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angel-of-the-moons · 2 months

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Aggravating

Dad Bod!Miguel x Spider-Woman!Reader

TW/CW: Smut. Smut in general. NSFW, PIV sex, office sex, teeth, hints at venom useage, a bit of pining(?) feelings! Body hair! Soft tummy Miguel! Dom(ish)!Miguel, a bit of bullying

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: Blame @cupcakeinat0r for this. I really needed the distraction and our conversation is helping me a bit getting the creative among other things juices flowing!

Taglist: @tojishugetiddies

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You had been... less than covert about the way you ogled your boss. On one hand, your Spidey mask was useful for hiding your eyes and face away from somebody's view; on the other hand, Miguel just somehow knew you were staring at him.

And... yeah. At first you were crushing on him, a young, single fresh-faced Spidey welcomed into a bigger picture suddenly comes face to face with the body of a Greek god. He swooped in to save you from a variant of Kraven before he could make a possibly fatal swipe.

After that, he admitted that he'd had an eye on you, such a promising candidate who just needed the right amount of guidance.

(The fact he has that gorgeous jawline and cheekbones that could cut glass plus those jaw-dropping eyes of his certainly helped you make your decision too.)

But you had been too much of a wimp to ever fess up, instead settling for pining in silence, throwing the occasional stare his way at his perfectly globed ass. (Seriously, did he purposefully design his suit to accentuate his ass or what?)

But the plain, flat-out ogling didn't begin until he began to gain more weight. Realizing his stress didn't have to be solely on his own shoulders, Miguel began to relax. He began to eat more, sleep more. Or, well, as much as a normal person should be eating and sleeping. You surmised he was likely dehydrated a lot, too...

Because once he picked up a steady diet (of what you didn't know, maybe he was a secret chef in the kitchen in addition to having the multiverse's greatest brain?) he began to look... healthier.

He gained weight, his formerly slim and perfectly cut abs and waistline began to fatten out, gain a delicious softness you wished to just lay your head over, or perhaps snuggle and squeeze.

Peter B made a joke to Miguel about comparing "dad bods" and god, when Miguel indulged him (mostly just to get him to leave him alone) he used his tech to have the top half of his suit vanish in rainbowy spiderweb-like patterns until he was naked from the waist up.

And... fuck. Your legs went weak at the sight of him.

Dark wisps of hair across his chest, spreading down his soft, plush-looking midsection to disappear beneath the waistline of his pants.

Even with that soft belly, Miguel looked built like a shitbrick house. Peter B had pouted, knowing he'd lost his little game before sauntering away, bragging about something along the lines of "well at least I have the prettiest baby mama in the whole multiverse!". Good for him, you had thought.

But very quickly as your eyes greedily raked up his frame, you realized he had been staring right back at you.

You very quickly rattled off some excuse and dropped off your report on your most recent mission, yanked your mask back down your face and scurried out of there.

Though you'd be lying if you didn't immediately shove your hand down your pants once you got home, playing with yourself at the mere thought of being pressed up against Miguel's soft-yet-imposing frame; feeling his dick (oh you just knew he was packing a monster, down there) stuff you full and stretch you out, the coarse dark haira brushing your clit with every slam of his hips.

You went to sleep thinking this was merely some kind of office crush, trying to force down the thoughts you had of your boss.

Little did you know, he often stole his own glances at you.

He needed to find a way to solve your little problems, soon.

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"This is what you wanted, isn't it, princesa?" Miguel grunted, the sound of his hips slapping against your ass sinfully loud in his dark office.

Your body was perfectly illuminated by the dim orange lights on his monitors; every curve, dip and deliciously squeezable part of your jiggling ass as he fucked you.

The sounds your pussy made as you swallowed him deep were the most lewd you ever could have imagined yourself making, especially the little sounds coming from those pretty lips of yours.

Your suit has been torn right between your legs, freeing your soaked, swollen folds to his lascivious gaze before he had crammed two heavy fingers into your needy cunt.

Your tits squished against his desktop, and a whimper comes from you when he settles over you, the weight of his body pressing tighter down around you.

You could feel the soft flesh of his belly mold around your back, almost like a hug. Almost like how he had your head trapped in a headlock as he bullied his cock into you and stuffed you full of him.

Your brain was so set on your one-track focus of how good it felt to just have him fuck you, to use you, that you barely registered a word he said.

Having his warmth surround you and fill you had effectively rendered you dumb.

You choked slightly when you heard him hiss in your ear, his sharp fangs grazing the soft skin; he squeezed his arm a bit around your neck and that's what knocked you back into reality.

You were here. In his office, bent over and having your guts reorganized by a man you had been pining for for months.

The pent up sexual tension had finally exploded when he confessed his own interest in you, and he met you halfway with a kiss that was all tongue and need; loud and messy.

Like how he was bullying his cock into your tight little hole.

"My dick that good, bebé?" He panted, leaning back away from you to grip your hips in his meaty palms, squeezing your soft flesh as he stared, almost mesmerized at the creamy ring at the base of his cock as it disappeared into your dripping wet pussy.

Already on the floor between you was a small puddle of your slick.

"So good that I fucked you stupid after just a couple thrusts?" He said, his voice gravelly as he tried to keep it even, to betray the fact he wanted to just rut into you like a mad animal.

All you could do in reply was whine, a breathy sound that was almost a squeak as you mourned the loss of his soft body surrounding you.

The sound of him relentlessly fucking you cunt was abruptly halted and he let out a shaky breath, staring down at you. "I swear... did I nick you with my fangs? Shit... Maybe we should stop--"

"N-no!" You moaned out, desperately trying to roll yourself back against him in his grip. "Please, don't! I just--I just need more!"

Miguel grinned as you flattened your hands on the table, desperately trying to fuck yourself onto his cock but getting nowhere.

"Ahhh there's my good girl. Doing so good f'me." He purred, leaning back over you once again, his arms caging around you, encasing you in his wonderfully soft warmth, the hair on his body tickling your skin.

His lips traced the shell of your ear, his hot breath ghosting over your sweaty skin;

"Wanna watch you take my cock all day. Gonna fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk straight for a month--"

You made a long, loud mewl as he snapped his hips in suddenly, bottoming out so hard you felt him smash into your cervix; almost making you pass out from the force of it alone.

"This is what you wanted, sweetheart. Jus' giving it all t'you." He groaned, his eyes rolling back into his skull as he began relentlessly pounding into you once again.

#miguel o'hara #miguel smut #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara smut #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara atsv #miguel spiderman #spiderman 2099

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pascallftv · 4 months

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eighties baby

summary: your parents throw an 80’s themed party in their mansion. you try your best to contain your infatuation for joel, your dad’s best friend. you and your friend get a little too drunk and joel decides to teach you a lesson.

content: joel miller x reader, no outbreak, little plot, dbf!joel, reader in her twenties

warnings: CONTAINS MATURE CONTENT. 18+ mdni!, age gap is 20s/50, piv unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), cream pie, doggystyle, dirty talk, choking

an: i’m baaaaaack ;) this was… wow! pls enjoy

“Your ass looks immaculate.”

You glance over your shoulder in the reflection of the mirror, locking eyes with your best friend. She’s giving you wild eyes while biting her bottom lip that’s covered in bright red lip stick. Her makeup was done very vibrantly compared to usual; blue eyeshadow with bright pink blush.

“You don’t think it’s too short?” You ask, popping a hip to accentuate your ass further under your very tight and very short mini skirt. Typically, you wouldn’t mind if a little bit of cheek was hanging out the bottom of your skirt, but this was your parents’ party, not your typical college party. Your best friend rolled her eyes and you and laid a smack down on your ass. You yelped in surprise.

“It’s perfectly fine. It’ll be dark.” She begins, then her voice lowers. “Plus, Joel will want to eat you alive when he sees you in it.”

You bite your bottom lip to fight back a grin. She knew you too well. You sighed and placed your hands on your hip, your head turning to the side as your further inspect your outfit in your full length mirror. You decided to go with an 80s glam rock look instead of the typical vibrant colors from the time period. You were wearing a tight black leather skirt and matching top, with knee high platform boots with silver chains on them. You had grungy black eyeshadow matched with a glossy red lip. You felt hot.

“I can’t be too obvious. You cannot let me get too drunk tonight.” You say sternly. You were talking more to yourself than anything. You knew if you drank too much alcohol you would make a fool out of yourself in front of Joel.

Joel was your father’s main man. They’d known each other for decades now. Joel was a stern man; the crinkles by his eyes from his fifty years of wisdom weren’t usually intensified by joy, more by scowls. You’d like to think at one point he was a light hearted man, but you can’t help but wonder what in his years turned him into such a sour puss. You could count on one hand the amount of times you’d seen him genuinely laugh. It was an extremely rare occurrence, but the times he had, it was the most amazing sound you’d ever heard.

“Fine. But this is your chance to act as unhinged as you want because in the morning you can blame the alcohol.” Your best friend winks at you, patting you once more on the bum.

“You’re a terrible influence.” You turn to face her. Your shorter friend stares up at you with a devilish grin and runs her thumb along your bottom lip, cleaning up your red lipstick.

“We should head down there, take a couple shots, scope it out.” She suggests, grabbing your perfume off your vanity and spritzing it on the both of you a few times. You nod in agreement, and check your outfit in the mirror one last time. You take a deep breath and grab your friend’s hand to leave your bedroom. The 80s music was already thumping from your parent’s massive surround sound speakers downstairs. The lights were off, with the sole light source being a couple lamps and some red lights your parents used for their annual Halloween party.

When you made it downstairs, the house was already packed out. The entire neighborhood was in your parents’ house. All of the couples in the neighborhood were in attendance, as well as their children (all in their twenties or older). If you squinted hard enough, it even looked like a college party. The lighting was just enough to see the basic traits of everyone’s faces, most of them being somewhat recognizable to you. You had just graduated from college earlier that month, so you were home temporarily until you found your full-time calling.

Your friend dragged you to the kitchen where all of the alcohol was stashed. On the island, there was a lineup of liquor with the appropriate mixers. She decided to pour you each a hefty shot of tequila, as well as a lime wedge. You absolutely hated any dark liquor, and unfortunately vodka had been tainted for you in your time at college, so tequila was the sole surviving option for you. You didn’t mind the taste of tequila, but the catch was its effect on you. Unlike other forms of liquor, tequila made you incredibly horny. After around 4 tequila shots, you had the tendency to shed off articles of clothing like you were battling a heat wave. This made you nervous considering you knew Joel would be in attendance; however, as your friend said, you can use the liquor as a scapegoat if it got that bad.

As you and your friend shot back your tequila, you began wondering where Joel could be. The party started over thirty minutes ago, and it was uncharacteristic of him to be late, meaning he was in the house somewhere. The thought alone made your skin crawl.

“One more.” Your friend called out over the music, pouring you each another hefty shot. Your eyes got wide. You knew you’d have to take a break from drinking after this shot, otherwise you’d end up butt ass naked in the middle of this party.

Another hefty shot later, and you were already feeling the buzz from the alcohol. Your veins felt tingly and your limbs felt weightless. You each made yourselves your mixed drink of choice, and decided to make your way out to the makeshift dance floor in your parents’ spacious living room. They had a portable disco floor, as well as a disco ball hung from the ceiling. No one took parties more seriously than your parents.

Your friend grabbed your arm and pulled you onto the dance floor, with “Talking in Your Sleep” by the Romantics blasting from the speakers. Your eyes wandered around the room trying to find the brown eyed man you’d be longing to see. Sure enough, you spotted him. He was sitting on the sofa, leaning back with his legs spread out in front of him. He had a glass of what appeared to be whiskey in his hand, resting on his thigh. You gulped when you noticed he was already looking at you. You quickly looked away and took a sip of the tequila sour you half-assed at the kitchen makeshift bar.

You made eye contact with your friend, and you gave her panic eyes to let her know you found him. She caught on almost instantly, and took that as a queue to scoot out of your line of sight. She leaned closer to you to say something in your ear.

“Go sit next to him.” She suggested loudly into your ear.

You shot her a look of unease. Wouldn’t that be too obvious? You shook your head no rapidly in response. It was too early in the night for you to do something as ballsy as that.

After about half an hour, your friend’s drink was empty and she was dragging you back to the kitchen. Your drink was still three-fourths full. Your stomach was bubbling with anxiety knowing that Joel had a direct view of you in your anything but conservative outfit. Besides, you were scared for your actions if you ingested any more alcohol.

Your friend took two more shots and mixed herself another strong cocktail. You knew she was going to be shitfaced in the matter of minutes. You rub your forehead and sigh. It’s going to be a quick night for her.

Your predictions were correct.

Forty minutes passed and her cocktail was gone, and so was she. She was so plastered that she couldn’t stand up straight, constantly grabbing your arm for support. You looked around the room and immediately made eye contact with Joel. He’s watching the both of you intensely, his head nodding over to the side as he observes your friend stumbling around. You’re fully embarrassed at how gone your friend was already. Your stomach flips when you noticed Joel was lifting himself off his spot in the sofa, making his way towards the both of you. He grabbed onto your arm, a look of concern crossing his features.

“Come on.” He said shortly, moving his arm from yours to hers, helping her stand up somewhat straight. “Let’s take her upstairs.”

You glanced down at your friend and her head was lulling to the side, her eyes fluttering shut. There was no salvaging her. You nodded in response to Joel and helped him practically carry your friend upstairs to your bedroom. After her nearly falling every few steps, you finally make it to your bedroom. You noticed Joel’s eyes wandering around the walls of your room as he took in the decor. You had various band posters still hanging in your childhood bedroom, many of them being 60’s rock bands that your dad showed you. You gently lay your friend down onto your bed, and almost immediately she’s snoring.

“Jesus Christ, I’m so sorry about this, Joel.” You mutter, looking up at him with apologetic eyes. You absentmindedly toy with your hands in front of you. Despite the shots you did take, you were still feeling nervous; the liquid courage wasn’t doing its job.

Joel stepped closer to you and shook his head. His brown eyes were soft and his eyebrows were furrowed.

“It was nothing, really.” He assures you, taking a glance back at your friend. He was amused at just how fast your friend fell asleep. He turned back to look at you and felt something flutter deep in his gut.

He had kept his eyes in you all night. He couldn’t believe how grown you were. Sure, he had known you since you were young, but you were a woman now. You had always been pretty, but now, you were stunning. He felt disgusting about it. Of all the women in his life, none of them compared to you, his best friend’s daughter. The entire night he had watched the way your latex skirt was fighting to stay over the plump flesh of your ass. Your top wasn’t much better; it left little to the imagination, your nipples peaking through the thin fabric of it. You were genuinely perfect in his eyes, and it was causing him the most intense moral battle of his life.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You asked quietly. His eyes were wandering over you, but he was saying nothing. It looked as though he was fighting something internally.

“What are you doing here?” He asked blandly, ignoring your question entirely. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion.

“What do you mean?” You pondered, crossing your arms over your chest, unintentionally pushing your boobs up further, placing them in perfect display for Joel.

“You could be anywhere, yet here you are drunk at your parents’ party.” He said, glancing down at your chest, hoping you wouldn’t notice, but of course you did. You chuckle in response.

“I just graduated college, Joel. I’m home temporarily until I can find something full time. What’s the matter? Am I inconveniencing you somehow?” You asked with pure sass.

“Well not entirely, no.” Joel says, stepping closer to you. “You’d think you and your friend would have a little self control considering the environment. This isn’t college, sweetheart.”

“I beg your pardon? I’ve barely drank anything. For god sake I helped you carry her.” You get defensive, emphatically gesturing towards your friend that’s passed out in your bed. “And unfortunately she could’ve been way worse than this.”

“You should’ve stopped her before she was fighting to keep herself standing.” Joel scolded you, his brows furrowing further.

“Aww what’s wrong, Joel? You have no children of your own so you have to parent me?” You snarled, stepping another inch closer to him. Joel frowns, his fist clenching at his hip.

“You’re a little fucking brat, ain’t ya?” Joel growls, getting centimeters away from your face. He was so close that you could feel his hot breath on the skin of your face.

“And you’re just a dickhead, huh?” You fire back.

Joel grabbed you by the forearm and tugged you towards your bedroom door. Before you could protest, Joel was dragging you down the hall to a spare bedroom. He swiftly pulled you inside and locked the door behind you. He grabbed you firmly by the throat, squeezing just the sides as to not restrict your airflow.

“Bit of an attitude problem, eh?” Joel spoke sternly. You gulped, gawking up into his crinkled eyes. “Might just have to sort you out.”

“What are you doing, Joel?” You squeaked out, your hand reaching up to grab ahold of his forearm. His face moved closer to yours, his eyes moving down to your crimson lips.

“I can only imagine you put on this poor excuse of a skirt to try and get someone to pay attention to you in the way you’re craving. You’re a little fucking whore, aren’t you?” Joel growls, his free hand moving down to your skirt, pulling it away from your body so it smacked back against your plump thighs. You gasped. You didn’t know how to respond to that. Was this actually happening?

After years of secretly fantasizing about a moment like this, it was finally happening, and you were flabbergasted.

“Answer me. Tell me what you are.” His grip around your throat slowly moved up to your jaw, his fingers squeezing your cheeks, making your lips purse.

You groaned in response, a hand trailing up Joel’s torso to his chest, laying a flat hand against him. His heart was beating rapidly. You glanced down and noticed the bulge straining against his vintage Levi jeans. He was enjoying this a little too much. You forced your face away from his grip, grabbing his wrist as hard as you could.

“I’m not a whore.” Your words were laced with venom. You were frustrated. Not because of the substance of Joel’s words, but because you were so fucking aroused. If it were anyone else, you probably would’ve planted a firm kick in their groin or sucker punched them in the lip. His words were disgusting, but you were eating it up.

“No?” Joel cocked his head at you. His free hand snakes up under your skirt, his fingertips pressing against your folds. His fingers were met with moisture. Your panties were soaked through. His gaze fell to his hand, then back up to your doe eyes. He smirked devilishly at you, his hand moving to your face. With his thumb, he pawed at your bottom lip, pulling it away from your teeth.

“Your cunt says otherwise, darling.” He muttered, his breath fanning across your face once more. You swallowed hard. You averted your eyes from him, his gaze making you feel entirely too hot.

“My parents.” You blurted out, your gaze returning to his momentarily. He swallows, his thumb still sitting by your mouth.

“They won’t know.” He said. You retracted your grip from his forearm, and he took that as an opportunity to run his finger up the outside of your arm painfully slow. “What’s wrong sweetheart? Scared of your daddy finding out?”

Your lips parted, a harsh exhale escaping your throat. Your body was on fire, your skin littered with goosebumps from Joel’s touch. To any normal person, this situation would be incredibly alarming. Yes, your moral compass was clawing at the back of your mind, but you craved interaction. Your morals were out the window, your desires taking superiority.

“Yes.” You whispered, your gaze falling to Joel’s lips. They were tempting you.

“If you don’t want this, stop me.”

Joel’s hand moved from your arm back towards the bottom of your skirt, pushing it up over your thighs, your red panties on full display.

“Fuck.” Joel growled, his fingertips grazing your mound through the lacy fabric. He pushed your panties to the side, his finger running through your folds, collecting your arousal. “Stop me, angel.” He teased.

His fingertip ghosted over your sensitive clit, your legs jolting in response, a whimper leaving your mouth. His mouth hovered over the soft skin of your neck, his breath stirring up goosebumps.

“S’matter sweetheart?” Joel muttered, planting a soft kiss to your throat. “Tell me what you need.”

“N-need more.” You said, your brows furrowing in desperation. You glanced down at his hand between your legs, your lower gut fluttering at the sight. He applied more pressure to the circles he was dancing over your swollen bud, the pleasure sending your head to lull backwards. You whimpered more, your legs beginning to feel like jello.

“You sound so pathetic.” Joel spat, working his fingers faster on your clit. You exhaled unevenly, your hand coming down on Joel’s bicep for stability.

You felt that familiar white heat beginning to ignite low in your belly, your cunt throbbing steadily. Your eyes squeezed shut. You were close— but Joel knew that. He wasn’t going to let you come just yet. Without warning, Joel halted his actions, his hand leaving your folds. You could’ve cried in that moment. Joel grabbed your forearm and tugged you towards the bed, pushing you down onto the duvet.

“Joel, please. I need to cum.” You whined, your head falling back into the soft mattress. Joel purses his lips at you, his hand running along the smooth skin of your leg, inching closer to where you needed his attention most.

“Jesus, sweetheart. At least you know what you want.” Joel said, squeezing the flesh of your thigh with the rough skin of his palm. “Here’s how this is gonna go. First I’m going to taste you. Then, I’m going to fuck you until you forget how to think. Got it?”

You nodded pathetically, grinding your hips down onto the mattress, desperate for some sort of friction. Joel ghosted his hands over your thighs to the seam of your latex skirt, gripping it between his fingers. In a swift motion, Joel tugged the skirt down your legs and off your body, tossing it somewhere on the floor. He left your boots on, not quite wanting to get rid of them yet. Your pussy looks so pretty underneath the transparent lace fabric of your thong. It left little to nothing to Joel’s imagination. Your breasts were spilling out of your black top, your areolas peaking out. You looked breathtaking.

“Fuck, angel. I wish you could see yourself. So pretty for me.” Joel muttered, lowering his face to your groin, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh. He ran his large hand up the back of your thigh, squeezing every few inches. You bite your lip and you stared down at his face as he littered kissed across your thighs. His salt and pepper beard added even more texture to the sensations you were feeling. He slipped his fingers underneath the fabric of your panties and slowly pulled them down your tights and over your boots, leaving your heat bare. Joel lowered his face down to your core, his hot breath fanning over your sensitive skin. He pressed a kiss to your pelvic bone, then ghosted his lips in a line down to your sensitive bud. He planted another kiss over your clit, taking his sweet time teasing you. Your pussy was throbbing at this point, desperate for any sort of touch.

“Joel please.” You pleaded, grinding your hips up towards his mouth. “I need your tongue.”

“Good girl.” He said, lowering his tongue to your folds, licking a wet stripe up your vulva, tracing a circle around your clit, sucking down on it gently. He moaned into your flesh, the vibrations sending a chill down your spine. His tongue began to work faster, flicking up and down and side to side over your clit. He brought his middle finger to your opening, ghosting circular motions over it, before slowly pushing it inside of you. You exhaled deeply at the sensation. He began pumping his finger rhythmically in and out of you, paying special attention to curl his fingertip upwards to brush against your g spot. As he felt your walls growing accustom to the girth of his singular digit, he added a second finger, pumping faster. Just from his fingers and tongue, you already felt fucked out of your mind. The pleasure sent shocks down your legs and up your spine, your head rolling back into the mattress in euphoria. A quiet moan slipped through your cherry lips, your fists grabbing the bedding for leverage to cope with the immense pleasure coursing through you.

“Joel.” You whimpered, one of your hands jetting down to grab at his hair as he lapped at your wet heat. His soft brown eyes flicked up to meet yours at the sound of your voice. Your moan went straight to his already throbbing cock.

“Christ, baby.” He groaned, lifting away from your core to unbutton his Levi’s. His hand fumbled with the zipper to get them off as fast as he could. The anticipation was killing him; he was so hard that it was beginning to hurt. He needed inside you immediately.

Finally managing to slide his jeans down his legs, his cock was straining against his boxers. The tent was revealing in itself; you already knew he was packing a punch. It felt painfully slow, but finally Joel slipped off his boxers, revealing his erection. Leaking at the tip, he brushed his thumb over, cleaning up the precum that had accumulated from tasting you.

