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illfoandillfie · 3 years

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Kinktober Day 5: Panties & Lingerie

Kinktober Masterlist | Regular Masterlist

Pairing: Gwilym Lee x Fem!Reader

Words: 2,153

Warnings: nothing much, some degredation, teasing, set during quarantine/lockdown, DIY bondage, gag, implied sex, dom!gwil

A/N: The first Gwil day!

You listened to make sure Gwil was still in the kitchen before closing your bedroom door and setting your plan in motion. After a few months of being in lockdown things had begun to grow stale. The days bled into each other and there was little variation from one to the next. It wasn’t bad really – you and Gwil were both healthy and able to work from home easily enough – it was just becoming monotonous. But you were determined that the habits you’d slipped into and the routine of your lockdown lives wouldn’t get in the way of your relationship. So you came up with an idea to surprise Gwil, just to spice things up and keep him on his toes a little.

The first step was to dress in something you knew would turn him on, so you opted for a lingerie set he’d bought you and definitely enjoying seeing you wear- a deep purple chemise that fell around the top of your thigh, hugging you tightly, and barely concealed the matching thong. And then, because you didn’t want to make it too easy for him, you threw an oversized hoodie on top. It was one you’d stolen from Gwil the first winter you were together but he always claimed you looked better in it and never tried to take it back. Even after you moved in together it lived in your side of the wardrobe. It was baggy and cosy and almost drowned you in excess material, hanging closer to your knees than the lingerie did, which made it the perfect cover. Gwil didn’t think anything of it when he saw you. It was lockdown after all, no one to see or impress, nowhere to go, nothing to dress up for. Comfort was the name of the game. He himself had opted for tracksuit pants and a baggy shirt with a sweater over the top since it was getting to be quite chilly.

After you were dressed, the next part of the plan was to tease him. You saw it as sort of like animals in a zoo enclosure. This was Gwil’s enrichment for the day. He’d have to figure out how little you were wearing under the hoodie and then it’d be up to him what he did with that information. But you were sure it would be fun. Which you supposed meant that teasing him was your enrichment activity, something to keep you entertained and occupied. The thought made you laugh to yourself as you settled on the couch with your laptop to check your emails. Gwil had a zoom meeting first up, taking himself off to the dining room, so your scheme would have to wait until he was done. But that just gave you more time to think through how you’d tease him.

Roughly an hour and a half later Gwilym popped his head through the doorway. “Putting the kettle on, sweetheart, d’you want a cuppa?” “Yes please,” you said, making a show of setting aside your laptop and arching your back as if you needed to stretch. Gwil smiled but didn’t seem to pay any attention to how you were pushing your tits towards him. “Should I grab out some of that biscotti I made yesterday?” you asked, relaxing into a more normal posture. The hoodie was probably too thick to properly show off your chest, even if you were pushing hardened nipples against the fabric. No wonder Gwil hadn’t seemed to notice. “That would be lovely. It’s really good.” You chuckled and stood to follow him to the kitchen, “I wasn’t sure it was going to work but they turned out pretty alright. Think next time I might try and do one of those chocolatey variations. Where’d you put them?” “Pantry. Can you grab the sugar out while you’re there? The canister’s almost empty.” “Sure thing.” You located the Tupperware box of biscotti first and then the sugar. They were on the same shelf, one higher than you usually placed things. It wasn’t that you couldn’t reach the shelf – the biscotti would be easy enough to grab down – it was that you had to stretch a little further to get things towards the back of the shelf. And at some point since you’d last filled the sugar container, the bag had been shoved behind other things. You said a silent thank you to past Gwil for putting both items that high up. “Gwil, honey!” you called out as you raised yourself onto your tiptoes and stretched your arms up. Gwil came in just in time to see you flailing for the sugar, arms over your head, your hoodie pulled up so that more of your legs were exposed, clearly showing him that you weren’t wearing shorts. “Can’t reach the sugar,” you chuckled, grabbing the biscotti box and sinking back down onto the soles of your feet. You turned around in time to see Gwil blinking. His momentary stupefaction disappeared and he laughed as he reached up to retrieve the bag you’d been unable to get.

When the tea was made you carried it and a plate of biscotti out to the lounge so you could watch mid-morning TV. Gwil settled onto the loveseat but you’d already been set up in the armchair so sank back into it. You crossed one leg over the other, uncrossed them, leant forward to pick up your teacup, crossed your legs the other way and took a sip. You suspected Gwil had noticed your odd actions when he leaned forward in your peripheral vision and didn’t sit up again. “Oh, silly,” you said to yourself as you uncrossed your legs again, leaned forward to grab your snack, sat back and crossed your legs once more. Sensing Gwilym’s eyes on your thighs, you turned to smile at him, pleased to see his eyes dart towards the TV once he’d realised you were looking. And then, after enough time so it wouldn’t be too obvious that you wanted him to look, you uncrossed your legs again, instead drawing them both up under you. Gwil stood up suddenly and left the room but before you could wonder about it too long you heard the toilet flush and let your attention drift back to the TV as Gwil took his seat again. You finished your tea, noting that you felt quite warm after it.

Around midday Gwil went in search of some food. You heard him open the fridge and then close it again. His footsteps moved away after that, down the hall and then back to the kitchen and then back out to where you were still sitting, once again on your laptop. “Gonna have that leftover lasagne for lunch so I’ve stuck the oven on to heat up.” He said, pulling his sweater off and swinging his legs up to recline on the couch. The oven hadn’t been on long when you noticed the heat and wondered what temperature Gwil had set it to. It probably didn’t help that your laptop had seen quite a lot of use and was feeling very hot against your legs. You shifted it around, trying to find a way to make yourself more comfortable without interfering with the hoodie. “You right?” Gwil asked. “Yeah, fine,” “Must be getting a bit warm in the hoodie,” “Not really,” you shrugged, trying not to sound too suspicious of him. Gwil stood, “Oven’s probably warm enough now right?” “Yeah probably.” You listened carefully as Gwil walked into the kitchen but once more his footsteps faded off up the hall. Ten seconds later and you’d already noticed the rise in temperature, and it dawned on you that perhaps the oven wasn’t the only think Gwil had been tampering with.

You followed him quietly to the kitchen, pushing your sleeves up to your elbows as the heat got worse. He seemed surprised to see you there as he crept back into the room but you feigned ignorance, muttering something about needing a drink as you bent over the dishwasher, lowering yourself more than was strictly necessary as you pretended to search for a cup, offering him a peak at your scant underwear. When you righted yourself Gwil was right behind you, his hands reaching for the hem of the hoodie, “Game's up sweetheart. Take the damn thing off.” “Wondered when you’d get there,” you laughed, “Might want to turn that stove off for the moment.” You waited until he’d done so before lifting your most modest layer over your head to reveal what little you wore underneath it. Gwil’s eyes travelled over you as he breathed in deeply through his nose, “All dressed up. What’s the occasion?” “Just wanted to.” “You mean you wanted to tease me.” His voice was low and soft but that just made it all the more ominous, a hint of what was in store for you. You didn’t even have a chance to answer before his fingers wrapped around your wrist and he began to lead you to the bedroom. “In my defence, teasing you is fun.” You couldn’t help but want to taunt him further. “I think you just like it because you know I won’t be able to resist taking it out on your cunt.” “That’s definitely part of it.” You laughed but you were abruptly cut off as he pushed you towards the bed.

Gwilym growled as he backed you up to the mattress and you quickly scrambled into place. His hands felt hot against you as his pushed the soft material of your lingerie up to your chest and then straddled your exposed stomach. With a sudden yank he began to pull the chemise over your head but, to your dismay, it seemed to catch partway, your arms and head still stuck in the clinging material. “Umm, Gwil?” you asked, trying not to panic with your head still stuck inside the lingerie. “You’re alright, sweetheart. I’m going to pull it up further in a second but I think some sort of poetic justice is in order. So reach back and grab the headboard and then I’ll readjust.” Heart racing, you tried to blindly do what he said, grateful when he leaned over and helped position your hands so that each was wrapped around one of the slats in the headboard. You felt the material hug your arms tightly as he readjusted it so that your nose and mouth were freed. Your eyes remained blindfolded by the bottom of the dress but being able to breathe freely meant it wasn’t so panic induicing. “There, that ought to hold you.” He shuffled back down your body until he was straddling your thighs, “I think it’s fitting to keep you stuck here enduring my cock, bound by the very thing you used to taunt me.” The idea made you shiver but your enjoyment was helped by Gwil’s hand falling to your thong clad pussy. He dragged his fingers along your lips before finding you clit and beginning to circle it slowly. “It’s quite rude to tease really.” he said as he pressed his fingers against you, making you gasp, “Does it make you wet sweetheart? Does it turn you on to be a dirty little slut, begging to be fucked. Because that’s what you are right now. Dressing all slutty and bending over like you were hoping I’d just fill you with cock there and then.” You whined as his fingers became more insistent and his words got filthier, everything contributing to your growing wetness and your nearing orgasm. “If you’re not careful I’ll have to fuck you every day until this lockdown ends. You won’t get the chance to tease me with your thongs and your stretching and whatever other slutty ideas are in your slutty head. I’ll just fuck you first and save you the trouble. Oh you like that idea huh?” he laughed in response to your moan, “Spending every day cock drunk and begging for more? Prove it. Cum for me and I might actually do it.” His fingers were impossible to argue with and you couldn’t hold back any longer, moaning with your release. “Good girl,” he cooed softly, “Making such a mess of your panties though. What about we take them off now and I can see just how slutty your cunt is.” You nodded eagerly, giving him a few words of encouragement as he dragged the wet underwear down your legs. Gwilym held the panties up to the light, twisting it to better see the slick patch you’d created, “Very good.” he said as he balled the underwear up and, grabbing your jaw, stuffed it between your lips. You whined around the material, able to taste your own arousal which only turned you on more. “Now keep being good for me,” You watched as Gwil pushed his pants down and pulled his cock out, positioning it between your legs.

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#my writing #my blurbs #gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee smut #gwilym lee imagine

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honeymoonjin · 4 years

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ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 9.8k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: voyeurism, exhibitionism, filmed sex, sex toys, bondage, blindfolds, use of safeword (yellow, not red), aftercare, pet names, praising, degradation, controlled orgasm - delay/denial/forced, oral (m receiving), masturbation, face fucking, loss of virginity (wink wonk it’s our namjoonie), however not full sex just a bj

DAY FIVE

“Going outside again today, Namjoonie?” Yoongi questions with a teasing grin.

Namjoon sighs morosely at the thunderous downpour of rain visible through the kitchen windows. “It’s over for me,” he announces sullenly. “I’ve lost.”

You pause, spoonful of rice hovering in front of your open mouth. “So your prompt was ‘the outdoors’, huh?”

A miserable cry leaves his throat before he buries his face in his arms, slumped at the dining table where a few of you have gathered for breakfast. “Damn it,” he whines, muffled by the thick cable knit sweater he’s wearing.

You’d woken up early to a crack of thunder; the weekend storm apparently descending upon the villa earlier than expected. For once, you’d had to help Jungkook work out the heating system, cranking it up until you could smell the quickly-heating dust that had gathered from lack of use.

Yoongi, also an early riser, had announced that a day like today required a hot breakfast, and you’d helped him prepare a basic stew and some steamed rice as you were gradually joined by Namjoon, Jin and Hoseok. You’d waited a bit for the remaining two contestants, but the wafting aroma of beef and potato quickly broke your patience.

You finish your mouthful with a chuckle, leaning over to rub his back. “But now that you’re already going to get the penalty, you may as well do whatever you want.”

Namjoon’s body is still for a few moments as he considers this, before the faded purple of his hair jostles with a nod. “I guess so,” is the reply that comes from the crook of his arm.

You grin. “It’s okay, it’s not like you’re the last one. Hoseok hasn’t gone yet, and I swear Jimin doesn’t even wake up before midday.”

Hoseok narrows his eyes at you challengingly but before he can retort, the youngest makes a noise of disagreement in his throat.

“Oh, he’s not sleeping,” Jungkook answers breezily between cheeks stuffed with rice. “What? Yesterday I wanted to ask if I could borrow one of his shirts for my stream this week - you know, that see-through pink one he wore over a white shirt? - and he didn’t answer when I knocked so I opened the door-”

“Jungkook,” Yoongi and Jin cut in simultaneously, faces turned down in disappointment.

“Wait!” Jungkook protests. “It’s not as bad as it sounds! I just stuck my head in the door and he was in the bathtub-”

“He gets a bath and I don’t?” Hoseok asks incredulously.

“Hobi-hyung, please,” Jungkook whines. “Not the point. So like, his hair was covered in white stuff and he had this bright green clay mask on his face and a black one all over his hands and the water was like pink, but still see-through and I could kinda smell rose and maybe tea tree oil but then he was yelling at me to get out and then I got a text saying if I told anyone he’d-” Jungkook pauses, his excitement fizzing out suddenly, replaced by a look of pure fear. “Oh, I probably shouldn’t have said all that. Let’s pretend that never happened.”

Jin looks like he wants to ask for more information, but Hoseok huffs, shuffling in his seat impatiently. “Who cares,” he spits petulantly. “He isn’t fucking Edward Cullen; just because he’s mysterious doesn’t make him hot. I can be mysterious.”

Yoongi gasps, pointing at Hoseok’s feet wordlessly. That alone is enough for the younger man to let out a pealing yelp, stumbling up out of his chair and jumping on his feet, frantically patting himself down as he wide-eyes the floor. Yoongi begins chuckling, a dry cackle that spreads to the others at the table, and Hoseok deflates, sending him a withering gaze.

Sitting back down in defeat, though not without glancing down one last time cautiously, Hoseok huffs at Yoongi, mouth sticking out in a pout. “You’re lucky I’ve already found my arch nemesis or it would be you, Yoongi-hyung.”

“What a relief,” Yoongi replies in sarcastic monotone.

Hoseok frowns, before cheering up again to send you a bright grin. “Hey, Y/n, are you gonna go out to the confessional booth today?”

“Real subtle,” Yoongi murmurs lowly.

Ignoring him, you shake your head. “It’s raining,” you reply, “I’ll get wet.”

“I’m sure you will.”

Hoseok tuts, the dull thud of his foot stomping making Yoongi fight to prevent a smile. “Stop it, hyung! You’ll give it away!”

“It’s okay, Hoseok,” you assure, “it doesn’t really matter if you lose. The penalty is just spending the week in the bunk room. If you think about it, it’s like a sleepover.”

The doms eyes slide back and forth as he considers this. “Okay!” he announces cheerily. “My prompt is the confessional booth! If everyone else says theirs, we can all hang out together!”

You swear you could hear a pin drop. Namjoon looks like he’s feeling sorry for himself again, Jungkook and Jin are both avoiding his entreating gaze, and Yoongi just stares at Hoseok unabashed, smirk deepening as the silence stretches out.

After a minute of dead air, Hoseok frowns. “Fuck you guys. I wanted to sleep on the bunk beds anyway.”

Feeling bad for him, you stand up, collecting the empty bowls around the table and taking them out to the kitchen. “It’s okay, Hobi,” you chime, “if everyone else succeeds for theirs then I can keep you company.”

Hoseok’s eyes go wide, before he turns to Namjoon. “Buddy, you gotta fuck her outside. Let me have this.”

Namjoon pales, staring at the rain outside which continues to bucket down. “We’ll catch a cold.”

“Fine, I’ll just make sure I don’t lose,” Hoseok insists, standing up himself.

You walk back towards the dining room. “What are you gonna do, ma-Hobi!” You squeal as your body is suddenly lifted, swung over a shoulder.

“Woah, hyung, you’re strong!” you hear Jungkook gush as Hoseok carries you without so much as a grunt. “That’s so cool!”

“Hey!” you try to snap, but with your body folded over a bony shoulder and hair dangling on end, you can’t imagine the heat of your comment is felt by anyone. “This is kidnapping!”

“Not really,” Jin calls out in a bright tone, “he’s not taking you off the property.”

You kick your legs in the air in frustration, blood rushing to your head. “Fuck you! You can go fuck Yoongi without me next time!”

“As far as threats go, that’s not strong,” Jin retorts, his voice carrying over the three shocked parties. “Fucking Yoongi would be a pleasure.”

“Thanks, Jin-hyung.”

“No problem.”

You feel your cheeks heat up with the added blood and your eyes ache, so you give up the fight, instead batting your fists against Hoseok’s ass in protest. “Hurry up, John Cena,” you grumble. “Either let me down or take me to the confessional room before I pass out.”

“So demanding,” Hoseok tuts, but before you know it you’re shifting, getting tugged down and up and sideways, vision spinning sickly until you’re resting, bridal style, in Hoseok’s arms.

You pout up at the dark-haired man. “Hobi, I feel seasick now.”

He grins, lips quirking into a heart shape. “Are you that wet already?”

Your head lolls back as you kick your legs weakly in his hold. “Stop it,” you whine. “Being mean.”

“Poor baby,” he jibes, and calls out a cheery goodbye to the others, walking you out to the outside dining area where you’d spent that first night, and following the house around until you arrive at the garden shed that houses the confessional room. Once he lets you down, he checks his phone, wincing at what he sees. “Shit. Producer Shin is getting impatient.”

Even with all the excess blood in your head, you pale at the thought of the friendly middle-aged man that operated the camera in the room. “He’s not waiting there, is he?”

“No,” Hoseok dismisses distractedly, typing out a reply, “I exiled him to Sejin’s caravan out front. He just doesn’t like leaving his post for too long in case others want to film.” After he pockets his phone, he glances up at you, a strange dark flicker in his eyes. “Get inside and sit on the stool. Wait for me.”

Your mouth drops at the sudden change in his tone, his demeanor. “Why should I have to wait?” you protest. “You’re the one that wants me in-”

You jump when a sudden smacking noise rings in your ears, sharp and thin. In front of you, Hoseok has simply clapped his hands together once, but the fright as well as his sudden seriousness has your words dying in your throat.

“I don’t appreciate subs that talk back,” he says slowly, each word enunciated and clear, like he’s reciting an important law. “So go inside, sit on the stool, and wait.”

“Yes, sir.” The honorific is meant to be a final sarcastic sign of defiance, but you find yourself meaning it as you say it. This isn’t Hobi that you can joke and laugh with. This is a glimpse of what he’s like at his job at the dungeon. Of what he’s like when he’s Master.

His back straightens and his face clears in approval, but he doesn’t praise you for it, simply standing in stoic expectation for you to follow his order.

When you get inside, you feel his eyes on your back like two hot pinpricks, but you don’t dare look back, leaving the door open a crack as you sit on the stool.

The room itself is cramped, with just enough room for the stool, the camera, and a seat behind it, empty for the first time since you’ve arrived. You’re used to seeing a producer sitting behind it, open from eight in the morning until midnight; Producer Shin doing the early half and Producer Kang in the evening. Both were friendly, middle-aged men. Shin was divorced and Kang was happily married with two kids in primary school, and after you’d gone through whatever thoughts were on your mind and whatever questions fans had sent in, both men would often switch off the camera and chat with you about whatever topic felt interesting at the time.

Though it wasn’t broadcasted like your interactions with the other guys, you really had found good company in the two of them, as well as Sejin. On the Tuesday after Namjoon had walked out on you, you’d even gone out the front door to the caravan where Sejin resided, joined by Shin as the two ate dinner. While the two of them, Sejin especially, preferred not to know any extra information about the game just to maintain a professional distance, but that didn’t mean they didn’t give you a hot cup of tea and a portion of the Chinese food they’d ordered in and distract you with chatter about a k-drama Sejin was watching.

Used to them, it feels strangely empty in the confessional room with that empty chair, more so now that you’re restless with anticipation, eyes straining to see outside the sliver of door you left open.

He leaves you for a long time. Whether it’s on purpose or not, or whether you’re just feeling the drag as you wait, you don’t know, but it seems like hours of being on full alert before the sudden metallic screech of the door opening gives you a fright, heart racing as he steps inside.

You gape as he casually steps behind you, a hand on the back of your head locking you in place when you try and look back at him. The glimpse you got was enough to see that he’d changed clothes slightly; bright yellow sweater replaced with a black leather jacket open over a see-through black shirt. The sight of him in your mind flashes every time you blink like an afterimage. Beyond the all-black ensemble, the tight ripped jeans and the heavy boots, perhaps the picture that stays behind your eyelids the longest is that of his hands. You didn’t have enough time to see, but he was holding what looked like a small rucksack, like the kind you’d take swimming or to play tennis. Somehow, you imagine what it contains isn’t so innocent.

You swallow as his fingers press on your scalp, splayed out. “Face the front,” he commands, and his voice brooks no protest. Once his hand leaves you, you remain still; hyper aware of the effort it takes to keep your eyes ahead, staring at the wall behind the Producer’s chair. “Arms.”

Pausing, you stare dumbly down at them as they rest on your lap. “What?”

Hoseok lets out a light sigh, like he’s exercising great patience, and taps your elbow. “Behind your back. Both of them.”

You follow his order, a shiver running through you when his hands, calloused but limber, grasp your wrists tightly. He ties you up in silence, the cool caress of silk making your eyes slip shut in bliss. While you definitely have an interest in it, your experience in bondage isn’t particularly vast, and you marvel at how such a simple tie changes you. With every swish of fabric against the delicate skin of your wrists, your nerves all over your body sing out, need pooling between your legs. Your shoulder blades are tucked back, opening out your chest, and even in a thick hoodie and leggings, you feel deliciously exposed. Your forearms are crossed over in the hollow of your back so that the tie binds your wrists together. Instinctively, your fingers wrap around your opposite forearm for support, and knowing that there’s no back to the chair, that you’re now open on all sides, has your heart-rate picking up.

You feel your arms tugged as he tightens the knot with a flourish, before slipping two fingers under.

“Wiggle your fingers,” he instructs, and you obey. “Try to get out.” You pause for a moment, but then pull in opposite directions, attempting to wiggle yourself out, but to no avail. “Good.”

You swallow again, fighting against the dryness of your mouth. “What are you-” Your eyes fly open wide as his hand claps over your mouth, pulling your head back to rest against his chest as he looks down at you. You make a noise of protest, but he shushes you, brows in a straight line of disapproval.

“I ask the questions, princess. You see that chair?” He points ahead, and you try to nod but fail as his hand keeps you still, your breath coming hot through your nose. “That’s where the producer sits and asks you questions. So the only thing I want to hear from you are the answers to my questions, and your safewords if you need them. Understood?”

You try and nod again; this time, he unwraps his fingers from over your mouth and lets you catch your breath. “Yes, sir,” you confirm, voice small.

“Do you remember your colours, princess? Can you tell me?”

You lick your lips where they’ve gone dry. “Green for go, yellow for slow down and red for stop... Sir.”

If he catches the pause where you almost forgot to say his title, he lets it slide. “Good. Let’s begin.”

You’re left dazed when he lets go of you and steps away in one swift motion, stepping to the side. You force yourself to keep your gaze ahead, unsure if the command from earlier is still in effect, but your eyes strain to make out the peripheral of him bending over the rucksack, rifling deep inside it. Your stomach curls at the sounds that emanate; the soft thuds of glass and silicone, the jangle of metal, the rustle of fabric.

Finally, he stretches up again, and you suck in a breath when his hand finds its way to your mouth again, this time wrapping tightly around your jaw and turning your face to look up at him, at the small device he’s wiggling in his fingers.

“Do you know what this is, princess?” Hoseok grins, and your eyes focus in on the small metal object. It’s short, a stubby cylinder. On closer inspection you notice a small remote tucked in his palm. A remote-controlled bullet vibrator. You nod as much as you can in his iron grip, and his eyes twinkle. “Are you gonna be a good girl for me and let me put it in?”

Your heart stops, blood rushing south as your desire skyrockets. “Yes, sir,” you gasp needily, unable to help yourself rocking your hips against the smoothed top of the wooden stool.

Hoseok tuts at your movements. “Good girls stay still,” he chastises, and you freeze, feeling your jaw ache once he lets go.

As it turns out, ‘in’ doesn’t mean inside of you, but rather in your panties. Your fingernails dig into your forearms with the effort to not move, biting down hard on your tongue. He steps in front of you, hands dipping shamelessly to the front of your leggings, fingers tugging at the elastic and releasing, letting it snap onto your front. You hiss in a breath through your nose but don’t speak, remembering his rule. Going back, this time his hand slips under both layers, and you can’t help the whine that comes out when you feel cold metal against the heat of your core, sliding over your clit. Frustratingly, he himself doesn’t touch you, only placing the vibe before removing his hand, patting over your crotch where you can see the obscene bulge, straight down the middle.

You let out a breath, brows furrowing with want, but he simply walks away, leaving you tied up and waiting as he sits behind the camera.

He looks entirely in his element, legs spread and leaning back in the chair, fingers running over the control in his hands. In front of him, slightly to the right so his face isn’t blocked, is the camera. It’s still set up, black lens staring you down from its position on the tripod. You watch with baited breath as he leans over and turns it on with a little electronic beep, Your pussy clenches at the thought of him filming this, not for the show but for himself.

How he’d take it to his room, booting up his laptop and locking his door. He probably sat much like he is now when he jerked off; legs wide to make room for his hands. Watching you moan and writhe, hands trapped behind you and chest pressed out as the metallic whine of the vibrations is just barely audible through his speakers. Would he drag it out, wanting to savour every last minute of the video, stroking himself slowly so as not to cum too soon, or would he be frantic, desperate, panting alone in his room as he tries to orgasm in time with you, spilling all over himse-

An unbidden cry leaps from your throat as you’re taken off-guard by the sudden voltage between your legs. Your thighs snap shut but the pleasure continues, Hoseok watching raptly as your shoulders twist, the instinct to pull your arms forward even as soft silk holds firm. “Hobi,” you whine imploringly.

He ignores you, ramping the vibrations up enough that the noise fills the room; a constant high-pitched whirring that rings in your ears even as you clench your thighs around it. Though you’d enjoyed the odd vibrator yourself, you were sure Hoseok knew full well that there were always a few high settings that were quite simply too much. It overstimulates you before you’ve even orgasmed, so much you can’t take it.

“Hobi!” you cry, curling over yourself as if you can escape it. Belatedly, in your electrified brain, a puzzle piece clicks into place. “Sir! Sir, please, turn it off! It hurts, please!”

You go lax, shuddering when it stops suddenly; the only sound in the confessional room coming from your heavy breathing.

“Oh, princess,” he soothes in a warm voice, “don’t worry. Sir will help you learn. Think of this as training, hm? I want our time together to be enjoyable, but it’s important that you know how to behave. Sir would rather reward you than punish you. That’s fair, don’t you think?”

You straighten up awkwardly, the weight of your arms crossed over your back making it difficult. He’s patient, smiling once you face him upright again. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

His eyes glimmer at that, and your core clenches, all too aware of the powerful motor resting over your clit. You wanted him to be happy with you, not just because you want a reward, but because you know just how unbearable his punishment would be. “Here’s the plan: I’m going to ask you some questions, and you’re going to answer them. If I don’t like your answer, you know what happens. Understood?”

