#/ even the updo. im in love.

[nyatbinary-81]

@vulpixisananimal sifstem art jumpscare!! more specifically i got bored and decided to mess around with sif and mal's outfits.

[glamwish]

nikki fits. jjk/kny/naru battle ready. bonus pts eyes of amaterasu / sorcerer's healing gaze.

[emphistic]

𝐁𝐄𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃, 𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ‧

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒. fem!Reader, bastard!Sukuna, historial AU - regency era, somewhat enemies to lovers, banter, ballroom dancing, eventual smut [MDNI], table séx, exhibitiönism, semi-public séx, nīpple play, fīngering, loss of vīrginity, jealousy, carriage séx, riding, pörn w/ plot

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. nearly 16k (yikes)

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄. sighhhhhh, this took way too long, but im a nerd for jane austen novels and the regency period, so im going to make you a nerd for it, too. available on ao3

“It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.” — Pride & Prejudice

Whether you liked it or not—or, well, that didn’t matter, really; you had no choice—you had connections. Plenty of them. 

You were the firstborn and only child to a renowned lawyer and his wife—whom you called your parents. Your birth was one of necessity, not out of love and want. Most of your mother and father’s siblings constantly pressured them into conceiving—in order to extend the bloodline, they explained—and so they were coerced into a sense of rushing and urgency. This, however, didn’t diminish any of their affection towards you; you were, after all, their only child, their eldest child, and their most beloved child.

“Wealthy” was quite the understatement when it came to describing your family tree. You were rich in prosperity and success, physically and mentally. Your parents cherished you as their only offspring, gave you only the finest governess, and treated you as more of an equal than a baby. That proved not a problem—seeing as how vast your then and current knowledge was compared to those of average salary.

Being an only child may have been quite out of the ordinary in the present times, but the number of relatives you had was abundant enough that you often felt it was really the opposite.

Your grandparents seemed to have a lot of fun back then, because, each of your parents had at least five siblings, which resulted in a little more than ten aunts and uncles when grouped together. This was, however, not as jolly as it may seem. Your aunts and uncles were all old, had even more children than your grandparents, and loved, loved, loved, critiquing others. They tipped their hats at you when greeting, kissed your cheeks and the backs of your hands, but, regardless, they never failed to mention at least one of your faults and flaws.

In addition to this, you had cousins galore. On your mother’s side was a bit fewer than thirty, while your father’s side consisted of two and twenty. It may be a given, it may be not, but you weren’t as close with your cousins as most would normally be. Sending and receiving letters was seldom exchanged, and meeting at balls and dinners was probably the only times you ever conversed with a cousin or two. Well, except for Charlotte and Helena.

Where could you even begin when describing those two? you often laughed.

They were twins, and would look exactly the same if it wasn’t for the fact that Charlotte had blonde curls that she frequently let down, while Helena often wore a brunette updo atop her head. Since birth, they had been inseparable, and most people usually referred to them as a pair, saying things such as Where are the girls? or Are the girls attending? It was great, really. In truth—concise, and full truth—you loved the girls just as if they were your own sisters; and, sometimes it seemed that way.

You three always read together when the men went shooting birds, gossiped about the townspeople, and often matched your dresses, ribbons, and gloves to each other at balls and other gatherings of the like. Maybe it was due to your compatibility, but if you had to call anyone your best friend, it would have to be the girls.

They were both two years your juniors, but it was a commonly known fact that Charlotte was as intelligent as someone ten years your senior. She pored over literature all day, bent over desks examining records, and was always the one to come to when in need of rational advice. Helena, on the other hand, was a bright girl, but she certainly wasn’t a scholar; her strong suit was her humor and charm. She made acquaintances like no other, and had an almost endless amount of suitors and beaus asking for her hand. 

But, if that wasn’t the case, she would definitely still have an equal amount of friends. Maybe even the whole population of Wadsworth, if Helena wanted. But, really, that would not be much wanted.

The men and women of Wadsworth were numerous, but they were all prickly in their own ways. You often liked to joke that the countryside of Wadsworth was really just one big rose bush; most people were thorns in the sides, while, if you looked deep, there were plenty of roses, as well. Now, you didn’t hate attending balls, per se, but, the main reason keeping you away was that the men knew not how to dance at all, tripped over others’ feet and shoes, and their vocabulary—oh, lord, their vocabulary. It would be much pleasanter if you didn’t even begin on that topic.

Wadsworth was not small—big enough to fit everyone without being too congested—and it laid up north, where the weather was nice all of twelve-month. The grass was always green, and healthy, and the hefty trees provided shade that was more than needed. It was beautiful, absolutely beautiful, and if it wasn’t the people that lured in tourists, it would have to be the scenery and landscaping.

Aside from the actual land, the properties, the estates, and the manors were all also a sight to behold. Wealthy were your neighbors, and your aunts, and your uncles, and the other ladies and the other sirs. Abodes were more grand than not—all at least two stories—had beautiful shrubbery and quite talented gardeners, large windows, and ornate carriages.

The people who filled these properties all had a profuse liking to dancing, and balls were held most frequently. Sometimes at Stratford House—where the girls resided, sometimes at Grantley Hall—the home of another aunt you had, and sometimes somewhere else. You, however, resided in Blackwood Park with your mother and father. It was a luxurious abode; your governess was as knowledgeable as can be, and the staff were all as kind-hearted as to be expected. You had bookshelves all to yourself, and read to your heart’s content whenever you felt the need to decline an invitation to a social gathering.

Prosperous—was your life.

In the middle of drinking tea—another activity you took up with your cousins—a commotion started up in the streets outside. 

All ladies of the town were absolutely, or, at least, nearly under a spell, as they all scrambled to their windows at the sound of hooves and neighing; they went to great lengths such as even peeking behind shutters and curtains, just to attempt even merely a glimpse at the two wealthy—and, if you did say yourself, dashingly dressed—gentlemen that had arrived on their grand steeds; of all their grandeur were individual breeds of andalusian and shire. 

It was, without a doubt, quite the sight to behold on a previously seemingly ordinary Tuesday morning. And, you weren’t at all surprised at the idea of any of your family screaming at the chance of possible suitors for either you or their children.

“Oh my!” gasped Helena, as she set down her tea cup, and hurried to look through the windows of Blackwood. “Pray, do you think the gentlemen are married?”

“I would think so,” sighed Charlotte; “any person who looks like that ought to have ladies lining up at his door, wouldn’t you agree it is so?” 

The blonde turned to you with an expectant look on her face, and you hesitated for an answer. “If they are as handsome as they are dressed, then, maybe. I have not a good look at their faces from this angle.”

“Oh, dear cousin!” cried the girls simultaneously. They were—if you could even call it that way—heavily dejected at the sound of your declaration. It was rational, though, and that’s why they were so clearly affected; if the men were both handsome and wealthy, it was highly plausible that they were with wives, and any possibility of either of the girls being able to flirt with the gentlemen was thus thrown out of the window.

Laughing, you tried your best to console the girls, and patted each of them on the head, before making your way towards the nearest window. This change gave you a way better opportunity to see the men than you had previously thought. Yes, there were two of them, and yes, they were both as handsome as they were dressed—though you would never admit such a thing aloud.

Because they were both on their horses, you could not see who was taller, but you knew that the distinction between them both was crystal clear; their heads were both full of unnaturally colored hair.

There was one gentleman with hair white as snow, and eyes blue as the vast sea; he wore expensive, lavish clothing, and held himself up with confident poise—much like a prince would. The other gentleman had pink, rosy hair, that was of a ruly style—maybe it was unbrushed, you thought. But the first thing you noticed about him was the evident scowl on his face; he looked like the embodiment of a thunderstorm. Beautiful, but formidable.

Subconsciously, throughout your admiring of the wealthy men, you had been pushing the curtains back inch by inch, until, the white-haired man had seemingly taken notice of your observing, and looked up at your figure with an amused expression, before turning to his friend and pointing at you. With a surprised squeak, you pulled back the curtains and hid yourself before the gentlemen could get another look at you (or so you hoped).

“Why on earth did you close the curtains?” the girls cried, again, after noticing—through their misery—that the sight of the men was gone. “Just because they may be possibly married does not mean we cannot admire them all the same.”

“You think so?” you laughed.

“Well, certainly!” nodded Helena, profusely. “We could always just stand in corners of rooms, silently admiring their countenances. Aren’t I correct, sister?”

Charlotte turned to you with an optimistic smile. “Why, yes, you are! You must know, cousin, we are perfectly capable of keeping our mouths shut of flirtatious compliments when we are near married men. You must know.”

“What a nice thing to know, Lottie. But, we have yet to confirm whether the gentlemen are married or not—”

“Oh! bless me! I truly must’ve forgotten that part,” Helena said, as she squealed and kicked her legs back and forth. She was over the moon at hearing the—still unconfirmed—possibility that the men might be single. “Charlotte, sister, can you believe it? Either one or the both of us may be married by next spring!”

“Oh, cousin,” cried Charlotte, as she took your hands into her own, “this is such a wonderful Tuesday morning—”

In the middle of her exclamations of joy, Charlotte was interrupted by the calling of your maid-servant, who announced there was company at the door. Now, you were just seconds away from being informed of who it was, but the girls just couldn’t contain their anticipation, and before your maid-servant could get but another word out, the twins were flying down the stairs with high and hopeful spirits—the tea party completely forgotten.

“Who, in heaven’s name, could it be?” wondered Helena, as she took you by the arm and dragged the both of you downstairs.

“It must, indubitably, be the fine gentlemen,” declared Charlotte. “How could it not?”

But, upon opening the doors, it was indubitably not the fine gentlemen.

Your aunt—Lady Annesley; not to be mistaken as the mother of the girls—was standing outside Blackwood Park. She was widowed six or seven years ago, you couldn’t exactly recall the date; and she resided in a quite grand abode, called the Grantley Hall. She appeared with an anxious look on her face; but after seeing you open the doors, she hurried herself inside with a jolly, merry laugh.

“Oh, girls! All three of you! I have such wonderful news, such wonderful news, indeed.” She kissed each and every one of you on the cheek, and gathered you all into a tight hug; because she was a touchy person like that, but also because she had not seen one of your faces since her temporary departure to Brighton.

“Oh, Lady Annesley!” exclaimed Helena. “Do tell us about your vacation and trip. Did you see any officers and soldiers there?”

“How about the views? Were the waters and beaches pristine?” Charlotte chipped in.

“Oh, yes!” Lady Annesley simultaneously laughed and nodded like a mad woman. “Yes, yes, yes! My word, it was absolutely lovely, and the weather was just extraordinary; I shall certainly take you all there one day, but . . . that is not important in the present time. You know, Helena, I did make some rather pleasant acquaintances with some Admirals and Lieutenants while at the seashore, and I’ve come with some extra company.”

You raised a brow, intrigued. “Are you to remarry?”

Gasps erupted from the lady and the blonde.

“Nonsense. Why, in heaven’s name, would I do that? No, no, the company is not that. You see, girls, the soldiers and officers that I had such a miraculous opportunity to befriend in Brighton have come back with me. Their military regiment is temporarily stationed here in Wadsworth! Can you believe that? When I was informed by Admiral Dawson, I was rendered speechless for a few minutes, you must know. But, ah, that is long forgotten now.

“There must be a ball hosted soon. It shall be at Grantley, I suppose, but a few arrangements will have to be taken care of before then.” Lady Annesley began to quietly murmur to herself afterwards, droning on about plans required to host a proper ball for so many residents of Wadsworth in addition to the many officers and soldiers.

The girls turned to face you with ecstatic expressions as your aunt fell into a subconscious silence.

“Isn’t this just a wonderful Tuesday morning?” asked Helena. “So many possibly unmarried men to gawk at and admire. How do you reckon, cousin, do you think men hardened by weather and work will be more handsome than gentlemen? I am quite curious, I must say.”

Charlotte answered for you. “I’m not even sure we would know. Here in Wadsworth, we’ve never seen any men of rank and occupation as of theirs, have we?”

The three of you shook your heads, shrugged, and wondered—any thought of the wealthy gentlemen was gone, and forgotten about, as Helena walked off to prepare a dress and fan for the ball, Charlotte stayed behind with Lady Annesley to speak about the scenery during her vacation, and you strode off to drink from your previously abandoned tea cup and continue eating the little French biscuits that the girls had brought along.

It was a pleasantly spent Tuesday morning, indeed. However, not much of the same could be said about the next.

You had not been an hour awake until your cousins had barged into your bedroom, and squealed and giggled as they jumped and danced around your room, exclaiming words and nonsense that your morning fog prevented understanding of.

“Oh, cousin! Do you not know? Today will perhaps be the most amazing night of our lives! Just picture it,” Helena began, pulling you out of bed and forcing you to dance with her, “a whole regiment of soldiers and officers will soon be filling Grantley Hall. The chances of any one of us being able to dance with them is highly likely, is it not? Oh! this is wonderful, wonderful, wonderful!”

“Helena, just—just wait a minute,” you said, pausing before Helena could waltz with you any more, “I have not even gotten dressed for breakfast. And the ball isn’t until evening. What are you and Charlotte so excited for? Many hours to come before the ‘most amazing night’ of our lives, you know.”

“Sister,” sighed Helena, as she turned to Charlotte, “you must certainly explain to our dearest cousin.”

Charlotte nodded. “Many hours to come are many hours to prepare. We must prepare our gowns, fans, bonnets, gloves. And, Helena, before I forget, what are we here for in the first place? to practice dancing, of course. Cousin, I’ll have you know, there is absolutely no chance I am letting you stay huddled at the pianoforte the whole night.

“Although your playing is much beloved, and appreciated, I am almost certain there will be others providing their services at the instrument. Whether you like it or not, I am forcing you to dance. If you do not waltz with any men, you will waltz with me or Helena or Lady Annesley.

“At your age of six and twenty, people worry you will end up celibate, you know.”

You hid a faint smile behind your hand. “Is this your way of looking out for me, then?”

The girls laughed, full of cheer.

Fortunately for the twins—who did not leave your side once throughout—both the morning and the afternoon had passed by with a considerable amount of speed. You three had acquired sufficient gowns for the coming evening, and had spent some time finishing up hair and obtaining jewelry and other essential cosmetics.

It had taken the strength and power of both the girls—with the additional help of Lady Annesley—to be able to force you out the doors of Blackwood Park, and consequently, shove you into the carriage parked outside. 

In all honesty, you weren’t in the particular mood to go to a ball, but when your aunt has her mind set on making acquaintances, she will not let go. She often said, Oh, dear niece, think of the men you can meet! or, So many handsome men of great fortunes, or, Rough, calloused, tall; is there anything better? and other similar sayings. It certainly did not help, at all, that Charlotte and Helena only encouraged your aunt.

A husband was never one of your top priorities; dying a single woman was not as unfortunate for you as it would be for other women. You had money, you had wealth, you had prosperity. Some people wed simply for gaining rank and title, carriages and clothes, and estates and property. But you had absolutely no need for any of that. And that’s why, as you walked into Grantley Hall—after what was perhaps the longest, most boring carriage ride of your life—you did not look to see who was handsome, or agreeable, or most rich. 

Instead, you looked for a chance to sit down, or, even, scurry away—from your companions, before they could force you to converse with some puny men, or rekindle your relationships with your many, many aunts and uncles.

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help your eye wandering about the property; and only then, did you notice just how many new people were in Wadsworth at this time of year. Just as your aunt had said; there were officers, soldiers, other members of militia, captains, and men of ranks you could not and did not care to recognize.

Although you weren’t as crazy as Helena and Charlotte—whom you assumed were probably in some corner, certainly already flirting with the single men they managed to find, and blushing and obsessing as wildly as lunatics—you also weren’t as prejudiced to say everyone was of absolutely terrible breeding. You saw some handsome faces, you saw some . . . not handsome faces, but, even with all this, you weren’t intrigued. No, not even in the slightest bit.

In an act of rebellion against your “kidnappers,” you were en route to the pianoforte, when you heard a voice call for you, and saw a figure stop in the middle of your way.

“Good evening, miss,” came the call—from an officer, you assumed. “Pardon my intrusion, for I am simply tempted to make an acquaintance with someone of such great countenance as yours. I almost mistook you for a princess, you know.”

He was tall, had long legs, and a fit figure. His hair was dark, and so were his eyes, which were sharp, and stared back at you with emotion you could not read. Of all men you had noticed, he was, as of late, the most handsome, and by far.

A hand was given; a kiss was placed on the back of the palm; and names were exchanged. You referred to him as Mr. Wright, and, after a few minutes spent in conversation, you deemed him a quite agreeable man, whose good breeding had gone not only into physical appearance, but also into his heart. Mr. Adam Wright had opinions similar to your own, was interested in writings you read, and preferred the entertainment of pianoforte, which you played quite often.

“How have you been liking Wadsworth, sir?” you asked, as the two of you began to make your ways to the instrument in the corner of the hall; Wright had requested to hear you play.

“Very much. Very much so, indeed. It is even more lovely than your aunt (remind me her name again, was it Lady Anne?) had previously said. I’m quite fond of the scenery, actually.”

“Oh, are you? You know, there are many paths to walk where you’ll be able to see breathtaking views, I must say. But, if you dislike walking, it’s safe to say that passing by the gardens and shrubbery of most homes is quite adequate enough.”

“No, no, there will be no need,” Wright said, shaking his head. “I find walking very enjoyable.”

You laughed. “What a coincidence; so do I!”

It was, about a second’s distance away, just before you were beginning to seat yourself at the pianoforte, that you felt another presence behind you. Thinking it was just a friend of Mr. Wright that was only planning on making conversation, you turned around with a smile already on your face, but you were met with the sight of none other than your aunt, Lady Annesley, who appeared buzzy, and a bit gone. Had people already begun to drink? you wondered.

“Dearest niece,” she started, placing a hand on your shoulder, “there are two very fine gentlemen I would like for you to meet. Come along now, child,” your aunt beckoned, but as she noticed the man standing to your right, she paused for a minute, laughed, and then continued, “you do not mind, sir? if I steal my niece away for just a moment? I assure you, there are many nice ladies in here that you can help yourself to.”

Lady Annesley waited not even a second to hear Mr. Wright’s response before she dragged you away to another part of Grantley Hall. You occasionally stumbled over your shoes due to your aunt’s unbalanced speed, and watched as the faces around you came and went in a blur whilst you traveled. Obviously, you knew prior, but you only fully realized how many people were in attendance when you caught the eyes of an old teacher—who, to be completely honest, you had not seen since last  Michaelmas.

“Right this way, my dear,” your aunt said, in a sing-song tone. “I am very eager, you know, for my darling niece to make such very acceptable acquaintances tonight. Not a chance nor a second shall be missed, and, if the gentlemen have not left and juked me, they should still be right . . . here.”

Lady Annesley had stopped so abruptly in her tracks at a corner of the room that you nearly collided with her back, but, fortunately, you did not. Your eyes lifted, and met the view of two very dashingly dressed gentlemen. Brothers, you assumed, who both had equally pink hair, and wore a pair of nearly complete opposite expressions on their faces.

The taller one—who you thought was the brother—had a fine countenance, a very fine countenance, indeed. His lips were pressed in a thin line, and truly brought out the essence of his character. He had sharp features, similarly to Mr. Adam Wright; his eyes were red as the rubies on his brooch, and he looked like the epitome of wealthy and expensive and elegant. His posture was composed, confident, and totally sure of himself; his hands were folded behind his back, and his eyebrows had a slight quirk in them as he, too, looked you over as you approached.

Your eyes then wandered over to the shorter brother, who stood to the right of the taller one. His face was a near replica of the prior, but his features were softened down, a little more dull, if you could even put it that way, and his smile was perhaps the most prominent feature on his face. The youthful countenance of his was on display, and you had no doubt that either Charlotte or Helena had already set their eyes on him. On the other hand, he looked young, very young—younger than you, perchance; an air of innocence was about his figure, and his eyes shone bright as day.

Sunshine, and thunder.

Oh! that is right; you knew these men, or, at least, you knew the taller one.

A corner of your lips tugged upwards as you made the remembrance. This—this man, this great, wealthy man; you had seen him last week! Certainly! He was one of the two gentlemen who rode on their steeds into town, and as of late, you had received no additional information about them except for the fact that they were of extraordinarily good breeding and admirable poise.

Your hand was offered, received and accepted, and was kissed in greeting. Introductions were quickly exchanged, and you happened to learn that the taller gentleman was called Sukuna Ryomen, whilst his (confirmed to be) brother was named Yuuji. To your great surprise, and due to your aunt’s nosiness, you found that the both of them were unmarried, single, and unengaged.

Originally, you had hoped that that would be the end of it, and your aunt would let you be. But, of course, the universe was not on your side this evening, and you were without the ability to leave and peacefully sit at your beloved pianoforte. Instead, you stood, in a corner of Grantley Hall—under numerous chandeliers—as you were forced to exert yourself for the sake of ‘acquainting’ your being with the two brothers, who, too, looked a bit unsettled by your aunt’s coercing to continue conversation.

“Pray,” you began, “is your current companion the same gentleman from when you first arrived?”

“My brother has hair similar to what is on my own head; my previous companion—a friend—has hair white as snow,” stated Mr. Ryomen, his tone declarative. “Have you no eyes, miss? I am quite sure you are capable of answering your own question.”

You could, obviously, make out that Yuuji was, in fact, not the same man from when Mr. Ryomen first arrived at the countryside; but, you were just simply making small talk. Was the country where the brothers came from so unaccustomed to that? you wondered.

“Have you no sociability, sir? I was not informed prior that simply making small conversation was so . . . unwanted by men like you.”

“What, in heaven’s name, is the meaning for this lack of cordiality, I dare ask? Bless me!” exclaimed your aunt, a look of astonishment on her face as she scolded the three of you. “We are all here to make acquaintances, are we not? Let’s shift to another topic. Pray tell, you are here for . . . ?”

“Vacation, miss,” the younger brother smiled. “We have some friends and family living in Wadsworth, but aside from that, Sukuna is also a landowner here—in addition to his other estates (he likes a change of scenery, every once in a while, I must add). I’ve heard how nice the weather is, and decided to visit, as well.”

“Oh, yes! Most certainly!” nodded Lady Annesley. “Wadsworth is a very common tourist countryside, you must know.”

“Is it?” asked the elder brother.

“Have you no ears, sir? That is what was just said; I am quite sure you are capable of answering your own question.”

“My, is that how the ladies around here speak?” quipped Sukuna, his voice velvety, and dripping with honey as he spoke. “—To gentlemen, as well? I may have overestimated your hospitality to newcomers, or, well, vacationers.”

“Excuse her,” your aunt interjected, nervously laughing, “she’s. . . She caught a cold from the recent rain, I’m afraid. Yes, of course, the rain. Isn’t that right?” Lady Annesley nudged you by the elbow. “It’s the rain, isn’t it?”

“. . .Indeed.”

Though your aunt occasionally gave you rebuking looks for your behavior, you had paid no effort in pretending to be engaged in conversation with the brothers. She had, with all her might, tried to erect as many topics and subjects worth speaking of as possible, but to no avail. Her spirits were deflated, and Lady Annesley had concluded that if you were going to marry one day, the chances of it being with Mr. Sukuna Ryomen were close to zero.

You two sent jeering comments and jokes towards each other as if your lives depended on it, and, in truth, you couldn’t count on either of your hands how many times you rolled your eyes. You found Mr. Ryomen to be a highly disagreeable man, and, if it weren’t for his indubitably large fortune and handsome countenance, you would probably call your aunt deranged for even suggesting you mingle with him. Yuuji, his brother, on the other hand, was much agreeable, and his views and prejudices were very reasonable. Of course, the same could not be said about Sukuna.

His interests were in going a-shooting, riding on his stallions, or taking vacations to his various abodes. Yes, he had multiple, and he had no humility to hide that fact; Sukuna’s pride would take up the whole of Wadsworth and more, if it had a physical form. Of course, he had reason to be full of pride: born rich, and would, eventually, die rich. Still, does it hurt so bad to be humble? You didn’t waste your breath asking that question; you knew, after all, that Sukuna had no experience in that department.

“Are you staying long—in Wadsworth?” you asked, looking only at the younger brother. Ignorance was a petty way of spiting someone, you had to admit, but it was childish, and Sukuna was as childish as a child could possibly be.

“Ah, that is the hope,” smiled Yuuji. “I may think of purchasing land here, you know.”

“Isn’t that just wonderful to hear? I would be delighted to have someone as agreeable as you for a neighbor,” you said. “Pray, does your brother live anywhere near Blackwood Park? I heard you mention him having property here, in Wadsworth.”

“I live five miles away from Blackwood,” Sukuna answered, instead, for Yuuji.

Your eyes shifted to meet red ones, and you moved your weight onto a different leg, whilst fanning yourself with your fan. “I do not recall asking you, sir.”

Sukuna scoffed. “Is it not sensible to answer on my own behalf?”

