#and then one of the pleats had been taken out and the fabric inside the pleat that had been sheltered for 250 years was Bright Purple

[marchtooctober]

This fic happens after they everyone gets back inside. I was supposed to post this after chapter 90's release but I was busy with my internship so I couldn't finish it in time. A longer note will follow at the bottom of fic. Thanks and happy reading!! 💕

Clothes to Wear for Another Decade

The Forgers have been helping their new neighbors, the Authens, unpack their luggage and arrange their belongings. Loid moved and opened the boxes while Yor dusted the shelves and cleaned all over the dirty nooks. Bond lazily lied after the tiring adventure of a walk. Anya and Mr. Authens are engaged in a more or less coherent chat about housewares and zoology.

“Should we open this up?” Yor asked, carrying a massive trunk with no difficulty.

“As for that one… I can't remember what's inside. Can you please open it?” Mrs. Authen said, trying to recall its content.

“Okay.”

Yor did as requested and clothes of unfamiliar style and colors emerged. Dresses with puffed sleeves and capes, pleated skirts, wide-legged pants, vests, flat caps, suspenders, pinstripe suits, knitted tops and many more. Mrs. Authen's expression turned bright as she grabbed some.

“It's our old clothes! Now I remember! It would be a shame to leave them behind so we had to bring some of them.” She delightfully said.

Anya and Mr. Authen joined them in rummaging through the colorful pile. 

“How nice to see these again. Look at that! It's my Sunday favorite, and this one too from one of our dates.” Mr. Authen held up some oddly paired baggy trousers and sweaters.

“I used to wear these for parties.” Mrs. Authen took her flapper dresses with elaborate patterns.

Anya held up several items out of curiosity.

“Will Becky approve these long thingies?” She thought out loud.

Mrs. Authen smiled and turned to Yor and Loid.

“Come and choose anything you'd like to try!"

"But we still have to-" Yor started.

"Don't be shy, dear! Here, this. Try this. And this one, that one too! Your mister can surely take care of himself, isn't that right?" The woman turned to Yor and Loid.

Suddenly, they were too stunned to speak. As if it was their first time to be identified as husband and wife.

"Uhm…"

"Oh? Aren't you two wedded?"

"Uh- Y-Yes, ma'am! We're already married. Last year. Anya is my child with my late wife who passed away." Loid was so taken aback by the question that it caused him to stutter.

"Is that so, dear? But what a nice family, you all are."

"Well… Thank you, ma'am."

Mrs. Authen continued searching through the folded items until she got her hands on a large fabric. She unfolded it and showed a set of baggy top with and pleated skirt. Underneath is another set of plain shirt with suspenders and wide-legged pants. The colors have already faded a little but the fabrics are barely damaged.

"I think these will look good on both of you."

"But we can't-" Loid started but the old lady spoke again.

"Please, It'll be very nice to see you wear our clothes just this once. Won't you grant this old woman's favor?"

They became fidgety and couldn't stare at anyone at all.

"O-Okay… We will try them on." Yor said shyly.

To shield himself from embarrassment and scrutinizing gazes, he took the clothes and went into one of the rooms to get changed. Yor did the same and went to another room. It did not take long before they both stepped out.

"My, my, it really suits you!" Barbara said in delight.

"Really, they do. Just like us when we were younger." Her husband added.

“Mama and Papa look like people from old movies.”

Loid and Yor could not help but blush in embarrassment and smile awkwardly. It simply felt different. Because they are donning the old couple's clothes.

“How do they fit?” Mrs. Authen asked.

“It fits just right. But I was scared that I might damage the skirt so I had to adjust it a little.” Yor said, scanning the clothes for damage.”

“And you?”

“The shirt fits me but the pants seem a little bit short for me.” Loid replied while adjusting the suspenders.

Mr. And Mrs. Authen couldn't help but pour compliments and tell them stories of old, the memories that were stitched on the clothes.

"Oh dear… you look so good in our dress. Why don't you keep it?" Mrs. Authen suddenly asked.

"Hm-?! Keep?! But we can't accept this ma'am…" Yor immediately said in surprise.

"I think so too, Mrs. Authen. We think your family should be the one wearing these. I believe they'll treasure it more dearly." Loid added.

"Could it be that you don't want it because it doesn't suit your taste? Then we can just go to the tailor for something nice." Mr Authen said.

"N-No, sir! We assure you, it's not! We simply think that we don't deserve your beloved items." Loid reasoned with a smile.

He started worrying that they offended the couple for rejecting but he was surprised when Mrs. Authen took his hand.

"You know, son," The old lady started as she also took Yor's hand and placed it with Loid's.

The physical touch that was shared did nothing as much as what the rest of Mrs. Authen's words did to them.

"These clothes gave us good memories for a long time. I hope that they'll do the same for you too."

Loid and Yor only smiled. It was only in an instant but their gazes crossed. Their countenance showed half-torn cheerfulness. If anything, the words caused a sudden pang of bitterness to Loid.

Loid doesn't know what's in Yor's mind but for him, they are unworthy of such a pure gesture. It wasn't only because they are not a real couple. They are simply bound by the benefits of a fake relationship with no lasting commitment on his end. It's unspoken but he knows it very well.

Good clothes for good memories.

The uncertainty of the future was enough to keep them from accepting such prized possession. Loid knew that the Forger family would not last long enough for such clothes to be worn a dozen times.

▪︎•▪︎•▪︎•▪︎•▪︎

I hope you enjoyed this little fic of mine. Actuallyyy,, this is pretty much a by-product of my rainy day fic that i posted some time ago. That fic was supposed to be longer because Loid and Yor were supposed to be taken in by an old couple that runs a boutique shop for vintage items (their old items). And because Loid and Yor are rain-drenched, the old couple will give them clothes.

But since there were still no elderly couple in the manga back then and of course with my laziness and distaste for carelessly naming my OCs, I cut off the said fic as i have posted. You can go ahead and read it if you're interested 🥰🥰.

So ever since i posted that fic, I've been waiting for old characters to be introduced in the manga and finally chapter 90 came. We now have Mr. and Mrs. Authen!!! 🤩🤩🤩 I'm so glad that i put this fic off until the right time comes. And now I'm sharing this with you.

#spy x family #spy x family manga #spy x family fanfic #sxf fic #sxf drabble #fanfic #loid forger #yor forger #barbara authen #sigmund authen #mr. and mrs. authen #ahwww finally posted something after a long time

[darkandstormydolls]

Another new costume: historical this time!

I’ve wanted to get into historical costuming for a long long time, it’s just taken a while to a. figure out the skills and knowledge needed and b. get all of the pieces done (because of course I had to pick a complicated dress from a complicated decade). I’ve technically been working on this outfit since last fall; I made the chemise and corset back in August or September of last year, I don’t exactly remember, for another costume. I know undergarments are pretty much the most important thing for historical costuming, but MY GOODNESS do they take a while. In addition to the ones mentioned above, I also made a bustle, a detachable ruffled overlay, and a petticoat (the bustle overlay is made out of Halloween fabrics with bats and skeletons and things because of the theory of “no one’s gonna see it, so why not make it wildly anachronistic and fun?”)

The dress itself has three parts: a base skirt with three layers of trim (which took and eternity and a half to pleat), and overskirts with all the floofy fabric (there are tapes inside to hold it into those puffs in the front) and the bodice. That one I don’t think took the longest, but it was definitely the most complicated; interlining, boning at the seams, handsewing of bias tape hems at the top and bottom, a million seams, and so much trim, and that’s not even counting the fact that I had to take it apart and resew it after the first attempt. The buttons down the from were supposed to be velvet to match the ribbons, but the velvet was too thick and didn’t fit in the button coverer, so I went with the same fabric as the dress, a plain black cotton (I got a 25 yard bolt of this and must have used around 15 on this dress between all the parts and all the pleated trim).

I did not make it all in a historical way; inner seams are almost all overlocked (I zigzagged around the edges of the bodice fabric and interlining rather than basting them together so that I didn’t have to finish those seams inside of the bodice) . After all, it’s historical costuming, not recreation. I’m not trying to be 100% accurate, I’m trying to make a cute dress.

I also made a chemisette and cuffs to fill in the neckline and to add some visual depth to an otherwise all black dress (I’m planning to make all my historical clothes at least close to my normal clothing style, so that I feel more comfortable in them). The collar ended up a bit bigger than I would have liked, and I think it looks a little puritanical, but oh well. It is what it is. I can always make a new one in the future if it’s still bothering me.

I made this dress to be 1873, right in the middle of the first bustle era (my favorite era of Victorian womenswear).

The hat was an endeavor. I think I cut the pattern wrong, so it ended up way too tall, so I just kind of folded the sides under and now it’s fine. I’m kind of regretting adding the flowers, but they’re hot glued in (the one time I used hot glue on this hat rather than sewing. Of course.) and I don’t really care enough to fuss around with trying to get them off. I guess I can also always wear it without a hat if it keeps bugging me. At least my hair turned out cute!

All in all, I love this costume. It’s cute, I think it’s flattering, it’s fairly comfy (and shockingly easy to move in; the skirts are a bit heavy, but not too much, the corset and boning don’t actually stop my from bending over if I have to, and the bustle folds up quite easily when I need to sit down). I think I could easily see myself wearing this for hours at an event. It’s a smidge long, but that’s not too much of a problem, and the petticoat pokes out a thing bit at the bottom, but that only serves to keep the skirt hem cleaner. The only real issue I came across with this was stairs, but even then, is was mostly only after I had taken off my shoes and the hem was a few inches too long.

I guess this dress is properly victorian goth, rather than just Victorian-inspired like most of my clothes

#costuming #dress history #historical costuming #fashion history #historical dress #victorian #victorian dress #victorian gothic

[factorialsfandoms]

[Description: coloured sketches of Zelda from The Legend of Zelda (Dawn) and from Zelda II: Adventure of Link (Aurora). Both have poofy ginger hair. Dawn has her hands clasped just below her belt. She is wearing a dark purple dress with golden trip and pale pink patches that comes down to just above her ankles, with a small pale pink waistcoat over it, and a red ribbon in her hair. She wears a wire circlet with a single red gem, and matching earrings. Her boots are brown and her hands and arms both covered by black gloves, over one of which she wears a gold bracelet. Her belt is brown, and its buckle is gold.

[Aurora is wearing a poofy pink dress. Part way down are a series of darker pink ribbons with bows on, and below that a pleated, pale pink underskirt. Her hands are raised and pressed together, akin to prayer. Her sleeves are short and ended by more dark pink ribbon. Her arms are bare, but she is wearing dark pink gloves. She wears a pale pink veil with darker pink trim, held in place by a thick metal band-circlet, set with red gems. Her necklace is made of matching red beads. End description]

Dawn and Aurora. Because a fic got out of control and so they may be getting written soon, and so I wanted a reference for myself. Also drawing and writing mess up my hands in different ways so if I swap its better.

Notes under cut

Both Aurora and Dawn wear very similar outfits in their games, different only by a few details. I kept both of them having the ginger hair, liking it as a family detail.

Given the state of Hyrule’s Hyrule, the dresses from the games did not seem very practical. As such, I gave this dress to Aurora (also its been more time since Dawn’s game, and so she’s likely grown up and changed). As the princess who had slept since the golden age, it seemed more likely that she would have such impractical clothing. In the particular verse I’m working on these for, a number of her belongings had also been preserved by the magic, including a number of her dresses. Which also neatly explains how she has this much fabric for peticoats and extra frills and the like. Her fancier circlet is of my own design, and in itself a mark of her being from a richer, fancier time. The veil is mostly there because I just like drawing them, but I was vaguely thinking about Medieval Princess vibes from minimally researched films and stuff. You know the ones, that note that ladies covered their heads but didn’t check what coverings in what time period? Them. Her necklace and earrings are taken from one of the bits of game art or associated materials, but I forget which. Oh and thank Hero from the LU Discord’s creator chat for reassuring me that no this amount of pink was fine actually.

This however left a problem with Dawn. I wanted the two Princesses from the same realm to have unique shapes and be visually distinct. So, I prodded around. What I found is the Legend of Zelda anime - or one of them - vaguely based on both of the first two games. The basic outline and neckline for her dress, as well as the waistcoatlet, comes from here. However, I made her dress a bit more purple, and recoloured the waistcoatlet to the pink of her game design. It has so many pockets on the inside, I promise. The patching on her dress would be much more extreme in meeting here, but is there as a reference to the state of her world - to some extent the gold-coloured trim is, too. There’s not the fabric to waste going around, not even for the princess, so she makes do. Her waistcoatlet was once a full coat, but she outgrew it and has been cutting it for scraps since. What remains is sentimental, and reshaped many times over the years. The patch on her purple dress is the same colour as it is patched with some of the coat’s remains. The trim, meanwhile, is much easier to replace than a whole dress. Sure its pretty, but when it gets scuffed or damaged or torn on a bush? Just rip it off and replace it, now using it as rags for clearning and the like, saving the rest of the item. The trim can in a very crisis also be torn off to use as bandages without damaging the main garment. Her circlet is the one she wears in the art from the game, her jewellery matching as she /is/ still a princess. No use in selling it, may as well be pretty. The ribbon in her hair she shifts around to pull her hair out of her eyes or tie her hair back as needed.

Both of them are wearing gloves because you’ve seen their Hyrule don’t not wear gloves its a bad plan. You cannot see Aurora’s, but both of them are wearing practical sorts of boots.

Oh right yeah! Dawn’s belt has the triforce on it, as seen in the detail sketches, but otherwise there’s a lack of the usual Zelda things (the white and purple and all that). This is intentional, and not just because it’s a later addition to the games. For Dawn, it’s just been so long and the country has fallen so far that these sorts of things (along with religion) aren’t really kept up to. Some generations back there might have still been some, but the heavily embroidered ceremonial pieces were just abandoned in favour of practicality, especially once the symbology was no longer cared for. Dark colours are better, too. She keeps the purple, though. If a very dark one. For Aurora... The excuse I’m going with here is that her brother was the heir, not her. The golden age was a long time, and at some point it shifted from being the princess’s duty to the heir’s duty. Its part of what makes her knowing the triforce’s location and not her brother such a slight - he should have been the one to wield and control it. Also she’s the first Zelda in a good few generations - I like to think Fable broke the tradition with her own kids. The lack of a Zelda helped disconnect things a bit. So the ceremonial garb would have existed in her original time, but her brother would have worn a masculinised version of it for ceremonies, not her. Sure once he was king she was the heir, but as a sibling she’d only have been a placeholder, and so didn’t have one of her own. Or, if she did, it was not considered her position/clothing enough for the preservation spell to catch it.

I think that’s all I really had in mind? It’s all I can remember having had in mind, anyway. As a reward for reading this, here are the colourless sketches. Dawn’s has some extra details from where i was working out the clothing shapes independently of one another. Aurora, being in a generic princess dress, needed it less.

#linked universe #lu dawn #lu aurora #character design #fanart #i guess

[chickpencil55]

Heating, Ventilation, And Air Con

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#清潔公司

[elizabethchristenia]

‘Mask’

I just finished my entry for the 2021 Foundations Revealed costume competition and got it entered a few hours before the deadline. Whew. It’s been... a long week.

I came across a poem, ‘Mask’ by Beth Bachmann and had the sudden idea... “Hey, that costume competition was for a literature character this year, wasn’t it? I wonder when that ends...” 11 days. It ended in 11 days. And with the business still shut down and me in isolation, I decided... why not? What else am I REALLY going to DO with the next 11 days anyhow? Could a mask count as a character? Here’s to hoping it does!

I made a mask from the pattern by @mctreeleth and also a jacket pieced from the giant pile of cabbage left after making over a thousand face masks while in quarantine. 

I started by pulling a pattern off my husband’s old patched 4XLT work shirt that has become my favorite house coat during the pandemic, so I had a fairly simple pattern to make out of the fabric I was going to piece. 

My original plan was to have an ombre effect on the jacket, light at the shoulders to dark at the hem. When I started laying out the pieces, it ended up also having a rainbowy effect from reds on the left to blues and purples on the right. It took about two days to sort and cut all the pieces of fabric from the mask scraps - the largest is 4″x 5″, and I drew the line at the smallest being 2″x 2″. When I wasn’t sure in what order to put the brighter colors in terms of going from light to dark, I pulled out my phone and used it as a tool to look at them in greyscale mode, and went with what order they looked like they should go when the color wasn’t involved.

I pieced each panel over top of the pattern piece it was going to be on, and added a little extra for wiggle room, then thread traced each piece onto the panel, stay-stitched just under 1/4″ from the edge, and cut. I bagged out the bottom hem as I flat-lined each piece to stash fabric that had been too loosely woven for masks, but was perfect for lining fabric. I then joined everything together with french seams and boom - quilted patchwork jacket.

Making the mask took longer than I expected. Based on the amount of Bridgerton and Fate: The Winx Saga that played in the background while I was working, it took about 14 hours from start to finish.

Printing the mask pattern onto interfacing was brilliant - although trying the DIY scotch tape/interfacing trick didn’t go so well. The time it took me to unjam the printer isn’t part of the 14 hours. I did manage to print it onto a 8-1/2 x 11 commercial poplin meant for printing your own photos onto fabric to put into craft projects - then I added Heat ‘N’ Bond onto the backs before cutting out the pieces. That went wonderfully and made the mask pretty sturdy once it was finished.

For the most part, I followed the instructions that were with the pattern - but I did end up making a few changes: 

I didn’t bother to top-stitch the bottom center seam. There’s no way to go all the way to the tip of the beak by machine, and nobody’s going to be looking at the bottom of the mask much anyhow. I just pressed the seam open very well on a sleeve board.

I didn’t add a fabric face strap - instead, I put two eyelets at the top and bottom of piece #10 after I was done and ran a lanyard through them with a cord lock, which worked very well.

On the round eye pieces, I edge stitched a line on the inside after flipping the lining around to the back side to keep everything smooth and in place.

Rather than folding the edge of the large circle down and pinning a ton of tiny pleats in place, I ran a line of small gathering stitches around the edge of the larger piece and used it like a drawstring to pull the large circle to the back side of the eye pieces and hold it in place. I ironed it well, and ran the gathering strings through the eyehole to the inside of the mask. I didn’t cut them off until after I had the eye pieces stitched down onto the mask. (I wish I’d taken a picture of this step, because it’s a lot quicker than the pinning - alas, it was 2 am and I didn’t think to.)

I didn’t slip stitch the eye pieces down onto the front of the mask. I pinned them in place, with pins situated kind of like spokes on a wheel. I edge stitched the eye pieces onto the mask by machine, walking the machine over each pin by hand. (Note - I was using an industrial sewing machine that handles thick fabric just fine and has a much heavier foot pressure than most home machines, so that probably helped this turn out well.)

If I were making this again, I would attach the bias for the eye holes from the front and fold it around to the back instead of the other way around - just for an aesthetic factor. It was a lot easier to make the final line on the bias look clean - which, sadly, will never be seen inside the eyepiece. The line around the bias inside the mask is the one part of mine that looks a bit messy.

Over-sized round “John Lennon” Sunglasses worked perfectly for lenses on this. After a while, they do fog up - I’m betting that wipes meant to keep the inside of goggles from fogging up will probably fix this.

I paired the jacket and mask with my pre-quarantine garb skirts and leather hat (shaped much like the quintessential illustration of a plague doctor), a shirt from my closet, and a cotton duck corset I had already finished as an experiment in color (Each external faux bone casing is in a different color radiating around half of the corset.) and also as an experiment in edge shaping - I made the corset extra-long, and then hand drew scallops around the bottom of the corset - not quite deep enough to count as tabs. I wanted to see if the bones were enough to keep these down and flat on the corset, or were they long enough they would flip up when worn? (Spoiler: They actually sit flat - yeay!)

Also learned on this project - when your husband is taking the photographs, and he is much taller than you, every picture that isn’t of your back will end up being a boob shot. XD

#plague doctor mask #quilting #sewing #quarantine craft

[ohmysparkle]

🍃Plug🍃

🖤 🍃 🖤 🍃 🖤 🍃 🖤 🍃 🖤 🍃 🖤

🍃 Pairing: Johnny (NCT) x reader

🍃 Length: 2K

🍃 Warnings: Smut, piv, use of recreational substances, sex under the influence

🍃 Note: originally a request on my previous account

Nsfw below!

🖤 🍃 🖤 🍃 🖤 🍃 🖤 🍃 🖤 🍃 🖤

How did you end up here?

How did you end up here with him?

Your friend had said, "Oh, lets go have some beers with some friends."

Sure.

Your friend had said "Lets try this!" As she giddily took a blunt from one of the boys in the house. "Want some?"

Sure.

It was, quite literally, a blur form there, and the living area that was strewn with bean bags and cushions at some point became empty. Except for you...

And him. Johhny.

You had seen him before, of course. Sure, you knew his name. Did you have a crush on him? Perhaps. But had you ever been in any face to face situation with him? Not in your wildest dreams.

Yet here he was, and here you were, getting stared down by this gigantic sex god of a man that was in a horny and dreamy daze. Oh goodness, you felt like you were burning. Why was it so hot in here? Why were you feeling so stuffy, like you needed a breeze to cool you down? You had to get out, and away from him before the heat you felt continued to grow and further moistened your panties with the sweat in your thighs and cheeks... or was it -

Shit, you had to go.

And you tried, but he stalks after you with those long ass legs of him.

"Y/n, where are you going?" He asks, and it's the first time he's spoken to you. And... he knew your name.

"I need to get fresh air." You say, and your eyes meet. Sure, both sets are a little reddened but it doesn't stop him from admiring your features, your lashes, your glossy lips. He's never gotten to admire them this close, as he usually would het a distant glance at you when you shared the occasional class or outing with mutual friends. No wonder the following words come out so naturally...

"My room's upstairs. I have a balcony."

And so he takes you, and you feel like your just floating by with him pulling you by your wrist. You hardly acknowledge your surroundings once you're in his room, but he does keep is promise and open a little French door that peeks out to a balcony.

The breeze is welcome, and it blows up your skirt and you can feel that your panties are absolutely soaked.

“You good?” He asks. He’s suddenly standing before you, and you feel small, like you’re standing in his shadow.

You don’t recall who snaps first but his mouth is on yours, and everything feels hot and heavy and drowsy but hypersensitive. His mouth, wet and eager, swallows every little moan you make and he sucks on your tongue and you feel it draw a shiver from the back of your neck to your cunt.

His hand is soon up your skirt, it was sudden but it’s what you wanted - what you needed. And when he cups your mound with his large hand everything seems to fall into place, the kiss deepens, you moan.

“Wait!”

It wasn’t you. It was him.

“Wait...” he says, cupping your face, slightly rousing from his stupor, “we might be high as fuck right now but I need to know you’re ok with this.”

It startles you, it wasn’t just his respect that made your stomach do a flip, but you could see a tenderness in his eyes that surpassed his arousal as he searched your features.

“I... I really want to do this.” You whisper sweetly, and he’s gotten you feeling a little bashful.

You feel like you’re body is floating among waves, but his hands are keeping you anchored.

“I want this too. And I’m gonna make it good... I’m gonna treat you real good.” He says as he guides you to sit down on his bed. He’s almost giddy, he might have been bouncing had he not been mellowed out by the weed.

He kneels on the floor between your legs, and he doesn’t take his eyes from yours as he reaches up the pleats of your skirt to drag your panties down. The fabric is steamy and there is a wet patch - you’d feel embarrassed had he not smiled like a giddy boy at the results of his actions. Once the panties are at your ankles he realizes he hadn’t taken your shoes on and he fumbles as he tries to take it all of, but once you notice the predicament you both shuffle around together to get the shoes and their tricky laces off and a fit of giggles takes over you both.

They’re soon gone; the shoes, the panties, the giggles. His hands rest at your calves. He kisses your mouth one last time before he gently spreads your legs and bunches your skirt up, and he nearly drools at the sight he’s just exposed. What a beautiful cunt, with those pretty, tender lips that look like petals. He reaches to spread them with the pads of his index and middle finger, and he sighs when the brighter flesh inside your hole is exposed, along with those beautiful glossy fluids.

At some point you help his efforts, and your feet are planted on the edge of the mattress, spreading your legs wide open. The way this man looked at your pussy in awe made you feel more confident and sexy than you had in your entire life, it’s like you could feel the sheer energy of you pulling him in, hypnotizing him.

He watches your cunt with determination as he presses a finger to your bud and circles it with the upmost caution. He likes the sound you make.

And you like how he made you feel.

“Are you just gonna stare all day or are you gonna get to work?”

You’re both alarmed by the words that come from your mouth, but they arouse both of you even further.

“Fuck...” he groans, and he goes all in - he buries his face in your pussy without hesitation, gulping at your favor and roughly inhaling your scent. “Fucking delicious.” He says after swiping his tongue all over your labia in one thick stroke. You gasp and the clench of your muscles makes your pussy twitch just the slightest and Johnny swears he could just watch you like this forever.

So he’ll work towards that goal by doing a good job.

His tongue circles your clit, and he spreads your lips with his fingers to make sure he’s getting full access to that pretty nub, making sure he’s focusing his efforts there. Tiny little licks with the tip, just to tease you, and then he lets go so he can roam his mouth all over, up and down every fold, following your lines, sucking on your lips, teasing them ever so tastefully with his teeth.