You sat up from the mattress and grabbed his face in your hands, pressing your lips to his. Your lips moved against his in a passionate rush. You could taste yourself on his lips. Another whimper rose from your throat, the moan vibrating off his lips. The sound of your wet kiss filled the room as he lowered his body over yours to lay you back down against the bed. His hand moved from his cock to your breast, pulling it out of your top and giving it a firm squeeze.

“Fuck.” He muttered against your lips as you rocked your hips into his. You needed his touch desperately.

“Fuck me.” You breathed out, pulling away to look him in the eye. “Please.”

That was all Joel needed to hear. He reached down to take his cock in his hand again, guiding his top to press into your folds. He ran back and forth against your slick, his precum mixing with your arousal. His eyebrows furrowed in pleasure as he felt your wetness already beginning to coat him. His eyes lifted back to meet yours as he began to slowly press his tip into your entrance, the stretch already making you feel crazed. Your lips parted, an exhale escaping your lips as he pressed himself into your further. Your hands darted up to grab onto his biceps as leverage. He lowered down to your lips, pressing a slow, gentle kiss to them as he pushed his length inside of you to the hilt. Another moan escaped your lips.

“Y’okay?” Joel breathed out, slowly pumping in and out of you, allowing you time to adjust. You nodded your head, unable to form a coherent sentence.

“More.” You begged. “I need more.”

Joel ran his hand from your thigh up your belly, dragging his finger tip slowly to take in every inch of your skin. He reached your neck, wrapping his calloused fingertips around your throat, carefully squeezing on the sides. He leaned down to meet your lips, taking your bottom lip between his teeth momentarily.

“So fucking needy.” He grumbled against your mouth, his eyelids fluttering closed.

Suddenly, Joel began pounding into you. His hot breath fanned over your face as he rammed in and out of you, his length reached the deepest parts of you. You gasped, your hand reached up to grab his wrist that was busy squeezing your throat. Your eyes rolled back in your head and he slammed into you over and over. You were sure he was hitting you so deep that he was nicking your cervix. Just when you thought you couldn’t be more overwhelmed with pleasure, Joel’s free hand snaked between your thighs, his thumb finding your clit, ghosting gentle circles over the sensitive nub. You squeaked out a moan, the pleasure overcoming your senses completely. Your legs began to shake from the stimulation, your lower belly muscles tensing from the overwhelming sensation. Your breath was shaking, the oxygen feeling as through it had completely left your lungs.

“F-fuck.” You stuttered as Joel thrusted into you. “I’m close.”

Joel took this as an opportunity to slide out of you, wasting no time in flipping you onto your belly, laying a hard slap against your bare ass cheek. He groaned as your ass jiggled from the slap, his hand coming back down to grab a handful of your flesh. You pressed your face down into the duvet, letting out a moan. Your pussy was throbbing from the sudden lack of attention. You wiggled your hips, nonverbally begging for Joel’s cock. He chucked, slapping your ass once more before pressing himself back at your entrance, ramming into you fully, his hips meeting your ass in a rush. He grabbed a cheek with his rough fingertips, pulling your ass apart to get a full view of himself slamming into you. Your tightest hole was on perfect display for him.

“One day I’m going to claim you here too.” Joel growled, his fingertip grazing the ring of your asshole. You gasped, your forehead coming down onto the bedding, pressing your face down into the duvet to cover your moan. “You’d like that wouldn’t you? Me claiming your tight little ass as mine?”

You nodded rapidly, a straggled breath leaving your mouth. It was so goddamn hard for your mind to focus on anything except the feeling of his tip grazing the opening of your cervix with every thrust. Once again, Joel reached his hand down to toy at your clit, bringing you closer to your climax. The white heat hit you again as your legs began to shake under you. Joel wasn’t far behind you, and his pace wasn’t easing up.

His hips met yours hard and fast, the sound of skin slapping echoing off the walls of the spare bedroom. If it weren’t for the music thumping downstairs, your sinful act would’ve already been heard throughout the entire house. Joel leaned down, kissing you against your spine, his hand kneading your ass.

“F-fuck, where do you want me? Your mouth? Or should I fill you up?” Joel grunted, his hand snaking around your front to firmly grab your breast, pinching your nipple between his fingertips.

You gasped, the stimulation for your nipple slipping you into the beginning of your orgasm. You didn’t answer him, the feeling of your impending climax completely taking over your body.

“Look at you cumming around my cock. Such a good fucking slut.” Joel growled, his pace somehow quickening further. His hand reached up to your hair, grabbing a fistful of locks and pulling your head backwards. His other hand reached around to your throat as he bent down to kiss you from the intense angle, your orgasm taking over you entirely. Your toes began to curl beneath you, your pussy clamping around Joel’s cock that was twitching deep inside you. Your pussy clenched down around his length, hugging it perfectly.

“Fuck.” Joel whimpered, his high hitting him like a train. Your spasming canal clamped down around him as he came in hot spurts, coating your walls deep inside of you. Your walls clenched around him, milking every ounce of cum from his length.

His thrusts slowed as his seed filled you up, his hands grabbing your hips for stability as he came the hardest he’d ever came in his life. He moaned as he slowly slipped his spent cock out of you, some of his release dripping out of your used up hole. The sight was intoxicating.

“Fuck.” Joel breathed out again, taking in the ruined state of your folds. He ran his fingers down your slick, mixing his cum with yours. You flinched at the sensitivity of your pussy, whining as he brushed over your clit.

You were spent. Your face was still pressed against the mattress, your ass still perched in the air. Joel’s cum was slowly leaking out of you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to move. You were too fucked out of your mind to notice that Joel had left the bed to retrieve a wet rag from the attached bathroom. You winced as he gently cleaned up the juices spilling from you.

“You look so beautiful with my cum dripping out of you.” He spoke, running a hand up and down the back of your thigh. He pressed a kiss to your sore ass cheek from where he had smacked it.

You rolled over onto your back, your tender breasts jiggling from the movement. Joel leaned down and took a breast into his mouth, gently sucking on your hardened nipple.

“As much as I’d love to stay here and fuck you all night, I should go before your daddy starts to wonder where we went.” Joel said, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips.

A pit grew deep in your gut at the thought of Joel leaving you, but you knew the nature of this interaction and it would be silly of you to expect any different. You gazed up at him and frowned.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Joel shook his head and straightened up, moving his attention to dress himself. He began buttoning his flannel that he’d taken off during your interaction at some point that you hadn’t noticed. You watched in silence as he pulled his boxers and Levi’s back up over his legs.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Joel said after he was fully dressed. You were still laying on the bed completely nude attempting to recover from the mindblowing sex you’d just endured. Joel walked towards the door, turning briefly to look at your one last time.

“You might want to get dressed, sweetheart. Hate to have your daddy walk in to see my cum spilling out of you.” He winked, then disappeared out of the door, leaving you alone fucked out of your mind.

#joel miller #joel tlou #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #din djarin #the mandalorian #tlou fanfiction #tlou #smut #pedro x reader #joel x reader #dbf!joel #age g4p

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maladaptiveobsession · 2 months

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yandere vox headcanons

contains: emotional manipulation, brief dubcon mention, brief hypnosis mention, overprotective behavior, stalking

yandere vox

who is condescending and manipulative; he knows what’s best for you, just obey him without question. choosing to be stubborn? don’t be so quick to forget that he is also a man who could destroy everything you’ve worked for with a snap of his fingers. you’ll remember who you belong to once he’s taken it all. no need to chase after you; you’ll crawl back to him when all is said and done.

who demands your full attention; even amongst a crowd, you should have eyes and ears solely for him. your thoughts should be encompassed by him. every action you take should be made with him in mind.

who is obsessively controlling; every aspect of your life is monitored by him. what you wear, what you eat, and even what time you go to bed. you’ll find yourself compelled to listen to his “advice” and “suggestions”. he only wants the best for you right? you can trust him! by the time you notice how much control he has over your life, it’s far too late. rebel if you’d like, just note that he’s not above hypnotizing you if you prove to be difficult. you can’t blame him for wanting to protect you.

who monitors your every move, never letting you out of his sight. he has eyes everywhere, yet they only search for you. there isn’t a place in hell where you can hide from him. don’t bother running either, he’ll have you crawling back to him in no time. as the tv demon, it’s only natural that he’d observe you before properly introducing himself. before then, he’ll have studied everything about you. from your music preferences and unique quirks to you online history and darkest secrets you thought you’d take to the grave; your entire world is on display for him.

who clings to you; hovering over your shoulder, a hand lingering on the small of your back, sitting so close that his thighs press against yours—all subtle displays of his possessive. as time moves forward and you find yourself with less and less freedoms, you’ll likely brush off his increasingly daring touches, like how tightly he grips the fat of your thigh when you smile at someone other than him. when he finally has you, don’t be alarmed if his hands wander in private. he’s done so much for you, the least you could do is to look pretty for him while he rearranges your guts.

who is jealous and petty; sharply inhaling if you so much as greet someone other than him. he’s not usually one to share, this trait manifesting in the form of convincing you to distance yourself from your friends. they’re bad influences and he's looking out for you! don’t you trust him?

who’s selfish; fully aware he’s hurting you, but unwilling to stop. you’ll get over yourself in time. regardless, you don’t have to love him back, you just have to be his.

who will never hit you. he has no need to, not when your emotions are to easy to exploit. he never wants you to feel the way valentino makes him feel—used, unappreciated, fearful

who genuinely cares about you. he truly does want the best for you, even at the cost of losing your affections. vox will do anything to keep you safe and happy, except for letting you go. he’ll do whatever it takes to keep you by his side. you can only push him so far before he does something more drastic.

#yandere vox #vox x reader #yandere vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #tw: dubcon #tw: hypnosis #tw: manipulation #tw: stalking #mal.mine #mdni #image description in alt #described #gn reader

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dimepdf · 1 year

Text

★ 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒. + 𝐉𝐎𝐄𝐋 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑

masterlist. / taglist. / any request? synopsis. when it comes to your sticky fingers, Joel is pretty tired of being the one to clean up all your messes, so he decides that he finally deserves an award.

─── ☆ author note. pedro pascal brainrot go brrrrr ,, there was no song inspo for this one i literally just wrote the smut first and went "shit maybe i should give it some plot?" so here's that . | — feedback is always welcomed & don't forget to reblog 🤍

─── ☆ word count. 2.3k (18 min read) .

Here you were being a bother again, at least that's what Tessa referred to you as every time you would shoulder your way into Joel’s flat with new battle wounds littered the bruising purple and green colors against your brown skin.

Despite looking as if you had your ass handed to you multiple times on a platter you had a thing for walking around and bragging as if your ribs hadn't felt like they were cracked and you weren't struggling to stand on your own two feet.

Joel had known you long enough to understand that you just had a knack for throwing yourself full force into trouble, getting into fights, stealing supplies, and after you would come to his flat parading around and striding through his front door without a simple knock.

spending most of his afternoons with you as his company trying not to roll his eyes out of his sockets as you would just have the tendency to go on and on about your next troubling schemes.

That said plan was currently in the middle of unfolding before you, the exchange was supposed to be simple and smooth. It was what you had promised Joel at least the night before you couldn't keep your mouth shut and gave him the entire run down.

You had mainly blamed your job of stocking for the reason you had such sticky fingers, commonly your name would be the one whispered when secret trades were brought up.

You knew it was risky business, Joel knew it as well betting that you were practically begging to have a bounty on your head anytime soon but it was the effects of the harsh society that you lived in.

you were a bit more angsty than you'd liked to admit, which was why a lot of your deals would fall flat out with you throwing a few punches out of patience with the situation.

In your defense, the guard standing in front of you thought he could blackmail you into giving more than what he had first agreed, in simple terms you saw the way that he looked at you as practically undressing you with his eyes.

The constant uncomfortable wave of compliments after every sentence he spoke had been the nail to the coffin, your fist already clenching making it quite clear that you would rather drop dead than even think about doing anything sexual just to trade off a pack of cigarettes.

Your hands were trained to be quick, reaching for the small knife tucked in the back of your belt loop ready to draw it across the man's throat if you needed to.

the flinching in your reaction had just seemed to tense the deal, the guard finding your rejection stubborn and as if taking a hit on his ego wasn't enough the point of the barrel of his gun aimed square at your chest was enough to have you stop for just a split second to think before your body could move impulse.

Before he could even think about his finger reaching for the trigger you barreled towards him, smashing your entire body weight against him sending you both crashing to the ground in a struggle for the gun.

He had pressed your chest first into the ground, under the sole of his boot digging into your lower spine.

All the air kicked from your lungs all you could do was curl up into yourself in hopes that the leather would cause any broken bones from the way he was stomping down on you.

It was the first time you had been hit with an assault rifle, much to your surprise, and quite honestly, you wanted it to be your last from how harsh the pain had managed to spread from your busted eye, traveling as a pulsing pain throughout your entire face.

You were defeated, there was no doubt about it. The guard’s kicks now just became overkill as he took all his pent-up anger out through his attacks. All you could do was shield yourself until your knight and shining armor arrived. At first, when Joel stumbled upon the exchange, he hadn’t realized that it was you all tucked away, being beaten half to death.

You could blame him, it was an easy sight to come across in the back alleys of the district with how corrupt their shit system was.

You also had not recognized him until he was just about to walk away, excusing himself not wanting to get caught up in some stranger's mess, that was until you had called out his name from under the guard shoe and everything seemed to click.

You were convinced you had a concussion or at least some type of head injury that would explain the sudden blink where before you could realize it the guard had been beaten unconscious spread out on the ground (or at least he looked to be) while you were being hoisted up against Joel’s shoulder for leverage as he helped you stumble back to his place to clean up your pride as well as your new wound.

The first thing Joel had spoken to you after almost a few long minutes of sitting in silence as he held a disapproving expression while dressing all of your wounds. "You and that bad habit of yours is gonna get yourself killed one day." The tone in his gruff voice held so much malice that you winced at the mention of death.

"Oh, please, that guy should be lucky that I hadn’t cut his fucking fingers off. He only got the upper hand because of that damn gun." You bit back with less sass, sliding off of the counter you were propped on.

Joel only rolls his eyes, standing with his arms crossed, you could tell he was frustrated by the way his eyebrow ticked up as he gazed down at you, not budging from his spot standing right in front of you as he caged you against the counter. "You're doing a lot of shittalk for someone that got their ass handed to them."

"Well, maybe I'm into that sort of thing, big guy?" You pressed your hand against the middle of his torso, pushing him back enough for you to wiggle away, feeling his eyes trailing after every step all the way to the open door of his fridge.

Squatting down to your knees and glaring at the half empty bottom shelf, a small exhale parted his lips as the annoyance settled in from your unserious attitude.

Joel knew that he couldn't convince you much with that steel stubborn skull of yours. "You have some business scolding me with all the shit that you get into—"

He had enough decorum to allow you to shut the fridge door before pressing your chest firmly against the front of the fridge and pressing his chest into your back, cramming you against the front of the fridge with the wish of his breath against the nape of your neck.

"And you talk a lot," he threatens in a low hum, goosebumps forming under the grace of his fingers as they sneak under the hem of your shirt, hands finding his favorite place to fondle you.

As he cups your breast in his palms, raking his cold fingertips over them, enticing your nipples to bud under their rough touch.

“Wait, Tess could come back—”

"Well, aren’t you into that sort of thing?" Joel grunts in reply, whimpering under his touch.

Joel's rough calloused hands slide down your pudgy torso, dragging his fingertips lower to undo the buckle of your belt, unzipping your jeans all in two yanks to slide his hand under the elastic of your underwear.

Your breath hitched at the drag of his fingers groping you, paired with the other fondling your breast over your bra. "Maybe I should give you something to finally shut you the fuck up."

You had almost purred under his touch, melting against his caressing hands as Joel made his erection a statement by pressing himself against the back of your thigh. The outline of his situation makes your thighs press together as you press back, saying farewell to the rest of the dignity you had left. "And what do you mean by that?"

"Don’t make me spell it out for you, hon." Feeling the brush of his breath against your skin, his voice gentle as his hands roamed your body as if he owned it, against the tip of your ears, shivering at the wet kisses that found themselves placed against the exposed peak of your neck.

"This doesn't seem like much of a punishment to me." You sucked in a breath at his fingers finding themselves between your legs, toying with you as all they did was rub mindlessly against your front teasingly, just inches away from where you needed them to be the most.

"I’d like to think I’m a fair man," Joel hums as he dips his hand deeper into your pants, fingers pushing into your pussy, biting your lip as you flinch at the feeling that the rough drag of his dry fingers adjusted on the tips of your toes before he could comfortably settle with a wet layer of your arousal wrapping around his digits. "I get a reward for saving your stubborn ass, and you get a punishment for wasting my fucking time."

Pressing your cheek flat against the cool metal of the fridge while arching farther into his hold, the slick sound of them positioning in and out was starting to make your blood run hot as Joel’s fingers started to move at an earnest pace. "Ngh—fine by me, honestly; maybe I should act out more often."

Joel scoffs, feeling the briskness of his smirk pressed against your hot skin; his mouth drags over the shell of your ear, practically counting the hum of his heartbeat as his chest presses against your back. "Oh yeah?" Just as quickly as the pleasure started, it stopped, Joel’s hands yanking away, leaving you feeling discombobulated as you whined out, leaning farther back and chasing after his touch.

"Ah, since you're having so much fun and I’ve been so patient," Joel pulled away with a small noise of rejection, instead using his hand to spin you facing forward, pressing your back against the fridge as the other made quick work undoing the front of his pants, the noise from his zipper making you swallow. "You're gonna get on your fucking knees for me, and give me my reward now."

Your eyes met the dark, lustful look in Joel’s eyes as he shuffled backward until he bumped into the table, making do with his pants enough to pull his dick from his briefs all while holding sly eye contact.

Joel knows that you find him breathtaking; he plays into the feeling you would get between your thighs, never wanting to keep your hands to yourself when he was around.

He also knew every little thing that would make you tick, all the ways to drive you up the wall, and just how to get you aching between your thighs. You didn't have to be told twice, shame being the last thing on your mind as you huffed, shuffled your steps forward, and fell down to your knees in front of the older man.

Hissing at the small crescent dig of his nails cupping your face forward, he tried not to fidget as if his other hand wasn't losing wrap around the base of his dick, touching himself at the sight of you down there. "Open."

Obeying this command, your mouth is coaxed open by the flat front of his thumb dragged along your bottom lip. Your tongue follows quickly after, along with your teeth, as you lean forward enough to give a playful chomp at the finger before soothing the attack with the wet swirl of your tongue. It only entices Joel further, pulling the same hand away and instead replacing it with another thing you could suck on.

Farther down from the tip all the way to the base, you pull your lips over your teeth with the struggle of your throat reminding you of your gag reflex, your brow creasing, and hands planting on top of his thighs to ground you and steady breathing through your nose.

A satisfied exhale rolls from Joel's throat, his hands buried in a tight grasp at your curls, watching himself disappear between your full, smooth lips. "You're fucking perfect." Joel hushedly praises, "If only you could see how fucking gorgeous you look from here, sweet girl."

You melt at the sincerity and gentleness of his tone, the vibration nearly makes Joel topple over as his knees threaten to buckle. You could feel the tense flex of his muscles under your palm as you grasped at his jeans. Joel's thrusts are considered tamed, more gentle, and slow you even thought him out to be timid around your relaxed throat.

Gagging only when he got a bit more handsy, your fingernails digging into his pant leg as he strains himself from giving in too much, even if the thought of fucking your throat was becoming more enticing.

Joel's hips still bent, his hand knotting in your hair, tugging you away with a more rough force as he pants at the overwhelming clarity that struck from his orgasm.

Your eyes glued to the other hand that worked itself around the hilt of his dagger, giving himself a few quick strokes that unfolded so quickly that you barely had time to process that he was coming onto your face until his fingers clenched around the hair of your scalp, tilting your head up towards the ceiling just to get a better look as if he had created a masterpiece of artwork all over your face.

🔖 @adison-smart27 / @m0mmym1lk3r-png / @do-double-g

comment or tap here to be added to taglist.

#[ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ ★ — t.wrks. ]#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #the last of us #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut

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eddiebabygirldiaz · 4 months

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several sentences sunday

tagged by @try-set-me-on-fire @daffi-990 @wikiangela @wildlife4life @jeeyuns @disasterbuckdiaz @devirnis

thanks my loves <3

s7 spec fic has been steadily evolving and is kind of turned into an angst fest even in the aftermath of the disaster whoops

Buck is–he looks so tired.

His head rests against the window, eyes vacantly looking at the darkness passing them by. His body is both loose and taut. Legs spread wide so that he takes up every inch of available space. Torse slumped against the seat. Shoulders hunched. Hands clenched into fists in his lap.

It’s not an unfamiliar sight.

Eddie has seen Buck like this before, more times than he’d like. And as always, he’s not sure how to break Buck out of it or if he even should.

Throughout the years he has certainly made attempts and occasionally succeeded when Buck is like this. Moments where Buck has become so lost in his own head, his entire being battered and bruised from a hard day, a hard loss, a hard truth. Moments where Eddie took Buck’s bruises into his own hands, not trying to erase them exactly but help carry them, make his skin stained with that hurt too so Buck isn’t alone.

This feels different though.

Things have felt different for a while honestly and it’s never been more apparent than now.

Eddie can practically see the divide between them, wide and gaping and rumbling, the entirety of it writhing and screaming so loud you can’t hear it, so full of things they have both tossed into its depths, feeding it so that it grows bigger.

So many moments and fears and people placed in between them, a choreographed dance that he and Buck have perfected ever since–well, ever since words thrown out in a graveyard that felt more like knives in Eddie’s chest.

Maybe he shouldn’t place the blame solely on that day, solely on Buck, but it’s hard not to, especially when it took him nearly dying again to be brought into Buck’s arms, a place he has craved for himself with painful restraint for longer than he is probably aware or will ever acknowledge.

tagging @elvensorceress @spaceprincessem @diazass @chronicowboy @gayedmundodiaz @spagheddiediaz @911onabc @bvckandeddie @rogerzsteven @loserdiaz @monsterrae1 @folk-fae @lemonzestywrites @jesuisici33 @thewolvesof1998 @bigfootsmom @honestlydarkprincess @housewifebuck @lover-of-mine @transboybuckley @rewritetheending @athenagranted @malewifediaz @callmenewbie @shitouttabuck @hoodie-buck @butchdiaz @bucks118 @sibylsleaves @messyhairdiaz and anyone else who wants to share!

#buddie #buddie wip #eddie diaz #evan buck buckley #911 #911 abc #buck x eddie #s7 sort of spec fic #really need to find a title damn #ryan writes #several sentence sunday

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i-think-i-did-it-again · 7 months

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The Tour XII

Warning: swearing, drinking, smut, angst

You’re not sure if it’s out of annoyance or he genuinely wants to but as soon as Colson strides back into the green room, he suggests we all go out and get shit faced. Everyone jumps at the idea and begins discussing places to go, who to invite, what time to go. You listen to the hum of conversation around you, enjoying the fact that no one knows Colson was on his knees half an hour ago. The thought makes your pussy pulse and you cross your legs tightly. Ashleigh and Sophie begin planning outfits and deciding what to do for their makeup and hair. Sophie insists on glamming you up for the occasion as there will definitely be paparazzi and people in the club taking photos. You reluctantly agree and the three of you head back to the hotel to get ready.