“Perhaps so. But, I find that nothing you do is sensible,” you laughed. “So, either way, there is really no difference.”

It would be a highly plausible assumption to make by saying that Mr. Ryomen Sukuna was pampered to no end as a child, and never denied any fundamentals or trivials. If that was truly the case, then, you could have sworn you saw an unrecognizable glint flash in his ruby eyes at the sound of your constant discourtesy. Unbeknownst to you, Sukuna had, in fact, been coddled as much as you had assumed. And, just hearing his name being so mercilessly abused was already enough to intrigue him. There was, in a sense, something so alluring and bewitching about your recklessness in conversation, that Sukuna couldn’t help but long for more of the hearing your insults.

Lady Annesley, on the other hand, was extremely disappointed at your behavior, and couldn’t find any reason—no matter searching—for your incredible disdain towards the eldest of the two gentlemen. Your ridiculous bickering and bantering would only serve in embarrassing your aunt’s reputation in Wadsworth, and that was far from what Lady Annesley dreamed of. The only thing she could thank God for was that you weren’t nearly as prejudiced towards Yuuji as you were to his brother.

“Pray, how about we all dance, yes?” your aunt proposed, in faux cheerful spirits. “Shall my niece partner with the younger gentleman?”

“Oh, I’m quite afraid that could not be made possible, miss,” said Yuuji, as he offered an apologetic expression. “My leg is in incredible pain, and I must—with much embarrassment—admit to my having fallen once while riding here. I may have chosen to travel on quite a rowdy stallion, but it is only myself that I have to blame.”

With a politeness you could never aim towards Sukuna, you offered up your condolences, and, with a smile, proposed that the two of you sat down whilst the other attendees danced to their heart’s content. (If it wasn’t obvious before, you were very desperate for any excuse to avoid dancing.) But, to your dismay, Yuuji had declined sitting down, and explained that he had a few other people he was interested in speaking with before the end of the night, and, with a well mannered farewell, bid the three of you adieu.

“Well, upon my word, your parents have done a good job raising that fellow,” added Lady Annesley, a sorry expression on her face as she watched the only other pacifist in your party walk away with an uneven gait, which further proved his excuse.

“Whether that was by the work of my parents, or a governess, or something unspoken, is debatable,” the pink-haired man remarked.

“Or, perhaps, he was merely born with the admirably civil heart he has now. That is quite rare, I must say, in this time, and among these people.” You directed that last bit towards Sukuna, and it was probably pretty clear—seeing as red eyes met yours with just as much animosity soon after your little witty comment.

At first, you were merely treating Sukuna with the same omitted amount of respect he was giving you, but now, you found yourself starting to rather enjoy bullying him. It was pointless banter, after all, and you were almost certain Sukuna felt the same way. Although you felt a sense of dislike towards the man, you couldn’t help but be fond of the way he was, probably, the only other man you could banter with so lightly.

Your unconventional views and dislikes and interests often provoked strong emotion and irritation in most gentlemen, and you weren’t thought to be very agreeable. But, as for the pink-haired gentleman, he took your abusing words with little to no offense. There was the occasional annoyance displayed on his features: like a little furrow of the brow, or crinkle of the nose; but it was almost humorous—seeing as a small smile usually appeared soon after—as if he found your insults to be jokes.

After a pregnant pause, Sukuna broke the silence by saying, “Do you dance, madam?”

“Will you force me?”

“If it cannot be helped.”

You hadn’t actually thought to dance with a man like Sukuna, but upon hearing this concise exchange between her niece and hopefully future nephew-in-law, your aunt thought there was nothing better in the world than to usher the both of you to the center of Grantley Hall herself, and force you two to dance among the rest of the attendees. The orchestrated music was loud—loud enough so that little to no one could hear your protesting complaints, and Lady Annesley, smiling to herself at finally having succeeded in getting you to properly socialize, walked away in the direction of the drinks.

Looking at your aunt’s back as she walked away, you sighed; all your attempts at escaping had been fruitless, futile, and done in vain. For, whilst a pianoforte played in a ¾ time signature, you turned to face Sukuna with a sorrowful expression, but you were instead met with a contrasting smile.

“I have never danced with a lady like you before, miss,” he said, in a condescending tone, as he took your hesitant hands into his, and readied himself for a slow, smooth, elegant waltz.

Sukuna’s hands were calloused, rough, and large compared to your own; he was, certainly, a man. 

A warmth spread throughout your body as you made contact with his skin, and it was almost electrifying, like nothing you had ever felt before. It’s safe to say you were expecting something else, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

“You must not dance very often, then. I can assure you, with no doubt, that there is not much to put me aside from others.”

The two of you began to move at a languid speed, and soon caught up to the velocity of most other dancers, though, even in such a large and crowded space, you couldn’t help but feel as if it was just the two of you. The two of you dancing, the two of you talking; the two of you.

“I can name plenty of distinguishing aspects you have.”

“Is that so?” you asked.

“Indeed.”

“My, my, my, do enlighten me, Mr. Ryomen.”

“Do you mean it is not obvious?” he asked, looking into your eyes with intent.

You responded with the shaking of your head.

“Your eyes—somehow brighter than most. Your smile—infectious, even to someone such as I.” Sukuna’s words were spoken with the utmost sincerity, and you could tell, from his tone, that he meant every word he said; although it surprised you to be complimented by him, you couldn’t help the warmth that rose to your cheeks. “Your laughter—melodious to even the deaf. And you, yourself—I find you alluring.”

“. . .”

“Is your silence a sign of disbelief?”

In truth, you weren’t exactly familiar with hearing such a plethora of compliments, and, since it came from someone you could never expect it from, it made you all the more embarrassed.

“I beg your pardon, sir. You find me . . . alluring?”

“It shall be known, soon enough, that I am a man who thinks what he says. I do not say what I do not mean, miss.”

Through keeping your head down, you avoided meeting Sukuna’s eyes with all your might, but still, you could feel his penetrating gaze piercing holes through your face. Listening to the music in the background was a method you used in an attempt to calm your nerves, but all was fruitless in the end. If Sukuna had not the way of words he did now, his voice would certainly make up for it. Thick, sultry, velvety; it was absolutely ludicrous how bothered it made you, and you had to occasionally let out a cough to cover up the way you swallowed the frequent lumps in your throat.

After having settled in silence for a few counts of three, Sukuna smiled, laughing at your sudden shyness. “I have heard lots of great things about you, you must know.”

“Is—Is that so?”

“So it is,” he nodded, before continuing; “your aunt—Lady Annesley, was it?—had briefly spoken about you, in addition to her other nieces and nephews, when she first approached me and my brother.”

At this, you laughed, finally having built up the courage to meet Sukuna in the eyes. “I am concerned about what she might have had to say.”

“All good things, I assure you.”

You breathed out a sigh of relief you didn’t know you were holding, before continuing on in casual conversation. Your banter from earlier had grown severely scarce, and was evidently replaced with subtly flirtatious comments. All the while, you found yourself growing embarrassed more than ever, but over time, you had gradually worked up a familiarity towards the compliments, and felt rather at ease whilst simultaneously talking and dancing with Mr. Ryomen Sukuna—who appeared as cool and composed as per usual.

It was after the pianoforte’s playing had ended, that the crowd had disconnected from the partners, curtseyed and bowed to one another, and burst into applauds of plaudits. The room was lively, with its guests chatting and talking with delight at such a wonderful dance they had danced just moments prior. People took seconds to recollect themselves, by either grabbing glasses of water, or fanning themselves before the next waltz. You, on the other hand, had begun to make your way to the pianoforte, before you were stopped again (yes, again; why on earth was everyone so opposed to letting you play music nowadays?).

There was a nudge against the back of your elbow, and you turned around with much grace, just to be met with the same face from before.

“Could I trouble you for another round, miss?” came that velvety voice you loved so much.

It was Mr. Ryomen Sukuna, and he was with the objective of claiming yet another spot on your dance card this evening. How wonderful, just so, so very wonderful. . .

“. . .And just what type of round are we speaking of, sir?”

Sukuna’s countenance held the expression of mischief, and playful doing, as he leaned his face down closer to yours, till you couldn’t distinguish the line between your and his breath. “Whatever you’d prefer, my fair lady.”

As a smile made its way onto your face, Sukuna did just as he had done before: gathering your warm hands into his cold ones, and bringing the both of you into another waltz just as the euphonious music began again for a second time that evening. While you could never admit it aloud, as the hours passed by, you soon found yourself forgetting all about your beloved pianoforte—that could, as of late, be put off for maybe just a little longer.

***

“All we did was waltz—just like everybody else! What, in heaven’s name, is so unusual about that?”

Your cousins had called on you the next morning after the ball at Grantley, and waited not a second before asking—no, demanding—you to tell them about all that had happened whilst they were away and mingling. (Yes, you were, in fact, correct in assuming that the girls had been acquainting themselves with officers galore and other various gentlemen that same evening.) But, despite them having a most eventful evening themselves, they were, by far, more curious as to hearing about your experience.

“Yes, you waltzed,” Charlotte replied, exasperated, “we know that; we saw it! after all. But, but, but, not only did you waltz together, you waltzed together twice! Can you believe that, Helena? A wealthy—and, if I must say, handsome—gentleman claimed not one, but two spots on our very dear cousin’s dance card last evening!”

“It is oh-so wonderful!” cried Helena, absolutely overjoyed at the fact you were finally socializing for once. “But, do not forget, sister, that Mr. Ryomen Sukuna, the very man our dearest cousin danced with, also held her hands without gloves! Without gloves! Bless me! I find I shall faint if not cautious, you know.”

The girls gossiped and confabulated over yesterday’s events with much interest and engagement. They teased you, giggled at the way you waltzed with a man right after verbally abusing him, and accepted his hand twice. It seemed that they could not and would not let it go that you had danced with such a man last evening, and it seemed the only way you could get them to leave their current attentions was to mention their events and who they danced with—to which, they were most delighted to answer you.

“Shall we tell her, Lottie?” exclaimed Helena, eager to reminisce about the ball she had. “Shall we tell her?”

“Of course, of course!”

And so, with that, the minds of the girls had been successfully veered over to the subject of other men. Helena recalled chatting with several young officers, all who were, as she said, “charming, and effectively handsome, but they were, unfortunately, as taciturn as to make people assume them mute.” Helena complained about how she could only get acquainted with most officers if she was the one who spoke up first; which, in her eyes, was terribly unacceptable.

Charlotte, on the other hand, was not as extroverted as her twin sister, though, she was pretty enough so that people approached her before she had to open her mouth to anyone. She had made acquaintances with “very fine gentlemen, very fine and intellectual gentlemen, indeed,” and laughed and chatted about poetry and philosophy almost all night long. She geeked out on her favorite authors and thinkers, and her interlocutors reciprocated with their own. It was a most enjoyable night for her—seeing as most people of Wadsworth did not find such topics in conversations as pleasant as Charlotte did.

“Did you know, cousin,” began the blonde, “that such an abundance of officers read poetry?”

“Nay, I did not, but go on.”

And go on, she did. Whenever Charlotte spoke of writing and literature, she rarely even took a breath to breathe. She was like that: always very passionate about her favorite subjects, and she was rarely able to notice if the people around her had started to bore or not—but, it mattered not; Charlotte wouldn’t have stopped talking anyway, unless, by a chance, she found herself getting thirsty. Yes, she got thirsty quite often, and you often joked (all in good nature, of course) that it was due to how much she talked.

The three of you had spent the entire morning gossiping over tea and biscuits, until a maid-servant had called you all for lunch, and you all burst into quite a harmoniously-sounding fit of laughter at the realization that, throughout your chitter chatter, you had finished neither one cup of tea, nor one plate of pastries. It was a pleasantly spent morning, indeed.

That week passed by with much ease, and the next one passed by similarly. There was even one day, where, you had been met with the fortunate coincidence of crossing paths with none other than Mr. Adam Wright whilst on your daily walk outside of Blackwood Park.

“Good day, miss,” he began, in a smooth voice, “how do you do?”

“Oh! bless me; you had me startled there—for a minute, Mr. Wright. But, I am very well; I thank you.”

“I beg your finest pardon, madam,” replied he, before bowing his head ever so slightly. “I did not mean to alarm you.”

You waved your hand around in a dismissing manner. “And, to what do I owe the honor of running into you today, sir?”

“Ah, I was just admiring the views you were telling me about. You know, when we were chatting about nature and shrubbery? Yes, well, I find your suggestions to be very credible, for this is quite the place you have here, miss.”

“Thank you, Mr. Wright, very generous of you to say so.” You smiled.

“No need to thank me, I am sure you receive compliments on your home thousands upon thousands of times each day. Pray, how many acres is Blackwood Park?”

“I would assume a little above three thousand.”

“Is that so?”

“So it is,” you said, smiling. “Why the face? Do not you believe me?” you joked, seemingly in a playful mood this morning.

“I ought to walk with you around the park in order to further prove your answer.”

As you two linked arms, and began to walk around the park, surrounded by bushes and trimmed shrubbery under the shade-providing trees, you wondered if this was Mr. Wright’s attempt at flirting, or getting to know you. But, either way, you kept a smile on your face and walked, explaining the paths and routes and terrain as you did so.

“Do you walk often, miss?”

“I believe I told you that I did—at Grantley. Or have you already forgotten? I didn’t know you paid so little to a supposed princess’s words, sir.”

Mr. Wright laughed. “It was an assumption, I explained. If you shall continue to tease me on that subject, I may become humiliated, you know.”

“What if that’s my goal?”

“Then, I suppose, the ladies here in Wadsworth must be very cruel.”

The both of you turned a corner, walking a new veered path as the sun bathed you in light. You were just about to reposition your parasol to shield yourself from the blinding radiance, when, out of the blue, a hand came up to cover your eyes from above; it was discovered to be Mr. Adam Wright’s.

“Oh!” you exclaimed, heat rising to your cheeks. “I thank you, sir.”

“It is not a problem,” began the officer; “you repay me by showing me the very nice landscaping here, after all.”

“. . .Ah, I see.”

In truth, you had not been in hopes of being joined in your walk this autumn morning, and you usually preferred solitude in times like these, but, alas, you had been joined by an officer, and were now to show him the ways around Blackwood Park and the rest of Wadsworth. You would be lying if you said it didn’t bother you in the slightest. . .

The both of you walked and talked: admiring the beautiful river of Northwick, crossing the bridge above said river, speaking of the chestnuts that had fallen from deciduous trees, and laughing about the squirrels above; all of this up until lunchtime, when you two departed—you, who had arrived at Stratford House to exchange your calling card with Charlotte and Helena, and Mr. Adam Wright, who had the objective of going forth to the shops.

Upon entering Stratford, you were greeted by the sight of two very excited twins.

“Oh, cousin! You’re here!” cried Helena. “We were waiting for your call, you know.”

“Hm, well, isn’t that lovely? What were you waiting for, exactly?”

“I’m not surprised you weren’t informed as of late; it was very last minute,” began Charlotte, “but, we were invited to Kendall Manor, actually. All three of us!” The blonde gestured to you, herself, and her sister.

“Kendall?” you repeated, raising your eyebrows. “Well, color me intrigued, then.”

Kendall Manor was a very envied spot in Wadsworth. With many beautiful arts there, it was a very famous spot for tourists to visit; you had even been there once or twice, whilst paying respects to its multitude of pianofortes and large collection of literature. Outside, it had high walls, lakes, an abundance of land, and various fountains throughout. The estate was known, but, in contrast, its owner was not.

For as long as you had lived, the possessor of Kendall Manor had never been present in Wadsworth. Not much information was of him, whoever he was, but the one piece of knowledge regarding him, was that he was alive and well. Maybe in a neighboring country, maybe somewhere else, no one knew where, but everyone knew he was there. It worked out, though; if so many people were visiting and entering Kendall Manor each day, surely the owner would be bothered, but in this case, that didn’t matter; the owner wasn’t even there!

“Come, lovie,” began Charlotte, as she ushered you upstairs to a changing room; “we must make haste! The chaise and four have already been called for, and not a second can be of waste.”

You had been dressed, your hair done, and your face painted, before you were, again, shoved into a carriage and driven off to Kendall Manor. It happened incredibly quickly, and gave you whiplash all the while.

“Do you two happen to know who specifically invited us lot?” you asked. “I wasn’t familiar with the fact that the owner of Kendall Manor was in the country; was it the doing of a servant? Or was the manor let?”

“Dear cousin, you worry too much,” laughed Helena. “We should instead rejoice at the opportunity of another party; we are bound to have a ball, after all. Why does the host matter?”

You grumbled, and sat silent for the rest of the ride. It was strange; why now? Why did the owner of Kendall decide to come home now? And, why on earth did he invite you and the girls? As far as you were concerned, you had no acquaintance with him, whoever he was, and neither did your family or any other relations you had.

Whilst basking in your confusion and wonder, the horses had come to a stop outside of a quite magnificent abode, and you instantly knew that this was Kendall Manor. Four or five thousand acres of land, under the blazing sun. Beautiful, vast, and plagued with mystery.

The three of you were taken up the stairs, and led inside by a valet, where you were greeted with the even more surprising sight of the rest of your family: some aunts and uncles, Lady Annesley, and others you did not care to name. If that wasn’t enough to make your jaw drop, you noticed half (if not all) of Wadsworth residents and even a few familiar faces of officers from the regiment temporarily stationed in the countryside; but, try as you might, your eyes could not set upon the countenance of Mr. Adam Wright—who was, probably, out at the shops, and alone.

What was this? Why was everyone here?

“Forgive my lack of planning prior,” began a velvety voice you knew well; and when you turned to the sound of that voice, you were met with the face of Mr. Ryomen Sukuna, standing next to his brother. “Welcome, all, to Kendall Manor.”

It was quickly explained that this was a party, in celebration of Mr. Ryomen, who had finally returned to his home country of Wadsworth, and was planning on staying for longer than he had been gone. He wanted to make acquaintances with all the people he would’ve known had he been here instead of at all his other estates and properties.

The guests were introduced to a large variety of pastries and biscuits and drinks and other desserts from the other counties Sukuna had been staying at previously. People asked him about what his other homes were like: if they were much different from Kendall of Wadsworth, and he—with his usual disagreeableness—did not even try to act humble as he described his very prosperous and fortunate self.

There were many ladies of Wadsworth that were single, and none of them wasted any chance in practically throwing themselves at the owner of the manor. In addition, Charlotte and Helena, once standing beside you, were now off and talking with a number of officers, having a very pleasant afternoon themselves.

You, on the other hand, were not much interested in speaking about subjects such as these, and, accompanied by very few people, walked into a nearby drawing room. Though you were not much of a card-player yourself, it was, perhaps, the only source of entertainment you could find within the walls of Kendall (except for playing pianoforte, which the girls forbade you). A table for Whist was set up, and a party of four, including yourself, began to play.

For a few rounds, you thought you had found peace, but no, a thunderstorm had soon followed you all the way into the drawing room. Mr. Ryomen had come, and was accompanied by the other guests, who were all flocking to him like birds.

“Shall we all play a game for more of us?” began the pink-haired gentleman. He was clearly doing this on purpose; his face told you all you needed to know: he was disturbing your peace and quiet for the simple motive of being a bother.

Of course, no one could refuse the host of such a grand party, and a much larger game table was soon set up, so that many could sit down and gamble. You had the unfortunate fate of being seated between the host, and Lady Annesley; and, although you were near at least one good relative, your aunt paid minimal attention to you, for she was seated beside Admiral Dawson, whom she was grossly engaged in conversation with.

Throughout the betting game, either your or Sukuna’s seat had been gradually inching closer to the other’s, to the point your shoulders were practically touching, and so were your elbows, which occasionally bumped together, causing the both of you to mutter curses or complaints.

“Why don’t you move nearer to your brother, sir? I am sure it would be much appreciated,” you jeered, obviously fed up with the amount of hits you were receiving.

“Careful there, miss. Lying too much can be detrimental.”

“‘Lying’? Oh, please. There is no truth in my saying ‘I enjoy sitting beside you’.”

“Of course,” laughed Sukuna, in a mocking tone. “Of course, Miss Untouchable. How could I forget? you just have a problem with everyone these days.”

“. . .”

“I wasn’t at all aware, you know, that such a disagreeable woman like you existed. Though, I can’t say it was unexpected; your countenance gives quite a fair hint to everyone when looking at you.”

You rolled your eyes. “I am sure the absolute same could be said about you, sir.”

“What a coincidence!” teased Sukuna. “I was beginning to think we had nothing in common.”

Narrowing your eyes, you stabbed the heel of your shoe onto Sukuna’s, but he let out neither a curse nor a groan of pain.

Instead, Sukuna rested his arm on the back of your chair with an overwhelming grip as he leaned his face closer to yours; and you could’ve sworn you could see the red of his eyes swirling together in a mix, as if a tornado. The tips of your noses were only centimeters apart, and you couldn’t draw a line between where your breath ended and where his started even if you had to.

Your eyes met with equal resentment and agitation, as if there was a mutual message being sent from merely your locked gazes alone, but then, to your surprise, his stare drifted up to your hat.

“Various shades of blue and green, with gold as an accent,” he noted, in a slurred tone, almost as if he was drunk.

“Well, yes. Have you never seen a peacock feather?”

“Two of which are both colors on the cooler side of the color spectrum,” he continued, paying no mind to your words; “but, I must say, red would suit you much better, my darling.”

Your eyes widened at the sound of this, and your gaze fell to your fidgety hands in your laps. Still, you wasted no time in quipping, “I have no doubt I would wear the color much better than you, Mr. Ryomen Sukuna.”

“I can imagine that, but I would rather see it with my own eyes,” he said, eyes trailing back down to your lips.

“. . .”

The hand that was previously draped over the back of your chair slowly but surely made its way down, until it was draped over your hip, gripping and kneading the flesh there. Your breath caught in your throat, and you turned to face Sukuna with an incredulous expression. You mouthed the words What on earth are you doing? To which, the pink-haired man only responded with Nothing you wouldn’t want, my lady.

In order for the hand on your hip to not be visible, you had to scoot your chair as far away from Lady Annesley as you could, and press your body as close to Sukuna’s as you could possibly venture. The rest of the drawing room remained boisterous, and completely oblivious to the scandalous act you had going on with the party’s host.

As his hand lowered down to the ends of your dress, and his fingers crept up your skirt, your cheeks warmed to an extreme extent, and you tugged on Sukuna’s sleeve, desperate for something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. This was utterly humiliating! you thought. What was the meaning for this? And in the middle of a party?

His hands felt cold, and you frequently shivered as they moved at a dreadfully slow speed up your legs, before settling in between your thighs. If your face wasn’t as red as a tomato before, it surely was now. For, you had originally thought that clamping your thighs together would be the perfect plan to get Sukuna to stop his movements, but no, it made everything altogether worse. By a thousand degrees.

His hand was stuck between your thighs, and, like the bastard he was, Mr. Ryomen Sukuna thought it would be such a fun thing to move your panties aside, and put pressure on your clit, which, consequently, resulted in you having to cover your mouth with your fan, to hide and shield the whimpers that came soon after.

“Nnghh.”

His fingers then removed themselves, to which you gasped in relief, but before you could utter another word, you were interrupted by his fingers entering you once more, in a quite diligent fashion. They curled and twisted, and reached deep inside of you, but alas, you could do nothing but writhe; you couldn’t bear this predicament you had gotten yourself into being exposed to the rest of the party guests, and you couldn’t—without feeling shame—let it be known that the feeling of Sukuna’s fingers was rather pleasurable.

Your whole body’s temperature rose, and you couldn’t help the moans that left your lips. This feeling was so . . . strange; you had never felt anything like this before. So overwhelming with both pain and pleasure, and incredibly scandalous. If anyone were to find out what you were doing—never mind, you need not know.

Sukuna’s lips ghosted the shell of your ear, before whispering, “Don’t fight it.”

One finger, then two, and now three.

“F-Fight what?” you managed, between whimpers. “What are you doing?”

With your thighs still clamped together and squeezing around his hand, the pleasure of Sukuna’s fingers moving within you was highly intensified, and your expression twisted into one of embarrassing lewdness. The suddenly appeared knot in your stomach had tightened, and you had soon reached your peak only moments later, your release clinging to Sukuna’s fingers, which were still deep inside of you.

“Hahh, Sukunngh,” you moaned, eyes squeezing shut as you hid your face from other guests behind your fan.

Just as you were recovering from your body’s physical reaction and occasional jolts, Sukuna’s voice suddenly sounded in the room, and everyone and their mother turned to face him, completely unbeknownst to the fact that his hand was still in between your legs.

You didn’t hear much of what he said—your head still swimming, and your self dazed—but you managed to make out a few words, where Sukuna had explained that there were numerous hallways in Kendall that were filled from top to bottom with many famous and beautiful paintings and other art works. The guests were unsurprised by this knowledge, but nonetheless, they were greatly intrigued, and as a valet of Sukuna’s led the party out of the drawing room, Sukuna sat back down (after making sure everyone had exited) and turned to you with a smug expression—never once removing his fingers from deep within you.