And finally, finally he sucks the nub, he sucks and you can feel his lips on you and who the texture of his tongue greets you in his mouth. You feel every sensation he causes in your pussy send waves of pleasure all over your body, and at some point you’re threatening to fall backward but his arm hooks you by the waist and you grab on to the other.

At some point you realize the sensation on your hand are his fingers locked with yours. You grip him desperately as you begin to cry out, moan shamelessly, not caring who else is in the house.

He’s moaning too, just from tasting you, and imagining what you’ll both do next.

He feels you come against his face, liquids spewing from your sopping hole on to his face and he presses into your cunt happily to lap it all up. He pulls away and cleans his face with the back of his hand while making eye contact with you, but you’re trembling all over, panting erratically, yet still you cling into him and slowly he guides you to lay back on the bed, legs dangling off the edge and wet pussy exposed.

He kisses your thighs while he waits, nuzzling the soft and bouncy flesh with his face, feeling the softness of them with agains his skin.

“Johnny...” you eventually croak out, languidly.

“Yes, princess?” He replies eagerly.

“Do you have a condom?”

He bounces up to dig into his drawer and tears his clothes off faster than you could even notice. Once he’s completely naked he realizes the bedroom door was open and shuts it before you can see. You’re still blissfully dazed and starring at the ceiling, but as he edges toward you, you lift your head and you’re in awe at his tall frame, all exposed.

He strokes his cock to roll the plastic on him, keeping the wrapper in between his lips before blowing it off.

“Come here...” you say, as you reach out for him and spread your legs again. He falls into your embrace effortlessly.

Johnny kisses you, slowly and sensually, you can feel his cock sandwiched against your abdomen and his.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good...” he promises.

“You’re all talk.” You tease.

Maybe you shouldn’t have teased. When you least expect it you’re both adjusting and he’s pressed his head into you. You’re so wet, so relaxed, it just feels blissful. He pushes in and the feeling his heavenly, your legs jolt and bend. His body is completely pressed against yours, forehead against yours, breaths huffing into each other’s faces. Yeah… this is a feeling Johnny had been thinking about for a while, and it would take him a moment to relish in it.

You roll your hips to coax him further, and before you know it he’s hitting your cervix, you feel him press right there at that barrier inside of you, yet your certain he’s not in all the way. His first thrusts are slow and gentle, but at some point his body is heavy against yours and he rolls his hips with a smack against your thighs each time. You’re legs are wrapped around his waist, your hands roam all over his body, your sight is lost between his sultry eyes and his body and how his cock is impaling you, but he is focused only on your face.

He starts to stretch you further, impossibly further. You twitch each time he hits the limit of your wall. But it’s like your sucking him in deeper and deeper, and you start to feel an uncontrollable buildup.

“Johnny! Faster!” You manage to cry between moans.

You want it faster and harder and more and more and more... you’re reaching that point where you need his hard push to throw you over the edge. You plant your feet on the bed to begin to thrust along with him but he grabs your hips and kneels on the bed, he’s pulling you up in a way you’ve never been manhandled before, your hips raised and feet barely helping support you, and he’s using his hands to thrust your pelvis onto him, fucking his cock on you brutally. Every muscle in his torso and body are burning and the strain is evident in how they all flex.

You’re screaming - you’re screaming like you never have and it’s a mix of curses and his name and incoherent moans. You’ve never felt this, and you don’t want him to stop. At some point your weight collapses into his thighs but that doesn’t stop him, he’s fucking into you wildly.

You’re shaking all over and can’t make out the moment in which it ends. It’s like you blacked out from the bliss, and you only notice the change because at one point Johnny was fucking you and now he’s collapsed on top of you. You’re sure your skirt and the comforter beneath you are soaked with your fluids, and your clothes are drenched with your sweat and his.

He’s drowning you, with his weight, with the feelings. You can’t make a single move because he’s got you pinned down and his cock is anchoring you beneath his body.

“Y/n...” he eventually calls.

“Yes?”

“Would... you like to do that again some time?” You can’t see his face, but his breath shudders against your neck.

“Yes... but I’d also like to do it again now.”

#nct johnny smut #nct smut #nct Johnny

[erefics]

afterglow by erefics

synopsis: reader has had a rough day of first classes, and comes home in tears to a supportive eren. now, his only purpose is to make you feel better in any way he can.

content warnings: female bodied reader, corruption, daddy kink, daddy!eren, major praise kink, breeding, use of the pet name puppy but no pet kink

word count: 1.7k

*all characters are aged up and in college*!

your eyes had been swollen and puffy as your feet shuffled across the hallway back to your shared apartment with boyfriend eren. they dragged across the tile, making it evident you’d been tiresome and overpowered from the harsh and cruel school day.

not only were your classes harder than you expected, but the other students were relentlessly mean all day to you. they hadn’t given you a break the entirety of the day, teasing you and making you run to the bathroom stall in order to dry the tears falling down your perfect pink cheeks.

thankfully, eren had always been there for you when you came home from school. he got out of his last period before you, which was a perfect way to be greeted in the living room by him after dealing with the harsh reality of college.

“what’s wrong, doll?” he immediately noticed the poor little grimace on your face, which you tried so desperately to hide. it wasn’t because you didn’t want to tell him what happened per say, it was just the fact that you struggled opening up about your feelings. you were so sensitive, so easily broken. he knew that. and he knew when something was most definitely wrong with his puppy.

“what—‘m okay, eren,” you lied bashfully, covering your reddened cheeks with your hand, but your palm was too small to conceal the tears.

he clicked his tongue, shaking his head slowly. it didn’t take him long to catch on, and he moved your hand off of your face by force, pinning it down to your side.

“what did i tell you about hiding your feelings from me, princess?” his voice deepened.

you looked up at him rather slowly, it took you a moment to make full eye contact because you’d been stalling from that for so long now. he was quite intimidating when looking at you so directly.

“i…’m not hiding anything,” you continued to lie, surprising even yourself by the amount of perseverance you were showing.

his grip on your wrist only grew tighter, which started to startle you a bit.

“speak up for daddy, dollface. i’m not gonna bite you for talking about your feelings,” eren raised his bushy eyebrows, even puckering his lips into a very tempting pout. that was all you needed to spill out your feelings to him.

“well, my day just wasn’t the best…’started with chemistry, got asked to leave because i hadn’t been prepared, apparently you have to ‘bring your own goggles’. shouldnt that be included in the tuition? and my mathematics professor is a total dick. but don’t get me started on the girls who’d been teasing me all day…calling’ me names and stuff, talking behind my back and already starting rumors. then on the way home from the campus i tripped on an empty soda can and was pretty much out of breath and started crying and—“

“y/n!” eren interrupted your ramble, soothing your pulsing heartbeat with a hand on your chest. his fingers stroked the side of your jaw softly, wiping the excess tears that hadn’t yet dried, or fallen to the floor. “‘s okay, i’m here now,” he brought you into an embrace, finally, ridding you of all sadness. “what kind of assholes would say anything like that about my precious puppy?” he removed his hands from your back, keeping the same eye contact from before.

“dunno. ‘don’t even wanna go back tomorrow,” you sighed, plopping down onto the sofa next to eren, crossing your arms as if throwing a hissy fit.

“well you’re here for now, angel. you’re safe. and in my comfort. i’m here to always make you feel the best you possibly can,” eren followed you, sitting on the sofa and grabbing you by the hips and placing you on his lap, your back facing his stomach. his hand traced lightly down the side of your neck, humming to himself ever so quietly. you could barely even hear, but it was faint enough. “daddy won’t let anybody make you feel like that again,” he hummed, his hand rimming the silhouette of your shoulder, moving its way down your arm softly, giving yourself chills.

you giggled a bit at the soft ticklish feeling of his hand trailing down your clean and untainted skin.

“shhh, puppy. let me make you forget that bad day, yeah?”

you jolted in his lap a bit as his hand made its way across your lap, gripping the fat of your thigh and squeezing it until your aching core felt the effects of it. “y–yes, daddy,” you nodded, starting to let yourself enjoy his strokes of love, eyes even closing through instinct. you simply let go while he took over the controls of your body.

“such a pretty body. do you know that, y/n? that you have such a delicate, fucking untouchable body. it’s too bad i’m gonna touch it, then. gonna touch it real good.” eren nodded to himself, his hand gripping your cunt through your skirt, almost as if he was taking a handful of you. the fact you’d been fully clothed still yet you felt so fucking wonderful as the pressure exceeded against your clit–was magical.

“yes, yes! real good, daddy,” you blurted out, back arching against his lap.

“mhm, i know, i know, shhh.” his fingers uncovered your panties by pushing the pleated skirt above his hand, towards your torso. the fabric was so thin and mesh, you could see everything through the undies. eren had taken one swipe of his finger down your slit, and that was enough to know how wet you’d been. “fuck, fuck. you’re gushing, pup. how fucking pretty is that?” he mumbled, holding up his finger with your juices coated on it, dripping down the digit.

“‘already so wet, ‘m sorry. you know ‘m sensitive, daddy. can’t handle the things you say,” you beg for his sympathy.

“course you can sweetheart. you can, and you will handle me,” eren kissed the gap between your neck and shoulder, simultaneously pushing your panties aside to begin rubbing through your slick cunt. “oh, oh yeah…i love how that feels, princess.”

his fingers moved like light work against your clit, using muscle memory from your previous encounters together because he’d already known the things you liked. soft and slow we’re the two key words. “being so good for me. letting daddy touch you how he pleases, hm? that’s my good girl. such a pretty cunt. feels so good i bet. you have to tell me. tell me how it feels, okay?”

“ ‘feels good!! eren, eren, please. can you go a little faster?” you’d asked him, struggling through your words. eren didn’t even respond before picking up the speed of his fingers on your clit. he’d been waiting for the signal to go faster forever. he’d ached for ages to move from slow to fast and soft to rough. but he only wanted to do the things you were comfortable with. “oh!! fuck, ‘s feeling good eren!”

“just like this? i knew you’d like that, puppy,” he smirked into your shoulder as you squirmed around in his lap, moving your hips with your own mighty power to add extra pressure to your clit, along with his fingers already rocketing inside you.

“‘m so close!!” you cried.

“i thought so, hm. of course i wanna let you cum. but i think it’d be more enjoyable if you did so with this pretty little cunt wrapped around my cock?”

“yes, yes!! yes, ‘m so desperate to feel myself on your cock, daddy. ‘s too much, want more though”

he chuckled, using his other hand to unbuckled himself underneath you, proving to be rather good at doing two things at once. touching you and unbuckling.

within seconds, he aligned himself with your leaking cunt, putting pressure with his tip on your clit first, which matter of fact had been throbbing and pulsating, waiting to be overstimulated to the point of climax.

“eren!! oh!!” you cried out, body bending over forward like jello as his tip just satisfied you a bit too much as it pressed against your cunt. “put it in please!! put it in!”

“so impatient, hm. remember i’m doing this because you had a bad day.” he spoke, and mid sentence, he pushed his length slowly inside your walls. “and this is special treatment,” he finished, pushing himself in all the way to the hilt.

eren kept himself aligned while inside of you, somewhat still aside from your occasional squirming giving stimulation to his length.

he placed soft kisses against the back of your neck, lifting hair out of the way first, letting you adjust to his size for a few moments before finally starting to add movement, going steady enough to just give you relief to breathe out.

“daddy!!” you leaned back against him, hands reaching for anything to grab as you started moving vertically against his cock, that pretty, tiny body rocking up and down to feel good.

“daddy loves you,” he murmured softly into her ear as he added more frequent thrusts into her hole, moving her entire body up a few inches off the sofa which proved how intense his power was. “you know daddy loves you, right, pup?”

“mhm, yes! d-daddy loves me,” you repeated after him.

it only took a few moments more before you’d been too stimulated and you released yourself while he’d been inside you. the noises you made were so pretty and loud once you finished, it had signaled eren to cum with you. there was no warning or hesitation, he simply emptied himself inside your little pretty cunt, his load leaking out of you and onto both of your thighs, causing a rather evident mess.

“feel okay, my dear?” he spoke softly, squeezing your body tight against his chest. you nodded, rocking whatever energy you had left against his cock even after finishing, proving you still had some left in you.

“now i’m gonna need you to tell me every name of every student that hurt your feelings today.”

#eren jaeger #eren smut #eren jaeger x reader #attack on titan #attack on titan smut #aot smut #eren x reader #attack on titan eren #eren x y/n #eren x you #eren jeager headcanons #eren yeager x reader #eren yeager smut #eren jaeger smut

[byulsgrease]

as you wish

some good ol’ party fun.

(moonbyul x fem reader, ~1.2k words, original req here)

a/n: been a while since I last wrote/posted an nsfw (just checked and it’s been almost a month exactly), I feel very rusty 💀 fun to write after that break tho!

cw: smut (fingering, choking mention, exhibitionism), dubcon (alcohol) - consent is key, you can’t really consent under the influence, etc. you get my drift. minors dni as always

This may as well be college all over again. But maybe with better beer. The room lights are out, save for a couple color-cycling LED strips on the walls. Soju bottles of every flavor imaginable cover nearly every open table surface at varying degrees of fullness, interspersed with empty Yakult bottles and discarded red foil wrappers. The blasting music oscillates between American top 40 and latest comeback releases, you have no clue who's managing the Spotify queue.

You're chilling out with Byulyi, sitting with your back up against the arm of the sofa as she sits facing forward with beer can in hand, her thighs covered by your knees. Both of you are relatively laid back drinkers, choosing to sit out from the random play dance that ensues every time a song comes on. You laugh together, thankful both of you have high tolerance while watching Yongsun stumble over herself on one side of the room (with Chorong at her side to steady her), Wheein and Hyejin breaking it down on the make-shift carpeted dance floor. There are others here you recognize too, although names and faces have begun muddling together in your mind, trying to think through your tipsy haze.

Byul intermittently sips her beer while lazily tracing circles over your kneecaps with her free hand, fingers trailing through the fallen condensation droplets atop them. It’s a bit of relief from the heat of the room and deep warmth from the alcohol. You’re probably a little farther gone than her, but not by much.

You lean onto her, cheek squishing into her shoulder. Her lips bump the top of your head for a kiss and she watches you instinctively turn your chin up to her, eyes pleading for a real one. Byul happily obliges, smirking against your lips when you recoil at the shock at the temperature differential created by the can. Normally you'd be the one reeling in her pda, but you’re just feeling a bit more forward tonight than usual.

Everyone at this party knows the both of you to some degree, and at minimum knows you’re together. The coolness of her lips on yours have you chasing after them, sitting up for real to press your body in closer. Normally you’d be the last person to want to kiss in public, and even less so in front of her friends, but something tonight makes you absolutely not care, whether for the alcohol or just the atmosphere. Or maybe just her?

Your fingertips approach the collar of her shirt and press in, earning you all but a groan as tingles shoot up Byul’s back, wishing your hands were just a little higher to press in a little harder. Too bad public choking's considered indecent. Setting her beer can on the arm of the couch behind you, her hands find your thighs, fingers slowly but surely working their way up. You've got a long cardigan on that drapes over your sides, thankfully long enough to more or less block out the fact that she's well on her way to passing beneath the hem of your pleated skirt.

"What are you doing?" you murmur with a smile against her lips, encircling one of her wrists with the fingers of your free hand. There's a cautionary urgency in your voice, but not enough to actually make her stop— you don't want her to.

She moves her head to the side, pressing cold-lipped kisses up your jawline. The air she blows across your ear when she gets to it sends a shiver throughout your entire body as she replies to your question—“Just having my own fun.” Good enough for you, so you bend a knee to slide your leg behind her back, now basically straddling her body from the side. You go back to kissing her again and truly, you could probably just do this all night.

Her hands continue their original task, teasingly working their way up your thighs. It’s already hot amidst the dancing people and poor apartment ventilation, but the room suddenly feels 10 degrees warmer at the prospect of being caught, but at minimum her members probably already knew what was going on if they’d taken the chance to look over.

Byul hooks her pointer finger into where your panties meet the crease of your leg, tugging the now-wet fabric away from your body and brushing the skin underneath with her knuckle.

“If you’re really doing this here, don’t you wanna go a little faster?” you hiss. There’s already sweat beading on the back of your neck in anticipation.

“Be careful what you wish for,” she warns cunningly before surprisingly obliging your request, pushing your underwear aside with her ring and pinky fingers to press her thumb to your clit. You press your lips together to avoid the audible moan that’s about to escape you, instead letting a forced breath out of your nose. “Oh c’mon, you can open your mouth for me, can’t you?” she coos.

It’s almost easier to forget there are other people around and just lose yourself in her hands, but even your tipsy mind knows better than to make a total fool of yourself. You just press your lips into her ear and whimper quietly under her touch, the sound deafening to her. It affects her more than she’d ever willingly admit, but hey, this is about you.

When she finally sinks a couple fingers into you with absolute ease, your teeth dig into her lower lip. She chuckles gloatingly through her nose at how obviously worked up you are, taunting you sweetly with a whisper. As much as you want to, you resist throwing your head back in pleasure to mitigate the risk of someone catching onto what’s happening. Instead you just focus on keeping your lips connected and bodies close, your sounds drowned out by the music but just loud enough for her. She presses a thumb to your clit, stroking down while simultaneously curling the fingers she already has inside of you.

She continues like this for a while, knowing full well what makes you absolutely fall apart at her touch. Your pants pitching higher and more ragged in her ear signal how close you are, and just before you’re about to cum she pulls her hand out from under you completely, drying her finger on the underside of your skirt’s folds.

“Ww–what? Why?” you stammer at the sudden loss of contact.

“You just asked me to go faster. Who said that meant you had to finish?” she responds with that sarcastic questioning look. “Good luck with the mess you’ve got going on down there,” waving her hand in the general vicinity of your skirt with a smirk on her face, prepping to get up off the couch.

She’s not leaving you in this state. Or rather, you’re not going to let her. You aggressively clutch her hand in yours and drag her by the arm, leading her toward the nearest empty bedroom to finish what she started.

“Get a room!” Hyejin shouts slurred as you march by. Wheein nods aggressively in agreement beside her and you can’t help but laugh in the face of your nervousness and play along, wondering if they’re just poking their usual fun or if they know what you were actually up to that entire time.

“Your wish is our command!” you holler back in her direction with a wink, whisking Byul into the open bedroom and swinging the door shut to make her finish what she started.

#sorry the gif is crusty there’s only so much I can do with free editing software #writing + posting from my phone cuz I’m on the road rn so pls bear w me #I guess choking kink byul is here to stay #mamamoo smut #moonbyul smut #requested #mamamoo x reader #girl group smut #mamamoo imagines #gg smut #mamamoo scenarios #mamamoo moonbyul #moonbyul x reader #moonbyul imagines #🌈🌈🌈 anon

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ 37

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut ➻ word count: 16.9k(? i think?) ➻ rating: M ➻ warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba chapter specific warnings: talks of torture, talks of past self-harm, nothing directly graphic all mentioned through conversation, graphic depiction of a panic attack ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

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✧✧✧ act five ➻ part four

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“I’m going to kill the king, Hyunwoo.”

“Y/N, you can’t… that’s going too far.”

“I don’t think we have a choice any longer.”

“We always have a choice, Y/N. It’s just about what you decide to do with that choice that matters. Think about why you’re doing what you’re doing, and what your intentions truly are. It’s not about revenge or payment for a crime — the crimes of his people cannot be put onto his shoulders.”

A sigh passes through your lips, one that sounds more exasperated than anything else, and Hyunwoo lifts a brow upon hearing the noise.

“This is revenge, Hyunwoo. He allowed my past to be taken, he created the law that allows the military to do that. Not to mention the other crimes he has committed — even if they are a result of him sitting idly by and watching them happen. I’m not saying Jisung is always right or that he is a saint for wanting to do this. But if Jisung won’t commit to doing it, then I’ll do it for him.”

“And we swore to find a way to get those memories back, Y/N. Don’t let this cloud your judgment. Don’t let your devotion to making Jisung happy decide your future. If this is something he wants, then he should do it himself and face the consequences on his own! It’s not a burden that you should bear as well. I know this is something you will come to regret!”

“Then you’ll have to stop me with force because I’ve already made my mind up about this. I don’t see Jisung getting in my way right now. But after all, isn’t this what he wants? He’s just too much of a coward to do the dirty work himself!”

“We both know where he stands on this, which is precisely why he’s not here. Just — please let us try one more time. I’ve spoken with a few of my off-planet contacts about this, and we have one last idea that might reverse the effects of the serum. You know how difficult this is; the military keeps such a tight wrap on everything about the serum. It’s near impossible to just get a spare vial, and even harder to examine how it works with test subjects while still being ethical. We are trying our best, I promise, just please hold out a little while longer. Jisung is getting things set up now… so please… just come with me and try before you do anything drastic.”

The man extends a hand, palm facing towards the ceiling and fingers outstretched for you to take. There’s hope in his eyes, a hope you haven’t seen from him in a long time, and that look is what brings your feet forward. You place your palm over his and curl your fingers tight around the side of his hand. He squeezes back as a small grin overtakes his lips.

“If this doesn’t work, then you know what I have to do, Hyunwoo.”

“I know,” he whispers. The hope in his eyes flickers a little, like a flame hit by a gust of wind. “In that case, I’ll do whatever I have to so that you don’t come to regret that decision.”

“Hey, get up. It’s go time.”

You wake with a start, not fully come out of the memory that paints the insides of your eyelids until you look around at your surroundings. Yeosang seems to be the one who woke you seeing as his hand is still outstretched to your arm. The sight of him brings you back to reality and reminds you of where you are and what exactly is going on. Jongho sits on your other side, dressed in nicer clothes than you’ve ever seen him wear before — a pleated and pristine navy suit complete with a bright yellow tie and hair gelled back on his head. Yeosang too wears a somewhat expensive garb although he appears more natural in the silk tunic covering his torso. His naturally dark roots are starting to peek through the blond near his scalp, accentuating the harsh part down the middle of his head.

Despite the fact that both look relatively harmless in this state, you know they each have weapons hidden somewhere on their person underneath that formal wear, just as you do with the knives strapped over your thighs under the skirt attached to your waist. Such an outfit like yours is something you hardly agreed to — it was moreso an insistence on Seonghwa’s part to at least dress the part (although he had to listen to some of your incessant nagging about how you could never fight in a dress so he had to settle on finding a substitute in the form of a jumpsuit with a skirt wrapped around the back. Yet the more you pick at the seams and touch the fabric, the more you recall the none too pleasant conversation you and Seonghwa shared as you were preparing to leave for the mission.

“Perhaps I do have an eye for beauty after all, or is it that you simply look breathtaking in anything?” Seonghwa stands in the doorway to your bedroom, not a mind for privacy as he watches you struggle to tug the zipper of your suit up.

“Can’t even breathe on my own, huh?” You huff out as you drop the zipper in defeat.

“I’ve already seen every inch of you, have I not? There’s nothing to hide that I haven’t seen before,” Seonghwa says through a laugh. He watches your cheeks flush with color before dropping his arms to his side and coming closer to you. He remains wordless as he pulls your zipper up for you, smoothing the fabric under his fingers down once it’s pulled up to your neck. “It suits you. Things like this, I mean. The silk makes you look… softer, yet the color combination of black and white makes you look lethal. Perfect definition of beauty, no? That something so delicate could also kill you? A wonderful dichotomy in my eyes.”

“Someone is in a poetic mood today.” You don’t hide the way your eyes roll to the back of your head, but Seonghwa doesn’t seem all too bothered by your show of faux-annoyance. Instead, his hands find your hips and turn you to face him directly, staring so intently into your eyes with his own dark ones that you lose the rest of your retort.

“I’m sorry. I wanted to go on this mission so desperately but that didn’t quite work out.” You’re quick to shake your head, already in the midst of denying his words before he even finishes his sentence.

“It’s alright. I’ll have Yeosang and Jongho there with me.”

“I would go if only Hongjoong would let me bu—” The thought cuts short as you place a hand over his forearm.

“Seonghwa, it’s okay. Hongjoong is right to have you stay here while you’re not 100% better. And you can both keep an eye on Jisung this way. We’ll bring Wooyoung back as quickly as possible, I swear.” Instead of consoling the man, your words seem to have an opposite effect as he drops his gaze to the floor.

“If I were stronger, this wouldn’t even be an issue. You should not have had to waste so much time having to look after my fragile and weak mental state when you could have caught up to the ship sooner and had all three of them back in one go.”

“This is what we’re working with, Hwa. It has nothing to do with your welfare. We still would have been too late regardless of whether that night had happened or not. So please — it will all work out and be okay. It has to.”

Seonghwa’s smile is quaint, a small twitch of his lips, then he’s leaning in to close the distance between your lips. You lift your hand to push hard against his chest, furthering that distance before he gets the chance to meet your lips with his.

“I just put on this black lipstick and you already want to mess it up? How rude,” you scoff. That isn’t a real reason, and you both know it, and you only solidify that further when you speak next before biting your tongue. “You shouldn’t push it right now. I still haven’t forgiven you for not fighting my decision to go with Jisung. Besides wasn’t the decision to… stop whatever this is mutual?”

“It was, of course,” he murmurs back, not quite meeting your eyes. “I am merely a creature of habit, so it will take some time for me to adjust to this change. But… Y/N, might I be so bold as to ask you something?”