“So how did you end up in my clothes after the concert tonight?” Sophie asks as she finishes curling your hair. You look at her face in the reflection of the mirror and instantly blush.

“I spilt something on my clothes,” you mutter, looking away from her to sip your homemade cocktail.

“I call bullshit,” Ashleigh calls from the bedroom behind you. As much as you hate their prying, you love that they both know you well enough to tell when you’re lying.

“Ok but swear to me that you won’t say anything, ok?” you beg with pleading eyes.

Ashleigh is suddenly in the bathroom beside Sophie when you turn on your chair to speak. You don’t really know where to start but you figure you should probably start from the beginning, considering neither of them know the full extent of what the fuck has been going on with Colson and you. You take a deep, steadying breath, square your shoulders and look up at your two best friends.

“Colson and I have been hooking up secretly since the start of the tour,” you don’t wait for them to react before quickly continuing. “When I asked that we put some rules in place, he was a dick, we stopped and I thought that was the end of it. Then he went and made it all confusing by being an asshole to Chase, storming into my hotel room when clearly we went in there to be alone. What made it even more confusing was the fact that he went and apologised for all his shitty behaviour.”

“Classic Kells, act first and think second,” Ashleigh shakes her head with a sigh. You couldn’t possibly agree with her more.

“Yeah well, I made it worse by accepting his apology because he seemed to believe that meant we could go back to hooking up but I shut him down.”

“And how did he take that?” Sophie gives you an all knowing smile and you sink back into your seat with shame.

“You saw how he took it. I ended up making out with him on the bus, remember?” they nod, remembering exactly what you’re talking about because they both walked in on said make out with Rook. “I just didn’t want to get sucked in anymore so I thought that if I forced him to leave me alone, things would go back to normal eventually but instead, I just made things worse.”

“Hey, you can’t blame yourself for this whole thing. Kells is just as much involved as you are except he knows how to put on an act. The fact that he’s choosing not to is more a reflection on him than it is on you,” Ashleigh reassures you but somehow you can’t seem to see things the way she does. Your sole purpose for being here is to keep him in check and you’re failing miserably, according to Francis and Kathy anyway.

You stand up and push your way past them to the clothes Sophie has laid out on the bed for you. It’s not your usual style but you know you have to trust the process when it comes to her choices. Most of the time what she picks out works in your favour but you have to push through the initial shock to see it. This time is no exception.

Laid on the bed is a tight fitting black long sleeve top with a turtleneck, a faux leather skirt with a silver zipper running up the front and black satin thigh high boots. If anyone else suggested this outfit to you, you’d laugh in their face but for some reason when Sophie does, you go with it without question. Still, you grimace internally at the short length of the skirt.

“You still didn’t answer my question though,” Sophie sits you on the bed to start on fixing your makeup now that your hair is done.

“I forgot what the question was,” you lie and you know you don’t fool either of them. Sophie raises one perfectly plucked eyebrow at you and you buckle. “I got wet when I stepped into Colson’s shower and he…ate me out.” you blush a bright red and focus on looking anywhere but at the two of them.

“You are a fucking queen,” Sophie praises you and Ashleigh cheers.

“To a fucking queen!” Ash toasts, raising her solo cup in the air and throwing the entire contents back in one gulp.

They drop the topic after that. You’re not sure if it’s because they sense your discomfort or because they want to maintain your privacy or both but you’re grateful. As much as you love your best friends, you’ve never really been the kiss and tell kind of person, especially when you’re not even really sure what to classify Colson and you at the moment. It feels wrong to be sharing every gory detail, even if they are his friends too.

When your makeup is done, you’ve almost finished an entire bottle of wine and you’ve put the intimidating outfit on, it’s time to meet the guys in the lobby. Ashleigh snaps a few pics of the three of you in the elevator for Instagram and you’re actually really starting to like how the outfit looks on you. When you step into the lobby and all the guys catcall you, you like the outfit even more.

You look around and notice that Colson is missing but Rook assures the group that he’s on his way down. When the elevator dings and Colson steps out, your heart stutters in your chest. Even though you’re trying so hard to be indifferent to him, you can’t help but be flawed every time you see him. His bleach blonde hair, his angular jaw and sharp cheekbones, the way his eyes flicker different shades depending on the lighting of the room, his pink lips always set in a slight pout, the way his nose ring catches in the light. The thing that stands out to you the most though, is his intimidating height. When he walks into a room, everyone knows it because he stands at least a foot taller than most people. There’s something about his tall stature that makes you want to forget your inhibitions and climb him like a tree.

“Let’s fucking party,” he grins at the guys and begins walking through the lobby.

You try your best to stand off to the side and out of his line of sight but Sophie and Ashleigh link their arms with you and drag you with them, making damn sure they get his attention in the process. You can’t help but enjoy the way his eyes bulge slightly as he takes you in. You also like the way you notice him adjusting his dick uncomfortably without drawing any attention to what he’s doing but you know.

There’s a couple of black vans waiting for you all outside. Sophie, Asleigh and you all pile into one of the vans, letting the guys work out who is going in each one. You can’t help the butterflies in your stomach when Colson climbs into the same van as you but they tamper down when he pushes his way to the back, away from you. Ashleigh doesn’t allow you to dwell on it for too long, dragging you into a conversation about the club.

Why the fuck is she dressed like that?

Colson’s already pent up frustration is at a boiling point as he studies your smooth thigh from the back of the van. As if it wasn’t bad enough that you left him high and hard after the concert, now you have to go teasing him with your curves, breasts on full display in your tight top and sexy legs all exposed in your short skirt. Not to mention those boots. He’d pay a lot of money to have you in his room in just those boots. Rook is so invested in what he’s saying that he doesn’t even notice you’ve barely said a word and you’re grateful. This is going to be a long fucking night.

Colson peels his eyes away from you when the van comes to a stop and he can finally free himself. The smell of your perfume is filling his senses and it’s intoxicating enough that he’s not sure he can control himself. When he steps out of the van, he’s immediately greeted by the flash of cameras. A couple of bouncers from the club push their way through and escort you past the paparazzi. Colson has to resist the urge to turn around and make sure you’re ok. He knows that Rook will be standing on one side of you to protect you from the bodies trying to push their way towards you all, holding you to his side.

Lucky bastard.

When you all get into the club a manager with too much cologne and greasy hair directs everyone straight to a VIP section in the back. It sits on a raised platform that gives just enough leverage to see the dancefloor but not so much that it looks like a stage for everyone to gawk at. The lighting is slightly darker in the space, creating shadows in the corners of the couches for privacy. Colson immediately orders a shit ton of drinks, wanting to make sure he’s completely numb so he doesn’t think about you. Easier said than done if you weren’t three feet from him and looking like sex on legs.

When did I start fucking pining?

This was completely new territory for him. He was used to having women throw themselves at him so when you came along and said ‘thanks but no thanks’ it flipped everything upside down for him and he didn’t like it. He was always in control, he didn’t like giving that up for anybody. For you though, maybe he could make an exception.

You loved this club! The music was a mix of all your favourite artists and the DJ didn’t feel the need to constantly interrupt the tracks but talking over the lyrics with dumb catchphrases or shit singing. The dance floor was crowded but not suffocating and there didn’t appear to be many creepy men trying to grind up on unsuspecting women. Colson had ordered several rounds of shots and you were buzzed. You dragged Sophie to the dancefloor and you were so busy enjoying yourself, you barely even felt the pain in your feet from the heels. You’re sure the alcohol probably helped with that.

You were surprised that even the guys decided to join you all on the dance floor but it was entertaining watching Rook and Colson dance some ridiculous ‘routine’ they’d obviously come up with years ago. They adjusted the tempo to each song but the moves were still the same. A lot more shimming than you’re used to seeing two grown men do but entertaining nonetheless.

When an RnB track begins and the beat slows, your own dance moves change. You go from jumping around to grinding and swaying your hips to the beat. You don’t resist when Colson moves closer to you, you like feeling his chest against your arm. You let the music take you. You turn your body so that you’re facing him, winding an arm behind his neck. He presses himself to you and you can feel his arousal through his tight pants. You both sway to the music, his hands on your hips determining your movements. You turn so your ass is right against his crotch. You grind so hard against him, you’re practically dry humping him in the middle of the club. His face is buried in your neck and you can feel the vibration every time he moans.

You’re enjoying yourself way too much but as quickly as it begins, the song changes and a boppy pop song begins to play. You pull yourself away from Colson and return to dancing with Ashleigh and Sophie, Baze and Slim exchange a look but you ignore that. Colson’s glare is so intense, you’re pretty sure he’s plotting your death but you couldn’t care less.

You’re drunk enough that you’re happy but not so drunk you’re going to be sick. It’s a fun balance that you’re not mad about. When you stumble into the silent lobby with Rook, the two of you are in such loud fits of laughter that the night manager shushes you from behind the desk. You giggle an apology to him and all the others scold the two of you. Colson trails behind the group like a sad puppy but you don’t really notice.

You make it to your floor and everyone piles out, mumbling good nights to each other as you each stop at your respective doors.

You’re the last one in the hallway because you’re searching through your clutch for your room key with one eye closed, at least you think you’re alone. Colson grips your wrist and drags you into his room, slamming the door behind him.

“What do I have to do to get you to let me fuck you?!” he growls angrily and you stumble back from the volume of his voice.

“I…” you start but you don’t really know how to end the sentence so you stop to think for a moment. An idea dawns on you and you grin evilly. “Beg,” you whisper seductively.

“W-what?” Colson is staring at you like you’ve grown a second head.

“You heard me, I want you to beg for me to fuck you, right here, right now.”

You’re practically purring in his ear now. Your tongue flicks his earlobe every now again for emphasis. You can tell it’s bringing him to his knees as he sways again. Sweet, innocent you commanding devilish him to beg for your affections? Unheard of.

“Please baby, I need you,” he whines and you smile against his neck.

“What do you need?” you kiss his jawline.

“Your…dripping wet pussy on my throbbing cock while you scream my name.”

You didn’t expect something so dirty to come out of his mouth and you can’t help the blush that spreads across your cheeks. You’d think after reading so many dirty novels that you could control your reactions but you know that there is a huge difference between reading a fictional character and actually listening to a living, breathing guy saying it. Especially when it’s a guy like Colson and especially when he’s saying those things about you.

“Demanding thing aren’t you?” you tease him with a tight smile.

If he knew how much you were throbbing for him, your control would be revoked and you’d be putty in his hands. You trail your fingertips down his chest and he watches the path they lead to the hem of his t-shirt. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he was panting with anticipation. You want to tease him but the aching between your legs is begging you to stop being so damn cruel to her. When you lift his top and scrape your nails over his ‘Almost Famous’ tattoo, he all but falls to his knees in front of you.

“Please?” Colson whispers against the shell of your ear and you know exactly what he wants.

You cup his growing erection in the palm of your hand and gently rub against his jeans. He lets out a shuddering breath and throws his head back, resting himself against the door. You watch as he all but crumbles in front of you. A mixture of pleasure and relief plastered across his face but then anguish. You pull your hand back and cup it against your chest protectively.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do this,” you mutter and step away from him, he follows you though.

“No, please don’t stop,” he’s begging you again but this time, you’re not enjoying it.

Your vagina is cursing you out but you tune her out. Every time you try to get some distance between you and Colson, he follows. You end up jumping across the bed so that he can’t follow you. You hold up your hand to halt him and even in the dim light from the lamp, you can see the hurt in his eyes. You know you’re being cruel and confusing but you can’t help it. You have questions you need answered and half drunk and horny Colson is the only one that will give them to you.

“What is this?” you wave a hand between the two of you and he groans.

“Why do you women need everything defined?” he scrubs his hands over his face and sits on the floor with a huff. “Just enjoy the goddamn moment and be grateful.”

“Grateful for you? I don’t fucking think so.” for the second time tonight, Colson looks at you like you’ve grown a second head.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Who’d be grateful for a selfish, moody, cruel man like you? One minute you’re warm and gentle and the next you’re giving everyone that ‘fuck off’ attitude you’ve perfected and not talking to anyone for days. You’ve made Ashleigh’s life a living hell over the last few months and you could care less,” he winces but you’re not finished. “One of your oldest friends in the world and all you’ve done is be an asshole to her for no good reason.”

“Fuck you! Just because you don’t know the reason, doesn’t mean it’s not a good one,” he spits at you and you step back like he’s pushed you.

“Ok, fine then. What’s the perfectly justified reason for why you’ve been such an asshole to everyone? Why have you been drinking, screwing and snorting your way to an early grave no matter who it hurts?”

“BECAUSE I DON’T WANT TO BE HERE ANYMORE!” he screams and jumps to his feet.

You’ve seen Colson get mad, hell you’ve seen him in fights with actual punches and blood, but this mad is so different. He practically morphes into a new person before your eyes and it terrifies you. You try to not show it but you can tell by the way he tries to calm himself that he notices your fear.

“I…I never thought I’d be the guy whose happiness depends on another person but when she left, I couldn’t shut the voices up.”

By ‘she’, you can only assume he’s referring to his ex fiance Megan who left him for her ex-husband and to be honest, he’d made it seem like the whole thing didn’t bother him. No one was stupid enough to believe him but given that he pretty much jumped back into single life and didn’t start acting out until 12 months after their break up, everyone assumed the two were unrelated. You should’ve known better and you feel guilty that you didn’t.

“I thought you didn’t care,” you whisper but then you smack yourself for saying something so dumb.

“To be honest, I didn’t. We hadn’t been happy for a long time and I was relieved when she ended things. The anxiety started when I asked myself one question ‘why wasn’t she happy with me?’ and then ‘what’s wrong with me?’. It just played on some already pretty strong insecurities.”

It made sense. You’d gone through enough break ups to know that even if it’s the most amicable break up in the history of break ups, you always end up asking yourself those exact same questions and sometimes the unknown will eat you up inside. You have this uncontrollable thought that you’re the problem, that one particular thing you did, what it was you’ll never know, pushed that person to stop loving you. Makes them realise you’re not right for them, not good enough for them, not desirable enough for them. If you don’t have strong-will and a little bit of self-confidence and esteem, the thoughts become all consuming and you never open yourself up to anyone ever again.

“There were other issues that already existed so I’m not blaming everything on that but I thought if I pushed people away, I could at least minimise the damage.”

“What were the other things?” you ask before you can stop yourself and judging by the look on his face, you don’t want to know the answer.

“You,” he whispers and your breath stills.

****************

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amethystina · 1 year

Text

The Devil’s Due - Chapter 1 (?)

TW: Mild self harm, mentions of violence, mentions of suicide

—

"Defendant."

Ga On stared down at his tightly clasped hands, the whiteness of his knuckles standing in stark contrast to the bruises and barely scabbed-over scratches surrounding them. His skin was itching, restlessness humming just underneath the surface — loud, buzzing, and insistent. Keeping his fingers laced together was the only way to stop himself from picking at the wounds.

He'd forgotten himself twice already, blood beading on the knuckles of his left hand. Ga On couldn't help staring at the little dots of crimson, glinting in the harsh sunlight slanting in from the high windows.

His leg bounced up and down, his shoulders stiff with tension.

"Defendant."

Ga On swallowed and forced himself to look up. His heart was hammering, the bitter taste of nausea thick at the back of his throat. It took several seconds before his gaze was able to rise high enough to actually meet that of the judge, Ga On's stomach bottoming out as the gravity of the situation hit him full force.

He should have known he'd end up here eventually. Professor Min had warned him, more than once, but Ga On had been too arrogant — too reckless and stupid — to listen.

He only had himself to blame.

"Are we boring you, defendant?" the judge asked, his tone flat with disapproval.

Ga On swallowed again, his throat tight, and shook his head.

"No, your honor."

The judge regarded Ga On for a couple of beats, his gaze unnervingly sharp — downright intrusive. Ga On felt like he was being picked apart, forced to bend and unravel, all at once, until nothing but the bare bones remained.

Until everything had been laid bare, leaving him exposed and defenseless.

Ga On forced himself not to squirm but, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't maintain eye contact. His gaze fell, settling instead on the nameplate propped up in front of the judge. He could still remember the concerned wrinkle that had appeared between Professor Min's eyebrows when he'd heard what judge would be presiding over Ga On's trial.

Judge Kang was relatively new to the position, Professor Min had explained, but had already made a name for himself as someone who judged with calm yet ruthless precision. He was rational, firm, and was never swayed by his emotions, immune to both pleas and bargaining.

He judged solely based on the law.

A heartless man, Professor Min had said.

Immovable.

And, from what little Ga On had seen, he had to agree. Despite his young age, Judge Kang carried himself with the confidence of someone much older — someone who commanded attention and demanded obedience with his mere existence. That had been obvious the moment Judge Kang had stepped inside the courtroom, a shift going through the air, everything sharpening — heightening — at his arrival.

A man like that had no reason to negotiate or compromise.

He didn't have to.

"How did you get those bruises on your face, defendant?"

Ga On looked down at his hands again, his fingers clenching tighter, until he could feel his bones grind.

"A fight at school."

The silence that hung over the room was deafening and, as uncomfortable as that made him, Ga On still preferred that over the alternative. He would have felt even worse if he'd been forced to listen to Soo Hyun choke back sobs from the spectator seats somewhere behind him.

He was glad he'd been able to convince her not to come.

Professor Min had insisted, however, perhaps feeling guilty that he hadn't been able to stop the trial from happening. He'd always been able to before, smoothing over ruffled feathers and promising the police to keep Ga On out of trouble. Perhaps Ga On had taken that for granted — some part of him might have assumed that, no matter what he did, Professor Min would always find a way to bail him out.

Except this time, it seemed — though not for lack of trying.

And Ga On didn't blame Professor Min for that. This was Ga On's fault. It was his own recklessness that had gotten him into this situation and he shouldn't expect anyone else to get him out of it.

He could admit he was scared, though — outright terrified.

Destruction of property and assault might not be the worst offenses one could be charged with, but they had the potential to ruin his life regardless. A tough judge might give him prison time. And prison time meant he'd be marked as a felon for the rest of his life. He wouldn't be able to get a proper job and might even have a hard time finding a place to live, since no one wanted a convicted criminal as their neighbor.

Ga On should have listened to Professor Min. He should have been more careful.

He just felt so incredibly pathetic.

Soo Hyun had stopped him from committing murder, only for him to go down for assault and something as stupid as hitting a parked car with his motorcycle. It wasn't even his bike that had caused the most damage — he had, when he'd gotten thrown off and slammed against the hood and windshield.

Ga On's shoulder had been throbbing for days afterward but, miraculously, he'd come out of it relatively unscathed. Perhaps because he hadn't been driving all that fast when he'd taken the turn.

Judge Kang let out a low hum.

"Not from the plaintiff?" he asked. Ga On wasn't sure if he'd ever heard someone's voice sound so flat. It would have been fascinating if it hadn't also been so unsettling. "Did Jung Hyun Woo cause any of those bruises?"

Ga On made sure not to look at the plaintiff in question, instead glancing to his right, meeting the gaze of his lawyer. He didn't really know the woman — she was some acquaintance of Professor Min's who had agreed to help, free of charge — but she'd been surprisingly kind and understanding so far. To the point where Ga On could almost ignore the pitying looks she gave him when she thought he wasn't looking. Those definitely made his hackles rise, but he supposed he couldn't blame her.

He must look pretty pitiful to her.

Lawyer Yeo gave a small nod, wordlessly urging him to answer the question.

Ga On only managed to lift his gaze to Judge Kang's nameplate rather than the man himself.

"No," he replied, voice hoarse. "He tried but never actually hit me."

That was something Ga On had been viciously proud of at the time, but probably didn't put him in a very good light now, while sitting in a courtroom being questioned about the crime in question. Then again, what would? He knew that, to everyone in this room — save Professor Min — he was nothing more than a reckless, violent young man who'd destroyed someone's car and then beaten the owner of said car when he'd been confronted about it.

Ga On had known he shouldn't — even as he'd taken the first swing — but he simply hadn't been able to stop himself. Perhaps because he'd seen the brand of the car — much too expensive for the kind of neighborhood they were in — or perhaps it was the way the rich guy had talked to him afterward. The arrogance and contempt in Jung Hyun Woo's voice when he'd threatened to beat the shit out of Ga On for what he'd done.

Perhaps Ga On had just been too angry — high on adrenaline, pain, and grief.

Either way, Ga On had decided to punch first. If the guy wanted a fight, Ga On would give him one.

Except the rich brat, only a couple of years older than Ga On, had been more bark than bite, too stunned to do much after the first punch had landed. Jung Hyun Woo had clearly never been in a fight in his entire life — probably never even been hit before.

Perhaps not even felt real pain before that moment.

And, somehow, that had only made Ga On angrier, his blows coming faster, harder, out of the sheer unfairness of it all. For a brief, frightening moment, Ga On had wanted nothing more than to transfer all of his pain and suffering onto that spoiled rich kid, through whatever means necessary.

He'd stopped only because some people had come out of a nearby doorway, interrupting him mid-swing.

In hindsight, Ga On was grateful for that, since he was honestly scared of what kind of damage he might otherwise have caused. As it were, he'd landed a couple of blows — enough to break Jung Hyun Woo's nose judging by the bruises and bandage he was still sporting — but not enough to require a longer hospital stay.

That was still bad, though, and Ga On was horrified by his own actions.

He hadn't been able to look Soo Hyun in the eye once since that night.

"Are you proud of yourself, defendant?"

Ga On stiffened, his breath catching. He blinked — once, twice — before slowly looking up. Judge Kang's gaze was just as cool as before, but there was a spark of something else hidden just underneath the surface. Ga On couldn't quite name what that something might be, nor if it was good or bad.

"W-what?" Ga On stuttered out.

Even if Judge Kang didn't raise his voice, it still seemed to fill every millimeter of available space within the room.

"I asked if you are proud of yourself."

Ga On was too surprised to respond at first. And, quite frankly, the answer should be obvious.

What sane person would be proud of themselves in his position?

Eventually, after far too many seconds had passed, he shook his head. He felt a twist of regret, knowing just how little that admission mattered.

It was too late now anyway.

"No," he whispered.

Judge Kang let out another low hum, leafing through what Ga On assumed had to be his case file. He couldn't quite tell from this angle.

"And what about your parents?" Judge Kang asked, his gaze rising yet again, pinning Ga On in place. "Do you think they're proud of you?"

It felt like being kicked in the chest, all the air being pushed out of Ga On's lungs.

He couldn't breathe, the grief blooming too fiercely and taking up too much space to leave room for anything else. A chill settled underneath his skin, numbing him from the inside out, sinking its claws into flesh and bone — until he could think of nothing but the dark, festering sorrow. Nothing but the grief. Nothing but the pain.

It had been over a year, but he was still an empty shell, carved out and left hollow.

The only emotion capable of filling that hole, if only for a little while, was anger.

"I didn't think so."

Ga On could barely hear Judge Kang's words over the ringing in his ears. The nausea was growing stronger, the room swaying even if Ga On was sitting down. Tears burned and, in a desperate attempt to distract himself, Ga On dug his fingernails into the backs of his hands. He could feel them catching on his scabs, some no doubt tearing, but that pain was nothing compared to the breathtaking agony washing over him.

Of course his parents wouldn't be proud of him.

At the same time, Ga On also felt a flash of fierce, selfish anger. Why should his parents' opinion matter? They were no longer there — they'd left him, all alone, to fend for himself. What right did they have to judge him when he was the one forced to live without them?