“Sukuna,” you mewled, nearly going crazy at the realization that the man would probably never run out of stamina to finger you, “what are you doing?”

Whilst grinning like a mad man, Sukuna pulled you onto his lap within the blink of an eye, which resulted in your back being flush with his hard chest. Beyond shocked, you gasped, but before you could get out another word, you felt the tickling sensation of lips dragging down your clavicle and shoulders, peppering kisses on several moles and freckles you had there.

There was a growing warmth in your core, and though you writhed and wriggled in his grasps, you couldn’t help but (after a few moments) finally succumb to his touches and caresses. A sigh left your lips, and you leaned back against the body behind you.

“Sukuna, I—ahh, w-why?”

Just as you were beginning to relax, Sukuna removed his hand from between your legs and, with the assistance of his other hand, pulled the top of your dress down, leaving the bare skin of your chest revealed to the empty drawing room and cool air. 

“You’re so beautiful, my lady,” he slurred, eyes glued to your exposed tits.

Without wasting a moment, Sukuna began to pull and twist and press at your nipples, which were beginning to harden at his assaults. Your back arched, and you let out an embarrassingly loud moan at the unfamiliar feeling of pleasure. This was totally erotic! you thought, though you did nothing to stop it. As your nipples were carelessly toyed with to Sukuna’s content, your body twisted and squirmed all the while, but to no avail.

As if a child playing with a new toy for the first time, Sukuna squeezed and squeezed at the wholes of your tits, admiring the way your buds pebbled at the attention they were receiving. Your legs kicked at nothing, and you thrashed around wildly; and, if things couldn’t get more lewd, you felt the sensation of a warm, wet tongue lick a stripe up your neck.

Pornographic moans, whimpers, and cries filled the empty drawing room, and you couldn’t even imagine the looks on people’s faces if they returned from the gallery early.

“Nnghh! Ah—ah—ahh! Sukuna!” You panted, delirious.

“Mmm, that’s it, sweetheart,” said Sukuna, as he kissed and nipped at your throat. “Don’t hold back; just let out all your cute little noises for me.”

The hands which groped at your breast soon paused in their assaults, and as you began to catch your breath, you felt them gradually slide down the curves of your body, all the way to your thighs, where they hiked up the material of your skirt, pulling it up to your stomach, which left your panties and dignity exposed.

“. . .Sukuna?” You blinked.

“Ha! You’ve become so wet just from my hands alone, that I think it would be no trouble at all for you to take my cock right about . . . now.”

“What—oh! Mmph!”

Apparently, Mr. Ryomen Sukuna had a major problem with cutting people off, because, just as you were about to ask what he very well meant by that, your hips were tightly gripped onto, your body was raised, and you cried out as you were soon slammed back down onto Sukuna’s cock. All the words in your throat had been swallowed, and your brain turned to mush as you felt so utterly full from his girth and length alone; it was so . . . big. You had never done anything as insane as this, and as moans and cries left your lips left and right, you couldn’t distinguish whether you felt more pain or pleasure.

Your eyes fluttered shut, and your face twisted into that of incredible lewdness; your hands gripped onto Sukuna’s biceps, and your nails dug into his muscles, surely leaving crescent-shaped marks in the way.

“Shit, gorgeous,” he groaned. “You’re so tight. Ever been fucked before?”

“Nnghh, n-no. . . No!”

“That’s. . . Fuck. You mean I’m the first one to touch you like this?”

Sukuna gripped and groped onto your tits as he spoke, before raising up your hips and slamming them back down just like before. One second, you were empty, the next, you were so impossibly full, and then so on and so forth. As Sukuna repeated this for God knows how long, you nearly passed out from the overwhelming pleasure you felt everywhere. From the calloused hands on your hips, to the length of his cock sliding in and out and up and down your walls, to the warm breath fanning your ear. It was all so much.

You had never known pleasure like this before, and you wondered if this was but a dream.

As you rolled your hips, trying desperately for more friction, you were stopped by the feeling of two hands gripping onto the meat of your hips with a strength that was sure to result in bruising the next morrow.

“Why do you move, darling?” Sukuna leaned down to whisper in your ear, and a shiver ran down your spine. “I’ve got you right where I want you.”

Whilst you bounced sensuously on his lap, Sukuna didn’t show an ounce of shame as he stared with incredible lust at the sight of your tits bouncing up and down. The tip of his cock penetrated you in places you didn’t even know existed until now, and you couldn’t help the plethora of moans that left your lips. 

Just as before, the knot in your stomach tightened to an unbearable height, and with one last rough thrust, you came right on Sukuna’s cock; your bodily fluids dripping down his shaft and leaving a sticky feeling between your thighs as they dried.

“So?” began Sukuna, bringing you out of your dazed state.

In confusion, your brows knitted together. “I—I beg your pardon?”

“How was it?”

“How was . . . what?”

You could hear Sukuna scoff from behind you. “Are you that dense, my dear lady? Or have you already forgotten what we have—mind you—just done?”

“. . .I’m afraid my memory is not as sufficient as one’s might be,” you teased, despite yourself.

The corner of Sukuna’s lip quirked upwards, into a grin, as a mischievous expression made its way onto his face. “Shall we refresh your memory, then?”

“How so?”

With his cock still buried deep inside of you to the hilt, Sukuna stood up and moved your bodies in tandem until he was able to lay the top half of your body on the drawing room’s table. Your bare tits pressed up against the rough wood, and you groaned in relief as you laid the side of your face down.

Unfortunately (or fortunately) for you, Sukuna had no even the slightest idea of relaxing on his mind, and as the lids of your eyes began to droop, Sukuna woke you straight up with a hard thrust inside your cunt, which slightly shook the table and resulted in a rather unpleasant sound reverberating throughout the living space.

This, completely, caught you off guard, and the scream that left your throat was to be expected. “Ahh! I—hahh.”

Your back arched, your hair was pulled towards Sukuna, your neck soon began to ache; you saw stars as Sukuna continued his thrusts from before with more (if not the same amount of) force, and you wondered if the walls were thin enough for servants or party guests to hear you from all the way down the hall.

Maybe it was ridiculous, maybe it was not, but as Sukuna’s cock continued to fill you to the hilt, you could’ve sworn you felt him in your guts. Callings of his name, moans of gibberish, and et cetera, left your lips as if in a prayer to God. You panted, you gasped, and your breath got caught in your throat as the table rocked beneath your and Sukuna’s weight.

If not for his stable grip on your hips, you would’ve fallen and crashed to the floor from how your knees buckled and turned to seemingly nothingness.

“Has your memory been refreshed, my lady?” began Sukuna, in a jeering tone.

“I—nnghh, not . . . not quite.” Though you were barley conscious at this point, and pleasure nearly consumed your whole being, you couldn’t help but joke. However, as the speed and force of Sukuna’s thrusts began to increase, you soon found yourself thinking how foolish it was to joke in such a predicament.

“Yeah? How about now?”

Both hands on your hips had left, and instead found their way to your tits, where they groped and squeezed to Sukuna’s liking.

This may have been your breaking point; and as your back arched and the volume of your lewd cries increased, you found yourself grinding your ass back against Sukuna’s crotch. The extra friction brought you over the edge, and you moaned and moaned like a bitch in heat as you came once more.

You didn’t remember much of what came after that (A/N: pun intended), but you knew you had somehow managed to dress yourself and fix your disheveled appearance right as soon as half of the party returned to the drawing room. Whilst the guests drank in the sight of you, Sukuna, on the other hand, had fixed his pants, and casually seated himself on his chair.

“Oh, my niece,” exclaimed a bewildered Lady Annesley, “you are already here.”

You stopped like a deer in front of a carriage driver’s torch, and stuttered as you struggled for an answer. “Yes, I—I quickly lost interest while looking at the artwork, and decided to return here to play another game of cards.”

“So you say? Well, upon my word, what card game did you play that resulted in your countenance to glow so pleasantly as it does now?”

For a second, you had thought your aunt had somehow discovered what you and Mr. Ryomen Sukuna were getting up to whilst alone in the drawing room, but after a moment’s silence, you quickly realized she was being genuine, and, like her usual chaotic-self, was simply wondering about a possible new skincare routine. At this newfound conclusion, you let out a sigh of relief, and continued in conversation for the remaining duration of the party at Kendall.

However, at the back of your mind remained the still recent memory of what it was like to have your brains fucked out by none other than Mr. Ryomen Sukuna, who, whilst he pretended to linger around your being while you chatted with relatives, occasionally trailed a playful finger up your spine, which always resulted in your breath being caught in your throat, as you feared he would do something similar to what he did before the guests had left.

***

It was late—well into the evening, really—when a messenger on his horse had come by with mail in his inventory.

A fortnight had passed since that . . . incident in Kendall Manor’s drawing room, and you had been avoiding Sukuna ever since. You feared that if you did otherwise, you would begin to develop an unhealthy relationship with his cock, which, even after fourteen days, you had not forgotten the feeling of. It was strange, to say the least. At first, you had thought Sukuna to be a very disagreeable man, a very disagreeable man, indeed; but now, he was . . . well, no, he was the same, but his dick, on the other hand, was much more agreeable.

You had never thought yourself to be one to have sexual intercourse before marriage, but maybe there could be an exception for someone like Mr. Ryomen Sukuna.

Sometimes, you laid awake at night, at times past the Devil’s hour, you assumed, and tossed and turned and tried to replicate how Sukuna’s fingers felt, how his mouth made you feel, how full his cock made you, but to no avail. You would, eventually, scream into your pillow out of frustration, and pass out from exhaustion.

Damn him. Damn him and his whole entire lineage.

Who was he to make you feel this way, huh? Who was he to come waltzing into Wadsworth with his expensive little steed and expensive fucking clothes, and leave you high and dry? Who was he to spoil you for your future spouse? He had no right, absolutely none.

And so, when a messenger and his horse came to the doors of Blackwood Park, you could probably imagine the distress and anxiety you had suffered. All the color had been drained from your face, for you wondered if a letter had come from Mr. Ryomen Sukuna himself; your mother and your father had even noticed how pale you had gotten, and, in their worry, asked you how you felt, to which you replied with a short answer, but it contained everything but the truth.

Upon reading the label, you found the manilla paper to be addressed to none other than you. Even more horrified, you searched frantically for a name, and after reading the words Mr. Adam Wright, you seemed to calm down by a few degrees.

“Open it, cousin! Open it!” cried Helena; for the girls had been at Blackwood since sundown, and were planning on sleeping over, which was, actually, pretty common between the three of you.

“Shall I have no privacy even in my own home?” you joked.

The girls laughed, before exiting your room and running downstairs.

With a sigh, and a tired groan, you began to unravel the letter.

To your astonishment, it was almost four pages! Four pages, filled from top to bottom with a confession of . . . love‽ Love—from Mr. Adam Wright? What, in heaven’s name, could’ve produced such a feeling as this? you wondered. Sure, maybe you had flirted with the officer a few times, but it was only minor incidents, and you had done them with the imagination that nothing could come of it. But no, you couldn’t have been more wrong.

Mr. Adam Wright was in love with you.

In his letter, he frequently quoted phrases from your favorite books and epics, but none of them seemed to affect you more than with distraught and horror. He confessed he was too much of a coward to profess his love in person, and, in addition, claimed he could not say all that he felt for you, for he felt too much to say, and writing it down was as close as he could get to letting everything out.

He was in love with your laugh, your smile, your mind, and your soul.

“I have never conversed with a lady quite as charming as you, miss. Your character is incredibly suitable to my likes and my dislikes, and I find, if I had never met you, I would have never met the love of my life. You bewitch me, physically and mentally.”

You had to admit, he was quite poetic when it came to writing a confession of love and admiration, but it pained you more than it flattered you, for, you did not feel even an ounce of the same feeling. Guilt and regret plagued your mind as you read through the seemingly never-ending paragraphs, and yet, you could not and would not accept that someone such as Mr. Adam Wright was in love with you.

It seemed . . . preposterous.

You had never thought of him in that way whatsoever. Well, he was handsome, and he was smart and quite the agreeable man, but he wasn’t what you wanted. There had to be someone out there that would reciprocate his feelings, but it wouldn’t be you. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever.

After reading the letter maybe three times (just to make sure your eyes weren’t deceiving you), you sat down for a moment of silence, before opening your door and calling for the girls. Upon their entering, you immediately explained the contents of the letter, and, with a very desperate tone of voice, pleaded for any advice they could give.

“Well, this is. . . I’m quite appalled, dear cousin,” began Charlotte; “but, just to be clear, you do not feel the same way?”

“I’m not sure I would be asking for advice if I did.” You laughed, trying to cope with humor.

“I, for one, think you should send a letter back,” suggested Helena.

“. . .You know, I would do that, actually, but, the thing is, Wright wants to see me.”

Both of the sisters asked what you meant by that.

“In his letter, towards the end of it, I am sure, he asks to see me, near Northwick. I assume he means he wants to propose on the bridge; we walked there once, you see.”

“And you did not think to tell us until now?” cried Helena.

You raised your hands in defense. “Hey, I didn’t think much of it.”

“This is quite the predicament you’ve gotten yourself into,” declared Charlotte.

And this was quite the predicament, indeed. The next morning, a little after breakfast, you had begun to walk to Northwick. And, upon reaching sight of the bridge, you had found that Mr. Adam Wright was already there. He looked confident, he looked sure, he looked sharp; which just made you twice as guilty.

Before arriving, you had assured yourself everything was going to be just dandy; you would get it over with as quick as possible, and then attend the play you had been invited to by a couple of friends. The proposal of Mr. Adam Wright would be soon forgotten about, and you would sing and dance and be merry for the rest of the day.

“My lady, how do you do?” Wright was always quick when it came to greeting you. “I assume you’ve received my letter?”

“I am quite fine this morning, sir; and yes.”

“Have you any response?”

You nodded, before saying, “I am . . . rather flattered to receive a proposal from such a man as you, Mr. Adam Wright, but I am afraid I cannot give you my hand in marriage.”

You had consequently explained your reasoning, and how you did not reciprocate any romantic feelings such as love towards Mr. Wright, who accepted your words with a very solemn expression. That was a nice quality of his: to be able to accept rejection, and you even noted how you thought he was a very agreeable man, who was sure to find a wife sooner or later.

“There are many balls that occur in Wadsworth, with many women who attend, but, if that fails, an itinerant profession such as yours indubitably has the aspects to acquire a spouse within a lifetime—yes, I am sure.”

“I see you do not accept my proposal, then; very well. Good morning, miss.”

With the tipping of his hat, and a very quick farewell, the two of you parted ways.

A few hours had come by after your declination, and you soon found yourself standing outside of Grantley Hall with Charlotte and Helena, Lady Annesley, a few other relatives and friends, and Mr. Ryomen Sukuna and his brother. You hadn’t expected to see either of them any time soon, but maybe your aunt was just very sociable, and considered them to be friends.

Upon noticing Sukuna’s face amongst the crowd, you immediately ducked away, and subtly hid yourself behind your aunt, who was taller and broader than you, and could serve as a pseudo-shield, but of course, your efforts were noticed and fruitless, in the end.

Sukuna had caught sight of your figure, and made eye contact with you for a relatively long time, before turning back to a conversation with his brother.

“Everyone seems to be here,” began your aunt, double-checking the party; “how about we begin our journey? The theater is quite far, I heard.”

And so, everyone had started to pile into a multitude of carriages and vehicles. Unfortunately, with such a large party as you were in, you obviously had the luck of being stuck with none other than the Devil himself—Mr. Ryomen Sukuna. There was no other room for you with anyone else you knew; you had received offers to switch seats, but due to your having taken a liking to rejecting people (A/N: this is a joke; please laugh), you had declined them all.

In consequence, you and Sukuna were forced to ride in a carriage—alone.

The cushions were small, and you were forced to acquire a seat right beside Sukuna. Your shoulders bumped occasionally, due to the jolts of the carriage and the bumpy road, but that was about it. You were neither squished nor totally uncomfortable. And, at first, it was quite pleasant, actually. Neither you nor Sukuna spoke much, due to your embarrassment, and his . . . indifference? so you had no reason to stutter or stumble over words. Well, that was, until Sukuna decided to bring up a certain someone into the conversation.

“It seems you have taken quite the partiality towards Wright,” he began; and you could practically feel his piercing stare burning holes through your head, but alas, you kept your eyes on the road, and avoided eye contact—which was beginning to prove to be quite the challenge.

“We are acquaintances.”

“Just acquaintances?”

You sighed. “It depends on how you define the word ‘acquaintance,’ I suppose.”

“You know, my lady, I have heard quite a rumor this morning—regarding you and that officer.”

You froze, an infinite amount of ideas popping into your head, before snapping your neck to meet Sukuna’s much amused ones. “Pray, have you any idea how rude it is to bring up a subject without elaborating,? You, sir, ought to explain further.”

Sukuna, ignoring your words, cast his eyes downward, saying, “Show me your hand,” with as less emotion and as much authority as humanly possible.

Perhaps in an act of childish rebellion, you covered your gloved hands, and put them aside. “I do not see how that is of any relevance.”

“What a coincidence; I do.” Scoffing, Sukuna took your left hand into his, and held it up to his face, completely disregarding your protests and fruitless attempts at flailing around.

When he found what he wanted, he placed your hand down, and looked at your pout with a smug expression. “I take it you are not engaged, then?”

“I’ve no ring,” came your curt reply, before crossing your arms over your chest. You had initially hoped to fool him for even a bit longer, but Sukuna was more resourceful (forceful) than you could admit.

Sukuna laughed. “Miss Untouchable refused Mr. Adam Wright? What a spectacle that surely was. Say, the next time you reject a proposal, let me know prior so I can sit and watch.”

“When Hell freezes over, I will.”

Leaning over to peer into your eyes, Sukuna offered a shit-eating grin. “You can be so rude, my fair lady.”

Finally meeting his eyes at last, you couldn’t help the abusing words that soon left your lips. “You call me ‘rude,’ I hear? That is how you think of me? What about yourself, then, sir? Is the way you treat a lady such as I any different than ‘rude,’ I wonder?”

Sukuna grabbed your hips and dragged you onto his lap as you continued to berate and rip at him whilst he remained totally unfazed. He had become used to your character at this point, and your insults and scolding merely droned on in the background as his mind was set on other things.

“How else am I rude, madam?”

“When you—When you. . .” You paused, averting eye contact. “When you make me feel . . . this way.”

“And, pray tell,” began Sukuna, as he grabbed your chin and forced you to look in his eye, “what way do I make you feel?”

You chewed at your bottom lip, and out of frustration, could not form much to say.

When Sukuna noticed your hesitance, and your embarrassment, he decided to take matters into his own hands, and as a smile began to etch on his face, he lifted the ends of your dress, piling it at your waist, before beginning to trail his hands up your bare thighs at a teasingly unbearable speed.

At the familiar act, your breath caught in your throat, and you clawed at the lapels of Sukuna’s coat jacket.

Without stopping for even a beat, Sukuna’s cold, slender fingers made their way up your thighs, and began to ghost over the wetness that had formed at your entrance.

“My, my, my, don’t tell me, was it your anger at me that got you so wet, or was it my mere showing up today?”

“Neither, you bastard.”

As if possessed by an entity, (or maybe it was because you just couldn’t take it anymore), you grabbed Sukuna by the collar, and roughly—and clumsily—smashed his lips against yours. Almost immediately, his hands squeezed and groped at your ass, as he met your lips with an almost equally fervent kiss.

You had never done something so deliberately and scandalous before (except for that evening at Kendall, but that doesn’t count), and you almost wondered if you were doing everything wrong. But, seeing as you could feel a growing hardness beneath your bottom, you were soon assured of your quite capable abilities.

“Fuck, darling. Have you been waiting to do this?” he murmured, between kisses.

“Mm, yeah—in your dreams.”

Your bodies moved in sync, as if two puzzle pieces designed just for each other, and sounds of sensuous and sensual activity soon began to fill the carriage. Sukuna’s hands trailed down your ass as you kissed, and he didn’t waste any time before shoving your panties aside, and pushing one, then two, fingers in.

The unexpected action elicited a moan from your lips, and you tugged and pulled at Sukuna’s hair as if searching for leverage against the assault between your legs.

His fingers curled within you and moved at a speed that accelerated every second; the painful realization had soon hit you, that, God, you had truly missed this feeling. Slick dripped down your legs, and was, probably, staining the material of Sukuna’s pants, but it wasn’t like either one of you cared.

One of Sukuna’s hands gripped onto the flesh of your ass, while the other toyed with and fingered your dripping cunt; his lips moved against yours like an animal in heat, whilst your arms had been thrown and looped around his neck. The carriage shook and wobbled as it traversed the uneven roads, and that pushed you even closer to Sukuna, leaving you in quite the scandalous position—with your tits pressed up against his chest, your hands tangled in his unruly hair, and his mouth on yours.

It was a missed feeling—the salty taste of his lips—and when the both of you parted, for the inconvenient sake of catching your breaths, Sukuna moved the hand on your ass to shove the top of your dress down to your waist, leaving you nearly bare: in all your glory—just for him.

His eyes roamed your body like a predator admiring prey, and while you leaned your front against him, Sukuna leaned his head down, to your shoulders, to kiss at and suck at all the exposed skin he could reach.

It was incredibly lewd—the sounds you released, and you couldn’t even fathom how the others would react if they saw you: you and Sukuna, doing whatever the hell it was that you two were doing at the moment.

As your volume increased, so did the speed and velocity of his fingers. There was a warm feeling at your core, and you soon found yourself releasing all over his hand—still deep within your cunt—as pornographic moans and cries and mewls escaped your throat.

“Nnghh! Hah, mphh, Sukuna . . . Sukuna—Sukuna!” His name left your lips like a prayer, and you could only hope that the pearly gates would still open for you after this hell of a carriage ride.

“You are . . . inimitable, my love,” he purred, “and extremely, inhumanly bewitching. Fuck, do you think you’re wet enough to take it? I am afraid I cannot loiter any longer.”

It didn’t matter what you thought; you knew you were, and as Sukuna lifted your hips, before bringing them down right onto his cock—which filled you to the brim, and impossibly more than last time—you knew this carriage ride would probably be your last. At least, it would be your last carriage ride with him.

Your hips were raised, before they were repeatedly slammed back down with enough force to bring the both of you crashing down onto the seats; your tits bounced, whimpers left your parched throat, and you could barely hold onto Sukuna’s shoulders for balance and support as the carriage began to jolt and jerk uncontrollably, causing unbearably pleasurable friction.

Heaven’s sake, how bumpy was this road?—goddamnit.

In addition to the bouncing of the carriage, the hands and claws digging into your ass, the marks and bites being left on your chest, there was also the rough thrusts from Sukuna, which brought you nearly over the edge. Your eyes rolled back into your head as the tip of Sukuna’s cock could be felt penetrating all the way in your guts, and to add on to the smell of sex wafting through the humid air, the discordant melody of your moans certainly added a little bit pizzazz.

You wanted more, you needed more, you craved more.

Sukuna’s length and girth slid up the walls of your cunt, and you swore you could feel every pulsing vein of his cock as it moved and twitched. You were so unbearably full; you struggled to form full words, and most of them only contributed to unintelligible sentences meaning nothing.

“Ahh, nnghh, hahh, mmph.”

“What, don’t tell me little Miss Untouchable over here is suddenly feeling pleasure from some low-life bastard such as I,” laughed Sukuna, who, for some reason unbeknownst to you, still had some humor left in him even whilst he had fucked you into putty in his hands.

“I . . . nnghh, do you ever stop talking?”

Sukuna laughed, a husky, dark laugh, before bringing you in for the most zealous kiss you had ever kissed. Your lips collided, smacking against each other’s, and your hands clumsily roamed each other’s bodies, before one last jolt of the carriage had you feeling every inch of Sukuna’s length in the absolute right-est spot you could ever imagine, and as you moaned into the kiss, the knot in your stomach tightened just as before, and you almost felt like you were under drugs as you came. 

Sticky, hot, and warm.

Unbearable, highly bothersome, and completely insane.

You were filled to the brim with Sukuna’s seed just a moment later, and a string of saliva from your lips connected you and Sukuna for a few seconds more as the both of you pulled away to catch your breaths.

“Now, before I go and do something foolish,” began Sukuna, still partially panting, “tell me, dear, do you feel like rejecting another man’s proposal today?”