You feel your arms and thighs break out in goosebumps at the thinly veiled threat. “Understood, sir.”

“Then let’s begin. We’ll start with an easy one, hm? How do you address me?”

“Sir.”

“Correct. When should you speak?”

“When spoken to,” you answer automatically, but his head cocks to the side, raising the remote meaningfully. Your mind scrambles. “Wait! And if I have to use the safewords, sir.”

The hand holding the remote lowers again as he nods. “That’s right. I can punish you for forgetting the other rules and move on, but if you ignore that then we can’t play at all, princess.” Hoseok smiles placidly. “Those are the ones we’ve already learnt. Let’s see how good your instincts are.”

You take in a deep breath, eying up the remote warily. This was uncharted territory, so the chance of you making a mistake just went right up. Rather than making any comment, you bite your tongue and wait for him to address you.

“When do you get to cum?” Hoseok asks in an authorial tone.

You pause for a moment, not wanting to blurt out something wrong. “When Sir gives me permission?”

He smiles placidly. “Good. Now; normally with my subs, they come only by my say-so. But I know for you, that isn’t reasonable given you have to play with the others. However there is still something I expect to have control over. Think for a bit; I’ll give you time. What can you not do without my permission?”

You stare at him imploringly but he just waits for your answer. You rack your mind for some clue, running over his words. He only wanted you to cum with his permission, but he was saying sex with the others was fine. So it wasn’t like you couldn’t cum at all without him around... You blink, feeling cold dread settle down your back as you come up blank. “I don’t get it, sir, I’m sorry.”

“That’s disappointing.” Even as you brace yourself, the powerful vibrations shock you to your core, more intense than you remember them. Hoseok’s eyes remain on you as you rock your hips and wiggle your torso, body trying to escape the overwhelming sensations even as you know you can’t. He holds you like that for what feels like an eternity, though it can’t be more than a minute or two. Finally, just as you feel like you’re going to fall apart, he takes mercy, and the vibrations cease, leaving you gasping.

“The answer I was looking for,” Hoseok explains coolly, “is masturbate. You are not allowed to masturbate as long as I am in the show. If you want that release, you’re to come to me, and I’ll decide if you’ve earned it. Is that clear?”

You open your mouth for a disingenuous yes, but he beats you to the bunch.

“And if you break that rule, don't think I won’t notice. I have mercy for mistakes but I don’t take well to direct disobedience.”

You deflate, lips turning down in a frown. It takes you a moment to commit. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” His eyes glint proudly at the power you’ve handed over to him, and you clench your thighs together, not wanting to admit just how much that look affects you. “I have one last question for you. What would you like from me?”

This feels like a question with no right answer, but still you hesitate. Ask for too much and he might chastise you. “A kiss, please, sir,” you try tentatively.

Hoseok’s eyes crinkle slowly as he smiles, standing up. “How romantic, princess.” You turn your chin up in anticipation, toes curling as he sidesteps the camera and moves closer, leather jacket shifting to reveal tantalising slips of skin, covered by the black sheer mesh. Once in front of you, he bends down painfully slowly, close enough that your eyes slip shut, the lightest brush of his lips on yours and-

He chuckles above you as the vibrations reappear with a vengeance, making you jerk violently and curse.

“Sir! Please!” you cry. Each time the vibrations come, they’re more insufferable, like they’re breaking down your defenses one pulse at a time. “Sir, please stop it, it’s too mu-uch!”

Hoseok turns it down, but not off, so that a gentle thrumming keeps you shuddering. He reaches behind you to tug your hair, pulling your head up to face him as he stands above you, tutting. “Why would I give you what you want?” he asks rhetorically. “You didn’t answer all my questions correctly. Maybe next time, hm?”

The vibrations are now the exact opposite of before - too low to bring you close to your high. “Hobi, plea- Sir, please, make me cum! I tried my best!” You round your eyes and pout, trying to plead with him.

Though he tries to hide it, his poker face falters for just a second. Just a twitch of his eye, a softening of his jaw, but you know you have him.

You let your voice soften even more, the sweetest begging. “I’ll be good for you, sir. Please just let me cum.”

Hoseok lets out a sigh, eyes melting. “Just this once, princess,” he allows, “Sir will go easy on you since you’re just learning.” He smiles at the way you moan in relief once the vibrations pick up again, the divine middle ground between too much and not enough. With your senses so heightened, it’s no surprise to feel the coil in your stomach quickly tightening, egged on by the fond way he strokes your hair, brushing it off your face to drink in your reactions. “Are you going to cum for me?”

“Y-yes, sir,” you breathe, hips rocking as much as you can without compromising your balance. It’s an overwhelming feeling having your arms still tied behind you. The thought that you aren’t in control of your own pleasure. Considering his prior rule, it doesn’t surprise you that he started with a scene where you didn’t even have the choice to cum without permission. Every time the silk tugs at your wrists or the metal vibe slides slightly with your grinding, it just reminds you of how you’re fully at his mercy, and you can’t wait to feel what that’s like once you finally cum. It’s not quite enough though; so wet, the metal slips more than you’d like and it frustrates you when the pressure isn’t enough, or is in the wrong place. You hiccup a sob when he turns the vibrations up just one more level, so close to your edge you could cry. “Ho-hobi, please, I need more.” You sniff at the way his brows tick. “Sir,” you cry desperately, legs widening in invitation.

Hoseok lets out a low grumble as his jaw flexes. “You’re lucky I’m going easy on you,” he announces, before dropping a hand down and cupping it over your center, pressing the vibrator right over your clit. “You better cum now, princess, I’m getting impatient. You wouldn’t want Producer Shin to walk in right now, hm? Poor man just wants to do his job, not deal with whiny little girls like you who just want to cum. Do you know why I’m not fucking you right now, princess? Because I know you couldn’t help yourself from making a mess. I bet you’re sopping wet in those panties of yours.”

With every sentence, Hoseok grinds the heel of his palm over you, jostling the vibrator against your swollen clit and before you know it, you’re cumming, leaning forward and burying your head in his chest as you latch your thighs around his hand, cresting the high.

He holds you there the whole time, vibrator jumping up another level to make you let out a squeal. As your vision begins to clear and your body returns to normal, the vibrations make you jump and whimper against him, arms flexing aggressively as you fail to pull your hands in front of you, no way of stopping the assault of sensation- unless; “Sir! Turn it off, sir, please!”

Hoseok takes mercy on you and the vibrations cease. As you gasp for breath, the sheer fabric of his shirt itching your cheek, you feel his palms slide over your shoulders and down your back, warm even through your hoodie, and reach for the length of silk. You make a low noise of disapproval at the feeling of being untied, not wanting the scene to be over, but he just shushes you gently, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

Your shoulders twinge once your hands fall to your sides, and you follow his instructions to roll them out as he massages the muscles. While his fingers aren’t as heavenly as Taehyung’s, it does ease the ache, and you let him sit you up as he fishes the slick metal bullet out from between your legs, smirking at the way you shudder when his knuckles brush against your sensitive clit.

“Now, princess,” he announces lowly, “Shin will be coming back soon, so we need to head out. But I still have one last lesson for you. Are you able to keep going? It’s nothing too crazy, I promise.”

You swallow the dryness in your throat that’s come from your heavy breaths and nod, a soft smile gracing your face with the satisfaction of a good orgasm.

Hoseok hums, pleased, and pats your cheeks warmly before holding up the black silk. “One of the most important things in a scene,” he explains, brushing your hair back with his free hand, his knuckles light against the sensitive skin of your neck, “is trust. So we’re going to take a walk back to the house together, princess. Only you’ll be wearing this.”

Your breath hitches as the silk comes over your eyes, cool on your lids and temples as he ties it in a knot at the back, tight enough that it won’t slip but making sure it isn’t catching your hair or digging in. It’s a new kind of vulnerability, having your hands free but your sight prohibited, and you find your head tilting up blindly, seeking him out in the void.

“Oh, Y/n,” you hear him chant in a whisper, “you have no idea how beautiful you look right now.”

You shiver, hands clutching at him, slippery fabric and sharp teeth of a zip scratching your palms. “Sir,” you say, no words coming to mind but his title as his hands grasp your sides, lifting you off the stool. You stumble a but, hands flying out to steady yourself in the darkness. Your heart races when you realise your hands are empty, and as you wave them around, it’s all open air, feeling deep like a crevasse. “Hobi?”

Hoseok ignores the slip, his voice coming slightly to your right, but at a distance. “Follow my voice, princess. I’ll keep you safe. Come.”

Your mouth hangs open and your feet feel leadened to the floor. As fear begins to roil in your chest, you slide your feet forward, shuffling closer, hands scanning the air in front of you. With no sight, every inch feels like walking up to the edge of a cliff, hands grasping for contact that never comes. Your breath hitches, lungs not expanding fully. “H-hoseok, yellow,” you gasp, eyes tearing at the fear that grips your heart. “I don’t like it.”

“Okay, shh, you’re alright, I’m here,” Hoseok comforts, his voice closer, and you let out a sob of relief when your hands touch the mesh of his shirt, elbows buckling as he pulls you into a tight hug. The restriction on your ribs falls away the moment his chin rests on the crown of your head and his hands rub soothingly at your back. “I’m so sorry, princess,” he murmurs gently, “too far, hm? Are you still okay with the blindfold?”

You sniff and nod, bottom lip trembling so much that you don’t dare speak.

“So not being able to touch me was too much? That’s okay, don’t get upset, we don’t have to do that. Do you think you could walk to the house with me if I hold your hand? Would you like to try that instead?”

As he speaks, he slips a hand into yours, squeezing tightly. You take a steadying breath, feeling those sickly stresses fade away. “I wanna try, Sir,” you decide, voice only wobbling a little.

“Are you sure?” You hum in confirmation, and he rewards you with another soft kiss to your forehead. “Then let’s go, princess. Walk this way with me.”

It’s still scary stepping out blindly, but Hoseok reassures you every few moments, and his hand is like an anchor in the black ocean, keeping you steady. His hands are surprisingly slender, but they just fit into yours all the better, warm and strong and tugging you along slowly.

The first thing you feel once you leave the shed is the spots of rain on your cheeks, air fresh with moisture. Rather than be a negative, however, the lighter downpour soothes you, as well as gives you an incentive to walk faster.

There’s a slight lip where the patio begins, and once Hoseok guides you to step up on it, the rain ceases to hit you, now a soothing patter against the eaves of the house and the roof over the outdoor dining area. The swish of a glass sliding door, and finally you’re led inside, Hoseok warning you about furniture you’re close to so that you don’t trip.

Even as it gets easier with time, you still let out a heavy breath of relief once he slides back a chair at the table and helps you sit, unwinding the knot and baring your eyes to the world once more.

You blink, wincing at the bright lights of the kitchen and dining room, feeling Hoseok’s hands on you, warm voice praising you. Strangely, your mind feels more fuzzy now that it’s over, and you tell Hoseok, rubbing your eyes to try and get your vision to focus on his face.

“Probably subspace,” he answers, taking the chair next to you and holding out his hands, palms up. You frown blearily at him and he just laughs, reaching out for your wrists. You look down and let out a noise of surprise. All your struggling has left harsh red lines circling your wrists, and you hiss as Hoseok gently rubs them, pressing in an almost clinical manner like he’s making sure you haven’t hurt yourself. “Typically the trust exercise alone wouldn’t make someone fall that much, but I suspect cumming first had gotten you halfway there.”

“Okay,” you answer dumbly, making his lips quirk in a smile, letting your wrists down.

“I’m going to get you a drink of water and something sugary and then we’re going to sit down at the couch and watch a movie together, okay?”

“Okay,” you say again, head feeling heavy. Perhaps you’d lie rather than sit on the couch, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“You did so well for me today, princess,” he praises. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you,” you slur happily, waiting for him to duck into the kitchen and retrieve the supplies.

And so for the rest of the morning, the two of you curl up together on the couch, gradually joined by the others, until all eight of you are watching Paddington 2, Jungkook furiously playing a game on his phone to hide the fact that he’s tearing up at one of the climaxes.

It’s easy to let time pass like this; long after you feel fully clear and coherent again, you remain safe in Hoseok’s lazy embrace, his head resting against yours and his arm wrapped around your shoulders. Jin and Yoongi bicker about the movie choices as the day goes on, and Taehyung demolishes enough snacks to clear the pantry, but you and Hoseok just relax, enjoying the mutual comfort after your scene.

In fact, you barely notice the afternoon drifting by until Jin stands up and announces you order in some dinner, because it was too late to cook. True to his word, it was almost 8pm, and you didn’t fancy waiting until 10 or later to eat.

It’s not you, or even Jin or Yoongi, but Jimin that notices Namjoon’s change in demeanour. The eight of you are crowded around the coffee table cross-legged (or, like Taehyung, lying on his stomach) in an uncommon silence founded by the delicious food you’re all stuffing into your mouths.

Not all, apparently, as Jimin’s voice breaks the silence. “Namjoon-ah, why aren’t you eating?”

The silence changes, then. No longer the contented hush of eating, but the frozen uncertainty of a social faux pas. You’d only known each other five days and already Jimin was using a very familiar term, one that normally you wouldn’t dare use to someone older than you. Namjoon, however, doesn’t seem offended, but rather sends the younger man a grateful look.

“I’m just not hungry,” he weakly explains, staring mournfully at the steaming dishes in front of him.

“You didn’t eat lunch either,” Jimin points out, making you raise your brows. You’d seen on many occasions that Jimin was an observer - the memory of his hand around your throat still makes you shiver - but to hear it directed at someone else’s wellbeing impressed you.

Namjoon just shrugs. “I wasn’t hungry then.”

Abandoning his own meal and ignoring the gawking stares from the others at the table, Jimin reaches out with his chopsticks, piling food from all of the dishes into Namjoon’s bowl. “You’re going to sit here and eat with us, Namjoon, and then you’re going to tell whoever you feel comfortable telling why you’re upset.”

Namjoon’s face falls, guilty. His fingers fiddle with the hair tucked behind his ears as he watches his portion grow. “I don’t want to be a burden,” he mutters softly.

“You aren’t a burden,” Jimin says firmly, sending him a firm look and sliding a set of chopsticks his way. “Just say thank you and eat.”

“Thank you, Jimin,” Namjoon says in a small voice, grabbing a piece of pork cutlet first, biting into the crunchy crumb.

With a quiet smile, Jimin turns back to his own food, continuing to dig in. As if that’s the signal for the rest of you, the group returns to their bowls, a satisfied silence falling once again.

After a few mouthfuls, Jin sets his cutlery down, wiping his mouth on a stray napkin. “I think all of us are probably facing some challenges in this situation. No matter who gets voted out and when, we’re the only ones we have right now, so let’s be honest with each other and support each other. We shouldn’t expect Namjoon to be vulnerable with us without being able to do the same. So I’ll start; one thing I’ve been worrying about is that I’ll get my own feelings in the way - whether that’s affection or jealously or competitiveness - and not be able to give you all objective advice. I want you all to see me as a person you can talk to and a shoulder to lean on, so I’m worried if I get too in the game I may no longer be able to do that.”

Finished, Jin returns calmly to eating, pulling a long trail of cheese ramen into from the bowl into his waiting mouth. To your surprise, it’s Jungkook that speaks up next; the boy having kept quiet this whole time.

“I’m worried-” he begins, before his nose twitches violently like he’s fighting the urge to tear up. “I’m worried that I’ll miss you guys. If I get voted out or any of you get voted out. Like; once the competition is over we can still hang out at stuff sometimes, and we can still talk, but it won’t be the same.”

You coo as he presses the back of his hand to his nose, blinking hard. Sitting beside him, you leave your own food and wrap your arms around him in a sideways hug, resting your head on his shoulder. He sniffs, but his head tips to the side to lean against yours, and you feel his body relax into the embrace.

“I worry about that too, Jungkookie,” you admit. “Though my biggest fear is that whoever I vote out each time will hate me for it. I know it’s hard not to take things personal. It’s going to be an impossible decision every week, and I don’t think I could handle it if you got angry and didn’t want to speak to me again.”

“That won’t happen,” Taehyung answers certainly. “You’re so cool, Y/n, and getting a bunch of hot people to fuck you every week is the dream, but I would never want to be in your decision. We all know it’ll suck more for you than it does for us.”

You smile as the other guys at the table nod in agreement, letting out a low hum as Jungkook’s shoulder jostles beneath your head, the boy reaching forward to grab his bowl. As he lifts a hunk of white rice to his mouth, you poke him in the ribs, opening your own lips.

Though you can’t see his face, Jungkook scoffs and you can picture the reluctant grin he must sport as he changes angles, lowering it to your mouth instead. You hum happily once the warm rice fills your mouth, but it soon turns into an indignant squeak as Jungkook pulls out a cut of cooked pork with his chopsticks, eating the much better morsel. He chuckles, feeding you the next strip, and the two of you sit contentedly like that, feeding each other as the conversation continues.

It seems like it’s Hoseok’s turn. He has his gaze internal, biting at his lip. “I’m terrified that I’m gonna fuck up and say something wrong or do something wrong and then people at my work will think I’m a bad dom. I swear I’ve read Y/n’s limit sheet a million times but I still messed up today.”

“Hobi,” you sigh, voice soft with empathy, “that wasn’t your fault. And you handled it perfectly. Please don’t feel bad.”

Though you know the others have questions - Jimin especially is staring hard at Hoseok, not angry but burning with curiosity - nobody asks, simply letting things move on. Yoongi pats Hoseok on the back from beside him and looks towards the center of the room.

“My concern is with the editing team,” Yoongi explains. “We don’t really have any way of knowing how much is going to be shown in the episodes on the website, and I don’t want people to watch this and get altered perceptions of things. I’m sure it can’t be avoided, but I do sometimes wonder how much the audience even sees.”

“I bet if one of us takes our clothes off, they’ll air this part,” Jin offers between mouthfuls of meat. “If you ever want to make sure something gets on the show, just remember it’s a porn website. I bet I could get five minutes of me talking about the economic state of Poland on the show if someone was going down on me at the time.”

Namjoon chokes on a sip of his water and you laugh heartily at the satisfied grin on Jin’s face. Always one to lighten the mood, the eldest seemed relieved at the way Namjoon blushes, but still chuckles, looking less anxious.

“Alright, then,” the virgin announces shyly. “I’ll get it off my chest. I’ve wanted to make my move this whole week but I keep chickening out. I’m worried that I’ll get to Sunday and not have done anything.”

You straighten up off of Jungkook. “That’s easy, Namjoonie. I’ll just make a move for you. After dinner, let’s go to your room.”

He chuckles nervously, but the whole room burst into a joyous cheer when he nods at you.

“Namjoonie, you casanova!” Hoseok jokes, but you can see how his eyes glimmer with pride, all the guys genuinely happy for him.

Namjoon senses it too, and some of his nerves seem to dissipate. He laughs, rocking his fist like a small punch of victory, and sends you a grateful smile. “Anyway,” he says once the celebration calms down, “we still have Taehyungie and Jimin to hear from.”

“I’ll go first,” Taehyung insists, jumping up from his spot lying on the floor to sit instead, placing his hands palms-down on the table like he’s divulging state secrets. His eyes narrow, his voice lowers. “My deepest, darkest fear is that either I or Jimin-hyung will get voted out before I get the chance to give him a massage.”

Jimin rolls his eyes as everyone oohs at the confession, but he can’t hide the upwards twitch of his lips. “Go on, then,” he allows, cheeks plumped as they fight to hold back his grin. “I need to be loosened up to admit my feelings anyway.”

Taehyung hoots, springing up and stepping around limbs and bodies until he’s sitting on the couch behind Jimin, legs on either side of the older man’s body. “You’ll have to take off your sweater,” Taehyung announces, fingering the cream-coloured fabric around his shoulders, “it’s too thick.”

Once again Jimin surprises you by actually removing his sweater, delicately slipping the ends of the sleeves over his wrists before lifting it up. He’s not shirtless - underneath the sweater is a thin cotton tank, tucked into his white jeans - but it’s the most skin you’ve seen on him, and you gape at his bare arms, lithe and pale.

The atmosphere in the room has changed very suddenly, everyone’s eyes on the pair as Taehyung rubs his palms together, warming them before laying them over Jimin’s shoulders with an excited grin. Jimin sighs almost inaudibly, lips parting as Taehyung begins to work his magic.

“Tell us then, hyung,” the masseuse requests, “what’s eating Park Jimin?”

Jimin’s lids flutter, the tension returning to his face with a frown. “That none of you would like me. That I’d get voted off just to make things less awkward for the rest of you.”

Taehyung’s hands freeze, his face falling. “We love having you here, hyung,” he insists lowly. “You’re a tough egg to crack, but I bet you’re a softie deep down. We’ll get there.”

“Thank you,” Jimin replies shortly, feeling considerably uncomfortable with the eyes on him for once. “I do hope that wasn’t the end of the massage, Tae, you barely sat down.” His tone is flat, but he lifts his head up to send the younger boy a sidelong grin.

Taehyung winks back at him, gently turning Jimin’s head back to face the front. “Of course, not, that was just the warm-up. You’ll be so relaxed when I’m done, you won’t be able to walk up to your room.”

Jimin lets out a little laugh as Taehyung begins pressing his fingers in more deeply, the flesh rippling beneath his touch. The masseuse, however, glances up to the rest of you, jerking his chin away like he’s asking you all to leave. Privacy, he mouths, and you fight the urge to nod in understanding.

Jimin probably wouldn’t let himself relax like that if all of you were just sitting there staring at him; you can see the way he nibbles lightly on his bottom lip that he feels out of his comfort zone.

Jin takes the first iniative, letting out a satisfied sigh and standing up. “I’m full,” he announces, “who’s gonna come help me do the dishes?”

And like that, you all clear out and leave Taehyung and Jimin behind, Jimin’s shoulders dropping in relief when he thinks nobody can see. Instead of helping clear up, Jin tells you to take Namjoon upstairs, and before you can really comprehend it, the two of you are sitting on the end of his bed in his room, kicking your legs out awkwardly.

“Well,” you say after a moment, Namjoon jumping slightly like he hadn’t expected you to speak, “how would you like to do this, Namjoonie? Lying down, sitting up, standing?”

He swallows, fiddling with the ends of his hair. “I think sitting,” he answers. “Could we, um, do it under the covers?”

“The blowjob?” you ask in surprise, and Namjoon nods, cheeks bright red.

“Nobody’s seen me naked before, and it doesn’t matter if I get disqualified for not showing everything because I’m going to get the penalty anyway for not doing it outside.”

“That’s fine,” you coo, “whatever makes you comfortable. How about I turn away while you get undressed?”

He nods, and you face the wall, listening to the sound of him hastily undressing, like he was worried you’d get impatient and turn around.

“You do realise I’m going to see you naked anyway?” you call out. “I can’t suck your dick with my eyes shut. Well-” Your voice lifts up as you consider it. “I suppose I could.”

Namjoon laughs, and you let yourself smile proudly at the sound. “You can turn around now,” he instructs, and you do, smile widening at the way he sits up in bed, pulling the covers up over his chest cutely.

“Namjoonie,” you sigh, stepping over to perch on the side of the bed, “I don’t want to push you if you aren’t ready. Are you sure about this? I don’t mind waiting.”

He mulls it over for a moment, chin pressing out as he tenses his jaw. “I think I’ll be fine once we get into it, you know? I’m ready.”

“Then let’s get into it,” you announce, fishing out your phone.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Namjoon’s shoulders deflate. “What are you doing?”

You smile softly, selecting a romantic playlist to set the tone a little; a slow, soothing guitar and husky male vocals emanating from your phone. “Setting the mood,” you answer, placing it on his nightstand and turning to him. “You’ve kissed before, yeah?”

Namjoon nods, his eyes widening once you stand up, shimmying out of your clothes. “I- y- mhm. Oh, god.”

“What?” you ask innocently, like you didn’t just get naked in front of him. This whole ‘being filmed 24/7’ thing had done wonders for your body confidence, and so you boldly straddle him, the duvet being the only thing that separates you. “We’ll just start with something you know, then.”

He makes a little muffled squeak of surprise when you press your mouth to his, but it shocks you just how quickly he seems to calm down and kiss you back. Perhaps he was a natural, or he had more experience than he’d let on, but in few short moments he begins to take control of it, deepening it and making your mind hazy with slips of his tongue.

“Wow,” you gasp out between kisses, “how did you learn to - mmph! - kiss like this?”

“Sorry,” he replies, voice already husky with arousal, “I’m excited.”

“Good,” you chime with a light giggle, “are you excited all over?”

“N- Yes,” Namjoon admits, stricken.

“So soon?” you question teasingly.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, pulling away and clenching his eyes shut like it pains him. “You’re really pretty.”

To hide your blush, you slide a hand down his chest and stomach. “Do you want me to touch you now?”

He nods quickly, jerky motions as his hands fist at his sides. “Shit, can you- This duvet was a bad idea, I shouldn’t have-”

“Hey,” you interrupt softly, standing up off him. He makes a low noise of loss and opens his eyes, widening when he’s visually reminded of just how naked you are. “We can take the duvet off, don’t worry. It’s easier this way, too.”

Once he nods his consent, you flip the covers back, revealing his naked body.

Your mouth drops open. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Namjoon frowns, brows knitting together. “That’s not a good reaction,” he says unsurely, hands tucking over his hardness. He’s huge - big enough to rival Seokjin’s - and he’s practically leaking precum like a faucet, his tip looking so red it must be painful.

“Oh, I can assure you it most definitely is,” you gush. “God, I’m so lucky. How did I get this lucky?” you ask yourself in wonder, stradding him again. This time, you sit lower so that you can bend over and take him in your hand, marvelling at the weight of it.

With that simple touch, Namjoon’s head falls back and knocks loudly on the headboard, making him hiss. “Y/n, if you don’t put your mouth on me now, I swear...”

Your eyes widen, mouth in question falling open in shock. “So Namjoon’s a baby dom, hm?”

He lifts his head off the wall, staring at you like he can’t believe the words that came from his own lips. “Sorry, was that rude? I’m going crazy, I want you so bad.”

“Don’t apologise,” you croon, running a single nail lightly up his side, “I like it. I’m going to suck you off now, okay? Tell me what feels good.”

He nods, a small amount of his prior nerves returning, but before they can take over, you dip your head, wrapping your lips around his tip and simply sucking off the precum that pools there.

“Fuck! God, oh my god,” Namjoon all-but shouts, and you can’t help but chuckle around him. “Don’t laugh,” he chastises, a hand winding its way in your hair to pull it back from your face.

You glance up at him, lips still on him, and slowly sink down, letting his hardness fill your mouth all the way to the back. He’s barely halfway in, but when you flick your tongue against one of the veins on his underside, it looks like he’s reached nirvana. You pull up, licking your lips, and use your hand to spread the wetness around his length. “Good?”