The rush of guilt that followed those thoughts was shamefully familiar, causing a lump to lodge inside Ga On's throat. He still couldn't breathe, emotions choking him.

Perhaps going to prison was what he deserved for being so angry and selfish. Always causing trouble. Always making Soo Hyun worry. Always forcing Professor Min to fix his problems.

"Do you understand the severity of your crimes?" Judge Kang asked.

Ga On swallowed and, despite the tightness in his chest — and the impending lightheadedness — was able to nod.

"Answer verbally, defendant." The command felt like a physical weight settling on Ga On's shoulders. "It's needed for the record."

Ga On squeezed his eyes shut, nails digging even deeper into his skin.

"Yes," he croaked.

"And have you been informed of the level of punishment you might receive for said crimes?"

It took everything Ga On had not to just nod. He had no idea why Judge Kang was asking him all these questions, but he also knew he was in no position to refuse to answer them. That would only make his situation worse.

"Yes."

"So you realize that you might very well have thrown your entire life away simply because you couldn't control your temper?"

Ga On couldn't open his eyes, the fear and regret spreading through his veins, cold and biting.

He could only imagine the face Professor Min was making in that moment. Ga On had been warned, so many times, but had never paid enough attention. He shouldn't have been so stubborn.

He should have listened.

"Defendant?"

There was a barely stifled snicker from somewhere to Ga On's left. He didn't have to look up to know where it came from — the smug superiority made it obvious. The rich brat was clearly enjoying himself.

Ga On gritted his teeth and pushed himself to speak, desperately hoping his voice wouldn't break.

"Yes." His breath shook. "I'm aware."

A silence settled over the room, tense and oppressive. It felt almost like a living entity, pushing down on Ga On, making him want to curl up and hide. His heart was racing, each beat pushing painfully against his ribs, but that still hurt less than the knowledge of what he'd done. Of how stupid he'd been.

He'd ruined everything — not just for himself, but for Soo Hyun and Professor Min as well.

Soo Hyun would be absolutely devastated.

Judge Kang let out another one of those low hums.

A shift went through the air.

"Hypothetically speaking, if you were given a second chance, would you take it?"

Ga On froze, everything stilling for a second.

Had he heard that correctly? The words themselves weren't all that odd — Judge Kang was clearly gearing up for a lecture of some sort — but the tone certainly was. For the first time since he'd stepped inside the courtroom, there was an emotion other than disapproval in Judge Kang's voice.

He sounded curious.

Ga On looked up, equal parts confused and surprised.

"What?" he whispered.

When their gazes locked, the intensity in Judge Kang's eyes was nothing short of unsettling. Ga On held his breath, a chill traveling down his spine, even as he felt an odd thrill of hope. Not so much because of the question he'd been asked, but rather the look on Judge Kang's face.

The man was still undeniably intimidating with his black robe and artfully styled hair — every little detail immaculate — but there was a slight quirk to his lips now. A hint of humanity that was both startling and strangely captivating.

As if suddenly being shown the man behind the stern façade.

"If you were given a second chance, would you make sure to actually do something with your life?" Judge Kang tilted his head to the side, which made him look even younger — almost playful. "And promise not to make the same stupid mistake again?"

Ga On sat staring in stunned silence, not quite sure what was going on.

Neither was anyone else, it would seem. Ga On could hear hushed whispers behind himself and, in his peripheral, saw Jung Hyun Woo lean over to whisper something to his lawyer. Even the other two judges sitting on each side of Judge Kang were giving him bewildered glances.

The confusion in the room was palpable.

Because while those questions weren't entirely unexpected, the way they were said — the way Judge Kang phrased them — made them seem like something more.

Like an offer of salvation.

"Would you treasure that second chance, Kim Ga On?" Judge Kang asked, a calculating glint in his eyes. "Hypothetically speaking, of course."

Despite knowing he was probably being tricked — or goaded, somehow — Ga On couldn't help the desperate surge of hope.

"Yes," he replied. "Yes, I would."

He held Judge Kang's gaze, the fear slowly trickling away, leaving nothing but determined conviction in its wake. If Ga On got a second chance, he wouldn't waste it. He would stop being so reckless. He would stop making Soo Hyun cry, time and time again. He'd make Professor Min proud.

He knew it would be hard, rage and grief still whirling inside of him — even now — but it wasn't worth his future. It wasn't worth causing the few people he had left to love this much pain.

He would cherish that second chance. He'd make it count.

"You would promise to do better?" Judge Kang asked. He sounded amused, with an undercurrent of gentle encouragement that was both soothing and terribly disorienting.

"Your honor, what are you—"

Judge Kang held up a hand and Jung Hyun Woo's lawyer cut himself off mid-sentence. Judge Kang still hadn't broken eye contact, his attention not wavering in the slightest — still focused solely on Ga On.

The intensity was almost too much, Ga On's heart giving a nervous flutter inside his chest.

Judge Kang lowered his hand, the room deafeningly silent, no one daring to move or speak. Ga On swallowed, trying to draw breath despite the dryness of his throat and tightness in his lungs.

"You would promise to do better?" Judge Kang repeated, lower now — smooth and cajoling in a way that sent a jolt of something down Ga On's spine.

The question sounded dangerous all of a sudden, as if Ga On was about to enter a binding contract of some sort — one he didn't even know the terms and conditions of, but also couldn't afford to say no to.

He didn't want to go to prison. He didn't want this stupid mistake to ruin his entire future.

At that point, Ga On would be willing to make a deal with the devil if he so had to, let alone the supposedly heartless judge in front of him.

"Yes."

Ga On couldn't quite decipher the look on Judge Kang's face, but he seemed pleased with the answer.

"Are you sure?"

Ga On nodded, jaw clenching. "Yes, I'm sure."

He'd spent the past year making things difficult for Soo Hyun and Professor Min, too dumb to listen to their warnings. Nor had he considered the consequences. He thought he had, telling himself he was prepared to face his punishment, should he ever get caught. Some part of him might even have hoped he would, so self-destructive that he wanted someone — anyone — to just end his suffering.

But he'd clearly been lying to himself.

He didn't want this.

Somehow, this trial, the possibility of going to prison, and the thought of ruining his chances for a future was more frightening than his suicide attempt. Bizarrely, it felt more severe — like a slow, drawn-out punishment as opposed to the quick, sudden end dying would be. And, right now, he wanted neither.

He didn't like what he'd become.

And, if he got the chance to try again, he wouldn't take it for granted.

A couple of seconds passed, Judge Kang scrutinizing Ga On with that unnerving intensity of his — as if trying to assess his honesty. Whatever answers he found must have been to his liking since he soon gave a small nod.

"Very good."

An unexpected shiver traveled down Ga On's spine and he wasn't entirely sure what to attribute that to — Judge Kang's odd line of questioning or the overall weirdness of the situation.

Ga On was unsure of what any of this meant, his heart thundering away inside the tight confines of his ribcage. He didn't dare to glance at his lawyer again, worried that this would all end the moment he looked away from Judge Kang. As if he might lose whatever imagined chance at freedom this confounding man was maybe offering.

It was Judge Kang who eventually broke eye contact.

Without a word — or explanation of any kind — Judge Kang looked back down at his papers and made a couple of notes. A wave of coldness washed over Ga On, the faint flare of hope flickering, struggling against the sudden onslaught of doubt.

Hadn't Ga On given Judge Kang what he wanted?

Was this all just a trick of some kind?

No one seemed to know, a low murmur of confusion spreading throughout the room. Ga On chanced a glance at Lawyer Yeo, but she seemed just as unsure — though she made enough effort to give him a comforting smile when she noticed him looking. Ga On couldn't bring himself to smile back, feeling too nervous and off-kilter, but she didn't seem to hold that against him.

Jung Hyun Woo's lawyer — Hwang something, if Ga On remembered correctly — was the one who eventually broke the silence, a thread of frustration in his voice.

"Your honor, what's the meaning of this? My client is a busy man and we can't—"

"Then let's continue," Judge Kang interrupted, looking up from his papers as if nothing had happened — as if he wasn't the cause for the delay in the first place. "We wouldn't want to inconvenience your client."

While Judge Kang's tone was perfectly civil — polite, even — Ga On somehow knew that last part had been an insult, not a sign of deference.

Lawyer Hwang seemed to notice as well, his expression souring. But, before he had time to do more than open his mouth — no doubt intending to protest on his client's behalf — Judge Kang crooked a finger, wordlessly signaling for the lawyer to step closer. The gesture looked utterly misplaced within a courtroom and Lawyer Hwang didn't seem to know how to react.

A beat passed without anything happening.

Then, ever so calmly, Judge Kang raised a single eyebrow. Lawyer Hwang stiffened but eventually pushed himself up from his chair and approached the bench. His hesitation was visible in the slowness of his steps and the tight line of his shoulders. He even glanced at the rest of the room, as if to confirm that he wasn't the only one seeing this.

Ga On wasn't even sure what 'this' was, but he couldn't deny that he was mesmerized. He'd never seen anyone take command so effortlessly before and while some part of him should probably feel wary — if not outright frightened — there was another that was undeniably fascinated.

With nothing more than a look and a simple hand gesture, Judge Kang could make a man do exactly as he asked — even one several years his senior, by the looks of things.

Ga On felt that odd, almost nervous flutter again — a little lower this time — but was too focused on what was playing out before him to really pay attention.

As soon as Lawyer Hwang came within reach of the bench, Judge Kang picked up a sheet of papers and held it out to the man. The angle and distance made it impossible for Ga On to see exactly what was on it, but it looked like it might be one of the photos from his case file. The lawyer looked equally baffled as Ga On felt, but accepted the photo nonetheless.

"Your honor, what—"

"You may return to your seat."

The dismissal was blatant enough to be insulting, but Lawyer Hwang was hardly in a position to refuse. So, instead, he gave a brief nod and did as asked.

Ga On had no idea what was happening and he only got more confused when Lawyer Hwang's steps faltered as he looked down at the photo Judge Kang had given him. Lawyer Hwang threw a startled glance at Judge Kang — who was blithely shuffling through his papers, seemingly completely unaffected by the tension in the room — before hurrying back to his seat.

Lawyer Hwang looked even more tense than before, his face having gone pale.

Ga On wished he knew what was in that photo.

"We will proceed," Judge Kang announced, effortlessly slipping back into his calm, businesslike demeanor from before. He didn't seem the least bit concerned about the hushed yet clearly heated whispers going on between Jung Hyun Woo and his lawyer. "Defendant, do you have anything else you would like to add?"

Ga On startled at the question, tearing his gaze away from Jung Hyun Woo and Lawyer Hwang to instead focus on Judge Kang. The previous glimpse of humanity had been wiped away, leaving the same aloof and cold judge who had first entered the courtroom. The shift was jarring — and made Ga On wonder which was the real Judge Kang — but he knew it wasn't his place to question it.

Instead, he shook his head. Then, a split second later, remembered to add:

"No, your honor."

A flash of amusement — or perhaps approval — flitted past on Judge Kang's face, but it was so brief Ga On might have imagined it. Ga On swallowed, his thumb rubbing nervously over the knuckle of the other.

"Counsel, do you have any questions for the defendant?" Judge Kang asked, turning his attention to Lawyer Hwang.

The whispered conversation cut off and while Lawyer Hwang made an effort to appear calm and in control, even Ga On could see the cracks in his composure. Ga On had no idea what had been on the paper Judge Kang had given the lawyer but, clearly, it was enough to send them both into a panic.

Ga On's curiosity grew — as did the flicker of hope.

While Ga On might not know what Judge Kang had given the lawyer, it had clearly done something. And it was enough to wipe the smug superiority off of Jung Hyun Woo's face. He almost looked frightened and Ga On desperately wanted to know why.

"No, your honor." Lawyer Hwang paused for a second, as if hesitating, but a swift nudge from his client soon made him continue. "We would like to ask for a short break, however."

Judge Kang regarded the lawyer with a measured kind of blandness, as if he couldn't care less.

"Very well. Will ten minutes be enough?"

Lawyer Hwang nodded, his jaw clenched tight.

"Yes, thank you, your honor."

"Then we take a ten-minute recess," Judge Kang announced. "Defendant, you may step down from the witness stand."

Ga On flinched at suddenly being addressed — he'd almost forgotten he wasn't just a casual observer — but hurried to bow his head to Judge Kang before doing as told. Lawyer Yeo gave him an encouraging smile when he returned to his seat next to her, but he could see the tension in her shoulders. And the way she glanced over at Judge Kang said that she, too, was wondering what was going on.

The previously low murmur of voices swelled as the recess started and only distantly did Ga On take note of Jung Hyun Woo and Lawyer Hwang exiting the courtroom, whispering furiously to each other. Ga On's focus was on Judge Kang, who remained seated at the bench, calmly flicking through the papers in front of him with a detached look on his face.

As if he hadn't just caused the entire courtroom to erupt into furious whispers and speculations.

What was Judge Kang doing? And what had been on that photo he gave Lawyer Hwang?

Ga On's thoughts were churning, curiosity and intrigue almost making him forget where he was and why.

Ga On startled when Judge Kang suddenly turned his head and calmly met Ga On's gaze. He did so with enough precision and purpose to make it obvious he was aware of the staring and had finally decided to address it. Ga On cheeks flushed with embarrassment and even if he told himself to look away, he didn't.

He couldn't.

It was as if his own body suddenly refused to obey him.

Instead, Ga On stared back at Judge Kang, helpless to stop himself, not sure how a gaze could be that intense, even from across a room. It felt almost like a physical touch.

Ga On realized his heart was racing again.

A couple of seconds passed before Judge Kang let out what looked to be a small, amused huff. Then, with a brief yet unmistakable flash of mischief in his eyes, smiled at Ga On. While Judge Kang might act unconcerned and aloof, that smile said that he knew exactly what he'd just done — and didn't regret it one bit.

Such blatant lack of remorse should probably have been alarming — and it was, at least to some degree — but Ga On also couldn't ignore just how smoothly Judge Kang had orchestrated it all, never once breaking his composure.

It was as terrifying as it was impressive.

Judge Kang was dangerous.

And yet, all Ga On felt at that realization was a dizzying flutter in his gut, his breath catching for a split second.

Which was... new.

Ga On tried to swallow but found that his throat was too dry, his thoughts tumbling over themselves. He felt his blush deepen and, finally, through much effort, was able to tear his gaze away. He stared down at the table in front of him instead, spine stiff and heart pounding. He had no idea what was going on — why he suddenly felt so nervous, his skin prickling with awareness — but he could tell now wasn't the time.

Not in the middle of a courtroom, while waiting to see if he'd sealed his own fate with one careless act.

Ga On laced his fingers together in his lap before closing his eyes, trying his best to tune out the whispers. He didn't look at Professor Min, afraid of what he'd see on his face — feeling far too raw to handle the inevitable concern and disapproval he'd probably find there. He'd wait until after the trial, whatever the verdict would be.

Ga On's throat tightened as whatever brief spark of hope he'd felt during Judge Kang's questioning began to dwindle. Of course there would be no second chance for him — not when he was actually guilty of the crimes he was accused of. He should be punished. Just because he regretted his actions now, when he was faced with the consequences, didn't mean he should be forgiven.

He would be a coward to try and run from this.

And yet, Ga On couldn't deny that he felt a clench of panic as silence began to settle over the courtroom once more, signaling that the break was almost over. If he could have frozen time, right then and there, he would have. He didn't want to hear the verdict. He didn't want it confirmed that he had, in fact, ruined his life.

He should have listened to Professor Min.

Ga On didn't open his eyes until Judge Kang started speaking again, Ga On's shoulders coiled tight with tension and heartbeats loud in his ears. He couldn't bring himself to look up, though, instead staring down at his hands — at the scabs and blood on his knuckles, and the half-moon-shaped indents from his fingernails on his skin.

"Let us proceed." Judge Kang spoke with cool efficiency, Ga On swallowing at the flat tone. "Since the defendant—"

A low, apologetic throat-clearing echoed through the courtroom.

"Your honor, if I may?" Lawyer Hwang ventured carefully.

There was a brief pause, long enough that Ga On glanced up at Judge Kang, who was observing Lawyer Hwang with the same impenetrable calm as before.

"You have something you wish to add, counsel?"

Lawyer Hwang got to his feet and bowed formally — albeit stiffly — to Judge Kang.

"Yes. My client wishes to drop all charges, your honor."

Ga On's head snapped up, staring wide-eyed at Lawyer Hwang.

He must have heard that wrong.

Except the wave of surprise that swept over the room, followed by the sudden surge of whispers from the spectators, said that Ga On wasn't the only one who'd heard those words. Only distantly did he register Lawyer Yeo squeezing his arm, his gaze flicking up to Judge Kang instead.

"Drop all charges?" Judge Kang sounded mildly surprised, though Ga On wouldn't say it sounded very sincere. "How so?"

Lawyer Hwang's jaw tightened, but his tone remained impressively polite as he replied:

"Defendant Kim Ga On has expressed his remorse over his actions and, considering his age and situation, my client has decided to show compassion and not pursue legal action. Mr. Kim is young and has his life ahead of him. It would be a shame to ruin his future because of one brief lapse of judgment. We therefore wish to drop all charges and have the case dismissed."

Ga On blinked, not sure how to react. First, while he didn't deny what he'd done, he hadn't exactly shown remorse, either, just that he regretted being foolish enough to end up in this situation. The two were wildly different things. Second, the thought of being pitied by this rich brat made his hackles rise, especially since he knew how hollow the words were. Third, Jung Hyun Woo probably didn't have a compassionate bone in his body and couldn't care less about Ga On's future.

But Ga On wasn't foolish enough to object, that flicker of hope suddenly bright and blazing, humming through his chest. He held his breath, not quite sure if he dared to believe it just yet — too scared, too hopeful, and too shocked to fully grasp what was happening.

It felt too good to be true.

"If that's what your client has decided," Judge Kang replied, his voice perfectly even, "then the court will of course respect his wishes."

Lawyer Hwang bowed. "Thank you, your honor."

Lawyer Yeo's grip on his arm was tight, but Ga On didn't pay that any mind. He was looking at Judge Kang, both amazed and alarmed by the complete lack of emotion on his face — as if this wasn't at all his doing. As if what Judge Kang had done — whatever he'd written on that photo he'd handed over to Lawyer Hwang — wasn't what had made Jung Hyun Woo change his mind.

Judge Kang inclined his head in acknowledgment before picking up his gavel.

Everything was happening much too fast.

"The case of plaintiff Jung Hyun Woo versus defendant Kim Ga On is hereby dropped. Court dismissed."

The sound of the gavel hitting wood was sharp like a gunshot in Ga On's ears. His breath left him in a rush, like a startled little gasp, his head spinning as the magnitude of what had just happened hit him.

The relief was overwhelming — suffocating — and fierce enough to leave him dizzy.

Slowly, as if experiencing everything through a fog, Ga On became aware of Lawyer Yeo talking to him. He couldn't quite hear what she was saying, partly because of the ringing in his ears, but also the cacophony of voices echoing inside the courtroom. Ga On couldn't really make sense of any of it, but automatically nodded when Lawyer Yeo patted his arm with a beaming smile.

Ga On swallowed — feeling lost and disoriented — and, without conscious thought, driven by some nameless instinct that didn't even make sense, found himself looking toward the judge's bench again. Judge Kang was rising from his chair, effortlessly calm and composed. He picked up the folder from the desk and then, between one heartbeat and the next, his gaze flicked up to meet Ga On's — unerringly precise, just like last time.

As if he'd known exactly where to look.

Ga On held his breath, gratitude surging, but without any real way to express it. There was an entire courtroom between them — loud voices talking, Professor Min approaching in Ga On's peripheral — and too many thoughts, too much to say, for Ga On to be able to voice any of it.

A beat passed before Judge Kang tipped his head in a gracious nod, the gesture seemingly both a blessing and a warning — sealing the deal Ga On had just made.

Ga On had been given a second chance, as promised — now he had to uphold his end of the bargain.

He had to make it count.

And he would. He didn't know how Judge Kang had done it, but Ga On wasn't stupid enough to waste the opportunity he'd been given. He wasn't going to take this for granted.

Ga On's throat tightened and, with the telltale burn of tears behind his eyelids, he nodded back.

No sooner had he done so before Judge Kang turned to leave and, a split second later, Ga On felt the familiar weight of Professor Min's hand settle on his shoulder. Sounds returned — Ga On wasn't sure when they'd become so dull and muted — and he almost swayed in his seat when he turned to look at Professor Min. He felt unmoored again, left adrift, and it took a second before the rest of the world seemed to catch up, slotting back into place.

Ga On took a trembling breath, still a little lost, and realized he was shaking. The relief was staggering, mind-numbing, and when Professor Min crouched down next to him, hand still on Ga On's shoulder — safe and grounding — all Ga On could do was burst into tears.

It was over.

And, through some kind of miracle, he'd been given a second chance.

He had a life again.

—

So this was that idea my brain presented me with, all neatly tied up with a bow. And I wrote down this first chapter within a couple of days, just to make it shut the hell up x’D And I’ve taken down notes for the rest of the story, just in case.

I kind of want to continue? But, for now, I figured I’d throw it up here for... idk. Judgement? Vibe check? To make sure it doesn’t just wither away in my WIPs folder?

Fun facts about this story:

This scene happens when Ga On is 17-18, so BEFORE Isaac dies

The rest of the fic would be set a couple of years later, but also a couple of years before the drama, when Ga On is studying to become a judge

Ga On now feels more indebted to Yo Han than Professor Min for helping him get his life straight, so that will change the dynamic and lessen Professor Min’s hold over Ga On

Ga On has clearly started his gay awakening much, much earlier (his timing is the worst) so there will be fewer sexuality freakouts

Consequently, Ga On has kind of already realised he might not be in love with Soo Hyun, even if he loves her dearly (Yo Han the Homewrecker, amirite?)

Ga On is going to get a little bit obsessed with Yo Han while trying to figure him out, kinda like in the drama except for his own gay reasons instead of Professor Min asking him to

No, Yo Han didn’t just write “drop the case” on that photo — he’s too good for that xD

Ga On is going to come into Yo Han and Elijah’s lives much, much sooner and spare Elijah from so, so much trauma (though there will, of course, be some confusion due to his face)

I just want Elijah to be happy, so sue me

So yeah. I hope you enjoy it! And, hopefully, it sounds like an interesting story? Since I might just write the rest at some point. We’ll see! :D

Thank you for reading 💜

#The Devil Judge #Kim Ga On #Kang Yo Han #Gahan #The Devil Judge Fanfic #The Devil's Due #My Fanfics #Amethystina Writes #Like #She's not happy about it #Because I've got other things to do #But this would have eaten up my brain if I hadn't written it down #It's been easier to ignore the rest now that the first part is done #And I think it can almost stand on its own?#Maybe?#But yeah #Enjoy!

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gemini-magic17 · 6 months

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Entanglement Chapter Eighteen

**Queen Raina's POV

Aiden never should have yelled at Ser Easton like that yesterday. Instead of blowing up at everyone he should be trying to remain calm and not alienate all the people around him. I went to check on Ser Easton and apologize for Aiden I went to his room. As I arrived I knocked on his door there was no answer and instead of leaving I opened the door. From first looks, I could see most of his stuff missing which included his clothes and riding gear. Noticing a note on the table I picked it up only to be saddened by the written words.