“Hm, isn’t that a question right there?”

“I’ll take that as a yes then?” You regard him with a small nod but pull away so that his hands drop to his sides again. “Were any of the feelings you had for me something real and tangible? Not just because of what we are and that comfort of both being Sirens, I mean.”

You should have known he would bring this up eventually, especially with how the two of you are constantly dancing around each other and the topic. Still, you aren’t ready for it.

“I… don’t think I know the answer to that question, but even if I did, I-I might not be able to answer with complete honesty.” The smile that comes to paint Seonghwa’s lips is nothing short of sad and painful, not quite reaching his bright eyes with its usual mirth.

“It’s a conversation I wish for us to have one day, but I too fear that I might not be able to be completely honest either. Perhaps — perhaps we got a little too caught up in the heat of things without truly thinking about why we were doing the things we were doing.”

“Why did you do it then? I was the one who gave the initial push, I started things, I claim responsibility for that, but you pulled right back. So why?”

“I have found time to think about such things quite a bit lately since I was left in the medbay alone for so long; however, now is not the time to talk about that as it would take too long. Has Wooyoung brought you back yet?”

“No, not since the night in the medbay. But San very clearly said three days until they would land on Dorado, and it’s been six since then. They should be there by now, and the deals should have gone through. Wooyoung’s was to be immediate after all.” Seonghwa’s smile drops into a half-hearted scowl.

“Without Wooyoung on the inside, we will have no way of knowing where San and Mingi are.”

“Unless Jisung decides to be kind with his information.” You run a hand through your hair, mussing the already down tresses enough to be somewhat noticeable. “We’ll have to make do.” Seonghwa stretches across the empty space between you

“I won’t keep you any longer then. Tell the others good luck from me, and please… be careful? No unnecessary risks if you can avoid them. I’d like to see you all back in one piece.”

Reality swoops in on you as Jongho places a firm hand over your thigh.

“You alright? I can practically feel you thinking so hard.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Just… wondering about the mission.”

“It’ll be okay,” Jongho murmurs, squeezing at your leg a little tighter. “It’s a straightforward mission — easy in and out.”

“Hopefully.” Yeosang is the one to hum the word but he doesn’t look at either of you as he speaks. “Once we’re in, I’ll talk to the main desk and ask for someone with Wooyoung’s general appearance. It’ll be a bit difficult because they will have given a new name — something a prostitute would have. I’m not sure how many people in there will have similar appearances to Wooyoung but we’ll have to do our best. You two remember what you’re supposed to do?”

“Yes,” you nod. “Follow suit, wait fifteen minutes for you to pass through the reception area, then ask the same thing. A male short in stature with black hair and tanned skin. All prostitutes have collar so it won’t be Wooyoung’s defining feature any longer.” The recitation rolls off your tongue with ease after having heard Yeosang repeat it so many times by now. He nods in approval nonetheless.

“Remember there are cameras in each of the rooms. Don’t know how they use them but it’s something to be aware of. Hopefully, one of us will be able to come across Wooyoung, and in the case that you do?”

“We are to stay in the room with him for the allotted time, ping back to the ship and let Hongjoong know we have him, then wait for his signal,” Jongho responds. “His contact here on Dorado will be hacking their surveillance systems once we are certain that we have Wooyoung in a safe position.”

“Hongjoong sure seems to have a lot of contacts for someone who doesn’t trust people,” you murmur more to yourself than to anyone else, but Yeosang picks up on it nonetheless.

“His contacts are few and far between. This is one he has known since before he became a captain, so he holds a bit more trust with him. Back to the plan though, after his contact confirms our safety, you’ll crack a window and hop out hopefully unscathed. Remember that the Upper Echelon of Dorado is tight on security. Whoever gets Wooyoung out will have to be mindful of guards and try not to look suspicious. If any guards stop you, do not engage with violence. Simply do as they ask you to and tell them that Wooyoung is your slave. And one last thing: don’t forget we’ll be going in silent so keep a close eye on your wristbands. Understood?”

“Clear as day,” Jongho says while you offer only a hasty nod.

“Good, stay sharp then. We’ll be landing soon, and it’ll be go time immediately after that.” With that, Yeosang sits back and shuts his eyes, leaving you and Jongho to stew over the plan again in silence. At least until you decide you can’t take it anymore and turn to talk to the Berserker again.

“Are you nervous at all about the mission?”

A shrug.

“No more than usual. Recovering Wooyoung won’t be easy by any means, of course. It’s a step in the right direction, right? How are you feeling?” As though sensing your nerves, he pats your thigh a few times, and you simply stare down at the dirty floor beneath your feet.

“I feel a bit guilty in a way because I’m not too worried about the mission,” you admit, albeit quietly because you aren’t sure how please Yeosang would be to hear the words. “The only thing that is on my mind right now is how San is doing and if he’s okay.” Although you told Seonghwa otherwise, the sudden radio silence that Wooyoung has given you has made you anxious to an unspeakable degree. And not having the security of being able to see San through Wooyoung’s eyes is plaguing you more than you’d like to admit.

“I understand that,” Jongho says through a deep exhale. “I feel the same way about Mingi right now honestly. No matter how much faith and trust I have in Mingi, that fear always lingers and resides in me.”

“That’s how I feel about San. I shouldn’t be worried about him but part of me is just fearful that we won’t make it in time. That he’ll accept the serum before we can get him out.”

Jongho brings his hand up to take hold of one of yours, squeezing around your palm as tight as he can without hurting you.

“I know San better than I know anyone on the crew, besides Mingi perhaps. I’ve spent years at San’s side. He was the only person who trusted me at first and trusted me enough to let me in. That trauma he bears, the scars on his past, the red in his ledger, those lingering pains that resurfaced when the mutiny happened — I have felt them all. I spent months at the foot of his bed, taking what pain I could away for as long as I could, just existing to comfort him and help him get through even one more night. And in that myriad of emotions I felt from San, not once did I ever feel him desire to take it all away. Those scars he bears are part of him, and he treats them as such. Something like… small accessories on a bigger picture that he won’t let go of. So no matter what happens, I have confidence that San won’t let them win. He’s far too stubborn for that, his heart is too big, he has too much love in his body for such a thing. He would rather die before he forgets the crew, and that fact alone makes me confident that San will hold out.”

You are left in the wake of Jongho’s words for too long, letting them crawl under your skin and find a home there. You count the seconds that pass before your voice finds you again.

“I understand that.” Forty-one seconds. “It’s just the fear of him being hurt when I’m not around to stop it that is hard to get past.” Jongho’s smile is nothing if not soft and gentle, the epitome of understanding.

“In our line of work, that fear is always present. It’s always a possibility too, but at some point, you reach a point where you accept that sometimes, you won’t always be able to save someone from all pain. Just because you can’t prevent every ounce of pain doesn’t mean that you are doing something wrong or that you’re not doing enough.” Jongho pauses. Some emotion fills his red eyes and leaves them swimming with something unspoken. “There are some pains that we must allow to happen, no matter how much we wish to do the opposite. Even something as horrid as pain can be necessary and needed to move forward in life. Try not to dwell on it too much and focus on Wooyoung for now, yeah?”

“I’m trying my best,” you sigh and drop your head back against the seat. The second your thoughts begin to drift, you are brought back to another memory, this time one of Hongjoong’s dark office with Seonghwa at your side.

“You punched Jisung in the face?”

“Please, I let him off easy,” you huff back, ignoring the lieutenant’s slight shock in favor of finding interest in the wall.

“That’s not the important part,” Hongjoong cuts in from where he sits behind his desk. You shift to glance over the captain. “Does Jisung know anything about you being a Siren?”

“No, not that I recall,” you mutter after little thought. “I never slept with him or anything like that, and I can’t remember him ever seeing my back so it’s safe to assume he doesn’t know. Besides who would just see tattoos and immediately assume ‘Siren’?”

“Then his interest in you has nothing to do with you being a Siren?”

“Exactly, but why is that important? I can tell you why he wants me if that’s what you’re curious about.”

“We’re just eliminating suspicions right now.” Hongjoong shifts his focus to where Seonghwa stands. He wears a bit of a cocky grin as they stare at each other, both feet slung up on the edge of his desk and one brow raised. “See? Jin has nothing to do with this.”

“That doesn’t eliminate the possibility altogether!” Seonghwa retorts. A frown mars his otherwise pretty features, twisting his lips into a scowl so deep that you feel your own muscles ache at the sight of it.

“You live your life in fear of Seokjin. For what? Do you not trust me to keep you safe?”

“That isn’t it and you know it, Joong. I will not sabotage your plans simply because of what I am. That is why we keep my identity to be a closely-guarded secret yet our number one enemy knows of that identity. That is a weakness, and it’s one that you need to take seriously.”

“Why is that? Sheltering you would be more suspicious to the crew than anything else. Unless you would like to inform them of your identity? Allow me to call them all right this instant.”

“No! No, Hongjoong, I — fine. Have it your way. Keep believing that you’ll be able to fix where Jin went wrong by ignoring the issue altogether because th—”

“That’s enough.” You bristle at the tone of the captain’s voice even though he is not speaking directly to you. “I’m still on edge as well, Hwa, and I know you are as well. I know why you are too, but please have at least a little faith in me. Now, Y/N—” Hongjoong turns back to you now “—I’d like to ask about the nightmares you had that night.”

Your initial response is to inhale sharply and glance over at Seonghwa with panic boiling in your gut.

“Why do you want to know?”

All Hongjoong does is roll his eyes and drop his feet off the side of his desk. You purse your lips at the action, watching him with wary eyes as he shifts his position to prop his elbows up on the same wood.

“Seonghwa, you’re dismissed.”

“I — Captain?”

“Dismissed, Lieutenant. I need to speak with her in private.”

“Why is it something I cannot be present for?”

“That was an order, not a suggestion. Now go.” If possible, the temperature of the room would drop ten degrees. Seonghwa seems to want to retort further but he bites his lip instead. Then, he gives a quick bow at the waist and mutters a goodbye before slipping out of the office without any further issue. “What did your nightmares consist of?” Hongjoong repeats, arching a brow as he speaks this time as though it will get you to talk faster.

“You didn’t have to get me alone to ask me that, did you? What is this really about?” The questions flow without hesitation, and your second refusal to talk about the dreams draws a sigh from Hongjoong’s lips.

“Do you know anything of Seonghwa’s relationship with his mother, Y/N?” A beat of silence. You shift your weight from foot to foot, glancing away from the captain to find interest in something on the floor.

“I… did witness a few of his memories when the two of us were still with each other in the dreams, but — if you mean to ask me about his nightmares, I have nothing to offer. I didn’t see those at all.”

“No, he already told me all about those nightmares. I don’t need to know more of them,” Hongjoong exhales with a shake of his head. He draws his arms up over his chest as he talks, falling back to slump in his chair and letting his exhaustion shine through. “Initially, I was going to have Seonghwa go with Yeosang and Jongho on this mission. But now, that plan has changed and I will be sending you instead.”

“Why?”

“I can’t send Seonghwa down to Lynder unless I myself can be at his side the entire time. There is far too much of a risk if I am unable to do that.”

“Risk? Of what? He would be with Yeosang and Jongho, would he not?”

“Yet if even the barest whim overcomes him, they would have to listen to whatever he says because of his position as lieutenant. I am the only one with more power than him, and as such, he has to listen to me. If he goes to Lynder, the risk is of him abandoning the mission to seek out his mother.”

“That doesn’t sound like something he would do at all,” you counter. Both you and Hongjoong drop your chins at the same time, although yours is more of an accusatory and pointed action compared to the slumping defeat that comes over Hongjoong’s body when he lowers his head.

“I don’t know how much or what exactly you saw in Seonghwa’s memories. I do not need to know either. But something you need to know is that we have been back to Lynder exactly once since I met Seonghwa there. And that one single time, two years ago, we had to lock Seonghwa in the brig for six days straight to keep him from breaking out to kill his mother. Seonghwa tore cuts into his arms and shoulders so deep that Yunho had to come stitch him every night until we finally chained him to a wall to get him to stop. When he finally gave up on trying to break out, I went in and took the cuffs off, only for Seonghwa to choke me hard enough to fracture my neck and leave bruises that lasted for several weeks.”

“A-Ah…” The sound of your dry swallow echoes in your ears. It’s hard to imagine Seonghwa — cool, rigid, stoic, gentle and calm Seonghwa — ever being so depraved and rabid as to harm himself as well as Hongjoong. Seonghwa, whose greatest fear is losing his captain. Yet the grave expression coating Hongjoong’s delicate features remains serious and deadpan, and you know every word is one that holds a memory that is painful to recall. He’s telling the truth.

“Have you ever had that voice in your head telling you to be cruel, Y/N?”

“Of course I have,” you admit through a whisper, like the words are going to break the threads of tension hanging in the air.

“Seonghwa has lost his will and his mind to that voice time and time again, and it gave him his reputation as the Lieutenant of Death. Mingi may be a slave to a childhood which bred him to be a monster, but Seonghwa? He’s a slave to his own consciousness, the part of him that spent years trying to be perceived as an Elitist so that he could hide what he really is, someone cold and calculated without an ounce of remorse or emotion. He put his own monsters under the bed, but now he can’t get them out.”

Hongjoong sits up a bit straighter all of a sudden. His gaze is still unfocused and hazy though, refusing to look you straight in the eye. Either subconsciously or through the fog of that revisited memory, Hongjoong lifts a hand to his neck and rubs idly at the skin there.

“My Seon—Lieutenant is strong, but strength isn’t worth a damn thing when the person you’re fighting is yourself. He admitted to me once that the thought of letting that voice win is more terrifying than the act of killing his own mother. So for that reason, I can never allow such a thing to happen. Seonghwa’s demons are nothing if not rabid dogs begging for a pound of flesh, and if he can’t fight them on his own, I’ll do it for him.”

“Y/N, are you sure you’re alright?” Jongho yet again brings you back to reality, most likely a bit disturbed by the way you are squeezing his hand tight enough to hurt, but he takes it without complaint. “You keep drifting out of focus.”

“Yes,” you say, filling your chest with air when you remember to breathe properly again. “Everything is fine.” Rather than responding with words, Jongho just places his other hand over your joined ones and brings them to rest on his thigh. If you listen closely enough, you’re able to hear him humming a soft melody under his breath but the rumble of the transport car covers most of the sound up. Still, it’s a relaxing sound that brings you some much-needed peace of mind for the remainder of the ride.

And as it turns out, Yeosang wasn’t bluffing when he said the three of you would be there soon because you had barely started listening to Jongho’s soft song when the car comes to a screeching halt that leaves you lurching forward.

“Alright then.” Yeosang stands first, hands smoothing down the fabric of his tunic even though it’s still perfectly in place. It’s not against his nature to get nervous or anxious, but it is still odd to witness like this. He is usually stoic in an unsettling way yet the grim expression he now wears is only accentuated by the crude shadows cast over his face. “It’s go time. Let’s get Wooyoung back in one piece, yeah?”

With that, the three of you climb out of the vehicle to be greeted by a dark and pristine city with thick clouds of smoke billowing through the air below you. Looking over the lip of the road is like looking down a cliff with the dramatic fall to the lower portion of the city. You weren’t exactly prepared to see such a drastic difference between the upper and lower echelons, yet looking over that cliff is like looking into a different city altogether with wooden buildings and decrepit warehouses that can barely hold themselves together. Where you stand with Yeosang and Jongho feels like a different world altogether with roads lined with lights and technology, tall buildings made from wood with exquisite carvings detailing the sides. From what you saw of the city in Seonghwa’s memories, Lynder has not changed one bit since he was here last.

You can’t clearly see many of the buildings below your feet, but it doesn’t stop you from wondering which one could possibly be that bar where Seonghwa met Hongjoong, if it even still exists. Jongho pulls you away from the road by the arm, tugging you along behind him as you approach a new building. The swaying wooden panel outside the door is a dead giveaway, but it’s the absurd amount of lilies trailing over the railings that tells you what this place is.

“They weren’t bluffing with the House of Lilies name,” you mutter, wrinkling your nose a bit at the overwhelming stench. Yeosang has grown alarmingly still; he lingers outside the tall double doors with a hand hovering over the brass handles without budging even an inch for far too long. You could pretend to not know why he’s hesitating, you could act like he is merely holding you back and push past him in annoyance, yet instead, you find yourself laying a hand atop his shoulder and squeezing the fabric there lightly. “No matter what happens in there or what we find in there, we will bring Wooyoung out alive.”

Yeosang releases a shaky exhale that makes his shoulder quake under your fingers.

“I know we will.” He looks past your face to make eye contact with Jongho then gives a curt nod. “Here goes the first fifteen minutes of hell.” The Elitist pushes hard against the brass handles, and the door gives way to his effort.

If you thought the smell outside the House was horrid, you don’t even know how to describe the reeking stench of flowers that hits you with the force of a tsunami. It’s thick enough for you to feel as though you are wading through a sea of flowers when in reality it’s just a strange yellow haze hanging about the interior. Yeosang doesn’t let the smell affect him in the slightest; he walks inside without missing a beat, shoulders pushed back so far it nearly hurts to see. Despite that, he walks like a prince, like someone who knows how to act in high society with ease, and for the first time, you don’t see Kang Yeosang before you. Instead, it’s Kang Minhee, the forgotten prince of Aera, who walks before you and heads for the front desk where a middle-aged woman with dramatic hair and hefty makeup stands.

“We should mingle a bit and look natural,” Jongho whispers when the two of you stop just inside the doors. “May I?” He motions to your arm with a small smile, not saying anything else and leaving you confused.

“May you…?”

“Quit being dense and give me your arm,” he huffs back and extends his elbow for you to loop your arm through, and this time, you get the hint, hooking your hand around the inside of his arm. Yeosang shifts to look back at both of you as you pass, and you offer each other discreet nods before he returns to speaking to the receptionist.

You let Jongho lead the way for the most part since you aren’t sure what you’re supposed to be doing outside of “looking normal”, although even doing that is somewhat difficult. Jongho doesn’t stray far from the entrance area until Yeosang dips into a hallway and out of sight without looking back at the two of you. Moments later your wristbands buzz, signaling that it’s time for the first fifteen-minute countdown to begin. Jongho shifts to fiddle with his wristband while you keep your hand folded over his elbow still. It gives you a chance to glance around the whorehouse without the distraction of having to act normal, but frankly, there isn’t much to see beyond the bodies filling the foyer and mingling about the lounge before you. There are flowers everywhere — probably an overabundance of them, and they aren’t just lilies as they were outside. You can’t pinpoint whether those flowers are the source of the clawingly sweet scent stuck to the insides of your nostrils or not, but that yellow fog seems partially responsible to some degree.

“You seem to know how to look like you belong in high society,” you mutter once Jongho pulls his attention back to your surroundings. A huff of laughter leaves his lips.

“It’s not because I grew up that way. I was merely an observant child who wanted to grow up and have more than what I had.” A smile cracks his stony expression. “Isn’t that what all children want?”

“I—”

Well, you wouldn’t really know, would you?

Jongho’s expression softens as he realizes what he’s said and who he has said it to, and his gaze turns apologetic seconds later. He turns to flag down one of the workers milling about with drinks, taking two glasses of what looks like wine in one hand. Jongho angles one of the half-full flutes in your direction. You take the hint with relative ease despite the clawing scent of flowers still muddling your thoughts.

“I didn’t mean to hit a nerve,” Jongho says through what seems to be a sympathetic smile. “What do you think your childhood was like? If you don’t mind talking about such things. We have time to kill after all.”

You draw your lips into a tight purse, curling them around the edge of the wine glass and pressing an imprint of your dark lipstick there. Subconsciously, your hand tightens around the inside of Jongho’s arm as well, although the Berserker doesn’t comment on the added pressure as he simply continues to regard you with the same steely and careful gaze.

“I think it must have been rather sad,” you admit after some thought. It must not be the answer Jongho was expecting at all because his brows draw together in confusion. “What kind of childhood must one have for them to willingly sell away their memories by fourteen? The more I think… about that time — when they gave me the serum — I recall fighting the doctors but I don’t think it was because I didn’t know what they were doing. I’m certain that I knew my memories would be taken from me. It was the act of them strapping me to a chair like a prisoner that frightened me.”

This time when Jongho smiles, all you can see is pain in his deep red eyes.

“I would have given anything in the universe to have my memories taken away at that age too, if it’s of any comfort to you.” He pauses to swirl the liquid in his glass, watching the red liquor dance before his eyes under the yellow haze around your bodies. “Don’t think you’re weak for wanting to forget that past. No child should ever deal with pains that strong, even if you can’t remember what they are.”

“People like you… San, Mingi… the whole crew honestly — how can I not view myself as weak in comparison? People who were given the choice but denied it and rejected it unlike me, who apparently didn’t want to be left with some shred of dignity. What did I become with that fresh slate they gave me? All I could do then was be weak, but it seems like that hasn’t changed one bit.”

Jongho won’t let up with that devastating smile, and you are about to turn away so that you don’t have to see it any longer when he finally lets it fall.

“For what it’s worth, you are rather strong in my eyes. During your fight with Jisung, I’ll admit that I tried to ease some of your pain then. It’s not something you know about — the others know of it by now so I should have told you sooner and I’m sorry for that but I have a special mutation in my genes that gives me the ability to take away and absorb emotional auras. I inherited it from one of my grandparents so it’s something I grew up learning how to use and I carried that over when I joined the crew. I attempted to do that with you because you were in so much distress and I was worried but — b-but your pain was too much for even me to bear. So before you go around calling yourself weak, you ought to give yourself more credit. Just because the pains you bear are different doesn’t mean that they are any less than the pains the rest of us bear.”

Jongho doesn’t say anything more than that; he slings his wine back in one shot like it’s nothing then places the now empty glass on a waiter’s tray as he’s passing by. You don’t touch your own, mulling over the glass as you fall deep in thought. If Jongho could feel that much from you, then it begs the question of what else he might be able to feel from you.

Can he sense that I’m a Siren too? Would he be able to tell that Seonghwa and Wooyoung are Sirens as well?

Your mind shifts to latch onto something else he said. Your pain was too much for even me to bear.

“It’s okay, Y/N. Stand down,” he murmurs. “You need to pick your battles, and this is not one for you to fight right now.” Again you feel that pull of warmth coming from him, like someone is trying to pull something from your chest, but it retracts almost instantaneously. Jongho falters. His eyes squeeze shut harshly, face contorting with something that almost looks like pain in your eyes, but that lasts less than a second before he’s recovered again. It’s not enough to stop the onslaught of emotions coursing through your veins.

You had been too preoccupied at the time to think about that moment until now.

“That time — did I hurt you? When you tried to take it away, did I hurt you even a little bit?”

“Nothing you did hurt me, Y/N. It wasn’t your fault, I promise you didn’t do anything. It’s something I have done time and time again for others on the crew and something I would do again as well. It’s what I’m good at, and something I was born with for a reason. If it helps even a little bit, then why would I not take the temporary pain?”

Every fiber of your being is telling you to fight those words, to tell him that it’s not worth it, your pain should not be a burden he has to bear as well, yet no words fall from your lips. Your mouth stutters uselessly without saying anything, and Jongho just keeps smiling like nothing is wrong. The clenching in your chest is not fine, however, and you force yourself to turn away from him in the hopes it will alleviate that pain. Instead, your eyes travel to a head of bright red hair that is so starkly different than anything else in the room that you have to stare right at it. It would be nothing odd or out of the ordinary to you since the crew you are now part of has such a wide array of hair colors. It would be something you look right past without much thought.

And yet you find yourself staring right at it. Right at the girl who turns to look around the lounge with red hair sweeping through the air.

You jolt.

Something hits your shoulder hard enough to tip your drink over and spill some of the red wine onto the floor. Your hand retracts from Jongho’s arm to touch the knife hidden behind the fabric of your skirt. You’re forced to pull your gaze away from the girl, finding the man who bumped into you to just be a stumbling drunk man with little sense for spatial awareness and direction. Jongho wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you a bit closer to his body. The man continues on without any regard for you or the wine he just spilled. Jongho takes your glass with his free hand, discarding it at the nearest flat surface before redirecting his focus back to you.

“It’s okay, Y/N, everything is okay.”

“I’m fine,” you murmur back, but your gaze goes straight back to where that redhead just stood.

“You look like you just saw a ghost.”

Instinct tells you to stay put and continue on with the mission, putting that familiar face to the back of your mind. But again your heart is clenching painfully in your chest, racing so fast that you feel the pounds echoing in your ears, and you know you can’t let go of her that easily. Not when she’s this close to you.

“I think I did.” You pull away from Jongho to go chasing through the crowd after that red hair, but the Berserker moves with you in a rush.

“Y/N, we can’t get off track. There’s only six minutes until it’s your turn to go to the counter.”

You wave him off with a dismissive hand rather than responding with words. Moments later, you find your target again, just as she is turning to head for the hallway that Yeosang went down not too long ago.

“Soojin?” You throw the name out as a last resort, mostly a desperate attempt to see if you are right and your eyes aren’t playing tricks on you in this heady yellow haze.