“Good, just keep - fuck - keep going.” You grin when his lips press together and he visibly forces himself from saying please, now that you’ve said you liked his dominant streak.

Always one to please, you drop your mouth onto him again, this time building up into a bobbing rhythm, a salty tang hitting your tongue as sweat and precum mingle. As you jerk off what can’t fit in your mouth, Namjoon curses lowly and his hips rise off the bed, pushing himself deeper so that his tip begins to breach your throat. You gag in shock, but he just groans louder at the obscene noise.

Expecting him to do it again, you try and relax your throat, but instead you feel tugging on your scalp as he pulls you up by your hair. He’s still slow enough to be painless, but he seems more comfortable taking some control and it makes you grin when you get pulled up off him, sucking air into your lungs.

“I want to try something,” Namjoon admits with wide, lust-ridden eyes. “I won’t push if you don’t want to.” He swallows, fingers tightening in your hair. “Can I fuck your face?”

Your mouth drops open even more, but your grin only broadens. “Fuck, yes,” you enthuse. “Is like this okay, or do you wanna change positions?”

“Like this,” he says, and his other arm moves down so that he can hold your head with both hands, fingers brushing back the hair that’s fallen in your face. “Just hit me if it’s too much?”

Your heart warms at the thought of him worrying about your safety, and you nod, taking the initiative to lean down, opening your mouth to rest his tip on your tongue, glancing up at him.

“Okay,” he breathes, and begins.

Rather than fucking up into you, he first starts by guiding you up and down on his cock with his grip on your head, each time a little lower, a little deeper down the back of your throat like he’s readying you. After only a few pulls up and down, his head tips back again, smacking noisily against the headboard as he speeds up, eyes shutting in pleasure.

It’s only once his eyes have closed that his hips begin to thrust up too. Like he’s letting himself get lost in the pleasure and just feel. You get lost in it, too. It’s easy to go passive like a doll, just focusing on the way he fills your throat. The way he hisses when you gag, and moans when you swirl your tongue in time with his thrusts.

Your eyes tear up with the intensity of it, breathing through your nose and trying not to cough on him, but you’re in heaven, a hand slipping down between your legs to give yourself some much-needed friction.

It’s once you start touching yourself that everything suddenly happens much faster. The rush of pleasure makes you moan around him, which makes him open his eyes blearily to look down at you, slowling his thrusts when he sees your hand between your legs. Once he realises what you’re doing, he curses again, and his hips pick up their speed, surpassing it until you’re gagging on every thrust, your jaw aching and tears streaming, but still you rock against your hand and moan onto him, caught in the pleasure of feeling, watching, and hearing him fall apart as you fall apart yourself.

As you grow close, a hair’s breadth away from orgasm, you reach your free hand between his legs and cup his balls, softly rolling them in your grasp.

Namjoon shouts as he reaches his orgasm, and suddenly he’s pressing you still against him, cumming down your throat with a stream of intense groans, thighs shaking.

You can’t catch your breath; his cock triggering your gag reflex but staying deep inside you, and it’s that desperation, that lack of control that brings you over the edge yourself, soaking your hand and the sheets below it with the force of your orgasm. He lifts you up as you’re riding your high, spent himself, but the sudden rush of oxygen to your lungs only heightens your pleasure, and you collapse, face pressed against his stomach as you cum and suck in air and cum some more.

Your own legs are shaking by the time you finish, core throbbing with aftershocks, and it takes all of your energy to push yourself up beside him so that you can lie against his bare chest again.

The room is filled with nothing but panting for a few moments, your fingers lazily tracing patterns on his chest as his arm wraps around you, holding you tight.

Namjoon is the first to speak, his voice low even in the silence of his bedroom. “Will you stay?”

You swallow back the hoarseness in your throat, using your foot to hook the duvet back up and over your lower halves, snuggling closer to him. “I’ll stay.”

TAGLIST

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gureishi · 3 years

Note

prompt 2 with v tysm take care of you ^^

Thank you for this wonderful request, and apologies for taking my time writing it!

I thought a whole lot about this prompt and Jihyun and my mind said PINING and I wrote this long, sprawling thing. It’s a slightly different format from my other requests—I hope you don’t mind! Writing this made me feel all kinds of things. ♡♡

two: fall into yours arms again

JihyunxReader, G, words: 3620

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97 days

It’s windy today.

You wake up late and throw open the window that you can reach from your bed. The sun’s already high in the sky and beating down through the thin, gauzy curtains. You need to buy new curtains.

The window sticks; you push; it opens. The cool breeze whips through your hair, in stark contrast to the sun—nauseatingly hot and dry. The wind cools your neck, wipes away the last remnants of what you suspect was a nightmare.

Though it’s June, the air still smells of spring. The azaleas in the community garden down the street have wilted, but some of their fragrance is in the air today, and it startles you, spins your head around.

He left in March and the chaos of April and May have been locked away in your memory, behind a wall that says think about this later. Now it’s undeniably summer, the days lengthening, your tendency to sleep through the morning worsening. Time has slowed: the afternoons feel languid and the nights unbearably long. You stretch, letting your shirt—his shirt—fall off your shoulder. It’s long lost its scent by now, grown softer as you’ve slept in it, worn it while cleaning up the little loft you once lived in by yourself. You lived here what feels like forever ago, before you made the misguided decision that led to your life turning upside down and now, somehow, righting itself in ways you still don’t understand.

“I miss you,” you mouth into the wind.

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191 days

When you get home you’re shivering, underdressed and underprepared for the turn in the weather. You turn the key in the lock, shoulders hunched against the cruel chill that has abruptly permeated your quiet little neighborhood.

You slip inside and shut the door, the wind chimes jangling harshly. You toss your things haphazardly to the side—keys, bag, sunglasses, coffee cup. Everything you needed for the day except a stupid jacket.

The house is cool, too—the wood floors retain some of the warmth of summer but you haven’t turned the heat on yet out of some convoluted mixture of stubbornness and frugality. You shrug on your thickest, floppiest sweater and move through the house, closing the windows one at a time. You shouldn’t have left them open to begin with.

You survey the mess you’ve made: bag spilling out onto your multicolored shag rug, sunglasses hanging over the hand-painted lamp on the side table. You decide to leave them there.

As you so often do lately, you slip into the well-worn chair at your small desk in the corner, under the little window that faces north. You rub your hands together, gaze at the growing pile of paper, stacked precariously high. You know there’s work to be done, emails to be answered—instead, you pull a new sheet of paper toward you, begin a letter than can never be sent.

“How are you?” you write. “It’s getting cold here. I hope it’s warm where you are.” You pause, well-chewed pen cap in your mouth. Scrawl the words you know he won’t read on the paper you have no way to send to him. “I think about you,” you write. “Every single day.”

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277 days

You laugh and wave and laugh again as you see the grey cloud your warm breath makes in the air.

You call out a last goodbye toward your friends’ receding backs and then wrap your scarf more tightly around your neck, feeling the cold more strongly now that you’re alone. You make your way back through your neighborhood, stopping only to pet the head of the tabby cat that your down-the-street neighbor lets roam free. The sun is setting—the midday chill is turning to a biting evening cold.

You approach your little loft: open the gate, half-run down the path. When, you think, will this feel like a home again? How long, you wonder, till this feels more real that those two weeks that are still illuminated in your memory, brighter even than the events of yesterday or last month or last summer?

Automatically, you check your mailbox. Automatically, you riffle through the bills you can just barely pay and the magazines subscribed to by the apartment’s former occupants. At the very bottom, there’s an envelope, one side covered completely in stamps. You climb the steps, peering at it curiously. You recognize the writing.

You trip.

You should get back up and go in the house and turn on the lights—open the letter where it’s warm and bright. But instead you stay right where you are, on the bottom step, jacket twisted up under you. You tear off one mitten, your hands shaking a little, and open the envelope.

“Dearest,” he’s written. “I don’t know if I’ve sent this the right way or how long it will take to reach you.”

There are already frozen tears on your eyelashes, blurring your vision. You wipe them away frantically with your other hand, still engulfed in your warm, chunky mitten.

“There’s no regular post office where I am so I had to improvise,” he goes on. His thin, messy scrawl is the same as you remember it. You can feet your heartbeat in your fingertips. “Still, that’s no excuse. I’ve written so many letters to you and thrown so many away. I never knew where to begin. I hope you can forgive me.”

The tears are falling hard and fast now, and you give up on wiping them, squinting to read the minuscule letters he’s crammed onto one single sheet of paper.

He describes where he’s staying in detail. It’s beautiful and evocative and you can tell that he’s stalling.

He asks after you—how your work has been going, how you’ve settled back into your own home, if you’ve been eating well. He asks after the RFA too, one at a time, by name. This answers a question that’s been lingering in the back of your mind—so it’s true, you think. He’s written to no one else.

The final paragraph is neater that the rest, as if he’s written and re-written it, practiced and copied it over.

“I am trying to live in the present moment and not worry over the future,” he says. “But every night I can’t help but imagine the life we could have together, when we are both ready. Do you imagine it too?” Your eyes are blurry with tears. “I miss you,” he writes, and you mouth the words as you read them, almost able to hear them in his sweet, gentle voice.

“If you don’t feel like writing me, I��ll understand,” he says. “But I’ll be at this address for some time, so please do write, if you like.” You think of all the letters, the ever-growing pile on and under your desk. You giggle through your tears, imagining how much it would cost to send them all.

He signs the letter “Yours.” At the bottom he’s added cramped letters, so small you have to bend over, nose almost touching the paper, to read them. “By the way,” he writes. “Please call me Jihyun.”

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352 days

To you, March will always be him: the sudden rain showers in the midst of sunny days are his eyes and the scent of plum blossoms in the air is the indescribable warmth of his arms.

There’s a string of pictures now above your bed—you’ve hung each one that he’s sent, strung them up on a piece of bright green yarn. When you told him you’d started doing this, he began sending them with a hole already punched in the top—delicate, perfectly round, just the right size.

You sit on the floor, bare legs extended in front of you, a book propped on your lap.

“All the snow has melted except for the one, long icicle outside my window,” you write. “I think I’ve grown attached to it, and I’ll be sad when it’s gone.”

Your letters have grown longer over the months—his last was five whole pages, front and back. He sends photographs he’s taken of the beautiful landscape where he’s living and sketches he’s made, mostly of nature—and a few of you.

He includes vague references to his companion, and though he’s never mentioned him by name, it’s become clear to you who he’s with. It’s brought you immense comfort to know—if not in much detail—that he is alive and well.

“Tomorrow I’ll be seeing everyone,” you write. “I know you both still need more time, but not being able to give them any news is killing me. Not everyone is doing so well, you know.” You bite your lip, consider crossing off the last few lines. You don’t. He’s healing—and you’d give anything in the world to ensure that he has the space and time he needs. That they both do. But the time you spend with the other members has been dwindling and the evidence of their suffering—some of them more than others—is becoming abundantly clear.

“I think I want to have a party,” you write. “Not for months, maybe longer, but I want to start thinking about it. I think it might help.”

You sip from the glass of water you’ve set on the floor next to you, swirl it around a little to listen to the sound of the ice clinking.

“I miss you desperately,” you write. “And I love you, Jihyun.”

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478 days

The song that plays through your headphones is soft and pretty, not nearly loud enough to drown out the shouting of the street vendors and the overall atmosphere of chaos. It’s Sunday, and you’ve ventured into the city to shop. You don’t love the crowds or the fast pace, but you do relish the savory scents drifting from food stalls and the feeling of your thin pants swooshing against your legs.

You hoist the two large fabric grocery bags up; they’re nearly slipping out of your sweat-slick hands again. The mid-afternoon July sun beats down on you. You slow your pace.

It’s been a few weeks since you’ve gotten a letter. This isn’t shocking—he’s staying somewhere new now, and it’s even more remote than before. He has to travel into town to mail his letters, so the gaps between them have grown longer. You’re used to it, but you still can’t help feeling like a cold hand is clenching around your heart whenever you check the mailbox and find it empty.

You reach the train station, grip both bags with one hand so you can tap your card. You go through the motions: standing in the station, boarding the train. As you have so many times, you repeat the words of his last letter in your mind. You know it by heart.

“I bought plane tickets last week,” he wrote. “He hasn’t been feeling well the last few days and we decided together to cancel them.”

This isn’t a first either—the tickets bought, the tickets cancelled. And you know that it isn’t just Jihyun’s “companion” who needs more time. They are both still healing—physically, mentally, emotionally.

“Please tell me when you decide on a date for the party,” he wrote. “I’m sorry to hear the plans aren’t going smoothly. And I’m sorrier that I can’t offer the other members some solace—particularly where it concerns him. I must respect his wish for privacy.”

The train is packed; you set your bags at your feet so you can hold on. The gentle rocking motion is familiar; the air conditioning is a relief.

“I saw a flower yesterday that I couldn’t identify. It was raining here, but the flower’s petals were open. I was afraid it would wilt from the force of the rain, but it didn’t. I watched it for a long time, and saw the raindrops collect inside it. I thought of you.”

The train rumbles to a stop. More people get on. You adjust. A new song plays in your headphones—it’s slow and a little melancholy.

“Every morning I imagine the things I will do with you in our bright and beautiful future,” he wrote.

The train picks up speed again. Sweaty people read newspapers and speak quietly to one another, underscored by the gentle music in your ears. You close your eyes.

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555 days

You run to catch the bus, the leaves crunching delightfully under your feet. It’s pulling into your stop as you’re crossing the street and—why does this always happen?—you bow your head and sprint, waving frantically at the driver.

The driver sees you. Smiles. Waits.

“Thank you,” you pant, jumping the steps two at a time.

“It’s okay. I remember you.”

Ouch.

You stumble to a seat and collapse into it. If you’re late for the bus often enough that the driver remembers you, you’ve really got to try and pull yourself together.

You comb a hand through your sweaty hair. It’s hard, as it turns out, planning an RFA party while keeping up with your old life—you’ve got one foot in the world of working and cleaning and paying bills and the other in the world of CEOs and mysterious guests and anonymous donors.

As you’re catching your breath, you pull the newest letter from your bag. It arrived just this morning—perhaps that was why you almost missed the bus again—and you’ve only read it once so far. You scan the page with eager eyes, searching as you so often do for clues and hints and promises hidden between the lopsided words.

“I made a painting today,” he tells you. “I won’t describe it to you, because I want to show it to you in person.”

But when? you want to ask. You can’t help the frustration that’s creeping under your skin. The bus rocks; you lean your head against the window.

“I’ve realized something,” he writes. “I wonder what you think about it. I feel closer to you than I’ve felt to anyone before. And yet every day I find things I still don’t know about you, because of our circumstances. What are your favorite things to eat? What smells make you reminisce about the past? What music makes you sleepy?”

You sigh, fold up the letter. It’s true, you think. You love him with a warmth that encompasses your whole being—a feeling you’d never even dared to imagine. But how does his face look in the morning when he sleeps through his alarm? Which groceries does he always forget to buy?

You don’t write these questions down. Instead you turn over the letter, scribble on the back.

“The party will be March 24th.”

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641 days

It hardly snows this winter, but it rains. The sound of the rain fills your dreams: it pounds on the roof of your little apartment, and you wake up and run to the kitchen to check that the window is closed. It fills your waking hours, thrumming on your giant umbrella as you navigate the narrow streets of the city. When it lets up, you still hear it, humming in your eardrums, reverberating inside your chest.

You sit at your desk again. No longer is it covered in stacks of paper, records of yearning—those letters have been long sent or put away in pretty boxes with colored lids. Your laptop buzzes, hopelessly trying to cool itself down. You press send and cut the frightening number of messages in your inbox down by just one more.

You lean back in your chair. The rain goes tap tap tap on the roof and you rub your sore neck. It’s a Friday night and even in this weather, you can hear the distant sounds of people gathering at the bar on the corner. You open another email.

“I’m working hard,” you wrote in your last letter to him. “Sometimes I feel that I can barely keep up with it all. Other times I’m sure I’m burying myself in all of this work on purpose, making myself busy so I don’t have to feel lonely.”

You scan the email with expert eyes, dash off a quick reply. Both are true, you suppose—planning a proper party, not one hastily thrown together in a few weeks under extreme circumstances, is a full-time job all on its own. But you are lonely, you think, taking a break to stretch your arms over your head. There are people around you all the time, but your chest feels hollow. “I’m taking good care of myself,” you wrote to him last week. “I do feel fulfilled. But…”

But you can no longer re-create in your mind the exact way that he smells, the sweet freshness of nuzzling your face into his shoulder. You can’t always hear his voice clearly in your mind when you read the sweet, beautiful words he writes to you. “I love you like the way the ocean crashes into the rocks and then spills peacefully over the sand,” he writes. “Does that make sense?”

It does.

You shake your head to clear it, type a few brief, carefully-worded lines.

“I’m ready,” you say out loud, and the words echo in your apartment: warm and cluttered and bright and full to the brim with thoughts of him. “I’m ready when you are.”

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702 days

For the first time, you wait to read his letter.

You find it in the mailbox as you’re leaving in the morning and you whisper “patience” to yourself as you walk to the bus. You wait at the light, you cross the street. You sit at the bus stop for two whole minutes before the bus arrives and the driver raises his eyebrows at you in surprise.

“Patience,” you whisper to yourself again as you exit the bus, breathing in the fresh, early-spring air. And “patience,” you think, as you greet the venue manager and listen to her running through the event checklist for what feels like the eight hundredth time.

“Almost,” you tell yourself as you leave, taking a picture on your phone of the orange and purple sky. You board the bus again, watch the sunset fade into star-speckled navy through the smudged window.

“Now,” you say out loud as you unlock the door to your flat, hanging your light jacket and keys on the hooks you’ve recently mounted by the door. “Now.”

You tear into the letter as you make your way to the bedroom, turning on lamps as you go, bathing the room in amber light.

You pull out the paper and your hands, steady all day, start to shake. You hold it up to the light. It’s shorter than usual. He’s written your name at the top and he’s answered your questions, described a walk he took on the waterfront yesterday, offered updates on the plants growing beside the house where he’s staying.

And at the bottom, he’s sketched a picture in light blue ink. His lines are soft and wavy, but the details are clear: it’s two plane tickets. They’re dated.

You inhale sharply.

Thirty-two more days.

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734 days

It’s warm, but not too warm. The lights are dim, but not too dim. The air is lightly scented like spring flowers and rain, but it’s not overwhelming, and the chatter of the crowd is enthusiastic and warm.

In other words, you’ve done a very good job.

You step onto the balcony for a moment, patting your red cheeks with both hands. You’ve been receiving compliments all night and it’s made you feel like you’re floating several centimeters off the ground. You’re proud of yourself—you worked hard for this.

But as the night’s worn on, your anticipation has built to a fever pitch, and you have to keep reminding yourself to breathe. If he were arriving on any other day, you’d be meeting him in private— and would you feel more or less nervous, then? You can’t decide.

But of course it’s today, because the most important events of your life always seem to coalesce around each other. There’s a beautiful garden surrounding the party venue and you take comfort in the ivy wrapped around the wrought-iron trellis; it reaches almost as high as your eye level and its balance of sturdiness and delicacy gives you strength.

You slip back inside, take in the groups of expensively-dressed people clustered around tall, elegant tables. There’s a string quartet in one corner and a mouth-watering array of hors d’oeuvres arranged toward the back wall.You straighten out your clothes surreptitiously, sneak a peak at the clock, flash a bright smile at the nearest group of guests .

And then, for a reason you’ll never be able to explain, you know what’s about to happen. Your eyes fly to the door. You gravitate toward it like a moth to a lamp and you know no one else has noticed but somehow you feel that the room has quieted for you.

The door opens. Your hands fly to your mouth.

“Hi,” he says.

He’s always been spring to you but it’s as if he’s brought summer with him. He’s taller than you remember and his collared shirt is open and he’s got the warmest smile you’ve seen in your whole life. Your thrill and worry and hope are reflected in his bright eyes.

He holds out a hand—cautiously, as if afraid you’ll float away. You take it and his fingers are soft and cool, like the petals of a flower.

“Welcome home,” you say. “Jihyun.”

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

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one-leaf-grimoire · 3 years

Text

“illusion”

Chapter 16

Hi!!! This is the SFW version of this chapter. The NSFW version of this fic can be found on Ao3 HERE for 18+ ONLY

SFW version ao3 link

Two days go by, and slowly but surely I feel my strength start to return. Despite my mood and condition improving, the doctor keeps me confined to my bed the entire time, save for trips to the bathroom. So, I have no choice but to just roll over again and again, attempting to stay comfortable as restlessness continues to ferment within me. Maybe if I had any visitors, things would be more bearable, but the entire squad left to return to our base yesterday. Many of us had small injurie that were easily treated, so now Alice and I are the only ones still here.

Alice...

Her condition isn't improving. The doctors say that she's "brain dead," only kept alive by a constant magic supply from the nurses. If they let up for even a couple seconds, she would truly die.

How could I let this happen... I wish I could have been on her team. Maybe I could have saved her, like I did all those years ago in the woods.

By this point, I'm all out of tears, so all I do is lean on the windowsill, cool afternoon air wafting in through the curtains. I opened it up to allow some freshness into this prison, sneakily slipping out of bed to do so and enjoy the view. Getting on my feet was easy enough, although my knees are weak and there's a lingering pain in my joints. But my injuries are on their way to being completely healed, and I expect to be let out in a day or so.

Maybe I'll find a way to help Alice... soon I'll be able to visit her room. It seems stupid to hope like this, but at the same time, I don't want to give up. In many ways, my life is about to change. A new rank, new freedom from my engagement... and...

The door suddenly creaks open, causing me to nearly jump out of my skin. I whirl around, still clutching the windowsill to maintain my balance. Shit! The doctor's here, she's going to chew my ear off about getting up-

However, by some stroke of luck, it's not my doctor. Instead...

"J-Julius?"

The man, who I haven't seen since Captain Hervey came by, quickly steps into the room, closing the door behind him. I can't help but break into a smile, relief filling me along with a new, fresh excitement. My eyes flicker over his attire, a casual outfit instead of his squad uniform, before landing on the vase of flowers he's holding in his hands. "Are those for me?"

Julius finally smiles, although concern flickers through his gaze. "Yes... Aren't you supposed to be staying in bed?"

I shrug, frowning a little. "Yeah, but look, I'm standing up fine-" I tell him, ignoring the fact that I am very much dependent on the windowsill for my stance.

Julius shakes his head, but a chuckle escapes his lips. "Come on, you'll hurt yourself."

Begrudgingly, I get back in bed, sitting cross-legged as I excitedly examine the vase he got me. "These are beautiful-" I whisper, leaning in to sniff the flowers. "Thank you, Julius... but isn't this a bit bold?"

"What?" Julius gives me a goofy grin as he sits down on the edge next to me, almost close enough to touch. "This is simply a gift from a Vice Captain to his injured squadmate, I don't think there's anything 'bold' about that, is there?"

I narrow my eyes at him, but the glare is kept playful since I can't stop smiling. I'm so glad he came... he must have taken off time to do so. I glance at his clothes again. Stay calm... things with him are going to be easier now, now that Lawrence is out of the picture. My heart swells at the thought, starting to beat faster and faster.

"You okay?"

"Hmm?" I look up and jump a little when I see Julius just inches from my face. His expression is neutral, but his eyes are all over my face, analyzing me. I gulp nervously. "W-What? I'm fine, why do you ask?"

Finally, Julius's lips twitch a little, amused. "Oh, nothing... your cheeks just turned bright red while you were quiet." I feel my face heat up even more at the observation, which just spurs him on further. "What were you thinking about?"

"I..." I shrug, suddenly starting to get nervous for some reason. "I'm just... really happy to see you, Julius." I suck in a breath before smiling calmly. "I thought you weren't even going to come, to be honest. Do you have any idea how bored I've been these past few days?"

"Of course I came. In fact, you have me until tomorrow morning." His face softens a bit, and he doesn't break eye contact as he gently pulls the vase out of my hand and sets it aside. I can't even look away; because, when he looks at me like that, it's like a trance. "The doctor said that you can leave tomorrow, so we'll go back together. Does that sound good?"

I nod quickly, happily accepting as Julius's arms wrap around me and pull me into his chest for a tight hug. Not too tight- he's obviously being very careful around my injuries. But it's firm and safe, and I let my arms run up his back, feeling him against me. For a moment, I close my eyes, inhaling his scent. I never want him to let go, not after everything that's happened. I've hungered for this moment for so long, for the two of us to finally be alone. I have him until tomorrow morning... but that's not entirely true. I have him for many days after that... and after that...

I'm free... I'm free of the poison that trapped my heart. I want to love someone, for real... I want to love Julius.

After a little bit, his embrace loosens, but he doesn't dare let go. We just lay there together, with me curled up in his arms, in a comfortable silence until I finally speak again.

"So... are the others doing alright?"

Julius doesn't answer right away, before letting out a long breath. "Yeah... relatively. Things are... pretty quiet."

Quiet.

I wonder... how are they all taking Alice's... condition...?

"Are you... doing okay?"

Julius's voice softens when he asks me. He doesn't have to get more specific, because I know exactly what he's talking about.

"... no."

How can I be "okay?" My best friend is basically dead down the hall, a dark, scary truth that I keep shutting away in the corner of my mind.

"...I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do?"

A genuine offer. I turn my head a little to look up at him, his eyes pooled with worry. Not just worry; sadness, too. It hurts him to see me like this, it hurts him to know that he couldn't protect Alice either. But... something else too.

... apprehension?

Somehow... there's something wrong with this situation, and he knows it.

"... yeah..."

I let my fingers thread with his, where our hands lay on the pillow next to our heads.

"... help me forget."

I close my eyes before he even moves, feeling him shift and turn towards me. A moment later, his lips hit mine, his hand coming down to hold the side of my face. The kiss is gentle, slow, thoughtful, but laced with something intoxicating that immediately turns my mind into mush. My hand slides on top of his as I kiss back softly, not wanting to push myself to go too fast even though every cell in my body wants him to devour me. Julius shifts again, rolling on top of me, his free hand clutching the fabric of the pillow beside my head as he props himself up.

Somewhere deep inside, I feel a tinge of fear.

No... this isn't like back then.

I want this... so, so much.

I open my eyes a little to look up at him. Julius smiles down at me, his eyes so tender and soft. "I still can't believe it sometimes..." he whispers. The breeze wafts through the window over our bodies, as calm as can be. In a way, this feels like a dream... a dream that I never want to leave. But worry once again flashes in Julius's eyes. "I want to be with you... so bad... god..." He lets out a sigh and his head hands down to rest against my shoulder. "I don't want your fiance to hurt you..."

"Oh... Lawrence?" I smile a little, realizing that I finally have good news. "He's not my fiance anymore. I dumped him the other day."

"WHAT?!" Julius sits up at once, his eyes widening to the size of dinnerplates. "You're kidding! What happened?!"

I grin as I sit up as well. "He came with my parents... he wanted me to leave the magic knights and get married! But I told him to fuck off!" Pride swells in my chest. "He was pissed, but he accepted it. So... I'm a free woman now."

