in front of where he sits as he continues to stroke himself through his pants. You don’t sit down, no matter how badly you want to straddle him. The position he’s in is the perfect one for you to be able to grind down onto his member. The command is only to come to him. You know doing anything more before he says will just add on to your punishment. The waking brat in you tells you to do it anyways, but you don’t listen to her. Not yet.

Namjoon watches you through his hooded gaze, his eyes roaming over your body until they stop at your chest. Your perk nipples visibly straining through the thin fabric of your tank top. He licks his lips, his voice deep and raspy as delivers another command. “Strip, now.”

You do as you’re told, slowly slipping your sweat pants and panties off at the same time. You take your time standing back upright. Kicking your discarded clothing off to the side as you grab the bottom hem of your tank top. Slowly moving it up your torso inch by inch. “Don’t tease, baby,” Namjoon growls, his dark eyes shooting up to yours as your walls clench again from his warning.

You smile innocently, pulling your tank top up just a little faster. You let the bottom hem catch under your breast, causing your tits to bounce free once you finally lift your tank top over your head, throwing the item up and over Namjoon’s head. You continue to stand, reveling in the way Namjoon devours your curves with his eyes. He meets your gaze once again, taking his hand off his length and placing on the arm of the couch. “On your knees. You understand what to do from there. Right, brat?” He punctuates his words. Eyes never leaving you as you sink to your knees, your hands rushing to free him from the confines of clothing. You grasp the top of his undone pants and boxers. Namjoon lifts his hips just slightly, allowing you to pull his clothes down. His long, thick dick breaking free and slapping against his abdomen.

Your mouth instantly begins to water again. You forgot how big he was. Your eyes trailing up his impressive length, refamiliarizing yourself with the long veins that decorate his beautiful cock. The large mushroom tip, angrily colored red as drops of precum leak out. The need to taste him intensifies. You waste no time in taking him into your grasp. Your small hand wraps around the base of his cock, fingertips no where near touching due to the absurdity of his thickness. You slowly start pumping him, gathering each drop of precum as you reach the top to help lubricate your hand going back down. Namjoon lets out a humor content, eyes still hooded as he watches you stroke his dick. You lean forward, looking up at him through your lashes as you roll your tongue around his tip. You hear his breath hitch, not giving him a chance to catch his breath before you take him into your mouth. You move your head up and down, starting out with shallow bobs as you get accustomed to his length. Taking him in deeper with each pass until you feel his tip graze the back of your throat.

Being out of practice, you gag slight on reflex the moment you feel him touch the back of your throat. A deep moan rumbles through Namjoons chest as his eyes flutter close. His hand moves to your hair, gathering it into a makeshift ponytail as you start to move faster. “Fuck, baby,” he groans, his hips starting to rut up, matching your pace. His groans motivate you, urging you to take him in deeper, faster. Your throat relaxes as his tip moves past your gag reflex. Namjoon starts guiding you with the hand in your hair, slightly pulling up and pushing down rapidly to quicken his pace. You let him take control, bracing your hands on the couch as your apartment fills with the obscene sounds of Namjoon fucking his dick into your mouth. You feel a messy layer of spit forming around your mouth, mixtures of drool and precum dribbling down your chin as Namjoon continues to pump his length into you. You start to gag again, your lungs burning with the need for air.

Out of nowhere he slams his hips up into you, shoving half his length down your throat. Hand firm on the back of your head to keep you in place. Your eyes start to water. A single tear escaping down your cheek as you close your eyes, concentrating on breathing through your nose to try and catch a much needed breath. You feel Namjoon’s cock twitch deep in your throat. You swallow, the sounds of his appreciating deep groans shooting straight down to your core. Another gush of arousal leaking out of you and you feel it drip down your thigh and on to your floor. Namjoon asks you to do that again through a breathy moan and fulfill his command. Receiving a slurred, “that’s my good girl” as he starts moving your head up and down again. You preen under his praise. His words sparking a fire in you and you take back control of the pace in which you suck his dick. Moving faster and taking him in as deep as you can with each pass. A slew of curses fly past Namjoon’s lips as he clenches your makeshift ponytail tighter.