"Dear King Aiden,

You were right when you said it was my fault for letting the Princess disappear without a trace. My sole responsibility was to protect her and I couldn't even do that. Because of that, I have left to go in search of Y/n to bring her home. By the time you are reading this, I have already made my departure and will do my very best to bring her back to Tir Asleen.

Sincerely,

Ser Easton"

Covering my mouth from shock I dropped the piece of parchment and made my way to go find Aiden. I knew that Aiden would be in the council room as he has been in there since Y/n went missing. Bursting open the doors everyone turned to look at me with wide eyes.

"Aiden, Ser Easton has gone", I told him.

"What do you mean he has gone", he said leaning forward on the table.

"I mean he went looking for Y/n because he felt terrible that she went missing as though it was his fault."

"Well at least he is doing something."

"How can you be so caviler about this? Yes he feels terrible about what has happened but did you have to blame him for it", I exclaimed.

"He had one job one damn job that he couldn't do!"

"I look at you Aiden and I question where is the man I married", and with that, I left the room leaving him dumbfounded, and everyone shocked to their core.

**Boorman's POV

I can't stop thinking about the exchange between Willow and that man yesterday. He looked familiar but I couldn't place him but whatever conversation those two were having seemed intense. I figured it couldn't help to ask Willow who the man was after all. I grabbed a horse from the stables and made my way to Willow's home.

As I arrived I saw another horse tied to the wooden railing of his home. From what I could tell it was Kit's horse Chief, part of me wondered what she was doing here if she was leading a search party today. With a loud knock on the door I can hear Willow's voice from inside.

"Who is it", he asked.

"It's Boorman open up", I said. He opened the door and we exchanged greetings. It wasn't until I saw Kit that I could tell she was in bad shape. Part of me wondered why see she didn't even like the princess.

"Hey Kit how's it going", I could see her nervously biting her nails.

"How's it going, How's it going? Let me tell you how's it going. Y/n is missing and no one has seen her for days. Not knowing if she's okay and if she has been hurt or worse dead is making me lose my mind", she exclaimed and that I thought she started to lose it.

"God Kit", I said and turned to Willow.

"I need to ask you something and its about someone you were talking to yesterday", I told him.

"Who is the someone because I talked to a lot of people yesterday", he laughed.

"It was in the town square the guy had silver-colored shoulder length hair and he had a brown horse with him",

"Doesn't ring a bell sorry", I could tell he was lying and it was not just me it saw it as well.

"Are you talking about Ser Easton", she asked me.

"Is that who he is", I said.

"That is Y/n's guard. How do you know him Willow", Kit had her full attention on him now.

"I don't really know him he just asked for directions and he went on his merry way", he said.

"If that's true Willow why did I see you giving him a letter", I raised an eyebrow.

"I don't know what you are talking about you must be confused", he said trying to weasel his way out of this.

"Willow I can tell when you are lying so I'm going to ask you a question and you better be honest with me", Kit stated walking closer to Willow.

"Did that letter have anything to do with Y/n's disappearance", she asked and Willow went silent.

"Answer the question Willow", I said.

"So what if it did", when he said that Kit had an incredulous look on her face.

"Are you kidding me? What did it say", she asked and again he went silent.

"Did that letter say what happened to her? Where she is", she exclaimed.

"WILLOW", she yelled.

"YES! The letter contained where she was alright", and at that the fury that Kit's eyes held could light a room on fire.

"You know where she is", I asked and he nodded his head.

"Yes I do."

"Is she okay? Did she get hurt", Kit frantically asked.

"No, she is perfectly fine", and that confused us.

"If she is fine then where is she", I asked.

"Somewhere safe I can reassure you", he said.

"Willow so help me if you do not tell me where she is", Kit threatened.

"You will do what", he said and with that the look she had could kill someone where they stood.

"I will make sure to get it out of you one way or another so tell me where she is", she exclaimed and I have never been more scared of Kit than I have now.

"She is in Ancient Dristarya", and at those words Kit's face paled.

"You can't be serious why would she be there," Kit asked.

"No one would look for her there", he said.

"She went to the place that is deserted due to the fact that no one dares goes there."

"Yes, she figured it was the best place for people to leave her alone knowing no one would travel to that place", he said.

"Well, she was wrong because I'm going to get her", at that Kit stormed out of the home and left on her horse.

"You should have told her in the first place that you knew where Y/n was", I said and left to find Kit.

**Kit's POV

With the new information given to me by Willow, I raced back to the castle to pack my belongings to set out. As soon as I got back I dismounted Chief but before I could get inside I was stopped by Boorman.

"Kit what are you planning to do", he asked following me to my room.

"I'm getting what I needed gartering a ship and going to Dristarya", I said.

"You can't go alone."

"Then you can come with me but you better get your shit together and meet me by the docks tonight", I stated and I can see him battling with himself to decide if he should tag along.

"Fine", he said and then a thought popped into my head. Damn it I have to take Amara with me otherwise King Aiden would have my ass. Groaning I turned to Boorman and let him know the plan.

"I forgot that I have to bring Amara with us."

"Who is Amara", he asked.

"Y/n's best friend since childhood and a real bitch if you ask me", I said and he gave me this weird look.

"Why are you looking at me like that", I said.

"You sound jealous", he said with a laugh.

"What do I have to be jealous of? As far as I'm concerned she is nothing but a friend to Y/n."

"Right, like you were just friends with Jade."

**Amara's POV

I can't stand her ass! Where the fuck does Kit Tanthalos gets off on being a bitch to Y/n. She never did anything to her and she thinks that she can treat her like shit. If it was up to me I would have her head on a spike. At that precise moment, I came upon Kit and whoever she was talking to. I figured now would be the best time to discuss the search party considering we had to leave later today. Plus it was best to do this out in the open so that I don't end up killing.

"Kit I need to talk to you", I said and she turned to me and rolled her eyes.

"What a coincidence I need to talk to you too. It's about Y/n", she said.

"What about her"?

"I found out where she is and I plan on going there tonight" she stated.

"Oh really and were you planning on telling me about this", I asked.

"I'm telling you now aren't I", she smirked and I wanted to punch it right off her face.

"So where is she"?

"In Dristarya", and at that I laughed.

"Dristarya? Are you serious", I asked.

"A friend of mine received a letter from her explaining where she was", she said folding her arms. Not believing a word that came out of her mouth the man next to her spoke out.

"It's true he told me himself", he said.

"Who are you", I questioned.

"I'm Boorman and your name is", he asked.

"Amara Hartridge of Praisa", I said then turned to Kit.

"So we leave tonight that's a six-day journey to Dristarya we are going to need a ship", I said

"I got that covered you, Boorman and I will meet at seven", she said.

"He's coming with", I asked and she nodded her head.

"We have to leave then so the guards that King Aiden wanted us to take don't know that we have already left", she said.

"Why don't we want to take them with us? After all, it is Ancient Dristarya", I asked

"They would bring Y/n back kicking and screaming knowing that she is there. We want her to come back willingly not by force and knowing that she is safe there is something to be grateful for", she said.

**Time Skip (three days later) Ser Easton's POV

The journey had been painfully long and tiring. It almost took me an extra day to get here when the ship's captain found out my planned destination. The thought of coming close to Dristarya scared him shitless, and he gave me a boat large enough to carry my belongings to make it here. The sight of the castle was breathtaking its structure must have been excellent as it was still standing after thousands of years.

Arriving on the beach I carefully got out to push the boat the rest of the way on the sand. My boots soaking wet the sound they made as I walked could only be described as a sloshing sound. I decided to leave the belongings on the boat until I came face to face was the Princess. I made my ascent towards the large gates that lead to the trail. The gates haven't been opened in a long time which fits with why it looked so abandoned until now. As I walked along the stone trail toward the castle I was halfway way there I heard a loud screech. Walking a little further to where it had originated I was met by the sight of a red dragon with an unnaturally long neck.

It was only then that I recognized that it was Tyrax standing in front of me. I kept slinking forward which made me extremely cautious of my next move. Before I could do anything I saw a silhouette walking down the trail in my direction. Seeing that it was Y/n made me happy now knowing that she was in one piece seeing it with my own eyes. Tyrax kept a watch on me the entire time as she was moving to see if I was a threat to her. The smile that stretched across her face as she saw me warmed my heart.

"It is so good to see you", she said pulling me into a hug.

"It is good to see you too", I said reciprocating the hug. I pulled away just to take in the way she looked. Y/n seemed healthy and there was no physical damage that I could see.

"Ser Easton I am fine I promise", she said as she could tell what I was doing.

"I can't help it. Finding out you were here of all places made me very worried."

"I know it could make anyone worry especially about the rumors that circle this place", she said and we made our way to the castle.

"I know."

"How was your journey? Was it alright", she asked.

"It was somewhat fine", and she looked worried by that answer.

"It was just tiring was all and I had to row the rest of the way here on the sixth day", I stated.

"Why", she questioned with head tilt.

"When the captain of the ship I was on found out I was heading to Dristarya-"

"He told you he didn't want to come near this place and sent you on your way", she said.

"Yes", as we got closer to the castle I stopped in my tracks and it was only until Y/n didn't see me by her side anymore that she turned in my direction. The image in front of me made me speechless and Y/n had a small smile as she could see what I was astounded at. Four dragons flew around the castle while Calyx and what I could only assume was Aeras were sleeping not far from us.

"Come. I want to talk about what has been happening since I left", she said and we continued our way there.

The inside of the castle was magnificent the intricate details of what seemed to be dragons cared into the walls along with other aspects of culture that were only found in Ancient Dristarya. Y/n took us to a room that was filled with books, maps, and paintings.

"I came upon this room on my fourth day here. I think this castle's form of a library and the books they have are intriguing", she says and pulls a book off a shelf.

"I started reading this book on the history of Ancient Dristarya. They had no mention of this place in any book in my family's library", and she handed it to me. We took a seat at the table closest to the door and I flipped through some of the pages.

"It is quite an interesting book indeed Princess", I said and she smiled.

"I knew you would think so."

"So, I read what you said about the things that went on in Tir Asleen since I have been gone. How bad is it", she asked with her voice shaking.

"I'm not going to lie to you but your family is going mad over your disappearance. Rather I should say your father and your brother as I said in the letter wants to kill Kit. Your mother is heartbroken from what I can see. She tries to put on a brave front but I know that this is killing her", I said and she put her head in her hands.

"I never should have left. I have caused so much damage and pain to the ones I love. How could I do this to them", and she began to tear up.

"You were unhappy and hurt by that incessant girl. Going through what you have been through would make anyone want to flee", I said taking ahold of her hands.

"It's still not right. They will never forgive me for this", she stated.

"In time I know you will see them again and if I know anything about your family it is that they love you. They are your family and will understand why you left along with forgiving you for it."

I could see her mulling over my words in her head. The internal struggle that she was battling with was written all over her face. In time I just hope she can realize that she doesn't need to blame herself for all the pain she has been through.

#kit tanthalos x reader #hazel callahan x reader #willow 2022 #kit tanthalos

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katsukikitten · 2 years

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Synopsis: Grueling training led you to this moment, standing in the middle of the forest sent to deal with a demon terrorising the area but it seems you've gotten more than you bargained for when the stripped Kizuki steps into the clearing.

Warning: blood, biting, some light body horror, smut, choking.

A/N : blame @kinjuutsu for this one. wc 3260

Standing in the thick of the forest makes your hairs stand on end. Your ears perking at the sudden blanket of silence that smothers all the sound.

No birds, no hooves or clash of antlers against wood. No claws or screams of trapped prey.

Not even the rustle of the leaves over head.

It's animalistic, the instinct that you're fighting hard to ignore as it burns in your limbs. Scorching the soles of your feet and tugging at your chest. It's hardwired so deep in your DNA that you think you can hear your ancestors yelling through the veil just one word, in various tongues all meaning the same thing.

RUN

But you can't, sent here to purge this Earth of the evil, of the sinful things defying Death as they linger in the shroud of night, too unholy to see the light of day.

Clouds lazily float over the full moon, momentarily blocking out what little light filters through the canopy and by the time the dense vapor eclipsing the moon dissipates there is a shadow looming in the clearing across from you.

You should startle, your ancestors must be even louder now, more worried as you think you feel a tug at your silver starlight hirori. Yet still training for endlessly, tireless years proved the steady stance you had. The blankness to your face as you relax your muscles.

Telling yourself this was just another sparring match.

Amber eyes glow in the dark, kanji in his eyes as you fight the flinch in your spine as you read the unluckiest of numbers.

Three.

Upper three.

A slow steady intake of breath through your nose. Inflating your lungs with the force of your diaphragm, held at the apex of breath.

"A woman slayer?" His voice is velvet sin.

Sucking on your tongue harshly as you feel every inch of skin that his eyes rove over. Like having the evil eye pointed directly at you. Fingers gently ghosting over your very soul and you feel nauseated from his presence.

"Shame I don't fight women. Your spirit is….interesting." In an instant that weighted gaze is gone as the broad man with harsh lined tattoos begins to give you his back. The pink haired man choosing to ignore the sweet lull of your smell that makes his cock stir. He chalks up a discrepancy encouraged from Douma speaking of fertile women non stop.

His fucking mistake to give a tiger his back.

You're pouncing him faster than he can react, first form, Swift Nightshade, severing a part of his head but his vertebrae are too thick. Your amethyst blade is lodged, struggling you place your between his shoulder blades trying to force it free to no avail.

"Oh little moon flower." He sighs, his voice soft before it turns darker, clipped, "You're gonna regret that."

He grabs onto the blade and shoves it from his throat as if he were merely dusting off his shoulders, sending you flying. Bursting through the trunks of thick trees, hundreds of years of growing just to be snapped like a twig in the matter of seconds.

Before you can take in another breath he's on top of you, smile dripping with cruelty. Reminding you all too much like a cat with a mouse in their claws.

Toying as he does, tossing you again in the opposite direction and by the grace of muscle memory you land on your feet.

If you see an Upper Kizuki. Run.

But that command falls on deaf ears. Now that fear has melted, hot as it turns into molten rage. Rage you've worked so hard to control, the flames of it licking at your insides, tongue sharp and jagged as it rips away the sinew from bone.

Turning you into something anew.

A quick change in your stance and you're launching yourself at him again. Fifth form Might of Wolf's bane.

A visage of a giant wolf forms from the swift movements of your blade, slicing his arm clean off only for his fingers to flex a moment later, a new limb grown from his body.

"Pathetic. Your fighting spirit wavers between nothing and supreme territory, you have no control at all."

"Fuck off." You hiss, jumping backward as he advances. Combining two forms, Lily of the Valley and Swaying Foxglove.

Flowers break through the soil in the ground, creating a meadow so vast and thick that there isn't a place that Akaza cannot step without crushing the head of a flower.

"Cheap parlor tricks moonflower." He takes another step and a scent washes over him. Wrapping around him like a silken blanket as his eyes flutter with a sudden exhaustion.

It's weird how the feeling is how you smell. Like the courtyard in his home and just in the distance he thinks he can hear a rhythmic thump as water is dumped into a pool meant to reflect the sky. A mirror for the moon to dance in.

Who used to say that to him again?

Suddenly there is a searing pain in his chest, he looks down and sees you, looking up at him before you slice again, crossing over your original cut.

The wound takes a moment to heal as you retreat to a safe distance, barely felt on his compass as he looks down.

"Aaahh." He grunts and the sound reverberates in your chest, "You crossed my heart."

He touches two fingers to the wound as it heals, wetting them in blood before he licks it away.

"Guess I'll fight for real now." He changes his stance and with it the air about him. The flowers wilt at his feet before it spreads like a blight. Killing everything in its path including withering some of the pre existing trees.

You have to attack now, before the sound at his heart clears all the way up, you need to send the tip of your blade back through his heart in order to paralyze him long enough to cut his handsome head clean from his shoulders.

If it was even enough time with how thick his skin and vertebrae are.

Swinging your blade down, a breath almost fully activated he reaches out with ungodly speed.

Grabbing onto your blade and he has the audacity to yawn. As if he's bored, snapping your katana in his vice grip before he shoves you into the closest tree and shoves the deep amethyst blade right through your shoulder. Pinning you like a delicate insect for display.

Your smell is even more enticing now, the heady metallic tang coating his tongue making him dizzy. His cock stirs again and he rushes for the wound. Pressing his nose just above it and inhaling deeply as you lean your head away from him. He laps at the blood, like a mistreated dog in the summer months finally finding solace in a half dried puddle. His fangs elongate and for the first time he's tasting the blood of a woman. Growling as he huffs over your throat before taking a deep bite.

"Heh." You smirk beside him, "Ya like that?"

It's a growl before you're shoving his face deeper into your wound, letting out a gasped breath as you activate your final form. Wisteria Bloom.

The poison makes quick work as you feel the grip of him failing before the bitterant of the poison coats the back of his throat. It gives him an inkling of a feeling. Of a piece so long forgotten as it burns up the nape of his neck, spreading through synapses with each pounding thought of his head.

"Poison?" He spits onto your clothes, "You did that to them?"

You aren't sure who he's talking about but you'll take credit for killing some vile demon if the taunt meant giving you the upper hand. But before you can his pupils flicker in and out as if his body were combating your deadly, delicious blood on pure rage alone. His black fingers sink into the flesh of your ribs, slowly pushing through the tender meat between the bones.

"You killed them? Poisoned the well?" He growls and your yelp is high pitched. It causes him to slow, to quickly retract his fingers from your frame and dig into his own forearm. The four fingers separated in the middle as he digs two thick and deep wounds on his forearm. The only area that isn't banded in the twilight ink.

His head pounds, louder and louder is the call of a woman's voice just at the fringes in his mind. A soft thing drifting through the veil she toed so easily in life.

Enough. ᴉɾnʞɐH

His ears ring and the pressure on his body is more than any he's felt from his master before. The very master who now slithers into his head, speaking over what can barely be comprehended in his drunken state.

Enough Akaza. There is a finality to it that makes his stomach clench, You hate the weak.

Revitalized, the poison slows but his lust for you doesn't. He claims it is the affect of your blood but he's on you again without so much as a second thought. Running his tongue over your wounds, gently pressing his fingers on the weeping wounds he made in your ribs.

"Are you alright, Moon flower?" His voice is soft and you swallow thickly, it makes your stomach flutter. A gentle press of his lips to each wound on your left side awakens something in you that you wish not to speak aloud. It causes heat to collect and pool between your thighs, as it does his senses heighten.

Repeating the action on the other side. Dark fingers ripping away the buttons at your front, tearing away and yet keeping your haroi intact aside from your own sword holding you in place.

"D-dont." You try to squirm out of his touch, the cool night air causing your nipples to peak.

"Oh shy now are we?" He smiles up at you, mouth smeared with your blood, the moonlight plays tricks on your eyes and it almost looks as if he were flushed.

As if his eyes were flickering between blue and amber. Dark twilight making room for the stars and moon before they return to a golden shine of the rising sun.

You feel dizzy yourself, mostly from the blood loss of so you say as he brings his mouth to your breast. Pulling your pebbled nipple with his teeth gently before giving a harsh suck. A breathy shine escapes you and when he looks up you freeze. Like a bunny seen on the forest floor by the grinning fox in the brush.

It's well known how that will end.

Just like this as he rises back to his full height, looming over you with that look. His hands finding your sides, gently squeezing your ribs in his massive grip making you feel so small.

"Do it moonflower, use a breath to heal these." As if under a spell you speak so softly.

"Y-yarrow's touch." White lace flowers blossom over your ribs and throat, slowly healing wounds not being kept open. The demon slaps his hand onto your throat over his bite wound.

"Not this one, Princess." Sinful velvet again and you concentrate elsewhere. Soon they are healed, skin barely discolored and the only sign you were ever wounded at all is the lingering lines of blood that the demon leans over to lick. Thick tongue pressed flat against your smooth skin to take in your sweet nectar.

A shiver runs down your spine, cunt clenching embarrassingly and again he looks up. That predatorial look shining in his eyes. He wipes away the blood, your blood and comes closer to you. Pressing his lips to yours with such a softness, such a need it makes you whimper.

He groans, licking your lips that you part for him. Tongue swiping, swirling over yours and when he pulls away for just a moment the two of you share a silvery string of spit. He groans, coming back for more when he smells that insanely sweet smell again that clouds his mind before he finally realizes what it is. Hand sinking down your front, paste the dark fabric of your pants and panties cupping your heat for just a moment. Feeling the weight of you here and his harder than he's ever been before. Slowly his middle finger parts your folds and when he feels a wetness to you he shudders.

"So wet." He presses himself into you further, nose over your bloody throat, "I've hardly done anything to you Princess."

"Or maybe…maybe you like fighting as foreplay huh?" He bites you again and the moan you let out is loud, long. Makes your face and throat heat as he sucks. Letting your blood flood his mouth and he groans with each swallow. Pressing harsh sloppy circles to your clit, mouth at your ear.

"'S that why you're a demon slayer moonflower?" He teases, gently nipping at your ear, "Wanna be corrupted and fucked by a big bad demon?"

You can't speak, can hardly breathe as he hovers in your personal space. Drowns you out with his scent. Smelling faintly of salt. He grabs onto your throat, squeezing so tightly your eyes flutter.

"Answer me. Tell me how you want to beg for my fat cock." He palms himself before he lets you go, fingers still pressing on your clit as you quake beneath him. Your vision blacks out and you let out the most beautiful, constricted moan he's ever heard.

"Is that a yes, pretty flower?" He pulls it from you again and again and again until his fingers are so soaked in your juices it drips from his wrist.

"Pl-please." You're so dizzy. So overstimulated as he has you reeling again. He leans close, pulling away his fingers from your clit and shoving them roughly into your spasming pussy. Angling them back towards him, lucky he found your sponge spot right away.

"Akaza." He breathes into your ear, "Now moan my name and I'll fill this angel cunt."

"Akah...I- can't." You pant, trying to desperately grind against him but his free hand slams your hips into the tree, cracking it even.

"You can and you will." He bites your throat again, worsening the wound and lapping at the blood, he feels dizzy. So drunk off of the smell of you, "Say it."

It's obvious in his tone that he wants to fuck you as badly as you want him. Lust and nothing short of delirium riddle your mind and swell your tongue.

"Akazaaahhh." You pant, your head resting on his heavily, "Please fuck me."

Without thought his voice changes, soft, endearing, protecting and filled to the brim with want.

Need.

As if it were you who were denying him.

"As you wish, princess." He slides himself into you with ease. Right to the hilt and he stays still. Savoring the feeling of you fluttering around him as you adjust to his size.

"M-move, p-please." Your head is spinning and the wound in your shoulder and bite marks pound in time with your cunt. Sick with want and need, for this demon to fill you up with sticky white, "Akaza."

"Anything for you." He moves slowly, setting a deep rut that has your head hitting the trunk of the tree. The pleasure is unimaginable, cresting in you with each steady roll of his hips. You've been fucked before but no where near like this, it felt different.

Like devotion.

Like he needed you to know what you did to him, how you make his heart pound and the way he's moving you, the way his hands touch at your body as if you were something to be marveled had your brain twisted.

Love sits on your tongue when it shouldn't, especially as he gently grabs onto your chin with on big palm. Fingers and thumb causing divots in your cheeks with no real malice as he forces you to hold his gaze.

"So pretty. So fucking pretty." He rasps, eyes deepening into twilight blue, hair turning jet black and where his self inflicted wounds were now twin bands of black ink on both forearms.