Julius's relief turns into joy, and he quickly grabs me in his arms, a tight embrace that knocks the air out of me. "Wow... you did it! You did..." He pulls back to look at my face again. "I'm so happy for you... and... it might be selfish, but..." For the first time, his own cheeks start to redden. "... I'm happy for me too... we won't have to sneak around as much now, right?"

I nod happily. "We should take it slow... I don't want to shock the others too much." I run my hand through the base of his hair, enjoying the feeling of the soft locks. "But yeah... we don't have to keep this secret." I blink, feeling tears start to prick at the corners of my eyes. "I-I thought that nightmare would never end... but because of you, I was able to escape."

Julius shakes his head, leaning in to kiss me again. "No, darling... it ended because of you. Because you're strong."

Strong...

Maybe love isn't about allowing yourself to be weak... maybe it's about being strong together.

I happily let him pull me closer once again, my cheek smushed against his chest. I can feel his heart beating as we both settle down. It's only midday- but I have him until tomorrow morning. And after that... and after that...

"You're all mine..." Julius whispers against the top of my hair. "I still hardly believe it... but you're all mine."

I smile, closing my eyes, and letting myself melt away.

Yes... Julius... I am all yours... and you're all mine.

NEXT TIME: MC finally returns home, but Julius has been working on an investigation behind the scenes. Alice's attack may not have been by chance...

#julius novachrono x reader #julius novachrono #illusion #fic #black clover

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imagine-loki · 4 years

Text

Yes Mistress

TITLE: Yes Mistress CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 31 AUTHOR: angryowlet ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine after a heated argument with Thor, Loki turns himself into a woman out of spite. RATING: Mature/Explicit NOTES/WARNINGS: NSFW, This is a F/F BDSM relationship. If that’s not your cup of tea, don’t drink it. The events in this fic take place before the first Thor movie.

A holiday present to my oh so patient readers. Smut and fluff with just a hint of plot.

“Yes Pet– Just like that! Don’t stop!” Loki was panting out orders as Sanna sucked at her clit and stroked her spot with her fingers.

She’d been pleasuring her Mistress for more than an hour. Kissing her, licking and sucking at her nipples. Even using her teeth when and where she was told to. She discovered that her Mistress loved receiving a bit of rough play almost as much as she loved giving it. Now, Sanna had one of her Mistress’s legs bent over her shoulder while she coaxed her to orgasm for a third time. She could feel her Mistress’s pussy tightening around her soaked fingers, heard her breathing hitch. Her Mistress was close now, very close. Sanna was learning the signs. She brace her free hand against a trembling thigh and kept her pace steady.

Loki shook as she came at last, back arching, muscles spasming in release. She lay panting on the bed as her Pet lapped up her juices, cleaning her dripping pussy with her tongue. Little aftershocks shot pleasantly through her tired body. Sanna was slowly licking the last of her Mistress’s slick from her fingers when Loki spoke.

“Mmm… Good girl… Come… Come up here."

Loki’s words were slurred as she gestured vaguely for Sanna to come and lay beside her. She stretched lazily as her Pet crawled up the bed to her. Loki sat them both up against the small mountain of pillows at the head of the bed. She poured water into a goblet and downed it in one go. She refilled it and offered it to Sanna. The girl drank as greedily as her Mistress. They lay cuddled together in each other’s arms until Sanna started to shiver. The rain had finally stopped, but the night air was damp and cold. Loki used her seidr to summon the blanket that lay forgotten on the divan and covered Sanna with it once again. Then she reached for her robe.

"Come Pet,” she stood and slipped it loosely over her shoulders. “We both need to clean up before we fall asleep.” She held out a hand to help the girl to her feet.

As they crossed the sitting room to enter the bathing chamber, Loki noticed a small light flashing on her desk. There was a message waiting in the communication system.

“Go on ahead Pet.” Loki gently nudged her towards the bathing room, “I’ve got something to see to.” She walked to the desk and tapped the display icon once Sanna was in the bathing room. There was a holomessage from one of her ‘friends’ in Vanaheim and another for Sanna from someone in her home province –probably her sister– that had arrived hours earlier. Loki ignored the latter and engaged the holomessage display. A holographic form the size of a person was projected from the communication system. It took shape on the far side of her desk. The beautiful features of a former lover dressed in silks and jewels came into focus and the figure began to speak.

“Darling. It’s been so long since I’ve heard from you.” Loki was suddenly reminded of how petulant they could be when denied.“I must admit I was surprised at what you asked of me,” the figure brushed a lock of hair off it’s forehead and tucked a jeweled hairpin back into place, “but of course I’ll do it for you. It should be fun.” They smirked and continued, “He’s settling in nicely. There’s a feast in honor of his visit tomorrow night, and I’ll make my approach then. I’ll let you know once I have anything. Until then…” The figure pouted their lips into a kiss and winked before fading from the room at the end of the message.

Loki let out a breath she wasn’t aware of holding and altered her appearance to look more regally dressed. She shot off a quick holomessage to another 'friend’ at the court of Vanaheim. One operative on Vanaheim was good, two working from different angles would be better. Loki had spent most of her life collecting favors and cultivating contacts within the noble houses across the realms. And in a few less than noble places. She had just received a letter of confirmation from the second operative agreeing to her request when the door to the bathing room opened. Loki dropped the illusion and quickly filed the messages away, tapping a few commands to encrypt any communications from her contacts. She didn’t want her Pet accidentally stumbling across anything that might upset her.

“All finished?” Loki asked.

“Yes Mistress.” Sanna’s face was flushed from a good scrubbing. Her hair was loose from it’s plaits and hanging down her back over the blanket she still had draped around her shoulders.

Loki gestured for Sanna to come to the desk. “There’s a holomessage for you.” She indicated to the message icon. “I’ll leave you alone.” She pressed a kiss to Sanna’s head and went into the bathing chamber, shutting the door carefully behind her.

Sanna was shocked. Holomessages were expensive. She’d never received one before, her family preferring the letter service that was free to all citizens of the realm. She tugged the blanket closer around herself before reaching over and tapping the icon. Her sister’s image formed on the other side of the desk. Dagna was in her best dress and smiling, eyes shining.

“Greetings little one. I was surprised to get a letter from you so soon after your last. Your news was so astonishing, I decided only a holomessage would do until I can speak to you in person. Luckily it’s a market day.” Dagna’s image ran a hand down the front of her embroidered apron to smooth it.

Sanna recalled that the nearest holomessage console was in the village near their farm.

“I am so very proud of you elskan mín. Your letter arrived just before Father and I left for the marketplace. I wish you could have seen his face when I showed it to him! He has bragged to everyone who’s crossed his path today of your new position. He had so much pride in his voice! Mother is…” here she hesitated and bit her lip before continuing. “Mother is Mother, but I know she’s proud. Even if she doesn’t show it. Rumors of Prince Loki choosing to become Princess Loki reached us just yesterday. It has become a topic of great discussion in the taverns. The general feeling is, that the ways of seidr wielders are strange indeed. From your description, the princess sounds quite kind and very generous. You must do all you can to serve her well.

As for your questions about the blight and animal sickness, I don’t know if it’s only our farm or others. We’ve been far too busy between the goats kidding and shearing the sheep to see anyone. Lambing is about to start, and I’ll have a chance to ask our neighbors after that. Please thank the princess for her interest in our problems. I hope to hear from you again soon. Goodbye for now. I love you.”

The message faded and Sanna sniffled and wiped at her eyes with the edge of the blanket. Seeing her sister –hearing her voice– had brought on a wave of homesickness. She felt arms come around to hold her and leaned back into her Mistress.

“Are you alright Pet?” Loki ran her hands up and down Sanna’s arms.

“Yes Mistress. I just… I just missed home all of a sudden. I’m fine. Really. Did you watch the whole message?"

"No. Just the very end, where she said she loves you.” Loki pressed a kiss to the side of Sanna’s head.

Sanna turned her head and gave Loki a watery smile. “It’s just been so long since I’ve seen Dagna, and heard her voice. I was supposed to go to them for my name day, but the offer from the palace came a few days before, and I spent it here instead.”

“How long has it been since you’ve seen them, Pet?” Loki started walking them towards the bedchamber.

“Not since Lady Audney died.”

They’d reached the bedchamber. Loki released Sanna to shed her robe and pull back the covers on the bed.

“I suppose something could be arraigned.” She used the blanket to pull her Pet in closer.

“Truly?” Sanna’s face lit up at the idea of visiting her family.

“Yes, Pet.” Loki pressed a kiss to her forehead and slipped the blanket off her shoulders, leaving it at the foot of the bed by her robe. “Probably not until after the mid-summer revels, I’ll need you for that. But after. We can discuss it further tomorrow."

Loki got into bed and pulled Sanna down with her, spooning against her back. She used her seidr to put out the lights around their chambers.

"I have to go to the archives again tomorrow, but you’ll have Marit here with you after midday.” Loki pulled the covers over both of them, making sure her Pet was tucked in and warm. “You might as well order something for both of you from the kitchens.” Loki nuzzled Sanna hair. “Pet?”

“Mmm?”

“Did you hear me?” Loki lifted her head and saw Sanna’s eyes were closed. She whispered, “No. I don’t suppose you did. Sleep well, little Pet.”

Loki put her head back down and whispered once again. It was the spell to let her enter another’s dreams. She held her Pet all night, in their dreams and in the waking world.

#Loki #Lover #Angst #Submitted fic #submission #yes mistress #chapter 31 #angryowlet

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johaerys-writes · 5 years

Text

The One She Runs To

OTP: Fenris/Rynne Hawke

Summary: Hawke drives Fenris mad. Her broad smile, her barking laugh, the unmistakeable warmth in her coppery eyes- they follow him wherever he goes. And there really isn't anywhere for him to go when he's on the Lady Luck. So he frowns. And he scowls. And he snaps at her, even when he shouldn't really be snapping at her, hoping that this, at least, might keep her away.

But when she comes into his room in the middle of the night to ask for his help, there's truly nowhere else that he would rather be.

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

Alright, alright, alright, so I wrote a THING. It’s about Fenris and @pikapeppa’s gorgeous OC Rynne Hawke, because I adore this pair to tiny little pieces, and hers and @schoute ‘s Pirate AU Where The Winds Of Fortune Take Me has given me all kinds of warm and fuzzy feels (if you haven’t read it yet, please please do). The idea behind this one shot is inspired by something that has actually happened to me in real life, and it came to me while I slept after reading the latest Chapter or WTWOFTM. I love this fic so damn much my brain evidently just CAN’T SHUT UP ABOUT IT lol. It also features a little bit of @schoute’s incomparable OC Piper Lavellan, because, frankly, no fic set in this wonderful AU would ever be complete without her.

SO, without further ado, please enjoy :)

Read here or on AO3!

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

Fenris shielded his eyes from the bright sunshine as he walked out onto the Lady Luck’s deck and looked around. Hawke was already waiting for him for their training session. She was leaning over the ship’s railing, gazing at the waves that crashed against its planks. The wind was flowing through her short dark hair, making the chestnut highlights in it catch the light.

“Hawke” he said in greeting as he approached.

A few stray strands flew in front of her face as she turned around, sticking to her lips and tangling in her long eyelashes. She smiled widely, brushing her hair away and tucking it behind her ear. “Fenris!” she exclaimed happily, hopping to his side. “I’m so glad you’re here. I made sure I was on time today.”

Her broad smile made his heart flutter in his ribcage. He frowned, folding his arms across his chest. “So you are. A pleasant change” he replied flatly.

Hawke beamed at him. “I’m so excited for our session today. I’ve been giddy since I opened my eyes this morning.”

“It’s good to get excited, but not that excited. You’ll need to pay attention. Today’s lesson is very important.”

She straightened up, putting on her most serious expression. “Of course! I promise to take this extremely seriously.” Her sombreness lasted only for a moment before she gave him another bright smile and winked at him.

Fenris let out a short huff of amusement and rolled his eyes. He turned his back at her as he walked to the training weapons’ rack and picked up two blunted sparring swords. He handed her one, hilt first, and she took it eagerly.

“Alright” he said, shifting into a sparring stance, legs parted, body facing slightly to the side. “You remember what I taught you yesterday, I hope?”

“Of course!” she replied, mirroring his movements.

“Good” he said, appraising her posture. “Make sure your grip on the hilt is firm, but not too firm. If the edge of the pommel is digging into your wrist, you know you’re clamping down too tightly. And always remember to keep a slight bend in your elbow. You want your hold on your sword to be steady, but flexible. It makes it less likely for your sword to be knocked out of your hand.”

Hawke nodded as she listened to him. Her eyes were slightly narrowed in concentration. “I’m ready.”

With his free hand, Fenris motioned for her to attack him. She lunged forward, the edge of her sword aiming for his shoulder. Fenris dodged her blow easily, stepping sideways. She brought her sword back in to catch him at his side, but he brushed it away with his blade.

With a sharp huff, she lunged again. Another step forward, this time getting close enough for her sword to reach his flank. She slashed at him, but with one quick stroke Fenris knocked the base of her practice sword, causing it to fly right out of her hand. It fell on the wooden planks with a hollow thud.

“I told you to grip it firmly” Fenris told her in a stern voice as she bent to pick it up.

“I did!” she said, her eyes widening in protest. “I gripped it as firmly as I could. I just didn’t expect you to…”

“Didn’t expect me to try to knock your sword out of your grasp? That’s the first thing anyone would do if you were in a fight.”

“Well, when you put it that way, I guess I should have been looking out for it” Hawke said, pouting slightly. She returned to her position, her seriousness once again melting into an eager smile. “Let’s try again.”

Fenris nodded, easing into his battle stance. “Attack.”

This time, Hawke lunged at him straight on bringing her sword up, a fast and precise motion that Fenris did not expect. It was impressive, admittedly. He lifted his own blade to parry hers just as it descended towards his head. The blunted blades rang clearly across the deck as they collided. With a sharp hiss, Fenris’s blade slid forward, its edge stopping only a few inches from her eye.

Hawke blinked at him, then at the sword tip that was hovering ominously before her face. She took a step back, laughing nervously. “That was a close one.”

Fenris flexed his arm and readjusted his grip on his sword. “It was a clever move to attack me from above. But you need to put your back into it, otherwise you’re just setting yourself up for failure. I shouldn’t have been able to stop the force of your blow so easily.”

“Well, I can’t help that you’re so much stronger than me, Fenris” she said teasingly. Her eyes glided over his shoulders and chest before they snapped back up to his face. Her smile faltered only slightly when she met his gaze.

Fenris froze for a heartbeat. Was she just… checking him out? He felt a slight flush creeping up his cheeks. Her lips were slightly parted, and he could almost see her blood pulsing at the soft point in her neck. He tried not to think of the last time he had touched her neck, when he was showing her the best ways to kill a man. He turned around, hoping that his frown was hiding most of the treacherous heat that was blossoming on his face.

“Most people you fight will be stronger than you, Hawke” he spat. He swung his blade along his side, which made a satisfying hiss as it cut through the air. “You just need to anticipate that in every fight.”

“I know, I know. You’re right, as always, Fenris. Let me try again. I promise I’ll surprise you this time” she said with a mischievous grin as her body melted back into a fighting stance.

He nodded sharply, and Hawke, once again, lunged at him.

As promised, she did surprise him this time. Her blade swung around him in a flurry of quick strikes. Fenris parried each one easily, but still, it was admirable that she had managed to get the hang of using a sword after only a few practice sessions. She had a long way to go though, before she could inject into her movements the precision required to hold her own in a proper fight. Their sparring went on for a surprising amount of time before she fell back, panting.

“That’s fucking hard” she said, leaning forward with her palms on her knees to catch her breath. “I can barely touch you with my sword.”

Fenris tried not to let his gaze linger on the thin sheen of sweat at the dip in her collarbone. “It’s hard because you’re not focusing enough” he said, placing himself back into position.

“I’m doing the best I can” she protested. “I really am!”

Fenris brushed the back of his hand over his forehead. The sun shining overhead was boring down on them mercilessly. He could feel the drops of sweat arcing down his back, and the light coloured shirt he was wearing was clinging to his skin. He turned around and walked back to his starting position, thankful for the wind that blew across the deck.

“Again, Hawke” he said sharply before shifting to his battle stance. “And stop gawking.”

Hawke threw her head back and barked out a laugh. “How can you tell when I do that? You weren’t even looking! I certainly don’t realise when I do it. You do have that effect on me” she said with a wink.

Fenris rolled his eyes, trying to keep his face as stern as possible. He could always tell when Hawke was looking at him. It felt as if her amber gaze could see right through him.

“Attack” he commanded.

She knuckled her forehead and stood at attention. “Yes, sir!” she exclaimed before taking her place. She couldn’t help the gaze that drifted down towards his chest, though.

Fenris motioned at her impatiently, and she lunged at him again, but this time she must have been tired, as Fenris knocked her blade from her hand almost straightaway and lunged forward. His own sword stopped only an inch from the base of her throat.

“See that?” he said. “That is a death blow. You allow your opponent too many openings. You need to…”

His sentence was cut short when he noticed Hawke’s expression. Her eyes were wide as she looked at him, her cheeks impossibly flushed. She was panting, the fabric of the light shirt she was wearing stretching over her chest with her every breath. Her eyes slid gently over him, over the tattoos visible on his neck and chest. Her tongue darted out, pink and glistening, to lick her lips.

Her full, luscious lips. They were flushed, just as her face was flushed. The little drops of sweat on her forehead glistened in the midday sun, making her skin look luminous like polished gold. Fenris felt the unbearable urge to sweep in and brush the flat of his tongue over her lips, her perfect, raspberry lips, taste the saltiness of her skin, pull her flush against him-

Fuck, he couldn’t possibly go on like this, lusting after her like a teenager every time they trained. He cleared his throat and took a step back, lowering his sword.

“Our training is over” he said, bending down to pick up the sword from the floor.

Hawke’s gasp was clearly audible. “What? But we’ve only just started! I’ll pay attention this time I promise, I just need a moment to catch my breath-“

“No” Fenris snapped, cutting her short. “Go through the stances that I’ve taught you on your own. I thought you would be ready for sparring, but you’re clearly not.”

The wounded look on her face almost made him wince. He hadn’t intended to be so harsh with her. Her eyes darted about the deck. Several people had stopped to stare at them. Piper was leaning over the railing of the quarter deck, following his every move. Fenris scowled and extended the sword to Hawke.

“I have… work to do. Make sure you know the stances perfectly by tomorrow.”

“Fenris, I…” Hawke started, then stopped. She glanced at the weapon in his hand and nodded slowly before her hand closed over the hilt. The smile she gave him was broad. Broad enough to hide the hurt. “Of course. I’ll do as you say. You know best, after all.”

Fenris turned around and walked away. He thought he heard her sighing as he climbed down the stairs to the inner part of the ship, but it could have been his imagination.

He hadn’t even managed to take a few steps into the relative safety of the ship, when Piper caught up to him. Of course she had watched the whole scene. Not much happened on the ship without Piper’s keen senses picking up on it immediately. Her sharp eyes took in his features, and a half smirk appeared on her scarred face.

Fenris frowned. “Is there something you want to say or are you just here to gawk at me, too?”

Piper’s grin got wider and she leaned casually on one leg. “Look, Fen, you know I want nothing more than having every one of my crew members ready to fight a battalion if need be. But are you sure this was necessary?”

Fenris scowled at her, folding his arms in front of his chest. “What exactly?”

“You know what I’m talking about. The way you snapped at Rynne, I’m surprised she didn’t tell you to sod right off. I certainly would have.”

Fenris huffed in annoyance and twisted his mouth. “She’s… she’s not paying enough attention.”

“She’s really trying though, and you know it.” Piper took a step forward, her troublemaker’s grin easing into a soft smile. “Can’t you be more gentle with her? Maybe give her a compliment from time to time? Us girls appreciate that, you know.”

Fenris felt his blush returning in full force. “A compliment?” he spat. “What do you think this is, a beauty pageant? She doesn’t need compliments. She’s had enough compliments in her life. What she needs is…”

He hesitated. What did she need? Certainly not him barking at her at every turn. He felt bad enough about yelling at her without Piper poking at the wound.

He scowled when he realised he had uncrossed his arms and was brushing his knuckle over Hawke’s red handkerchief on his wrist. Piper glanced at it, then shot him a knowing look. Fenris let his hands fall to his sides and straightened back up. “This is how I do things” he said decisively. “You appointed me master-at-arms for a reason. Let me do my job the way I know best.”

Piper took a step back, lifting her hands up placatingly. “Alright, alright. Don’t bite. It was merely a suggestion.” She made as if to leave, before turning back to clap him on the shoulder. “Next time you spar, make sure you point that sword a little lower. That way you’ll be able to tear her clothes off more easily.”

Fenris could only gape at her as she hopped up the steps, her barking laugh bouncing off the walls of the narrow staircase. He let out an annoyed grunt as he turned away.

****

He didn’t see Hawke much for the rest of the day while he worked inside the ship, neatly arranging their recently acquired cargo. Or, he should say, his efforts at avoiding her were successful. But evening came swiftly, and the crew gathered in the ship’s wide galley to have their supper.

Fenris sat in his corner, like he always did. Merrill had prepared a hearty fish stew that was quite nice, with hard ship’s biscuit to accompany it. Most evenings Fenris would have his dinner with Hawke and Piper sitting close nearby, Piper telling her usual outrageous stories and Hawke chiming in with funny comments while they both laughed their hearts out. He never really admitted it to himself, but he had come to look forward to that evening meal every day. It allowed him to spend time with Hawke in the safety that being around other people provided. He could talk without worrying about how he should act in front of her, like he did when they were alone. He could observe the corners of her eyes that creased as she laughed, that tiny, barely noticeable dimple in her cheek, the slight curve of her upper lip, without worrying about her looking at him in return.

But that night, he sat on his own, like he usually did before Hawke joined the crew. Piper was sitting close to Cullen, teasing him and talking with him in low whispers, no doubt telling him one of her more lewd tales, judging by Cullen’s blush. Hawke, on the other hand, was sitting at the far end of the room with Dorian, Anders and Varric. Dorian must have told her something hilarious, as she tossed her head back and howled in laughter. The sound carried through the wide room, as if she were right next to him. It made his heart thrum with longing in his chest.

Anders was sitting close to her, ogling at her. Jealousy bubbled in Fenris’s veins no matter how hard he tried to stamp it out, with the way Anders looked at her, the way he leaned close to whisper something quietly in her ear.

Hawke did nothing to stop his advances, of course. He had noticed long before that she flirted with pretty much everyone. She elbowed Anders affably, and laughed again. Her eyes caught Fenris’s across the room. Her wide smile wavered for a moment, before a slower, warmer one took its place. Her piercing gaze held him fast, before Anders turned around to find what had drawn Hawke’s attention. All of a sudden, it seemed to Fenris like there was not a ship's galley, but a gulf between them.

It was all he could take. He wolfed down the remains of his stew and walked over to the big barrel of sea water they used to clean their bowls. He washed it hastily and walked out of the room in long strides. He simply longed to be alone, in his own room. Away from Hawke’s laughter at jokes that were not his, her warm glances at people that were not… well, him. The very realisation of how sharply and painfully it bothered him irked him to no end.

He walked inside his small room and closed the door behind him. He leaned on it for a moment, taking a deep breath. When he opened his eyes, he simply stared at the low ceiling of the place he had learned to call home. It was cosy, and tidy, and it felt… safe. It was odd that it suddenly looked so empty to him.

He pulled his shirt over his head with a sigh and tossed on a chair before flopping on the bed. Hawke’s face and the slow smiled that bloomed on it when she caught his gaze lingered in his memory. He brushed it away stubbornly. He was exhausted, and needed rest more than anything. It certainly wasn’t the time for useless daydreams and foolish fancies.

He soon drifted off into a light sleep. Images floated in his mind, warm and fuzzy. He was floating in space, colours warping and shifting around him, soft and indistinct. It was nice and comfortable there. He let himself relax even more, hovering in that endless sea of warmth and colour. And in that shifting, formless sea, he found her. Hawke.

She was smiling, like she always was. Her clever eyes glided over him, sparkling like diamonds in the dark. Her cheeks were flushed, a thin sheen of sweat glistened on her brow. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips, making them gleam in the eerie light that surrounded them. He paused for a moment, even in his dream, wondering if he had ever beheld anyone so beautiful.

He drifted towards her, reaching out to her. His arm found its way around her back, pulling her close. With his other hand, he cupped her cheek, running his thumb over her pillowy bottom lip, caressing the line of her jaw, the curve of her chin. She closed her eyes and leaned in to his touch.

“Oh, Fenris” she whispered, and the sound sent shivers of honey-slicked lightning down his spine. She brought her hand up and caressed his arm. In his dream, he didn’t recoil from her touch. In his dream, it felt natural. No, it felt more than natural; it felt good. So fucking good. He leaned closer, helplessly drawn to her slightly parted lips, like a moth drawn to a quivering flame.

When she shook his arm, he stopped short. He pulled back, gazing at her curiously. She looked back at him with wide eyes, and shook his arm again.

One of his eyebrows shot up in question. “Hawke, what…”

She shook him again, more urgently this time. “Wake up” she said.

Fenris’s eyes snapped open, gazing into darkness. It took him a split second to realise that a hand was actually touching his arm. He jolted bolt upright, searching for his dagger in the dark.

“Fenris, it’s me” he heard Hawke saying.

He froze. With fumbling fingers, he stroke a match and lit the oil lamp that he kept close to his bed. A wide-eyed Hawke, her hair still mussed up from sleep was staring at him.

He returned her startled look, his erratic pulse still pounding in his ears from the shock of his violent awakening. It was only when her eyes drifted downwards, and widened even more, that he remembered that he was half naked.

He grunted in annoyance and stood up, grabbing his shirt from his chair and pulling it hastily over his head. “What is the meaning of this, Hawke?” he growled, his voice muffled by the fabric.

Hawke gasped, and let her eyes fall to the ground. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to barge in on you while you slept and scare you half to death. I’m really very sorry” she said again. But when her gaze drifted back up to his chest, where the laces of his shirt where still undone, he knew that she wasn’t, really.

Fenris scowled as he fixed the shirt about his shoulders and crossed his arms in front of him. “I expect you have a good reason for waking me up in the middle of the night?”

“I do, in fact” she said. “At least I think so.” She bit her lip, looking up at him apologetically. The pearl white bite of her teeth over the perfect raspberry of her lips drove a piercing shot of longing through him. He stomped it down tenaciously, his scowl getting ever deeper.

“Well?” he urged her impatiently. “What is it?”

“I… Well, I… Oh, I don’t know how to say this without sounding incredibly daft.” She wrung her hands and looked away. “I think that… something may have bitten me while I slept.”

Fenris frowned at her. Either he was still hazy from sleep, or Hawke was really not making any sense. “What bit you?”