She freezes in place. It gives you just enough time to shove past the crowd and get closer to where she stands. You close your fingers around her shoulder, tugging with as little force as possible so that she turns to face you. There’s not a doubt in your mind when you see her face. She seems to recognize you as well based on the way her eyes are blown wide as saucers. The girl — well, you suppose she would be a woman by now — glances past your shoulder to look at Jongho. Her throat rolls as she swallows around nothing.

“You must have me mistaken for someone else,” Soojin whispers, bringing her gaze back down to you. She dips her head a bit then pulls away from you to head down the hall. You think back to Jisung — the threats and odd comments he made combined with the newly resurfaced memories of Hyunwoo lingering at the forefront of your mind, and you know without a shadow of a doubt that you can’t let her go this easily.

“P-Please, Soojin — I need to talk with you. It’s important, please, I have so many questions and no one else to ask.”

“I’m sure you do, little scapegoat,” she huffs back. “I actually have work to do though and a client waiting for me, so I’m not all too inclined to speak with you. I’m not sure why you came here, but I don’t think I have the answers you’re looking for either.” You don’t have a chance to keep her from leaving after that because she turns and leaves so quickly that it leaves you reeling. Jongho tugs you back by the arm, pulling you from the hallway and out into the lounge again before you can chase after her.

“What the hell was that?” He hisses under his breath.

“She — I-I knew her. She w-was my teammate, one of the p-people assigned to my unit in the military. I… I had no idea she ended up here of all places. Jongho, I have to talk to her, please, I have to. This c-could be what I need! If Jisung won’t tell me the truth, then maybe she knows something. She has to know something o-or else I—”

Your voice dies in your throat, but your unspoken desperation seems to reach Jongho nonetheless. The key to whatever memories you lost could lie in Soojin. Things happened so quickly at the end, perhaps she learned of something before leaving Eros with the others.

“She called you a scapegoat,” Jongho says. He swallows hard, Adam’s Apple bobbing with the motion. “What was that about?”

Truthfully, you hadn’t gotten that far. You didn’t even think to question that part but it is odd and not something you recall her calling you in the past.

“I’m not sure why she would say that. All the more reason to speak to her and ask. Jongho, please!” You attempt to pull away from his grip as you speak. The Berserker doesn’t budge, too strong for you to fight like this, and he doesn’t let up even when you try to slap his hand away.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” He yanks you back to him and brings his free hand up to rest on your forehead. This time, you can physically feel the panic in your bones ebbing away and being pulled to your forehead where Jongho touches you. It’s a frightening sensation but the influence he has over you takes that fear away as well, leaving you in a daze of confusion because you know you should feel bothered right now but you cannot bring yourself to feel that way even as Jongho pulls away from you. His jaw twitches just a hair, not moving much beyond that, then he grits his teeth to hiss out his next words. “Wooyoung is our mission. You have to focus. You have two minutes to get up to that counter and do your job. We can try to track down your teammate later, but not on a mission like this.”

You have it in you to at least be angry enough to tug your arm out of his grasp.

“Don’t touch my emotions like that again. I understand you trying to take my pain, and as much as I hate that and despite the thought of you taking my pains for me, this is different. Emotionally sedating me for the sake of completing a mission better is different.”

You don’t give him a chance to reply before you’re heading off for the counter where Yeosang stood not too long ago. The woman who previously occupied the space behind it has disappeared, now replaced by a young man who must be younger than you from the looks of it.

“How can I help you, ma’am?” He asks as you sidle up to the desk.

“I’d like a room, an hour’s worth.” You fumble a bit with your pockets as you try to fish a credit chip out without exposing the knife strapped to your thigh, but the boy doesn’t look up until you slide the chip across the counter.

“Of course, of course,” he hums. “Do you have any preferences for pleasure tonight?”

“A male short in stature with black hair and tanned skin,” you recite back, forcing a smile onto your lips when the boy glances up at you. He tilts his head to the side. You swallow the saliva gathering in your mouth as the stare grows unsettling then he shakes his head and speaks again.

“Would you like someone more submissive or dominant?”

“Hm? Oh, um…” That wasn’t part of the plan. Surely Yeosang would have mentioned it if he had known they would ask. But what would he have said if they asked him the same? “Um, submissive is fine, I suppose?” The boy hums again then motions towards the hallway where Yeosang and Soojin both headed down.

“Your room will be on the second floor, Room 213. Please take the stairs at the end of the hall.” He passes a keycard your way along with your credit chip, leaving you with a grin and a soft-spoken, “Your courtesan will join you shortly. Enjoy.” You bristle at his words but manage to smile a little bit as you take both the card and your chip back. You leave the counter to head for the hallway, not pausing to look back at where Jongho might be, but you ping your wristband as you go. Nothing has come in from Yeosang’s side again so it’s safe to assume he doesn’t have Wooyoung with him by now. It leaves you and Jongho with more pressure and either more or less of a chance to recover him, so you can only hope for the best as you climb the stairs to the second floor.

Room 213 is empty as expected when you slip inside, and it’s free from that odd yellow fog outside as well, so you bask in the freedom and breathe fresh air deeply while you can. It’s a basic and standard room — much more like a small hotel room than anything else from the cabinet near the door and the double bed pushed up against the wall. There’s a metal sink as well close to the window but nothing else adorns the room leaving it rather dismal and simple. Not that you expected these people to treat the courtesans with even an ounce of respect; it’s still disheartening to think of Wooyoung being stuck in such a small and cramped space without a choice.

Whatever peace you thought you could have is cruelly interrupted less than five minutes later as a series of shy knocks reach your door. You blink up from where you sit perched on the edge of the neatly made bed. Is this how Yeosang felt waiting for his door to open? You inhale sharply, heart pounding mercilessly in your throat and choking you with the strength of an actual hand. And shamefully, you can’t even bring yourself to look at the door when it slides open, too afraid of not seeing Wooyoung standing behind it.

“Y-Y/N?”

You snap your head towards the door so quickly that your neck pops with the effort, eyes blinking open faster than ever, and even when your gaze settles on him, you still can’t quite believe he’s really before you. In that moment, the two of you merely regard each other with stunned stares like neither of you can believe this is possible, and in that time, the door slides shut again to leave you together in the all too small room.

“Wooyoung.” You bring yourself to your feet, standing on shaky legs as you face him. “W-Woo—”

He cuts you short by barreling into you with such force that it knocks the air out of your lungs. The metal around his neck scrapes against your skin hard enough to cut but you pay it no mind as he squeezes his arms around your waist and releases a heart-wrenching sob into your shoulder. Reason returns to you then, bringing you to ping your wristband again; although this time you tap it three times to alert the others that you have Wooyoung with you now. There is nothing more to do after that other than to hug him back as his tears soak your neck and shoulder.

“I-I didn’t — I di-didn’t want to lose hope b-but… fuck it was s-so hard not to and I was st-starting to think I wouldn’t ever s-see you again,” Wooyoung sobs. You almost want to cry with him if not for the small blinking light in the upper corner of the room that catches your eye and sends a surge of panic through you.

“The cameras, Wooyoung. They’re still on, we need to—”

“Y-Yeah, they’re — they only c-check if you hit the button by the bed.” Wooyoung pulls back from your shoulder, at last, rubbing at his tear-stricken cheeks so hard it makes his skin blossom with red. He pauses to catch his breath, or at least steady himself enough to speak without choking on his words. “That si-signals that you’re unsatisfied so they’ll c-check and see what’s — what’s wrong before sending a new courtesan.” Wooyoung puts his hand in yours and laces your fingers without hesitation. The touch seems to offer him some more comfort that helps calm his small hiccups and cries. “Is Y-Yeosang okay?”

“He’s alright, yeah,” you whisper back through a smile. “Misses you something awful, but he’s here too. He tried to get to you first, but they must have sent someone else to him. Jongho came as well. To get you. We came to get you, Wooyoung.”

Those words make Wooyoung’s eyes well up with sickening haste. He sinks to the bed before another sob forces its way out, and you sit down beside him like the mattress might collapse if you move too quickly.

“I’m so glad. So fucking g-glad. Being in a pl-place like this without Yeosang — it’s fucking hell.” Wooyoung sinks his teeth into his lower lip just to keep it from trembling.

“Have you…” Surely it’s not a question you have any right to ask, and part of you feels like Wooyoung did need your help but merely did not want to bring you to this place, even if just to watch through his eyes. Still, you swallow the nerves and force the question out. “Have they made you work yet?”

“It’s not important whether they did or not,” Wooyoung says through a weak smile, but that tells you all you need to know. It sounds too rehearsed and monotonous, like he’s been told to say this even if only by himself. “B-But what’s the plan? How are we getting out? Is someone coming to get us?”

“Um, we’re to wait the allotted time here until we get news from one of Hongjoong’s contacts here. He’s a hacker, and he’ll take care of the surveillance system so that we can open the window and get out that way. We’ll meet Yeosang and Jongho in an alleyway not too far from here after that. Then head back to the ship on a transport car.”

“Thought of everything, huh?”

“I sure hope so.”

“It should work just fine. We’re on the second floor though, so it’ll be quite the fall. Just remember to not go face-first.” Wooyoung’s smile is infectious, and you laugh along with his jest, hand squeezing around his. “How is Seonghwa doing?”

“A-Ah, I nearly forgot you knew about that. Um, he’s alright but Hongjoong didn’t think he was well enough to come on the mission with us.”

“Captain is up then? Yeosang mentioned he’d been out for quite some time because of his injuries. That’s great news that he’s up! I — he’ll be happy to hear that I have some info about where Mingi and San are being held too. I can tell him when we’re back on the ship. B-But Seonghwa is okay otherwise?”

“Yunho said there’s no lingering signs of health issues so he’ll be okay physically. I… I have so many questions that I don’t even know where to begin.” Wooyoung’s smile stretches a bit wider.

“I assumed you would. That’s okay though; we have a full hour to use anyways, so you can ask me anything while we have the time to be alone together. I would say we could do it later when we’re back on the ship but Yeosang probably won’t let me out of his sight for even two seconds from now on. It’d be best for us to get it all out now so we don’t have to hear him scribbling in that damn notebook of his.” Wooyoung can’t hide his elation despite the teasing words, and you know that getting to see Yeosang again soon means more to him than you could ever understand. Yeosang must be feeling the same way himself, waiting out this hour with painstaking patience.

“What happened in the days you didn’t let me in? You went quiet for so long I was getting worried.”

“Ah, we shouldn’t start there,” Wooyoung murmurs, glancing down at the floor. He pauses. The breath of hesitation leaves your stomach in knots. “Nothing you want to hear, I promise. That’s why I didn’t try to bring you in. It wasn’t anything pretty, but I assure you there was nothing they could do to hurt me physically. I’m too far gone for that sort of torture. It’s… over and done with now. More scars to add to my collection, and more for Yeosang to cry over probably. We’ll both be fine. You’re probably wondering about the whole connection thing and us both being Sirens and such, right?”

“I — admittedly yes, but looking back now it seems almost obvious? I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner, I guess. But yeah, specifically that connection or whatever it is. Yeosang said he didn’t know much at all about it.”

“Right, yeah, I don’t know much myself either, to be honest.” Wooyoung presses his lips into a pout. “It’s hard to say what exactly it is. Seonghwa’s books don’t really have anything about this sort of occurrence, but what I’ve gathered from it so far is probably all that Yeosang told you. ‘There’s no place in the universe that you can hide from each other’. Daichi told me that once.”

“He told me the same actually.”

“Mhm, I think he knows a bit more about it than he claims to. For me, I can almost hear you in my head when you’re in distress, even when you’re far away. Except it doesn’t sound like you’re scared or anything like that. It almost sounds as though you’re softly singing to me? Like… I’m on a boat with gentle waves and you’re singing to me through the water. When I’m asleep and dreaming and you reach out to me for help, I can close my eyes and find myself on a boat like that. A white boat on a black lake. And I hear you singing to me in the water, look down, and see a tiny flickering light through the darkness. For years I’ve had that dream.”

“Yeosang… he talked about you having such a dream. Swimming in a black lake and trying to reach someone but not being able to?”

“Yeah! Um, I’ve woken him up so much because of that very dream. I would have that dream time and time again before you joined the crew, desperately swimming to reach you but it was like something was blocking me from getting to you. Like I could never reach you no matter how fast I was. I would never be able to get in. Then suddenly — one night I did, and I woke up in a box of fabrics in the cargo bay.” Wooyoung shifts to look you in the eye, a weak laugh slipping through his lips. “That feels so long ago now.”

“I’ve been wondering how to thank you for that,” you murmur. “If not for that moment, I would have died.” The skin around your nails suddenly seems a lot more interesting, and you busy yourself with picking at it mindlessly rather than looking back in Wooyoung’s direction. He doesn’t let your hand drift far from his though before he’s tugging it right back into his grasp. His other hand finds its way atop yours as well, holding your joined ones together tightly.

“I didn’t do it to get a thank you. It was just… the right thing to do. It’s sad that we live in such a bad and awful society where you feel the need to thank me for doing something as simple as that.”

“Did you not thank Yeosang for saving his life once upon a time?” You dare to ask. Wooyoung is a bit startled at first, caught off-guard by both your sudden question and the content behind it, but he laughs loud and clear without restraint.

“For someone who claims to hate talking about his life, he sure does talk a lot, doesn’t he?” Wooyoung brushes his bang out of his eyes, pushing the strands that have quickly grown unruly and long to the side. “Yeosang never lets me thank him. Any time I’ve tried, he shut me down before I could finish. Honestly, he saved my life twice. Once when he chose me from that lineup of slaves and spared me a crueler fate, and once when he broke those chains and set me free.”

Chose… me…? Then it wasn’t Yeosang’s mother who picked Wooyoung out for him?

You don’t get to dwell on that thought for long because Wooyoung simply continues to ramble, more and more peace coming to his shoulders as he calms down further.

“Yeosang only ever thanks me. As odd as that is.”

“Did you — have you ever saved his life then?” You already know the answer to that question, but it’s already hanging in the air between you by the time you catch yourself.

“Yes.” Wooyoung is beaming by now, lips stretched wide as he grins. “I got him out of prison when they charged him with treason.”

“And that’s what he thanks you for?”

Wooyoung’s smile doesn’t falter even as he shakes his head in denial.

“He never claims to have saved me, not even once. Instead, Yeosang says that I saved him.”

“B-But why? Objectively he did save you, so why does he not acknowledge that?”

“Because, Y/N, there’s a difference between loving someone and being in love with someone. Yeosang and I loved each other for many years before. But just loving each other wasn’t enough for Crown Prince Kang Minhee to break my chains and commit treason. When ”I love you“ turns into ”I am in love with you“ and ”I am in love with the mere idea of you“, then Yeosang set me free. Even though I would never have asked him to do it, he chose to on his own accord. So he thanks me and says that I saved him because of that. Because I trusted him enough to put my life in his hands time and time again and let him fall in love with me. He claims it to be a difficult thing — allowing an Elitist to fall in love with you. But with Yeosang… he has only ever made it easy. There are times where it is difficult and frustrating, where I wish that he could be anything other than an Elitist, for fuck’s sake, times when I would rather break his neck in an absolutely non-sexy kind of way, but that’s part of love and loving someone. That’s why he’s grateful to me. It sounds selfish and egotistical to say, but after having him repeat himself for so many years, I’ve grown to accept that even if I don’t believe I deserve it.” Wooyoung speaks with a raw conviction that you’ve heard before. It’s the same tone Hongjoong used when speaking to Seonghwa in the medbay, the same tone Yeosang used when talking about Wooyoung and their past together.

Even if you wanted to formulate a response, you don’t think you would be able to because of how overwhelming the emotion in Wooyoung’s voice is. He’s had every opportunity to blame Yeosang for the misfortune in his life, claim that if only Yeosang hadn’t picked him from the start he would be better off, claim that Yeosang got him out of being a slave only to put him in a more dangerous position. Wooyoung could even blame Yeosang for not protecting him well enough to keep him from being kidnapped and tortured.

Yet not once has Wooyoung blamed him.

Perhaps you were being unfair in pushing the blame onto Seonghwa’s shoulders when he didn’t fight your decision to go with Jisung. Is it so wrong to want someone to fight for you? Yet Yeosang has fought every day for Wooyoung and continues to do so. Wooyoung, who has been through hell and tortures he does not wish to speak about, asked about Yeosang’s well-being before anything else. Yet if they were in your position — if Wooyoung were the one agreeing to go with Jisung to save the others, would Yeosang not drop everything to fight for him?

Your mind screams back at you, telling you that it’s different, the situations aren’t the same, the relationships aren’t the same, and you cannot compare yourself to people like Wooyoung and Yeosang who have had years to figure this out. And so, you don’t compare yourself to them.

Rather you compare Seonghwa and Hongjoong to them. How Seonghwa’s worst nightmare is not being able to save Hongjoong from himself. The sheer will and determination in Hongjoong’s eyes when he said he would never let Seonghwa’s demons overtake him. You can’t help but wonder if perhaps that is similar to what Wooyoung and Yeosang have. Neither are anything remotely close to what you have — had, your mind suggests ever so helpfully — with Seonghwa yourself.

“It may be selfish, but I don’t want you to push me away. I would rather be hurt and still have you in my life rather than to be perfectly fine without you.”

That memory slips through unannounced and unasked for, and the mere prospect of why it’s coming back to you while you’re having such thoughts scares you so much that you slam the door in that memory’s face and throw away the key before it breaks loose.

“But anyway that’s — I rambled a bit too much, that’s not the point, um, have you ever had similar dreams like those? The ones I had, I mean? Before waking up in my body or before you came to the crew, any time you can remember. I know you haven’t had much opportunity yet, but you’ve had a few experiences by now.”

“I can’t recall ever having those sorts of dreams. That dream you mentioned about the lake — I had a dream that I was drowning in a black lake the night you came to save Seonghwa, but when I wake up in your body, it’s simply that. All I know is falling asleep and waking up like a passenger in your consciousness. I don’t have any control like you’ve had over my body.” Wooyoung’s eyes are oh so expectant and pleading, and it twists something painful in your gut. You want so badly to have information for him, to be able to give him answers or even a hint as to what could be going on, but frankly, you have nothing to offer. “I’m sorry, Wooyoung. I-I feel utterly useless in this whole situation. I d-don’t know what’s wrong with me or my head, I just can’t remember at all and I don’t… You and Seonghwa seem to have this whole Siren thing figured out, how it works, what sort of abilities you have, how to use them. I, on the other hand, have so many gaps and missing pieces in my memories. I’ve had one or two moments where I consciously used some sort of ability, then Seonghwa tried to help me learn, but other than that I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“It’s okay!” Wooyoung rushes to reassure you, squeezing his hand tight around yours as he smiles again. “Y/N, please don’t worry about that. I don’t expect you to have an answer right now, it’s really okay. We’re gonna figure this out together now that you finally know what I am and we’ll be back on the ship soon. And I can help you understand more about being a Siren in general too! If we can get to the Dreamscape together, maybe Daichi will be willing to talk.”

“Last time I was there, he tried to kill me and told me that if I kept asking questions he would end my life,” you snort. Wooyoung’s smile drops into a grave expression that doesn’t fit his features.

“In the beginning — when I first started seeing Daichi, that is — he wasn’t like that. He wanted me to find other Sirens. That’s what ultimately made Yeosang choose Captain’s crew because Daichi had told me there was a Siren there. Then as more time went on, Daichi seemed to get more and more frightened by the idea of Sirens finding each other. He started telling me that someone dangerous would find me, someone I should guard myself from.”

“He warned me of the same when I first came aboard. But Seonghwa mentioned how Daichi’s job is to guide Sirens to each other?”

“That’s true, yes, but Daichi seems to have changed his mind along the way. I can’t understand why, but I’m sure it will make it a lot more difficult to find two more for Captain.” Your conversation dies a bit there, leaving both you and Wooyoung to stew over the predicament. According to Daichi, you spent years denying your identity and refusing to listen to him, so you never made an effort to find any Sirens like both Wooyoung and Seonghwa have been apparently. Still, it leaves you more curious than before, especially given what all happened in your latest escapade in the Dreamscape.

“Tsukio can find you anywhere, even while far away! This mental connection you share, this link — the two of you are a dyad, a yin and a yang, a pair that cannot be severed. No matter how far apart you are, the two of you will always be able to come back to each other.”

“Did he ever tell you that we will always be able to come back to each other?”

“Come… back to each other? No, I’ve never heard him say such a thing before.”

“I remember seeing you in a dream before, not the Dreamscape but an actual dream. But that dream felt more like a memory, and I asked you about it once in the medbay. I know you told me no then, but does it have anything to do with what Daichi said possibly?”

“Hm, I suppose it could?” Wooyoung leans back and looks up at the ceiling. You can’t figure out what’s on his mind just through his expression, and what he says next doesn’t help much either. “But I don’t have any sort of memory like that.”

“You — you were wiped with a serum too, weren’t you?”

“Did Yeosang tell you that as well?” Wooyoung asks through a frown. “Did he mention how guilty he feels about that too? Probably, that would be very much like him to do so. Guilty for things that aren’t even his fault… but yes. Yes, my memories were wiped too.”

“I have another question. I’m sorry for asking so much all at once. Yeosang never gave me a clear answer though, so I’m still curious, but why haven’t you told Hongjoong about this?” Wooyoung doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he sinks his teeth into his lower lip and refuses to look your way for a bit. The silence drags but it’s nothing uncomfortable or unsettling. It isn’t like you’re on a time crunch right now either, so you’re more than willing to wait until he is ready to speak.

“It’s something stupid and selfish honestly,” he whispers after a bit. His other hand finds purchase on the bed, picking at a loose thread hanging off the sheets. “I didn’t expect Yeosang to take it so seriously, but now he’s adamant even when I try to tell him otherwise. Really it’s just that when I was still a slave, I didn’t always have to wear the collar. It dampened and muted my abilities so I couldn’t use them freely. Shocked me a lot too whenever I foolishly tried to use them without permission, leaving some really ugly and awful scars. Yeosang always treated the wounds when that would happen.”

His hand travels up to touch the band of metal hanging about his neck. You follow the movement with your eyes. You can’t miss the spreading scars underneath the metal as he shifts it, like little lightning bolts of pale skin hiding beneath it, and you wonder if that’s what you felt the first time you woke up in his body.

“I have a lot of scars from lots of different things. It shouldn’t be any different, and it shouldn’t even matter because it’s stupid and childish and I need to get over it. Even though the collar is dead and doesn’t work, like it doesn’t mute my abilities anymore or anything like that, just the idea of having it on keeps me sane. Being a Siren is both a blessing and a curse. Some abilities you’re born with are crueler than imaginable and can be used to do horrific things. The things I was forced to do with mine are not something I ever want to revisit again. So… I keep the collar on because the trauma I suffered while wearing it for so many years keeps me sane. Merely the idea of wearing it prevents me from using my abilities because I was conditioned into a state where if I tried doing anything while the collar was on, I would be hurt. When it comes to visiting you, it’s different because I’m asleep when that happens. And whenever people other than Yeosang or myself try to touch it, I get thrown back into the memories of his father taking it off me to use me as a weapon and I-I can’t — it’s too much to bear.

“I trust Hongjoong. I really trust him and admire him and respect him so much. As much as I do Yeosang even if it’s in a different way. But I have an innate fear of authority that tells me no matter who it is, the people who have power over me will abuse it. That if anyone above me knows I’m a Siren, I’ll be used again, and I’m afraid of that. So it’s not that I don’t want to tell Hongjoong. Just that as long as I have this collar on and as long as these demons linger at the edge of my mind, I don’t think I can ever tell him what I am.”

You want to express an apology for bringing those memories back or at least offer an ounce of consolation because you can almost feel the pain radiating off his body in waves. But the moment you reach out to pull him into a hug, the door to your room slides open out of nowhere. You jerk, and Wooyoung lifts an arm to protect the both of you, but you take the initiative in pushing him down to the bed. In one swift movement, you climb in front of him, one knee down on the mattress and the other stretched out in front of Wooyoung’s body. The blade against your thigh is cool on your fingertips, but you don’t pull it out quite yet. The flash of red hair before you stops you at the last second.

Soojin?

The girl is already halfway in the room, door sliding shut behind her, and the second it’s fully closed, she turns to twist the lock into place.

“W-Wait, we’re n-not supposed to lock the doors!” Wooyoung protests, leaning up over your shoulder to see better. Soojin levels him with a sharp glare. You reach behind you to push Wooyoung back enough so that he’s hidden behind your shoulder, matching Soojin’s stare with equal intensity. The girl steps closer to you, draws a single finger up, and stabs you hard in the chest with her dull nail.

“You and me need to have a chat after all it seems.”

“What do you mean?” You clench your fingers around the handle of your knife, still not completely at ease with the woman standing in front of you.

“What do I mean? I mean that my fucking client downstairs just tried to fucking murder me and gave me a message from Han Jisung of all people! Seeing you and hearing from that bastard on the same day after being free from that past for several years? That’s no fucking coincidence, Y/N.”

“Murder!? How did you — how did you get away?”

A laugh of disbelief escapes Soojin’s lips as she pulls back a few feet.

“I killed him, of course! What else was I supposed to do? I dumped the fucker’s body out the window for staff to clean up later. This sort of thing happens frequently enough for them not to question it, and besides, I told them it was a jealous worker so they won’t really care all too much about him. But what the fuck is going on? Why are you here and why did Han Jisung just tell me my time is up and try to have me killed?”