[eomayas]

never lose me • ljh

pairing: woozi x f!reader, established relationship

genre: smut, 18+ MINORS DNI!! slight angst, fluff, miscommunication

synopsis: it’s been awhile since you’ve gotten jihoon alone, and a sundress is all it takes for him to realize how much he misses and is obsessed with you

warnings: pwp, unprotected p in v, oral (f), riding, fingering, reader wears a dress, they say ‘i love you’ a lot, mild angst, fluff, buff woozi, long haired woozi

a/n: i love woozi. unedited of course

jihoon knows he’s in trouble the moment you step out into the living room in a baby pink sundress that clings to your chest and gives you a lift, your hair tossed up in a loose updo, donning gold jewelry, and a smile that makes him physically weak. his chest swells with love and desire, a deep sense of yearning overtaking his being.

he’s been distant lately, he knows. working late nearly every night and leaving early in the morning. sometimes, he doesn’t even make it home and ends up sleeping at the studio or at the dorms, despite having his own place with you. he’s been meaning to make it up to you—he bought you a few things, though he knows the key to your heart isn’t material things—though he hasn’t really found the time (or out in much effort) to do so, other than offering to take you to the farmers market today since you mentioned it awhile ago and he never went with you.

looking at you now, he’s overwhelmed with the information that he’s very much in love with you, and that you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. “are you ready?” you ask him, a soft smile on your face. jihoon swallows and nods, standing up from the couch and wiping his palms on his jeans. he places a hand on the small of your back and places a gentle kiss on your jaw.

"you look pretty," he says softly, removing his hand from your back to hold onto yours. you blush and thank him, feeling an ego boost that he at least noticed. it’s been hard interacting with him since when you do see him, it’s short and brief. you understand that he’s busy, and understand he needs his time and space to work—you’ve never taken issue with that—but you do miss him, more than anything.

the drive to the farmers market is short, and you do most of the talking, catching him up on things you know he’s missed, whether it be things going on in your life, or in the pop culture word. he’s quiet, but he hangs onto every word you say even if it’s not about you and your life. it makes him realize just how gone he’s been, and he starts to feel guilty and like the worlds worst boyfriend.

“ji, you okay?” you question, tapping his leg. he looks down at your hand and grabs it with his right, squeezing it. he glances over at you and sees the concern on your face and begins to feel worse.

“yeah, yeah im fine,” he says unconvincingly. you know him better than that—probably better than he knows himself—and you know something is there under the surface, but you never push him unless you feel like he needs to be pushed. rather than forcing the truth out of him, you leave it alone.

soon enough, he’s pulling into the designated parking lot for the farmers market, and the two of you are getting out of his car and walking hand in hand through the street. it’s a bright day, and there are many people, families, and dogs milling about. “ji, we should get a dog,” you say when another toy poodle passes by the two of you. he chuckles and shakes his head lightly. “cmon, it would be like prep for when we have an actual kid.” you say casually, a twinkle in your eye.

the breath gets caught in jihoons throat and his cheeks flush. the two of you have talked about having kids before, but not recently. the fact that you’d still consider him to be the father of your children makes him feel warm and hopeful that he isn’t a total screw up of a partner.

“i’ll think about it,” jihoon says, swallowing. your grin at him and grab ahold of jihoons hand to drag him over to a booth. he lets you guide him, his brain still stuck on the comment about kids. he wants kids, especially with you, and now he can’t seem to think of anything else.

and he lets you guide him to whichever booth you want. you lead him to a booth that sells fresh produce, and he stays close by to you while you pick things out. he can’t help but watch you move and feel an ache deep inside of him, a strong sense of yearning for you despite the fact that he has you. “i’m gonna try to bake something this week, what do you want?” you ask jihoon, picking up a carton of strawberries.

turning, you have an expectant look on your face until you see your boyfriend looking extremely… sad. like a little puppy, his eyes wide and his mouth downturned into a small frown. “baby, what’s wrong?” you ask, placing a hand on his arm.

jihoon opens his mouth and closes it before trying again, taking a step closer to you. he slips an arm around your waist to rest on the small of your back, dropping his mouth close to your ear. “i love you,” he murmurs, mouth ghosting over your jaw in a soft kiss.

you smile and tilt your head to look up at him. “i love you too, baby,” you say, placing a kiss on his lips this time. you don’t really mind PDA—jihoon does, though he’s not complaining right now. he wonders if anybody else can hear how hard his heart is beating in his chest, and whether you can feel it, because it feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest.

once you two pull away, you go back to picking our fruit and jihoon goes back to swooning and yearning over you. but he wanders around the booth and grabs some vegetables that he can meal prep with, and finds you when he’s done. you tell him what you’re going to make for the week—blueberry lemon loaf—and then the two of you bound up to the counter to pay. jihoon hands the person behind the counter his card with ease.

afterwards, you pull him to more booths and he follows you closely, letting you wander around but never keeping you out of his line of sight. he can’t keep his mind off of you right now, he's so overwhelmed by you, and he wishes he could get a handle on himself right now. he's so consumed with the fact that you still want to have kids with him, about the fact that your dress is much too tight in the chest and its turning him to mush.

jihoon glances around and finds a spots a florists tent only a few feet away. you're preoccupied with looking at handmade jewelry that he's able to quickly slip away without you noticing. jihoon's eyes quickly scan the bouquets, reaching for a large one full of white, pink, and yellow flowers. he holds them for a second before setting them back where he found them and walking up to the people who run the booth. "hi, do you guys have any bouquets with peonies?" he asks, tucking his hands into his jean pockets.

the woman smiles and stands up, already walking over to another display of flowers. "yes! we have bouquets made up of entirely bouquets–like this," she holds up a band of pink peonies to show jihoon. "or we have a few that contain peonies, but not nearly as many. depends on what you like." she finishes happily, a polite smile on her face. jihoon's eyes dart between both bouquets, a crease forming in between his eyebrows. "is it a special occasion? person?" the florist asks, trying to help jihoon out.

"they're for my girlfriend. she likes pink," he says, reaching for the bouquet of mixed flowers. theres pink peonies, white roses, and a third pink flower he can't identify. "i think i'll just get these." the florist nods and leads jihoon back to the counter to pay. he hands her his card and rocks eagerly back and forth on his heels, feeling a semblance of normalness for the first time today.

taking the flowers, a sense of pride swells in his chest at the mere thought of handing them to you, in seeing the expression on your face when he gives you the bouquet.

when jihoon gets closer to the booth he left you in, his eyes search for you, but he is unable to see you. his eyebrows furrow, but he keeps his panic at bay–you're a grown woman after all, and you definitely could not have gone far since he was hardly gone for more than five minutes. he'll find you.

like a dog with a squeaker toy, his ears perk up at the sound of laughter. but it's not just any laughter, its one that he'd probably be able to pick out even amongst a chorus of people laughing. its the sound of laughter that always makes him want to start laughing; its infectious, and sweet, and its yours. its laughter that comes from your chest, and he can just imagine what you look like: eyes squinty, teeth showing, cheeks round. his stomach churns with butterflies at the mere thought of it.

jihoon follows the sound, gaze landing upon you in a few seconds. but he stops short when he sees why you are laughing. a man stands close to you, a bit too close, marveling at the fact that he was able to elicit such a sound from you. now, jihoon isn't a regularly jealous guy, nor is he possessive. but he sees the way the man looks at you, watches his eyes drop down to your chest for a split second while you're busy talking about something and not quite paying him any attention. the butterflies that once inhabited his stomach vanish, and the churning stems from elsewhere. he swallows and runs a hand through his long, dark hair, and finishes making his way to you.

the man notices jihoon before you do, and he makes his presence known by slipping a hand onto the small of your back. with a start, you almost accuse the man of trying to pull a fast one on you until you turn and see jihoon, immediate relief and relaxation washing over you. "oh! baby, you scared me," you say, sliding closer to him. you notice the flowers in his hand and you break out into a smile. "for me?" you ask.

jihoon smiles sheepishly and nods, but he keeps his eyes trained on the stranger. you notice jihoons attention divert and follow his gaze, lips parting, ready to introduce to two of them but you stop short once you realize you don’t even know the man’s name and that he just started talking to you. “uh,” you start, a shy smile on your face.

“ill leave you two to it,” he says, throwing up an awkward thumbs up and slipping off to wherever he came from. you look at jihoon and get help the laugh that escapes you, dropping a hand onto his shoulder.

“that was so awkward!” you say, hugging the flowers to your chest. jihoon gives you a halfhearted chuckle, the corner of his lip dragging upward before immediately falling into a flat line. he’s not upset, especially not with you. there’s a bunch of emotions swarming through him today, and that man only added fuel to the fire. he feels like he’s on borrowed time with you and can’t get ahold of anything.

a frown takes over your face at your boyfriends mood, your frustration growing. “jihoon, what is wrong?” you ask, voice hushed because of the public setting. he glances around and takes a step closer to you, arm snaking around your waist.

“it’s nothing, i promise,” he says, voice low. jihoon places a consolidation kiss on your cheek, but you don’t believe him. it’s bullshit and both of you know that you know that, but you don’t say anything because you really do just want to enjoy this day with him.

the two of you wander around the farmers market for a few more hours, jihoon hardly leaving your side of letting you out of his sight for too long. he is hyper aware of who talks to you, where their eyes linger and for how long. it’s extremely out of character, this level of possession he’s displaying. it’s not him, but he’s extremely on edge.

you notice it, of course. his hand rarely leaves the small of your back unless you wrap yourself around his arm. he’s not nearly this close and clingy to you, but it doesn’t necessarily bother you—his possessive behavior, though, is where you’re stumped. you’re now 101% sure that he’s been bullshitting you all day. again, you don’t say anything and choose to just embrace him being all over you, especially since it’s been awhile that you’ve been able to get time with him.

after a few hours of walking in platform sandals, your feet start to ache. the two of you have gone to nearly every booth at the market, and have seen the crowd die down. “my feet are killing me,” you say, flexing your toes.

“are you ready to go home?” jihoon asks, rubbing small circles into your lower back.

“yeah, i think so. we basically saw everything, right?” you ask, the two of you already heading back in the direction of the parking lot. jihoon nods, slipping his hand from your back to intertwine your fingers together. you glance over at him and smile, grateful for the time you’ve had with him today despite his strange attitude. “i love you, you know?” you say, bumping your shoulder with his.

jihoon smiles, looking down at that ground. “i love you too,” he says softly, the tips of his ears reddening. the two of you make it back to the car and jihoon opens the trunk to put the tote bag of stuff in the back. you wait for him, grabbing his arm and pulling him into a kiss when he closes the back. he holds onto your sides tightly, fingers lightly bunching up the loose fabric of your dress. you press your chest against his own, your nipples peaked and sensitive against the fabric of your dress mixed with the friction of his tshirt.

jihoon feels his mind go blank for a second, almost like he’s a virgin again when he feels your nipples through your dress. he hadnt realized how thin the material was, or what you weren’t wearing a bra, and now that changes everything about today, about the feeling of you in his hands, about the stares you received from strangers. it makes him more agitated and pathetically hard, though the latter makes him feel guilty for even thinking about you in that way when he’s barely spent real quality time with you.

pulling back, you place a soft hand on the side of his face, gently stroking his cheek with your thumb. jihoon relaxes against your touch, letting out a small breath that makes you smile. “i’ve missed you,” he murmurs, grip tightening on your hip.

you hum, placing your other hand against his chest. you flatten it over his right pec before gently dragging your nails over his clothed skin. “prove it,” you say, tone sultry. you flick your eyes up to meet his own and he swallows, his erection straining against his pants. if you notice it, you don’t make it known, just smile that angelic smile and slip away from him to get in the car. jihoon stands there, static flowing through his brain.

there isn’t a coherent thought in his mind other than getting you home as quickly as possible. he quickly hops in the driver seat and starts the car, flying out of the parking lot far too quickly. but he doesn’t really have time to stop and think, his dick agonizingly hard in his pants and you achingly beautiful right next to him.

“baby, it’s a red,” you say, looking over at jihoon with mild concern when he flies up to a red light, hardly feeling like he’s pressing on the brakes. jihoon leans back in his seat once the car is idle, and lets out a chuckle at his own ridiculousness. he won’t be able to fuck you like he wants if he dangerously speeds home, but he’s eager, buzzing in his seat.

“god, i love you,” he mumbles for the millionth time today, running a hand through his hair and pressing on the lightly on the gas when the light changes.

you smile and place a hand low on his leg. jihoon can’t help when he jerks at your touch, leg shifting open wider. it’s embarrassing, pathetic, and whorish, and his face burns in mortification. you bite back a giggle, not wanting to add to his embarrassment.

the short car ride home is tense. again, you talk and he listens—or tries to; unable to fully concentrate with your hand on his leg. you can tell that he’s really trying though, and you find it sweet since the tent in his pants hasn’t faltered once. you’d be lying if you said he hasn’t had you hot and bothered all day. he’s a man of simple fashion: black tshirt and jeans, but his bulging muscles will forever make you drool.

pulling up to the house is like beating the level in a video game before the final boss battle. except in this case, the boss level is getting you naked in the next few minutes. jihoon doesn’t even bother grabbing the stuff out of the trunk, just opens your door for you and ushers you up to the front door. he fumbles with the house key for a moment, lowly mumbling out a few curses before finally shoving it into the lock and opening the door.

jihoons on you in an instant, backing you into the closed front door and placing his lips on yours. you toss your purse onto the entry table and thread your fingers through his long hair. his hair has grown out a lot lately, results of him being so busy with work and forgetting about everything else. you like it, a lot, and rue the day he decides to chop it all off.

he pulls back from your mouth to kiss down your neck, groaning into your skin. jihoon holds onto your sides, hands kneading at the flesh. his mouth is hot against your skin, lips searing like he’s claiming you, branding you.. its a sensation you’ve been deprived of lately, one you’ve missed. jihoon kisses down your chest to the tops of your exposed breasts, resisting the extremely strong urge to rip you out of the fabric. “fuck,” he curses, moving back up to your mouth. he’s desperate for you he can hardly contain himself or get his thoughts straight.

jihoon pulls you from against the door and walks you backwards down the hall. you let him, hands gripping onto his biceps for support. you pull apart when he presses you back against a surface, and you find yourself in the kitchen pressed against the island. jihoons lips are red and swollen, his pupils blown and cheeks flushed. you lovingly run a hand through his hair, pushing the strands out of his face so you can really see him. he closes his eyes for a brief second and grips onto the counter, dropping his forehead against yours. "you're driving me crazy," he mumbles, breath warm against your face. "this dress. you." jihoon lifts his head to look at you, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

your heart hammers against your ribcage, like its ready to beat out of your chest and flop onto the kitchen floors. his gaze is intense and makes heat pool at the base of your abdomen, thighs pressing together. you reach behind you to unzip your garment, but he stops you, gently grabbing onto your forearm.

"leave it on."

jihoon is on his knees in an instant, flipping up the skirt of your gown and disappearing under the material. you want to see him, nearly ready to complain until you feel his mouth on your core. he breathes you in, brain clouding at your scent and wetness. your panties are damp and stick to your folds in a way that makes him spin. he wastes no more time and pulls down your underwear, yanking them off your ankles before stuffing them into the pocket of his jeans. his mouth is on you again, this time making you let out a soft sigh and bunch up your dress atop his shoulders. he grabs one of your calves and props it against his broad shoulders, spreading your open wider and giving him more room to work.

he's an expert with his tongue, and you let him know that by all of the sounds you make. you didn't realize how long its been until you notice how loud you're being, how quickly your legs begin to shake when he suckles on your clit. "fuck, jihoon!" you moan, knees growing weaker by the second. he keeps a firm grip on your thighs, supporting most of your weight. his tongue is everywhere you need him most, licking up your arousal like its the last thing he'll ever do.

jihoon groans against you, making you whimper above him and press your thighs together. his lips find themselves around your sensitive nub, and he lets go of the leg that is propped up against his shoulder to stick to fingers inside of you. you clench around him in a way that makes him feel like he could cum in his pants in the next few seconds. you're warm and tight.

"h-hoonie, i-i-" you cut yourself off with a pathetic whine, tears gathering in your eyes as he fucks his fingers in and out of you, his tongue swirling around your clit.

he's prepared for your release, but he's not prepared for the way your arousal squirts out onto his face. he freezes, watching your pussy flutter around his still fingers, your arousal flowing out of you like rain. "jihoon!" you yelp as you come, body burning and legs shaking. he attempts to retracts his fingers from inside you, but you clench around him and squeeze him back in.

its pathetic the way he whimpers and jerks his hips forward, a dark patch forming on his jeans. he manages to pull his fingers back, and stands up from the floor, hand moving to your hip to support you on your weak legs. the sight before him is one of his favorites: your chest heaving, eyes closed and mouth parted. its a state of bliss that he put you in, and he'll never get tired of it.

upon feeling him stand up, you attempt to sit up against the counter and open your eyes. when you see his shiny face, your eyes widen and your face burns with embarrassment. " oh my g-" he cuts you off with a kiss, tongue forcing its way into your mouth. you moan and grip onto his shoulders tightly, body buzzing.

jihoon is the first to pull away, spinning you around by the hips and pressing you against the counter. he grabs the hem of his shirt and wipes his face before pulling it off and and tossing it on the floor. next are his pants, though he doesnt even bother stepping out of them and just lets them pool around his ankles. he's never been this eager and hungry for sex, its almost animalistic the way he feels inside.

grabbing your leg, jihoon props your knee up on the counter and checks that you're comfortable. "yes, just fuck me," you sigh, folding your arms under your head and resting your cheek against them. jihoon pushes up your dress and lines himself up, pushing the head in and letting out a string of curses at your grip on him. you never fully got used to the size of him, but now that’s it’s been a minute the stretch is much more intense than before. "baby." you whine, biting your bottom lip, cunt fluttering around him. jihoon grips onto the counter with one hand and your hip with the other, bottoming out and staying still for a moment to really feel you.

"i l-love you," he says, breathing labored. he leans down against you and presses a soft, loving, kiss to the back of your neck. "i love you so fucking much."

he pulls back and snaps his hips back into your ass, a loud gasp getting pushes from you lungs, followed by a cry of his name. he's relentless with his strokes, unable to control himself. you don't mind the harshness, especially after how long you've gone without having sex. "j-jihoon!" you cry, tears brimming in your eyes for the second time tonight.

"i m-missed you," he grunts, pushing up your dress so he can see your ass, eyes trained on where you two connect. "missed this pussy, fuck!" he groans, knuckles turning white from his grip on the counter. a white rim coats the base of his dick, both of your arousals mixing together to make it easier for him to glide into you.

“it’s yours,” you mewl, pressing your hips back into him and deepening the arch in your back. jihoon grunts in agreement, moving the hand that is on your hip up to your chest. he gropes your chest, tweaking your nipple through the material of your dress.

he pounds into your hard enough to knock the strap of your dress off your shoulder. you want it off, but he’s adamant that you leave it on. “you feel so good!” tears slip out of your eyes due to the pleasure you’re feeling. jihoon pulls the top of your dress down and lets your breasts spill free, the other strap sliding down your arm.

jihoons strokes begin to lose rhythm and his breathing becomes exceptionally labored. you know he’s close—you are too, unbelievably close—and you want to cum with him. reaching back, you call out his name and wiggle your fingers.. jihoon grabs onto your hand without a second thought, squeezing tightly as he continues to give you a few more powerful thrusts. “baby, i’m c-close,” you breathe, the knot tightening in your core.

“m-me too. wan’ c-come with y-you,” he grunts, thrusts becoming shallower by the second. you whimper and clench around him, crying out his name when you start to spasm around him, legs shaking.

jihoon grunts and holds your hip tightly to keep you in place, groaning out your name as he releases his load into you. he folds himself onto your back, unable to hold himself up any longer while he releases ropes of his cum into you. you appreciate the weight of him on you, keeps you from floating up and away from the present.

“fuck,” he breathes, pushing himself up and off of you and pulling out of you warmth with a whimper that makes you involuntarily clench around him. “baby.” jihoon pulls out of you and grabs at your waist, gently spinning you around and cradling you in his arms. you give him a blissed out smile, eyes low and tired, skin shiny from a thin layer of sweat.

“hi.”

“hey,” you smile at each other like two lovesick fools, and you push yourself up to his lips to give him a soft and sensual kiss. “i’m sorry.” he mumbles against your lips, hands grabbing the zipper of your dress and pulling it down, the cool air making goosebumps arise on your skin.

“you’re forgiven,” you say in a rush, letting the dress fall to the floor. you’ll get to the root of the apology later, but right now you still need him.

it’s desperate the way jihoon gets on the floor and pulls you down on top of him, guiding you over his dick. you plant your feet on either side of his hips and lower yourself onto his shaft, mouth dropping open at the sensation of being split open for the second time. “ah, jihoon, fuck!” you cry, planting a hand on his chest for stability. you won’t last long riding him—both of you know that—but you intend to make it count for as long as you can before your legs give out.

jihoon is in a trance watching you bounce on top of him, fully convinced that if he were to die right now this would be the way he’d love to go out: you on top of him in all your glory, fucking him—using him, like he’s your little toy. and he’s happy to be exactly that.

the squelching your cunt makes every time you drop down onto him pushes him closer to the edge. he can hardly keep his eyes open, but he wants to look at you, wants to watch you as you take everything he’s got, milk him for all he’s worth until there’s nothing left. “i-i missed this,” you moan, switching from bouncing up and down to rotating your hips, dropping down onto your knees. “missed you.”

“i’m all yours,” he breathes, whining when you lean back and hold onto his thighs, raising your hips and swirling on his lap. jihoon reaches forward and presses his thumb to your clit and rubs quick circles on the sensitive nub to get you to your release. “cmon, baby. i k-know you’re close.” he rasps, body flushed with heat.

with a few more rolls of your hips and jihoon rubbing on your clit, you’re coming for the third time. jihoon catches you when you collapse against his chest, wrapping his arms around you and sitting up, hard member still inside of you. he cradles you in his arms as he ruts his hips upwards, getting himself to his own release shortly after, your warm heat sucking him in completely.

for a few minutes, you two stay like that on the floor. he holds you against his chest, softly dragging his fingertips up and down your spine. he goes soft inside of you, but deep down he feels like he could go for a third round if he really puts himself to the test, but with the way you’re breathing he knows that you two are done for the night.

sitting in his arms, you clutch him like he’s going to slip from your grasp at any second. you try to push thoughts about your reality away, but the longer he holds onto you the more you realize this probably won’t last beyond tonight. you’re partly okay with it, because he comes home to you. but you miss him. “jihoon,” you murmur.

“hmm?”

“can we talk?”

“always. what’s up?” he asks, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

you pull your chin from his shoulder to look at him, placing your hands on his cheeks. “jihoon, i know you were… bothered… earlier today. talk to me, please,” you say, eyebrows furrowing. he sighs and hugs you back into his chest, feeling like he’s unable to look at you without feeling like crying.

“i know ive been a bad boyfriend. and i felt like shit today because i haven’t spent time with you in what feels like forever, and i just miss you so much, you know? and i love you so much, i don’t want to lose you—ever. and im just so, so sorry,” he rambles, clutching you tightly. your heart breaks for him and yourself. you’d never leave him, not over his job especially. you know he loves you, he shows it even where there is distance. but you appreciate him saying it out loud.

you pull back against his right hold on you, but he relents. “jihoon, im never going to leave you, okay? we just need to talk—you need to tell me when you feel any kind of way, okay? i love you, and you’re not going to lose me. i’m in this for the long haul,” you say, giving him a smile that makes the corner of his lip go up. for good measure, you give him a quick peck and run your hands through his hair. “i do wish you were around more, but i get it. i’ll always be here.”

he drops his head bashfully and sucks in a breath. “okay. i’m sorry.”

“you’re forgiven,” you say, kissing him once more. “but we need to get off this floor, hoon. i’m getting old.” you say, untangling yourself from him. you rise and let out a sigh at the loss of contact. your legs wobble and you catch yourself against the counter, glaring at jihoon when he chuckles. “it’s not funny.”

“it’s cute,” he says, standing up and picking up your guys’ clothes. he holds your dress in his hands and gives it a long look before lightly shaking his head.

“i’ll wear it more if it gets me fucked like this again.”

[undercovercameron]

hole in one

summary: you're a server at the island club, and you may or may not have a favorite customer.

notes: i'm back baby! haven't written anything in a good while but i suddenly had this image of a girly reader and a flirty golfer rafe with that season 3 buzzcut... i HAD to make a pun with this title and i'm so glad i did. also i always write rafe a little more attentive and well-meaning than he is, so take this headcanon of nice rafe with a grain of salt-- and this shit is hella dirty so please enjoy and let me know what you think ;) (also im coming back to edit this fully in a little bit but i wanted to post just to prove i still love and use this account kajddjd)

tags: rafe cameron x fem!reader

word count: 4453

Some things in Rafe’s life were simple pleasures. 

A cocktail during dinner, a night where all the TV he watched was reality shows, a cigarette on a night out. The silence of his childhood home. 

Golf, coincidentally, was also one of those things. The course he frequented was just a ten-minute drive from his house, and he had priority parking. As a donor and a club-member of course. The drinks were cheap, the company was even cheaper, and he had a killer swing. There was rarely an afternoon out on that green that he didn’t enjoy. He felt closest to peace when all he had to work for was getting that tiny white golf ball sunk into a hole. 