“Slow down baby or you’re gunna make me cum. I’m not ready yet,” he moans trying to pull up on hair to take back control. You ignore him, bobbing your head faster before you hear a growl roll through his chest. Namjoon yanking you off his dick by your hair as you let out a whine. “I said slow down, you little brat,” he growls, his chest moving rapidly up and down as he tries to catch his breath. You look up at him, a smirk on your lip as you lick around your mouth, gathering up every drop of his salty taste that still lingers. Before you can swallow, Namjoon reaches for your face. Pulling down the corner of your mouth, causing a pool of your precum mixed spit to dribble back down your chin. “You’re just my filthy little cockwhore, aren’t you?” He chides and you hum in approval.

He releases your hair and face, leaning back into the couch and taking his length back into his hand again as he passes out another command, “Turn around, come sit on my dick.” His abrasiveness only further turns you on, hopping up off the floor quickly and turning your back to him. He quickly removes the remainder of his clothing. Tossing his pants and shirt over the couch to join your previously thrown top. He grabs your waist with his free hand, guiding you down in his lap as he positions himself at your core. He pauses your descent, rubbing his tip teasingly between your slick lips as he holds you up. You let out another whine, trying to push yourself down onto him as you speak without thinking. “Don’t tease,” you whine. You feel him move his tip away from your entrance, not allowing you a second to try and figure out where he went when you feel a harsh slap land on your pussy. You cry out, the sensation a mixture of pain and pleasure. “You don’t get to give the orders tonight, brat,” he growls into your ear.

Once again repositioning himself at your lips, resuming his teasing back and forth strokes. You whimper in need, trying so hard to be patient, not wanting to give him anymore reason to lengthen his teasing you. As if he heard your inner plea, he stops his tip right at your entrance, slowly lowering you down onto him. Your mouth drops open in a silent moan, eyes closing shut as you feel the slight sting from the stretch of his large size. The hand you braced on the arm of the couch slips, causing you to fall slightly into Namjoon’s lap, taking more of him in. He lets out a deep moan, the vibrations from his chest rumble on your back, causing another wave of arousal to leak from you. Allowing the last few inches of Namjoon’s absurd length to slip in you until he’s buried to the hilt inside you. “Fuck, I’ve missed this tight little cunt,” he groans and you sigh in satisfaction. A small wave of relief flowing through you now that you have him inside you once again.

A minute passes by as you both sit there not moving; Namjoon’s grip on your waist making it hard for you to move. Your frustration starts creeping up again and you feel your clit pulse with need. You grind down ever so subtly in his lap, trying to create some sort of friction. Your unapproved attempt doesn’t go unnoticed. Namjoon’s hand coming down on you once again, this time the harsh slap landing on your clit. You cry out again, the sting from the slap still lingering but it’s like your body doesn’t even notice, the action only making you grow more wet.

“Impatient little slut,” Namjoon huffs under his breath as he picks up a blue silicone object and slips it on to his finger. He presses a button near the bottom, a faint buzzing sound from the now vibrating silicone ring following shortly after. He presses his covered finger to your clit, still keeping his cock motionless inside of you. You let out a low moan as the low vibrations lick at your little bundle of nerves. Namjoon makes small, slow circles around your swollen bean as he leans your head back with his freehand. He nips at your earlobe. Sweat forming across your brow as he continues his slow circles. A subtle tension forms like a slow coil in your core. The burning need of your growing orgasm, faint but it’s there. It only adds to your frustration, the need to beg for more resting on the tip of your tongue. Namjoon nips at you once more before whispering into your ear, “This little thing has three settings. The more you behave, the higher it will go. Now, are you going to be a good girl for Daddy?”

You nod your head frantically, words escaping you as you try to focus on the low vibrations tickling your clit, trying to find a way to increase the pressure without moving. Namjoon moves the vibrator off you, quickly replacing it with another slap to your clit. You cry out again, your walls clenching around his length causing a low moan to crawl up his chest. Namjoon presses the vibrator back on your clit, still buzzing at the lowest setting. “Use your words, brat,”he commands through clenched teeth. “Now,” he asks again, “are you going to be a good girl for Daddy?”