“I… I-I don’t — I’m not with Jisung, I know nothing about that at all. He—” You cut yourself short with a sharp inhale, eyes darting across the floor like it has all the answers in it. “Wait, he knew I would be coming here though. Did he know that you worked here?”

“Unfortunately, not by choice though. We ran across each other around a year ago in the city, and I mentioned working at the House in passing.”

You shift to motion back at Wooyoung and pull your hand off the knife on your leg at last.

“He was brought here against his will by Jisung. Well, whoever Jisung is working with at least. I only came to get him out. We’re — he’s part of the crew I’m working with now. Jisung knew where he would be and that I would come to get him.”

“And he’s still a psychopath when it comes to you then?” Soojin scoffs, brows knitting together to accentuate her disbelief. “He tried to have me killed just so that I would stay out of your business?”

“I don’t know, Soojin,” you exhale. “It doesn’t make any sense why he would do that. I already made a deal with him and he’ll get to take me regardless of what happens here.”

“T-Take you?” Wooyoung interjects. “Take you where?” His hand latches around your elbow and squeezes hard. You ignore the man in favor of maintaining your focus on Soojin, however, much to his dismay.

“Unless you know something Jisung wouldn’t want me to know and he couldn’t even risk the thought of us running into each other and speaking.” At that, Soojin tilts her head to the side in confusion.

“What could I possibly know that you don’t?”

“What happened before you left the crew?” Her confusion intensifies to a dramatic degree.

“Have you gone mad? Do you not remember or something? You were always a bit bad with memory, yeah, but has it gotten this bad?”

“Please, Soojin, I’m begging you please just tell me what happened before the crew fell apart. I know you called me a scapegoat for a reason, please.” You reach out across the empty space between your bodies, having to stand to reach her, but when you do, you close a hand around her wrist. Soojin blinks between where you hold her and your face without speaking for so long that you think she’s going to refuse you again.

“I called you a scapegoat because I thought you were in on Jisung’s plan at the time,” she says finally, pulling her other hand up to run through her hair. “You would’ve done anything for him so I thought that was just another part of it.”

“What did I do?”

“I should be asking what you remember happening instead.”

“What I remember is stealing documents and plotting to dismantle the military from the inside out with you guys but I fucked up. I know I fucked up and got caught and Hyunwoo took the blame for me and it got him fucking executed.” Soojin leans back, hand tugging out of your light grip.

“I know nothing of what happened after Ash, Juyeon, and I left Eros. But before we left…” It’s her turn to hold you by the wrist. She turns your arm over and exposes the inside of your left arm, right where that damned brand sits against your raised skin. “You didn’t deserve this. It wasn’t your burden to bear. You were the scapegoat, and that’s why the team fell apart, that’s why we all broke up and ran away. You didn’t plan to steal anything, nor did you plot a thing. Neither did Hyunwoo. It was all Jisung; Jisung wanted to dismantle the military and kill the king. When Juyeon, Ash, and I found out what he was planning to do, we brought it to Hyunwoo. All Hyunwoo said was that stopping Jisung wasn’t something he could do. So he told us to leave while we still had the chance and that he would take care of things. He would take the blame so that no one else would have to get hurt. But you didn’t want him to do that, so you ran off and carried out Jisung’s plan for him.”

“Which part? Did I k-kill the king… before Hyunwoo died?”

Soojin heaves a deep sigh.

“The last night we were all together as a team, you snuck out of the barracks and infiltrated the palace. You stole the documents Jisung wanted — whatever the fuck they were because I don’t even know why he wanted them in the first place if he was going to kill the king anyways — and you killed the king that night too. Everything went to shit. It all happened too fast for the rest of us to know what was really going on. You just came back to the barracks and turned the lights on and…”

You don’t realize how hard your head is pounding until the woman trails off, voice dying in her throat, and then it hits you will so much force that you feel your body beginning to lurch. You would fall over, most likely smack your head on the sink as well, if not for Wooyoung jumping up and catching you by the waist before you can fully go down. And thanks to him, all you do is hunch over and hold your head in your hands as a stab of pain sears through your skull.

“Breathe, Y/N, breathe for me,” he urges as you slump your weight back against him. “You need to breathe, okay? You’re hyperventilating. One breath every five seconds, slow it down, you’re okay.”

“Th-There was blood. There was blood, wasn’t there?” Looking at Soojin fills your vision with pure crimson, but it’s not because of her hair this time.

“Yes,” she whispers back, not daring to speak any louder than that. “You were… drenched in blood that wasn’t yours. And we were so scared you had been hurt somehow. I carried you to the bath and cleaned you but you didn’t have a single scratch on you.”

“O-Oh god,” you choke out. The red in your vision turns coppery as a different image takes over and a new memory swarms your head.

“What the fuck did you do!?”

Hands squeezing hard around your throat, shoving you under bloody waters.

“Let her go!”

“You ruined everything! How could you do this? Why are you so fucking useless? I told you to sit still and not do anything!”

The water spread to your nostrils and forced its way in as you struggled to find air.

“Jisung, release her right this instant!”

The hands around your throat just grew tighter.

Wooyoung eases you down to the floor when the rest of your strength leaves you. He keeps a hand at your waist, using the other to hold your head to his chest in a desperate attempt to control the wild tremors shooting through your body. You keep a hand pressed to your throbbing temple but it does nothing to alleviate the pain you’re in, one that feels as though something is trying to rip your head in half with their bare hands.

“C-Can’t remember more. I can’t, I do-don’t want to remember anymore, I — it hurts. It hurts too much, it hurts so much.”

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay. You don’t have to remember anymore, okay? You’re good, you’re done, no more. No more.” Even through the pain, you can’t miss the desperation in Wooyoung’s tone. His hand moves for your arm where your wristband sits, buzzing uselessly against your skin. “Y/N, what does this mean? Is something happening?”

You want to answer, You even open your mouth to do so. Yet the moment you do, the taste of that metallic soapy water fills your mouth and you choke on air.

“Y/N, please, what does it mean? Are we in trouble?” You think you shake your head but the panic in Wooyoung’s eyes isn’t reassuring and you aren’t sure you have any hold over the muscles in your body right now. “Please, do you know where our friend is?” He asks, directing his focus to where Soojin kneels in front of you.

“The brunette?”

“Brunette? No, no, I’m talking a blond?”

“J-Jongho,” you force out, gritting your teeth until your jaw hurts from the force. “Jongho… here too.”

“I saw that name on the register,” Soojin cuts in. “I checked it to find what room you were in and saw his name further down on the list.”

“Please get him and bring him. Please, I know you — we just need your help right now, please,” Wooyoung begs. His grip on your waist tightens a little as Soojin hesitates, and it doesn’t let up until the girl nods and leaves the room in haste. Wooyoung brings you back to his chest once she’s gone, matching your shaky breaths as he gently rocks you back and forth. “I can’t… know your memories or the pain you’re feeling right now, but I know what it’s like to suddenly be hit with memories you forgot you had. Ones that were suppressed behind an iron wall. I know what it’s like to have it slip out and hit you.”

“It fucking hurts.” You clench your jaw again, feeling a burn of pain up the side of your face with the movement. “Like someone is stabbing my b-brain with a da-damn icepick.”

“Are the memories painful?”

“I d-don’t know. I can hardly think straight. My head hurts. That’s all I can think about.”

“The serum… I’m assuming it’s the same one I was given back then. It can’t take away memories. Yeah, they tell you that it’s a wipe, but that’s only because they don’t want you trying to find those old memories. It can’t remove parts of the brain like that. They just use it to lock away memories but there’s no guarantee of it being permanent, so when you do remember something they tried to lock away, it hurts.”

“D-Does it hurt you like this too?”

“Yes, but I’m — pain isn’t something that bothers me all too much, and I’m lucky enough to have Yeosang nearby when it happens. I’ve got a prescription for the pain from Yunho too. We can… we can get you something long-term back on the ship.”

Another stab of pain hits as the door slides open, metal grating hard on your ears, but this time Jongho stands with Soojin. He rushes over to join you and Wooyoung on the floor in a panic, obviously torn between being excited to see Wooyoung again and your current crumpled state.

“Yeosang’s hour is up and he’s waiting at the meeting point. Captain hasn’t buzzed in on the contact yet.” Jongho reaches down to lay a hand against your forehead. You’re quick enough to turn your face further into Wooyoung’s shirt, inhaling the sickening floral scent that clings to his skin.

“Don’t even think about trying to take it away,” you hiss.

“I can’t take physical pain, don’t worry. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Here, something for the pain.” Soojin interrupts the moment to lean over you with a cup of unknown contents. “Fast-acting pain reliever. Every room has some in it just in case patrons get too out of hand. We keep it in the cabinets, I promise it’s nothing bad. It’ll numb you and make you a bit sluggish for a while, but it’ll also take the pain away.”

“Thank you,” Wooyoung murmurs as he takes the cup from her hands. He helps bring the cup to your lips, pushing some of the murky grey liquid inside into your mouth, and you struggle not to gag around the taste of it. He doesn’t stop until the entirety of its contents are drained into your mouth then tilts your head back to keep it down when some threatens to drip out the corners of your lips. An unknown hand comes down on your knee.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry.” Soojin. “I didn’t mean to hurt you with this information.” You swallow hard only to choke a second later on the putrid aftertaste clinging to your tongue. Wooyoung lets you cough into his shoulder without complaint, passing the now empty cup back to Soojin.

“You couldn’t have known,” you murmur after escaping the coughing fit. “It’s not your fault.”

“I didn’t know what they would do to you after we left the planet,” she sighs through the quiet of the room. “I should have expected it honestly, knowing Jisung, but maybe I hoped he would be better than that. He always manipulated you so it only makes sense that he would try to manipulate your memories too. Do you at least know what happened a little bit better now?”

“Y-Yeah, yeah.” You try to pull away from Wooyoung and get up but his grip on you doesn’t let up. “My memories were taken away for a second time and replaced with something else. So instead of only losing fourteen years of my life, I lost eighteen and spent the last three years believing those manipulated memories to be real. I’m peachy.”

Another buzz from your wristband pulls your attention away, and Jongho glances down at his own too.

“Cameras are down.”

“Let’s go then,” you mutter.

“Are you okay to move? Don’t push it if you’re not strong enough.”

“We need to go now while we still can,” you protect, letting Wooyoung help you to your feet even if it’s on shaky legs. Jongho gives a curt nod then heads for the window, no doubt to pry it open. Soojin catches you by the arm before you can fully turn away.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. Even if you can’t remember all of it, there are still things I regret saying and doing to you. I should have known back then how much Jisung was manipulating you and not pushed so much blame onto your shoulders.”

“You can get out now with us, Soojin. While you have the chance.”

“And do what with that freedom?” She huffs out a dry and lifeless laugh. “Wander aimlessly? Ash and Juyeon are both missing in action. I have no clues or leads on where they might be or if they’re even alive. I don’t have anything left out there beyond the House.”

“I… if I hear anything out there about them, I promise I’ll send you a message. I’ll find a way to get news to you, maybe through my captain’s contact or something. I swear if I can help you get out of this hellhole I will.”

Soojin reaches up to ruffle her hand through your hair, mussing the loose locks more.

“You always were a good kid, Y/N. Too good for the life you were forced to live.” It hurts to watch her smile. It hurts even more to let Wooyoung guide you to where Jongho waits by the now open window. “Go while you can, you three. The medicine will wear off in a few hours, but hopefully, you’ll have access to something better by then. I’ll make sure you get out safely.”

Jongho dips through the open space first, hopping down to the pristine streets below with little issue.

“Send Y/N down next!”

You can’t tear your gaze off Soojin. You don’t know when you might see her again or if you even will, and it hurts to leave her behind like this but she just keeps smiling at you with bright eyes and blinding hair.

“T-Thank you, Soojin. Please stay safe, if you can.”

“Always.”

With that, Wooyoung hoists you over the ledge of the window and dangles you far enough down so that your fall is softened a bit. Jongho catches you by the legs, taking the brunt of your weight before you hit the ground. Wooyoung drops down beside you without warning a second later. As Jongho eases you down, you dare to glance up at the window you just left from, and it shuts slowly without a sign from Soojin inside.

Wooyoung rushes back to your side and loops an arm back around your waist when you start to slump forward again.

“That’s — that’ll look too suspicious,” you mutter, pulling his arm back to his own side.

“We just dropped out a fucking window. I’m sure that would look more suspicious.”

“I’ll be okay.”

Yet two steps later, you’re stumbling over your heels and Jongho comes to your rescue this time. He tugs your arm through his own as he walks forward without saying a word. You can only lean your weight on him and slump your chin against his shoulder.

“Thank you…”

Silence drapes over the three of you as you make your way to the meeting point with Yeosang. You aren’t in as much pain as you were earlier (Soojin wasn’t bluffing when she said fast-acting) but the medicine is already making you a bit groggy. It feels a bit like you’re wading through sludge just trying to walk a few steps, and frankly, Jongho is the only thing keeping you going at this point. Wooyoung lingers at your other side. Every once in a while, you feel his worried gaze find its way to your form. He might even be speaking to you at some point because you hear something that sounds vaguely like his voice through the radio static in your ears, but there is far too much on your mind and too much to think about right now for you to pay any attention to that.

If… if I killed the king before Hyunwoo’s execution, then who did I kill that night? Did I kill anyone at all? Was that memory fabricated? What have I been working towards all these years if that’s a lie?

Funny how your search for answers only left you with more questions instead. There are too many questions to keep track of and not remotely enough answers to them. You know you won’t be able to have those answers yet either, not while San and Mingi are still missing and Jisung is bothering you. Where would you even look for answers now? Jisung would never tell you a thing, Hyunwoo is dead and gone, and now you’re leaving Soojin behind.

The one thing that reaches your brain through the static in your ears is a dry and choked sob. You pull yourself out of your thoughts as Wooyoung disappears from your side. It doesn’t take much to guess why. You’ve reached the meeting point, the all too small alleyway where Yeosang waits for you three, and Wooyoung is running straight to him with reckless abandon.

“Y-Yeosang, angel, Yeosang, my god I’m—” Wooyoung’s voice dies in a cracked sob when he reaches the Elitist. His hands barely brush the man’s shoulders because Yeosang drops to his knees in front of Wooyoung, face hidden but no doubt bearing tears, and he balls his fists around the flimsy material of Wooyoung’s pants. He presses his forehead to Wooyoung’s hip, hands traveling further up to press against the small of his back. Wooyoung can only card a hand through Yeosang’s hair in response, but it’s enough for now. It’s enough for both of them like this, with Yeosang’s knuckles white from the pressure of clinging to Wooyoung, and you and Jongho maintain your distance as best you can to give them this moment.

“Are they happy?” You whisper to Jongho even though the answer is blindingly obvious before you. The Berserker’s lips twist into a small grin.

“I don’t think there’s a word strong enough to describe how they’re feeling right now.”

Yeosang pulls his head off Wooyoung’s hip and stares up at the man with tears on his cheeks and stars in his eyes. Wooyoung dips down to the Elitist’s height, pulling his face up to his own and slotting their lips together like nothing else in the universe exists around them. Again, it’s raw, as all emotions between these two seem to be, but it belongs to them and it’s something you can’t take away from them. When they part lips to gulp in desperate breaths of fresh air, Wooyoung places his forehead over Yeosang’s and takes the breath from his lungs like that. They don’t exchange words but there doesn’t seem to be a need for words either, not until Yeosang seems to catch hold of himself and come back to his senses.

“The car is waiting for us at the other end of the alley. Driver’s already pulled up.” Jongho nods when the Elitist drags his gaze over to where the two of you stand. Yeosang lets Wooyoung pull him back into space after that, unable to contain a smile as the Siren continues to press more kisses to his cheeks. You and Jongho trail behind them to the other end of the alleyway. Seeing them together like this makes it worth it. You knew it would and you were striving to bring them this moment, but seeing it unfold before you like this increases that feeling tenfold.

Once in the car, Yeosang sits Wooyoung down in one of the cushioned seats then drops to the floor between his legs even when Wooyoung protests and tells him to get up.

“Stop, that’s weird! It looks weird, Yeo, please! It looks like you’re trying to su—”

“Shut up,” Yeosang mumbles back as he drops his head to rest against Wooyoung’s thigh. “You’re the one who makes everything dirty. Get your head out of the gutter.”

Wooyoung obviously doesn’t mind all too much because he returns to toying with the Elitist’s blond locks moments later as you and Jongho settle into the seats beside the pair. And from where you’re sitting, they really do look like young boys again, more than just a former slave and ex-prince but also less than that. Just… boys who fell in love despite the odds set against them.

“I’m sorry, Woo, I’m so sorry.”

“Shh, angel, I know. It’s okay. We’re okay.”

You tune out of the conversation there. It’s far too intimate and personal for you to encroach on, and the medicine has you falling asleep in your seat anyways. Jongho seems to pick up on that, reaching over to pat your leg.

“Rest while you can.”

A hum comes as your reply as you slump to the side, head hitting the side of the car with a loud thud. Jongho exhales a quiet laugh and pulls you over to rest against his shoulder instead.

“’m sorry for snapping at you,” you murmur. You’re forcing your eyes to stay open long enough to get the apology out but it’s growing more difficult by the second. “I didn’t mean to, I was afraid… of her slipping out of my grasp but… that’s no excuse.”

Your fluttering eyes snap wide open when something presses down hard on your nose. You blink uselessly at Jongho and the finger he hovers over your face.

“Stop talking nonsense, yeah? Rest. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re not?”

“Hm, no, I’m not.”

“Promise.”

“I promise I’m staying right here.”

“And we’ll get San back?” You mumble just before the drowsiness wins.

“We’ll get your San back too, I promise.”

✧✧✧ a/n: yall imma be honest this chapter feels like a whole fever dream and a half but i love it nonetheless she’s my Baby i hope you guys love her just as much and enjoy her <3 lots happened but also not a lot happened? i feel like the wc is so dramatic for Not A Lot but yaknow that’s life ! next chapter we’re getting juicy and bringing a part 16 move back bc teehee that’s what i do best u know me anywho let me know what u think as always i love u all im so happy to bring u guys this chapter and so excited for the coming ones!

taglist: @faeriewoobin​​ @sugarrimajins​​ @atinyinwonderland​​ ​@sparklychangbin​ @jeong-uwu​​ @jeonartemis​​ @anothershorthuman​​ @xxbluestrifexx​​​ @haotheheckk​​ @noonawriter​​ @lostscenarios​​ @nlost21​​ @mirror-juliet​​ @okokokok123-45​ @purple-aeon​ @theoinkypiglet​ @toothlessshiber​ @atinyarmyx1​ @simpforhyunjin​ @hwangwoosan​ @vampire-jimin​ @softyubi​ @drumboydowoon​ @chatsgotmytongue​ @just-a-starfruit​ @babydolljo​ @scintillating-souls​ @khjssss​​ @rawrrainn​ @hewwo-from-the-other-side​ @icekdy​ @eggteez​​ @bangtanxberm​​ @uglychildd​ @lucymultistan​​​​

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

#ateez #ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez fluff #ateez angst #mists of celeste #mingi x reader #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #yeosang x reader #jongho x reader #san x reader #wooyoung x reader #yunho x reader #ateez hongjoong #ateez seonghwa #ateez yunho #ateez yeosang #ateez wooyoung #ateez san #ateez mingi #ateez jongho #ateez angst fluff smut #ateez series #ateez pirates #ateez space pirates

[lukealvezhimboextraordinaire]

Prompt — wearing their lover’s clothes! (also, “can I get my shirt back? ’'no.”)

Philioise 🥰

okay so i tried to fill the bill this time! things get a bit hot at the end but nothing worth an r rating!

let's see philoise + wearing their lovers clothes.

It had taken some convincing on Eloise’s part.

Phillip was a man with a very defined style and that style didn’t involve hoddies - an absolute pity according to Eloise. He liked his cardigans, his pleated pants, and his wingtips. He liked to look good and yet be comfortable and wasn’t here to be ashamed for taking care of his appearance. And really, it was fine. Eloise loved it. The only problem was that Penelope had been bombarding her with snaps of her wearing Colin’s oversized hoodies and although she would never admit it out loud, she was starting to feel the green-eyed monster burning in her chest. Goddammit, she wanted to take cute pics clapped in one of Phillip’s extra-large hoodies and post them on every social media account she owned.

But Phillip was not having it. Not even when she went out of her way to make obvious hints as to how she wanted to steal his clothes. Or rather, how she wanted to be given his clothes.

And really? What was the problem? Eloise had full access to his closet. She could just walk into it and grab whatever she wanted and he would not protest. But he was a smart man and smart men did not engage in couple wars with their girlfriend’s siblings. Especially not with Polin. Because out of every two words Colin said, one was Penelope. And Phillip loved Eloise but he preferred to keep his displays of affection a bit more subtle and he preferred his love confessions to be for Eloise's ears only. Nothing wrong with proclaiming your love and devotion for the woman you were sharing your life with every two sentences, really. But being around Colin was, in all honesty, a bit sickening.

But even if his love language were light, casual touches or his quiet but calming presence or listening to her ramble about her day, that didn’t mean he loved her any less. Where Colin’s love was loud, grandiose, overwhelming, Phillip’s love was quiet, nurturing, gentle. It was waking up to fresh flowers resting on a vase every morning, it was coming home after a long day at work to the table set and dinner ready, it was finding little notes scattered around the house, reminding her to take her keys with her, to drink some water, to drive safely. It was a soft kiss on her cheek every morning before leaving for work, a cup of her coffee exactly like she liked it placed on her hand. It was pressed flowers under her pillow. It was a back rub while they read together in the afternoons. It was books with his favorite parts and quotes underlined showing up on her bedside table randomly - full pages circled with this reminds me of you all over it. It was gentle praise and sincere encouragement. It was words of affirmation. It was a sense of finally belonging, being taken care of, and being put first, of mattering.

Phillip loved Eloise in all the ways she had ever wanted to be loved but didn’t dare to allow herself to yearn for and even in ways she never knew a person could love another person. He understood her silences as well as her words and always seemed to know how to make her feel better. There was something in his presence that never failed to make her feel safe.

There was nothing she could complain about.

But she wanted to take a bloody picture wrapped in one of his shirts and post it, dammit.

And then a brilliant idea crossed her mind.

She would see Penelope’s hoodie and raise it. Go big or go home.

And go big she did, indeed.

Phillip had one of those botanic conferences he loved so much that weekend, which meant she would (practically) have the house for herself. Or at least she would have the house for herself once the twins went to bed. The smart woman she was, Eloise had already crafted a detailed plan to tire them out so much all through the day, that the moment they came back home they would pass out, giving her the time to put her second master plan into action. It was genius if she herself said it.

-------

The twins had drifted into a peaceful sleep as soon as their heads touched the pillows. The day had been filled with excitement, laughs, and a couple sugar highs that Eloise had made sure to schedule to last until they were on their way home. The plan had almost taken a turn for the worse on the ride home when their eyelids started to flutter. Nothing a good old banger couldn’t avoid. They ended up singing to the top of their lungs to songs Eloise had never heard before walking into those amazing kids’ lives but now she often found herself humming absent-mindedly.

She placed a sweet kiss on the top of their heads and made sure to tuck them in before closing the door quietly and making her way to the bedroom she had come to share with their father.

As much as she would have loved to take her time

Everything was ready; the lights settled to the perfect intensity, the phone resting on the tripod, and the throw pillows placed in a way that only added to the scene. All that she had to do was get in front of the lens. Surprisingly, the hardest part had been to pick the perfect garment to wear. Phillip had such a collection of nice shirts that it had taken Eloise a good twenty minutes to narrow it down to just two and then five more to come up with a winner. The soft baby blue cotton fabric looked very nice against her skin and it even made her eyes stand out so it became an easy pick. Even though the light yellow one was very nice too. Eloise took a mental note to keep it for a late date. Maybe she would have to ask Daphne to keep the twins for a night one of these days.

Eloise tried a couple poses on the mirror before settling for a suggestive yet not very explicit one. Her legs slightly parted, the hem of the shirt covering just about enough skin to allow the word tasteful to be used but to still spark the curiosity about what was (or wasn’t) behind, the first few buttons of the improvised attire open, allowing the valley of her breasts to peak over the lace brasserie, offering a glimpse of what was to come. The wicked smile adorning her features and messy hair the perfect last touches to her ravishing look. The camera snapped once, twice, thrice. Eloise studied the pictures, nodded with satisfaction, and with one last look at them hit sent.

My sunflower: A little something so you don’t forget to think about me tonight;)

Jesus, El, I almost crashed against the wall.

Just so you know, I always think about you.

My sunflower: I hope so.

Is that my shirt?

My sunflower: Maybe?

You little thief.

My sunflower: Do you want it back?

I think you ought to show me if you had stolen more of my clothes.

Like my boxers, for starters….

Eloise didn’t get much sleep that night.

The next morning she made sure to send Penelope a nerdy snap, Phillip’s shirt looking huge on her smaller frame, making her look like she was wearing an oversized dress. Judging by the dry response she got from her best friend, Colin was about to make a trip to the mall to get a couple dressing shirts. The bar had been raised. Hoodies were no longer good enough. It was pressed shirts or nothing now. Good.