They were often sweaty putting sessions, as the North Carolina heat in the summer was no joke, but the traveling drink cart was a brief respite from that. 

“What can I get you?” You ask, bright and long-lashed. Your hair was done in a tight updo, your makeup was flawless, and not a single spec of dirt or turf lay on your uniform. You took pride in your appearance and the effects it had on the loose wallets of the Outer Banks’ finest real estate investors and offshore bank account holders. Most of all, you enjoyed a certain someone’s attention. 

Rafe peeks under the overhang of the cart and stares at your selection. He stands with his hands on his hips, gold rings flashing in the hot sunlight. You take a look at him for the first time today, eyes taking over his bent form. He has gray slacks on with a dark blue polo stretched over his well-built back, unbuttoned to show the tiniest glint of blonde chest hair and his gold chain. He spared no expense when it came to his appearance, you’d come to notice. 

“I think,” he starts, standing back up, and fixes you with his blue-eyed stare. It makes you hold back a shiver despite the heat. “A double tequila soda.” 

He gives you a once-over, admiring the way your skirt hugs your waist and the sparkle of your earrings. He always likes when the girls have their hair up— gives him a sneak peek of what it’d look like if he pulled it. 

“Three limes? Just how you like?” You ask, breaking his focus, and reach for a plastic cocktail cup. You have a freckle behind your ear, he notices. 

“Exactly right,” he says, folding his arms over his chest, and his face splits into a grin when you glance at him and blush. He could be back with his friends from highschool, talking shit about their shitty swings or increasingly high scores, but he’s not. He’s right here, watching closely as you carefully measure the ice and pour a perfect double shot. 

“How’re you guys playing today?” You ask, a humiliating attempt at small talk, and you feel sweat bead on your lower back. 

“Shit, honestly,” Rafe laughs. “These jack-offs couldn’t get a hole-in-one if it was right in front of their fucking faces. And I’ve been distracted all day.” He looks down at you over the bridge of his nose, liking the way you tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. 

“Heat getting to you?” You squeeze the final lime and turn away from the cart, holding it out with a polite smile. He takes it carefully. 

“Something like that,” he says, cocking his head, and takes a sip. Tart. Just how he likes it. “Hey.” He digs a hand into his pocket and the tips of your cheekbones heat again for some reason. “Keep the change.” He hands you a fifty. 

You take it between hesitant fingers, peering up at him. 

“The drink is $6, Rafe.” 

He always does this. Pays cash with big bills and tells you to keep the change. He gave you a twenty for a packet of peanuts one time. “I don’t know if I can legally take this.”

He just shrugs. 

“Consider it a personal donation.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.” 

“Makes me feel better. I think you deserve a little extra for your services—it takes a lot of work to look that good for a bunch of old geezers in sweater vests and loafers. I know I appreciate it.” He turns and starts off towards his group, yanking his sunglasses out of his shirt and jamming them onto his face. “I like your bra, by the way. ‘S my favorite color.”

You glance down the collar of your shirt, heart thumping, and look back up. 

That stupid fucking swagger he has. He’s going to throw out his back walking around like a peacock like that. 

You tug your shirt up, hiding the red bra you’d chosen for today, and hop back on the cart. Off to another hole where another old man will look down your shirt and ask for his Manhattan with two cherries instead of one. 

You think you’ll either quit this job or start wearing a fucking monk robe. 

The next time you see him is back at the club. Your boss had you on pool bartender duty, opposed to the drink cart you favored, and you were a little out of your element. 

The customer demographic was different, which you enjoyed, but they all seemed to want a lot more and a lot quicker. There was no loitering around to small talk; you had to work quickly and attentively to earn these housewives’ measly two dollar tip on margarita pitchers. 

You had spilled raspberry purée on your company-approved golf dress more times than you could count in your six hour shift. Near the end of it, however, Rafe had made his way to the end of the bar and watched as you ducked to put away the umbrella toothpicks and quickly and secretly downed a shot of Tito’s. Drinking on the job. Hm. 

(It’s not that you like to be drunk at work; it’s more of a little ‘fuck you’ to your boss, you think.)

“Hi,” you say on an exhale, coming over and wiping the already-spotless counter with a black rag. “What can I get you?” You have dangly earrings on today, and a different shade of lipgloss than he is accustomed to.

“Two grapefruit High Noon’s.” He folds his arms and leans on the counter, so close he could smell your perfume. “I could report you for that, you know,” he says, voice as low as a whisper. You peer up at him, lips pursed, and scan his face. No ill intent. Just an easy smile and dirty eyes. 

“Oh, yeah?” You reach for the fridge underneath the mixing mats and pull two cold cans from the shelf. You sit them on the counter and stare up at him. “You’re a real upstanding customer, huh?”

“Mhm.” He twists his pointer-finger ring mindlessly. “You owe me.” The corners of his lips quirk up. 

“Oh, do I?” You ask, giving him your best ’I don’t know what you’re talking about’ look. You know he likes that. 

The fact is that you and Rafe had countless conversations exactly like this one. Whether it be at the drink cart, on the way out of the building, or back inside in the restaurant bar. He always somehow leaned over you, smiling like the flirtatious bastard that he was, and making you feel like he’d like nothing more than to take you to his car and show you how much he actually enjoyed being served by you. That’s how you imagined him in bed, at least. Proving a point. 

He takes the two cans in one hand and straightens up, fixing you with a dangerous look. 

“Your shift ends in ten minutes, yeah?” He asks. 

“Yes.” You square your shoulders and stare back. 

“Good. I’ll take you home. Well, mine.” He backs up closer to where his friends are sitting at a covered patio table, mischievous smile flashing white in the sun. 

“I have a car, you know,” you say, leaning on the counter with folded arms. You ignore the hot rush of blood in your veins from his words. “And I have to shower.”

“What makes you think I don’t have a shower?” He purses his lips, faking the wildly confused look, and turns back around to his friends. 

You just sigh, exasperated with him, and work on cleaning up your station. God, it has to be him? The boy you had a crush on in elementary school? You’ve had plenty of hookups in your adult life, but none as close to home as this one. (Literally. You live down the street.) You feel his eyes on you as you scrub a particularly defiant streak of Grenadine from the counter, and feel his gaze on your back when you turn around to get a fresh rag. It makes your face burn hot. 

You know he’s not talking about just hanging out at his place. He probably has a huge shower, for God’s sake, and probably a humongous bed. California king if you can guess. 

You bet he tastes like summer.

After your replacement comes to the bar, you take your lanyard to get into the staff locker room from a hook under the bar and make your way slowly through the gaggles of people to your designated locker. It takes a brief conversation with your boss Angela about if you left the tip jar or took the contents to finally shoulder past the last group of people. 

You tug your bag from the hook, a change of clothes and your shower stuff already packed (as you had been planning to go to the gym after work). You now know you have other forms of exercise coordinated. You give yourself a final look in the little mirror on your locker. Here goes nothing. 

Rafe is waiting outside the swinging door when you push past it, button up shirt and shoes haphazardly thrown on. He immediately takes your bag from you and slings it over one massive shoulder, starting for the exit. 

“I can carry my own things, Rafe,” you say, slightly out of breath with the effort it takes to catch up to him. 

“Yeah, well, I’m in a bit of a hurry.” He casts a look over his shoulder, eyebrows raised seriously. You roll your eyes. 

His bedroom door pushes open and you stumble back, hand tight on his bicep as he walks you further. His hand circles your waist as he ducks to kiss you again, mouth hot and commanding over yours. 

He tastes exactly how you imagined. 

His room is bright with sunlight and slightly messy when you glance behind him, but you’re pretty fucking sure you won’t be focused on how his room is decorated when he keeps grabbing at you like this.

The back of your knees hit the bedspread and you fall into a sitting position, posture curved up into his as he leans and holds you by the side of the neck. You make a pleased noise into his mouth and tug at his shirt, suddenly irritated that he is wearing so many clothes. You snake a hand up his shirt and claw at his skin with your sharp nails. 

“Save that for my back,” he breathes, and your fingers fumble to unbutton his shirt as you finally pull it down and off his body. You rejoice at his newfound lack of clothing and smooth a hand over his chest, eyes trained on his toned and tan stomach. 

He’s huge like this, up close, and the warmth radiating from his skin makes your heart jump into your throat. Your fingers splay across the middle of his abdomen, just appreciating the way he breathes under your touch, and you lean back up for his mouth. 

He threads his fingers in your hair and pulls your face so hard to his own that your neck smarts. Between your legs throbs. You protest, grabbing at his wrist, but settle when he shuffles closer to the bed and tilts you back into the sheets.

“Spread your legs for me,” he murmurs. Your back meets silk, and he lifts your open legs up and around his hips as he settles between your thighs comfortably. Right where he should be. 

The feeling of his heavy weight where you’ve been needing it makes your back arch. He breaks away from you and slides a hand down your chest, laying the route that his mouth will take. 

“You smell like cherries,” he says as he presses his mouth to your collarbone and sucks. 

“I know.” You shudder through a laugh and bring your hand up to the back of his head as encouragement. “Spilled Grenadine.”

He hums noncommittally and shoves the hem of your dress up past your hips and to your midriff in one fluid motion. You wriggle for a second, so exposed so fast, but sigh contentedly when his lips meet your stomach. His mouth is so unexplainably hot, and as his tongue meets you your whole body erupts in goosebumps. It sends a shiver down your spine. It’s even better than you imagined. 

“Knew you’d taste so good,” Rafe practically moans, eyes darting to yours, and his fingertips curl around the waistband of your underwear as you watch. Your cheeks flush at his word. You’re honored to be the recipient of words like his— it’s not often Rafe finds himself giving someone a compliment. He lays a final kiss on your stomach and surges back up towards your chest. He mutters gibberish to himself, probably something like “I hate this fucking dress” and yanks your dress up past your tits. 

His fingers find your left nipple and squeeze as his tongue finds the other. You arch again, unused to the sensation, and let loose a groan. His fingers are so soft and light, but his teeth nip. 

You make a noise of surprise, eyebrows furrowing, and tug at the short, blunt locks of his hair. 

“Impatient,” he reprimands, tongue rolling as he glances up at your pink face. You’re strung so tight you might snap. “Needy.” He releases your nipple with a pop. Your lips are so pink and shiny, he just has to kiss you again. You whine into his mouth when he comes back, fingernails scratching at his scalp, and your legs wind around his waist. 

But he lets go of your hip with his left hand and creeps closer to the crotch of your underwear, fingertips dancing. Your grip on his hair tightens. Between your legs pulses with heat and need, hot on his clothed crotch, and he knows he could calculate your BPM just by laying with you like this. 

“Rafe,” you breathe, staring up at him as your chest heaves. 

“Relax,” he shushes, ducking down to press a kiss to your neck, and you gradually relax the muscles that lock your legs to his abdomen. “There you go.” You think you hear a “good girl” fall from his soft lips but it’s in that moment that he pushes past the cotton and digs his hand into your underwear. 

You immediately spur into motion, back arching and mouth dropping into an ‘O’, and he just bites his lip and watches. You’re so responsive, and it makes his dick fucking ache. 

“Thought about this? Hm?” He pants, releasing his bottom lip from between his teeth, and grins. “So wet, this pussy’s been begging for me for weeks.”

You struggle to nod, movement interrupted by the slew of noises and ramblings of “please” and “yes” and “Rafe” falling from your lips. His middle and ring fingers push past the slick resistance your pussy gives him, and you go silent and slack-jawed as he pushes all the way to the hilt.  

And he’s got big fingers. You wonder if they’re the same size as his dick. If so, you might be in trouble.

“Fuck, Rafe,” you nearly cry, head falling back into the sheets, and you’re slammed back into reality and consciousness of your surroundings. The coolness of the AC makes your nipples peak again, and the sweat on your lower back cools almost as soon as it’s created. But Rafe makes you hot. Your chest and cheeks are flushed a bright pink, and your lips are swollen into a bigger size and slick with his saliva and your own. We don’t even have to discuss how flushed the other parts of your body are—he already knows. 

His fingers curl slightly up and to the right, and your abdomen jerks at the unfamiliar feeling. You curl up slightly, eyebrows furrowed, and try to catch a glimpse of his large hand in your underwear. God, you wish you could take a picture. You lock gazes with him momentarily but fall back down at the look in his face. It’s nearly animalistic. 

“Rafe, please,” you beg, grabbing onto his wrist with both hands. You meet his eyes. “I want you to fuck me. Please.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, pulling his fingers out, and clambers off of you for a second. You sit up, quickly ridding yourself of the dress bunched up to your shoulders, and watch as he rips his shorts off and nears the bed. You don’t even have enough time to gape at the size of him before he’s grabbing your bicep and jerking you onto your stomach. 

You have half a mind to protest his man-handling of you but stay silent as you look up at the angle he positions you. 

There’s a full length mirror opposite this side of his bed, and you just stare at the pair of you as you catch your breath. 

“Like it, huh?” He asks quietly, dipping down and pressing a kiss to your hair. His hand finds your neck and he moves you to face the mirror head on, watching your face closely. You really like the feeling of his fingers around your throat. He can tell, now; your shoulders relax and your lips move into the shape of a smile when he squeezes. 

“You always keep this here?” You ask, head falling onto your folded arms when he releases you to just admire your body. His fingers trace your spine and the curve of your ass, never losing focus. 

“I moved it this morning,” he murmurs, gaze never straying from you. 

“Oh, so you knew you’d be fucking me tonight.” Your face splits into an easy grin, head tilting mischievously. His eyes find yours in the mirror, and he bends again to press his mouth to your lower back. 

“Always teasing me.” His voice is muffled by your smooth skin. He can’t get enough. “Knew it’d happen sometime soon. You can’t stay away forever, you know.” He straightens up but doesn’t find your eyes in the mirror. His large, warm hand maneuvers your hips into a tilted position, and you move up onto your feet. He has you flat on your stomach on the bed, but your ass and legs hang off and the soles of your feet just barely press flat into the floor. “Knew this pussy would get me at some point.” He smacks at an asscheek lightning fast; and your whole body jiggles with the force of his hand. You squeak involuntarily.

A large hand grabs at your shoulder as the other one jerks himself steadily. Once, twice, three times, and then he’s spreading you open and pushing into you. 

Your spine stretches and relaxes when he gets halfway in, and your thighs start to shake when you’re filled all the way to the hilt. 

“Shit, Rafe, you’re fucking big,” you complain, but the tail end of your protest bleeds into a desperate whine. Your fingers grip the sheets tightly, eyes squeezed shut, and your head falls onto your folded arms. “Please,” you say, reaching back to frantically find his hips. “Go slow.”

“Stretching you out, hm,” Rafe comments, breathing hard already, and relieves the pressure by sliding almost all the way out. His tip almost breaches the seam of your slit but he pushes back in, pulling your asscheek away with a thumb to watch. “Fucking sexy.”

You squeeze around him like a vice, but the intrusion is welcome. You will yourself to relax and accept his huge fucking dick, and the thought of yourself getting fucked by him sends a gush of slick between you two. 

“There you go,” Rafe sighs, and pulls out only to fuck back in to you quickly. You cry out, fingers squeezing extra tight on the sheets, but you will yourself to look up.

His chest is flushed in the mirror as his chain swings in the open air, and the pure concentration and pleasure on his face prompts a pleased noise from your throat. You tentatively jerk back into him and his head whips up in the mirror, blue eyes meeting your own. 

“Oh, yeah?” He mutters, teeth catching his lip, and his hips snap into yours. Your mouth drops open only momentarily before you close it and tilt your head to the size coyly, biting your own lip and pushing back into his hips. He watches you carefully in the mirror with squinted eyes, half-impressed and half-challenging. “You think you can take it?” His fingers squeeze at your shoulder tight. 

You just silently nod. Cocky. 

His emotionless gaze locks with yours and his blood pumps hot in his veins. He’s going to make you eat your words. 

His hips surge forward in a suddenly-steady rhythm, skin slapping skin ringing out in the room. You just stare at him, defiant, and push back with every thrust he gives.

Rafe grunts and lets go of your shoulder, replacing his touch with an arm slung around your neck and the other hand between your legs. His warm fingers nudge your clit, finding it immediately, and his hips snap punishingly quickly into yours. 

It’s brutal, having him like this. You hope you bruise. But you challenged him, and somebody has to lose. Except it’s not really a loss when Rafe fucking Cameron is genuinely fucking you into next week. 

“Shit,” you exhale, choking on the inhale that accompanies it, and you squeeze your eyes shut as his fingers rub you in circles. “Fuck, Rafe, that’s so good.” Something hot coils tight in your stomach and your thighs suddenly warm almost in preparation for the wave of sensation. 

“Yeah?” He pants, hot in your ear. “You like that?” His chest sticks to your sweaty back, gluing you together as his strong hips and legs pound you into the mattress. You stay strong, along for the ride, and provide all the verbal encouragement he needs. Your stomach feels hotter and hotter and your throat runs dry. 

“I love it,” you whine, head tilting up as if you’re praying he won’t stop. “Fuck me like this forever.”

“Mhm,” is all he says, too lost in the squeeze of your pussy around him and the warmth your body grants him. You pulse even more, so close. 

You gather some strength and struggle to push up into an elbow, head tilting further and further until you can feel his forehead brush the crown of your head. Your muscles strain. 

“Just like that. Just like—God, shit, right there.”

You squeak when the hot coil in your abdomen snaps and you fall twitchingly onto your stomach. His fingers rub quickly at your clit and you feel suddenly a hundred pounds lighter, eyes rolling back into your head. It’s so fucking good you wonder how you’ll ever masturbate happily again. Your fingers don’t compare in the slightest to this fucking dick. Your chest heaves with the effort it takes to fill your lungs with clean air, and your legs start to shake miserably underneath him. Your thighs feel like jelly and you barely did anything. 

“Please, Rafe,” you beg, turning your head to the side to look innocently up at him. “Give it to me.”

“Yeah?” He pants and leans down to kiss you messily. You groan into his mouth and push back once more into his hips. Your pussy is still buzzing with feeling, and it fades slowly into a pleasant ache the more he fucks into you. “You want it on your back or in your mouth?”

You blink wildly and push onto your palms, signaling that you want to turn over. He pulls out but jerks himself steadily until you scramble onto your knees in front of him, face level with his pelvis and tongue out. You look up at him with the most earnest and well-meaning eyes, and he just has to close his eyes when the tip of his dick finally meets your tongue and he fills your mouth. His chest loosens with the most pathetic noise he’s ever made, a mix between a raw groan and a whimper. Your soft mouth accepts him and cleans his dick, humming contentedly, and when he catches his breath and manages to open his eyes you’re staring up at him, an immensely pleased look on your face. 

You crawl closer and lift onto your knees, arms coming around his neck and pulling him to you. You press a kiss to his mouth. He can almost taste himself on your tongue, and he smoothes a hand down your side to grab onto your asscheek as you just kiss him. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, pulling away slightly to give your face a once-over. “You haven’t even showered yet.”

“And whose fault is that?” You sigh, exasperated. “Someone couldn’t make it up the stairs without shoving his hands up my dress—we barely even made it to the bed.” You smooth a hand down the back side of his head, liking the way his hair feels. 

Rafe just purses his lips. 

“Sounds like a really cool guy to me.”

“Mhm,” you say, rolling your eyes, and sit back on your heels. 

This room is a mess.

The corner of the well-made bed’s sheets and bedspread is yanked from the far corner and lies bunched up in the middle, dark with sweat. It smells like sex in here, the ceiling fan doing nothing to mitigate it, and your work dress is hung haphazardly on the closet door handle. With a dark Grenadine stain down the middle. 

“Don’t even think about it,” Rafe says, interrupting your inner monologue. His warm hand comes to rest on your thigh. 

“What?” You ask, eyebrows drawn. 

“Don’t even think about putting on clothes.”

You scoff.

“Like those would do me any good right now.” You wind your arms around his neck and smirk up at him. “I still haven’t even shown you what’s in my bag.”

His smile grows. 

“What’s in your bag, baby?”

[pink-princess-pussy-pop]

Behavioral Lessons - King Ben x Reader

Summary: You push Ben's buttons too far

Words: 5.3K

Inspired by a section from my Dating Ben Would Include. Ben didn't lose his beard or fangs in this guys. He just didnt. So with that, he might just have some other… beast like qualities. (im so sorry i went rouge)

Link to photo of the dress, but if you hate it, just ignore when the dress is described and picture whatever you want to be wearing!

Warnings: Smut, uhhhh, thigh riding, a bit of edging, choking bro im not well at ALL for doing this to poor mitchell, not proofed

Edit: oh god. yall this is so dirty. i didnt mean to make ben a degrader but here we are... I’m sorry if I ruin this franchise for you rip i ruined it for myself

You had to take matters into your own hands. You hadn't seen Ben in weeks. And when you had, it wasn't for more than a few minutes when you passed each other in the corridors of the castle. He hadn't even been returning to your shared room at night, sleeping in his office instead. You were growing restless without your fiancé.

Since you were both twenty-one, your wedding was coming up. With the nearing celebrations on top of his usual king duties, Ben had been more stressed than usual, which is why you hadn't seen him recently.

So naturally, you just had to take matters into your own hands. You knew the way to help your fiancé was to help him relieve his stress, and you knew just how to push him to get there.

Every Friday night, you sat down with Ben and his parents for dinner. But this Friday was special. Not only were his parents going to be there, but so were your friends. It was the final Friday before your wedding and it would be the most you've seen of him in weeks so you were looking forward to it. And what was to come afterward.

...

You kept the dress hidden for months. It was strapless and fell mid-thigh. The body of the dress was a pale yellow, the outer layer was a sparkly floral pink fabric, and the bodice had tiny bows up the front. Evie had designed it for you and was standing in front of you now.

"Oh. My. God. I don't think I've ever made anything better. You look incredible. Ben is gonna go craaaa-zyyyyy." She was gushing over you, shoving a pair of gold shoes into your hands. "Now put these on, and then let's get to that dinner.

You looked at yourself in the mirror absolutely mesmerized at your reflection. Your legs looked incredibly long with the length of the dress paired with the heels. Dizzy had so graciously styled your hair, a simple updo, but with your small tiara on your head, it was perfect. You smiled at yourself, bringing your hand to your neck where a small, gold, necklace with the letter "B" sat.

...

You were giddy with anticipation, ready to see Ben, ready for him to see you. You entered the large dining hall, filled with your friends from the Isle and Auradon. Belle was at your side immediately, looking beautiful as always.

"Y/N! Sweetie! You look lovely!" The small woman hugged you. "I am so looking forward to you and Ben's wedding next week. It is going to be beautiful!" You smiled at her.

"Thank you! I'm excited about it too. Ben is a wonderful man. I’m very lucky to be marrying him." Then, Lumiere announced that dinner had been served and as you turned to go to your seat, Ben was behind you.

"Hi." He was giving you the smile that made your stomach flutter with butterflies. His hands were on your waist almost instantly, bringing your body closer to his. He looked perfect, would you expect anything different? The blue suit with the golden crown was a look you'd never get tired of.

"Hello." You smiled back at him as he kissed you for the first time in weeks. You broke it first, knowing that people were most definitely watching you and that you needed to leave him wanting more.

As you walked to your places at the table, Ben whispered in your ear...

"You look incredible, Y/n." You flushed at the compliment and at the way his voice sounded when he said your name.

You sit next to him, the chairs closer together than normal with the new amount of people. The plan was in full motion now.

The feast was grand, as it usually was, but before it began, Ben rose to give a toast.

"Thank you all for joining Y/N and me," He gestured for you to stand and join him. His arm wrapped around you instantly. "In our final feast before our wedding." He turned to you, his beautiful smile returning again. "I can't speak for my beautiful fiancé, but I am so happy that our closest friends and family were able to join us tonight." You spoke before he could go on.

"I am also very happy you are here!" The hall erupted in a chorus of laughs and Ben squeezed your side.

"I'm so honored to be marrying such a wonderful person. I cannot wait to share the rest of my life with you.” You smiled at him as he bent down to press a soft kiss to your lips. He whispers, "I love you." and then he pulls away to continue. “Alright, I’m sure you all want to eat, so I won't bore you with my love speech any longer."

...

As everyone else ate, you counted the minutes until you could begin your plan. You didn't want to start it too early or too late. You had to wait for the right time. Ben was such an attentive fiancé that he had noticed your behavior.

"Honey?" You were startled at his voice in your ear again. "Are you feeling ok?" You turned to him, noticing that he was looking down at your chest, blushing when he looked back up. You shifted at the sight of his tongue running over the tips of his fangs.

Now. It was time for your plan.

You set your hand on his upper thigh, leaning over to whisper into his ear.

"I guess I'm just hungry for something else..." You ran your hand up further before you were stopped by him. You looked down at his hand grasping your wrist, right above the seam of his pants.