“Y-yes, Mr. Kim,” you stammer, your body starting to shake for the need of just more. Namjoon’s free hand trails up your stomach and cups your breast. He takes your hardened nipple between two fingers, rolling it before giving it a pinch. You let out a choked moan as he chuckles in your ear. “That’s my good girl,” he purrs before clicking the button on the vibrator, bumping it up to the mid level as he presses steady circles into your sensitive bean. You can’t control the wanton moans that fall from your lips. Your thighs start shaking in pleasure as the coil in your pit grows tighter, more of your juices leaking onto Namjoon’s cock and down your thighs. You feel your insides start to flutter, the walls of your pussy clenching around his length ever so often. You hear him let out a soft moan each time, his cock twitching inside of you. You lean back against him, arching your back as he keeps up his steady circles on your clit; showing no signs of his finger growing tired. Your head drops back on his shoulder as your eyes flutter shut. You slowly start rolling your hips forward, pushing your clit harder into the vibrator on his hand. The coil in your pit grows tighter, rolling your hips faster as Namjoon kisses your neck. Sucking red welts into your skin as he twirls his fingers faster, pressing the button on the toy and putting it on its highest level. Both of your breaths start to quicken. You feel your impending orgasm right at the precipice of release, all thoughts leaving your head. The only thing barely pulling your focus off chasing your release is Namjoon’s breathy groan in your ear, his velvety baritone pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“You gunna cum, baby?” he rasps, meeting each roll of your hips with his own. You nod your head, your mouth falling open as you feel your orgasm creeping up your body. You feel a rumble roll up his chest, a dark chuckle slipping past his lips as you feel his free hand wrap around your throat. “Well. that’s just too damn bad.”

He rips the vibrator away from you as he stops the roll of his hips. You start to whine in protest only for no noise to slip past your lips from the hand around your throat tightening ever so slightly. You feel his breath on your ear, tears forming at the corner of your eyes from the pain of your orgasm slipping away. “Disobedient whores don’t get to cum,” he bites into your ear, releasing his hand from your throat as he grabs a hold of your waist. You barely regain your breath when he starts fucking up into you ferociously, selfishly chasing his own release. You feel your orgasm rapidly build back up, shutting your eyes as you concentrate on its warmth. You try to force the knot inside of you to snap, feeling yourself getting closer and closer to your goal as Namjoon shifts his hips. The tip of his cock at just the right angle to hit repeated strikes to the rough patch inside of you. You can taste your release, Namjoon’s pace and precision bringing you right to the edge before he rips you off of him, falling back onto his stomach. You cry out from the sudden loss, your walls and clit pulsing painfully from the departure of another missed orgasm. Strings of his cum shoot up from his twitching length, coating your legs and stomach with his release.

He loosens the grip on your waist. You slid your body off of him and on to the vacant part of the couch. Your legs still quiver as your back meets the soft cushion. Namjoon looks over at you with hooded eyes, his chest heaving as his cock begins to soften to a semi-hard state. The corner of his lips twitches up into a smirk, causing his dimple to appear just briefly as he moves to crawl on top of you. He hovers over you, his face parallel with yours as he touches your face with his hand, wiping away the tears still clinging to your eyes. “You took your punishment well, baby,” he coos, closing his eyes as he places his forehead against yours, rubbing your cheek with his thumb. “Such a good girl,” he murmurs, catching your lips in a slow, deep kiss.

You move your lips in tandem. Namjoon lowers himself on to your body, grinding his rehardening cock against your core. He swallows your moans, taking the opportunity to slip his tongue between your lips. Your movements become more frantic. Namjoon licking into your mouth as he continues to rut into your pelvis, your kissing turning into nothing but tongue and teeth. He pulls away, a string of spit connecting your lips as you both come up for air. He sticks his tongue out, cutting the string as he wraps it around his wet appendage. Pulling it back into his mouth, his eyes darken with lust once more as he peers down at you. “Open,” he commands through gritted teeth.

Your eyes widen slightly, sparkling with anticipation as you open your mouth wide. You stick your tongue out, waiting patiently for whatever he has to give you. After a quick suck in of his cheeks, he forms a ball of spit from his lips, pushing it out with his tongue. It’s slow in its descent down to you. It lands perfectly on your tongue and you quickly pull it into your mouth, swallowing it down before sticking your tongue back as if asking him for more. His eyes light up with mirth, leaning in to place a quick kiss on your lips, trailing more quick kisses down your neck and to your chest. He kisses each of your nipples before settling on one, rolling his tongue around the hardened bud before lightly sucking. You arch into him, his face being smothered by your ample bosom as he continues to suck.

Sneaking his hand down in between you, he cups your heat. Tracing the outsides of your nether lips as you let out a light gasp. You ground down into his hand, silently begging for him to give your more. Your walls and clit are still throbbing, aching for the not one, but two denied orgasms. He releases your nipple with a pop, briefly grazing his teeth across the surface as he peers up at you. “Tell me what you want, baby.”