She gazed back at him. He could see now the paleness on her face and the concern in her eyes. “I don’t know what it was! I just felt a sharp sting and woke up. It might have been a spider or a scorpion or… Oh, I don’t know!” She hid her face in her hands.

Worry and affection mingled and ached in Fenris’s chest. “There are no scorpions on the ship, Hawke. Or spiders” he said gently, letting his arms fall to his sides. “At least not the kind that bite.”

She lifted her face from her hands. There was a flicker of hope in her eyes, but it was soon overcome by her distress. “I know it sounds silly. But something bit me. I’m sure of it. I’m just…. Fuck, Fenris, I’m crawling out of my skin just now. Can you have a look at it? Please?”

Fenris almost took a step back, startled. “I’m no healer, Hawke. Why didn’t you go to Anders, or Piper at the very least? She has a chest with healing balms in her quarters.”

She swallowed nervously as she pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “I… thought about it. But Piper sleeps with Cullen most nights. What if I walked in, and found them in a… compromising position, or…” She shook her head. “Let’s just say I didn’t want to intrude. And Anders sleeps like a log. I didn’t want to rouse the whole crew while trying to wake him.”

“So you came to me because I wake up more easily?”

She gave him an uneasy smile. “You’re a light sleeper, and quick on your feet. I know that much about you, at least.”

Fenris let out a short huff. “Fine. Let me see it so we can both get this over with.”

A wide smile of relief crossed her face. Fenris sat at the edge of the bed, and motioned for her to sit next to him.

“Where were you bit?”

“Here, let me show you” she said, shifting around so her back was to him. She lifted her shirt a little and lowered the waistband of her light cotton breeches just slightly.

“That’s where I felt it. On my lower back.”

Fenris swallowed thickly as he examined her exposed skin. It was smooth and golden hued, and a part of her he had never seen before. This entire situation was… so intimate that he felt the familiar blush creeping up his cheeks again.

He took a deep breath, determined not to look any longer. “I can’t see anything.”

“There’s a bump on my skin. I can feel it. Here, let me show you.”

Fenris bristled when she took his hand, but all words were robbed from him when she placed it gently on her, guiding his fingers.

“There” she said. “Can you feel it?”

He didn’t speak as he lightly brushed the part she indicated. There was a tiny, noticeable bump, just as she had said, but he barely paid that any mind. Her skin was so soft and smooth, and… fasta vass, it felt like velvet under his fingertips. It was even better than he had imagined in his dream. Flashes of it came unbidden in his mind, making the hairs at the back of his neck stand on end. Smoothing his palm over the curves of her back, her smiling coyly up at him. Running his thumb over her soft, pliant lips, plucking the bubbling laughter from her mouth with his own. Pulling her against him as he leaned in for…

The urge to let his fingers close over the curve of her waist and pull her close to him was nigh on unbearable. With significant effort, he let his hand fall. He cleared his throat, putting some safe distance between them. “The good news is that this is no spider bite. The bad news is that there are most likely fleas in your bed.”

Hawke spun around to stare at him. Her eyes were wide with shock. “What?”

Fenris let out a short, amused huff. “Fleas have a way of finding themselves in places where lots of people live together in close quarters. Annoying, but relatively harmless. That being said” he added, noticing her bewildered stare, “you should wash your bedding in hot water and take your mattress out on the deck tomorrow to air it under the sun. That should take care of them.”

Hawke scrunched her nose at that, but nodded in agreement. “You’re right. Thank you, Fenris.”

“You’re welcome, Hawke.”

She shot him a warm smile as she pushed the hem of her shirt back under the waistband of her breeches. “You know” she said, looking away, “I lied to you before.”

Fenris frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Piper wasn’t the first person I thought of going to. Or Anders.” She lifted her gaze up to his face. “It was you.”

Fenris peered back at her, his frown deepening. He opened his mouth to speak, but Hawke went on. “It’s silly, I know. You were so angry with me this afternoon, for not following your instructions correctly. The way you frowned at me… not that it doesn’t make you look incredibly attractive, don’t get me wrong” she said, winking at him and earning a deeper scowl from him, “but still. I didn’t want to trouble you any more than I had today. Yet when I felt that sting as I slept, I was terrified. I couldn’t think of what to do for the life of me. And then I thought of you.” She paused for a moment, then let out a soft, quiet chuckle. “Even when you’re mad at me, you’re still the one I run to, it seems.”

Her eyes fixed themselves on him, with an intensity that stole the air from his lungs. He gaped at her for a long moment, lost for words. His throat had suddenly gone dry as parchment. He should probably say something, he realised, or the silence that stretched between them would swallow him whole.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you today” he said, running his hand through his hair. “It was uncalled for. You’re trying your best, and I’m…”

“No, no, it’s alright” she said cheerfully, waving her hand in a soothing gesture. “You were right to. I was indeed distracted. But I practiced for hours after you left. Hopefully I’ll do better during tomorrow’s session. I really want to show you what I’ve learned.”

He gazed at her, then, in the silence of his small cabin. For a heartbeat, she felt as naturally a part of his space as he did. The side of her face was painted amber by the dancing lamp light, her whiskey-coloured eyes glowed like embers in the half dark. Her lips were curled in a smile, one of those slow, tender ones, that seemed to be meant just for him. At that moment, he was certain. She really was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

“I look forward to it, Hawke” he said softly, returning her smile with one of his own.

#fenris x hawke #fenris/hawke #femhawke #where the winds of fortune take me #pirate au #piper lavellan #fenrynne #pikapeppa #schoute #johaerys writes

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alsbesluit · 4 years

Text

the girl

That evening, Theo went to bed late. Draco would know, because they shared a room and a bunk bed. Theo had taken the mattress at the bottom and Draco slept on the one at the top. They’d always shared a room and a bunk bed, so Draco knew every single one of Theo’s sleeping habits. They hardly ever talked, too afraid to get caught on the surveillance cameras, and when they did it was insignificant small talk. Theo never slept more than seven to eight hours. He usually went to bed before Draco and was up before Draco. He never woke Draco either, and was always careful to be quiet in the morning. When Theo went to bed late that evening, he ran into the desk chair and cursed aloud for it. Draco frowned to himself about that. A little later, after Theo changed clothes in their shared bathroom, Draco heard hit footsteps on the floor, bare feet against the carpet, and then he heard the sheets being pushed back. He could hear Theo shiver, just like he had that midday.

That was all he remembered before falling asleep. When he woke it was 3 AM according to the alarm clock and his throat and mouth were dry. He’d forgotten to take a water bottle to bed with him, he realized. He’d been distracted. It meant that he slung his feet over the edge of the bed and let himself hit the floor quietly. He sneaked through the room to get to the door, which he opened and closed quietly. Other than a few night lights the corridor was dark, and when Draco arrived into the kitchen a little while later there was no one present either. He was quick; he just got a bottle of water from the fridge and left again, well aware that if the guards watching the security footage saw him fidget he was in for it. It was less than a minute later that he walked into the room again. Theo just turned around, seemingly restless. Draco studied him for a couple of seconds before he climbed back onto his mattress of the bunk bed. He sat down there and took a couple of slow sips from the bottle. Then he put it away beside him and got under the blankets again, wrapping them around him closely. He’d just gotten comfortable when Theo spoke. “Draco? Are you awake?” he asked softly. Draco closed his eyes briefly, wondering why Theo wanted to talk now. He was sure that they were being watched, because Theo did something that stood out today and Gellert knew it too. He would want the guards to keep an eye on their room. Theo knew he was awake, too, because if he was awake now he would have been awake when Draco left the room and entered the room a minute later. “Yea,” he replied. “What’s going on?” Theo’s reply came fast, which indicated that he’d known for sure that Draco was awake. “I just had a nightmare,” he replied. “Will you come and lay with me?” “Theo, I just got back up here,” Draco said. This was already more words than they’d exchanged during the night in the past year alone. “I just got comfortable. Can’t we do this another time?” He heard Theo sigh. “Please?” he tried, not a word Draco ever heard Theo say before. It was enough. He pushed the sheets off again and slung his feet back over the edge. Before he let himself hit the ground, he got a hold of the bottle of water that he’d brought with him. The moment he landed on the ground Draco turned to face Theo. He put the bottle of Theo’s nightstand next to Theo’s own bottle and sat down on the bed when Theo pushed the sheets aside for him. He laid down slowly, stretched a little, and turned to look at Theo then. When Draco reached out to touch Theo, he seemed cold. Without getting out of the bed, Draco reached out for the blanket underneath the bed. He’d gotten a hold of it within a couple of seconds. He sat up straight to he able to put the blanket over the sheets in hopes of Theo warming up. Then he laid back down and carefully wrapped an arm around his best friend. If the blanket didn’t generate any extra heat, then at least his body heat was going to do the job of making Theo warm up. After a couple of seconds Theo wrapped his arms around Draco in return and sighed. “Thank you,” he said. “I’ve been so cold since this midday. This isn’t weird, right?” “I know,” Draco told him softly. “This isn’t weird. You’re my brother. You’re my best friend. What would be weird is if I let you get cold.” They laid in silence for a minute. Draco heard Theo’s heart rate go down slowly, as though he’d been panicking until Draco laid down with him and he had something else to focus on instead of his own thoughts. Just when Draco thought that would be the end of it, Theo reached out for his free hand. Draco tensed at first, but Theo held his hand until he relaxed again. Then he started to draw patterns on the palm of his hand. “That tickles,” Draco whispered. “Just feel it,” Theo whispered back. “Try to feel it.” What kind of answer was that? Draco pulled a face, but didn’t comment and instead tried to do as Theo told him, which was difficult since he didn’t know what Theo meant. As Theo drew over and over again, Draco realized he was drawing the same pattern. It was a letter. Realization dawned on him. The guards could hear them on the surveillance cameras, but they couldn’t see what was going on underneath the blankets and this left no evidence. A L. Draco squeezed Theo’s hand to let him know he’d gotten it and gotten the letter. Theo started to write the second letter. After five times, Draco got it. An A. He squeezed Theo’s hand again. The third one was easy to get. A S. Another squeeze, and another easy letter. A T. Draco squeezed Theo’s hand again, but this time Theo held his hand in return. A space, Draco realized. This was going to be multiple words, and the first one was last. It was after another ten seconds that Theo started drawing again. The W and the O were fairly obvious letters as well, but the R took Draco at least ten tries to get. The last letter he could fill in himself, but he let Theo draw it a couple of times before confirming with another squeeze. Last word. Then Theo started to speak. The words were soft, but they both knew they would be caught on the security footage and listened to in case they were caught. Draco even wanted to bet that Gellert would tell the guards to check the footage of the night for anything suspicious in case they hadn’t kept an eye on it right now. “I’m really worried about our Father, Gellert.” Pause. Last word? Gellert. Draco squeezed Theo’s hand. “I don’t know what it is.” Pause. Last word? Is. Another squeeze. “This feeling that I have is horrible.” Pause. Last word? Horrible. Another squeeze. Theo turned closed towards him. “I don’t want anything to happen to his person.” Draco squeezed Theo’s hand, and then spoke quickly. “You don’t have to worry, Theo, because Father is fine, do you understand?” It wasn’t exactly the word that Draco wanted to say, but he hoped Theo would get it. He felt Theo nod with his head against Draco’s shoulder. Draco sighed, and tried to understand. Theo had always stood up for Gellert whenever Draco had a bad word to say about him. Theo always argued that Gellert had saved them, that he was helping them, that even all the things he did that they didn’t mention were for a purpose somehow. Gellert loved them, Theo argued, and they should try to do better because Gellert saved them. Gellert is a horrible person. What happened this midday that made Theo realize it? Draco doubted he would ever get to know it. He doubted Theo could talk about it. All he knew was that Theo needed someone to be there, to hold him, so that was exactly what Draco was going to do. Vaguely, Draco remembered a conversation that Theo and him had when Draco had just arrived at the palace. One evening, Theo told him that they could all become Peacekeepers when they did well. They would get to serve their district and see their family again. Theo also told him that there was this girl he’d had a stupid crush on back at home. He’d told everyone about the crush in his tribute interview, because the mentors insisted it made him more likable and would get people to root for him. Of course, he never mentioned her name, even when pushed by the host to do so. When he told Draco he hadn’t said the name either. But he said that when he got to go home, he would find the girl and tell her. Now Theo would have gotten to go home, to go see the girl, and instead of being on his way to Peacekeeper training in district Two he was laying in the lower bed of a bunk bed with Draco. It wasn’t that Draco wasn’t extremely thankful that he would Theo with him longer, but he didn’t at all understand. Last word, he reminded himself. “Yesterday,” he started, voice rough, “Father told me about something very vaguely and I don’t know what.” Draco paused until Theo squeezed his hand. “I just didn’t understand what he was going on about.” Another pause, another squeeze. “I figured maybe he was concerned about one of the girls, but I don’t know which girl.” And now to hope Theo understood the question. “You think it’s about a girl?” Theo’s answer was steady, and the fact that he used girl as a last word immediately confirmed for Draco that he got it. “Draco, Father not worrying is a myth.” He was silent after that. He’d only said two words, but they were enough. The girl was a myth. But she’d existed, Draco knew that much. “I just wish he would give me a name.” Draco looked at his best friend directly, eyebrows raising briefly. The next sentence was unimportant, but needed to be said in order to keep the guards convinced they were having a real conversation. “I want to help, I want to know who he’s worried about so we can keep an eye out too.” Underneath the blankets, Theo started drawing on the palm of his hand again. Daphne.

They fell asleep like that a little while later, and were woken by Gellert the next morning, who was sitting by their bedside. He seemed touched they were so close. Draco suspected he really was touched because they were so concerned about Gellert and the others that they stayed up at night discussing it. Gellert told them not to worry, smiled, then frowned and observed they should get another bed, since they’d surely outgrown bunk beds by now. That midday Theo and him worked on putting their new bed together alongside two guards. Every time he looked at Theo, however, he could only hear one name and be confused. The girl was a myth, but why? If the girl was the thing that got Theo through the early years here, why would he dismiss it like this? Daphne, Daphne, Daphne - While they made the bed, while they had dinner, while they kicked the ball around in the garden after dinner. That evening, when they were up only with the oldest ones and Gellert, Gellert asked them if they’d ever been in love. Theo smiled. “Once,” he said. “I think she’s happy, now. She must have found someone to spend her life with. I don’t think that kind of love is for me. I’m happier with you here than I’ve ever been in my old district.” Mandy hugged Theo and Gellert seemed pleased. Draco leaned back against the couch, slouching momentarily as he thought. The girl was a myth. Maybe Theo stayed because he realized here’d always be people that loved them, but in the district he would be alone. Despite of what Gellert put them through, Theo would rather be around Mandy, Sue, Graham, Gabi, Draco himself and the others, because at least here people would love him, whereas the girl had probably never known he existed and would have moved on. He couldn’t sleep that night. Next to him, Theo was wide awake staring at the ceiling. “I still don’t think we have it figured out, you and I,” Draco said. “Father loves all of us, but there’s more than people just to love. But despite of not having figured it out yet, we’re managing, me and you.” Theo looked aside at him. He smiled. “Likewise.” Regardless, Draco had never been able to let the idea and the name of the girl go.

#( the girl ).#( post panem | au ).

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cupidmarwani-archive · 4 years

Text

The Rehabilitation of Ava Bekker (7/12)

On the drive back, Ava smokes three cigarettes. One after another, her left hand hanging out the driver’s side window with the butt trapped between two fingertips. As the nicotine sinks into her body, she feels like she’s breathing easier than she has since she killed Connor. And she can say that, suddenly. She killed him. But its impact, its meaning, doesn’t bother to drill itself into her mind, and she’s left with a pitiful understanding of what could be.

She knows she’ll be making more trips into town for more cartons. She’s missed the calming effect that smoking can have on her. Something to do, something to focus on, something simple. And by the time she gets back to the farm, she feels a little less like she’s dying and a little more like a human.

Back to the trees, once she fills up her new water bottle from the kitchen sink. It’s more lukewarm than cold already, but it’ll keep her from dying when she picks up the shovel and digs into the dirt hard. It goes faster today, the digging, because she finds a rhythm and her body is getting used to the hard work. And not being dehydrated helps. In fact, Ava even pauses to put on sunscreen. No new burns atop the old.

By midday, she’s planted rows and the trees just need a brief watering before she can take a break. Just in time for Robin to come by, ask if she’s hungry for lunch. She is. Physical labor makes her body much more desperate for any aid. Water, food, a shower. When she’s offered a sandwich and some kettle chips, she takes it, sitting on the front porch with her thigh pressed against Robin’s. Close. The space between them stops existing.

“So, Avery Rhodes,” Robin says, a hint of a smile on her face, “Why here?”

Hearing the name she gave herself, no shortening to her real first name, her last a stinging reminder of Connor, brings fresh tears to her eyes. Fuck. She struggles to hold them back, because it will give away more than she wants or is able to say.

“I had a rough go of it in the city,” she admits carefully. “Things just didn’t work out, so I thought I would try something new.”

It’s only half-truth, but it’s good enough, and it makes Robin laugh. Her laugh is a little overwhelming in its openness. It’s a real laugh, bright and beautiful and it kind of hurts to see someone so happy. As far as Ava knows, Robin’s been alone before her, so she has no idea what would cause such genuine joy. It doesn’t seem to be newly acquired either.

“What about you? Where were you before this?”

Robin stretches her legs out in front of her and takes another bite of her PB&J. “I’m from the city, too. Chicago, actually.”

Chicago. Shit.

“Really?”

“Yeah. My uh, my dad works at a hospital there. Gaffney, I think.”

Fuck. Ava nods but doesn’t say anything because she’s afraid of what she might say, what could give it away. There’s tons of doctors at Gaffney, but that doesn’t mean that by chance, Robin’s father wouldn’t be able to identify Ava. And everyone must know what happened to Connor down there, what she did to Connor. What she did to him. Connor Rhodes is dead, and what if Robin talks to her father? Makes the connection, Ava and Rhodes and the sudden appearance with few details of her past.

“Ava, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just- I’m just tired,” she lies, and finishes up a bite of her sandwich. She needs to end the conversation. “I finished the trees, by the way. What’s next?”

Robin probably notices the change in subject, but at least she doesn’t bring it up. Instead, she takes a long pull from her water bottle and makes a vague gesture at the property. “By tomorrow, I should have a list of stuff that needs doing every day. Should make things a bit easier for you.”

“Good. But for the rest of today?”

Robin glances behind her at the house. “Do you know how to make bread? I’ve gotta stock up for the market.”

“If you show me- I’m a fast learner, I promise.”

“Yeah. I think I’ve still got the recipes written down somewhere too, c’mon.”

Robin stands up and they both head inside, cooler than the summer heat, depositing their dishes in the sink on the way. Eggs, flour, herbs, ingredients Ava doesn’t recognize off the top of her head are laid out on the counter, and Robin goes digging in the junk drawer until she pulls out a small spiral notebook, the cover red and the pages well worn.

“I’ve got a couple batches for kneading,” Robin says, gesturing toward two towel covered bowls on the counter a ways away. “But let’s work on this first. I did tomato basil yesterday, miche is right over there. Let’s do rosemary.”

“Sounds perfect.”

Robin pulls out measuring cups and a mixing bowl. Between the two of them, they measure the dry ingredients, and then the wet, and start making a dough. Stirring with spatula turns to getting flour-covered hands in the bowl. Kneading it, giving everything the chance to become homogeneous. And then it’s covered with a towel, and Robin brings over the other two bowls.

“Have you ever kneaded before?”

“Not really.”

“Reflour your hands and pull out the dough.” As Ava obeys, Robin sprinkles flour across the counter and grabs her own. The air smells fragrant and soft. “Just copy me.”

Robin digs the heels of her hands into the dough, pushes, and then pulls the top back toward herself to repeat. A constant motion, calm like inhaling smoke and blowing it back out of her lips. But Ava is more watching the motion of Robin’s arms than her hands. The ripple of her muscles, the way the glow of sunlight through the window highlights them in gold and shadows them in oak. Stunning.

Ava quickly draws her attention away and does as Robin. Pushing and pulling. Over and over. But it’s not quite the same, and the dough doesn’t expand like Robin’s is. She glances over again.

“Here, let me show you.”

Suddenly Robin is right up behind her, reaching around each side of Ava and putting her hands atop hers. She’s warm. She guides Ava in each motion, teaching her how to properly knead it. And it works, the dough beginning to do as it’s supposed to, but that’s not as important as the light feeling of Robin’s breath against the back of her neck. Briefly, she imagines a kiss against the tendons. The way Connor used to. Did Connor know how to make bread, she wonders? Would he be any good at it? Would he want to learn? Maybe things would have gone better if Ava had learned, and baked for him, cooked for him. She wouldn’t want to be a traditional-type housewife, but she knows a lot of people enjoy being taken care of, and Connor was no exception. Loving him was a full time job. Now it’s part time, but is just as taxing, and she’s trapped in her memories of what it felt like to be wanted by him.

“Ava?”

Robin stops guiding her movements and gently pulls at Ava’s hips, urging her to turn around so that the counter digs into the small of her back. But that doesn’t matter. Not like the hands cupping her face and wiping away tears Ava didn’t know she was crying matter. Not like Robin matters, all of a sudden.

“Are you okay.”

“Yeah, I-” Ava sniffles. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”

Probably because of Connor. It always circles back around to Connor, like everything in her life for what feels like an eternity. Nothing and no one matters like Connor does- did- does. But Robin suddenly matters, and Ava doesn’t know what she’ll do if Robin stops touching her.

“Do you want a hug?”

Ava wraps her arms around Robin’s waist and sinks into her. Her comfortable body, the smell of soil and hay on her sin. It feels nice to be held. It’s not like Connor held her. This is softer, more loving. Love, from someone she’s just met, and she craves it so much it hurts. But it also feels like betraying Connor, and she pulls away, clears her throat, and goes back to kneading bread.

@sapphiccsharks @bipeteypie @bookreader525 @lovxies

#rab!fic #fic #mine

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svtegg · 5 years

Text

habitus (SVT apocalypse!au)

♡ wordcount: 2,6k

♡ chapter 1/?

♡ rated PG-13 blood, voilence, death, sexual themes

♡ pairing: svt x reader

♡ after the world changed forever you had to learn how to adapt and survive, but maybe you just didn’t have to survive alone.

I had no idea how long ago the outbreak had happened, maybe 5 years, or 7. Maybe 1 year. Time was a worry long gone from my mind, as much more important things now occupied my day to day life. I could feel every part of my body aching even more as I staggered along the overgrown and ruined street of a town, I didn’t know the name of. The silence was ear deafening, the steps I took far too loud for my liking as I tried to keep my eyes fixed on the torn-up building about 400 yards in front of me. It matched the surroundings around it, torn up, overgrown and basically falling apart under the harsh hands of mother nature. My vision was blurring as I trudged on, the dehydration, malnourishment and fatigue catching up to me even quicker under the scorching sun, that was currently at its highest point. I noted quickly that this means it’s about midday, far too early for me to be feeling this exhausted. But considering the current situation I let myself feel a little more sorry for myself than usual. I took a deep breath as I tired moving faster, the pain in my right shoulder becoming almost unbearable as I bumped lightly into the side of a small building that looked like it used to be some kind of gym before the world fell into ruins.

I squinted against the sun as the construction I hoped would be my shelter seemed to slowly come closer. I could feel my body giving out. I knew I needed to get inside quickly, before I collapsed out on an open street and into my sure death. The backpack hanging from my one healthy shoulder feeling heavier than usual as I took the last few staggering steps to reach the huge broken glass doors of the building. It seemed to be about 20 or 25 stories high, probably serving as some kind of office space. All the windows on the first floor where shattered, and what looked to be a dark blue family SUV was lodged into the front desk. I ducked through one of the many broken windows, my boots crunching against the scattered shards.

The building seemed to be empty, no sounds coming from the second or third floor as I quietly made my way through the meeting rooms, offices and staircases. It was much colder inside the structure, probably around 20 degrees or so. It helped my body relax, and I took easier breaths as I made my way to the fifth floor. I searched the floor, my eyes darting quickly around the rooms as I entered them. I ended up in what looked like an office on the east side of the structure so that the hot evening sun wouldn’t shine through the window during my stay. The desk was pushed up against the door slightly, but I managed to slip past it. There was no sign of anyone having been there for months, maybe even years.

I sat down carefully against the wall facing the door. My backpack slumped down beside me as I panted in both exhaustion and relief. I looked down on my arm expectantly as if it would have magically healed since the last time I checked it. My shoulder looked out of place, like it didn’t belong on my body. It slumped unnaturally forward and my hand hung by my side as if it was asleep and I had no control over it. “It must be dislocated” I breathed to myself, my voice sounding foreign and hoarse. I closed my eyes and leant back against the wall. Only now could I feel everything that hurt on my body. My shoulders, one from being dislocated and one from carrying the weight of my backpack alone for days on end. My legs hurt from exhaustion, and my head from the heat and the lack of water and food. I let myself breathe a couple of breaths before I reached over to my backpack and slowly opened it with my healthier left hand. I carefully worked my water bottle out of the bag, unscrewing it with my hand while my thighs clamped around it to hold it still. It seemed as if everything was going 100 times slower than it usually would. My movements sluggish and careful. There was only a little bit of water left as I finally got the lid of. I drank it. All of it. And as I sat the container down beside me, I could feel the world going fuzzy and my eyes closing against my will.

I can’t. No. Everything is doomed. Dahye. Joohyun. No. Jicheol. I can’t live like this. You’re gonna die. You’re okay. It’s fine. I’ll live. I’ll find you. I’m sorry.

When my eyes opened again, I couldn’t tell what time of the day it was, or how much time had passed. I felt disoriented and a little scared. What happened. How long did I sleep. Fuck. What time is it. I can’t stay here, I need to move. Shit. My body ached as I tried getting up and I slumped back down against the wall as a shooting pain tore through my torso. I moved around a little, trying to crack my joints. I’ve must have slept for a long time, my body is completely ruined. A loud crack broke the steady sound of my breathing as I ached my back against the wall. I sighed and tried getting up again. When I finally got off the floor, I could see the sun to my left. About 7 am? Early morning at least. As I looked out the window, keeping myself steady by grabbing onto the wall beside me, I could faintly see something twinkle against the sun.

I quickly drew back from the window, a sharp intake of breath following. Movement. I ducked down below the window and quickly grabbed my backpack. I peaked slowly over the windowsill, to see if I could make out who or what had moved out there. Maybe it was just something moving in the wind. Hopefully. My senses where on high alert as I looked. Scanning the scenery, the buildings around, streets, nothing. I sat back down again, breathing deeply against the clammy wall. I need to move. As I thought to myself which way I should exit the building to avoid whatever direction the movement came from, I could hear faint sounds of something banging.