"Y/N." His usually sweet voice was stern. You set your face with a smirk but innocent eyes, looking up at him. His jaw was clenched but you could tell you were getting somewhere. His skin was dusted pink and his pupils had dilated. "What are you doing?" You reached your fingers to brush against the fabric of his pants and he snarled, his grip on your wrist tightening.

"Ben!" His father interrupted and he swallowed, squeezing your wrist once more.

“Stop if you know what’s good for you.” His words were low and then he turned to his father who was across the table. You took this moment to shake yourself from him, turning to the former king, before placing your hand back onto his pants.

Ben jerked, trying to keep his composure in front of his parents and friends, but how could he when you were teasing him like this? In order to not draw attention to himself, he kept both hands on the table.

"Son, are you ok?" Ben eyed you, giving you a glare that only spurred you on further. He cleared his throat before speaking.

"I'm fine." He continued his conversation with his father, talking about God knows what, as you continued to tease him. You were half listening to Ben and Adam and the other half of your brain was only thinking of making Ben as flustered as possible, so you ran your hand over the growing tent in his suit pants. You could tell he was struggling to maintain his composure, his breathing had gone uneven, his face was red, and he kept glancing at the big grandfather clock behind his father's chair.

You smiled, gave his clothed member a squeeze, and withdrew your hand, reaching for a large piece of chocolate cake. You looked over at Ben, his eyes narrowed on you as you brought a bite to your mouth. His slip in composure was glorious and you winked at him as you brought a bite of cake to your lips.

You almost choked on the cake as his hand slid onto your thigh, just past your dress, fingers skimming the soft lace of your underwear, already wet from your actions and your thoughts of the night to come.

"So needy that you've resulted to disobeying your King? How pathetic." His lips grazed over the skin under your ear before he leaned back to look at you.

Your thighs squeezed against his hand involuntarily and it was his turn to smirk. He regained his composure, returning to “normal” Ben, now free from your teasing.

You, however could barely eat your dessert with his hand pressed between your legs.

“Regretting our actions are we?” He whispered to you as his engagement ring slid over your core. You covered the gasp with a cough. “That’s what I thought.”

...

The second dinner had ended, Ben's arm was around your waist. As the two of you neared the doors of the large hall, his name was called.

His dad and Lumiere were behind you.

"Your Majesty, your father and I have been talking and there are a few things we wanted to go over for palace security during the ceremony. If you come with us, it won't take very long." Ben's face was completely normal as he gave Lumiere a nod before turning to face you.

He plastered on his King Ben smile, brushing his hand against your cheek, bringing your lips to his, but he didn't kiss you.

"I hope you know, I'm not going to be nice tonight." His lips were on yours for mere seconds before he stepped back, running his tongue over his fangs once again. Then, he turned back to Adam and Lumiere, leaving you in the dining hall, thoughts running wild about what was to happen to you that night.

...

You called Evie as soon as you got back to your and Ben's bedroom.

"Do I keep the dress on? Or do I wear something else?" You were frantic, walking around the closet, not knowing what to do.

"Girl! Calm down!" You had told her what had happened and she was so excited she practically screamed. "If I were you, I would put on one of his dress shirts. He won't be expecting it when he comes in to punish-"

"Oh my GOD, EVIE!" The laughter on the phone was enough to make you roll your eyes. "Thanks for your help." You grumbled.

"Let me know how it goes!" Before you could reply, she hung up. You set your phone down and grabbed one of Ben's white dress shirts along with a simple, white lace lingerie set from a drawer.

Slipping the dress off, you carefully put it on a hanger and set it in your closet. You slid the shirt on, buttoning it up, leaving it open just enough to see the bra you had just put on. You began to take out your hair, setting the crown down on your vanity counter, and removing the pins holding the updo in place. Finally, you applied a bit of lipgloss and a spritz or two of Ben's favorite perfume before climbing onto your shared king-sized bed.

...

Thirteen minutes later, not that you had counted, the bedroom door burst open, and in walked your fiancé. His eyes locked on your body as he removed his suit jacket. You knew he was waiting for you to look at him, so you obliged, looking up from the random book you had picked up, you really weren't reading it anyway. He was glaring at you as his hand loosened his tie and removed it. You tried your best to look at him with the most innocent eyes you could and he chuckled.

You watched as he unbuttoned the first two buttons of the white shirt and rolled the sleeves up to his forearms. When you looked back into his eyes, they were almost black.

"Did you have a good time at the dinner, my dear? Did you enjoy yourself?" His hands were placed on the bed so he was leaning down. His tone was condescending, which sent shivers down your spine. He was always so sincere. This new side to Ben was intoxicating.

“Answer your King when he speaks to you.”

If he noticed your eyes widening in shock, he didn’t acknowledge it. He was unmoving, his eyes challenging you, taunting you.

“I’m not going to ask again.” You didn’t know how to respond, so you nodded.

Ben chuckled again, his fangs on display. Any sight of them made your heart race and he knew it.

“No, honey. Use your words.” His voice lowered. “Or do you want to disobey me again?”

“Yes, I enjoyed dinner.” Your voice was small but you held your ground, not breaking eye contact. You challenged him back. “Did you enjoy dinner, Ben?” A dark look crossed his face.

“Why don’t you try saying that again, using my correct title?” You had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes, but you had to admit, you liked this side of him.

“Did you enjoy yourself tonight…” You sat up from the headboard, leaning towards him, and bowed your head. Then, looking up at him through your lashes added, “…my King?”

His eyes narrowed again and his hands wrapped around your ankles, tugging you to the end of the bed. He settled his knee between your legs, brushing your clothed core on purpose, but not acknowledging it. His hands settled by your head and he hovered over you.

“No.” He dug his knee into you harder and you threw your head back, exposing your neck to him as you moaned. “No, I didn’t.” You felt his finger slide down the column of your throat before hooking itself around your necklace laced with his initial. He leaned down, mouth hovering over the pulse point in your neck. “My bratty fiancé couldn’t keep her hands to herself.”

His teeth ran down your neck and goosebumps erupted at the sharpness of the canines. “You haven’t touched your bratty fiancé in weeks.” He tugged on your necklace and your eyes found his again.

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

Now that was a surprise.

Though he got stressed fairly often, he never used vulgar language. You had heard him say “damnit” once after losing a Tourney game in high school, but that was it.

Suddenly, you felt your body flush at his outburst. You didn’t reply, too shocked to say anything.

Ben smiled, but it wasn’t his good King Benjamin smile.

This smile was positively wicked.

“I believe I asked you a question, Y/N.” The fingers hooked on the chain around your neck now rested softly on your throat.

Holy shit.

“Yes.” The words were almost inaudible.

“M’sorry… what was that?”

“Yes.” You spoke clearly now.

He snickered.

“That’s now how you properly answer a question, now is it? Let me ask again.” His fingers tightened slightly. “Do you want your King to fuck you?” The word rolled off of his tongue like honey and your hips rolled into his knee.

“Yes, I want you to…” His eyebrow went up. “…fuck me.” His fingers withdrew from your throat.

“Hmm.” Suddenly he was standing up, leaving you on the bed, catching your breath. “I don’t think you’ve earned it.”

You watched with wide eyes as he sat down at your vainity in the corner of the room. He looked so casually regal. His crown, the unbuttoned shirt, his crisp blue slacks. But there was some other air about him that was making you crumble in his hands. The way he was man spreading, his long legs awaiting as your own throne. His beard and sharp fangs you were aching to feel between your thighs. Your toes curled at the thought.

“You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you honey?” The mean tone from before had returned. “You’re thinking about me fucking you?” Your face flushed so much you were sure it went down your whole body. You quickly realized he’d asked you another question.

“Y-Yes. I am thinking about that.” Your snarkiness from before was long-gone. He gave you another wicked smile. His picked up your crown, which was much smaller than his since your coronation would happen after the wedding.

“Well, are you going to sit there all night or are you going to come finish what you started at dinner?” You got up from the bed immediately crossing to where he sat. His fingers wrapped around your necklace again, tugging you to his level. Your knees hit the floor, hands on his thighs while he brushes your hair from your face. He tilts your chin up to meet your eyes.

His hand retracts while he takes you in. On your knees in front of him, wearing one of his shirts and dear God, the white lace of your bra peeking out at him was making his head spin.

No longer having self-restraint, Ben’s lips lock on yours. You moan into his mouth as his hands wrap around your torso, pulling you to sit in his lap. He growls into the kiss as you grind your hips into his.

Finally. You thought to yourself. Ben’s control over his respectful manner had cracked a little but your goal was to break through it completely. And you knew by his bruising grip on your hips that you were on the right track.

Then suddenly, Ben wasn’t touching you anymore. Your body was left heaving on top of his while he leaned back in the chair, resting his elbows on the armrests.

“Go on.” You stated wide-eyed at him. “I’m not going to do all the work here, honey.” Your face flushed as you looked to his crotch, the tented fabric strained. “You did this…” His hand grabbed yours, setting it back onto his pants. “…so do something about it.”

Slowly, you began to move your fingers and Ben’s eyes narrowed.

“You and I both know you can do better than that.” His hand found it’s way back up to your throat. “Don’t you want to please your King?”

Dear GOD where had this side of him come from? He shifted the slightest bit so his pants ran against you.

“Ben!” Your eyes squeezed shut, brain foggy with him.

“Are you really making me wait?” You shook your head, avoiding his gaze as yours shifted to where your shaking hands were now trying to undo his belt buckle.

As you worked to free him from his pants, Ben’s hands found their way back to your hips, slowly pushing up the fabric of his dress shirt so he could see what was lying underneath.

His mouth almost watered as the white lace was brought into view. He licked his lips at what the fabric was trying in vain at hiding.

Ben had to remind himself that you were not being rewarded now. That you’d disobeyed him at dinner and now was not the time to be relishing in how lovely you were.

He was brought out of his thoughts as your hand slid into his boxers.

He threw his head back and muttered a barely audible,

“Fuck.”

As your fingers wrapped around him, timidly moving up and down.

He looked at you, so focused on what you were doing, so desperate to make him feel good, needing to hear his words of praise. Ben guided you to straddle one leg as he began to rock his hips into your hand.

You were so trained on pleasing your fiancé, that you hadn’t even noticed that you’d begun grinding on his thigh.

Ben had noticed. He watched as your breathing became more rapid and how your strokes became less careful. You looked up, meeting his gaze, sucking in a breath at the primal look in his eyes.

His eyes flashed with pleasure as your thumb ran over the tip of his cock. His fingers stopped your hips and he said,

“Stop.” Right as you were about to come. You did as you were told but you couldn’t help the whine that escaped at the lack of sensation.

Ben rolled his eyes, the hands on your hips forcing you to grind into his leg once again. You moan, tossing your head back to avoid looking at him. The fucker was edging you.

“So Goddamn needy.” His hot touch on your skin was gone and you had to steady your breathing before looking at him again.

Ben had begun to unbutton the rest of your shirt, pushing it off of your shoulders once it was fully undone. He shamelessly raked his eyes over your body, grinning that evil grin as he did so.

Then, his hands were under your bottom, picking you up before setting you down on the bed.

“Are you going to behave now?” The dampening of your underwear at his words is embarrassing. Ben’s thumbs skim over your abdomen, right on the waistband of your underwear. Ben doesn’t break eye contact with you, smiling once again. He looks hot as hell, his fangs and the beard along with his crown.

Was he going to fuck you while wearing his crown? God you hoped so.

“Honey?” Ben lowered to his knees, fingers now on the sides of the lace fabric. You instinctively close your legs but Ben’s strong hands are there instantly, forcing them back open.

Embarrassment floods your system as you watch him look down, a shit-eating grin appearing on his face before his eyes return to yours.

“Keep them open.” His fingers dance dangerously close to the damp lace. “Answer my question, please.”

He’s so close that you can feel his breath fanning your core.

“Yes, Ben. Fuck! I’ll behave.” He kisses your inner thighs which are now practically shaking in his grasp. His mouth moves to your hips, right where your waistband is.

“Do you want to know a secret?”

“What?” You sound breathless.

He looks directly into your eyes.

“I’ve been able to smell you this entire time.”

You’re too late to react as Ben rips through the white lace with his teeth. His hands are keeping your thighs to the side and he looks at you for a moment: A shaking little mess before him, your cunt dripping and clenching around nothing. You watch as he smiles again, bracing yourself for the contact of his tongue, lips, and teeth.

His tongue licks your glistening cunt from the bottom up twice and your hand clamps over your mouth when his lips wrap around your aching clit.

And then.

Oh, fuck.

You’d forgotten about his facial hair.

The delicious roughness contrasting with his sweet mouth made the pleasure skyrocket.

Ben loved the taste of you. He was never able to get enough. So anytime he went down on you, he took all he could get. He moaned at the taste of you, the vibrations going straight through you.

Your hips lifted off of the bed as one of his hands moved off of your thigh and a thumb pressed hard against your swollen clit. At the same time, Ben bit into the soft skin of your thighs, marking his territory. He repeated his actions on the other side, now rolling your clit between his fingers.

If you weren’t covering your mouth, you were sure the whole castle would be able to hear you.

Ben’s mouth returned and you let out a scream as his teeth bit your clit gently. He let his tongue swirl around it as his thumb ran down your slit, parting your folds, exposing more of you to the cool air. He moved the slightest bit and the roughness of his mustache brushed against your clit, sending you into your awaiting orgasm.

Ben continued devouring you through it, eating you out like a beast, already wanting to get another one out of you like this. He looked up at you, realizing he hadn’t been able to hear you, eyes narrowing once again at the hand over your mouth. Your hips rocked again as he slid his middle finger into you easily but then he stopped all of his actions.

Your grown was muffled but one look from Ben and your hand fell to the side.

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of being too loud…” his finger curled inside you and you let out a loud moan, a blush settling over your cheeks instantly. “…because I don’t care if anyone hears. They’ll know how good the king is fucking you, right?” His mouth was on yours again, finger pushing in and out of you slowly. Your hips jerk up and you moan into his mouth, making him smile into yours.

Ben pulls away, making you groan in frustration. As you sit up on your elbows, you watch as Ben steps away from the bed to undress and you know he's doing it slowly on purpose.

"Ben-"

“Shut up. You brought this on yourself, honey.”

Once again, your cheeks heat. His harsh glare makes your heart pound.

His eyes tear away from yours as he finishes undressing. Yours close, waiting for what's next half in anxiousness, half in eagerness. His warm hand on your knee snaps you out of your thoughts.

His tongue runs over his bottom lip before he brings it between his teeth. He pulls your body down and steps between your legs. Ben's hand settles on your neck again, smirking at the feeling of your racing pulse.

"Don't tell me you're nervous, sweetheart." You take a deep breath before looking into his eyes with a smirk of your own.

"Why would I be nervous if this is what I wanted?" His jaw sets as the smirk disappears.

And then under his breath,

"Such a fucking brat." Before his hand fully wraps around your throat as he brings his lips to yours.

Your hands reach up to wrap around his shoulders pulling him down on top of you.

You pull away when Ben bites your lip, tasting blood.

"Benjamin!"

His smirk is back.

"Oh, so you're using my full name now. I thought this is what you wanted." You glare at him as you run your tongue along the bite. His head dips as he kisses you again, sucking on your bottom lip. You are so enthralled with the feeling of his mouth on yours, you don't register what else he is doing until you feel the head of his cock pushing into you.

You act on instinct, pushing your hips into him but he pulls away.

"Don't be impatient. That stunt you played at dinner was cute and all but-"

"You thought it was cute?" You pout. "I thought you were going to punish me for it, my King."

With that, Ben pushes into you the rest of the way, wrapping his hand around your throat again, silencing any moan trying to escape.

"You were saying?" Your pelvic muscles clench around him which spurs him on further. "What's the matter, my love?" He pulls out of you and puts the slightest bit of pressure on your throat. "You want me to punish you?" He leans in to kiss you again but stops centimeters from your lips. "You asked for it."

Ben kisses you once again, hands now on your hip bones as his hips roll into yours at a brutal pace. Your hands wrap around the back of his neck, pulling him closer to you as he does the dirty work.

Your nails dig into his skin as you near your orgasm, pulling away from his lips as you struggle to catch your breath. Then suddenly, Ben stills inside of you and laughs as you whine.

"Would you like me to keep going?" You nod, although you know he will continue to fuck with you. "Really?" His lips find your neck again, kissing the spot beneath your ear. He grins against your skin at your whine. "Alright."

Ben begins to move ever-so-slowly. Annoyed, you begin to roll your hips into his but he is quick to stop you. His hands press your hips deep into the bed, forcing your movements to stop.

"Ben..." You trail off, eyes closing as Ben continues. He leans back, his beautiful smile gracing his face.

He gradually picks up speed, every movement into you brings you closer to the brink but Ben knows your body well. He's memorized your body and the ways it reacts to his. He knows that when you throw your head backward and try to cover your mouth to subdue the noises you're making that you're close. That's when he knows to stop.

"Fuck, Ben, please." He leans over you again, his beautiful smile still plastered on his beautiful face.

"Please what?" He has the audacity to rub soothing circles on your skin.

"Damnnit Ben." Your eyes are squeezed shut, unable to look him in the eyes. Ben leans over more, his lips brushing against yours.

"Please what, honey?" Your eyes open and narrow at him.

"I already asked Ben..." He chuckles.

"And I'm asking again." He raises his eyebrows. "Now unless you'd like me to," his hips roll again, "continue with your punishment, I suggest you use your words and answer my question."

"Benjamin," You pause briefly, waiting to see if he will stop you and make you use his title, but he doesn't. "Please, please, fuck me."

Ben smirks, making him impossibly more attractive.

"That's all you had to say." His hands grab your thighs, wrapping them around his waist before turning his smirk into a grin.

He moves again and it is glorious. Ben does all the work, which is fine for you because you're too enthralled with the pleasure to do anything about it. His hands tighten on your legs and pull you to him, bringing your bodies impossibly closer. His pace is brutal, fingers most definitely leaving bruises in their wake.

Instead of covering your mouth, your hands wander up his arms and pull him down to you again before resting on his broad shoulders. His crown glints in the light and your eyes roll at the sight. His hand leaves your thigh and reaches between your bodies to pinch your clit. To cover your moan, you pull his lips to yours, releasing it into his mouth. Ben smiles in return, rolling your clit between his fingers.

You break the kiss, gasping for air as your head is thrown back, He takes the opportunity to attack your neck again, his teeth gently biting at the soft skin.

His hips slam into yours once again and it pushes you over the edge. Your mouth opens in a silent scream, your body going limp in his arms.

Ben follows not far behind, groaning into your neck.

"Fuck."

After the two of you calm down, he pushes himself back, looking down at you.

"I'm sorry if I went a little overboard. I just-"

"Ben..."

"No seriously I-" You cut him off.

"Benjamin shut up." His eyes widen. You look up at him, a small smile on your lips. He watches with wide eyes as you push yourself up to sit under him. His smirk returns as you wince at the soreness he left you.

"Did you just tell me to-" You cut him off with a kiss, hands pulling his face to yours.

You break away from him and his eyes are wide.

"Ben, if you had gone overboard I would have told you." You kiss him again. "Besides, it's what I wanted." His eyes narrow.

"What?" You giggle, squishing his cheeks together before his hands wrap around your wrists, pulling your hands down. "Y/N, what did you just say?" You fall back onto the bed, laughing.

"I had this whole thing planned out, Bennie Boo." His eyes roll at his ex-girlfriend's nickname for him. "You were stressed and we hadn't..."

"Fucked?" He finishes for you.

"...in weeks, so I put this plan together to help you relieve your stress and so we could..." It's Ben's turn to grin.

"Say it."

"Make me."

His smile drops.

"Oh, you're asking for it now, sweetie." His lips were on yours before you could even think of a clever response.

I'M BACK!!!

bro ive literally been working on this for like 3 months.

:) ENJOY

[notadecepticon]

Infinitely upset with the fact the mobile game has a different Jiang Cheng designs than any other adaptation. And I'm kinda in love with them for a few reasons... It's not really how I picture him in my head at all cause ive grown used to tight bun, sasuke bangs

but your telling me I could have had:

Bitchy High Ponytail Jiang Cheng a. I am a sucker for long hair (even if technically his og design is super long like everyone else, its just tied up tightly. tho points for it dramatically coming undone in the donghua) b. This man already swishes around dramatically enough with his whip and robes, imagine the added affect of a long ass ponytail. c. This gives him a visual parallel to Jin Ling's design which.... adorable. Copying his jiujiu.

Wears his Hair Exactly Like His Father Did Jiang Cheng a. Narratively fitting. Jiang Cheng trying to fit in to his role of sect leader before he was able to fully grow up into his own person. Emulating his father even in style, cause he never felt like he truly earned his approval as the heir to Yunmeng Jiang or as a leader which leads us to b. 🚨! Daddy Issues Alarm 🚨! Its just super funny to me. Im sorry, I don't make the rules c. I just think it looks good. Ponytail is my favorite but sect leader chic half-updo for formal occasions? Perfect look. For reference this is it

[luminetti]

𝑶𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒅𝒖𝒆 𝑨𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒚 ༺♡༻ Chapter 4

༘⋆Notes: i am back!!! so sorry again for the giant gap but chapters should be coming out faster now that my finals season is coming to an end! sorry for the slight cliffhanger but im so excited for the plot to be picking up finally! hope you enjoy!

༘⋆ Chapters: ┆[1] ┆ [2] ┆[3]┆[4]┆[5]┆[6] ┆[7] ┆

ao3

Your scalp throbbed as another pin slid tightly against your neck, fastening the ribbon to your updo.

“Stop fidgeting, you’ll make it come loose,” Euphemia muttered from behind you, intently focused on threading the ribbon into a bow. Her nimble fingers smoothed and secured every hair into place, finalizing her work with a soft pat on the head. “How’s this?” She asked, spinning you around in the chair and holding up a hand mirror.

A soft breath escaped you as you observed your appearance. Balls were rarely something that generated excitement anymore and the prospect of love somehow garnered even less. Despite your past experiences, something churned within your stomach, suspiciously resembling the fluttering of butterflies. And to your growing surprise, it was almost as though you had missed such a feeling. “I think it’s lovely, Phemie.”

She pursed her lips and whipped you back around. “Lovely? I need gorgeous, I’m restarting.” 

Her fingers barely graced the top of your head before a particularly loud and jarring cough resounded from the doorway.

“I refuse to be late to the Duke’s ball because of hair,” Sebastian drawled, dressed clad in black and lazily leaning against the doorframe.

Euphemia groaned and spun you once more to face your brother. “What do you think then? Is this good enough?”

Sebastian stared at her blankly. “I’m not sure what you want me to say here. It is hair.”

She scoffed and turned back to the dresser, rummaging through the countless drawers. “Of course you wouldn’t know. You don’t even know how to tell the difference between a black and navy tie.”

Turning back to face him, she held up two necklaces. One adorned with tiny rubies along a thin silver chain, and the other a single garnet pendant. “Which?”

Sebastian looked up from undoing his dark blue tie. “What?”

She rolled her eyes and held the necklaces higher.

He looked between the two over and over again. “The…The red one?” He asked, hesitantly.

Sebastian swore as a hairbrush flew past his shoulder, dodging just before it collided into him.

“They’re both red, you absolute clod!” 

Throwing the hairbrush back to Euphemia who caught it easily, Sebastian stalked out of the room and down the hallway. “I’ll be seeing red if we don’t leave soon!”

Euphemia glared in the direction he left. Putting down one of the necklaces, she leaned over you to drape the other across your neck. “Oh? When did you get a new necklace?” She paused, reaching out to examine the small crystal necklace Gale had given you.

“A couple nights ago.” You pulled your hair back to let her fawn over it. “From Gale,” You added sheepishly.

“The Viscount?!” Her eyebrows rose to her hairline and she leaned in, reducing her voice to a whisper. “You’re officially courting?”

You whipped around in your seat, “No, of course not! It was just a parting gift.” Your mind slipped back to the night he gave you the necklace. He was so close that if you just shivered your lips might’ve touched. Of course, however, they did not. And when you mistakenly brought up the topic of courting–to your absolute horror–Gale couldn’t even form a proper sentence in response. Surely courting was out of the cards regardless of the thrill in your heart that pounded whenever he was mentioned.

Euphemia stared down at you in disbelief as you finished explaining the interaction. “I don’t quite think his reaction was…as you interpreted.”

“I’m sure he just wanted to let me down easily,” You replied

“Courtship doesn’t need to be elaborate displays of affection, dearest,” She began. “It is often accompanied with spending time with each other, like promenades, or lunch.” Her eyes dropped to the pendant around your neck. “Among those, gifts are also quite common.”

The butterflies stirred giddily in your stomach. “You really think he’s trying to court me?”

Euphemia glanced towards the doorway where Sebastian had been before turning back to you. “The Viscount was a pleasure to host, but I think the ball would be the perfect chance to meet new potential suitors.”

You looked up at her. “New suitors?”

She bit her lip as concern briefly settled over her features. “You’ve never met the Viscount before because he rarely attends the balls.”