Eloise surprised herself by how reluctant she was to take off his shirt. It had been only a day and she already missed him. His laugh, his hugs, his arms lazily thrown over her shoulders as they laid on the couch, the way he wrinkled up his nose with the first sip of tea… she missed having him around and the peace knowing he was close brought her. And it was funny because until that moment the realization of how used she had gotten to having Phillip by her side had not hit her. Their broken souls were two sides of the same coin, joined and twisted and embroiled until they became one.

So she threw a pair of jeans on, tucked the shirt in the pants, and went on and about with her day. The twins didn’t even bat an eye when she descended down the stairs muffled in their dad’s favorite gear. It was almost as if they had been expecting it for a while. In retrospect, they probably had not given it any thought because they were kids, smart kids, but kids and children didn’t tend to have the same worries as adults. For them, sharing clothes didn’t have a special meaning.

And Eloise realized that she should have gone digging into Phillip’s side of the closet a long time ago. Thinking about it, she couldn’t come up with the exact reason why it had gotten her so long to finally do something that had been on her mind for a while.

But Eloise didn’t have much time to dwell on the reasons behind her actions - or lack of them. Because the door sprung open, startling everyone inside, to reveal a smiling Phillip, bag hanging lazing from his shoulder.

“Daddy!” The kids rushed to his encounter, screaming happily, and attached themselves to his legs. He scooped them up, each in one arm, and when he looked up his eyes locked with Eloise’s. A knowing smile immediately overtook his features. Eloise knew that smile knew what it meant. It was the promise of something to come and it never failed to send a wave of heat down her stomach.

“Hi,” he had to lean in slightly to give her a soft kiss on the lips. The kids made disgusted noises and Phillip took it as his cue to let them run free. He watched them disappear up the stairs and only then did he turn his attention back to the brunette, his eyes burning into hers. “Is that my shirt?”

Eloise licked her lips. “Maybe.”

He grinned, closing the distance between them in two long steps, his lips brushing against her neck, tentatively running down her collarbone until they reached the valley of her breasts. The air caught in her lungs. Her eyes closed. And then he stopped. When she opened them again, he was smirking down at her. “Can I get it back?”

Somehow she managed to find the strength to talk. “N-no.”

Phillip grinned evilly. “Not even if I do this?” His fingers teased the hem of the shirt, sending a wave of electricity down her spine whenever they grazed her skin. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he started unbuttoning the shirt, leaving a kiss on every inch of exposed skin.

“If you want your shirt. You are going to have to rip it off of me.” Eloise breathed out. And Phillip's eyes burned with desire and something that looked a lot like a promise.

Let’s just say, the shirt ended on the floor.

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

When she came into their bedroom later that night, there was a bag resting on her side of the bed. She looked around for him but he was nowhere to be found. Never one able to resist the temptation of satisfying her curiosity, she looked inside. Tears filled her eyes because there, resting in the bottom of the bag was a brown hoodie. Strong arms wrapped around her from behind, the warm breath against her neck making her hair stand up. "I would give you the world, my sunflower. All you have to do is ask."

It had taken some convincing on Eloise's part. But she never needed to try so hard.

#eloise bridgerton #eloise x phillip #phillip crane #fics #mine #philoise #listen i don't write smut so that's why this sucks #i tried

[qianinterprises]

Among the Horses {Part One}

Pairing: farm boy!Jaehyun x female!Reader

Other Characters: OC's, Haechan (sorta, kinda, not really), Renjun (sorta, kinda, not really)

Genre: fluff, angst, country au, farmboys and lady's au, falling in love, slow burn, friends to lovers

Warnings: verbally abusive aunt, yelling, degrading (not the fun kind)

Word Count: 3.8k

Overall Synopsis: Being sent to live with your aunt isn't exactly something wonderful, especially because she's verbally abusive and downright determined to turn you into a "proper lady" who a wealthy man will want to marry. However, perhaps living there won't be so bad. After all, you've got a handsome farm boy teaching you to ride horses.

Part One Synopsis: Arriving at your aunts is very challenging and trying. After being put through the ringer with your attire, you finally get a chance to explore the green world, and spend more time with the farm boy who'd picked you up from the airport.

Author's Notes: So I started this a while ago and didn't really do anything with it, but I love it and I really wanna write more so yeah... Also, I've posted this on a03 as well.

Tagging: @treasuretaeil @hachanbaecon @hwangful

A white, dirty pick-up truck pulled off the main road and onto a long, winding dirt road, leading them closer to a grand house that you had only been to a few times in your life. The place you’d be living for the next year or two.

The truck bumped along the loose gravel, crashing over potholes, sending you bouncing on the very worn cloth of the cab, your eyes glancing worriedly to the male beside you, one of his hands planted firmly on the hard steering wheel, the other loosely placed on the stick shifter in the center of the bench.

“Are you sure the tires won’t… fall off?” your voice was thick and laiden with worry.

He glanced over at you, warm brown eyes gazing intently into yours, the opticals flecked with curiosity and amusement. Embarrassment crept under your skin.

“You haven’t been out here in awhile? Have you miss?” he asked, tone filled with friendly amusement.

You awkwardly scratched at your nose, a bit of a nervous habit she’d picked up over the years.

“No. My parents never had the money to travel.”

Your voice was small, etched in nervousness and anxiety.

He cast you a gentle smile as he pulled the truck around a sharp curve in the road, and there it was.

The house was huge, at least three stories high and stretched across the land it was perched upon. The foundation red brick that looked freshly cleaned (it probably had been), a contrast to the pearly white of the rest of the structure. The curves and contours of the slightly oddly shaped house made it more enchanting and nerve-wracking, especially as you grew closer, tires hitting the smooth cement before your driver moved the shifter and parked the truck.

“Head on in, miss, I’ll get your bags.”

His accent was a combination of Asian mixed with southern, an odd mix that somehow seemed so delicately smooth and perfect, especially the way he drawled over the “r’s”

“Miss?”

You’d been stuck in your thoughts, eyes wide as you surveyed the prospects of your new home.

“Right, yes, thank you,” you said softly, moving to get out, the door creaking as it was opened.

Your black, falling apart sneakers hit the tan pavement of the driveway, the hooks of your overalls rattling loosely against your torso as they accommodated your movements; the loose denim legs falling just above your knees as you pushed the dingy door closed.

The male you’d ridden with, Jaehyun, he said his name was, pulled the latch of the truck bed and reached up to grab your mismatched luggage, his sturdy frame pressing into the hot metal of the truck.

“Do you need some help?”

Your voice was small, mixed with worry and hesitation.

You’d do just about anything to prolong the inevitable.

“That’s quite alright, miss,” he began. “You should head on inside. The heat is a harsh place for a lady,” he answered.

You looked down, playing with your fingers, but you didn’t reply. Instead, slowly moving toward the brick steps that would lead to the entrance of the beautiful home.

~

Anina Lee was a strict lady. She liked things just a certain way and she got them how she wanted. She didn’t tolerate bad behavior or disobedience. And she had a strong dislike for people that got in her way. Thus, she had never been married.

She lived alone, if you count having two live-in maids, a chef, and a stable hand that slept in the barn as living alone.

Alina was your aunt. Your mother’s elder sister who had alienated your mother when she’d married a man of lower class. That same man later had a wife who blessed him with three kids to care for, spending his days fixing the cars of those more fortunate than him, hoping to make a buck for his family.

That’s why you were here. A young girl, coming of age to be married off and starting a family of your very own. Your family couldn’t support you any longer, and as you prepared to move away in hopes of finding some sort of job or a life, your aunt had hastlessly offered to take you in. Your mother had all too happily obliged, hoping her only and eldest daughter would learn a thing or two from the elder woman, maybe turn you into the lady your mother and father had tried for years to make you.

The stainless white door slowly opened and an older woman stood in the frame. She was clearly in her 50s, stress lines drawn thickly in her forehead, wrinkles in the corners of her dull gray eyes, deep lines around her nose and mouth, her neck sagging just a little beneath her sharp jaw. She was a small lady. On first glance one may have a hard time understanding what makes her so fierce. She was small in stature, small in size and in frame, but she had the tongue of a snake, the heart of a lioness, and the skill of a chimp.

“(Y/N)! You’re finally here!”

You stood a good few inches taller than the woman, but that made you more nervous if anything. You made her way up the steps and, as you reached the woman in the door, you were promptly pulled into a proper hug that severely lacked warmth.

“I can’t believe you got on a plane and sat amongst all those people in that ghastly attire. You must change at once!”

The woman’s voice was so shrill it could pierce glass, but you held back the flinch.

“Martha!” the same voice called into the house as she pulled you in, shutting the door and encompassing them in the cool air conditioning.

A larger lady appeared, dressed in stained blue jeans and an ugly yellow shirt.

“Please show my niece to her room and help her change into something more… feminine and lady-like,” her aunt’s voice commanded.

“When you’re finished dear, have Martha show you to my study.”

There was no endearing term in the word “dear.” Simply an icy addition to a perfectly manicured sentence.

You watched your aunts receding form, pencil skirt tight on her legs, black heels sharply hitting the hardwood intimidatingly.

“Come with me, dear. Let’s get you changed,” the larger lady spoke softly.

She was older, maybe 60 or so, her skin dark tan, although you couldn’t tell if it was the sun or her natural skin pigmentation. Her voice was grainy, but soft and endearing. Motherly she’d dare say. And you thought that this woman may actually make living here bearable.

You followed the lady up the grand staircase, up two flights of stairs and down a long hallway until you reached the end. The lady pushed open the thick white door and stepped inside, you following her closely.

Inside, the room was surprisingly rustic. A simple, full-sized bed with an obviously homemade comforter thrown across it. A light gray plush rug beside the bed. The hardwood floors were surprisingly and delightfully bare. One large section of the wall was home to a large bay window that stretched from the ceiling to the plush gray cushion of the bench. There were a few flower paintings and other pointless nicknacks scattered on obsolete surfaces around the room, but you paid no mind to them as your attention was drawn to the lady opening the large mahogany grand dresser and plucking out two cloths.

She unfolded both neatly, placing them on the bed and you sighed. The skirt was long and pleated, patterns of red and white stretched in an annoying kaleidoscope arrangement across the nearly pointless garment and the white shirt appeared to be partly transparent.

“Go ahead and get changed dear, I’ll help you when you finish,” she said kindly and turned her back.

You waited for her to leave the room but it was apparent she had no intention to. Awkwardly, you began unhooking the straps of your overalls, letting the fabric clang to the floor. Your skin heated up, feeling all too exposed before sliding into the skirt, the itchy elastic clinging to your hips uncomfortably. You pulled your stained blue t-shirt off, swapping it for the crisp white one that you feared you’d stain in the next few moments.

The lady turned around, her wide hips bumping into the dresser slightly. The dresser was sturdy enough not to jostle, but it was obvious the corner was sharp and painful. You almost felt bad at the way the lady’s face winced, but it was quickly pushed away as calloused hands began gripping the delicate skin of your arms, squeezing along the skin up your arms.

She tsked and turned around, rummaging through the dresser once again, only to turn around with a black, light cardigan.

You gawked. Why on earth would you wear that atrocious thing in this weather? It was the middle of August! Not December!

“I know. But if your aunt were to see your arms, she’d have a fit. She probably still will,” she said.

You sighed. Your aunt hadn’t changed one bit. Your skin was fragile. The tops of your forearms lightly tanned, a pigment passed on from your father. The rest of your arms and body entirely was light. Lady’s should be gorgeously sunkissed to be beautiful and to be taken seriously.

With a huff, you put on the long black sleeves, the intricately designed cotton draping over your shoulders perfectly. But that didn’t mean it was any more comfortable. You could already feel the added heat seeping onto your skin. You’d be sweaty and uncomfortable soon.

“Now let’s do something about your feet.”

You looked down; your worn socks had holes all through them, mud permanently stained to the sweaty fabric.

Bustling from the room, you were left stunned in the wake of the surprisingly fast woman, watching her round the corner and disappear down the hall to fetch something to apparently “fix your feet.”

You thought you’d do something to speed along the process. The more time spent getting you dressed in these ridiculous clothes, the less time you had to explore the outside world. You made your way to the bay window, taking a seat on the plush cushion that accommodated you nicely. You pressed your back against the edge of the wall and turned your gaze to the picturesque green world filled with surprisingly lush looking grass, dips and hills along the valley, and the tops of trees further off in the distance. All this land was yours for the roaming. You couldn’t wait to get out those doors and go exploring.

The sound of water sloshing in a pot brought your attention back from the window, glancing curiously as the large lady placed the pot down in front of the window.

“Put your feet in.”

You didn’t argue. You were hesitant, but thought better than to argue and have your aunt boil you alive in this pot.

As soon as your dingy, dirty, mud pasted feet hit the water, you hissed. The temperature felt that it could boil the skin right off.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s hot, but your aunt is expecting you down soon and I have to do this as quickly as possible,” the lady said.

Grabbing your left foot, she picked the appendage up from the water along with a suds coated dish sponge and began mercilessly scrubbing away at the tender flesh. You whined and howled, tears pricking to your eyes as your skin was scrubbed and abused by the harsh bristles of the brush. You attempted to yank your foot away, but the tight grip on your ankle prevented much movement. You were stuck suffering as the skin became reddened from the irritation.

~

As soon as the painful experience came to a close, your now pink feet were dried with a towel before being slid into a pair of eccentrically beaded, golden strapped sandals that accentuated the rest of the over-the-top outfit nicely.

“You seem presentable enough now, although I’m sure the mistress of the house would have a few unkind things to say about your wild mane.”

You tried not to take offense. You liked your hair. It was an untamed mop that curved wildly carefree, blowing in the breeze that picked up the thick tufts.

“Thank you for your help ma’am.”

She bowed at the waist, a kind smile on her lips.

“No need for the ma’am dear. Call me Martha, or Mrs. Rivera if you must.”

And with no more haste, Martha Rivera led you back down the grand staircase to the bottom floor, the tight flats biting at your heels and ankles with every step you took, fighting off the winces that followed. You rounded a few sharp corners, venturing into a large sitting room with an extravagant flat screen high on the wall and couches that looked brand new. Through a dining room, table decorated with a sequined bronze cloth and the finest China you’d ever seen, although that wasn’t really a stretch. Finally, they made it to a large oak door, cracked just enough that you could see your aunt’s silhouette sitting behind an elegant red desk, glasses perched on her nose, pen in hand, eyes married to the computer screen. Mrs. Rivera left you by the door, and you almost spun on your heel and walked away. But of course, that would be too easy.

“Come in child. Stop standing in the doorway.”

Your blood froze in your veins. You pushed the door open and stolled in, tripping over the lion skin rug, stumbling a bit before catching your balance. Harsh wisps of breath rushed past your aunt's lips and the chair creaked as the weight lifted from it.

You straightened your back, staring fearfully into the cold gray eyes that trailed over your face and down your clothes.

The woman began moving slowly around you, manicured nails and boney fingers tracing over the outline of your clothes and jaw, running through your wild mane and down your hands, inspecting the bitten off nails. As she walked, she muttered things like “hair won’t do” and “horrible posture” before she stood back in front of you.

“You simply won’t do,” she said sternly.

The words hit hard. You may have been expecting something like this, but it didn’t make the words hurt any less.

“You look like you’ve been sleeping with the horses. Your nails are pitiful. Your skin is far too light.”

She gripped your jaw, tilting your head up harshly to expose your still slightly chubby neck.

“Can you ride a horse?”

The question was sudden and it caught you off guard, but you answered as quickly as your brain would allow.

“N-no. I’ve never ridden before.”

The woman sighed loudly, hot puffs of air pouring out of her flared nostrils.

“That’ll have to change. Starting tomorrow, you will be taking riding lessons from the stable boy. Every lady should have the basic skills of riding,” her tone was cold and brisk as she looked away and perched back at her desk.

“You’re dismissed. Dinner is at 6. Don’t be late. You may roam the grounds.”

With a wave of her hand, she dismissed her niece and immediately went back to work, not bating another eyelash as you fled hastlessly from the room, your eyes welling with tears as stress and fear washed over you, although more relieved that it was over and you could finally do something for yourself. You’d start by ditching these God forsaken shoes.

You made your way around the back door of the house, more by pure necessity than memory, simply logically thinking the best way around in the expansive flooring. When you made it, a smile broke across your face as you unfastened the painful shoes, kicking them off in a sloppy jumble by the door before opening the heavy door, the heat of the afternoon hitting your face, not that you minded.

As you stepped out, bare feeting meeting hot cement, you stripped the cardigan from your shoulders, draping it over a random, sun baked chair. You tore off through the grass, laughing giddily, breeze blowing wisps of your hair, skirt fluttering delicately over your skin. It would be difficult to do anything in the blasted thing, but you wouldn’t give yourself enough time to strip down into something better, opting to enjoy the last of the day while you could. And you’d start in the bright red barn your eyes immediately fell on.

~

Making your way through the soft grass that squished under the weight of your feet, you strolled into the half open barn, the soft snorts of animals bringing a smile to your lips. Just because you couldn’t ride, doesn’t mean you didn’t love the animals. You loved horses especially. They were such beautiful and majestic creatures. You’d always wanted a horse, but your family had never been able to afford one. You’d always wanted to ride, and now you could, although you didn’t understand why it was so important to your aunt.

The cool concrete felt rough beneath your feet, stray straws of hay littering the floor. It could have been a picture straight out of one of the Country Living magazines you’d kept hidden away at your parents home.

The first horse you came upon was a tall brown animal, head hung over the stall door, ears perked to attention, eyes trained on the new invader inside the barnhouse. He snorted at you and his hoof hit the barn door lightly in an attempt at getting closer. You stepped closer, slowly offering your hand out, letting the animal sniff searchingly.

“He’s looking for some sugar cubes.”

The voice came out of nowhere, interrupting your serenity, a yelp leaving your lips as your whole body jolted in the sudden fright.

You turned your head to the barn door where your driver was standing, taunt arms crossed over a broad chest, veiled from prying eyes by a lightweight flannel shirt, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. His long legs were clad in dusty denim, mud and hay from his knees to the tops of the worn work boots.

“I’m sorry. I just like horses-”

“And you thought you’d come visit them?” he finished your sentence.

You immediately began shuffling your feet, eyes turning back to study the fading paint on the stall to keep from facing him.

Heavy footsteps hit the floor as the male moved closer until he was close enough to touch. His large, rough hand gripped your wrist lightly, bringing it up toward him. You let out a little yelp, riddled with confusion and curiosity until three small blocks were placed in your palm.

“Hold your palm out to him and don’t jerk away,” he spoke calmly, slowly urging you.

You nodded, having some sort of unkempt trust in his words as you turned back to the animal and extended your arm, palm flat, cubed sugar offered to the horse, who greedily munched them right out of your hands.

“His name’s Haechan. He’s a bit of a character.”

You nodded, drawing your now horse-slobbered hand away, opting to stroke the animal's fur from his nose to between his eyes.

“That’s an interesting name,” you said.

He hummed behind you and you heard his boots hitting the concrete as he moved away.

“Do you like animals?” he asked.

You spun around, eyes wide and shining.

“Yes! I love them! Sometimes I prefer animals over humans!”

His smile was gentle as he surveyed your physique, a dusty pink tinting his cheeks, although you thought nothing of it.

“Come on, I want to show you something,”he said, walking past you to the opposite exit of the barn.

You followed close behind, curious as to where he was taking her. Your feet fell back onto the grass, the long blades sliding between your toes as you followed in his wake. As they walked, a white picket fence came into view, not far from the barn, but oddly well hidden beneath the crest of a hill rolling through the land. Once you reached the fence, his hands curled around the boards, hoisting himself up, foot balanced on the bottom board as he climbed up, throwing a leg over one side, then the other, and jumping down. You stared at him in awestruck confusion.

“Climb over, I’ll catch you on this side.”

You didn’t know why you blindly trusted him. You didn’t know him from a random stranger in the town, but you complied, placing your foot onto the same board he had, pulling yourself up and swinging a leg over, then another. The skirt snagged in the boards a few times, one of your feet nearly slipping off the boards as you attempted to keep it pushed down. This proved to be more of a challenge as you balanced on your heels, hands clutching the top piece of wood as you contemplated how to get down now. That is, until his arms outstretched, slightly bent at the elbow, fingers parted, palms facing one another, and you knew what he wanted you to do. Taking a deep breath, you pushed off with your left foot, hands releasing your grip on the fence, letting yourself drop, eyes squeezing in slight fear that you’d soon flop hard against the green earth. But when strong hands caught your waist, arms drawing you in, broad chest breaking your fall, you braced herself against him, feet carefully being lowered until they pressed back into the earth.

“See, that wasn’t so bad.”

His teasing tone had you pulling away, glaring playfully at him before turning and pretending to walk away, leaving him in your path.

At least, until you heard a rustling in the long grass inside the fence.

You squeaked as it grew closer taking a step back as your harsh gaze followed the rustling of the grass, positive a snake would wrap itself around your leg as it dug its venomous fangs into your soft flesh.

Needless to say, you were in for quite a shock when the small head of a brown and white calf popped up from the grass.

And you were sinking to your knees.

The calf moved toward your lowered body, sniffing at your arms until you reached out to run a hand down it’s small head and back, cooing quietly, eyes brimming with unfiltered delight as you wrapped your arms around the baby, stroking the fur of its back lovingly.

“This is Renjun. He’s my little cousin's calf.”

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t have to. Your cooes of joy were enough to show every emotion you were currently feeling.

Horrible aunt or not. You could certainly find worse places to be trapped. At least here you had rolling hills of green, beautiful animals to fawn over, and Jaehyun, handsome stableboy who you couldn’t wait to get to know.

#ficscafe #klibrary #kdinernet #supermwritersnet #jaehyun x reader #nct x reader #farm au #farm living #horses #cows #jaehyun x y/n #jaehyun x you #original character #friends to lovers #slow burn #series #nct series #jaehyun series

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Secrets ~ 6

Warnings: noncon sexual acts later in series; light touching.

This is dark!Bucky and dark!Steve and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Notes:

Tomorrow will be a 12 hour day for me. Working on Xmas but oh well. I got this done on my one day off and I hope I survive the next week coming up!

I love you all, I thank you for your patience and feedback as always! Please don’t shy away in the comments, reblogs, etc.

Your time at Regia passed quickly and slowly all at once. You were woken most days abruptly by Barnes pounding on your door or standing over you with his smug half-grin. Then you dressed in clothes you reviled and ate a breakfast you couldn’t enjoy for all the expectation of your intake. You were allowed some recreation though that was often reading bland historical texts or walks in the garden with your keeper.

Your least favourite part of each day were your dance lessons. You had to relearn how to walk, talk, look, and eat, but you had never had much rhythm. Besides, being so close to Barnes with him commenting on your every misstep was hardly fun. He delighted in every mistake you made, eager to reproach you for each, and was easily amused by Priscilla’s stick smacking across your legs, back, and ass.

You counted eleven days as you began to truly fledge. You were tired, annoyed, and to be honest, hungry. That day, you beat Barnes’ early disturbance. You sat, in a coral blouse and a pleated grey skirted, with the lowest pair of heels in the closet. He greeted you almost with approval and that made your want to tear the blouse and shred it.

You didn’t. You followed him downstairs to your usual miserable meal. When you finished, he escorted you back up the wide staircase to the hall of mirrors. You hated the room. It gave you an all to inclusive view of your ridiculous attire. You didn’t look like you. Sure, you were one for a scholarly look but this wasn’t really that. This was a pompous, over-stylised look which would go well only with a silver spoon on your tongue.

A man waited in the hall of mirrors, a woman too. The man was slender and tall and his long fingers were twined together as he waited emotionlessly. He bowed as you entered and recited a dull ‘your highness’. The woman was squat and stuffed into a patterned wrap dress spotted with bright reds, pinks, and oranges. She was more jovial as her voice chimed with the same recitation.

“Lester, Deanna,” Barnes announced, “My apologies for the delay. I trust you are ready.”

“Darling, your highness,” The stout woman swayed over to you, “Come with me.”

“Huh,” you looked at Barnes and he smiled as he gestured you forward.

“Just go,” he ordered, “She doesn’t look like much but she’s not one for defiance.”

You sighed and let the woman usher you over to the attached room. The racks of dresses were gone but long garment bangs had been hung from a hook along the opposite wall. The door snapped shut behind you and Deanna flitted around you, like an elephant in heels, and turned you to face her.

“Oh, love, you are gorg,” she chimed in a peculiar accent, “I think however Lord Barnes was a bit off on your measurements,” she grasped your waist, “Lovely, lovely.”

“I hate to be a bitch but what the hell is going on?” You asked.

She blinked and laughed. She drew away and pushed her dark curls back as they burst forth from the jeweled pin behind her head. “Oh dear, you are fiery. The king will… like that. I think.”

She didn’t sound convincing as she spun away and marched over to the hook and took down the first bag. She unzipped it as she neared and turned it to reveal the contents. A white lacy dress with thin straps and a scalloped hem around the neckline. The bodice was fitted and the skirt flared out into a princess silhouette. You knitted your brow as you stared at it.

“Your wedding dress,” she sang. “Oh, it will surely look splendid on you, darling. Your highness.”