Not a gun. That’s not the sound of a weapon. I held my breath in anticipation. Then nothing. No sounds. I made a quick deal out of searching the drawers around the office I had camped in, and stealthily made my way down the floors picking up loot along the way. Mostly I found old candy bars and snacks hidden in the drawers, along with a pocket knife and some emergency hand warmers still in the plastic packaging. Not that I needed them, it was the middle of summer and the sun was unforgiving as ever. But still. I was in the stairwell down to the second floor when I heard the banging noises again, much closer this time. I stopped. Held my breath. One. Two. Three. Four. Then quiet. No. Talking. One voice, and then another. I couldn’t hear what they where saying. But they where talking. Not very quietly either. Shit.

I stood in the stairwell for probably ten minutes, breathing as silently as I could. My hand clasped around the handle of a hunting knife I kept on my leg, in a handy little leg wrap that I had diy’ed a couple of months ago with some bed sheet grips, straps from my old backpack, some tape and a lighter. The sound of the banging rang through my ears once again. Two bangs this time. Then a voice. “I got it!” A male voice. He sounded young, probably in his 20’s. Happy. I took some steps down, I could see the rusty metal escape door down to the first floor as I leant against the door to the second. As I listened I slowly pushed the handle of the panic escape door into the second floor. It was a more open plan office, I remembered from my quick checks when I got here, desks scattered around some of the chairs thrown around and papers everywhere as if 100 people had rushed through the entire building in seconds. As I slowly opened the door to escape from the voices on the first floor, I stopped in my tracks. “I hope it still works.” Another voice said, this voice was more quiet than the first one, this voice was softer but deeper than the first one. “It’s not damaged?” Another voice spoke. Three men. The last voice was also deeper than the first one, but not as soft as the first one and not as quiet as the second one. “No it looks intact. Which is amazing considering the state of the car.” The first voice said. The voice was upbeat and I could hear that the person whom the voice belonged to was smiling. Car? The SUV smashed into the front desk? Are they looting the car? I stood for a moment as I heard chattering between the three men down under. The battery! They have a car? They must have a car, why would they take a battery if they didn’t have a car. I moved further into the doorway of the second floor. Then suddenly the door of the first floor swung open and before I could even react I made eye contact with a man.

About 180 cm, dark hair and tan skin. His eyes widened too. “Wh-” He muttered but stopped himself. “Josh?” Someone behind him said, I didn’t stay long enough to figure out whom the voice belonged to as I turned on my heel and with all the force I had l in my injured arm slammed the door behind me. As I quickly made my way around some of the desks to one of the broken windows I had seen yesterday. I could hear the heavy sounds of feet up the stairwell. “Wait!” someone yelled after me as I turned a corner and down a hallway towards the office directly above the entrance to the building. “Stop!” another yelled. As I reached the office I didn’t bother shutting the door, and I could hear the stampede of feet following quickly behind me, it sounded almost like a pack of horses. My heart was in my throat and I could taste blood in my mouth as I slipped through the cracked window, cutting my hands in the process. As I got my body through the shattered window I held onto the windowsill, lowering my body to lessen the blow of the landing that would be about 9 feet.

“She went this way!” I heard the first voice say and as I looked up one last time I met eyes with another man, about the same height. His eyes where smaller than the other boy and slanted upwards, his mouth half agape as he took quick heaving breaths, his chest and shoulders rising in time with his pants. He looked like he wanted to say something but before he had the chance to I let myself go and dropped down onto the ground below me. The adrenaline was rushing through my body so badly that I just got up and kept running, the streets seeming to melt together as I sped around old rusted cars, overgrown buildings and debree. Away. Away from the building, away from the men, away from it all. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears and as I ran. I didnt look back. Just keep running. Go.

I have no idea how long I had been running when I finally slowed down. The overgrown city and ruined buildings looked unfamiliar and new and I could smell a faint smell of what reminded me of grass with each breeze that blew past me. The wind felt good against my clammy skin. As I paced down into a quick walk I started to orient myself. Torn down shops, broken and rusted cars, cracked asphalt, greenery growing into the broken storefronts. This looked like a shopping district, maybe one of the less popular ones. I don’t remember having been here at least.

As I quickly disappeared into one of the shops that looked less broken than the others I let my thoughts wander back to the boys. They looked no older than maybe 23 or 24, and surprisingly they didn’t look half as exhausted and fatigued as what I felt myself to look like. Maybe they have a group, or a base. A hideout. So I’m not all alone. I though everyone would have surely moved from the cities, escaping into the countryside and mountains when they realized the world would never be normal again. That the roamers have taken over, the living dead. Infected. Just like my group and I had done when this whole thing started. I had trekked into an abandoned farm alongside a group of people you didn’t really know. I had managed pretty well. It was secure and you all had room to live like nothing happened. Excluding the fact there was no electricity and running water. My group had managed well.

The oldest man in the group, Jicheol, had taken me and my two friends Dahye and Joohyun with him as he left the city in a hurry about three days after the first dead had started roaming. He had found us on the highway, inside a car with Joohyun’s parents rotting in the front seat. At the time I was only 11 and didn’t understand anything. Hoping it was all a bad dream. But as I grew up I learned that this was the world now, and it would not adapt to me. I was the one who had to adapt. And I did.

I learned how to survive, how to collect water, how to find food, where to hunt, what I could eat and not, how to tell time, directions, how to take care of myself. I grew to love my group. The farm becoming almost like a family. Joohyun and Dahye who where both older than me took care of me and looked out for me and we became inseparable. Jicheol became the natural leader of our group with a 30 something old man named Eric as his right hand man. We had two older women in the group as well, Eunju who was a nurse and the nicest lady I had ever met. She was about 50 years and very smart and she had the most lovely voice ever and you would often make her sing while you did the laundry in the small river behind the barn. Youngsook was the other, she was a little younger than Eunju and when you met her she was pregnant. She ended up giving birth on the farm. Her young boy named after his father who had died to save his wife and unborn son, Junghyun.

Dahye, Joohyun, Jicheol, Eunju, Eric, Youngsook, Junghyun and I became our own little family in the middle of it all, our safe little home. Until one day. I was around 16, or 17. It had been 5 years, everything seemed normal, happy almost. But then he snapped. Eric went crazy and he killed my friends. Which ended up with Youngsook’s shaking hand pointing a revolver at the lifeless body of the younger male. As everyone watched she turned the gun on herself, tears running down her face. And I never got to know the answer as to why. Why did he do it. Why did she kill herself. Her five year old son, Junghyun, Jicheol, Eunju and I couldn’t live there anymore. We had to go. And so we did.

a/n: hii! thank you for reading my first story! i’m nim and i have no idea where this is going to end or which pairing it gonna end up being about hehe... there will definitely be more parts if anyone would like to read more of this story!!♡

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jadeswritinggarden · 5 years

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Guardians - Chapter 1

(2768 words)

I didn’t want to leave.

Not this soon. Not now. Not today.

My stomach twisted at the thought of leaving my home that sits on the edge of the capital. Sasaka, my city, was quaint compared to Amosaia. Just outside of the capital’s region, Sasaka is the capital of the region of Cao Toa.

My lessons usually feel like an eternity. The royal house issued private tutor spends hours droning on about my history. How the original guardians were the only eight people who prayed to the gods. It was always boring. But today, I couldn’t be less eager for my lessons to end.

The library we studied in was empty besides me and Ms. Anantasu. Her words echo in the dusty old room with bookshelves lining the walls.

I’ve been to the one in the palace. It puts our library to shame. Light clung to the floors as the afternoon sun hangs in the sky. Thin curtains dyed a shade of indigo reserved for royals and nobles try their best to keep the light out. Dust floats around lazily in the air. I can almost feel it in my lungs.

The wooden table I sit at is plain. Much unlike the dining room table or the tea table in my room. The chair is plain to match. A set of boring furniture that would most likely be the centerpiece of any normal home. Both Mother and Father are from noble families so this is the only piece of boring furniture in the entire mansion.

Time ticks on all too fast.

Clinging to every word Ms. Anantasu speaks, I suddenly find myself wanting more history. Not for the sake of learning but to keep me here. If she never stops talking I can never leave. I’d be forced to stay here. Safe in my home. Far from the palace and the royal family.

Tell me about the Festival of Prayers again! I plead in my head, not daring to speak aloud. Tell me about the Feast of Oceans! Anything! Everything!

“Before the gifts of the gods, we fought like animals. Always at each other’s necks over things that almost seem ridiculous nowadays. Control of land. Control of waterways. Control of precious resources. Control. We as a society have always craved control. Like water or food, we called to it till it became apart of our nature.” Ms. Anantasu spoke elegantly with great dictation. Her words were never mumbled or tangled.

“Eight strangers from the eight kingdoms gathered in the most spiritual place in all of Ducrieca, the temple of balance between the kingdoms of life and death. Five royals, three normal people. Nestled high up in the mountains, standing in the clouds, the temple of balance was the birthplace of the guardians.” Ms. Anantasu continues. I knew this all by heart. Though this did seem to be a new book.

The eight gained powers but two had them revoked, thus war ensued. The two kingdoms fought over land, resources, and just about anything else they could. Anger over the gods taking the only glory the two kingdoms had, they warred against each other.

“Thus the remaining guardians worked together, using their gifts and social power, to end the wars.” She attempts to toss interest into the story, aware I have heard this all before. It doesn’t really work. If it was a normal day, I would be ignoring her, daydreaming. But I listen to every word. I savor every word.

Once you hear something for the millionth time in a row, you start to tune it out.

Over and over again, I heard of the Council of Ducrieca, who protected the three mainlands of Ducrieca. Ziukoa, Esca, and Florela where the three lands which eight kingdoms stood. Once warring for centuries. Blah blah blah. There was nothing more for me to learn. I knew it all. And everything after that seems bland in comparison.

Nothing interesting happens anymore. Though I suppose that isn’t an entirely bad thing. People rarely die at the hand of another kingdom.

We fight, sure, but no wars have been waged since the war of life and death. Which has the most ironic name because it was by far the most docile war we ever had. But that was still far before I was born. Over one hundred and seventy years ago. Nothing ever happens now.

Yet here I am, listening to Ms. Anantasu go on and on about something that could have happened yesterday with the way she speaks of it.

“And that’s all for today.” She snaps the book shut. The loud crisp sound brings me back from my soft daze. Ms. Anantasu looks at me with a soft smile. She reminded me of Mother. If Mother was kinder, smarter, and focused on greater education. “We will continue when you return.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I rise from the plain wooden chair. The table was covered with various books and parchments from today’s lessons. Maths, history, geography, diplomacy, politics, everything useful for a future member of the Council of Ducrieca. One day I will work hand-in-hand with Princess Dieu to run the kingdom. Her and her council. Which I will also be apart of. When I am of age I will be a member of both the Council of Ducrieca and the Amosaia Council.

I help gather the papers and books to put them away. Ms. Anantasu and I work silently side-by-side. The work goes by quickly.

Ms. Anantasu is tall and lean, like my mother. Her face carries wrinkles on the same places. Smile lines, crow’s feet, and lines creasing on her forehead. They show not age but knowledge. She is barely Mother’s age yet she has years of knowledge on her. Whispers of where she got her knowledge surrounds her like dust.

After about twenty books and ten papers, we finish. The table is as empty as it was this morning.

Ms. Anantasu still weaves in and out of bookshelves, the gray tail of her dress the only sign of her presence. Not even for a moment am I relieved that our lesson is over. Not for one breath. Today was a normal length for our studies yet it felt so much shorter.

It was around midday. Luncheon would be soon if we were even having it today. Give it a few more hours and the sun would set happily over the oceans in the west. With winter upon us, our days has grown cooler. The only drastic change I notice with the change of seasons is the thunderstorms. In summer they rage on every day at almost the exact same time. In winter the skies are cloudless.

In kingdoms such as Helvannar and Terratrone, the northern kingdoms, I hear the change is much more drastic. It even goes as far as only a few hours of sunlight in winter. I don’t think I’d be able to handle that.

Reluctantly, I step out of the library. As much as I want to stay, I don’t want to stay enough to be in there alone. Ms. Anantasu stays in the library, blissfully alone. Where she enjoyed being alone in the library, I avoided it at all costs.

The history of it was like a nightmare. Even thinking about it sends chills down my back. Not only had it survived three fires, but it has also been the scene of many deaths and murders. The most recent being my aunt Tasanee’s death.

If you are in the room for too long when alone, you can still hear her singing. A haunting voice. How a room like that still was occupied every day was what scared me the most. It was like the room was slowly drawing in souls to feed the constant knowledge. Sometimes I swear an evil spirit keeps the room safe.

Outside the library my handmaid Kannika waits. Standing with me she could almost be considered short. She knew my lessons would end soon. They always end at the same time of day. Rarely stretching on longer, even less frequently shorter.

Lamon, a guard sent by the royal house rounded the corner to join us. He’d be accompanying me and Father for our trip to Amosaia. It was barely a two-hour trip yet we always planned it to be an entire day. Not only would Lamon be joining us but a guard for Father and a few others for both of us. Lamon was considered my personal guard for these types of trips.

The aching in my stomach only grew as I walked through the halls. As I walk, I am painfully aware of the guard who flanks my side.

My family didn’t have many guards. Some at the front gate, some who patrol, but not many. And they were all council issued. Despite the fact that Father and I could very easily protect ourselves, the Amosaia Council didn’t feel the same.

Mother appreciated the extra protection. Father didn’t.

Despite being the daughter of one of, if not the wealthiest governors in all Mercycaea and being the most influential nobles alive, Mother tends to spend her time gardening. Outside, in the humidity and heat. Among the soil and plants is where she shines. Her love of the fine things in life shows in her plants, our furniture, and her wardrobe. And her childhood ideals show in her strict rules.

Part of me longs to abandon this place. Change into my riding clothes, take my horse Quy, and leave. Go north through the region of Sa Tau. Leave Mercycaea altogether. Take on a new name in Etha, live as a fisherman. Never speak to the people who raised me again. Become a myth. No more than a children’s tale.

But those, as Kannika calls them, are just intrusive thoughts. They don’t reflect who I am or what I want. Not truly. That’s what Kannika tells me.

My midnight blue gown flows behind me as I walk down the halls. I don’t turn towards the hall leading to my room. No matter how much I long to. My hands don’t find my riding boots or Quy’s reins. I’m left empty handed and longing for the rush of a ride far away from here.

My quick pace through the halls keeps both Lamon and Kannika on their toes. I might not be leaving on my own terms for a long time, but I am headed outside. That’s where I’ll find them. Beelining for the door that leads out of the palace-like mansion I live in, I’m suddenly thankful that Kannika does not report my every movement to Mother.

My last handmaid did that. She told Mother everything I did, from eating to leaving the home. Me and Achara did not get along well. It was nearly impossible to get anything done with both Mother and her breathing down my neck. She was more of a nanny rather than a handmaid. I outgrew her and she knew it. Having ‘retired’ over a year ago, Kannika jumped in the role.

Lamon and I have spent very little time together. He only comes around when Father and I need to visit the capital. He doesn’t speak often. I think I’ve heard him speak a combined total of ten times.

I don’t care to get to know him. He is sent here by the royal house to insure I don’t turn up on their doorstep dead.

Whereas Kannika was short and plump, Lamon was tall and lanky. His experience and speciality was apparent. A runner and archer. Not a swordsman. Still, a blade sat at his side and his bow and arrows on his back. His age was as clear as his black hair and tan skin. He isn’t much older than me but has years of training. Lamon could easily defeat me in a hand-to-hand battle, whether or not his speciality is bows.

The door I’ve worked so hard to get too swings open with my hand. It reveals a hot afternoon garden. Guards on break practice sparring with both real and wooden weapons. It isn’t an odd image to me. I spend many hours here with Pensri and Daw, friends who are in the private guard that are stationed here year round.

This is what Mother calls the servants’ garden. A green space by the barracks meant to be a training ground for new recruits. Eventually, once the guard was full and there was no need for new recruits, it became a recreational space for those overworked.

It is bright outside today. The humidity immediately clings to my skin and lungs. The air feels like a thick syrup. Thunderheads loom over the horizon, just out of sight. The sky is preparing for the evening thunderstorms. A telltale sign of summer.

With Kannika and Lamon in tow, I push myself further into the outdoors. This is one of three gardens on our property. Really, if we were royals, this place could be considered a palace. One for fruits and vegetables, taken care of by servants. This one for the guards and a third for Mother. Only the professional gardeners, Mother, and her closest advisors are allowed. I might be allowed if I asked but I’m not sure I want to go there.

The gold-tinted grass under me crunched under every step of my small heels. Palms waved in the wind even though the ocean is around two hours away by horse. There were no exotic or elaborate plants but it was enough. Guards, some in armor others in tunics and leggings, laid out on the grass under the palms.

I scan the area for Pensri or Daw but they are nowhere to be seen. Daw and Pensri normal work early morning and late night shifts guarding the grounds. Pensri likes to spend her extra time sparring with anyone willing. She even likes to train me whenever possible. I enjoy the physical outlit. Daw likes to join the table of card playing guards in the barracks. Not always gambling money but their games are always interesting to watch.

I’ve known them both since I was a young teen. Back when they had only just joined the guard. Both were so scrawny and weak. We were all evenly matched back then. Just as equally scrawny. But their captain whipped them up into shape in no time. It wasn’t long before they both could over power me.

“Are Daw or Pensri out?” I walk up to one of the guards I recognize. As far as I know, he shares many shifts with them.

“No, sorry. They are working double time. Something about being caught gambling.” The boy replies nonchalantly, not looking up from the sword he works to shine.

Ah, that makes sense. Though very lenant, their captain, the man Mother hand picked, does not allow gambling. Hopefully that doesn’t mean I won’t be able to see them before I leave. I’ll be gone at least three days, with meetings and dinners.

The boy’s copper hair reflected easily in the sword. It acted as a dull mirror. I let a low sigh escape me.

“Do you know when they will have a break?” Searching for any kind of time to see them, even if it’s right before I leave, I ask a most likely stupid question.

“I think cap’n has them working all evening and night. Sorry, ma’am.”

Of course they wouldn’t be free. Curse the skies. Why did they get caught gambling the day I leave?

“Alright. Thank you anyways,” I turn back to Kannika, disappointed the garden has nothing for me. Much to my dismay, Lamon is still standing right next to Kannika. Watching me like a hawk. Out of the corner of my eye I can see the people in the garden eye Lamon’s royal crest that is painted clearly on his armor. “Let’s go inside.” I mumble.

The lack of being able to see Pensri and Daw before I leave for a big visit to the capital puts me in a foul mood. They definitely won’t be coming with us.

“We have to finish your packing anyways.” Kannika states. “And you have one last early supper with your mother before you and your father leave.” She knew of my disappointment with everything happening today. If someone didn’t know I’d wonder if they were blind and deaf. The supper with Mother would be icing on the cake. A really crappy cake that tasted of mushrooms and beef.

“Very well,” Reluctantly I head towards the door that would eventually lead to the dining room.

Tonight would not be easy.

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#guardiansstory #original story #original character #writerblr #stories #writing #original fiction

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wickedwitch1997 · 6 years

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Katara, of the Fire Nation - Chapter 20

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18 Chapter 19

Katara awakens wrapped in Zuko’s arms, he is nudging her shoulder with his nose.

Zuko woke before the sun was up, he laid with Katara until the sky started to turn pinkish, he tried to slip away, but Katara was on his arm, pins and needles raced up his hand and to his shoulder as Katara shifted in her sleep.

“We have to get up,” Zuko whispers, kissing Katara’s skin gently as she groans unhappily.

“Five more minutes,” she sighs, Zuko chuckles from behind her and Katara looks to her window, “The sun’s barely up!”

Katara rolls over and wraps herself around Zuko, grumbling as she buries her face in the crook of his neck.

“Kat,” he groans, trying to pull out of Katara’s hold, “Come on.”

“Five minutes,” Katara says, now wrapping her legs around Zuko and holding him like a koala.

“I’ll give you massage if you let go,” Zuko negotiates, Katara doesn’t answer right away, her hold softens and then she looks up to Zuko.

“Now?” Katara asks, Zuko shakes his head.

“I have to work,” Zuko sighs, “I am the Fire Lord, remember, and getting up early to go to my own room and dress for the day is a requirement.”

Katara huffs and then lets Zuko go, conceding to her fire lord as she stretches her back.

“I’m expecting that massage sometime today,” Katara says, watching as Zuko rolls out of bed.

Zuko laughs as he pulls his pants up as they slip down on his hips.

“Tonight,” Zuko promises, swiping his tunic from the floor.

Katara smiles and then lays on her chest.

“Hey,” Katara says as Zuko heads towards the office doors, she arches her back and lifts her rump in the air, “Sure I can’t convince you to stay?”

Zuko looks at Katara and growls low in his throat, he stalks back to the bed and Katara rolls onto her back, smiling in victory as Zuko leans over her and presses his lips to her’s.

As Katara’s chest heaves, Zuko breaks the kiss and pulls his sash across Katara’s stomach.

“Happy?” Zuko asks, quirking his eyebrow at her.

Katara huffs in response and then Zuko turns and leaves, ignoring Katara’s sweet, sweet pleas to stay.

Walking away from Katara’s bed is the hardest thing Zuko has ever done, but he has to get a start on his day, starting with returning to his own room and getting dressed.

Katara sighs and then rolls out of bed as the door closes, she pulls a robe on and then heads to the bathhouse, Katara showers, letting the water run over her body, washing away the of last of the night before. Katara notices a small bruise on her breast, and she frowns and touches it gently, as she does, she can remember the feel of Zuko’s mouth there, how his tongue swirled before he sucked.

Katara heals the bruise with the water, she then runs more healing water around her neck, where she distinctly remembers Zuko’s mouth sucking.

Katara goes about her day, she runs into Zuko a couple of times, she tries to get him to blush by winking at him, but Zuko ends up winning when he licks his lips tantalizingly at Katara during lunch.

When the pair alone in the office it’s harder for them to concentrate, especially when the only thing that Zuko wants to do is place Katara on the desk and fuck her on top of all the papers. They manage to keep it professional, mostly, Zuko does initiate a break when he kisses Katara roughly.

When Katara and Zuko leave the office, her lips are still tingling softly, but that doesn’t stop her from noticing Kiki and Sikkack as they slink around a corner. Katara thinks about it and she realises that Kiki has never been far from her, no matter where she goes.

Katara frowns, but she does not follow Kiki or approach her, instead she waits until she sees a messenger walking down the hall with three letters in his hands.

“Are those the ambassadors’ letters?” Katara asks, stopping the messenger as they pass each other in the hall.

“Yes,” the man answers.

“Can I see them?” Katara asks, the messenger looks around uneasily and then Katara sighs and then produces a coin from her pocket.

The messenger hands over the letters and Katara takes them back to her room, she carefully peels the seal off Kiki’s envelope and opens the letter.

Katara is shocked when the letter contains details of everything Katara has done since midday yesterday all the way to midday today. The letter even includes how Katara and Zuko shared a bed last night.

“What is this?” Katara asks herself, she opens Sikkack’s letter and finds that the northern ambassador has been accounting for all of Zuko’s actions during the same time frame.

“So what are you reporting?” Katara asks, opening the last letter.

The ambassador for the earth king has been reporting the movement of Zuko’s army, it also includes maps of where the army is currently residing, it includes numbers, and weapons as well as a list of a handful of soldiers and generals. The ambassador has written on some of the maps, circling cities and farmlands.

“Motherfuckers,” Katara snarls, her chest alights with fire and she storms out of her room. Katara finds Kiki, walking down a hall, walking away from Katara.

Katara storms up to Kiki and grabs her arm, she steers the ambassador into the closest room, the empty bathhouse.

“What the hell is this?” Katara asks, holding up Kiki’s letter and making all the taps turn on so that no one can overhear them.

“Katara…”Kiki stammers, avoiding Katara’s eyes.

“Why are you recording all of my movements?” Katara asks, the heat in the room rises as steam starts to rise.

“I was told to, by chief Tikali,” Kiki says.

“Tikali?” Katara frowns, “The chief of the north is Arnook.”

“Not anymore,” Kiki says, she looks around uneasily, “Tikali took over, he overthrew Arnook.”

“And why is my father having Sikkack track Zuko?” Katara asks, the water roars over her voice and Katara watches as Kiki squirms.

“Katara… your father lost the chiefdom in a fair fight against Tikali,” Kiki says, “He’s brought the tribes together, and holds his seat in the south.”

There is only one way for a chief to lose his chiefdom. Katara grabs Kiki by the throat and slams the water bender back into the wall.

“Choose your next words very carefully,” Katara warns, her eyes darkening as she forms an ice point over her hand.

“He’s not dead,” Kiki informs, struggling against Katara’s hold.

“Why haven’t I heard about this yet?” Katara asks, she fastens her hold round Kiki’s neck, “How long has it been?”

“Three months,” Kiki says, “He’s keeping him alive as leverage, in case you or Sokka try to stop him.”

“Where is Sokka?” Katara asks, her hand loosening.

“He disappeared in the fight,” Kiki says, taking in a deep breath as her throat is freed, “No one knows where he is.”

Katara snarls and then let’s go of Kiki completely.

“Tikali is corroborating with the earth king,” Kiki says, touching her throat, “They’re planning to overthrow the fire nation and bring it under their control.”

Katara’s anger spikes, her hand crumples Kiki’s letter and the waterbender gapes as if she’s been stabbed.

“He has my father too!” Kiki gapes, “If I don’t send those letters, he’ll kill him!”

Katara looks to the wad of paper in her hands and then back to Kiki.

“Rewrite it,” Katara says, throwing the paper on the ground, “You know which parts to change. Bring it to me when you’re done.”

Katara walks out, she returns to her room and then looks to the other letters, she takes them into the office and rewrites Sikkack letter over and over until the two letters are exact replicas, save for a few details she altered.

Katara then looks to the last letter, and as she does, Zuko walks into the office, sighing heavily.

“Zuko,” Katara says, standing, “We have a problem.”

“What is it?” he asks, noticing Katara’s hard face.

Katara informs Zuko of what she has learnt and the fires in the room raise angrily.

“I’ve rewritten Sikkack’s letter, Kiki rewrote her’s but I don’t know what to do with this,” Katara gestures to the war maps, “Zuko, they’re planning a coup.”

Zuko’s anger boils and rises in his chest, smoke curls from his nostrils like a dragon and his scar tightens as he frowns.

Zuko and Katara slave over the last letter, changing it and littering it with lies before sending the three letters away.

“I wish for permission to leave,” Katara says, once the messenger leaves, “I need to go home.”

“No,” Zuko says immediately without a thought, “No, it’s too dangerous.”

“I have to,” Katara says, “he has my father.”

“And what is your plan?” Zuko asks, watching as Katara paces in front of his desk.

“I’m going to sneak into the south, hide on a cargo ship and then jump overboard before docking,” Katara says, she’s thought about it a lot, “You’ll have to cover for me here, tell them I’m sick, contagious, have someone you trust help you falsify the evidence, I’ll be gone for a week, two at most, if I’m gone longer, tell them that you’ve sent me away. Tell them that I’m on a mission for you, it’s plausible; I’ve done covert missions for you before, they won’t suspect a thing.” Katara wrings her hands together and then turns to Zuko, “I’ll sneak into the village and take Tikali down.”