“Please let me cum, Daddy,” you whine, your tone embarrassingly high from need. You don’t have to wait long for him to answer your plea. He gathers your neverending leaking arousal on two fingers. Slipping both inside of you at once, easily able to reach knuckle deep due to your level of wetness. He pumps them in and out of you slowly, taking your other nipple into his mouth as he starts to pick up his speed. It’s not long before the knot beings to reform inside of you, your hips starting to match his pace as you fuck yourself onto his fingers. You let out another whine as he bites on your nipple, taking the opportunity to also slip a third finger into your pussy. He pumps them into you faster, curling them ever so often as he finds the sensitive spot inside of you. Your thighs start to quiver as your toes curl as you reach the edge of your release. Your inner walls begin to flutter, warning Namjoon of your impending orgasm. He curls his fingers again, the well timed graze across your rough patch is enough to snap the knot inside of you. Namjoon’s name falls from your lips like a mantra. Your orgasm washes over you in waves as he slightly lessens his pace, helping you ride out your pleasure as long as possible.

At the first sign of you coming down for your high, Namjoon releases your nipple. He resumes his previous pace with his fingers, quickly moving further down your body and taking your swollen clit between his lips. Your hands shoot down into his hair as he begins to suck. You pull at him, overstimulation causing your body to react on it’s own and try to push him away. He releases your clit, leaning up just far enough to land another slap on your pussy. Another choked cry escaping from your throat. “Behave,” he snaps. The one word the only thing he says to you before taking your bud back into his mouth. Feeling your walls begin to tighten again, he fucks into you faster. He curls his fingers with every thrust into you, flicking his tongue against your bud between different pressured sucks. An unearthly screech rumbles up your throat as your second orgasm hits you fast, harder than the one you experienced just a few moments before. Your gushing release forces Namjoon’s hands out from inside of you. Your juices splashing onto his chest as he releases your clit, moving down just a little lower to your clenching hole. You let out a moan as he runs his tongue between your lips. Obscene slurping sounds ringing throughout your living room as he laps up your juices, drinking down every drop like a man starved.

Oversensitivity kicks in again. You push at his head, your body barely able to put any force behind it as it still tries to recover from the back to back bliss. Namjoon releases you from his mouth, chuckling at you as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Evidence of your release still dripping from his chin as he moves back up your body to kiss you. He slips his tongue into your mouth, wrapping the muscle around your’s, painting it with the leftovers of your release. The taste of your arousal re energizes you, sucking his tongue between your lips to taste yourself even more. Still kissing you, Namjoon maneuvers your legs around his waist. He breaks the kiss, murmuring for you to hold on. He stands up off the couch, lifting you up at the same time. You let out a playful squeal as you throw your hands around your neck to keep you from falling. His hands are under your ass as he carries you towards the hallway leading to your bedroom. He kisses you as he walks, his hand groping your ass as he balances you with each step. His cock, nestled between your pussy and his abdomen, twitches with arousal from your continued moans.

He barely makes it to your closed bedroom door before pushing you up against it. You use the hard surface to support yourself, leaning back into as you grind your core on Namjoon’s cock. Your slick lips coating his length with your arousal as he ruts up into you, matching your movement. He leans in for a kiss and you catch him off guard. Catching his plump bottom lip between your teeth, biting it every so softly as you suck on it. Namjoon letting out a choked moan as you let it go. He pushes you further into the door, using the extra support to allow himself to position his dick at your entrance. “You think you can cum for me one more time, baby?” He asks you through a smirk, his slightly taunting tone poking at your inner brat, coaxing her to come out and finally play.

“Of course I do,” you state cockily. “The real question is can you make me cum one more time. Baby.” Namjoon lets out a deep growl and you feel the vibrations shoot straight to your cunt. Mixtures of adrenaline and excitement burning inside you as anger sparks like a flame in Namjoon’s eyes. He slams his thick rod to the hilt inside you. You let out a strangled moan from the sudden intrusion. Your fingernails digging into his shoulders as he pushes off your door. He starts fucking up into you. Gravity brings you down harder on him as he bounces you on his cock.

“Next time, I’m gagging the little bratty mouth of yours,” he growls. He makes a quick grab for the doorknob, opening the door and stumbling into your room and towards your bed.