Something twisted in your chest. Something different than the butterflies that were now suspiciously silent. “But why would he skip them if he’s looking for someone to court?”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, her soft hand pulling you out of the seat. “Just give the other suitors a chance.” She pleaded, gathering both your dance cards. “Sebastian is hoping you get a chance to talk to the Marquess.” Euphemia gave you one final pointed look before retreating down the hall and out the front door.

✣ ✣ ✣

The Ravengard estate was, to put it lightly, exceedingly glamorous. Arriving a tad late, the ball was already in full swing with a lively quartet and couples dancing lined the dance floor. The ballroom’s ceiling was patterned in blocks of intricate red and gold. The details trailed down walls, wrapping and weaving around the onlays ceremoniously. Draped against the back wall was a single red banner, thick in width and clad in deep red. Painted on the front was a silver emblem, picturing a knight��s helmet and a crimson fist, the familiar symbol of the Flaming Fist.

From what you remember of Euphemia’s ramblings, the Flaming Fist are the pride and joy of the Ravengard family. It was what elevated Grand Duke Ravengard to, well, the Grand Duke. The Sword Coast was the mother of Baldur’s Gate and the Flaming Fist their shield. It was customary for Baldurians to attend a ball hosted by the Ravengard, that much was certain. But for the citizens of Waterdeep? For such a long distance, many were only in attendance for their Duchess Mystra, and the now Late Duke Elminster. Some Waterdhavians may have pulled from the ball, opting to attend a more local event and perhaps mourn the loss of the Late Duke. However, there was sure to be at least one Waterdhavian in attendance.

“Not looking to dance?”

You whipped around to come face to face with Gale. Gone were the old clothes you had found in Sebastian's closet, instead replaced with a dark velvety tailcoat and golden buttons that fastened the fabric tight against his chest. You never considered Gale to be scruffy or anything of the like. Quite the opposite in fact. But with the ballroom lighting and a refreshed appearance, you admit your heartbeat quickened. You nearly reached out to him, catching yourself last second.

“Lord Dekarios,” you began, curtseying lightly as Euphemia taught. “Pleased to meet you.”

Gale's face fell and he stared at you as if you had just taken a dagger to his chest.

You cleared your throat, glancing around the busy ballroom and speaking lowly. “Was my discretion the past couple months all for naught?”

His brows furrowed until a relieved smile broke out across his face and he smiled nervously. “Ah yes! Pleased to meet you,” Gale said, almost over confidently. “For the very first time,” he added. “Never before.”

Gods, he really was terrible at this.

“Now that I’ve met you, I’ll ask again. No dancing?”

You pursed your lips as you recalled your previous attempts to dance with potential suitors. Despite your sour performance you really were trying your best. Unfortunately, your suitors seemed to have as much patience as a teacup and moved on as soon as the set finished. At least they had the etiquette to stay until the set finished. A feat as such deserved a mental applaud for their resolve.

You fiddled with the small dance card strapped to your wrist. “I’m an expert, I promise. But I wouldn’t recommend seeing it for yourself.”

Gale raised an eyebrow, a surprised chuckle escaping his lips. “I can’t help but be curious now.” He eyed the slip of paper between your fingers. “May I?” he asked, reaching for it.

You grimaced but relented and handed him the attached pencil. “Truly horrid you are doing this to me.”

He grinned in reply, happily writing his name into the one of the blank spaces. “Will you be as good a dancer as you are a chess master?”

Scoffing, you rolled your eyes. “Will you talk about dancing as long as you did about chess? Horses and knights and bishops and kings. Tell me more about the knight’s opening, I’m sure it’ll be riveting.”

“It was the bishop’s opening, actually,” he said absently, still scribbling on your card.

“More like the bishop’s eye-closer, I’m surprised I didn’t fall asleep– what are you even writing that’s taking so long?”

Gale stifled a laugh as you pulled the pencil away from him and looked at your dance card. With surprisingly neat cursive, various versions of Gale Dekarios’ name sat in at least seven of the spots. The names ranged from his actual name in the first slot to the last which barely held any resemblance in the slightest.

‘Who the hells is Gray Delargo?!” 

“That would be my alter ego,” he snorted, rather pleased with himself.

You scanned the card again. Glais Dalglish, George Dowey, even Dale Gekarios. Ignoring Gale’s laughter, you quickly counted each name.

“Ten?! You added ten of these?!”

“I said I would, didn’t I? Unless you’re asking for an eleventh.”

You snickered as you read through all the names. Skimming the rest you noticed a gap between the sixth and eighth dance. “I don’t suppose this is where you flee after seeing my dancing capabilities?”

He shook his head, seemingly recovered from his laughing fit. “That’s for when I talk to the Marquess. I can only hope he’s available for at least a moment tonight.”

You hummed and nodded, biting back the grin growing across your face. “I’m sure he’d love to dance with you.”

As the music died down, couples began to disperse from the dance floor in search of their next partner. In a flash, Gale had pulled you to the center of the ballroom. Before you could even understand what was happening, the band burst back to life with dignified intensity. His fingers pressed up against your hand and gently wrapped around it. With a push against your palm, Gale stepped towards you, forcing you to stumble backwards.

“What are you doing?” You questioned in a frantic whisper, thankful none of the other couples had noticed your jagged movements.

Gale tugged your hand again, this time pulling you closer as he took a step back. “Is this not the purpose of a dance card? I wrote my name for the third dance, it is the third dance, so we are dancing.”

You glowered at him as he took your waist, lightly spinning you perfectly in sync with the other dancers. “And you truly expect to participate in all, what, six trillion dances you’ve put yourself down for?”

“It was ten,” Gale commented, “And yes, all of which I quite intend to be present for.” He pulled you close with a prolonged grip on your hip and a far-from-modest keenness. “Unless you intend to imply you are not interested?” His eyes darted to the necklace hanging just below your collarbones with a glance so quick you questioned if it truly happened. “Though,” Gale continued, locking eyes with you once more and lowering his voice to a gravelly murmur. “Something tells me that is not the case.”

Warmth bloomed from the pit of your chest and you made no effort to refute it. Satisfied, he pulled away and continued to lead through the dance. With Gale, dancing felt natural; a sentiment you never thought you’d have the pleasure of having. For one single instant you could’ve sworn the other guests disappeared from the ballroom and only you and Gale remained. His eyes are brown, you note. A deep brown like the bark of burned firewood or an oversteeped early morning cup of tea. A brown that made his irises resemble that of clockwork and oh, how easy it is to see yourself spending the rest of your life with that brown.

His hand reached for yours once more and time is suddenly restored, the piano quartet jovial as ever. Through all the alacrity of the dance floor, you only momentarily caught a glimpse of Euphemia through the crowd, peering at you with large anxious eyes. In the midst of all the chasséing, waltzing, spinning, and turning, words of the Marquess and her concern merely flitted through your mind, effectively becoming null the second she left your sight. Your heart thrummed vividly against your chest, desperate for something, anything. Your bodies departed as the women shifted down the line to their new partner but his presence never fully leaves. Even as you moved two, then three people down the line, his eyes never left your form for a second. You couldn’t help but do the same and Gale grinned a bit wider when you returned to his arms.

Your heart thrashed dramatically, deciding that if something was to be done, it was this very instant. With hands moving on their own accord, you clutch the collar of his suit and lean into him. Instinctively, his hands cling to your waist. Letting your eyes fall closed, you pull him down and–

He freezes.

Gale’s form goes rigid under your touch and his grip tightens. Glancing up at him in confusion, you realize he’s staring directly beyond you looking as though he’s seen a ghost. All of a sudden you feel like a fish out of water but the ball doesn’t stop for just you. The couples beside you continue to soar across the dancefloor, the womens’ dresses brushing against your stationary body. Pivoting, you see nothing out of the ordinary other than Euphemia and Sebastian’s prying eyes.

 Then all of a sudden Gale frantically pushed past you with wide eyes and a pale complexion. A cursory ‘one moment’ was all you were offered before he vanished into the crowd and out to the seemingly empty balcony.

You stood there for a couple moments, unable to process what had happened nor able to escape from the dance floor. You’ve had bad seasons before, that much was undeniable. But to your credit, never in all your life had someone fled from the ballroom without as much of an apology. Did you do something wrong? If you did, you certainly didn’t realize.

As the music surged to it’s finish, you realized tears brimmed in your eyes, blurring your vision. As the dancers left the floor and new ones began to take their place, you hurriedly searched for a place to escape. You took a couple steps forward and immediately got shoved out of the way by an incoming couple who looked you up and down strangely. A younger woman pushed around you to find her partner while another couple prepared to take the place behind you. Chest heaving, you desperately spun in place, searching for a route off the floor.

A dark figure threaded through the hoard of people to stand in front of you. Dressed in a long crimson tailcoat that enhanced his sepia skin, he offered a hand to you, bowing politely. 

“Take my hand, I’ll shield you from everyone else,” he spoke lowly.

The moment your fingertips grazed his hand he pulled you towards his chest, pivoting to where he towered over you. “Breathe,” he reminded you. “There’s still a couple minutes before the quartet begins.”

You nodded, patting away salty beads of tears with the hem of your dress. “Thank you…”

With your vision cleared, you managed to finally get a better look at your supposed savior. His hair was braided to lay neatly against his scalp and concern graced over his soft features. “Of course.” He stepped away, still watching you carefully. “I would ask for a dance but I fear you may be in too much…” he paused as you sniffled. “...distress.”

Shaking your head you fished out your dance card. “I think leaving the floor now would put me in more distress than I began with.”

He snorted in surprise when he opened it to reveal the list of names scrawled onto the paper. “I can’t say I know a Lord Dale Gekarios, do you?”

Your cheeks burned as you handed him the accompanying pencil. “He seems to have fled.”

“Not to worry. I’ll just…” he scribbled into the empty slot and handed it back to you. “There.”

Etched into the card in simple script was the name “Ryll Wavengard.” You stared at the dark writing for several seconds in confusion.

“It’s Wyll,” He explained with a grin, noticing your lost expression. “Wyll Ravengard.”

Your head snapped up to meet his gaze, dropping to a curtsey as quick as your body could move. Marquess Wyll Ravengard, Son of the Grand Duke. “My Lord! Apologies, I– surely I would’ve noticed–”

Wyll quickly waved you off with a smile. “I take no offense. I find it rather refreshing.” The embroidered emblem of the Flaming Fist that you somehow missed earlier shone with silky threads as he bowed. “Would your chaperone approve of this dance? I would have asked for an introduction properly if we weren’t on a time limit.”

As you scanned the ballroom your eyes landed on Sebastian and Euphemia who were watching you intently, their gaze quickly averting when you spot them. “I doubt they have objections,” you told him with a smile, allowing Wyll to take your hand as the sweet violin fills the ballroom.

The dance started off slowly and Wyll stepped carefully as he led you through the beginning. To your relief, you actually recognized the movements as one of the first dances you ever learned. Silently thanking Euphemia for the weekly lessons, you managed to slip into a rhythm, carrying out each step to the best of your ability.

“So, to whom do I owe the pleasure of dancing with?” Wyll asked.

You bit back the third apology of the night, instead opting to just introduce yourself. “My siblings are here as well.” As you gestured to Sebastian and Euphemia–who were getting significantly worse at pretending to be disinterested–Wyll’s smile brightened.

“Ah, Sebastian! I met him earlier tonight and it was quite the pleasure.” He glanced towards your brother, giving him a cursory smile as he continued to dance with you. “Have you been to a Ravengard ball before?”

You shook your head. “I haven’t. This is only my second season.”

“I’m surprised. You seem to fit right in.” Wyll hummed in thought.

Ignoring the initial reaction to disagree, you thanked him anyway. The rest of the dance went similarly. Wyll would ask a question and you would reply, followed by a moment of silence. It wasn’t unpleasant by any means, but you found yourself missing something–or someone.

Before you knew it the dance was over and the Marquess escorted you back to your siblings, bidding them a nice night. After a thorough questioning about the dance, you managed to convince them to give it a rest for now. Until then, you just waited, occasionally checking your dance card.

One by one the dances continued to pass. From the seventh, to the eighth, then the ninth. 

By the tenth dance you had searched the entire ballroom and nearby wings of the estate only to come up empty handed.

At the top of the eleventh dance you finally gave up and begged Euphemia to let you return early, to which she pensively agreed.

✣ ✣ ✣

“I truly just cannot understand,” you whined to your sister as she pulled various pins from your hair. “One moment things are absolutely perfect and the other he vanishes from the face of the Earth!”

“Perhaps he’s–”

“I mean really, is he trying to avoid me? He still hasn’t moved his things from his room– the guest room.” The pin snags a strand of hair making you wince.

“Have you considered–”

You slumped back in the chair, absently rambling again. “Do you think I did something? I’m not much of a dancer but I thought I was getting the hang of it– Ow!”

Euphemia dropped a couple pins in the ceramic tray on your desk, threads of hair winding around each one. “If you just held still and let me reply, it wouldn’t have hurt,” she scoffed. “How much do you know about the Viscount?”

Pursing your lips you stared at her incredulously through the vanity mirror. “I know plenty! He favors the color violet, knows far too much about chess to be that attractive, and…” you decided to keep his mage status to yourself, “...other things.”

The hairbrush bristles made the back of your neck tingle as she ran it through your hair. “Those barely scratch the surface, love. How much do you truly know about him?”

You opened your mouth to protest but she continues.

“Have you ever stopped to wonder why the Viscount of Waterdeep is in Baldur’s Gate? Or maybe why you’ve never met him at a ball before, despite participating in far fewer seasons than him?”

The bundle of nerves twisted ominously in your stomach as her words settled in, “What are you talking about?”

She spun you around to face her, donning an uncharacteristically serious expression. “Please just consider that you may not have the entire story.”

Your heart beat quicker than usual, as if spurred on by her words. “Okay…’

“Get some sleep,” Euphemia said, patting your shoulder and retreating to her own bedroom.

As she disappeared from view you sat silently, staring at where she had been. She was right. There were so many things he never fully explained that lingered deep down in the back of your mind. You had just been so caught up in… well, him… that you didn’t think to question his secrecy.

You found yourself stationed in front of the guest bedroom doorway, hand hovering on the doorknob. Your heart craved answers and this was the only place you figured there might be. He abandoned you at the ball, who was he to care now?

The door swung open to reveal a relatively neat room. You hadn’t been inside since Euphemia fixed it up for Gale, and even then it still looked the same as it had years ago. The only change was the new navy bed sheets and dozens of papers littering the desk.

Along the top of the desk were several stamps and wax seals clearly used for letter sealing.

How odd. Gale hadn’t sent any letters since he sheltered in your manor.

A folded letter tucked into the back shelf of the desk caught your eye with its glittering mauve seal, shimmering with a silver dusting on the details. You traced the circular design with the pads of your fingers, trailing down each point of the star symbol. Where had you seen it before?

Curiosity took over and you couldn’t help but read its contents, unprepared for the violent sickness that overtook your body.

Dearest Lord Dekarios,

Pray tell, how are you faring? I dare admit your correspondence has been missed. The Waterdeep Palace feels colder without your frequent visits.

Sources claim you are healthy. That is good. Make haste and return to me, we have much to discuss.

Yours heartily,

Duchess Aumar,

P.s. Duchess Dekarios has a ring to it, does it not?

Your heart dropped to the floor and the bedroom walls crumbled down around you to join it. The past couple months you had spent with Gale flashed through your mind. Could you have known this sooner? The paper trembled in your grip as you reread it, praying new words would magically appear and confirm he had truly loved you all this time, but no such words manifested. You read it over and over, analyzing each letter.

Perhaps it was addressed incorrectly.

Perhaps there was another Lord of a similar name.

On the fifth read you resisted the urge to shred the paper to tiny bits and pieces. Destroying the letter wouldn’t repair the damage to your heart.

A million thoughts crossed your mind and you gripped the sheet so hard it creased at the edge. The only saving grace was the glimmer of hope that flickered in the cavern of your chest that somehow, someway, there was something you had interpreted wrong.

“Why do you have that?” Gale’s voice cut through the room as he stared at you from the doorway, dreadfully horrified. Whatever hope you had promptly extinguished as a flash of light caught your eye. In the moonlight, plain as day, was the unassuming earring he always wore–the one you had barely given a second thought. Round and silver with a simple star decal, the very same as the glittering sealed letter in your hand. It was her symbol. And he was wearing it.

taglist:

@vhaldren @qiific3 @cryingoverpixelsetc

[ikeromantic]

For the ikePri events, could I get Chev in the Rose Garden with the Honey cake?? (I just started IkePri and im excited I to read everything!)

Mmmm some sweet Chevalier coming right up ^_^ Approx. 700 words of our second prince showing his true colors in the rose garden! IkePri New Years Event story!

Chevalier loosened the collar of his suit with a sigh. He felt exhausted. People were exhausting. He turned his head to glare coldly at the bright-lit ballroom windows. Even out here he could hear the inane chatter. It would never cease to annoy that people - nobles - needed this sort of event to convince them to do what was needed.

“King Chevalier?” 

He turned his head. “You.” He didn’t ask why she’d followed him. Chevalier already knew why, even if he still had trouble understanding it. 

Emma smiled, a crooked little half smile that Chev knew all too well. “I thought if the King could slip away, I could too.” She shrugged, “Nokto and Sariel have things under control.”

“I already know that.” He looked away from her at the rose garden around them. In the dim light, the crimson blossoms were black, and all the other colors muted. The garden could only be brought to life by light, he thought, his lips twisting in a wry smile. 

Emma slipped in beside him, and his arm settled naturally around her shoulders. Neither said anything as they walked slowly together along the winding white stone path. 

Chevalier felt his annoyance ebb in the gentle presence of his lover. His heart warmed under her gentle gaze and a new energy came to life in him from her touch.

“Do you have a New Year resolution,” she asked as they came to a stop beside one of the garden’s enormous fountains. 

“No,” he snorted. “Such things are -” 

She finished the sentence with him, “foolish.” Emma laughed. “I knew you’d say that. But I have a resolution. Do you want to hear it?”

Chevalier let out a breath, pretending to be irritated. “I suspect you will tell me regardless.”

“True.” Her eyes were merry. “My resolution is to love you even more than I already do.”

Chevalier stroked the nape of her neck, trying for a softer touch. “Impossible.” His voice was low, barely a breath. Her smile was so beautiful, he thought. What madness for a creature like her to love a beast, and more, that the beast had found he could love her back. His heart ached with the fullness of that love.

Emma’s smile widened. “I thought so too, because I love you more than I knew it was possible to love anyone. But then I thought, why not try for even more? Something is only impossible until you find a way to do it.”

“Ridiculous.” He felt his own lips stretch and curve up in a smile he couldn’t have imagined having before Emma came into his life. Chevalier lifted her up, gathering her into his arms just to hold her. To feel her pressed close. 

“If I were to make such a silly resolution,” he began, “I would aim for the plausible.”

She snuggled against his chest, arms wrapping around his neck. “Oh? What would you recommend, then?”

Chevalier combed his fingers through her hair, mussing the careful updo she’d worn for the party. “A measurable goal. Like waking up beside you every morning.”

Emma sighed. “That would be amazing. But how is that plausible?” She kissed the sensitive spot just under his jawline. “You have duties that take you all over Rhodolite.” She nipped his earlobe, tugging it gently. “I think that resolution is just like mine.”

Her teasing affected him more than he was willing to let on. Though his expression remained cool, he felt heat build in his chest. A fire only Emma could stoke. “Think,” he told her. 

“Well . . . you can’t just not go places.” She nibbled at her lower lip, rolling it over in her mind. Then her lips drew into a wide, joyful smile. “Wait! Are you promising to take me with you?” 

Chevalier kissed her. Her lips were warm and firm and lively, kissing him back with a fierce passion. Her mouth tasted of the champagne from the party, sweet, with a heat that flowed through him. He kissed her until he felt light headed, and the stars above them seemed to spin.

“That’s a - a yes then?” Her voice trembled, breathless.

“Don’t ask questions you know the answer to.” He brushed a kiss to her forehead, then her cheek, and the spot just beneath her ear. Chevalier felt an irrational urge to just keep kissing her, every inch of her. These quiet moments they spent together were everything. 

She was the light that gave color to his heart. Like a blossom brought out of the night and into dawn, showing its scarlet petals. Her love revealed the passion in him. 

Emma laughed, her breath tickling his neck. “I love you, you know that?”

“There you go, silly fool. Asking a question you know the answer to.” Chevalier kissed her again.

[nightwalkers-rps]

[There's a knock on your door in the evening.]

You home, love?

[You can hear the click of heeled footsteps, and i open the door]

Oh! David!

[Im dressed up, my hair in a relatively elaborate updo, wearing a dark blue cocktail dress that seems incredibly form fitting. I flush slightly]

I wasn't expectin to see you here!

[aurawra21]

i was just scrolling and uhh objection to your take with Class of 09 x Genshin/isekai post:

since jecka’s english va is the same as keqing, jeckole is ganyu x keqing (nicole as ganyu bc blue color palette, sleepy (yes i’m going off that one line where nicole sleeps in 4th period), has seen a lot (ganyu with living so long hoyo pls explore ganyu the adeptus and not ganyu the human; nicole with moving so much and trauma), and that a meaner/sassier ganyu would be funny lol

uhh objection: Just because they share the same VA does not make them even remotely close. I literally didnt even like Keqing all that much as a chartacter when I met her but i LOVE Jecka so yeah. them sharing the same VA is the only thing saving Keqing for me. if Keqing or Ganyu had even slightly looked like Jecka and Nicole then maybe i can give you that but they dont really

Clorivia as Jeckole makes more sense to me because if those are the points you bring to me then I can make a better argument with Clorivia

Clorinde can be Nicole because she also has a blue color palette, has long dark hair in a pony tail, has a resting bitch face, has a lower voice register, was basically raised by a single mother figure (she didnt have parents, she was raised by her master) who was hard on her, she also had trauma/went thru a lot, for the most part she keeps to herself and doesn't really have other friends and is mostly close to her best friend which is Navia and they both met when they were young

Navia is blonde, has the half updo with bangs like Jecka, we don't see much of her mom but we had seen her dad, she mostly lived with her dad when her mom passed away, Clorinde is her best friend and they literally are ALWAYS together, and her voice is also a higher register like Jecka's, she's a pretty girl who a lot of people like, she is LOUD

also if you wanna really look closely at their models, i have because im insane, Navia is slightly taller than Clorinde just like how if you look at Jeckole's mugshots like an insane person (me) Jecka is also slightly taller than Nicole

clearly, there are a lot of differences because Jeckole and Clorivia are very different people, but I can also make that argument with Ganyu/Keqing so if you want to not include those parts, Clorivia still has more similarities than them

[romanarose]

For the Longest Time: Chapter 8 part 1

William Miller x Fem!OC (Lorelei Giang)

Masterlist : Triple Frontier Masterlist :Playlist

Join my taglist!

Summary: It's time for the charity ball... things are never easy.

Warnings: So much drama. Lorelei is pregnancy horny. Alice is causing problems with everyone, talk of Jana's addiction, Alice being a massive bitch. Emotional abuse, pinching (its not fun and cute), shaming eating and weight gain, slut shaming. Lorelei's emotional unavailability, Will lack of focus.

A/N: This and the next one were supposed to be one, but then i got to this end and im like.... so much happens already. Gotta spread this out. So, we got this chapter, then 2 more, then the grand finale with the Garcia-Dumas wedding.

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

It was a little tense in the room, to say the least.

A month after Benny’s “it wasn’t a suicide attempt! I handled a break up and my dads death and losing my best friend a very normal amount!”, Benny stayed in rotation with the guys. With Lorelei living in what used to be Ben’s room and Laci and Santi having a foster child for a week, the first week was going to be staying with Frankie and Jana. It went great for a total of 2 days before he got back together with Alice. Laci didn’t even have a chance to talk to him alone yet.

It was the fundraiser ball in the city, all 4 of the guys renting rooms next to each other in a hotel so no one had to worry about driving, and Jana had begged and pleaded for this to be a whole getaway. Rosie, their 3 year old they adored, was… three. And a lot. Jana’s brother offered to take her for a weekend so her and Frankie could rest. 

The guys were getting ready in Frankie’s suite room which was connected to Santi’s by a door. The Miller boy’s rooms were connected by a door too that would remain unlocked since Ben was likely going to be drinking and Will couldn’t trust Alice to take care of him properly.

Yes, Alice was getting ready with the rest of them. Initially, Lorelei and Jana said a hard and fast NO. Lorelei knew she couldn’t exactly blame Alice for Ben almost dying in Will’s arms, but the sight of Will crying, holding his baby brother’s limp body was something that haunted her. Between that, her treatment of Laci and forcing Ben to pretty much cut her off, knowing she bullied Ben so severely and was homophobic, she wanted her out of their lives. However, it was the point about Ben and Laci that convinced them to allow her in. Laci cried and begged for Alice to be able to get ready with them, because Laci though if she was just nice enough, was just friendly and welcoming enough to Alice, she could have her best friend back. Ben was still going to be her man of honor at her wedding. 