She stripped the bag away and was careful not to let the skirts touch the floor as she held it aloft and folded the swaths of fabric over her arm. She held it out to her as she beamed at you.

“So… I don’t get to choose?” You wondered. You didn’t care very much but you hated that all your decisions were made for you.

“Oh, but this was refashioned from the former queen’s dress. It is a tradition in Astrania. In fact some of this would date back centuries!” She explained, “Of course we do update the style.”

You chewed on your lip and shrugged. “Let’s just get this over with,” you muttered.

You felt defeated as you couldn’t help but fixate on the white gown. It was like you were wrapping yourself in a flag of surrender. You’d wave your skirts and let yourself be taken. You undressed and stepped into the dress as she opened it for you. She pulled the straps over your arms and zipped it up. 

“Rather, it fits you well,” she came around as she pinched at the fabric and smoothed out the seams. She wasn’t wrong, though it felt rather constricting. “Well, come on. Lester needs to do his figures. He’s always the better eye for this. I just sew.”

She took your hand as you lifted your skirts with your other. You let her guide you back out to the hall of mirrors and you avoided looking around you. You couldn’t look at Barnes either as you sensed him watching you. You blurred your vision as you lifted your head and the tall man, Lester, walked around you. He began to pin little pieces in place and Deanna pulled out a small notepad as she began to jot with a stubbed pencil.

“Hmm,” Barnes appeared before you and your vision cleared, “Not bad…” He brushed the lace with his fingers and traced the curve of your waist with his hands, “However…” He lingered just below your chest, “You can’t show the entire kingdom your bra. You would do better to leave that behind on the day.”

“We can add some structure,” Lester offered evenly. “But our adjustments will be minor.”

Barnes reached over and tugged the skirts from your hand and fluffed them out around you. He rounded you and gripped your shoulders. You saw yourself in the mirrored wall and tried not to show your surprise. It wasn’t awful but you still didn’t like it.

“We have three days left. You have the other dress?” He asked.

“We have options,” Deanna said, “We were uncertain if the king would prefer red or blue.”

“Let me see,” Barnes sidestepped her and went to the attached room. 

Deanna glanced at you and waved you after him as she approached and gathered your skirts. She followed after you and your vigilant chaperone. She released the vast skirts and went to Barnes as he neared the hanging garment bags. She unzipped both and he tilted his head and tutted.

“Red,” he said, “I believe the king will be in blue.”

“Very well,” Deanna pulled the dress from the bag. “Now dear, let’s get you changed.”

Barnes turned back and neared you. He faced you and reached around you. He pushed the zipper down slowly and leaned in until his breath tickled your nose. “Three days.” He reminded you. He drew away and left you as the bodice fell slack. He closed the door behind him as Deanna replaced him.

“Darling, I think red will look marvelous on you. And the king in blue! He has the most amazing eyes. Oh, if I was younger… maybe, skinnier,” she giggled, “Well, should I even tell you? You’ve seen him. Ugh, handsome bugger, he is.”

“Mhmm,” you grumbled as you wiggled out of the gown, “What a tragedy it’d be if his outside was ugly too.”

👑

That night was as restless as any. You laid in bed for a time, tossing and turning. You tried to forget about the blinding white dress and the abhorrent red number that came after. And how time seemed to pass regardless of your fears or your desires. You felt helpless. You used to be in control of everything and now, you couldn’t control even yourself.

You sat up in a slat of moonlight. You weren’t going to sleep. Your frustration mounted the longer you squeezed your eyes shut and clawed and clutched for rest. You grunted and stood as the duvet fell away from your legs. The short silk nightie sent a chill up your spin as it fluttered around your thighs.

You crossed your arms and went to the window. The lawns were peaceful despite the anxiety within the palace. You turned away as the lush green rippling in the silver shadows only heightened your uneasiness. You took the blush coloured robe from the chair sat before the vanity and swathed yourself in it as you neared the door.

It was, to your surprise, unlocked. As strict a warden as Barnes was, you just assumed he would have locked you in. You let out a breath and stepped out into the hallway. The portraits of your predecessors, dead and dusty, watched you pass as you tiptoed along. The windows cast shapes around you as you went along and at times, you were certain you heard whispers.

You descended to the lower first floor and ventured down a wing never explored before. Your eyes were attune to the darkness but still played tricks as you crept along. You heard the distant, muffled, and quite possibly, imagined ripple of water. You smelled a pool, the sharp scent of chlorine. Your senses brought you to a door at the end of the corridor.

Frosted glass framed in heavy metal. You pressed against the slotted handle and the clasp slowly lifted. You inched inside as you peeked around the door. Broad shoulders, bare and thick with muscle, beneath a head of dark hair. You were shocked by the scars along Barnes’ left shoulder and the arm no longer in place below. You’d never even noticed the prosthetic now laid out with his clothes on a bench near the wall.

He shoved himself into the pool and the water swelled around him. You placed your feet carefully as you eased the door shut and neared the bench where his suit was folded neatly with his shoes, socks, belt, and tie. You bent closer as you admired the hand at the end of the prosthetic; you touched it curiously. It felt lifelike even as it sat limp.

“Convincing?” Bucky’s voice frightened you as you heard the water move around his body. You turned to face him as he brought his right arm over the edge of the pool. “Don’t worry. You can toss it around. I won’t feel a thing.”

You were speechless; embarrassed. You hadn’t meant to intrude upon him but your fatigue mixed with your confusion had goaded you on.

“Sorry, I… I couldn’t sleep.” You hugged yourself and swept back to the door. “I wasn’t meaning-- I shouldn’t have--”

“Just an arm.” He said as he pushed himself up and turned to display what was left of his arm, a scarred stub just below his shoulder. “Good thing I was born with two.”

“Barnes…” You backed up until you were against the door. “I should go.”

“Alright,” he pushed himself back and floated with his single arm outstretched. “I always found swimming helped… with sleep.” He said lazily. “Calming.”

You didn’t move. You only watched as he floated along in only his briefs. He was entirely unbothered by your presence as he hummed and reached out to stop himself at the other end of the pool.

“Well, are you enjoying the show or you going to join?” He asked.

You watched him warily. “You’re not mad?”

“Maybe slightly irritated,” he shrugged, “You hovering is ruining the mood.”

You stared at him and slowly pushed yourself away from the door. You took small steps forward and lowered yourself along the rim of the pool. You held in a squeak as you hung your legs into the cool water.

“So, were you just not going to tell me there was a pool?” You chided.

“You didn’t ask,” he said as he waded casually through the water. “To be fair, you didn’t seem much interested in this place though as I’ve gathered, you are disinterested in most things.”

You frowned and rolled your eyes. You peered over at the wall and pondered leaving him as you found him. You were surprised by a wet hand on your knee.

“If I can get to you so easy, Steve’s gonna drive you mad,” Barnes said. “So if you’re going to be so easily perturbed, you better work on hiding it better.”

“Whatever,” you huffed.

“Whatever,” he mocked as his hand slid under the water and he gripped your ankle. “Loosen up.”

He kicked himself away from the wall and pulled you down into the pool. You plunged with a yelp and threw your arms up in panic. Your nose and mouth filled with water and he let you go. You bobbed back to the surface and spat as your silken night clothes clouded around you.

“What the fuck, Barnes?” You sputtered. 

“I’ll admit,” he said through chuckles, “I had a drink or two.” He winked as he moved around you. “Well, Duchess, you do play the role much better than you think.”

“Ugh,” you turned away and reached for the wall of the pool, “You are the worst.”

“Wait,” he pressed against you and caught you around your waist, “Wait, wait.” He drew you back with him. “Come on. Relax.” He dragged you further into the water, “Look, you’ve only got a few days left and even if you hate to listen to me, you should. Once you’re at court, this won’t happen. Ever.”

“What do you care? You haven’t so far.” You struggled with him and dipped below the water again. You twisted and turned and came up facing him as he clung to you.

“Duchess,” he warned, “Don’t be a brat.”

“A brat?” You blinked. “Let go of me, Barnes.”

He grinned and held you to him as he moved backwards across the pool. You felt something between you. It moved against your pelvis and as he spun you and pinned you against the tile, you realised what it was.

“Are you serious right now?” You snarled. “What about your king, huh?”

He chuckled and his hand slid down your back. He squeezed your ass as he kept you against the side of the pool. He was so close you could feel his breath and smell the remnants of his sweat and cologne.

“I’m supposed to show you how to be a good wife,” his finger tickled under your thigh, “In all areas.”

“I doubt he had this in mind,” you pushed against him but he was too strong. He slid between your legs as his hand stretched along the crease of your thigh. “I mean it, Barnes--”

Your voice gurgled as he reached below your nightie and stroked the front of your thin panties. The water splashed as you slapped his chest and growled.

“James!” You cried out. “Stop!”

He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. He twirled his fingers and you gritted your teeth against the tingle it sent through you. You stared into his eyes, fighting against the urge to let him go on. You shook your head slowly and pressed your hands to his shoulders. He let you push him away as his hand trailed over your leg.

“Oh, you just wait, Duchess,” he purred as he combed back his damp hair, “The king isn’t so willing to take orders.”

#steve rogers #bucky barnes #dark!steve rogers #dark!bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #dark steve rogers #dark bucky barnes #fic #secrets #dark fic #dark!fic #series #mcu #marvel #au #captain america #king!steve #royal au

[magisteramentia]

The Resort - Arianna of Corporate

Arianna lifted her beige pleated skirt to show the underwear the Company had chosen for her, a matching set of blue bikini panties and bra, that combined with her blue top.

“Are you pleased, Master?” Arianna said and bent over the wooden desk.

Ariana had taken well to her training. In her daily life, she was barely aware she had become her boss’s, Julian’s slave.

With a little wiggle, she looked back to see if her boss was pleased.

She fixed her secretary’s glasses and smiled.

This was the way she had learned to show appreciation.

After Julian told her she won the sales competition to go on a corporate retirement, Ari was elated, so she had to show how thankful she was.

All their hard work finally paid off. All those hours he spent with her on the re-training program.

She barely remembered any of it, but it worked.

-----

Every day for the past month Ari arrived early to the office, logged onto her computer, and played the tutorial Julian prepared for her. All she could recall were the first few minutes where Julian talked about customer service, company loyalty, and... obedience? That couldn’t be right.

“Just because you don’t remember it doesn’t mean it isn’t working,” Julian reassured her, “Most learning is subconscious, like, how you learned to talk at first. You will notice the changes soon.”

He gave her a dismissive smile before getting back to work on his own computer.

Arianna sat down back at her computer and kept with the tutorial; even with all her doubts and how boring the program was, she had to admit her sales were higher than her co-workers since she began following Julian’s regime.

Though she wasn’t sure how she was doing it.

All she noticed was that a week into the program, she was growing uncomfortable with her regular underwear.

What she didn’t notice was the following Monday she arrived early to give Julian a personal fashion show where he chose her new wardrobe and lingerie.

She was getting more clients, mostly men, and meeting them in their homes or hotels to talk about their insurance packages. They were very receptive to her new wardrobe, complimenting her professional look.

But while she walked out of the meetings hours later with signatures worth thousands of dollars, she was a bit confused as to how it got so late in the night.

From the time she spent at the office, she listened to the program recommending Ari made healthier choices. Eating fewer carbs, exercising more.

Once again she talked with Julian about it.

“A good presentation assures the clients of your professionalism,” Julian said, “I bet you realized that the new wardrobe is getting you better contracts, here.”

Julian showed her charts that demonstrated the spike in sales since she began dressing according to Julian’s recommendations.

Ari sat beside him and absentmindedly nodded as her mind drifted off.

Julian offered to provide her with protein supplements and to make time to help her find an adequate cardio routine.

Ari nodded and forgot what happened after.

From that day on, Julian called her to his office for their daily cardio routine, and every time she couldn’t remember what she did inside his office. By the time she walked out, her neck and jaw felt a bit sore. And sometimes, when she looked at the mirror to fix her makeup, she found stains on her clothes or a dollop of cream in her hair.

As the program progressed, arousal was one of the difficulties she kept encountering in her daily life. Arianna never felt so sexually frustrated. Before working under Julian she used to only need to relieve herself once or twice a week, read an erotic story in the bath or before going to sleep, using her hands or trusty her vibrator.

Nowadays, when she had free time, it was all she could think about. Sometimes she imagined some of her clients, sometimes it was Julian.

Her vibrator’s batteries kept dying out on her, always keeping her on edge but never able to cum unless... unless she pictured Julian.

Julian choosing her clothes.

Julian taking off her clothes.

Julian’s lips on her own.

Julian’s cock between her lips.

Julian pulling on her hair.

Julian fucking her brains out.

Julian cumming down her throat, on her lips, on her back.

“Fuck!” Arianna screamed as another charge died before she could cum.

The following morning Arianna felt groggy, exhausted, and constantly horny. Sitting at her desk, Arianna’s fingers absentmindedly reached for her pussy. Images of herself on her knees, with a collar around her neck, Julian spanking her and calling her name. She was almost there.

She was gasping and staring at the computer when Julian touched her shoulder.

“Arianna!” He called.

Arianna jumped in her seat. She was not wearing a bra that day, (Julian didn’t tell her to do so) and her nipples were erect under her blouse. She felt self-conscious and blushing. Her hands bolted to the side, cleaning her pussy juices on the fabric of her skirt. “Yes, Sir?, I mean Julian?”

Julian smiled, “Sir is fine, did you finish today’s tutorial?”

Arianna looked away and checked her computer. “Yes, Sir,” Arianna said.

“Good girl, Arianna,” He tapped her shoulder.

Arianna shuddered with pleasure.

“Keep the wonderful work.” He smiled and walked away.

“Sir?” Arianna called out to him.

“Yes?” Julian turned and watched Arianna fidget in her seat.

“I would... I was feeling a bit distracted. Maybe you could assist me with some of those cardio exercises you have been helping me with?” She thrust her chest forward and curled one lock of her hair.

“Sorry Ari,” He said and began walking away, “We have to close accounts soon and see who goes to the corporate retreat with me this month, you are taking the lead so far, just hold on like that for a little bit. I think you have an appointment this afternoon?”

“Right, yes Sir, thank you for reminding me,” Arianna nodded and deflated.

“Good girl, see you later,” Julian said and left.

Arianna had to bite her lip to keep herself from screaming as the orgasm shook her entire body.

After that meeting Arianna worked every afternoon, reviewing insurance policies with their clients over their dinner tables. She met new clients with the outfits that Julian suggested. And after every meeting that week she left shuddering, restless and sore, particularly around her breasts.

Every night she arrived at her home wet and increasingly horny, growing desperate and needy. Unable to cum, she fell asleep with her hands and vibe between her legs.

She blamed the excess of work on her sexual frustration; she was too tired to cum after all the sales she was closing.

On the last day of the competition, Arianna arrived to find a gift box on her desk.

There was a tiny note.

“Congratulations on completing the program.- Julian.”

Arianna opened the box and found a black collar with a metal ring on it.

She immediately put it around her neck and walked to Julian’s office.

“Did you like your gift?” Julian asked without lifting his eyes from the paperwork he was revising.

“I love it,” Arianna said, touching the leather collar.

Julian put down the pen and watched her blush.

“I think I have to give you a second commendation,” he said, “Since you are the leader in sales, you get to go with me to the beach for the corporate retreat,” Julian said with a wide smile and a growing erection.

“Thank you, sir.” She said bending over the desk and sliding her panties to the side.

“You deserve a reward for all your hard work.” He added and walked behind her.

He caressed her ass. His thumb pressing the small of her back like a button.

Arianna shuddered and arched, her eyes rolled to the back of her head.

“What are you?” Julian asked.

“Your loyal slave.” She droned.

“What is your purpose?” He asked.

“To serve you and please you, sir,” Julian slid his cock inside her.

“What are you going to do?” He began thrusting in and out of her.

“Anything you want, Master.” Arianna moaned.

That day she walked out of Julian’s office wearing a tag on her new collar.

She prepared for the trip with Julian by going to the salon and getting a Brazilian, despite Julian telling her how cute she looked with her brown bush between her legs, she didn’t want to embarrass him when wearing the new bikini he bought for her.

With something so tight and small, her pubes wouldn’t seem elegant.

-----

Arianna knelt on the carpeted floor of the hotel. Her eyes were foggy as she looked up and bobbed her head on the cock of a man from another branch of the company.

She was wearing a blue dress with ample cleavage that showcased the chain dangling from the collar around her neck.

The man fucked Arianna’s head until he came inside her mouth. She gulped it all down, careful to not let a single drop fall and stain her dress, “Thank you, Sir,” Arianna said with a devoted smile and cleaned her mouth.

Before someone else took their turn with her, Julian approached from behind her and helped her up.

“You are doing great, Ari” Julian whispered and placed his arm around her back.

He led her through the crowded hall. Ari saw men and women on their knees, fellow pets and slaves sucking and licking their masters.

She gave Julian a vapid smile. “Thank you, Master.”

“Are you ready for the next part of your training?” Julian asked and pulled her close, caressing her naked back.

“I am your loyal slave, Master,” She cuddled close to him, “Your faithful pet to be trained as you please.”

Julian gave her a confident smile and pushed open the big wooden doors that led out of the main hall.

The resort provided a few select services, among them a tattoo parlor.

Julian told Ari to sit on the chair facing backwards and exposing her back.

Julian showed the tattoo artist the design.

The tattoo artist, a cute, petite girl with raven hair and many piercings and tattoos, sat behind Ari.

“Maybe you should distract her while I work.” She told Julian.

He nodded and stood in front of Ari, taking out his cock.

Ari’s lips parted. She took her tongue out, letting a silver thread of drool fall from her mouth to the floor before she began sucking him.

Ari spaced out and enjoyed the vibrations on her lower back and the taste in her mouth.

She was serving her master proudly, just as he taught her during her training. She took as much as she could, trying to maintain eye contact, which was difficult with every thrust from her boss and how the tattoo artist stopped from time to time to play with Ari’s pussy, making her eyes roll to the back of her head.

“I am proud of you, pet.” Her Master said, caressing her face. She was so elated she almost came from the praise.

She pulled out the cock from her mouth to speak

“Thank you, Master.” She said with a smile and swallowed him whole.

A woman walked into the tattoo parlor and stood behind Julian. She was wearing a black suit with a pencil skirt. She had short black hair and diamond earrings.

She blew on Julian’s ear.

“Fuck!” He turned his head back and shivered.

She watched him fuck Ari’s head and gave him a Mona Lisa smile.

“Did her service training include female satisfaction?” She asked Julian with a demanding tone.

Julian pulled his cock out of Ari’s mouth, leaving her panting and drooling.

“I...” Julian gulped, “I... never asked. The program was supposed to cover it.” He said and stood aside.

“We will have to find out.” The woman said. She stood in front of Ari and lifted her skirt, exposing her naked bush; she parted her lips with her manicured hands and Ari began licking her earnestly, hungrily. Overtaken by instinct.

Ari lapped and sucked the woman in front of her. She was the first woman she ever serviced, but she did it expertly.

The tattoo artist finished her work and stood back while her clients finished. She could wait a little while to collect her tip.

The woman gave Julian an approving nod, and Julian took his place behind his slave. He lifted Ari’s ass, caressing the brand on her back. A mark of ownership to the company, to him. To his Mistress.

He pushed his cock inside Ari, making her release a sweet, soft moan.

Ari’s tongue dutifully pleased the woman in front of her. The tangy musk she breathed made her mind foggier than usual. Despite that, Ari didn’t neglect her duties to her Master. She moved her ass in a rhythm that she knew pleased her boss.

The woman’s legs gave in as she felt how Ariana relentlessly, yet kindly, pressed her clit with her tongue and her hands caressed her legs, her labia, and eventually drove her fingers inside her pussy with her lips and tongue still sucking her hard.

The sight of his slave, making another woman orgasm, brought Julian to the brim and made him release his pent-up cum inside her.

Ari felt a jolt of pleasure surge through her, making her eyes roll to the back of her head.

Her hanging tongue dripped with saliva and cum.

The woman cupped Ari’s chin and licked Ari’s tongue.

The tattoo artist walked behind her and handed her a handkerchief that the woman used to clean her wet pussy before fixing her clothes.

“May I?” The tattoo artist asked, pointing to Ari’s head.

“Go ahead.” The woman said.

The tattoo artist grabbed Ari’s head and positioned her against her eager pussy.

Ari pleasured the new woman automatically and with the same eagerness as she did before.

Julian’s cock popped out of Ari. A thread of cum still linked the two of them.

“It was a pleasant experience.” The woman said, grabbing Julian’s limp cock and caressing it back to life. “Maybe you would care for an exchange program?”

The tattoo artist gave pleasant screams while Ari greedily devoured her.

“We will see,” Julian gasped, “We still have the week ahead of us, Mistress,” Julian said and knelt in front of his boss.

“And she still has to serve many others.” His Mistress added, watching Ari bring the tattoo artist to an orgasm.

As Ariana recovered from the fogginess and noticed the scene surrounding her, with a pussy on her tongue, she knew she was going to enjoy the corporate retreat a lot. If her Master or Mistress allowed her.

#hypno kink #hypnokink #magister amentia #mind control #nsftumblr #nsft

[princessofguineapigs]

omg how about golfing w harry and he takes you to a storage room and fucks you there

Nonnie, I was so excited to write this. A/n: I don’t know how golf works and PS this is filthy filth. I’m so sorry, I’m a hoe.

In the Rough | Harry Holland

Harry looked good. He was in his golf polo that fits him just right  and khaki slacks. So far, he was doing well on this course, but you were struggling by comparison. Every time you hit the ball, it landed somewhere far from your target.

It was even more amazing that Harry was keeping his composure. You were in that pretty little pleated skirt that showcased your thighs, currently bending down to place your ball. Harry swore he caught a glimpse of the black thong peeking between your ass cheeks.

“That’s enough,” Harry said from behind you. 

You straightened up, not realizing how close he was until you felt his bulge pressing against your ass.

“You’ve been teasing me, slut,” he whispered.

“Not on purpose, sir,” you gulped.

“Get on the golf cart, we’re taking a detour.” 

You obeyed him instantly. Harry drove the cart up to the shed where the other carts were stored. He led you inside and checked to make sure it was empty. Just to be safe, he dragged you over to a tiny closet, pulled you in and shut the door.

“Strip,” he ordered and you scrambled to remove your clothes.

“Wait,” he said and you paused, “leave the skirt on.”

Harry undid his belt then grabbed your waist and spun you around. He pressed you to the wall of the cramped space so that your cheek was flat against it and your nipples were met with the cold steel of the structure. He pulled your arms back and bound them with his belt.

His hand reached under your skirt and he felt your wetness through your thong, which he then ripped off unceremoniously. 

“Best be quiet,” he told you, then squeezed your face as a signal for you to open. He stuffed the ruined fabric in your mouth as a makeshift gag.

“Spread,” he said with a spank to your rump.

You opened your legs for Harry to access your pussy. He pulled his cock out and teased the tip at your entrance. You felt so submissive, tied up for him, nearly naked while he was still fully clothed. And you had never felt sexier.

“Such a messy little pussy,” he cooed and entered you. 

Harry’s member was huge compared to anything else your cunt had taken. Even after a year of dating, his cock had to force you open with a few test strokes before he could go all the way. After you adjusted, Harry really started to plunder your pussy.

“So wet,” he praised, “So tight. Good girl for keeping this pussy the way I like it.”

Harry knew it was time to take you to subspace, so he moved a hand around your front and pinched your clit, hard. You screamed into your gag and came instantly. No one could make you feel like Harry did.

“That’s it, scream for me little whore,” Harry said and you clenched around him even more. You pussy walls milked his cock for all it was worth and soon his semen was filling you deliciously and sending you into a mini orgasm following the first one.

Harry untied you and rubbed your arms where the binds were tight. He kissed you sweetly.

“Thank you love,” he said to you, “I love that you can be my whore and my queen all at once.”

And you loved that he could be a great dom and a loving boyfriend.

#harry holland x reader #harry holland smut #harry holland

[fascination-street-writing]

Sober to Death | Teenage Au! Risotto Nero x Reader

Under the shroud of the moon, your shadows become ghosts

Content Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content (Not Underage), Mentions of Suicide, Implied Child Abuse, Underage Smoking, & Emotional Manipulation (Unhealthy Relationship Dynamics)

It is the summer of 1988. You have spent the past few days cooped within the shelter of your home to evade the arid, sweltering heat; even the spigots are dry. You long for autumn leaves.

The smouldering faces of painted women stare at you and watch, still, as you glide the twin blades of your mother’s cooking shears through pulp paper. She had promised you for weeks now to buy a new set of crafting scissors for you; your last pair disappeared, seemingly out of thin air. Your father insists that it was the work of garden fairies. You suspect interfamilial thievery.

A dollop of hot glue pools beneath the tip of the gun. A string not unlike a cotton candy fiber chases the glue gun upon separation; a scar on the back of your hand prompts you to not touch the simulant gemstone-encrusted tool. You press the trimmed image of a smoking model against the glue. Turquoise glitter rains down from the bottle and coaxes over the greyscale photograph. Plastic diamonds the color of honey, a magenta feather streaked in silver – you blow over the page of your scrapbook and grin.