"Akaza?" Your voice is soft and suddenly the image is gone and he's back to how he looked before. Tattoos elsewhere on his skin, on his throat and face. Eyes a golden color as upper three stare back at you. He comes closer, swallows your moans with a kiss. Its hungry, deep, as if he's finally come home.

"What is it, Princess?" He asks after he breaks the kiss, "What do you need, let ᴉɾnʞɐH, take care of you."

But whatever name he uses doesn't come out right, it sounds blurred and fuzzy and it makes his free hand grip at the back of his neck so hard he draws blood. Pushing his fingers in knuckle deep as if trying to rip a parasite from his spinal cord.

"N-need you." You pant, hands coming up to class at this back, "Need you to fill me."

His cock twitches at that and whatever was bothering him fizzles out at the back of his head. He chases his own high as you continue to squeeze him so tightly he sees stars. His pace lacks structure as he sloppily thrusts into you. Painting your walls with white hot ropes. He says something so low. Three words but you can only make out.

"Princess." Like it's a sacred word, a song to be sung to the gods in worship, a sound that he makes seem as if it's only for you.

Slowly he pulls out and when he is without you he suddenly feels enraged. Anguish, head throbbing with such an intensity he falls to his knees.

"Where are you? Moon flower?" He begins to claw at his face, lost in some sunbleached illusion, "Princess? Where the fuck are you?"

You think you see fat tears fall down his cheeks before they are followed by thick ribbons of crimson.

Panic devours you whole and in your own hazed mind you pull the sword from your shoulder, feeling his pain well in your stomach as you rush to him.

"I'm here. I'm right here." You coo, wrapping your arms around him as you bend over to cradle his head. Quickly he wraps his arms around your waist while he stays on his knees burying his head into your legs. He gasps, fangs elongated but like a spell the smell of you placates him before globs of blood land on his shoulder.

He looks up at you shocked, your knees turning to jelly causing you to fall but he rises to catch you before you hit the ground holding you tightly to him that your bones groan from the force. Passing out with a final breath.

"Akaza."

You were a liability, a fucking problem as he slowly comes back to his senses. Unsure how this scene unfurled before him. How he ended up whispering so softly that he loved you as he fell into his own sweet abyss as you encouraged him with the sweet sounds of your mewls.

He should let you die.

He should kill you.

He knows he should.

It would be easy to just crush you together in his grip as you lie limp in his strong arms.

But instead he grabs the blade of your sword and the hilt, pushing you closer to him as he jumps from the clearing in the forest.

Bringing you back to God knows where.

#akaza x reader #akaza x female reader #hakuji x reader #kny x reader #kitten writes 🖤🐈‍⬛🖋️#kitten writes hakuji

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multiwreckedmess · 9 months

Text

The Other Way Around

Pairing: Changbin x “her” (unnamed femme pronouned character) Genre: Idolverse, angst, 3rd person WC: 6k~ Summary: Scars get created from scabs you don’t let heal. She’s the wound that he won’t stop picking. TW/CW: SMUT (pretty tame tbh, unprotected penetration if that bothers you), depression, infidelity, guilt. Saying goodbye (but make it so painful).

As per usual this is not meant to represent Changbin or ANY idol mentioned. I do not KNOW them like that. It is a work of fiction. There is 18+ content in this fiction which should not be used as a guide for ANYONE. If you are under 18 please do not interact with me or my works, I guarantee you I’m actually just the crypt keeper please make friends your own age.

"Have you written any songs about me?" Her eyes searched Changbin's face bursting with pride. "No, not yet." Changbin cleared his throat, "but I'll tell you if I do!"

Her laughter was like a melody he couldn't capture in notes no matter how many times he put pen to paper to write it out. It hurt to hear, plucking at the strings of his soul that he couldn't quite bear to cut out.

He should've forgotten about her the second she flashed that damn engagement ring all over social media, finger tips blushed red from the cold.

"Say hello to the a future member of the Mrs. club!"

That night he threw up before he went on stage. Not one to get nervous before a show suddenly he was all shakes and jitters. Shooting him and anxious glance Chan put his arm around his longtime friends shoulder. "You good to go bro? We can adapt if-" Changbin blamed it on too much greasy food. It wasn't a burden for his leader to bear.

That night was his best performance ever. Soles of his shoes hitting the floor with the full intent to break through it. Spit flying as plosives accented his flow like pop rocks in chocolate candy bars. Hitting each isolation like a man possessed only to collapse into the faux leather sofa in the greenroom at the end of the night nearly dead to the world.

When they came back from tour Changbin wasn't seen outside of his room for weeks. The only sign of life was the occasional grunt of effort from his exercising. An aptly self made prison.

"Changbin!" Han yelped as though he'd seen a ghost, paradoxically grabbing his arm to stop him. "You don't look good dude." A haunted shell of his formerly bouncy, jovial self he smiled at Han, at half hearted attempt to soothe the anxious face in front of him. "I'm okay." "Nah I haven't seen you in weeks bro. You aren't okay." "I'm fine." Han's stomach sank. He knew that tone all too well. The firm resolution of a man who absolutely could not ask for help but desperately needed something. Han just wasn't sure what and Changbin definitely wasn't going to tell him even if Changbin even knew what he needed.

The award season was supposed to be a happy time. An exciting time. At least cheerfully busy time. "Changbin, bro, you've got to snap the fuck out of it," Chan pulled him aside during a break. "I know you don't want to talk but at this point I need to know if we need to have someone professional step in." "I'm going to miss her wedding," Changbin's broken whisper floated by the pair in a dreamlike daze. "It's during promotions, I'm going to miss her wedding. I have to-I've studied the schedule over and over. There's just no way. There's no way to do it quietly or quickly."

Chan slid the sheet folded sheet of 8.5 x 11 printer paper under Changbin's door without a word. It wasn't much for him, a gesture of sympathy from one man to another. A single ticket to the year end award show. An easily obtained favor for the industries most connected man. "Invite her!" Written on a post-it note at the bottom of the page. She couldn't go as his date obviously, but she could at least watch from a privileged position. It was the thought that counted. The only way Changbin could see her dressed up in front of him in real life. Such a small thing in the grand scheme of it all but feverishly important to him.

Dusty pink chiffon draped elegantly across her shoulders into big puffy bell sleeves and over a peekaboo boned waist. Romantic, princess-y, soft, and not his. Excess fabric gripped tightly in her firsts, her skirt flounced with each light trot toward him. "Is that h-" Jeongin poked at Felix's side. Felix quickly swatted at his thighs to shut him up. The word had traveled through the Australians into the second dorm but Changbin hadn't said a word. The two men watched as their friend's shoulders pushed back, extending his spine straight and as tall as possible. Broad and sturdy, clearly tense. There could be no doubt who it was. Not to them anyway. The carefully coiffed wave of her hair framing her face made him want to grab her by the waist, steal a company car, and drive to the ocean with her to watch the waves crash on the shore. The thought of the chaos that would ensure made him smile. Greedily stealing her away from her fiancee during crucial prepping time to ogle over what he was missing out on. Making her dress up in a gown, put on heels, hire a makeup and hair stylist, all to see him when he'd have been just as happy if she'd come in sweats and one of his baggy tee-shirts. Skidding to a halt a respectable meter in front of him her arms slam unnaturally stiffly at her sides. "Binnie I want to hug you so bad right now but I'm sure JYP has a trained sniper on me if I get too close." Pain knits her brow. "It's been ages! I've missed you." It would be easier for Changbin to claw his way inside of his chest with his bare hands and rip out his still beating heart to present to you than say what he wants to say. "Yeah, sorry, the idol life is-" "No it's fine! You're doing what you dreamed of!" "I just feel so bad-" "Seo Changbin, by the grace of the JYP sniper, I will slap you if you apologize for missing anything going on in my tiny insignificant life for your grand one. Hell, I'd miss my own life for that!" She beams at him, "have you written any songs about me?" Her eyes search Changbin's face, bursting with pride. "No, not yet," even he laughs at his lie, trying to shrug it off as nonchalantly as possible. Clearing he throat he follows, "but i'll let you know if I do!" She teases him with an exaggerated frown, "now I'm a little disappointed, none? No songs about your best friend? Even like, a verse?" "Nah, not our style."

Every time he wrote it was about her in some way, at its core. The sad moments, the happy, the melancholic, the lonely, all his confusing conflicting feelings woven into the layers of instruments and vocals and noises of the track to be mixed and muddled like they sat in his chest. Listening over and over until the slurry of feelings settled into numbness. A slow but steady process of cataloguing so his heart could feel free to forget.

Chan knew as he watched the pair, hawk-eyed, that this could not nor would not be the last meeting they'd have. The stiffened positions, the way that Changbin's fingers twitched as he fought the urge to wrap her in his arms. Changbin couldn't say goodbye here in the way he'd want to, even if he told Chan that he was satisfied. "After schedules are done you can take a company car if you'd like," Chan offered as casually as possible. "We'll be needing your driving skills in some filming next month so take a weekend trip to brush up." Though the leader's tone was that of a friendly request, Changbin knew better by the firm pat on his shoulder. It wasn't an offer he could say no to easily. Chan was really saying "take the car, take the weekend, take the girl, and don't get caught."

"We'll be out of sight here?" She marveled at the vacation house sat on the edge of the coast. Far more opulent than she'd imagined when Changbin had invited her for the weekend trip. The stars had aligned almost too perfectly for them. His family vacation rental hadn't been booked, her husband was out of town on a business trip, and he didn't have any schedules. Her husband had even suggested staying the weekend with a friend, something fun without him after the intense togetherness of their honeymoon. "Out of sight enough. We can't go outside though. There just always a chance-" "Yeah no, international superstar. I know." "Sorry." He swallowed the guilt down into his chest. Another thing he couldn't offer her. Despite the overcast sky chilling the sand he wanted desperately to walk the shoreline with her. Share the sea breeze like they used to. Bury his feet in the sand despite the fact that the sun had failed to warm it. Something to remind her of the times they'd sat with their tear stained faces buried in each others shoulders for one reason or another. The comfort of the cloak of darkness cushioning their intense feelings. A faint smile crossing his lips as he remembered how she used to call her husband a rat-bastard while yelling into the salty air. Still they were hardly trapped in some shack. A sitting room, a living room, an opulent eat-in kitchen, along with three bedrooms made up the total of the vacation home. Enough room for the two of them to spread out easily. Almost too much room, Changbin thought as he watched her disappear into what used to be the bedroom his parents used. Still, he tossed his bag into the room he most frequently used as a child and headed to the kitchen to prep dinner.

Reappearing in a form Changbin had most frequently seen her in, she watches him apprehensively. Her sweatpants and baggy t-shirt wafting her scent like a very comfy specter in the kitchen. "We can order delivery right? That's not too risky?" Changbin rolls his eyes at her, playfully giving her a swat. "Hey, I can cook. At least I can cook Ramen." Her eyebrows lift slightly, nodding in acceptance. "It's mostly just assembly anyway," Changbin continue to muse as the water boils, pulling precooked toppings from his grocery bag and assembling them into their bowls. "I can crack an egg. I know how to do that you know." He focuses back on the pot of water, stirring aimlessly. She leans over into the liquor cabinet and Changbin can't help himself, watching the muscles in her thighs tense as she lifts a bottle of bourbon from the middle shelf. It's clear that she's been working out. Keeping herself up. Ramen water hisses as it spills over onto the stovetop from his overly vigorous stirring. "Need a stiff one?" She waggles her brows at him, gesturing with the bottle of brown liquor. "Sure, whatever you're having, I'll match." "You sure you don't want one of your bullshit low-calorie somethings?" Changbin shrugs, returning to the stove, "nah I worked out enough for this." She squeezes his bicep, handing him a glass. "Ooh big man Binnie! Eat a lot to feed those muscles!" He nearly drops the spoon into the boiling noodles as the jolt of overactive neurons spikes up and down his arm and fizzles his spinal cord. Mind working on overdrive to catalogue the feeling, dangerous and alluring like the edge of a knife. They down their drinks together before the ramen finishes.

Her lips leave a glossy print that fogs the edge of her glass. Opting against the formal dining room they sit side by side at the dining counter in the kitchen. It's easier, non-confrontational. Less pressure when you can't see the whites of the others eyes as you talk. Changbin prefers it this way, so she doesn't know how much he looks at her. Used to moving his gaze before it became too obvious how greedy his eyes were. "I always kinda thought, before you debuted of course, that in some weird way we'd end up together." She slurs slightly, swirling the ice cube left sitting in her drinks dregs. Changbin mirrors her, holding his glass up to eye level, feigning disinterest. "Yeah?" He prompts, hopefully nonchalantly. "It made sense to me at least." "You liked that scrawny kid?" He cracks, finally, turning fully to face her, incredulous. "I liked you." He rolls his eyes, "so you hate me now?" She gets down from the counter stool, gathering their glasses to make more drinks, avoiding his eyes. "Binnie," she warns. "You know what I meant." He chases. He knows what she means but he needs to hear it. He won't stop thinking about it until she says it. Fixated on the little words she won't say out loud, the invisible strings of words that tie them together. "You said you liked me, that's past tense-" "Are you seeing anyone?" She asks as she spins around with their drinks, the soft sweet scent of her shampoo wafting the pungent bitter brown liquor toward him. Changbin stares, incredulous, and a little tipsy. “What woman, no, what human would want to wait around for me? Working at all hours. Gone for months at a time. Totally unable to go out on a date. We can barely get away with this-” words fall off his tongue lubricated by alcohol and largely unimpeded by outside forces. He knows he’s spiraling. The small voice deep inside tells him he needs to stop, before he regrets something. So he takes a swig of his drink. And another. Each sip burns a little less than the last. Sitting in silence with his friend.

She clears her throat with a cough and an apologetic smile. “You know, I blame you for the string of producers I dated in college.” “STRING?” Changbin yelps, fist hitting the table and sending the ice in his drink clattering against the walls of the glass. “Better not be any of my friends.” “Could be.” She looks into the distance with a shrug. The veins in his arm bulge as he grips the glass, downing what was left. He can tell she’s trying to make it up to him in some way. It’s a very her way to go about it, dropping some small fact about the past that’s supposed to be funny but is secretly desperately sad. His brain feels like a sieve as he tries to grasp at memories of his friends regaling him with their escapades, snatching at halves of sentences between laughter and drunken haze. As though by some miracle he could turn back time to stop it all. “I don’t know your friends, Changbin. I very deliberately don’t know them or even who they might be.” Her soft honesty and sadness cools him like an ocean breeze. She’s not meaning to, nothing in her words is particularly comforting, and yet he suddenly feels sorry. “So you liked me?” “Yes Changbin, pighead, I liked you.” She huffs shortly. Almost regretting mentioning the whole thing. “We have terrible timing,” he jokes. “Yeah?” “I liked you too.” Somehow his words have missed the mark. His words never miss the mark, he’s proud of his record. But here, with her, they do. She tosses back the last of her drink with a scowl, body physically there but mind elsewhere. It’s not anger or resentment that rolls off her aura, something much more mundane and yet damning. He doesn’t realizes he’s staring until she’s staring back at him, eyes glassy.

They've touched before, of this Changbin is sure. Even today, even an hour earlier. He’s held her as she sobbed. They’d fallen asleep watching hours of dramas together. What his mind remembers his body has forgotten, the brush of her fingers skimming the grooves of his shoulders fluttering his already unsteady heart. It’s the alcohol. It’s the loneliness. It’s the desperation. He fights so valiantly to contain it. Still, her tossing back the last of her drink and furrowing her brows makes him want to comfort her. Need to comfort her. Not just comfort, console. So he kisses her cheek. A polite peck with his arm encircling her shoulder. She fixes his bangs, drooping into his eyes. “Are you okay?” Her voice an echo in his mind. “No.” She sniffs and smiles sadly. “Me either.”

Like two stars spiraling into each other they collide. Wordlessly his arms encircle her waist, drawing her close as she straddles his hips, their lips locking together in a doomed embrace. They travel as one, up the stairs to the bedroom Changbin had laid claim to, stumbling and bumping their way, unwilling to part for fear that the other may have second thoughts. He can barely keep himself together, rolling them into the hallway wall. Cock twitching, he could take her here, pressed into the wall. He knew he was strong enough, he could hold her weight easily. It was not how he envisioned it would be, roughly tangled against the plaster, and yet it was tempting. But god, he’d never held her like this, hard and sure in his arms, hips to hip, his thigh slotting easily between hers. Changbin can barely concentrate, the heat of her sex confusing his lesser head. She can taste the indecision on his tongue, multitasking was never his strong suit. “Bin?” She whimpers. “Yeah?” “Bed?” With a tap to her thigh he hoists her legs over his hips, carrying her over the threshold to the small room he’d always stayed in. Laying her carefully in the center of the queen bed, hovering over her, hair splaying like rays of a glittering crown. He can barely stand to look at her, glowing so brightly he felt dim in her presence. Lowering his lips to hers his fingers tremble as he delicately ventures under her shirt. Soft stomach, expanding and contracting with her labored breaths, he could stay here all night, all day, all week if she’d let him. Her skin is incredibly smooth, Changbin cringes, suddenly acutely aware of his rough hands. He opens his mouth to apologize but she take his lower lip lightly between her teeth she gently tugs with a moan and roll of her hips, erasing his previous intent. Her own frantic fingers tug at his clothes which he is all too happy to assist her with. Anything to feel more of her. Anything for her. “Fuck-Bin- what the fuck?” He watches her hands tentatively pass the valley of his sternum. She looks beautiful even when she’s lost in thought. “Yeah?” “You’ve gotten- can I?” Her hand withdraws suddenly aware that she’s been oogling him. “Yeah. I like it.” Like it is an understatement. Even her hands are soft as she massages his body with wonder. She needs him, Changbin thinks to himself. It feels good to be needed. Needed, not just by anyone, he needs her to need him. He wants her to touch him every moment of every day. His cock throbs at the thought, moan spilling unintended from his lips. She gasps with a pointed roll of her hips. “You feel so much bigger than I thought.” “You thought about this?” He feels insane hearing her confess her dirty secret to him. His lips press to hers, almost bruising with enthusiasm. “I did too.” Heart fluttering as the words leave lungs he kisses down her neck to her collarbone, tugging her pants off. Her panties are already soaked, plain greenish blue cotton darkened at her core. For a second he hears static in his ears, envisioning himself throwing her legs over his shoulders and letting his tongue do the talking. He’s practically drooling as her knees knock together, obscuring his view as he pulls his own pants off and tosses them carelessly to the floor. Her eyes go wide, “oh shit.” Changbin’s stomach drops, something must be wrong. Following her gaze, he looks down at himself with her. He’d not considered himself particularly endowed but now, poised over her cunt, the thickness of his cock seems almost unfair. “Don’t worry, I’ll stretch you out nice and careful.” His hand hovers, not daring to touch her most private area, yet. “I trust you,” she says simply, tugging at his forearm. Cautiously he dips his middle finger between her folds. “You’re so wet.” He’s matter-of-fact and proud. “For me?” “Yeah…” She blushes. Her hole flutters as he circles the entrance, teasing her slowly until she’s beside herself. Hips stuttering as her walls clench on nothing, begging for his hand to falter. Changbin smirks, unable to contain his cockiness as he leans forward to kiss her breast. How many times had her pert nipples crossed his mind and now to have them in front of him, all for him? How could he not lavish them in kisses, especially when each peck garnered a soft pleased sigh from her? His attention shifts completely, letting her grind against his throbbing cock as he takes his time, tongue flicking over one nipple as his hand works the other. The pinpricks of pain from her nails digging slightly in to his lower back tingle and spread waves of lust. Her gasps in his ears, the steady pressure of her needy cunt as she uses him, it’s all he ever wanted. “Gonna cum just from this?” He pauses, sitting back to admire her again; how her mouth hangs, lips plump and curled upwards in pleasure. “Binnie,” she whines and wriggles her hips, searching for the lost pressure. “You’re so mean!” Her nose scrunches with her smile and exasperated half laugh.

Her sheer cuteness tugs at his loud and brash side. With a smile he growls, pushing his digits into her with ease. Her expression opens into a relieved ‘o’ as he sinks as deeply as his fingers allow. His thumb traces a circle around her clit as she bites back a whine. “I need to hear you,” he mumbles quietly. “Do that again.” He obliges, circling again, and again, winding up in front of him, for him. Her moans are beautiful, a symphony composed for only to be heard in this moment. They put his works to shame and spurs him forward, competitive drive taking over. “If I can make her sound like this, if I can make her cum like this, if I can have her fall apart like this-” he dares not approach the conclusion of his thoughts. Arm locked, fingers crooked, and palm pressed firmly to her clit he drives his hand up and down into her g-spot over and over. Wet squelches fill the background over her punctuated squeals, hips rolling with him, thighs shaking. Both of them panting as she releases, warm against his palm, crying out his name. Changbin barely breaths. “Fuck, you sound so pretty.” “Binnie,” she murmurs, tired pleased smile creeping across her lips. “Beautiful?” “I’m sorry-” She only half starts her sentence before Changbin jumps in, “sorry? for what?” “The bed.” “Fuck the bed, we have more. You’re perfect.” To his surprise she sits up, pulling his hips towards her, trapping him between her thighs. For a second he thinks she might touch him, wrap her fingers around his angry leaking cock, so lewdly pointed at her. If she touches him he might explode before even getting a chance. “I shouldn’t,” she says as she looks up at him with blown out eyes. “We shouldn’t.” He agrees, heart pounding out of his chest. Did he fuck it up? Did he miss his chance? Brain buzzing with anxious thoughts he doesn’t even notice how hard he is panting. “I want-I need- Binnie don’t make me say it.” She pleads. “You want me to fuck you?” He can feel the words catching on his nerves as he says them. She nods, lips pressed in a line determined line. How could he say no to her? Finally stars aligning for them just for one moment, for one freak accident. He’d followed the path forward, not misbehaving, being a model individual. An idol. No one would know, no one could know. It was a perfect situation.

Sealed with a kiss he lays her back down, arms caging her in as his cock presses to her entrance. Taking a deep breath he pushes forward, even with all the preparation he’s done she’s tight around him. As he eases into her, she whimpers into his shoulder, walls clamping around him suddenly. “Painful?” He’s sweating from the heat of her and yet she clings to him needily. “No but-so much.” “Breathe, you can do it, you can take it.” Changbin earnestly whispers, forehead buried in her hair. It’s easy for him to encourage her, natural. Hand snaking between them to brush against her swollen clit, secretly to confirm how tight she was around him. “You’re so good. Just a little more.” Her eyebrows knit as he presses further in, fingers leaving crescents in his shoulder blades. Changbin doesn’t mind, the pain mixes with the overwhelming pleasure of her cunt, dulling his reaction. He grunts, pulling slightly back for the final push. “One last push, okay? You with me? You can do it.” With a whimper and a nod, she reassures him, preparing with a full inhale. Her exhale sounds more like a strangled cry, body shaking and cunt spasming around him. With a relieved groan their hips meet, hers rocking slowly to seat him fully inside of her. “I did it.” Her eyes aren’t focused, voice drifting dreamily through his brain, her hands grasping at his back. “You did. You’re so good.” Changbin has to close his eyes, pouring focus into not cumming immediately. The walls of her cunt pulse around him, adjusting slowly to his girth. Her hips move first under him, rocking and wiggling, light breathy moans subconsciously escaping from her. His heart seizes, focus shifting. “Gonna make you cum on my cock.” “Ooh shit Bin, that’s hot.” Her eyes roll and flutter as she carefully works herself on him. Planting his arms into the mattress he lifts himself just barely off of her, slow controlled strokes roll fluidly from his hips. Hours, days, years of practicing and training put to use in its fullest capacity, though not for what it was intended. He grits his teeth, watching her body respond in kind, eagerly joining him in bouncing and rolling. Every percussive hit of his hips causes a ripple, a moan, a gasp. “Binnie,” she warbles, eyes squeezed shut. Her walls mimic her scrunched expression, bearing down on him. She’s so warm around him and wet and so much more than his imagination could’ve conjured. “Gonna, cum-” he grunts. “Where? Where do you want-” "Inside," she gasps between curses. "Just-do it inside me."