Namjoon is still speared inside you as he drops you both onto your bed, scooting you up the mattress until your head meets your pillow. He grabs you under your knee, lifting it up and into your chest, allowing him to fuck into you at a deeper, more delectable angle. “This pussy was fucking made for me,” he grunts. Sweat coloring his brow as he continues plowing into you. His balls slapping your ass each time he drives himself to the hilt inside of you. Your hands grasp at the sheets, your eyes rolling back into your head as you feel your orgasm growing once again. Wanton moans fall from your lips with every delicious stroke of his cock against your velvety walls. Your pussy is still sensitive from your previous two orgasms, slight oversensitivity kicking in but it only heightens the pleasure. You open your eyes, your lids fluttering from the pleasure as you blink to focus your vision on Namjoon. The street light peeking through the window falls on his face, allowing you to see him, eyes closed with his mouth dropped open, losing himself in the pleasure that is you. As if he feels your stare, he opens his eyes and peers down at you. His pupils are blown with lust yet his gaze brims with so much love and adoration as he continues to stare at you, causing a warm comfort of matching affection to start to bloom in your chest.

Dropping your knee, he slows his thrust. Changing to grinding deep into you as he moves his hands to cup your face. Kissing you deeply, he rests his forehead on yours again, speaking to you softly between labored breaths. “You know you’re the only one I want like this. Or like anything. I only want you.”

Your lips spread wide in a smile, your hands release their grip on the bed sheets, moving to the back of his head. You bring him in for another kiss before returning his sentiment. “I feel the same way, Joonie,” you huff out softly. “Now fuck me.”

Namjoon’s lips break into a quick smirk before pressing a rough kiss into yours. He pushes himself back up. A hand on your waist and his other pushed up against your head board as he starts deeply thrusting into you at an unrelenting pace. Your hands claw at his back as you arch up into him. The sensation of him striking your g-spot quickly brings another orgasm into fruition. A delicious warmth pooling in your core as you feel his movements start to stutter. “I’m close, baby,” he confesses through gritted teeth. His voice is strained as he tries to hold on just a bit longer to his release. Breathy whines asking him to ‘Don’t stop’ the only thing you're able to say in response as you creep closer and closer to the edge. He moves his hand on your waist between you, finding your clit with his thumb and rubbing it in quick circles. “Come with me, baby.” He only lasts a few more pumps into you before he’s driving into you deep, tip pressed firmly into your rough patch as he loses himself to his release. You’re quick to follow him, that last thrust the last push you need to send you over the edge. His seed spilling into you in never ending spurts, filling you up to the brim as your pussy clenches around him. He collapses on top of you, the rhythmic pulses of your walls continuing to milk him for all he’s worth, soaking up every last drop of his release.

You both lie there, chests moving rapidly up and down as you both try to catch your breaths. Namjoon's softening cock still nestled inside of you as you lightly trail your fingers up his spine. After a few minutes, he leans up, pulling himself out of you as you both wince from the loss. The mixture of your combined release starts to slowly leak out of you, dripping onto your bedsheets. He rolls to lay beside you, sliding his arm under your shoulders to pull you into him. The stickiness of your skin from your labored sweat feeling slightly uncomfortable on his, but you don’t care. Still wrapping your arms around him, your head on his chest as he rests his chin on you.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have ignored you like that. Or lied about why I was staying late. I just really wanted to surprise you and I’m terrible at keeping secrets,” he says, nuzzling his face into your hair as you scoot in closer to him.

“I know, Joonie. And I’m sorry, too. I should’ve given you the benefit of the doubt. I promised to be more understanding and I didn’t do that.” He loosens his hold on you, allowing you to lie back on the bed, still facing him.

“Then let’s start over. Try working on things again. This time, as boyfriend and girlfriend,” he asks, smiling down at you as you smile back at him. Propping up on an elbow, you raise your head up and catch his lips in a deep kiss. His smile while kissing you back lets you know that this was an acceptable enough answer. Breaking apart, you lay back down as he moves to trail kisses across your shoulder. “I brought a whole bag of things to use on you, and I barely got to dive into it. Just another thing that didn’t really go as planned,” he says with a sigh, propping his head on his hand as he looks down on you. You glance at the clock on your bedside table before turning back to Namjoon. “The night’s still young,” you purr, trailing one of your fingers down his chest. “How about you spend the night, and I’ll let you use the whole bag on me twice.”

Namjoon grins wide, mischief coloring his eyes as he maneuvers himself back on top of you. “Deal.”

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