“Will you kill him?” Zuko asks.

“If I must,” Katara answers without hesitation, “he has my father and Sokka is missing. The tribe is a part of my blood too, I have to fight for it.”

“It seems like you’ve thought this through,” Zuko says, standing, “Very well, then I’m going with you.”

Katara’s eyes widen as Zuko stands in front of her.

“No,” Katara says, “I have to go alone or they’ll be suspicious. Besides, you need to be here, to intercept the messages and change them if necessary.”

Both Katara and Zuko were taught how to write by Iroh, but it was Ozai who taught them how to copy a person’s handwriting so no one could tell the letters apart.

“Kat, I don’t want you to get hurt,” Zuko says, cupping Katara’s face in his hands, “I need you.”

“I won’t get hurt,” Katara says as Zuko kisses her forehead, “I will come back to you. But I need to do this.”

“You know, I could order you to stay,” Zuko sighs, putting his forehead to hers.

“Then do it,” Katara challenges, she kisses Zuko’s lips and then adds, “But I will still leave.”

“I know,” Zuko sighs, stepping back, “When do you plan to leave?”

“Tonight, when everyone is asleep.”

Zuko sighs and hangs his head in defeat.

“If you don’t come back…”

“I will,” Katara says stepping towards Zuko as he leans on his desk, “Zuko, I will always come back to you.”

Zuko sighs and Katara presses her lips to his again.

“Besides,” she hums, breaking the kiss, “You still owe me a massage.”

Katara returns to her room and changes her clothes, she packs a bag full of provisions and spare clothes, as she zips the bag, Zuko walks in.

“I’m going to miss you,” he says, leaning on Katara’s door.

Katara smiles and Zuko walks towards her, he leans his head on her shoulder and she hugs him.

“When?”

“Soon,” Katara says, looking to the night sky out her window, “in a few hours.”

“Stay until I fall asleep?” he asks, standing and looking at her bed, “I can’t bear to watch you leave.”

Katara nods her head and Zuko goes to her bed, he sits on the edge of her bed and then looks at Katara as she drops her bag.

“I love you,” he says, Katara’s heart races in her chest as Zuko holds her stare, his eyes piercing through her entire existence, “I had to tell you that, I’ve been thinking about how to say it all day. Now you’re leaving and I knew I had to say it before you left.”

Katara takes a deep breath.

“You can say it back when you come home,” Zuko says, stopping Katara with a silencing hand, “Come home, that’s an order.”

Katara laughs and then sits on her bed with Zuko.

Zuko ends up falling asleep with his head in Katara’s lap as she runs her fingers through his hair, and when his breathing is even and his body is relaxed, Katara slips out from under him and then kisses his temple.

“I love you too,” Katara whispers, she runs her hand through his hair again and then slips out her window, letting the darkness swallow her whole.

Katara sneaks onto the royal docks and then onto a cargo ship bound for the southern water tribe.

The fire nation has been sending food and other supplies to all the other nations, sharing their wealth with others to make up for the hundred year war.

Katara hates being in the cargo hold, it makes her feel like a child, caged and scared all over again.

“I’m not afraid,” Katara whispers, hiding from crewmen, “I am powerful, I am a weapon.”

Over the past few months, Katara has found comfort in the words that used to scare her, she has embraced her past and is now at peace with the fact that she is a weapon, but she also knows that she is much more than that.

The night before the ship is meant to dock, Katara slips onto the deck and jumps overboard before anyone can see her, she bends the water up to her and slips below the surface without a sound.

Katara bends the water around her to form an air pocket, she then finds the current and lets it carry her to the South Pole. Katara comes up on the coast, right near the abandoned fire nation ship, the air bubble breaks and Katara is soaked as she breaches the surface.

Katara planned to use the fire nation ship as a base for herself, but there are lights on in the ship and workers are pulling it apart.

“What are you doing?” Katara whispers to herself, she sinks back under the water and rides on another current, this one takes her past the tribe, far behind it, to the cursed lake, a frozen lake that almost always has a snowstorm raging over it.

Katara finds a large space of earth that shoots up from the sea floor and rests like an island over the ice. Katara places a hand on the ice near the island, intending to melt it so she can surface, but through the ice, she can feel vibrations.

Katara frowns as she feels the vibrations of footsteps, no one should be out this far. Katara can also feel the vibrations of people talking above her, she takes a guess and assumes there are at least four or five people.

Katara is about to melt the ice and attack the people above, but then she hears the thump of something big, the vibrations of the thump causes the ice to groan under the pressure and Katara decides that it won’t be worth the risk of facing whatever rests above the ice. So she rides the current again, she stops in the middle of the lake, she opens the ice and then surfaces, Katara is soaked again as she climbs out of the water, she shivers and closes her hole before wrapping her arms around herself.

Katara bends the water from her clothes and skin, drying herself instantly before she grabs her bag and pulls on the thickest coat she brought.

But winter in the fire nation isn’t nearly as cold as summer in the water tribe, the coat is not thick enough, but it will do for now.

Katara feels vibrations from the ice, they rocket up to her knees and makes her hair stand on end. Katara looks up and finds a large beast barrelling towards her, there are shouts coming from behind it. The beast continues to charge and Katara turn to run, she ploughs through the snow over the ice and her heart is thundering in her throat as she considers summoning a snow storm for cover.

“APPA!” one of the voices shouts, Katara turns her head as the voice calls out again, clear as day it calls, “APPA!”

“Appa?” Katara frowns, she skids to a stop and then turns as the beast that charges her turn out to be the Avatar’s shaggy sky bison.

The sky bison stops in front of Katara and then tackles her with his head, he nuzzles against her and then licks her with his disturbingly warm tongue.

“APPA!” the bison’s master calls and Katara pushes Appa off her as Aang skids to a stop next to them, “Katara?!”

Katara laughs as she bends the saliva from her skin, she rubs the bison’s nose and looks to the avatar.

“Hey,” she says, catching her breath as she runs her gloved hands through Appa’s fur, “Hey, Aang.”

“Katara!” he beams, in a split second, the monk wraps his arms around Katara, hugging her tightly, “What are you doing here?!”

Before Katara can answer, another voice calls out.

“Aang!’ it calls, and Katara’s smile widens as Sokka races into sight.

“SOKKA!” Katara shouts, she runs into her brother’s arms and holds him as his eyes widen in shock.

“KATARA?!” he gapes, pulling her back and holding her at arm’s length as he looks her up and down, making sure that it is indeed his sister, “By the spirits!”

“You’ve grown,” Katara notes, noticing how much taller Sokka is, he stands a foot taller than her.

“And so have you!” Sokka says right back.

Sokka hugs his sister tightly and then feels her shiver against him.

“Come on, the other’s will be thrilled to see you,” Sokka says, he takes off his coat and wraps it around his sister before escorting her back to where she heard the vibrations under the ice.

“Look who we found!” Aang announces, walking into a large ice hut with a proud smile.

“Katara!” Toph and Suki beam, racing to the waterbender and hugging her.

The ice hut is where the earth island stands, the hut is gigantic, the earth only covers half of the floor space.

“The old gang is back together!” Suki beams.

Katara laughs as Appa squeezes through the door and flops down, half on the earth, half on the ice.

“What are you doing here, princess?” Toph says, “Not that I’m not happy to see you, the spirits know that I’m glad to see you, but last we heard, you were in the fire nation.”

“Is Zuko here too?” Aang asks, “How’d you know where to find us?”

“Zuko isn’t here,” Katara says, “I intercepted some letters from the ambassadors a couple of days ago, Kiki told me what happened and I came here to help.”

“How’d you know we were here?” Sokka asks, grabbing another coat from his own bag.

“I didn’t,” Katara shrugs, “I was meant to go to the fire nation ship to figure out what to do next, but they were tearing it apart. So I came out here.”

“Appa must have smelt you through the ice,” Aang says petting the sky bison’s nose, “He took off like a spear.”

“Why didn’t you write?” Katara asks, her eyes glaring at her brother, “They said you were missing.”

“We couldn’t send a hawk from this far in,” Sokka says, “And Momo can’t fly that far.”

As if on cue, Momo lands on Katara’s shoulders, wrapping his front paws around Katara’s head.

“So what’s your plan?” Katara asks, looking to Sokka, but Sokka just shrugs his shoulders, “You don’t have a plan.” Katara untangles Momo from her head and holds him in her arms.

“We’ve been trying to gather intel,” Sokka says, “But Tikali is a powerful waterbender, he has surrounded himself with powerful benders, both water and earth benders.”

“So he called in the avatar and me to kick some butt!” Toph proclaims, pounding her fist into her hand.

“But you too got your asses handed to you,” Katara assumes, Toph lowers her hands and Katara nods and then puts Momo down.

Katara purses her lips in thought and then moves to the fire that burns in the middle of the room, she misses Zuko’s heat; she misses him.

“So what’s your plan?” Sokka asks, watching as Katara stares into the flames.

“I’m going to find Tikali,” Katara says, her eyes staying on the fire, “and I’m going to end it.”

“You mean to end him,” Aang says, his voice full of judgement, “You’re going to kill him.”

“He has my father, Aang,” Katara says, her voice hollow as she watches the fire dances on crackling logs, “He has my tribe. This world cannot handle another Phoenix king.”

Katara looks over to Aang, his face is pale and eyes wide. A log cracks and splits from the heat, sending embers shooting skywards.

“You can’t do that,” Aang says, his arms folded over his chest. Katara can see that his muscles have become more defined.

“I can,” Katara says, her voice icy cold, “And I’m not going to let some thirteen-year-old kid tell me what I can and can’t do.”

“So you’re just going to waltz on in there and say, ‘my name is Katara of the southern tribe, you’ve taken my father, prepare to die’?” Sokka says, mocking Katara in a deep voice as he breaks the tension and the silence between Katara and the Avatar.

“Well,” Katara says, shrugging with a smile, “That’s one option.”

“No, it’s not.” Katara laughs at her brother as he frowns at her, “I was kidding you can’t do that.”

“Well, I could,” Katara says, she looks back to the fire as the heat warms her bones. “I’m going to do recon,” Katara says, her voice turning serious and filling with determination.

“We tried that,” Suki says, “and we failed, the only reason we’re not captured is because we retreated into a snowstorm. Twice we failed, what makes you think you will succeed?”

“I’m the Fire Lord’s weapon.”

@squishysuho @the-weird-fob-fangirl@thegaang6@pepewntz@solidaritree@waitingtillthesmilescomeback@miraculoushipping@auzlon@tiernanka@lovelylittleladyl@standby-reality @beealexageek @danielslilangel, @azn-quxxn @asongstress1422

#Katara of the Fire Nation fic #damn #just a little break from the smut #i promise #zutara will be right on track #maybe #i'm trying my hand at action #zutara #katara #zuko #goals #fire nation #water tribe

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greatmar2 · 6 years

Text

Experiments (Mar Chapter 4)

Elonth Worldbuilding | < Uncertainty | Meets >

After a good night’s rest, Mar continues his learning.

Image by @elektronx

Read on Dragon Press

3506 words

With a clap of thunder, Mar awoke. A storm had rolled in, and rain drummed against the window veiled behind a curtain. Despite the din outside, the world around him felt - in a way - silent and still. Unnervingly so. Half-awake, his mind sluggishly mulled over what could be the cause of this phenomenon.

The realisation that he may not have woken up in his world caused him to sit bolt-upright, but the jingling of a chain quickly calmed him again. That was what was wrong: the pendant that he had received from Tir was blocking his magic. Thanks to it, he couldn’t sense the energy around him: neither the rain outside nor the electromagnetic din that was part of modern life.

Glancing at the time, he realised it was minutes before his alarm was due to sound. This was the first time he’d slept a full night in… a while. With a yawn and stretch, he clambered out of bed.

He drew back the curtains and was greeted by rain battering against the glass, blown to such a steep angle by the strong wind.

“Oh, forgot I put you there.”

On the sill of the window lay three amber-coloured shiridan crystals. The gems, each about 8 centimetres in diameter, professionally cut and polished, were more expensive than he’d be able to comfortably afford on his own despite them being artificially grown. They had been gifts from his parents a few weeks ago when it was decided that he would be going to study at the Raifal Mage College.

Although he couldn’t sense it now, he was sure that they were happily absorbing energy from the rain and wind pounding against the window. He'd learnt how to do basic magic like this enchantment in school, and done some of his own reading and experimenting whenever the fancy took him. The teaching methods at the college were different to online guides and videos - generally slow and methodical, making certain that students understood the theory surrounding a process or action before they tried it.

He removed the necklace and placed it next to the crystals on the windowsill. As it lost contact with his hand, he was suddenly bombarded by the energy outside. The usual electromagnetic din would have been the equivalent of someone turning the lights on in a dark room, but the storm felt like said room’s walls spontaneously turned into spotlights. It almost made him want to return to huddling under the protective blanket that the pendant provided. He soon acclimatised, however, and the pattering of rain against the window softened. Not because the storm was clearing, but because he had joined the crystals in siphoning the abundant kinetic energy that was outside.

After some time of this, he turned away from the window. He motioned upwards and the three crystals quickly moved towards him, coming to rest in a row floating above his head. He imprinted an enchantment upon them so that they would glow slightly and keep themselves above his head - using his horns to orient themselves. He also set them to use their own energy reserves to do this rather than his. He opened a cupboard and grabbed a couple of clothing items. His college scarf was wrapped neatly around his neck, a band bearing the Sterkvleuel crest was slipped into his left forearm.

Turning to see himself in the mirror, he groaned then removed the band and took down the gems from above his head.

He walked out the door, into the room that was his lounge, study and general living area all in one. At his desk, he spotted a note. After putting the crystals into a compartment of his bag that leant against a table leg, he read the note. He smiled. Grabbing his tablet from where it charged, pressing the unlock button and then using his magic to interact with the capacitive screen, he checked his schedule for the day. Physics, Irikshan’s session, Applied Maths, Thermo Dynamics, Tir’s session, study break and then a Self Defence practical. He could do something with Josh during the study break, but should probably use the time to read over the practical's instructions - his ‘quick nap’ yesterday afternoon ended up lasting until morning. He closed his schedule and opened the message application.

“Busy today. Don’t have Enchantments, but Tir has scheduled to take my last free slot. Gonna be done at 4. What about you?” A flash of electromagnetic energy - almost too brief to distinguish from the rest - and the message had been sent.

Mar turned and headed to his metre-high fridge. He opened it, finding not much else other than the food that Josh had left for him. He dished half of it onto a plate. From his cupboard, he also took a shiridite supplement tablet and a bowl to fill with water to drink. He took all this to his desk, where he began eating the cold food before quickly spending some energy to heat it.

He stared at the wall, lost in thought as he ate.

A notification sounded from his tablet.

“Got a couple classes in the morning, have a few hours free just before noon, and my shift is in the afternoon as usual. I have a couple surgeries scheduled today. If you don’t have any middays available, we could do something on the weekend, perhaps? Meet at my house, Saturday morning?”

“Sounds good to me.”

Mar navigated out of that chat and opened Carina’s.

“Thank you for the food! It tastes great!”

He closed the message app and opened one for a social media platform he frequented. A thread titled “Tumenzarian scientists have a breakthrough: prototype machine able to manipulate shiridan crystal” was the first that thread greeted him, and quickly grabbed his attention.

Once Mar had finished the meal and cleaned the plate, he picked up his bags, strapping the large belt that held them in place around his chest. He unplugged his tablet and slipped it into its compartment on the left bag. Just before he left the apartment, he remembered to go grab the amulet from Tir and put it in his bag.

“Thank you for your patience, Mar.” Irikshan appeared from inside his office after a few dragons and humans had left. “Strategy and policy meetings have an awful tendency to drag on.”

“Not a problem, Sir. I have plenty to keep me busy.” He motioned to his tablet upon which he had been reading. He packed it away and got up, heading into Irikshan’s spacious office after the old dragon.

The cloak that Irikshan wore flitted from his back and folded itself neatly on a corner of his desk, soon joined by the Kennissoeker family band. His scarf and the jewel of the elder remained on his neck. “When I’ve had the opportunity, I’ve been thinking about yesterday.” He turned from the window to face Mar. “Firstly, I must apologise for… throwing you in the deep end, as the humans would say. I haven’t had time for mentoring many students in my decades as an elder. Those that I have taught have usually been top of their classes. I believe we should work more slowly.”

“No, it’s ok. I am eager to learn. Yesterday was highly beneficial to me.”

“Hmm... I started teaching you about breaking illusions yesterday in the hopes of later learning how you break out of yours and formulating a better way if necessary.” Irikshan sighed. “I guess I succeeded in those objectives at least. ”

“You know how I did it?”

“Mar, even though you were attempting to hide that while I was in your mind, you were still too worried that you’d have to resort to doing that to possibly hide it. You should have told me - anyone - sooner and we could have helped.”

“I’ll be fine now. Slept well last night.”

Irikshan looked Mar in the eyes for several seconds before speaking again. “That amulet you’ve got in your bag. Feels like Rentik’s handiwork. After I talked to her yesterday, she was… distressed that I had not begun your training as soon as you arrived here. Pass it here, please.”

Mar reached into his bag, the world around him plunging into stillness as he touched the chain. He drew out the amulet and gave it to Irikshan. “How come I can still feel your presence when you’re holding it?”

“I’m blocking it.”

“You’re blocking a magic blocker?”

“Well, I earned my grandmaster-rank scarf for a reason.”

“Fair enough.”

“Rentik went over-the-top with the enchantments on this. Even made it track your current status. Most of them will do no harm, but I can remove that part if you’d like?”

“It’s fine, I guess.”

“You probably won’t need it after today,” Irikshan handed back the amulet, “but keep it in case you want it. Shall we begin?”

Mar nodded.

“First: what we do know. Your illusionary worlds seem completely real to anyone inside them. When inside the illusion, the target’s real body is rendered immobile. Any magic they cast in the illusion will not affect the real world. Physical injuries don’t carry over into the real world, and death in there ejects one from the illusion. Psychological effects…?”

Mar looked down.

“At least partially carry over. Illusions of creatures also appear to have minds of their own. You do not seem to be able to project your illusions into the real world, but rather need to transition into this illusionary world. The transition yesterday was rather abrupt. You reported being trapped for long periods of time on a couple occasions. Do you recall how long these sessions felt to be compared to the actual time passed?”

“When they first started, they were more like dreams. I’d fade in and out of them. They’d feel months long, but I only remembered snippets. The first time I got properly trapped, I was there for twelve years before I got out. I woke up in a hospital having, according to the doctors and my coworkers, been in a magic-induced coma with a simultaneously hyperactive mind for four days. After one of the doctors ended up in a coma too when they tried inspecting my mind more closely, they decided to wait for specialists from the college. In the weeks since then I’ve still had them occasionally, and mostly ended them as soon as I could.”

“Hmm. About three orders of magnitude difference in time. Did you see the doctor in the illusionary world at all?”

“I do not recall meeting him, there were lots of humans in this world. He woke up at the same time as me. He avoided me in the real world, so I couldn’t ask him if he’d seen me. I don’t blame him. That wasn’t a pleasant place in my experience.”

“I’ve got plenty more questions about how your ability works, as I am sure you do too. Many that will only be answered through experimentation. First, we need to enter your illusion. For that-”

“I have an idea. It clicked yesterday.” Mar briefly went limp, but then stumbled and caught himself before hitting the floor. “Yep, that worked.”

“Mar! Please be careful. You’re supposed to take this slowly.”

“Sorry. Habit.”

“How did you trigger it?”

“I’m not sure how to put it into words. It would be easier to show you.”

“Ok, but first I want to make some measurements.” He moved to his desk, taking a device from one of the drawers, “Do you mind if I record us with this camera? Also, may I measure how much energy you have available?”

“Sure.” Mar took the three crystals from his bag and placed them in front of him, then yielded to Irikshan’s energy probes, one of which entered the right of his chest.

“Been charging these for a while, I see. Your three crystals are near full charge at about one hundred and seventy-three megajoules. Your heart-crystal has about fifty-six megajoules remaining.” Irikshan made notes on his computer, then pointed a camera at Mar. He walked around his desk and lay down on the floor on the other side of Mar. A small rock floated from his desk and hovered nearby. Mar lay down too, pulling the three crystals closer to his chest.

The walls of the office broke away to reveal a beautiful natural scene, with rolling hills before the pair and great mountains behind them.

“Ok Mar, I want to see if you have any control of what world we go to. Picture this place as you go there.”

Mar waited a second until he sensed Irikshan’s mind touching his before concentrating on the scenery. The world shuddered around the dragons, then he got up.

“Oh, I see. It does indeed have similarities with what I do. It just requires a little more… force.” Irikshan stood up too. “Hah, you brought my floor and furniture too.” Irikshan looked to the computer screen and it turned to face the pair. It no longer had power.

“You did tell me to picture the place.”

“Quick, start a timer on your tablet, then follow me. You can leave your bags.”

Mar complied, then took off in pursuit of the elder dragon who had flown off in the direction of the mountains. After flying for some, Mar spotted a massive waterfall tumbling down the bare cliffs of the mountain. They landed on rocks beside the top of the waterfall. Mar looked out across the hills and down the meandering river.

"Recognise anything," Irikshan asked.

“This place looks kind of like Tumenoord, but different and without any sign of civilisation.”

“I created my illusion based on artists’ renderings of what our homeland would have looked like before civilisation. Back when we were still giant solitary wandering hunters. Before humans forced our kind to band together or face extinction.” Irikshan unleashed a colossal bolt of lightning into the water, causing a massive plume of steam to shoot out. “I was careful to exclude the waterfall in what I showed you, but this looks similar to the renderings. I wonder how you knew to create it. Maybe you subconsciously recognised the scenery that I showed you, or it is perhaps another quirk of your ability. I wonder whether this or the artists’ provide a more accurate representation of what it was like.” Another bolt of lightning arced from Irikshan into the water.

“What are you doing?”

“Draining Rumaga’s heart somewhat.” He motioned to the crystal that hung on a chain around his neck. “Going to see if there any impact on its energy in the real world.”

“As far as I know, there won’t be.”

“Still worth testing. In fact, I think you should head down the waterfall. I’m going to do some landscaping. We should test the permanence of your illusions, even if you do not see what changes I make. I’ll meet you there when I’m done here.”

Mar fooled around in the waters for several minutes - splashing about while the mountain vibrated with the great movements happening above.

When Irikshan finally joined Mar, he brought a giant boulder and planted it firmly into one of the river’s banks some distance away from the bottom of the waterfall. Irikshan made back-and-forth slicing movements with his claws. Layers of the rock sheared off and were deposited in a heap. Mar walked to join him. “Seeing as we have time, do you have any questions?”

“Yaromudr Svetopolk? The lightweaver.”

“Been curious about other illusionists, have you?” Irikshan paused before putting some of the rock back onto the boulder, where it fused together with the boulder once more. “I wish it had been as easy as a web search back then. In the late 19th century, I was one of the masters at the college. I was not the head of any one department, but I worked closely with several of them while I trained some of their best students and pursued my own research. I had none but myself and the scant historical records of other illusionists to teach me about the limits of the possibilities of my ability. I put out the word that I would like to meet any others like me. When I heard of someone from the Volakolian Empire, I became determined to find them.

“As it turned out, finding her was easier than convincing the Volakol to allow me to enter their lands. Even once I had secured permission, it was on the condition that I wouldn't travel without an armed escort everywhere I went. Told me I would have to carry all the guards if I wanted to fly anywhere! They seemed concerned that we Tumenzarians would make a pastime of toppling empires. In retrospect, they were already crumbling on their own.

“Anyways, Yaro had gained a fair amount of recognition as an artist. Travelled from one affluent household to another. Sometimes entire towns would save up to contract her services. She’d weave sunlight into great works that would last entire days. She’d sometimes mix shiridite with paint or thread for more permanent displays that lit up whenever the sun touched them.”

“I saw pictures of some that are still up.” Mar added, “and there’s that one in front of the Tumensuid town hall. My friends and I used to marvel at that when we were kids.” The rock was beginning to take the shape of a city. The roofs of some of the buildings seemed to have a traditional Volakolian style.

“Yes. Her works gave me the idea to anchor my illusions to shiridan crystals. I taught her how to include small ones in her works so they’d last even into the night. We didn’t see eye-to-eye on many things, but we still found it mutually beneficial to cooperate. Granted, she did find it more beneficial than I, but that does not bother me.”

“The page about her said that you two kept in contact until she died fifty years ago. You even performed a light-display at her funeral.”

“Yes. Some Tumenzarian scholars made improvements to the crystal-relay communication system that the Imaaduudin empire had invented. Their use was becoming more widespread, despite the costly set-up and maintenance. These were eventually replaced by electro telegraphy and then radio telegraphy, on account of the machines being targeted for theft far less often and being operable by your average human, not a skilled and therefore costly mage who could also become privy to many secrets.” The rock city had been completed. It was impressively done for one who was no artist. It appeared to be a Volakolian port city, but Mar could not say for sure.

“But what was she like?”

The stone city lit up in an extraordinary display of colour. “In life, arrogant, self-confident, determined and unthankful. The thing with humans is, they’re such fleeting creatures. Fires that, when faced with their own mortality, want to burn bright enough to be remembered long after they’re gone. She had already left her mark but endeavoured to make it greater. However, I do not think she ever truly forgot her origins. I believe she was driven into this outward display. Her outward attitude towards me was likely for fear of ostracization, and she was, in fact, the one who initiated communication with me years after I had returned home. Following her death, the journals of research and the gem containing one of her greatest artworks that she bequeathed to the dragons of Tumenzar also indicated a good measure of gratitude.

“Humans… such fickle, fleeting creatures. Empires rising and falling within one of our lifespans. Yet we wouldn’t be here without them. We believe we have all the time in the world, but in reality neither do we. We Tumenzarians purport to be great innovators, but the humans sparked many of our successes. It is their innovations and advancements that spurred ours as a species, and ours spurred theirs. Even in the times when I was younger, one could say this was for fear of extinction or the desire of conquest. But we might finally be at a time where we can truly say that we work for mutual betterment

“You still have the energy, enthusiasm and determination of your youth. I pray you keep that. I sense the world has once again reached a point of great social change. Questions will be asked. There will be no universally right answers. Cooperation will be the way forward.”

The lights that shone in the stone city danced. The shoreside water gently lapped against the dragons’ feet. In the distance, the waterfall still thundered on.

“That machine in the news?” Mar intoned quizzically.

“With or without that, change will have to come. But technology has had a way of speeding things up. Take it from me. I knew it was a matter of time before someone managed to create something like this, but didn’t expect that to be in my lifetime until a team including some of my past students approached the elders for funding on that project.”

Irikshan turned to Mar and smiled. “But enough of that, we’ve got some experiments to continue. Shall we return to the real world?”