Her gentle request and tight grasp turn him feral. Gathering her torso in his arms he lifts her ever so slightly from the bed. Touches being only skin deep isn't enough, he wants to feel her in his bones, let her moans reverberate and rearrange the cells in the marrow and turn him into a new man. Slamming as deeply as he can into her he lets out a gross choked back needy whine, body clenching and holding her as his eyes roll back in his head. His hips push up and deeper, filled with animalistic need, unwilling to separate even for a second. The force of his climax empties his lungs of breath momentarily, blood rushing in his ears so loudly it almost drowns out her small pleading "I love you". Carefully Changbin lets her down back to the mattress, keeping himself inside. He doesn't dare kiss her lips again, instead smothering her neck and shoulder in tiny pecks as they pant and sweat in the afterglow. They know they should move, but the air is cool and their shared heat keeps them bundled together. Arms wrapped up and across his back, her voice is sudden and stern, "we can literally never do this again. I'm married." "I'm an idol," Changbin brushes off the comment easily. Matters of the outside world still distant in his mind, only vaguely remembering why he shouldn't have done it in the first place. "Never again," she scolds like an elementary school teacher would a child asking for more dessert. "So let me hold you longer. Please."

Changbin doesn't sleep. He can't. Half petrified that she'll sneak off in the middle of the night and half busy memorizing the shape of their bodies together. His bones refuse to forget this, the bend in her knees where the back of her legs and his meet, how her back presses gently against his chest as she breathes slowly and deeply. The light and shadows of their outlines in the bedsheets change as the sun rises, casting them in an array of pinks and purples. It would be beautiful if it wasn't so sad. He doesn't even realize how hard he's holding her until her finger tips brush his arm. "You okay honey?" She mumbles in mostly sleep. "Bad dream," Changbin fakes the low rumble of a rested voice. He wants honey to be him, the only person she thinks of even in half consciousness, but he can't shake the ambiguity of it. She knocks him to his back, slinging a leg over his thigh and arm around his waist, using his pec as a pillow. Settling snugly into his side she sighs happily. "Go back to sleep, I'm right here." She subconsciously pets his stomach. "Just sleep."

They're packed and ready, hardly a word shared between them, brunch to be had at a small cafe that Changbin knew the owner of. It was their one moment to have out, the two of them. "Phone," she mutters, extending her hand to him. Changbin hands over his phone easily to her, no secret to dark for him to worry about exposing to her. With a stony expression she deletes her contact and adds the now almost foreign looking string of numbers to his egregiously long blocked list. His appetite is lost, stomach falling to the floor. "I'll find you again. I can find you again. You think that this can stop it?" Biting down on her lower lip her tone wavers as she hands the phone back. "It's for me. If I block you on my phone, it's too easy." She tries to climb into the car, but Changbin blocks her. "Why?" He demands, hand on the passenger door handle. "Because I'm married. Because I love him. Because I love you. Because I don't know what I'll do tomorrow when I figure out that I can't live without you. Because this is our best shot at returning to our normal lives." "I don't want to-" She smooths the arms of his sweater down over his elbows, fixing the cuffs gently over his watch, shifting him from his position with ease. "Shh, you do. You just don't know it yet." "I don't have to be an idol. I could just be a producer-" he bargains as she opens the door, stepping a foot in. "Do you hear yourself?" She smiles sadly, "it's even how you talk about it. You could never just be a producer Binnie - you were born for this, you trained for this, you love it. If you blow this all up for me I'll never forgive myself." His body stiffens. "When this all dies down, when folks are cycling through the military, I'll come back. I'll steal you away. I promise." He's stubborn. Resolute. "I'll throw you over my shoulder and carry you away if I have to." "What makes you think it will die down? What makes you so sure?" "It has to. That's how things work in my industry, in real life too. Things slow down." Changbin mutters. Tone tense and desperate. Wishes hanging in the air by a microscopically thin thread. "And I'll be an older woman by then, maybe with kids, maybe not. You sure you'd want to wait for that when you could have some young thing on your arm?" She sits regally in the passenger seat. Changbin wants to say he's not like that but she knows. She knows he isn't. That's why it stings him, burns his brain. Her words sit in his mind, ruminating, marinating, slugging around in a slurry coating over his every thought, boiling down to a salty burnt paste.

There's no one else in the restaurant except for his friend, the chef. They sit, just the two of them at a small counter in the back while he cooks, back to them. She happily chats away while Changbin sits despondent, staring into dark blackish-brown depths of his iced Americano. He can't look at her. He can't look at her for fear tears will start and he'll be unable to stop them. He can't look at her because there is no lie he could spin convincingly enough to cover for them in front of his friend. "You okay Changbin? You're quiet!" She laughs, "I think he's hungry! It's the only time I see him quiet." Changbin marvels, she lies so easily for him. Has she always been this comfortable lying? "Yeah, that. You know. Just hungry." Staring at the condensation dropping steadily to the coaster he can see her. Millions of her reflect upside down in each droplet. Each individual reflection is too small, hiding her expression in the prismatic multitudes of the water. He wipes the glass with his hand. It isn’t for him to deal with.

Changbin’s friend presents two plates to them. Loaded with traditional American breakfast faire. A special treat, from his time training at the French culinary school. His friend had obsessed over Gordon Ramsey saying the test of a great chef was how they prepared their eggs. In turn this obsession became a specialty. Each bite of food tastes like nothing to Changbin. Eggs, fluffy and loaded with creme fraiche, are reduced to clumpy wet protein lumps. Steaming wholegrain sourdough feels like sandpaper on his tongue. Even the grapes, ripe and firm, feel slimy and rough in his mouth. "Oh! I need to bring my husband here!" She exclaims, covering her stuffed mouth with her hand. "Your eggs are perfect!" "If you hadn't said you were married I'd offer to make it in the mornings for you," his chef friend replies flirtily. "Real shame, could've had perfect eggs every morning for the rest of your life.“ "Well had I'd known you sooner!" Changbin busies himself disguising how little of the food he's actually eaten. Cutting and mashing and tucking bits away, picking at what he can. Anything to distract him. He smiles in the direction of his friend, eyes unable to focus clearly on him. Maybe that smile is enough to trick him. Maybe her almost shrill enthusiasm is enough. The plate in front of him feels like his own personal hell specifically crafted to torture him for his lapse in judgement. Take something he loves so dearly and let the weight of his decisions sink it down into his stomach like a heavy stone. Gluttony and greed, thinking he could have it all, thinking he could get away with it so easily. ”Changbin?” He snaps back to the real work, fork halfway to his mouth, corners tinged with the faintest of frowns. ”Yeah?” “You’re just quiet, wanted to make sure it was up to par!” She laughs again, “Oh you know him, bad at multitasking.” Her hand reaches out to pat him while her shoe nudges his shin beneath the table. “Right,” he tries to laugh, “just got a little lost in the whole experience. It’s so wonderful and relaxing. I didn’t know I was this tired of boiled chicken breast for every meal!” “Well you know, you can make slight adjustments to this recipe-” his friend goes on and on as she nods encouragingly along to every word. Her head bobs like the ball at the top of the animated sing alongs kids watch. He can’t do it. Not after last night. He shoves what he can muster into his mouth and excuses himself.

“Another car will-” “-be right after to pick me up. I know, Mr. Hotshot international superstar.” Changbin picks her small luggage out of the boot of the car, slamming the trunk closed forcefully. “I’m sorry.” She stands the appropriate amount of space away. Carefully measured to looks as professional and cordial as possible. Distant enough to show respect but close enough to not look awkward. “Please don’t say that Binnie. You don’t need to be sorry. Not to me anyway.” His lip quivers. He presses his lips together in a thin line to hide it, gluing his mouth shut. “No one is to blame. It’s not us, it’s-” she sighs and gestures, “it’s everything. What we were. What we had. That’s all we can be in this lifetime. And even knowing this was how it would have to be, I’d do it all over again, Changbin.” He sniffs and clears his throat. The burn of impending tears grasps him from his chest to his neck. If he could just relax and hide the held sobs, he could get through it. “Bin? Binnie? Changbin?” If only he’d been recording then to capture her. He nods his head. When would he ever hear her again? Would he ever hear her again? All the old voice notes she’d sent. Insane ramblings, tearful joyful shouts, slurred drunken babbling. Would he eventually forget how she sounded? “Thank you. I love you.” She lays her hand on his, still resting on the trunk as the car pulls up behind them to take her to her home to await the return of her husband. The inconspicuous navy sedan’s boot opens expectantly.

“Goodbye Changbin!” She waves cheerfully, unaffected as he stares at the road. The sound of the door slamming shut rattling his bones. “I love you,” he whispers to the air. “I’ve always loved you. And will always.”

Changbin sits in the drivers seat and stares out to the road he’s expected to follow back to his dorm. He knows the path, the gps is on despite this. He can’t think about the alternate routes right now. And still he does, sitting paralyzed in park. Eventually a neighbor knocks on his window, asking if he’s lost. He isn’t lost. He knows the road he needs to take. He just needs a minute to rest. Just for a second.

Sorry binnie for hurting yyouuuuuuu. Happy kcon you filthy animals.

#changbin smut #seo changbin smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #changbin fanfic #changbin oneshot #stray kids oneshot #skz oneshot #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic

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leqclerc · 1 year

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I always rooted for charles to stay at ferrari, because I wanted him to win with them. But seeing the way everyone is reacting after this race. . . He's starting to get the vettel treatment and I don't think it's going to get better. It's the first time I'm starting to think he should leave.

Yeah, I agree. It's the infamous Ferrari Number 1 Driver Affliction™. Ferrari might not publicly acknowledge Charles as such, but by all other metrics that's exactly what he is.

The prevalent narrative that it's his own frustrations/uncontrolled emotions that are the root cause of his troubles is very similar to what was being said about Seb. I mean, to this day you still get people parroting the claim that "he was never the same after Hockenheim 2018" which is........ just not true? lol Hockenheim 2019 has entered the chat 🤪 It was basically the ideal redemption drive after the events of 2018 and I barely see it mentioned. He can't even catch a break in retirement with all the "well Seb couldn't extract the full potential out of the Aston like Alonso does" takes. Like he's not single-handedly responsible for Aston's highest podium finish to date in a car that had maybe a fraction of the pace that this year's car does. Jfc.

Not to mention that the weight of a failed title challenge doesn't rest solely on the shoulders of the driver - there's many factors at play and in both 2018 and 2022 Ferrari just couldn't keep up with their rivals and threw away too many points by tripping over their own feet.

What's also frustrating about the Charles situation in particular is that... it's the Italian media who gassed him up in the first place, who boxed him into this Il Predestinato moniker when he himself never put himself on that pedestal, never claimed to be Ferrari's salvation. He can do a lot but there are things that are beyond even him. Drivers and team principals come and go but the title drought remains and no amount of Charles slander will change that 🤷🏻‍♀️

I know winning at Ferrari is his dream and he's 110% invested in this team but my god... he's on year 4/5 of his contract and what does he have to show for it? After last year's fight ended prematurely they've now taken a step back again and have been leapfrogged by Aston and are either on par with or perhaps even slower than Merc. There's still a lack of clarity and firmness leading to messy unnecessary situations like the qualy in Melbourne. Don't think anyone would blame him if he started shopping around for alternative opportunities elsewhere at this point.

#replies #anonymous #discussions and predictions #i want to see him with at ferrari ofc i do but they are making it SO har d not only for us fans but also for themselves??????#unless they get it together and pull out something great next year then i mean. theyre not exactly encouraging him to extend are they

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hellsingmongrel · 1 year

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That sure was a fuckin’ JOURNEY

(Spoilers, AGAIN, for Trigun, Trimax, and Tristamp) Welp. I hyperfixated on the entirety of Trigun Maximum that I got through it in like a day combined of reading, and that was WILD. Actually had a headache from fixating so hard and from all the megasads, but now that I’ve seen the conclusion, I’m feeling a lot clearer in my brain.

What made me kind of cackle at the end was that Meryl and Milly. Became REPORTERS. People who complain about Meryl being a reporter in Stampede can just sit down. It’s canon. They just moved the timelines a bit. Also, HOLY SHIT was that the most “The Power of Love and Friendship” solution to the battle I’ve ever seen out of a magical girl anime! And honestly, it made SO MUCH FUCKING SENSE. Needle-noggin’s unending, exasperating pacifism actually did save the world! Who would have thought??? And I sure as Hell did not expect EARTH to still be functioning and sending out rescue ships!

NGL, though, there was a stretch where I legit was worried it wouldn’t have a happy ending AT ALL, and boy did that make me even more worried! It was SO DARK. So much death and horror and actual sexual assault (which is the one that I REALLY didn’t expect, and especially not with the character it involved, wow, :U) Nor did I expect Knives to come out of it on the other end actually going “...Wow, ok, yeah, I was a shit.” And for a while, there, it felt like a TOTALLY different story than it started off as!

Nightow did a good job of bringing it back around full circle at the end, and in such a way that yeah, Vash was having to be back on his bullshit all over again, but he didn’t have the weight of everything he was running from emotionally weighing him down like he had before, which made it seem so much nicer! Sure, he’ll have to deal with people getting hurt and killed, but it seems like he’s not going to be putting the blame for literally every little thing that happens on his own shoulders.

I gotta say, when it comes to Stampede, I’ve seen some people saying that the Knives we get in episode 11 is super out of character and he would NEVER do what he did, but man. I gotta say. After reading the entirety of the manga, I do not agree with that criticism. There was a time there when he SUPER tried to shut down any compassion he had for Vash, so I can totally see him trying to use him for his own goals. I’m still excited to see how they handle the rest of the story they’re telling with the new series and stand by my assertion that Stampede Vash should be wrapped up in blankets and given cocoa and lots and LOTS of therapy and hugs and cuddles and head pats and told everything’s going to be ok. But he seems like a much younger Vash, who you only saw a few times in Max, but who had the same sort of naivete. It’s an interesting reimagining for the boy, but it all still feels very much like our favorite donut-addicted doofus.

Also, I have mountains of Vashwood feels that I don’t have the current capacity to handle and will have to stew on for a while, because GOOD LORD that was one hell of a fucking ride in THAT regard, too. Meanwhile, literally his relationship with Meryl and Milly feels almost like the protective, constantly-worrying parent. I know Meryl and Vash is a huge ship, and that’s totally valid, I just do not see him feeling that way for her at all. o_O The part where she was bawling and he was kneeling down to talk on her level had HUGE “adult talking to an upset child” vibes for me and nope. It just reinforced the “This man looks like he’s barely old enough to drink, but he’s literally old enough to be everyone’s great, great, great grandparent!” He still lights up like a giant golden retriever puppydog when they show up, because he adores the fuck out of the insurance girls, holy shit! It just doesn’t seem romantic to me at.

All in all, I gotta say, when I was big into anime and manga, Hellsing was my top favorite and Trigun was my second favorite, solely based on the Trigun anime. But after the really unsatisfying way Hellsing ended for me, and after seeing the way Trigun Max was done, it absolutely blows Hellsing out of the number one spot for me. It’s just SO GOOD! I was seriously doing myself a major disservice, not reading it for so long! Not that I had much control over supply chain issues for very small rural towns with little access to foreign goods.

There’ve been rumors that Dark Horse is planning a special edition rerelease of the manga (same as they did for Hellsing a few years ago, apparently. That’s on my bucket list) and I will ABSOLUTELY be buying those if and when they do! GIB GIB! LEMME HAVE PHYSICAL COPIES! I HAVE A MIGHTY NEED!

#Trigun #Trigun Maximum #Trigun Stampede #I'm probably forgetting some things I wanted to say #but my brain is a literal pile of goo right now #so Fuck it.

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1nksta1neddesk · 9 months

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A Court of Readers and Dreamers

Chapter 4: Head First

Word count: 2420

I woke slowly, groggy with sleep like I had been sedated for a surgery as I tried to nestle my way farther into the mane of the mare underneath me. My back was warmed by the soft sunlight and a warm wind brushed against my face as I twisted away from the sunlight that had angled straight into my peeped-open eyes. I pulled my head from the soft hair of the mare to squint at the expanse of bright green grass. A bird sang somewhere to my right, a song that did not belong to the long nights of winter but the fresh mornings of spring.

Though I had been prepared for the extravagance, I was struck with the full force of the inherent beauty of the fae lands as a large gate swung open on silent hinges. The ivory building was draped in vines and bordered with immaculate rose bushes. The sight of the balconies, ivy spilling from between the railings like water spilling between fingers tore the breath from my chest. I was to live here until I got myself killed under the mountain.

Tamlin didn’t pay any attention to my awe as he leaped up the stairs, continuing into the manor. The mare stopped at the foot of those stairs and I clumsily slid off of her, nearly falling to the ground when I eventually made it to the gravel. I hurried up the stairs, making it just past the open doors, feet sliding over the checkered marble as I looked around, confused where such a large beast could have disappeared to in the few moments I had lagged behind. A growl from a room to my left answered my confusion just as I was about to open my mouth to call out.

The doors swung wider as I stepped towards them, keeping my feet steady as I entered into the room. The wafting scent of spiced meats licked at my nose as I curved to the right, to see the large windows that flooded the room with shimmering light. The light fell upon the table, covered in food and drink; and the High lord that had appeared with a white flash, sitting in his chair at the head of the table. I jumped back, startled by the speed of magic as a gold-haired male with broad shoulders sat slowly in the chair at the head of the table. My eyes caught on the gold mask that had appeared on his face. Magic welding it to his skin, a thought that made my own face start to itch. The emeralds set along the gold glittered, matching his eyes as he stared at me.

“You should eat,” he said as he motioned to the table with a limp hand. The motion and the way he spoke nearly had me believing he was nervous. I still stood by the wall, nearly tucked into the corner, as my mouth watered at the food, full of fat and seasonings I hadn’t had access to since I started living in the cottage. Tamlin seemed half defeated at seeing my stillness, taking a long drink from a wine glass that had appeared out of nothing. The wine glass didn’t seem to drain even as he tilted it farther back.

He looked back up at me as he took a reprieve from the wine, tilting his cup towards me, and offering the red wine. I shook my head, “Your wine doesn’t agree with humans” I said, and he looked at his glass inquisitively, as though he had forgotten that fact and blamed the wine for it. He set the glass down, and crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at the table with a glare, which I could barely discern by the hard set of his jaw and the way his eyes grew darker behind the mask.

Steps sounded down the hall and I fought the urge to move toward the door to peer around it. They drew nearer until a red-headed fae male was walking through the room - toward Tamlin. A shallow bow and then “Well?”

Tamlin looked up from his engaging staring contest with a pile of grapes, “Well what?”

Lucien huffed, “Is Andras dead, then?”. A small nod, Tamlin’s posture softening before a whispered “I’m sorry.” Lucien’s arms crossed and I saw the heaving breath in his shoulders as he still was solely focused on Tamlin.

“How?” The word was bitter and full of accusation.

“An ash arrow,” said the Highlord. Lucien hissed, knuckles turning white as he gripped at his bicep. “The Treaty’s summons led me to the mortal. I gave her safe haven.”

“A girl-”, I couldn't tell if the word was that of disbelief, betrayal, or both,“-a mortal girl actually killed Andras.” Not a question, it was a pure emotion I could not distinguish as his eyes landed on the empty chair - my chair- “And the summons found the girl responsible.”

Tamlin nodded his head toward me “ The Treaty’s magic brought me to her doorstep.” The words hadn’t even finished falling from Tamlin’s lips as Lucien spun around, red hair fanning behind him and the copper fox mask on his face whipped to me like a true predator. A long jagged scar ran down his cheek, to the sharp jaw that was clenched in fury, drawing my eye to the carved golden eye that zeroed in on me.

Even from across the room, I could see his remaining russet eye widen. He sniffed once, his lips curling a bit to reveal glistening white teeth. “You’re joking,” he said quietly. “That scrawny thing brought down Andras with a single ash arrow?” I felt sick, eyes growing heavy with tears as I tried to resist sniffling at the memory.

“She admitted to it,” the High Lord one said, tracing the rim of his wine glass with a finger. His jaw clenched as a long, cyclical claw traced around the rim of the glass, causing it to whine out, “She didn’t try to deny it.”

Lucien slowly lowered himself to sit on the edge of the table, that gold eyes spinning as it looked at me now .“Well,” Lucien’s voice felt like a serrated blade dragging along my heart as he spoke, “now we’re stuck with that, thanks to your useless mercy, and you’ve ruined—” I tried to mold myself into the wall as I took a step backward, away from the man I had most hoped to be my ally while in the Spring Court.

“Did you enjoy killing my friend, human?” He said, and I knew there was more he was going to say, more words that were driving pins into my heart. So I interrupted, a small, quiet word, the first way I could start apologizing for my transgressions.

“No”. It was just barely a whisper, a syllable carried out on a thin breath, and if they had been anything other than high fae with those pointed ears it would have gone unnoticed. Both of their faces tightened, one in half-hearted pity and the other in skepticism at my words. I felt like I was burning under their stares and the threatening pressure of tears started to lessen, tears now hanging heavily on my lashes, not yet fallen.

Lucien broke his stare with my face, looking back to Tamlin, “Perhaps there’s a way t-”

“Lucien” a low growl, from the blonde fae who still had not removed that claw from the delicate glass, “Behave yourself”

Lucien went rigid, but he hopped off the edge of the table and bowed deeply to me. “My apologies, lady.” A joke when I knew I looked more like a beggar than a woman. “I’m Lucien. Courtier and emissary.” He gestured to me with a flourish. “Your eyes are like stars, and your hair like burnished gold.”

It gave me a small chuckle, thick with unshed tears and congestion that had been forming since I took my first breath of pollen-laden air. He looked up at me expectantly, prompting me for my name I supposed. But before I could sketch a horrible curtsy back to him and introduce myself Tamlin interrupted.

“Feyre, Her name is Feyre” He seemed irritated, more so than I had seen him so far. He jerked his head to the open doors, where a stout woman was standing. A simple spun dress covered in a white smock complimented the simple bird mask that covered her brow and upper cheeks, no jewels adorning it like the other two. “Alis will take you to your room. You could use new clothes and a bath”

The words were insulting but not unfair, I did smell rancid and the clothes I was wearing were nearly in tatters already, all except the jacket that was still snug around my shoulder. I had started to sweat in the thing the moment I woke up but was much more focused on this first interaction with the fae world. Alis had moved though, grasping my arm in firm hands as she guided me outside of the dining room.