The smooth voice of Mina Mazzini echoes from the turntable atop your dresser. Paper trimmings fall to the carpeted floor. Glitter sticks to the palm of your hand. Christy Turlington joins Isabella Rossellini and a nameless American model – the seventeenth page of your third portfolio is complete. You pride yourself in this hobby of collecting the images of women who have been frozen in time by glamour shots and risqué poses. Perhaps immortality truly means to be plastered inside of a teenage girl’s fashion scrapbook and hidden beneath her bed. You fancy yourself a curator – a conservator.

You kick back your feet and breathe in the perfume of the candle that burns on your bedside table. Instead of a pair of proper scissors, you mother had returned from the craft store with the caramel-scented candle. She is, admittedly, a bit forgetful at times.

You hear his fingers rapping against the pane of your window before you notice his presence: a pair of black-sclera eyes with red irises peer into your bedroom. You blow out the candle and turn off the overhead light. He is patient as he waits for you to slip on your Mary Jane’s. The bulge of a cigarette carton peaks out from the pocket of his torn jeans.

Through the opened window, Risotto Nero wordlessly extends his hand to you: yours is dwarfed by his calloused grasp. He leads you beyond your father’s wilting flower garden – you dance over marigolds, asters, and tithonias, careful not to step on the blossoms that suffer in this Sicilian drought.  

Under the shroud of the moon, your shadows become ghosts. Cicadas and katydids sing. Risotto’s brooding, silent form matches your pace as walk towards your rendezvous place. Your legs have memorized the journey: up the hill, past the schoolyard, down the spiraling path behind the market, to the park across from the shoreline.

The wooden plank of the swing creaks beneath your weight. You grip the rusted chains and push, only enough so that your body sways, suspended above the ground. Risotto sits beside you, stagnant. Ashen earthiness wafts through the cloud that forms before his face. The smell of cheap tobacco is so strong that you forget how lovely the scent of the caramel candle felt in the well of your lungs.

The cigarette slips from his fingers to yours. Hot to the touch, you bring it to your lips and breathe in. “Mio padre said he could look at your bike, by the way,” you say to your companion, the first words of the night thus far. He takes back the cigarette. “He says he’ll let you work for him or something, just so you don’t have to pay him back for the new tires.”

He hums with the filter stuck between his teeth. “Thank you,” he mumbles through smoke.

You smile and nod. He had been without his bicycle for nearly a month now, ever since one of the boys in his tenement building slashed its tires. Risotto’s parents had refused to replace them, insistent that their son had purposefully dug his own grave with the older, less reputable residents of their complex – it was his responsibility to lie down and bury himself alive.

If not for his cousin Barolo’s intervention in the matter, you thoroughly believed that your friend would have been thrown out onto the streets. The Nero’s were a temperamental pair, to be sure. You have lost track of just how many times Risotto has come to school with a bruise on his cheek or a busted lip – how many times you have met him at your window in the dead of the night, to be greeted by the aftermath of a blackeye: and always, he blamed the welts on fights with his neighbors, but you knew better. To him, it had never mattered what his parents did – so long as he has his cousin. And you.

His mother and father terrify you, and rightfully so. And yet, a part of you is grateful for their negligence; it means that you have the chance to spend more time with their son, to whisk him away from the strain of his household. You are beholden to the burning in your legs because it reminds you that walking to the park takes longer than a simple bike ride. Though few words are ever spoken between you and Risotto, you savor every moment spent in his company.

His actions tell you that he is appreciative enough of your presence. He drops the spent cigarette into the carton and pulls out a second; the flare of the match glistens in his eyes. You hide the frown that creeps upon your face behind a curtain of hair.

A nicotine high is nothing more than a nasty headache and an upset stomach – you do not enjoy smoking nearly as much as he does.

Although, you have gotten rather good at pretending.

Insegnante di Scuola jailed, charged in Manslaughter

Sordi Fellini, 32, was arrested at his home after Polizia Municipale di Palermo said he fled the scene of the 1:50 a.m. accident. Fellini, insegnante di lettere for Istituto Gonzaga, has been charged for driving while intoxicated, manslaughter, and leaving the scene of an accident involving a death.

Dead at the scene of the 1:50 a.m. wreck was Barolo Nero, 20.

The dried leaves crunch beneath your feet. The wind pulses against your legs, pressing your pleated skirt taut to your stocking-clad skin. There is a certain bitterness that comes with walking home from school, alone. The autumn air becomes more frigid. The journey, longer. The weight of textbooks in the bookbag slung across your back is far heavier.

More than anything, you miss Risotto. You are reminded of him every moment that you catch yourself staring, longingly, at his empty desk in each classroom. Though you consciously leave a seat open for him next to you at your lunch table, as if he might sit down at any moment, you know that it is for naught.

You were not invited to the funeral, because there never was one. Barolo was cremated and scattered along the coast of the Tyrrhenian Sea. Signore Fellini, your estranged literature teacher, has been stripped of his certification – not that a degree would do him any good in prison.

And Risotto disappeared.

His bicycle has become something of a centerpiece in your father’s workshop: a drying rack for freshly cleaned hand towels. Each night that you find yourself hovering over your father – who is typically hunched in his desk chair – to press a kiss to his cheek and summon him for a meal, the bicycle taunts you. It is the emblem of your missing friend.

Tonight, you do not enter the workshop. A detour to the park has set you three hours behind. Your mother greets you from her place at the kitchen sink with a worrying tone. You have missed dinner, though truthfully, you are not hungry. Her water-pruned hands reach for you, yet you bat her away and retreat to your bedroom. Homework assignments wait to be completed. You strip yourself of your uniform and settle for a nightgown.

The evening sky has not yet settled to dusk – the cicadas and katydids no longer sing, for summer has passed and taken everything else with her: the drought, the wilted flowers, and Risotto. Still you sleep, a hand clutched to your chest, as if the meager act of cupping your aching heart might alleviate the dull rhythm that pulsates through you, even while you dream of cigarettes and torn jeans.

And when you open your eyes, jostled awake by the rattling of the window, you know that he has come back, perhaps compelled by devotion. Or perhaps, after all this time, it is that he could no longer bare the self-driven deprival of your affection.

In your room, Risotto’s battered shoes sink into the plush carpet. You close the window and draw the blinds shut. His gaze falls to the record player, then to a neglected crafting toolbox – scattered laundry on the floor, a framed watercolor painting of lilies: everywhere except for you. Your mouth opens, but words fail you. The questions that you have wanted to ask no longer matter because he is here now.

As you study his face, you wonder if his cheeks were always this gaunt. His fists are clenched. You pull him into your arms, crossing a line that you have only ever fantasized of toeing. His hands raise to your spine after a moment of hesitation. Fingernails pry into the thin fabric of your nightgown – he grips you tightly, like he fears that you might drift away if he pulls back. You feel the quaking of his shoulders before his tears fall and collect against the crook of your neck, to pool in the cavity of your collarbone.

Vulnerability has never come easy for Risotto. He wears stoicism like a mask. But here in your room – the forbidden safe haven – he wills himself to let it go; it falls to the floor as you lead him to your bed and pull his clothed body flush against yours, beneath the shelter of a duvet and wrinkled sheets.

“I’ve missed you,” you whisper into the dark. “I was so worried about you.”

His grip on you eases and he settles onto his back before he speaks: “I’m sorry.”

Your face falls. “Don’t apologize. I don’t want you to.” The mattress creaks. You lean against your bent elbow and watch him as he stares at the ceiling. You can practically hear the gears churning in his mind. He is begging for help, but he does not want it – he is drowning, yet he refuses the buoy. “You don’t have to talk about it right now,” you say, referring to Barolo’s death and consequently Risotto’s absence. “Just understand that I’ll always be here for you. Always.”

But he already knew that.

Your eighteenth winter hails no snowfall, but rather gentle rain. You clutch the steering wheel of your hand-me-down sedan, foot coaxing over the pedals. It had once belonged to your father, until your seventeenth birthday. The scenery blends and contorts through the windows and Risotto puffs on a cigarette, exhaling through his opened window. Softly, Christmas carols hum through the speakers. The noise of your tires grinding against the slick roads is muddling.

Midnight Mass was a blur. Tradition demanded your attendance, yet your thoughts wandered. You broke the bread with quivering hands and said your holy words to Mother Mary, fingers and palms conjoined ephemerally. When the bishop dismissed the clergy, you found Risotto in the crowds of embracing strangers and giddy children.

The car swerves into gravel. The scent of sea spray climbs to you. The waves crash against the sand just as the tide beckons them to. You have reached spiaggia di Capaci. The gingham blanket settles into the sand. You and Risotto take your respective positions, a considerable distance left between your bodies. You do not mind the early rain that peppers your face with mist.

Above your heads, the stars embellish the ethereal ink-black sky.

His thumb coaxes over the back of your hand, tracing the grooves between knuckles. Your breath hitches in your throat. It is unknown just how many times your hand has found its way into his grasp before. And yet, you shiver and flush because now it is different – because now, you are an eighteen-year-old woman in love with your childhood friend.

You crane your neck to face him, a question of his intent frozen on your tongue as his red irises meet your gaze. You are motionless, even when his stare falls to your parted lips. The chill that radiates from the ocean holds you in place.

Time stops as he speaks to you: the waves refrain from the shore – the steady drizzle eases – but your heart beats in a fury.

“Can I kiss you?”

You nod and suddenly his lips slant over your own, which remind him fondly of a freshly split strawberry. He bites back the gasp that betrays your composure. He kisses you with such fervor that he pulls his hand away from yours and tethers it to the back of your head, his fingers lost in the matted mound of hair. Like a kitten starved for milk, you explore the caverns of his mouth, the taste of communion wine heavy on his breath.

You find his shifting grasp on your hip daunting. A knee threads between your legs, parting them. A heat pools within you – you grab the back of his neck and pull him closer, closer. You lean into him, keening, desperate for friction.

He toys with your clothed sex and swallows the adolescent moan that you choke on. The hand beneath your dress is cold; goosepimples rise over your tender skin. He separates his lips from yours and pulls back to admire, through half-lidded eyes, as you bite your cheek and squirm while his thumb hooks around your dampened panties. You lie beneath him – your hair splayed around your head like a halo and a red blush stained to your cheeks – and he thinks, utterly and truly, that you must be Persefone herself. 

Risotto’s heart beats, faster still; a contender only to yours. You feel like you might die, blissful that it would be a winsome way to go – on a beach somewhere, echoed only by thoughts of the one you might have loved in time. But when his long finger brushes against your untouched folds and tethers you to your very core, you know that you cannot possibly be dead. He curls himself and retracts. You raise your hips to meet the fever of his palm, eager for the second finger that he has yet to add.

“Please, Ris,” you beg. “More – please.”

He obliges. It is not long before you feel the coil tighten within your lower abdomen – before you fall apart for him.

Through your stupor, you manage to grab his wrist to cease his movements. “We can’t do this here,” you airily insist. “My car –”

He pulls you to your feet. Your shaking legs have you fumbling over sand. The key jiggles in the lock of the backseat door. You shimmy over crinkling faux leather. Your dress falls to the carpeted flooring.

A shirtless Risotto takes in the sight of your naked form. A body once saved for marriage, now prepared for sacrilege. He utters your name and groans: “Voglio scoparti.”

“Per favore.”

He fills you, slowly. Knees bent and tucked beneath his weight; you cry out against the skin of his neck. With little time to adjust, he rocks into you. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, desperate to anchor yourself. Every thrust elicits a gasp from your swollen lips.

You grimace peevishly when Risotto slows his pace. “I can’t do this,” he mutters. “It’s not comfortable.”

He pulls himself out of your folds, only to flip you onto your stomach without a moment to spare. A hand finds its way to the back of your neck, effectively pinning you down onto the car seat. His other arm ensnares your waist and hoists your backend into the air. On bended knees, he enters you again, pounding with a burst of newfound energy and desire.

Condensation coats the windows. The pressure on your neck deprives your lungs; however, the mere thought of Risotto asserting such dominance over your bent form has you reeling towards the edge. Your fingers fly to your sensitive nub, tweaking the it in your own grasp. Your release washes over you, and you cum on his cock with a moan laced in ecstasy.

He finishes on your back, lacquer to your sweat-slicked skin. He rubs something soft against you. You realize, as sand particles fall to the car seat, that it is your blanket. Head flush to his chest, you listen to the thumping within his ribcage. A sigh passes through your lips and your eyes fall to his discarded wristwatch. It is just after 3:00 a.m. – in five hours, you will wake to the sound of your mother’s knuckles rapping against your bedroom door to join her and your father for breakfast before an onerous day of entertaining relatives. But for now, you will enjoy the solace of Risotto’s embrace.

You press a kiss to his cheek. “Bon Natali, Risotto.”

He grins, tired. It is enough to fill you with unadulterated love.

“Bon Natali, bella.”

The early days of the springtime bloom yield the first wave of tourists to Palermo for the season. Market vendors inflate their prices. Restaurants become far too crowded. The beaches – the sacred places – lose their luster as they become a haven for foreigners.

You do not mind the influx of strangers, for you have never found a reason not to. After all, no one comes to your city to gawk at Catholic school students.

The hand pressed to your bare backend feels limp. Even as you trail your finger over his chest, through patches of hair and young muscles, Risotto is unresponsive. Your lips brush against his clenched jaw – he flinches but does not relax. He is perturbed beyond question.

“Ris?” you begin, waiting for him to look at you. He does not. You frown. “Are you alright?”

A stiff nod is his response.

“Well, if that’s the case, can I ask you a something?”

Another nod.

"Would you like to go out for dinner tomorrow night? You know – as in an actual date.”

"No.”

You sit up, tucking the blankets around your breasts. “Oh . . .” you trail off, suddenly self-conscious of the post-sex haze that lingers on the sheets. “Why not?”

Because I’ll be gone – he wants to say. The pair of crafting scissors that he once stole from you years ago, now tucked away within his backpack, is a nasty contemplation. “Because I don’t want to,” he huffs.

“Did I do something wrong? Are you embarrassed of me?”

No. “Yes.” He can feel the splitting of your heart – it feels just like his own.

“I don’t understand,” you insist. He reaches for his jeans, dressing in silence. “You’re just going to ignore me?”

“It’s easier than telling you the truth.” He shrugs on his jacket.

“What truth?”

I’m never coming back. “I’ve only been using you for sex, and now I’m bored – I never thought you were stupid enough to think that any of this was genuine. But I shouldn’t be surprised.”

You bring a hand up to catch the tear that rolls down your cheek. You wait for his rebuttal – for a smile, a shaking of his head, and an insistence that it was only a cruel jest taken too far. But the look in his eyes, that callous sneer, tells you that he is serious.  

You will not cry for him – you will not beg him to stay. “Get out.” You choke over your words. The figs of your tree have shriveled and fallen to your feet, black as death itself. “Get out of my house.”

And so, he leaves you beneath the barren tree you once thought to have planted together. Springtime has left a sour taste in your mouth, after all.

Sordi Fellini Dead in Suicide at Jail, Spurring Inquiries

Signore Fellini, the insegnante di lettere sentenced for his convicted manslaughter of Barolo Nero in 1988, was not under suicide watch at the time of his death.

Signore Fellini was found around 6:30 a.m mercoledì mattina. He posted bail seventeen hours before his alleged demise.

On la Costa Smeralda, echoed only by thoughts of the one he loved a decade ago, Risotto Nero basks atop bloodied sand, dying. A crushed carton of cigarettes lies beyond the reach of his severed hand. The phantom pangs of adolescence remind him of you.

Years of schooling under the scrutiny of god’s eye have turned him away from religion: he was a deist and nothing more. Still, the silent prayer on his lips pleads that he might see you once more – to beseech your absolution, though he knows that he does not deserve it. To prove his fidelity. To give you the life you have always been so deserving of.

No, Risotto was never a religious man. But he worshipped the very ground you walked on. You were his savior – and he denied you like a disciple driven by guile.  

The lump in his throat elicits a painful cough; a blade to his esophagus. He recognizes his folly far better than any man. How differently might things have turned out if he had just stayed by your side – if he had agreed to go on your silly little date; if he had never snuck his way into Fellini’s prison cell to slit the wrists of the man who bequeathed to him an unending grudge; if he had never found Passione.

He might have been a husband, if you would have wanted to marry him. He might have been a father, if you were so inclined to become a mother. He never knew your thoughts of the future because he had never asked.

He might have been anything other than a broken, dead man who has lost everything.

The wooden plank of the swing creaks beneath his weight. He grips the rusted chains and digs his feet into the dried woodchips. A katydid crawls over the mulch next to his sneakers and chirps; Risotto brings the sole of his shoe over the mating insect, ready to squish it.

A pair of Mary Jane’s comes into his view. He leaves the katydid be, which resumes its path to the second katydid beneath the opposite swing. The scent of cigarette smoke wafts through the air.

He meets your gaze. You smile and take your seat in the swing above the female katydid. The cigarette slips from your fingers to his. Hot to the touch, he brings it to his lips and breathes in.

Under the shroud of the moon, your shadows have become your ghosts.

| 3869 Words |

#risotto nero x reader #risotto x reader #risotto nero #jjba reader insert #jjba x reader

[lorei-writes]

It’s almost dark

Kenshin x MC Smut

It took me a week, or perhaps more, to get to finish it, but here it is ^^” Huge thanks to @cailannuesugi for being a test bunny again, I hope it provided some distraction <3 

Contents / Content Warnings: sex in a public space, oral sex, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, creampie 

A clash – practise swords met with ferocity. A shriek, a shout of surprise – and she let it out of her hands, the weapon soon flying into the air. A dull thud – it hit the wooden floor of the training hall. 

 A clash – practise swords met with ferocity. A shriek, a shout of surprise – and she let it out of her hands, the weapon soon flying into the air. A dull thud – it hit the wooden floor of the training hall.

Mai staggered back, loosing her balance as her stance broke completely, and had it not been for his hand catching onto hers, she’d surely fall. “ Are you unhurt?” Kenshin asked, concern evident over his face. Yet, Mai could only laugh a heart-felt laugh in reply, his arm pulling her into an embrace. “ Yes, of course. Why the sour face?” she giggled, pushing herself away from him. “ I’m getting better, aren’t I?” she hummed, walking up to the jug of water standing by the wall. She sat down and poured herself a cup. “ Yes, you are. But I think you should take more breaks. I don’t want your hands to blister.” “ Oh? And why is it so? Would I fall out of your good graces then?” she teased him. “ You know that’s not what I mean. Blisters can hurt a lo…” Kenshin trailed off, his expression softening upon seeing her bright smile. He shook his head and took a place by her side, letting his sword rest for the day. “ I fell for it, didn’t I?” “ Of course, you did.”

Kenshin could have replied – surely, he could muster a few words. Yet, somehow, he founds himself unable to come up with anything of substance. Mai lifted the cup, drinking the water hurriedly. A drop escaped the corner of her lips, more following its lead as she tilted her head back, a narrow stream flowing over her chin and down her neck, just to disappear behind the fabric of her kimono. She pulled at her collar, opening it just slightly to cool her skin, flushed after the practise… “ I should have taken up kendo instead of running back in the modern days.” Her eyes shone, her face glowed, her hair in the state of utter, and yet somehow controlled, disarray – and if he didn’t look away, he’d be kissing her then and there.  His eyes travelled over to the opposite wall, empty hall providing him with no distraction. As if by accident, her hand fell on his, as if she called him, he looked at her – as if she charmed him, he closed his eyes, Mai getting closer to him with each breath. She pressed her lips, so soft and delicate, against his. How could he stop himself there? His arms drew around her, pulling her into his lap.

Yet, the moment couldn’t last forever. They broke apart, gasping for air. Mai leaned down, resting her brow against his. Through half-lidded eyes, she gazed at him, smiling almost shyly. “ Thanks for teaching me. I really appreciate it,” she whispered sweetly. “ I wouldn’t want anybody else to do it.” She kissed him briefly. “ Was anybody else going to use training hall today? It’s almost dark…” she trailed off, biting onto her lower lip. “ I don’t think so. I asked everybody not to come close while we train.” Kenshin stared at her, her suggestion beginning to take form in his mind. Her fingers curled up into fabric of his kimono over his chest. “ Do you, by any chance remember the thing we’ve talked about…? You know…” she hummed, searching for an answer over his face, sparks playing within her pupils – and she found it, his brows knitting for a moment before relaxing. If you wish so, he would say, had any words been necessary.

Kenshin kissed her, a touch of hesitancy tainting the experience at first, just for her to sweep it away, to remind him that nothing was out of place. Her hands snuck between the folds of his kimono, soon trailing paths over his chest – and she pulled away from him for a mere moment, their eyes locking again. “ The question now is if you want it,” she prompted him. “ Yes…” he rasped, closing the distance between them again, her fingers finding their way in his hair. His hands roamed over her back, loosening her obi sash.

His lips travelled lower, his teeth lightly grazing her exposed collarbone. He pushed fabric out of the way, caressing her breasts while his fingers traced a trail up her thigh. Her head fell on his shoulder as he rubbed on that sensitive nub of nerves… She wasn’t dormant, however, soon stroking his cock through the fabric. Kenshin bit back a gasp. “ Stand up,” he said suddenly, pulling away from her. Somewhat confused, she rose to her feet, her back leaning against the wall. To her surprise, however, Kenshin remained on the ground. He glanced towards the door – and the very next moment, her thigh was resting on his shoulder, his lips kissing up a path up to her most private place. Mai inhaled sharply, pleasant heat building up inside of her with each stroke of his tongue. He sucked lightly on her clit – and she muffled herself with her hand, her other one reaching to hold his. She closed her eyes…

Perhaps it was the overall excitement, perhaps it was the fingers he added, pressing at just the right spot – regardless, it did not matter, the world evaporated for a second, warmth spreading through her body in pulsing waves. Kenshin let her leg fall down as he stood up. He brushed her lips with his thumb “ I want you. Now,” she begged, tugging his hakama down, unbothered by any harm she could cause to the seams or pleats – if needed be, she’d repair it afterwards, she couldn’t care then.

His lips on her lips, Kenshin pushed into her, both of them being too hungry to wait or draw it out. He craved – no, needed – her immediately, he needed her faster, deeper, fuller… He needed her whole. She stood up on her tiptoes, as if to allow him to, supporting herself by holding onto his shoulders. He grabbed her bottom, pulling her closer, his hand sliding down her thigh. He pulled it up, thrusting deeper into her – and she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulder blades. “ Kenshin…” she pleaded. “ Cross your arms behind my neck.” She did as he asked – and he lifted her up, her legs hooking behind his waist. Her back pressed against the wall, his pace increased, her chocked down moans seeping into his ears. Were she able to, she’d ask him for more… Alas, she could only keep her voice low, busying her lips with playing at his neck, as not to be too loud, as not to tempt uninvited eyes.

Steps outside, steps from the corridor – steps which were getting closer to them. Kenshin looked up at her and froze, anxiety sneaking into his gaze. Her hand found itself on his cheek, stroking it tenderly. “ It’s dark already, they can’t see us,” she whispered. “ But…” She cut him off with a kiss, rolling her hips onto his cock slowly.

“Lord Kenshin?!” Sasuke’s voice from outside. Yet, they were silent, they wouldn’t be found out… Would they? Slowly, she drove him insane, his hold on her tightening as his cock sunk deeper into her. A groan threatened to escape him. What was he even doing? If somebody else… If somebody else was to see her like that… Hear her… Even come close… How could he risk exposing that? It was his, only his to be ever had. He was a too greedy man to wish to share it. Never. His hands on her bottom, he pushed her up and down, a surge of possessiveness daring him to move faster. The steps getting further away, it became harder for her to keep her voice down, her muscles beginning to tighten again. Perhaps he got drunken on the touch of hers…

Kenshin pulled his cock out of her and set her down, to her upmost discontent. “ Why did you stop?” she rasped desperately. “ To finish this differently.” As if it all suddenly made sense, she turned around. Her kimono being completely dishevelled, she untied the last few chords keeping it in place – and threw it off of her shoulders, straight to the ground. “ I don’t care,” Mai cut him off before he even had a chance to protest and leaned forward.

He pressed inside her once more, drawing her closer, his hand finding its way to rub at her clit. Her muscles tensing up, he began to move faster and faster, his thrusts becoming erratic, hectic. “ Mai…” Kenshin groaned – and she pushed her hips down onto him, his cock beginning to pulse as his release hit her insides. Careful not to slip out of her, he pulled her up, his fingers beginning to move again before he even had a chance to calm his breath. He kissed her neck, showering it in nibbles and bites, until he felt her clench around him.

So very tired, she leaned against his chest, his arms closing her in a hug. Calm, at least for the time being. A low chuckle escaped his lips, much to her surprise, his forehead resting against her shoulder. “ Huh?” “ We didn’t think this through. I can’t carry you to our bedroom like that.” “ So what is… Oh,” she laughed, looking down. “ We may make a lot of mess.”

Tag list: @cheese-ception, @nad-zeta

Notes: I am keeping a separate tag list for smut. If you want to be tagged for it, let me know (if you want to be tagged for all of my works, please, specify that). ^^

#kenshin uesugi #ikesen kenshin #ikemen sengoku kenshin #ikesen #ikemen sengoku #ikemen series #my ff #my writing #NOW TO RUN TO WRITING A NEXT FIC #OR HC #MAYBE HC