#dragon #writing #by me #mar #elonth #narrative #fantasy

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vanbwi · 7 years

Text

Glass Table Girls pt. 2 - m.

member: Min Yoongi, Park Jimin, Jung Hoseok

genre: Smut, Sugardaddy!au

warnings: Nsfw, Mature Content, Vulgar Smut, Prostitution, Drugs use, MxFxM, Vouyerism, Cumplay

↠ words: 3.6k

pt. 1 - pt. 2

So don’t blame it on me that you didn’t call home, so don’t blame it on me cause you wanted to have fun.

Gif credit.

The sunlight was blinding and conscious woke you up. Warmth engulfed you. You felt like there was an oven right beside you and your body was sticky with sweat. Your our eyelids were heavy and you groaned in an uncomfortable mess. But you knew that the bed was comfortable, your lower legs were exposed down by the duvet.

You tried to twist around in the huge bed, but later realizing that arms were heavily draped over you. You immediately tore your eyes open and the light blinded you.

"Oh- God." You whispered in an utter shock, it wasn't normal that you wake up with someone you didn't know what it was. Stark naked in a Queen-sized bed.

What happened last night?

Little did you remember that you had a fun night at the strip club. Last night was probably the best night in your life. The memories flashed over you, smokes and drinks everywhere. Naked people on top of each other, weird milky liquids in the fancy cocktail glasses.

You choked up at the disgusting sight in your mind. But the person beside you wasn't Namjoon. Neither was it Taehyung or Jungkook. You forgot what happened after that intense fucking session with the three of them. But where were you now?

"What have I done?" You voice croaked. Feeling a burning sensation in your throat. Shame washed over you.

You felt disgusted and embarrassed inside and outside, how desperate were you for money? You could write another CV, contact nearby grocery stores and beg them to take you in. Work hard for money. Earn it the correct way.

All you wanted now was to call her to your mother, confess to her and tell her that you're sorry. Tell her that her daughter have sinned. At the same time, you knew that you disrespected yourself. You glanced down at your body, there were trails of hickeys and a fading red spot of a hand. Your hair was a mess, the heavy loose curls were sticky and oily. You felt like you haven't showered in months. Everything was completely white in the room.

As expected, it was much bigger than your whole apartment.Your eyes were burning at the light and your face felt swollen in the morning. You tried searching for your phone, tugging the duvet closer to you. Suddenly you heard a deep groan from under the covers.

You froze instantly, retreating your arms back and glued yourself down onto bed. You waited quietly and listened to the breathing. The hair behind your back rose up, as someone pulled back the duvet and hogged it to them self.

You shrieked feeling exposed, covering your bare half with your arms. You didn't dare to look beside you, it could be an old man. A sick pedophile who took advantage of you. The disturbing thoughts nearly made you puke on yourself.

With your eyes close, you dug under the cover and roamed your hands down the bed. Helplessly trying to find your phone and your clothes. But your hands accidentally touched something weird. The male winced painfully. An annoyed groaned called out. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"S-sorry!" You apologized, your face getting heated and faced the man. You can't believe that you just touched his morning wood, it was unexpectedly already stiff and hard early in the morning.

"Aish- why don't you get to work? Isn't this what you're here for anyway? Just give me a nice morning suck." He mumbled, his voice vibrating. You were obliviously offended by that. It was like a hard slap to your face. No matter how good looking he was, he was really rude and badly mannered.

"Who do you think you are? You can't speak to a woman like that!" He laughed at you, rubbing the rude comment into your face.

"You're not a woman. You're a whore. This job was the worst decision you've made in your life, other jobs won't accept you anymore. Wherever you go, it will be apart of your background. You won't even get married. You ruined it for yourself." His words were dripping dangerously, filled with venom.

"I mean, how could a man want someone like you? I wouldn't marry a prostitute. I know I'm the one paying and shit but fucking shit, you must get the facts into your head."

"You aren't stupid right? You're nothing but a cum dumper."

It wasn't long until a wet tear rolled down your face. You knew it all along but having the stranger confirm it was even more hurtful.

"Oh my fucking God, now I'm the guilty one. Stop fucking crying." He growled raising his hand as if he was gonna hit you. You whimpered and waited for his hand to collide with your face. There was a long silent, the only thing that could be heard was your sobbing and his shaky breaths.

"Y/N? I'm sorry." He apologized, how did he even know your name? He touched your bare shoulder, you immediately moved away from his touch. You didn't hesitate to abandon the bed, completely nude without the duvet around you.

You ignored his apologizes, collecting all your belongings. You didn't find much but pieces of your underwear, your heels and the money bag. Which was filled with glorious gold jewelry and thousand dollars. It was literally raining cash into the bag.

"I shouldn't have said that. I'm usually really grumpy in the morning, I didn't mean it. I'm sorry." Yoongi said softly, you turned around and saw that he was looking up and down at your bare body.

"Y/N? I'll make it up to you. We can go shopping for whatever you need, do you like Victoria's Secret? Maybe Yves Saint Laurent? Gucci?" He offered, walking up towards you. Lingering his arms around your waist.

You leaned your head on his chest, he smelt husky like an expensive cologne. Probably Joe Malone, Blackberry and Bay since you saw the bottle near the bedside table.

He caressed your hair and breathed in your scent. You probably didn’t smell the best since last night was crazy. Yoongi mumbled, “God, You smell like Taehyung...”

“Wanna take a shower together?”

You couldn’t deny him, you obeyed him completely. He smirked, holding your hand as he lead you towards the bathroom. “I like it when you listen to me like a good girl. Good girls get rewarded you know.”

Yoongi brushed your hair away from your face and turned on the shower. You couldn’t help but admire his sugary white skin and how good he looked naked. He wasn’t the most muscular guy but he had faint line of abs across down to his abdomen. Your face heated up once you got caught staring down at his beautiful member.

“I bet you like what you see. Since yesterday, you were practically dry humping me and begging me to take you home.” Yoongi whispered, letting his hands roam over your wet body.

You wanted to say something against him but you could only let out a tiny gasp once his big hands cupped the flesh of your ass sneakily. You moaned as you felt his hardening member against your lower stomach.

“Touch me.” Yoongi mumbled against your neck.

You didn’t hesitate to reach your hands down to his stiff cock. Rubbing the head gently with your thumb and brushed his cock against your bare thighs. You peaked up to watch his reaction through the steam.

Yoongi had his mouth gape slightly open like a kitten. You fastened the speed up a little bit, but only to earn an annoyed groan coming from him. “No, not now.”

He brushed away your hand and locked it above your head, caging you in with the glass wall. His hand reached down to your thighs, spreading them open gently. “You’re so goddamn pretty do you know that?”

“Hmm..” You bit down your lips, holding back a moan once he rubbed his cock against your core.

“That pussy looks so fucking delicious, I need to have a taste.” Yoongi attacked you with an intense kiss, feeling impatient he didn’t waste his time to use to tongue. Your nose crashed against each other and you could taste him.

However, he pulled away and started to trail his tongue on other places. Licking your body, lower and lower. Passed your navel and you sucked in your breath. He got on his knees and kissed your lower stomach, dangerously close to your core.

Yoongi spread your thighs wide open, taking a long glance at your glistening pussy. He used his thumb to separate her lower lips and flicked his tongue along the lids. Tasting the arousal coming from you.

“Ah! Yoongi...” You gasped, your chest heaving up and down as you tried to control your breaths. He pressed your back against the cold shower glass. Your hands immediately reached down to grab a flock full of his soft hair. You were already over sensitive, but you wanted him to give you more.

Suddenly there was a booming voice outside the bathroom. Yoongi stopped the water and stepped out of the shower. You clenched your thighs together, the knot hasn’t yet been undone. But you were afraid to ask him for more.

“Here dry yourself clean, I’ll be back.” He winked and threw you his other towel. You chose the time to observe the marble bathroom, the golden faucet and the big mirror. You looked like a mess, a girl who had way too much fun than she’s supposed to.

But once in a lifetime, you felt loved and worthy. You felt beautiful.

You wrapped the towel around yourself and followed Yoongi’s trail out. You heard a loud fruity voice talking to Yoongi. They were the total opposite. If Yoongi was the midnight moon the other would be the bright midday sun.

“So I’ve cleared out all the whores. They were literally begging to stay, one of them. I think Junghwa was her name? She gave me her number. You should have seen her jugs.”

“Damn, those breasts. They were like juicy watermelons!” He exclaimed. You saw his back while Yoongi was looking in the closet for clothes. Yoongi noticed you immediately and threw you a big shirt at your direction.

The sunshine turned his head and laid eyes on you. His eyes traveled up and down your body, smirking and nodding to himself. His eyes locked to your legs, probably wishing that the towel wasn’t in the way.

“Damn, man. You couldn’t at least share last night? I didn’t knew that you kept her all by yourself.”

“You were busy with many girls already.” Yoongi said simply, although he wanted you to himself.

“The rookie, Y/N. Pleased to meet you, I’m Jung Hoseok.” He ignored Yoongi and walked closer to you. Flashing a bright smile and took his hand out. You placed a palm in his hand and smiled back. He gently kissed your hand, while staring sensually into your eyes.

“Nice to meet you too, Hoseok. Are you a friend of Yoongi’s?” You slightly blushed.

“Close coworkers.”

That made you wonder, what are their professions? They must have been very successful. “Oh, that’s nice. You seem closer than you really are though.”

“We’re-”

“That’s enough. Why don’t we go eat breakfast instead?” Yoongi interrupted and placed a hand on your lower back. Gesturing Hoseok to go out. He got it and walked away, but not before taking a last good look at you.

“Put on your clothes, I think breakfast is already served.” He stared at you, brushed your damp hair behind your ear. He followed closely after Hoseok.

You did as he said and put the comfortable shirt over your head. Which covered the mid thighs, but you still felt really naked since you didn’t wear any underwear beneath. You hesitated once you saw the little opening on the door. But you didn’t have a way to make your route to escape. Wherever you were, you were a thousand feet above the ground. Probably an expensive royal suite in some luxury hotel.

Though this was your chance to take everything you could and leave them behind right?

“Y/N?” You heard Yoongi called out for you.

“Y-yes, I’m coming!” You snapped out of your thoughts and marched towards the heavy big door. However, before you could open it, someone already pulled the door open for you. His eternal beauty distracted you from the majestic room.

He had beautiful soft skin, alluring eyes that seem to be endless. Full plump lips that looked like pillows. Dark hair that are swept over his forehead. He smiled, god that smile.

“I’m Park Jimin, nice to meet you Y/N. Now once you’re done gawking at me, would you like some breakfast?” Jimin pulled his arms over your shoulders and led you into the big living room.

You instantly blushed and looked down at your feet as if they were the most interesting in the world. Hoseok and Yoongi were already seated, digging into the food like hungry beasts. The room service was served on the small coffee table made of glass. Omelette, bagels, fruits and pancakes with syrup. “Eat all you want, if they’re not enough we can order more.”

Jimin sat down, noticed that you’re standing stiff so he pulled you down to his lap. He stuffed a small bagel into your mouth, “Eat.”

You nodded and quickly followed his orders. Feeling his warmth against your body, his arm reached out for the food on the table while his other arm was wrapped around your waist. Securing you on his lap. On top of his glorious thighs.

Hoseok smirked, sipping on champange early in the morning. Or lunch? You couldn’t even tell the time around here.

"What time is it?” You asked, your voice soft and low.

“About 2PM.” Yoongi checked his golden Rolex watch. He didn’t eat much but he drank a lot of Americano. No wonder the sheets smelt like caffeine. His breath smelt like freshly brewed coffee beans. A homecoming smell and warmth. A small curve appeared by the corner of your lips once you thought of him.

“You can stay if you want.” Yoongi offered. “One more night before we’re leaving to do some business. We can have all the fun you desires.”

Jimin pushed his hips upwards, digging his subtle erection against you. Whispered into your ears that sent shivers down your spine. “You can stay right?”

“Y-yeah, sure. I wanna have fun.” You stuttered and shyly smiled. Jimin tucked the hair behind your ear and nibbled gently on your earlobe. A small whimper was heard from you. Hoseok and Yoongi stopped eating instantly. They quietly watched you shifted on Jimin’s lap.

His mouth quickly traveled down to suck on the skin of your neck. His hand reached under the shirt, cupping your breasts. Making you moan for him. He growled against your neck. “You sound so fucking hot.”

With one strong arm, he pushed the food tray away from the coffee table. Forced you down on the table against your stomach. Excitement soared down your stomach. Your heart picked up a pace and you rubbed your legs against each other. Getting goosebumps from his touch and the coldness of the table.

“Fuck yeah.” Hoseok grunted. You heard a sound of zippers, unzipping themselves.

Jimin’s hands pushed the shirt up your back, rubbing his hands softly against your lower cheeks. Slapping them hard, twice. You yelped and gripped the corners of the table. Wincing at the sting. He spread the cheeks and dipped his fingers dipped into your core.

“Such a plump little pussy. I bet you’re as tight as a virgin.” He rumbled, kissing them softly. Tasting the glistering juice that trailed down your thighs.

Yoongi groaned. Your eyes peaked up at him touching himself in slow movements. His eyes stared directly down at you. Lust and desperation filled his eyes. Hoseok chuckled and gripped your hair harshly, yanking your head up to face him. Sticking his stiff cock at your face, “Suck me, bitch. Put that little innocent mouth to use.”

You didn’t hesitate, opened your mouth and swallowed him. Tasting the salty pre-cum that leaked downwards to the end of the base. Your other hand reached for Yoongi’s rock hard member, stroking them up and down slowly.

“God, you taste so goddamn good. Your little cunt is getting red already.” You heard Jimin slurping, entered two fingers in you. Making scissors movement, spreading the juices all over your walls, you hummed in pleasure. Sending vibrations to Hoseok. He gripped your head even harder, nearly making you choke against his dick.

Suddenly you felt your core stretch out. You felt the head of Jimin’s hard erectic pressed against you. Rubbing and spread the wet substance over his own member. Coating his cock with your juice and his pre-cum. He moaned, throwing his head back as he pushed inside you. Feeling the warmth engulfed him.

“Oh- g-god. You’re so tight and warm. So fucking wet.” He dug his fingernails onto your thighs. Thrusting in hard and slow. Deeper and harder. Making wet squelching noises and the sound of skin slapping against each other echoed through the room.

His thick cock stretched you out wide, giving a stinging tingle. His balls hitting your clit every time he fully pounded into you. You felt so full and filled up.

“Oh my god.” You wailed loudly, trying to move away from the over sensitivity. He rammed into you forcefully and Yoongi held you against Jimin.

“Come on, you’re a good girl. Take it all.” Yoongi rumbled, caressed your cheeks and brushed the tears away from your eyes. You breathed out heavily. He darkly smirked and clutched your neck tightly. Choking you as he thrust into your throat.

You gagged against him, more tears filled your eyes. Hoseok slumped down against the couch, watching the beautiful view in front of him. Jimin kept sputtering out dirty words, slapping your ass and marked you with his fingernails. Yoongi pulled out of your mouth and gripped your cheeks. “Open up, you little slut.”

You stuck your tongue out, he spitted into your mouth and kissed you hungrily. Teeth and tongue clashed against each other. Jimin bent down and sucked your neck his other hand trailed down to your clit. Pinching it softly and sent you to the edge. You walls clamped around his cock.

“Holy shit, I’m coming...” He hissed, releasing his cum in you. Filling you up to the brim before slowly pulling out. The white sticky substance trailed down your thighs onto the table. Jimin picked it up with his fingers and brought it to your face.

“Lick it clean, baby girl.” You wrapped your tongue around his fingers. Tasting yourself and the thick salty cum. You ignored the weird feeling and swallowed it. Jimin softly pecked your lips.

Hoseok stood up and walked around to your back, bent down and looked at your abused cunt. He cursed under his breath. “Fuck, Jimin. You really filled her little pussy up. She’s so red already.”

He softly caressed your cheeks and roughly slapped your pussy lips. “I bet she can take it a little more.” Positioned his swollen dick in your entrance and violently thrust inside. Forcing Jimin’s cum to stay inside but the cum only spurted out. “Fucking fuck... She’s so full of you.

You wailed, your body trembling and shaking in pleasure. You cried out, “Please, I can’t take it anymore.”

“You’re a dirty whore, of course you can take two cocks. We all gonna fill you up and don’t you fucking dare pushing it out.” Hoseok gripped your neck, roughly rammed into you. Only to cum shortly, shooting his big loads inside you. Groaning loudly and pulled his softening member out. He cupped your cunt, trying to keep in all of the cum while he gestured at Yoongi to take his place.

“Hyung, it’s your turn.” Yoongi took his place, instantly penetrated into your sore core. Salty tears streamed down your cheeks and your body couldn’t take the pleasure anymore. “You dirty cum dumper. You’re such a good little slut. Taking all of our cum so well.”

He soon came, filling and stretching you out more. The breathing were calming down but your heart kept racing. Yoongi stayed inside you for a while before carefully pulled out. But the cum came spurting out on the table, trailing down the carpet once he pulled out.

“You lick that fucking mess up, how about a punishment since you couldn’t keep it all in?” Hoseok said hoarsely, pulling out his leather belt and slapped it against his thighs.

Hours passed by, the sun has already set. The city lights below you glittered like stars. Since the stars on the dark sky were beneath your feet. You didn’t know what happened. But once you woke up on the fancy carpet, they were already gone. They left nothing for you to contact them back, you didn’t know where you were.

You felt uncomfortable in your own body, you felt dirty and sticky. Brushed your hands over your face and drank the last drops of bourbon. It was a mess around here. The breakfast they shared with you were scattered all over the carpet. The carpet itself raked of strong bourbon. However, something caught your eyes. On the top of your hand it was covered with white powder. Fear and panic ran down your spine. You breathed heavily, putting on as much clothes as possible. Gathered all your energy so you could take small steps towards the door. You didn’t even want to look into the mirror at yourself anymore. Who could you trust now?

MASTERLIST 🌹

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monsta-sextories · 7 years

Text

Poolside- 1

Son Hyunwoo

word count: 2067

Your parents had always been the type to spend money. They would always rather pay someone to do their work instead of get their hands dirty. Yes, it resulted in beautiful landscaping, beautiful décor, and cleanliness but it always irked you in a way you couldn’t understand. Until Son Hyunwoo.

🎧 Young God- Halsey

You remembered the first day you saw him, getting straight to work. Summer was approaching and the weather was getting hotter each day. That didn’t stop him, not even in the slightest. He removed one layer, and then the next as the day went on and you couldn’t deny he had your full attention. He was beautiful. Body, face, demeanor. You watched him that first day from the back patio as he trimmed, pulled, cut, and replaced the old foliage with the new. Your parents approved of his work and you approved of him. They offered him a job for the rest of the summer, taking care of the land and helping out with other odds and ends. The money was good so you knew he’d take it. What you didn’t expect was how hard you would have to work just to get noticed.

Your parents rarely stayed at the house during the summer. They liked to travel and owned a vacation home somewhere nicer. Usually you would tag along, regretting your decision after one boring day at the hotel spa with your mother, or a dreary plane ride, or a bad sunburn. Your father called you restless. Your mother called you spoiled.

So this summer you decided to stay behind. After a list long of warnings, they left you behind and you felt like you could finally breathe. You wouldn’t quite be alone, there was always someone else in the house. Cleaners, landscapers, dog groomers. Always someone stopping by, usually with a pending paycheck. You wished for just one week, they would all disappear. You hated watching people work around you. Not just because it was the work of your family but because it made you agitated. It looked boring and awful. Then again, siting by the pool for hours a day was also boring and awful, for you at least. Spoiled and restless.

It was only a matter of time before you got bored. And when you were bored, you liked to play games.

“Hyunwoo?” you called from your lounge chair on the side of the pool.

You saw him poke his head up from where he was laying mulch, sweat dripping down his tanned skin. His loose white tank top was soaked and stained with dirt.

“It’s break time,” you say curling your finger at him as you stand up from your chair. You don’t have to turn around to know he’s following you, so you continue on to the patio. The smoothed cobble feels good against your bare feet and a breeze catches your dress.

“Hungry?” you ask still making your way for the house. Glass doors open up to the patio straight from the east kitchen and dining room. It’s perfect for parties because the food gets sent straight out here for the guests. There’s no party right now, but you love the freedom of open doors and right now, there’s no one here to close them.

“Uh, thank you ma’am but I’m fine,” he says from behind you. You cringe at the word “ma’am.”

“I’ve been watching you all day. You’re starting to get sluggish,” you retort as you pass through into the house. It isn’t true but it’s easier than trying to convince him he’s probably on the verge of a heat stroke. You turn around when you notice the absence of sound from behind you.

Hyunwoo stands just outside the kitchen as if blocked by an invisible wall.

“You can come in,” you say giving him a smile. He looks down at his work boots, covered in dirt. “You can take them off,” you offer.

He does so hesitantly and then follows you into the kitchen.

“I was thinking something simple, like maybe,” you open one of the two refrigerators, blatantly showing off all the options hoping it entices him a bit, “salmon? Steak? Chicken? Seasoned vegetables or a salad… maybe a side of fruit?... take your pick.”

You turn around to see him staring at you with wide eyes, “I thought Betsy was off today?” he asks referring to one of your home cooks. You snort.

“Of course Betsy’s off, it’s Sunday. You could be off too if you’d like?” you tell him. Hyunwoo never asks for days off.

“So who would be cooking-“

“Are you insinuating that I don’t know how to cook for myself?” you ask with a smile, you want to come off teasing but the apology he gives you leads you to believe he might actually think you’re offended.

Betsy was the house cook since you were a child. You had learned to cook from watching her, and as you grew older it became one of your secret hobbies. You traveled around with your family, and you’d always try new foods, trying to find new recipes that the two of you could learn together. Out of all your memories in this house, the kitchen was where you shared most of your memorable ones. Maybe you were just showing off, jumping at the chance to finally display your talents.

“Relax,” you say, taking a few steps back to let him examine the fridge, “please pick something, anything.”

“Uh, I brought a lunch, it’s really not-“

“Brown bagged turkey and cheese again?” you ask with a twist of disgust, “You’ve gotta be tired of that.”

He takes a deep exhale and then shrugs, “Okay, uh… steak.”

You smile wide and pull out his selection.

“Now, you can take a seat somewhere while I get this started. If you’re thirsty, there’s glasses in the cabinet and a fridge full of organic nonsense. But at least it’s cold.”

He doesn’t say much, you’ve come to notice that Hyunwoo is a man of few words, but at the core of everyone one of those rare words is respect. And although it is reluctant you hear a clear, “Thank you,” before he turns to walk back outside.

….

The next day you woke to the sound of birds chirping and the faint rays of sun filtering through your bedroom window. Thick draping curtains couldn’t hold back the midday rays.

You didn’t usually sleep in, but last night you had gotten carried away with the wine. You had initially hoped it would loosen up Hyunwoo, but it quickly turned into too many glasses for you.

You couldn’t remember exactly if you had propositioned Hyunwoo last night, or just thought about it. But you jumped out of bed at the feeling of a dry mouth and stiff back. You headed to your small balcony doors. The balcony itself wrapped around the entire house so you stretched in your silk night dress a few times before sliding your feet into your slippers and heading outside. You followed the railing all the way to the side of the house where you knew Hyunwoo would be working today.

Surprise, there he was, dressed and fully functional, immersed in his work. It didn’t seem right to be so envious of dirt but there you were, wishing he had shown you the same interest last night.

Chatting over dinner really turned into you filling in the silence with stories about yourself. All of your expensive this, and classy that… something that you were starting to see Hyunwoo had no interest in. You couldn’t blame him. The only time you ever had a good time was when you weren’t where you were supposed be, doing whatever you weren’t supposed to be doing.

You saw him finally stand up, stretching out his back and neck with a slight wince. You made a mental note of that. Maybe you could have your masseuse make a visit this week.

You remembered watching him last night, hesitant to eat as you put down the food. His hand coming up quickly to grip the silverware and then as if hyper-aware of himself he stopped. You just shook your head and gestured to the food.

“Go ahead, eat,” you smiled picking up your own fork.

There was certainly something handsome about Hyunwoo. The dirt and sweat didn’t detract from that, and if anything, they added to it.

“Hyunwoo, you’re going to be here all summer,” you had said between bites, he looked up from his plate to meet your gaze, “So am I. I think it would be nice if we got to know each other.” You said with a grin.

Now, as you stared out over the balcony you saw him turn to head over to the next section closer to the house when he looked up to see you standing there. You half expected him to stare longer, be stunned at your morning beauty. Hair falling to your shoulders, champagne silk shimmering against your skin. But he only nodded in your direction and offered a brief wave as he continued on.

Hmph. You thought with a smile. This was going to be an interesting summer.

…

Growing up the way you did you had learned a very reassuring lesson… or not so reassuring depending how you looked at it. You could potentially get anyone to do anything you wanted if you could name the right price. Lucky for you, your family always knew how to name the right price.

You watched Hyunwoo from the same long chair as before. You made sure your skin was coated in oils and your thick rimmed sunglasses hid your gaze. You didn’t want to come off as pining after all. Your white swimsuit fit you perfectly and showed off your body like it was made for you. Because it was.

Right now your parents were probably on a boat somewhere laughing over mimosas and talking about the poor economy in countries they’d only ever fly over.

You sighed, wondering what else you could be doing today. You were sick of spa treatments, it was too hot for tennis, and you had gone shopping yesterday. You were tired of pretending to read the book in your lap, and all of your “friends” were islands away, enjoying their summers of luxury.

You stood up from your chair and tossed your sunglasses and book to the side. You walked to the edge of the pool where the diving bored mounted. You jumped a few times and then curled, pushing your body into a perfect dive. When you broke the surface you felt the water submerge you, taking with it the heat baked into your skin. It felt refreshing and calming. You swam deeper until you reached the bottom of the swimming pool. Absolute silence.

You kept your eyes open as you made your way back up, seeing the sun rays reflected among the molecules, parting and merging and parting again as the ripples of water tore them apart and pieced them back together.

Coming up for air always caught you feeling full again. You used to wait for the burn in your chest as the lack of oxygen left you swallowing nothing behind pursed lips. You gasped for air and stared wide at the sky above you as you came to flat position against the surface. Sunlight warm, cloaking you once more. Your hair float alongside of you, limbs spread out in other directions. These were the times you felt the most beautiful, the most powerful and alive.

You flipped over onto your side as you made your way back to the pool steps. As you did, you felt the water rolling farther and farther down your body until you were leaving the chlorine behind you. Your hair stuck to your skin and your suite felt plastered and weighed down. The pulse of adrenaline still pounded through you as your lungs took their fill once again. Beautiful, powerful, alive… and no one to see it.

You turned your head at the sight of something in your peripheral. Son Hyunwoo, standing there with sweat dripping down his face and a discarded tshirt hanging off his shoulder. His eyes were on you, for one… two.. three blinks before he turned away reaching his hands back into the soil.

No one to see… except maybe the one person you were trying to show.

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