A few meters into the hall I heard Lucien hiss out “That’s the hand the Cauldron thought to deal us? She brought Andras down? We never should have sent him out there—none of them should have been out there. It was a fool’s mission.” His growl was more bitter than threatening, and I swore I could hear the faintest falter in his voice as he continued, “Maybe we should just take a stand—maybe it’s time to say enough. Dump the girl somewhere, kill her, I don’t care—she’s nothing but a burden here. She is weak, she looks like a small wind could tip her over, much less dealing with her ”

“No,” The high lord's voice had risen enough that Alis hurried our steps, despite my attempts to slow her “Not until we know for certain that there is no other way will we make a move. And as for the girl, she stays. Unharmed. End of discussion. Her life in that hovel was hell enough.”

I tried to stave off the pride that made me want to go back there and tell him otherwise, that that cottage had been my shelter and safety as I adjusted to this world. I wanted to hear more of their conversation, it was about me so I felt justified in my eavesdropping, but Alis was practically dragging me down a dark hallway.

“Then you’ve got your work cut out for you, old son,” Lucien said. “I’m sure her life will be a fine replacement for Andras’s—maybe she can even train with the others on the border.” I smiled wryly at the comment, barely heard, before Alis pulled me harshly enough my feet stumbled, causing me to have to scramble to stay upright.

_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_

I laid in the bath, skin red from the scrubbing two servant girls had given with pumice stones. I had tried to fight them off, Alis staring disapproving from the doorway as I tried to take the rag from one of the girls myself, unwilling to make the poor girl wipe away the mud, soot, and traces of blood that had made my skin appear gray. I hadn’t won, obviously, fae strength overpowering me easily while I was half starved.

Speaking of which, my stomach growled so loudly I swore I saw the vibration across the water's surface as I tried to savor the floral bubbles that still floated on the top of the water. I pulled myself from the water, hunger pushing me to go seek some chicken legs I had seen on the table. I really wished I had grabbed at least some food before being dragged away.

My hair dripped onto the floor as I tried looking for a towel, but came up short, instead grabbing the fluffy robe I found folded in a basket next to the door. With it tied around me, I slowly eased open the door. Alis stood at the foot of the four-poster bed that stood in the middle of the far wall, her hands were holding a bright turquoise dress. I exited the bathroom, trying to be quiet but Alis turned to me, laying the dress on the bed gently.

“Your clothes are on the be-” she had started but I interrupted, my words blurting out. “I am not wearing a dress,” I said, her eyes hardened with what I assumed was annoyance.

“Please? Can I just get a shirt and trousers? Nothing complicated, I just want pants, please.” I had whined out that last please, trying to convince her to get me the simple clothing. She was quiet for a moment before turning and leaving the room, and I collapsed into a high-backed seat, hoping I hadn’t offended the woman.

Just when I thought all hope was lost she returned, trousers and tunic in hand. I smiled as sweetly as I could, genuine relief in it as I thanked her, gently grabbing the clothes from her before scurrying back into the bathroom. I swore I heard a small laugh come from the room when the bathroom door was fully closed.

I looked at myself in the mirror, fully dressed. Lucien had been right, I had kept the coloring of Feyre but my face- it was mine in the way my eyebrows curved, in the slope of my lips, and the light glinting off my cheekbones. I tore my vision from the mirror and tried to smooth out the dark blue fabric that now covered my torso, the fabric stiff and itchy in its stitching as my skin was only just spared by the white shirt underneath.

My hair still hung limp, half damp as it had drip-dried during the time it took me to change. I grabbed the uneven hair and forced it to become a simple thick braid down the center of my back. There were awkward pieces of hair that stuck out, either broken off due to a branch while hunting or accidentally slicked chunks by my face where an arrow release had been too close to my face, often cutting my cheek as well.

When I exited the bathroom, braid held in my hand as I intended to ask for a hair tie, Alis tutted. She disregarded my attempts to keep my hair in my hand as she guided me to a low-back chair that sat in front of the empty fireplace. She combed the knots I had missed free from the hair before she cut the uneven ends, unable to fix the pieces cut at my face level, she tried her best to even them out. I doubted it fixed much of anything as she rebraided it, tying it off with a pretty curl of navy blue ribbon to match the tunic. I had tried to protest but when she had asked me to let her make one thing about me pretty I caved.

She tucked one of those short pieces of hair from in front of my face behind an ear before she spoke. “Don’t feel bad for what happened to Andras. He was a good sentinel, and he knew what he would face when he crossed the wall—knew he’d find trouble. Everyone else understands the terms of the Treaty as well, but they will likely still hate you for it, he was their friend.” I tried to restrain a cringe at the past tense, “Just stay out of their way and trouble probably won’t find you, girl, though Lucien can always use someone to snap back at him” her final words were tinged in a laugh as she stood back.

I smiled up at her as I twisted in the chair, losing a tense breath as she made her way to the door. I was unable to explain that their lies about the treaty were unnecessary for me but- but I needed to keep playing the part. A mortal woman should not come into the fae realm and start spouting off how she knew their histories and their futures, it would most definitely get me thrown into a dungeon or tortured for all the information I know. I stood to follow Alis as she led me into the hall, toward that dining room full of foods and fae males.

#acotar #acotar rewrite #reader #a court of readers and dreamers #inkywrites #reader insert #fanfic #I Hope everyone knows I never know what I’m doing here

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ladyleonster · 1 year

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“ I don't know you very well. ” It's a genuine admission, perhaps a shameful one given their relationship as mother and son, but it is one that he cannot deny and has failed to deny for some time. There are many people who tell him about Ethlyn, but it is never quite a full picture.

With the exception of Selfina and Sara's anecdotes, the image of Ethlyn they leave behind for him is more a footnote than a woman. She is always there in tandem with her husband in those stories, and whilst one may call it a song of love, it leaves Leif in the dark. It tells him more of the man his father was than it ever even hints at his mother's character.

Even the famed story of her pearl tiara says nothing of how she felt about it. Did she like it? Does she keep it with her still now? It was never found within Leonster Palace once he returned. Did it sink into the sands of Aed?

He hasn't seen her wear it since they've met, but then again, there's little time they've spent together too. Perhaps if he had spent more time, he would get the chance to see it, but even then, it's still a gift from his father. To look for it is to search for him, and to instead give her anything like it is to act as if he could replace him.

He cannot overwrite the past nor can he rely on it. All he can rely on is what little he knows now, what he's learned from his own two eyes.

“ But you should be able to find a use for this. Even if you can't, you can sell it. I don't know if it'll get you much though. ”

And so he hands her a pair of riding gloves. There's no frills to it, in neither the gloves themselves nor the packaging, but he's not the type of prince who gives dreamy gifts to princesses. He presents them as they are, presents himself as he is, to the woman he knows so far as she is too.

To others, she is Quan's wife, Leonster's princess, Chalphy's daughter… a noblewoman in all parts. But to Leif, she is a woman who worries for him, who goes on missions, and will ride into battle if need be.

Every good rider needs something for their hands, he reasons. He knows that from his own callouses, from seeing them on Finn's and Nanna's hands too…

“ Using them as a spare works. Or giving them to someone else. You never know what another person needs or what will turn them towards you, after all. ”

That ought to be a truth then for Ethlyn too, or any other rider she might meet later in her life. If she continues to live, she will continue to meet others. That is the idea, anyway.

For now, Leif treats her as living, because even if the stories say she ought to be nothing more than a ghost, what she shows up to him now, as she is, is someone very real, someone with a beating heart, and someone who still has life left to live.

She doesn't really know him either. He's not very good at talking about himself but maybe she isn't either. She could make excuses for them. It isn't like there is some sort of manual for bonding with your child when they're only a handful of years younger than you are. No one would blame them for how strange their relationship is.

She blames herself. She knows the blame lies solely on her shoulders.

He continues and holds out a pair of riding gloves. They're plain, simple, practical. They aren't the fine, kid leather pair with Leonster's coat of arms embroidered in silk thread that Quan had given her once. They aren't carefully designed to match her wardrobe. She could probably walk into any shop in the village and find something similar.

But that hardly matters. Ethlyn wastes no time in trying them on and smiles as she flexes her hands inside them. These gloves are a gift from her son. They might be simple to someone who might happen to watch the scene unfold, but she knows what they really are. Her son's love and her son's protection.

He keeps rambling. She can tell he's nervous. He worries she won't like them. She smiles and sets her now gloved hands on each of his shoulders. "Leif, hush, they're perfect. I love them. You said you don't know me that well but i can tell that you do. Better than you think, at least. If you're not terribly busy today, maybe you would join me for a ride? I can't wait to try them out!"

#diadic #YOU #selphina sara and travant the only canon ethlyn stans

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cassandraclare · 3 years

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The Whispering Room: James’ POV

Here it is finally — James’ POV of the Whispering Room scene from Chain of Gold. I wanted to wait until Chain of Iron was released to give more people a chance to read the book, and also because what we learn in COI does inform the scene. I hope you enjoy!

*art by Cassandra Jean

Cortana wove with her words, underlining each one with steel. She turned as her sword turned, and her body curved and moved like water or fire, like a river under an infinity of stars. It was beautiful—she was beautiful, but it was not a distant beauty. It was a beauty that lived and breathed and reached out with its hands to crush James’s chest and make him breathless. — Chain of Gold

James had felt a strange emotion when Daisy first took the stage at the Hell Ruelle. It was a mix of several feelings...

worry on her behalf, annoyance at Kellington, curiosity, and admiration for her bravery and poise. It was unfair of these Bohemians to force her to caper for them, and, he thought, a bit insulting to Shadowhunters in general. He supposed that Matthew had given them a rather unusual view of what the Nephilim were like in such circumstances.

And then she had begun to dance. And suddenly she was not Daisy, his old friend. She was Cordelia, whose name meant heart, whose every gesture was fire. Every earthly worry he’d had had been swept out of his mind. He was conscious only of Cordelia, whirling back and forth across the small stage. Cortana danced around her, shedding light like embers. The dull glow of the lamps illuminated her body, describing her every movement, her every curve as she danced. Her scarlet hair whipped around her in time to the music, and the golden light of the lamps in the Ruelle slipped across her skin, slow and hot, like beads of honey. The cadences of her voice, rising and falling, seemed to weave a cage of silken thread about her audience, and James was no exception.

Later, James would think it was odd that he had not compared her to Grace. Grace had never entered his mind at all. Cordelia danced, and by the end of her performance, James’s entire life had been disassembled and put back together in a new and different shape. He was conscious of Matthew, beside him, also staring as the crowd cheered, his sharp cheekbones flushed. He looked dazed; James couldn’t blame him.

Cordelia descended the stage and slipped through the crowd to come back to them, blushing at the looks and murmured comments she was drawing from the audience now. James could see the desire in the eyes that followed her. Everyone wanted her. He felt a dull fury. They had no right. They did not know Cordelia. She was more than just that dance.

When she reached them she let out a long breath of relief and smiled. She glowed with the exercise of dancing. Sweat beaded along her collarbones, shimmered between her breasts. Her eyes were bright as Cortana’s blade, strapped to her back.

“Bloody hell,” Matthew exclaimed. “What was that?”

A look of uncertainty crossed Cordelia’s face. James said, “It was a fairy tale, Math,” and Matthew nodded. His dark green eyes searched Cordelia’s face, as if looking for the key to a locked room he had only just discovered.

Cordelia looked uncertain. James couldn’t bear that. She’d been magnificent; she should know it. But he couldn’t say that, of course. It would only make her self-conscious.

“Well done, Cordelia,” James said instead; when he unfolded his arms; his wrist hurt and he wondered if he’d been clenching his hands.

Cordelia. He hadn’t called her Daisy, and she looked a little surprised. It seemed inappropriate, somehow. Daisy was Lucie’s friend, the Merry Thieves’ compatriot; he found it a smaller name than she deserved. Cordelia, though—she had been a queen, hadn’t she? Queen Cordelia, daughter of Leir, ruler of Britain before the Romans had ever landed on those shores. Like Boadicea, a legendary warrior queen. A blazing white fire behind fathomless black eyes.

“Anna has disappeared with Hypatia,” James said, noting the empty settee, “so I would call your distraction a success.”

Cordelia’s lips twitched into a smile. “How long does a seduction usually last?”

“Depends if you do it properly,” Matthew said, with a wink. James felt it as a spark of relief, a bit of lightness amid the feeling that something heavy was sitting on his chest.

“Well, I hope for Hypatia’s sake Anna does it properly,” James said. He registered, with the reflexes of a parabatai, that Matthew had gone still next to him, and wondered what was wrong. “Yet for our sake, I hope she hurries it up.”

All hint of Matthew’s jocular tone from before was gone. “Both of you,” he said urgently. “Listen.”

Did he mean all the muttering about Shadowhunters? Was he only noticing it now? It had followed them since they came into the place. But when James followed Matthew’s gaze, he found Kellington staring with an expression of vexation, not at them but at the door. All questions were answered as through the door came Charles Fairchild, looking around him with a haughty expression. He looked like was about to raid the place; so much for whatever work Matthew and Anna had done for Downworlder-Shadowhunter relations here.

Matthew narrowed his eyes. “Charles,” he sighed. “By the Angel, what is he doing here?”

Charles was, James thought, probably looking for them. He was making his way through the crowd and gazing around him. Luckily for them, the crowd was not interested in letting him through, and he was moving very slowly.

“We should go,” James said. “But we can’t leave Anna.”

In one way, at least, Charles’s arrival was helpful; it threw a bucket of cold water on the roiling heat that had gripped James’s heart since Cordelia had begun her dance. Back to the matter at hand: a demon, a Pyxis, a plan.

“You two run and hide yourselves,” Matthew said, still keeping his eyes on his brother. “Charles will go off his head if he sees you here.”

“But what about you?” said Cordelia.

Matthew shrugged, but James could see the tension in his jaw and his shoulders. “He’s used to this kind of thing from me. I’ll deal with Charles.”

Not for the first time, James wished that his parabatai wasn’t in such a hurry to sacrifice his own reputation. He exchanged a long look with Matthew, but Matthew was sure, and determined, and his desire to rush into his own humiliation was an issue that would have to wait. Nodding, he turned and caught Cordelia’s hand with his own. “This way,” he said, and she nodded back in acknowledgement. As he pulled them into the crowd he heard Matthew’s voice calling, “Charles!” in a hearty tone of pleasant, if entirely false, welcome.

James didn’t know his way around the place, and the crowd made orientating himself even more difficult, but after some trial and error he and Cordelia managed to get behind Kellington and slip into a corridor leading away. This wasn’t safe in itself, since from the main chamber one would have a clear view down the entire corridor. In fact, they were temporarily more exposed than before, and James’s hope for the hallway to take a quick turn or to contain large statuary to hide behind was quickly dashed. He continued to hold onto Cordelia’s hand, not that he needed to; she seemed to know her way better than he did.

Partway down the corridor, James caught sight of an open door — its silver plaque labeling it the entrance to THE WHISPERING ROOM. Swiftly he drew Cordelia inside, out of sight. He slammed the door behind them, causing a loud noise, but he thought it couldn’t possibly be heard over the crowd in the main chamber. Only then did he release Cordelia’s hand and take stock of their surroundings.

The room was dimly lit, but not cold: a scented fire burned in the grate, filling the space with the smell of sandalwood and roses. It was a study, he guessed, based on the gigantic walnut desk against the wall and the bookshelves opposite, but it was too richly decorated to be solely a place for studious contemplation. Phoenix feathers and dragon scales danced across the gilded wallpaper; there were no windows, but the walls were hung with patterned tapestries, the floor covered with a rug so thick James felt his boots sink into it as he moved further into the room.

Cordelia had leaned her back against the wall next to the door. Her eyes were closed and she was taking deep, full breaths, calming herself down. Cortana gleamed gold over her shoulder; the firelight gleamed a deeper gold on her skin, which seemed to take and hold its warmth. James curled his fingers in against his palm.

He wanted to touch her. He half-turned away, pretending to study the books on the wall. Any other time, he would have been fascinated by the titles. Now they seemed distant, neither immediate nor imporant. He could have sworn he heard his own heart hammering. He said, “Where did you learn to dance like that?” surprising himself with the roughness of his own voice.

His gaze snapped back to Cordelia as she opened her eyes and gave a little shrug. There was something magical about the dress she wore: it followed the shape of her own body rather than the shape of corsetry or whalebone petticoats. It slid softly against her skin as she moved, just as her dark red hair tickled the bare skin of her throat, her shoulders. “I had a dance instructor in Paris. My mother believed that learning to dance aided in learning grace in battle.”

The word grace pierced James like an icicle. He could not quite picture Grace at the moment, it was true; could not quite envision her face. He had given Grace his heart — that was an immutable fact, something he knew as he knew that two plus two equaled four. But he had to admit that at the moment his heart did not feel given. It felt like a thrumming machine inside his chest, pumping blood and heat.

“That dance,” Cordelia added with a quirk of her soft mouth that struck James like a blow to the stomach, “was forbidden to be taught to unmarried ladies. But my dance instructor did not care.”

“Well,” James said, keeping his voice steady with practiced control, “thank the Angel you were there. Matthew and I could certainly not have pulled off that dance on our own.”

Cordelia turned away from him, the smile still on her face, as though she were keeping it secret from him. She trailed her hand along the top of Hypatia’s desk. At one end was a stack of papers held down by a large copper bowl of fruit, and she brought her hand up to trace its rim.

James may have been distracted beyond the capacity for distraction he’d known before, but he was still a Shadowhunter. “Be careful,” he said warningly. “I suspect that is faerie fruit. It has no effect on warlocks—no magical effect, at least. But on humans…”

Cordelia pulled her hand back as though stung. “Surely it does not harm you if you do not eat it.”

“Oh, it does not. But I have met those who have tasted it. The say the more you have of it, the more you want, and the more you ache when you can…have no more.”

Cordelia was looking at him now, and though it took a great summoning of courage, he returned her gaze. In her dark eyes the silver and blue flames of the fireplace danced. James could not catch his breath. He had never felt this before, this breathlessness. It was like pain, but with a sweet, sharp edge. Like licking honey from a knife. He said, in a low voice, “And yet. I have always thought…is not knowing what it tastes like just another form of torture? The torture of wondering?”

The door shook on his hinges suddenly, making a clatter that made both he and Cordelia jerk their heads around to look at it. The knob was starting to turn.

Cordelia paled. “We’re not meant to be in here —“

James’s world closed down to just this: Cordelia was here, she was with him, and she looked frightened. He would do anything to stop that look on her face. He caught her in his arms, and the relief was incredible — he had not realized how much he wanted to be touching her until he was. Until he was holding her, and her strength and warmth and softness were all pressed against him, and her face was so beautiful it hurt, and her lips were parted in surprise and without another thought he kissed them.

He could feel her sharp intake of breath with his hands, clasped together at her lower back. She gasped, but did not draw back, or away — he thought he would have died if she had — she leaned into him, her full lips opening under his. She was kissing him back. He tasted honey, smelled jasmine and smoke. His hand slid up her warm cheek and into the soft fall of her hair.

Time stopped.

Cordelia’s arms were around his neck. Her lush mouth opened a little against his, and the kiss deepened. He moved his hand to the back of her neck to bring her closer. Her teeth grazed his lower lip, and he couldn’t help it; he moaned, and felt her tremble against him.

Very far away, a voice chuckled and the door closed with a soft click. This whole thing had been intended as a ruse, he knew, for the benefit of whomever was trying to get into the Whispering Room. Probably some Ruelle attendees, Downworlders most likely, who had snuck off for a rendez-vous.

Ruse accomplished, then. With intense regret, James drew back from Cordelia. Her hand, warm and soft and wonderful, was against his neck; her fingers stroked his pale white scar. Her eyes were fixed at the level of his shoulder. He could hear himself say her name — Daisy, my Daisy — instead of responding, she whispered, “I think more people are coming.”

He knew it wasn’t true. He didn’t care. He knew what she was saying: that she was asking and giving permission at once. All James’ life, he had struggled for control: control over his sudden falls into shadow, control over the dark world he could see, that was invisible to everyone else. He had worked and fought and trained for control every day, and for the first time in as long as he could remember it deserted him.

The walls he had put up burned to the ground in an instant as he caught Cordelia to him. He groaned against her mouth, his hands slipping over the silk of her dress, the hot satin of her skin. He undid the strap that held Cortana, got rid of it somehow — carefully, he hoped — and let himself fall back into delirium.

He did not ask himself why he had never felt desire like this before. He could not. He was lost in the feel of her, the incline of her waist, the flare of her hips, the rise and fall of her chest as she gasped. They were kissing wildly, uncontrolled; they fetched up against the desk, Cordelia’s back to it.

Her body bent backward in an impossible arch, her hands going behind her to brace herself. Her eyes half-closed, her head fell back, revealing the bare column of her throat. He pressed his lips there, eliciting a gasp of surprised pleasure.

His hands trailed up the sleek material of her dress — he could feel the heat of her skin through it — from her waist to the neckline of her gown. His palms followed her curves until the tips of his fingers were pressing into the bare bronze skin just above the neckline of her dress. She was sleek and soft and hot all at the same time, like nothing else he’d ever touched. He heard her whimper; she was saying his name, and his heart beat in time with her words: James, James, Jamie please.

The please undid him; shrugging off his frock coat, he caught hold of her around the waist, lifting her until she was perched on the edge of the desk. The material of her dress bunched around her knees, her thighs, as she took hold of his shirt by the starched front and kissed him. His mouth drove against hers, hot and demanding, even as he clambered onto the desk after her. She reached up her arms for him and he sank down on top of her, bracing his weight with a hand above her head.

He paused, just for a moment, looking down at her. Her scarlet hair fanned out across the desk, her eyes glazed, her full lips red from kissing. He was cradled by her body, her legs on either side of his hips, her skirt rucked up nearly to her waist. She wrapped her long, bare legs around him and he shuddered. What was in him, what he wanted, was inchoate but insistant, a force he’d never known. A yearning like hot wires in his blood, the pain-pleasurable ache of unbearable wanting that drove him to kiss her again, kiss her harder. She tangled her hands in his hair, pulling at it as he kissed her breasts, flicking his tongue over the sensitive skin until she gave a low scream and clutched at him with desperate hands.

He sank down against her and kissed her, hot and deep and hard. She arched into the kiss, her breath coming in gasps. He felt her through the thinner material of his shirt: the heat of her, the swell of her breasts against his chest, her hands smoothing over his chest, his sides.

His hands aching to touch her in kind, to find out what she liked, what made her gasp, and do it again and again . . . Nothing had ever felt like this, nothing. He’d known desire before; so he remembered, so he had believed. It turned out he had stepped into a puddle and thought it was the sea. As Cordelia moved in his arms, as her lips, he realized there was a depth to desire he hadn’t even guessed at: that it was more than just desperation, but joy and need and wanting and being wanted back. It was a fever dream, his hands sliding up under the heavy satin of her skirts, the salt-sweet taste of her skin, the soft sounds of her pleasure as she urged him closer, urged him onward, the desk seeming to spin beneath them.

He heard, as if at a great distance, the sound of the door opening. He lifted his head, saw the slim fair-hared figure in the doorway. Ice washed through his veins. Cordelia stiffened, began to scramble to sit up. No, he thought, but he couldn’t stop her, couldn’t blame her. It — whatever it had been — was over.

He slid off the desk. Already the fever was vanishing, that feeling —the glorious freedom from the burden of his own will — receding. Grasping at his control, he drew it around himself, reaching for his coat, turning to calmly meet the gaze of his parabatai.

“James?” Matthew said.

#the whispering room #james herondale #cordelia carstairs #the last hours #cassandra clare #cassandra jean #chain of gold

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