Alice had said yes, Ben can be in the room while Jana and Laci get ready, but they have to change separately, of course, and Laci couldn’t be alone with Ben, Jana or one of the guys had to be there. As if Laci would ever cheat on Santi, nonetheless on their wedding. Stupid. Laci didn’t want to lose her best man, and she hoped to get pregnant on the wedding night and hope Ben would be an uncle to the child the way he was to Rose.

So, she was here. 

Laci was having a little trouble with her hair. When she was taken, she lost a lot of hair from starvation, and in the last year it began to grow back with Santi’s gentle and through care for her nutrition and health. This left her with regrowth, and complicated hair.

“Can I help you?” Lorelei offered. Lorelei’s hair was already done, having left it in heatless curlers all day and only needed a touch up to create Veronica Lake peek-a-boo bangs.

Laci enthusiastically agreed, smiling as Lorelei pulled her hair back, creating a loose updo with her pre-curled hair, being sure to cover up her scar as best she could per Laci’s request. 

“You’re good at this.” Laci complimented. 

“Thank you, I love beauty. Do you know what you’re doing for the wedding?”

Laci smiled at the mention of the wedding in little more than a month. “Kinda. I think I’m gonna just do soft waves. Everything is pretty casual, honestly. Backyard wedding and all. My usual hair stylist, Bre, she’s gonna actually be at the wedding so I don’t want her to have to worry about anything enjoying the day.”

“I can do your hair. Make-up too if you want.”

She smiled even brighter. “Really? You’re so good at makeup and hair, I’d love it!”

“Of course. I enjoy it, no trouble at all.”

Laci and Lorelei talked hair and make-up options, Laci still wanting to keep things pretty simple, but Lorelei mentioned extensions since Laci wanted length. 

“I’m gonna cut it again after the wedding. I really prefer it short much shorter, you know how it was when I first met you last year?”

Alice spoke from where she was applying lipstick. “What does Santi like?”

“Hm?” Laci turned to her, looking nervous but smiling. Lorelei and Jana looked at each other. 

“Like, does he like your hair short? I that why you cut it?”

“Oh, no, that’s not- I cut it short last year and I just like it so much better.”

“But what does Santi like?”

Jana answered for her. “It doesn’t fucking matter what Santi likes, it’s here hair.”

“But that’s her fiance”

“I never asked…”

“He can’t keep his hands to himself for two seconds no matter what she looks like, she’s fine.”

Alice seemed to be considering her next words. “You’re right, I’m sure he loves you even if he doesn't like your hair.”

Oh for fucks sake.

Jana sighed, standing up and shaking her head before walking to the door connecting her room with the guys and knocking. “Are you all decent, cielo? I need my setting spray.”

Alice was not done causing problems. “Can you put on a robe?”

Jana paused, slowly turning around. Lorelei glanced at Laci, clearly tense, but there was no stopping a pissed off Jana. “Huh?”

“I mean, you’re in your underwear.” Alice gestured at Jana. She was wearing shorts and a sports bra. Her usual clothes minus and unbuttoned shirt. “It’s kinda disrespectful” She looked to Laci. “I doubt Laci wants you walking around like that in front of her fiance.”

Laci whispered something about trusting Santi, but no one was listening. Jana was facing away from the door as it opened, all 4 of the guys listening in at the argument. 

“I have known these men,” she threw a thumb back “for 15 years. Laci does not care about how I dress around Santi because we fucking served together, you think we havn’t seen each other in our underwear? I saw his dick once, against my fucking will because the dumbass didn’t lock the door. We are waaaaayyyy past them seeing me in shorts, and I have whipped a tit out to breastfeed in front of every single one of them. All of them.” She turned around, pointing at Will. “You’ve seen my nipples, right?”

Will blushed, avoiding anyone's eyes but had a small smile on his face. He loved Jana’s crazy. “Yes ma’am”

Jana turned back, “If I wanted to fuck then, I’d have fucked them by now.”

But Alice wasn’t dropping it. “I just think you could dress less…”

“Less what?”

“Slutty”

Frankie had been standing aside, knowing Jana preferred to handle things herself in contrast to Laci liking Santi’s fierce protection, but he drew the line at insults at her. “Hey, that’s enough.”

Jana simply held out a hand, stopping her boyfriend. There was a deadly silence for a moment. Jana was a little hotheaded, but as a mature and educated adult she thought through her words. “Yes, I am a slut, Alice.” She started. “I’ve slept with dozens of men and women, and I’m not ashamed of that, I refuse to be ashamed of something that didn’t hurt anyone when I was single. But Frankie is my boyfriend, and he will be my husband. I am completely loyal to him, and only him, and he trusts me. And I trust him. I can be alone with Santi just like he can be alone with Laci, a trust you don’t afford Ben.”

“It’s a respect thing, Jana. Ben respects me enough to listen. You clearly don’t respect me or Frankie if-”

Jana dropped her shorts to the floor, exposing cheetah print underwear. Kicking them away, she walked right into the boys room to grab her setting spray. Laci and Santi’s eyes connected after both checking her ass out. It was a great ass, they could not lie. Jana got her spray, kissed Frankie with an open mouth kiss and tongue, and walked back into the room to change into her dress.

Alice shut her mouth.

*

When the door shut, effectively leaving the surprised men separated from the girls and their conflicts again, Frankie took off his ballcap and began smacking Santi.

“OW! What the hell, Fish!” Santi whined.

“Fuck you doing looking at her ass!” He said, beating his friend.

“I’m sorry! It’s not my fault she’s-”

“Don’t say it!”

“Will looked too!” Santi pointed to Will, throwing his friend under the bus.

Frankie paused, slowly turning to Will who held up his hands, laughing “Hey man, I can’t lie, I did look.”

“If we’re being honest…” Ben chimed in. “I might have taken a peak.”

Frankie groaned and scrubbed his face.

Santi patted his back. “Sorry you have a hot girlfriend, I guess.”

That did not comfort him.

When the guys went back to geting dressed, teasing Frankie, something caught Will’s eye when Benny peeled off his shirt.

“Jesus, Ben! What the hell is that!” Will stands up, and Ben tries to pull down his shirt again, Will catches it. On his side was a big purple bruise right at the bottom of his rib cage.

Frankie whistles lowly. “Fuck, Benjamin, where the hell you get that?”

Ben yanked his shirt down. “Leave me alone! It was from the fight I got my black eyes?”

Will’s eyebrow raised at that. “You said you hit your eye falling into the counter.”

“Yeah, um, I hit the counter too.” He was avoiding Will’s eyes, but caught Santi’s. As Will railed at him and prodded and asked question, Ben tuned him out, only looking at Santi. Santiago, someone he admired so intensely, someone he loved, someone, for a period of time, Ben thought he could have a future with… But that, like his plans with Cam, never panned out. He had Alice now, and that’s what he deserved. 

Ben stormed off to the bathroom where he finished dressing.

Will moved to go after him, but Frankie put a hand on his chest. “Not now, man.”

“But-”

Frankie shook his head. “Leave it for another day. We got a nice night ahead of us with beautiful women and each other, okay? Remember what you want to do tonight. You can talk to him later.”

Will watched his brother walk into the bathroom, not looking like himself. He was sadder, thinner, drinking more… Ben had always been a struggle to keep alive but this was really beginning to scare him. Will didn’t believe Ben when he said he hadn’t tried to kill himself… but Frank was right. Another time.

Tonight, he had Lorelei… and Lorelei  was absolutely stunning.

As he looked at her when she and the other women were ready, Will felt like he would propose right there. She wore a red dress, off the shoulder covering part of her floral half-sleeve, her 6 month baby bump prominent and she was positively glowing. It wasn’t just the baby, though. Will could not be more happy to be having a child, yes, but there was so much more. William absolutely adored her. Before they knew they were pregnant, Will had admired her. She, from the very beginning, had absolutely no problem holding her own against him. She was incredibly bright, smart as a damn whip and a mouth to match it and fearless. When Tyler slapped her, Will would not have held it against her one bit if she had cried, but she punched him hard enough she busted her knuckles, knocking out a tooth. 

Still, within all this was her fierce sense of right and wrong, her protection of those who need help, her self sacrifice. Will was a goner the day he met her. When Will first saw her in the hospital, working overnight in an ER looking that the prettiest damn thing he’d seen in his life and running the floor, he thought she was stunning, so in her element. The thing that made him fall, however, was the way she cared for Laci that won him over. When she thought that maybe, just maybe Will or Ben had hurt her, and the way she walked right past him and spoke to Laci with such assured kindness, it was over for him. Lorelei was kind, she could be gentle although sometimes her temper got her and she had a tendency to close off.

The thing was, Will didn’t love Lorelei in inspite of the moments she was assertive, loud, or head strong. He loved the way her heart her head and her strength were together, her most shining movements were when her empathy and bravery worked hand in hand, like when she possibly saved Ben’s life. Lorelei was not afraid if hurting Will’s feelings when she pushed him aside and instructed him to bend his brother over, she was not afraid like Will was of germs and shoved her fingers down his throat. Although he was too busy at the time thinking he was holding his dying brother, when Will reflects back on that night, he was in awe of her.

There was a time, yes, that she was rude, she was hurtful, she could be abrasive, but Will didn’t want to change her. He simply hoped to give her new perspectives. For months, Lore made small comments like she was the smartest one in the room at all times. Instead of telling her she wasn’t (Will thought she absolutely was) he told her that him and the guys weren’t just dumb military men and the girls were both educated. Since then, she’s never acted conceited in her brains, just self-assured.

Will didn’t want to change her, he didn’t want to quiet her or dampen her energy. He loved her in all the ways she was not in spite of them.

“Lore…” He whispered, desperate to touch her, to kiss her, but he wouldn’t cross her boundaries. “You look gorgeous, like a 50s red carpet starlet.”

Lorelei’s pendget for the classics translated to her sense of style, her luxurious black hair in barrel curls, red lips matching the dress.

“You look incredible too, William.” Will was dressed up in a red crushed velvet tuxedo to match her. As the main organizer for the event, Will would be introducing a few speakers, including Jana, and running the bid for the auction, so Lorelei wanted him to shine, bring out his stunning features, so she encouraged him into the red suit. 

She wanted to rip it off him and bounce on his di- fuck, pregnancy hormones.

The night went swimmingly. Dinner was delicious and the items from the silent auction were so far doing well. The benefit of the Miller boys being locals, they knew a lot of businesses and were able to get a lot of donations for the shelter that Jana and Laci worked at, where Will had chosen to raise money for this year. 

“And now, to present on the work that Women’s and Children’s Horizon’s has been doing,” Will spoke at the podium. “Is a social worker at Horizons for the last 10 years, and my close friend, Jana Fernandez.”

Frankie stood to pull out Jana’s chair and stood at the steps to held her up, Will’s hand waiting for her to assist in the rest of the way up. Jana wore a dusty rose pink dress with a slit up the tight, the neckline hanging loose around her chest. Her hair was slicked back into a tight ponytail with her long curls poofing out. It was no wonder she got hit on everywhere she went. Usually, during the day, Jana wore business casual clothes and comfortable shoes, given that she has to walk around a fair amount, so when Jana gets dressed up, she loves wearing strappy and very high heels, today though, Lorelei noticed she was in gold ballet flats that matched her gold jewelry.

Jana, like Will, was good with words, although Lorelei thought no one matched his ability for public speaking. She was biased though. When she watched him up, there, so broad and assured and in his element, it made her want to just drop to her knees right there and suck- god dammit.

Open and honest as ever, Jana spoke candidly about suffering through addiction to cocaine and the work her shelter does with addiction as well as victims of domestic violence. Laci gave permission for Jana to talk about how, although she did not need shelter as she lived with Santi, Horizons helped connect her to group therapy and re-employment after she was rescued from sex-trafficking. Santi held Laci close during that. Finally, Jana talked about plans to open a youth shelter in the abandoned building a block away from theirs, and the money raised tonight would go towards creating this youth shelter.

With a loud round of applause, Jana made her exit, Frankie just straight up scaled the steps in order to wrap an arm around her as they walked down. Lorelei noted Frankie was quite protective today, giving Jana the same princess treatment Santi gave Laci.

“Now, Jana here is being modest, but she has had an active part in the development and planning for the youth shelter, and not only will she be heading the LGBTQ youth outreach and suicide prevention initiative, but will be the director of the entire youth building once renovations are complete, so let’s get another round of applause for Ms. Fernandez!”

“Jana!” Laci jumped up to meet her friend, quickly followed by Santi, Ben, and Lorelei for a group hug. Alice hung back. “Why didn’t you tell me! This is amazing!”

Jana was beaming. “Well, it’s contingent on me finishing my Doctorate, that’s why. Being a director isn’t exactly set in stone, but the LBGT youth outreach is” 

“Wait, you’re going back to school?”

She nodded. “Yup, this August. Only had a semester left when I had to drop out.”

Jana had to drop out because she failed out of her last semester having been introduced to coke at a party. Things escalated and her and Frankie were in a whirlwind of horny puppy love and heavy drinking, she couldn’t continue. Her doctorate program was letting her pick up where she left off.

Santi pulled her in for a tight hug. “I’m so fucking proud of you, Jan-Jan. You massive pain in my ass.”

As they sat, everyone continued asking questions.

“What’s your concentration going to be?” Ben asked.

“Before I failed out-”

“Decided to leave for your mental health,” Frankie tried to correct.

“I failed out due to addiction,” Jana said with emphasis as Will began the auction. “I wa studying LGBT homelessness specifically, but my focus is LGBT issues in general.”

Everyone heard when Alice huffed.

“Got something to say, Alice?” Jana challenged, every strong but Lorelei could recognize the hurt in her eyes at the dampening of Jana’s big announcement. No one was immune to hurt feelings.

“I dunno, you gonna show the room your underwear ag-” She stopped when Lorelei’s hand tightly gripped her arm.

Lore leaned in, dropping her voice so only Alice could hear, but standing firm. “You shut your fucking mouth, or I swear to god, I will make your life miserable.” Lorelei had no idea how she was going to follow through with that threat, pregnant and 5’3, but she sounded serious enough that Alice went quiet.

Benny filled the silence, steering the conversation away from Jana’s concentration and asking about her plans for the center. Jana talked excitedly as Frankie rested his chin on his hand, gazing at her adoringly, him Ben and Santi occasionally bidding on items.

*

Lorelei couldn’t believe what she had just heard; Laci stood up for herself.

Alice had asked, clearly trying to pick a fight with Laci, if all the women weren’t dating the men, who they would sleep with, and when Laci said she wasn’t sure this game was a good idea, Alice pushed her

“Yeah, I sure you would be against this”

“Well, it’s not Ben, despite what you think.” And she glared at her. Lacina Dumas glared at someone. Unheard of. 

“Well, who would it be, then?”

Lorelei asked. “Will, I assume?”

Laci bawked at her. “What makes you assume that!”

“Relax, hun! I’m not mad, it’s just you seem to be very close to him.”

“I love all of them, equally!”

Jana chimed in. “We know, bicho, but if you were going to sleep with one of them-”

“I’d sleep with my fiance!”

Jana smacked her head. “Other than Santito.”

She seemed get it now, blushing hard but answering. “Well, it’s not Will.” She said firmly.

“Oh?” Lore laughed. “And why not?”

“It’s nothing bad!” Laci was quick to assure. “He’s very handsome, I love him a lot-”

“Sweetheart, we’re not dating, you don’t sure act like you just insulted my boyfriend.”

“Sure…” Laci didn’t seem like she believed her, and looked at the table. “It’s just that… well you know… Will is a very tall guy…”

“He is…”

“And he’s very… broad…”

“Yeah?”

Laci shifted in her seat, smiling an embarrassed smile. “I just… I think it would be more… comfortable with Frankie.” She laughed a little.

Jana got what she was going for “OH! You’re afraid his dick is too big.”

Laci burst into giggles, hiding her face. “Shut up!” But she was kicking her feet, a sure sign of Laci happiness.

The girls all laughed with her. “One issue though, Lace. Frankie’s bigger.” All eyes went to Jana now. “Listen! I havn’t seen anyone but my loving boyfriends and unfortunately, Santi’s that one time, but when they get drunk, they talk a lot and in their 20’s they all decided to tell me their dick sizes on scale… I might have asked.”

“Okay! Will, definitely Will. And what about you, Miss Dick Expert” She poked at her friend.

“Will, hands down Will.”

Alice raised an eyebrow. “Really? I’d have assumed Santi, seeing as you’ve known him the longest.”

Jana made a gagging noise. “Sorry Lace. Look, Santiago is a good looking guy, I won’t deny it. Hell, I’ve made out with him. Almost fucked him.”

This earned a confused look from both Lorelei and Alice. 

“BEFORE Frankie. Santi introduced us, actually, but we met because he asked me on a date. We made out but it felt like kissing my brother, he said it felt like kissing his sister. Been a pain in my ass ever since. Besides, I’ve known Will just as long, Santi just shoves his tongue down the throat of every girl he meets.”

Lorelei noticed a slight shift in Laci’s energy, seeming less comfortable, so Lorelei changed the subject and went next with explicit plans to piss off Alice. “Well, I would sleep with Ben.” 

Alice’s head whipped to the right, suddenly with pursed lips and a pinched eyebrow. “What?”

“Yeah.” She said smugly with a shrug. “He’s hot, a foot taller than me, nice guy. Ben patching that boy up long enough, I think I know his body.”

Lorelei’s face set in a challenge, ready to take on whatever Alice threw, but instead, Alice face shifted to Laci.

“I’d fuck Santi.” She said, Laci’s discomfort clearly growing. “Yeah, guy like that I think deserves to have some real freak sex. Think he’d be down for a threesome? You can watch-”

“Please stop” Laci whispered. 

She didn’t. “-if you want, but I’d assume Santi has a lot of experience with threesomes anyway between him Frankie and Jana-”

Jana attempted to say she’d never had a threesome with Santi and Frankie, but between that and Lorelei yelling at her to stop, Laci was experiencing sensory over-load induced anxiety as Alice continued.

“But honestly, I think he’d be happy just to spice things up a bit. I mean, I don’t want to assume, but I don’t think someone with your history is very experimental, I bet he gets really bored with-”

Santiago was at Laci’s side, hand on her back. “Hi baby, wanna come with me?” Carefully Santi guided her away as the guys approached. 

Will placed a hand on Lorelei’s shoulder, “Come on, you gotta check out the cheese plate, it’s amazing.” A strange thing to say since Will would never eat public finger food. Once they made their way to the table, Ben and Alice trailing behind them, Will whispered. “What the hell was that?”

Lore sighed, helping herself to a few shrimp and cocktail sauce. “Alice was being a bitch and taunting Laci, saying she’d fuck Santi and that he’s probably had a threesome with Jana and Frankie.”

His mouth gaped open. “What?!?” He pointed to the shrimp. “Aren’t you not supposed to have seafood?”

“I’m not supposed to stuff my face with seafood, William. A few shrimp is harmless.” Will backed down, trusting she knows what she’s talking about. Lore continued with a shrimp in her mouth. “In her defense, I may have been taunting her saying I’d sleep with Ben.” She watched Will’s face become even more confused. “Not actually! She asked if we weren't with you guys, which one of you we’d sleep with. She was being a bitch so I lied and said Ben.”

Will’s feathers were slightly less ruffled. “Oh. So, you wouldn’t sleep with my brother?”

“No.” She rolled her eyes with a smile. “He’s like a child to me. Besides.” Lorelei reached for some cheese and sausage, side eyeing Will as she teased him. “If it was a choice, it’d be Frankie?”

“Frankie?” He bellowed a laugh. “Lore I love you but you’d make that man cry.”

Will tried not to think about the fact he had just said he loved her. He said he loved Laci and Jana and Santi and his gramps all the time, right? He tried not to think about the fact she said ‘if we weren’t with you guys.’

As he and Lore stayed by the snack table hanging out and giggling, laughing at certain fashion choices and drunken behaviors. Will pulled up a chair for her when it was clear Lorelei did not want to pull away from the snacks. Lorelei ate through the pregnancy, and he relieved her that she wasn’t throwing it up, but still it was nice to see her indulging. 

“Do you really need to be eating that?” 

Alice’s voice carried over to them, drawing both their eyes to where the couple bickered, not knowing they had an audience. 

“C’mon, it’s one damn muffin.”

“It was ‘one damn muffin’ last week too. That’s why you’re losing your fights.”

“I’m losing my fights because you stress me out before every one!”

“It’s not my fault you’re such a fucking baby, Ben. Jesus Christ, what kind of man cries during a fight?”

Lorelei and Will look at each other, Lorelei noting his fuming anger but taking the opportunity to hear their conversations when they thought they were alone, a rare look into their relationship

“Alice, I don’t wanna talk about this here.”

“All I said was you needed to shape up.”

“You said I didn’t look as good with a shirt off as we first started dating.”

“Yeah, because you got this” Alice pinched his stomach, and that was Will’s last straw.

“Hey!” Will stood up and strode his long legs over to Ben, leaving Lorelei to hobble up by herself, grumbling.

Alice rolled her eyes. “Here we go.”

The three of them bickered back and forth, Ben telling Will to stay out of it, Will telling her to keep her hands off Ben, Alice saying it was a playful pinch and to relax.

“Eat the muffin, Ben.” Will deadpanned looking at his baby brother.

“I don’t really wanna anymore.”

“Eat the fucking muffin, Ben. You know what your body needs more than she does.”

Ben groaned. “Yeah, and it doesn’t need a fucking muffin.”

Lorelei warned Will to stop, Alice told Ben not to do it, but this was between the Millers. 

“Ben. Eat the goddamn muffin.”

Red faced and embarrassed, Benny caved and popped the small muffin in his mouth, chewing it before he swallowed. 

The tension remain in the air, but with no where to go. Ben mumbled something about using the bathroom and Alice said she needed a drink, leaving Will with his rage.

“Will.” Lorelei touched him arm. “You gotta relax, honey.”

To her surprise, however, Will stepped away from her. “Lore, I need you to give me a bit of space right now.”

She reached for him, “Will-”

He held a hand up, eyes pinched closed. “Princess, I love you, but I need a moment. Put all these thousands of dollars of therapy to use.” Will spoke through gritted teeth, but the smallest of smiles.

Lorelei understood now. She had seen him do his calming exercises before on a small scale, but right now he was shaking with rage. It took several minutes as Will breathed, flexing and unflexing his hands and his body relaxed, easing down until he opened his eyes again.

“Sorry” He muttered, going to get a glass of water.

“Don’t be.” She whispered, holding out a hand for him if he was ready this time. He took it. “I’m so, so proud of you.”

*

Laci’s squeal across the room drew their attention as the opening notes of Leather and Lace started, and Santiago and her giggled as they ran out to the dance floor with big smiles.

“That’s their song.” Will explained as he stood up, holding out a hand. “Can I have this dance?”

Lorelei smiled, taking his hand as he helped her up. “I’d love to, William.”

They danced together, Ben and Alice apparently patching things up and dancing with her head on his chest. Over at their table, Jana was resting with her feet shoeless on Frankie’s lap, smiling adoringly at her boyfriend as he massaged her feet.

Laci and Santi laughed and smiled, Santi occasionally picking her up off the ground to spin her around, Laci’s head hanging back with a broad smile. Santi must have been practicing on his dancing.

“I’m glad to see them happy.” Lorelei said, her hand having to reach high for Will’s shoulder.

Will sounded concerned. “Yeah, they’re having a bit of a rough patch…”

“They’ll be okay.” She assured him.

“Yeah, I know. They love each other too much to give up.”

Lorelei took the dance to be close with him, to feel herself being held as she carried their daughter. She loved these moments, this closeness, the calmness he felt in her. Despite the chaos of today, all that disappeared with him.

She loved him, she loved him so fucking much it hurt sometimes, she loved his fierce protection of his family, she loved his gentleness, and she loved the feeling of calm he brought her. Most of all, she loved the joy. Lorelei could hang out with him for hours and hours and hours, sometimes talking and sometimes in silence, sometimes touching, sometimes separate when everything was too much. She was relaxed with him in a way she never felt with any man or family before. Everything with Will came easy except actually committing. 

He was so different, so, so much better but the walls that were built up by her dad, step-dad, and boyfriends were high. And right now? She was tired. It had been a long night, lots of fun, lots of beauty, exciting announcement for Jana but there had been a lot of drama and she was exhausted.

“What the hell?” Will muttered, looking at his brother.

Lorelei sighed. She was tired. “Will, don’t-”

But it was too late, Will abandoned her on the dance floor, running off to confront Ben and Alice about something she was too tired to deal with right now. Her feet hurt, her arms felt heavy as they dropped to her side, disappointed at the loss of her time with him. Lorelei wondered if she and Chloe would always be playing second fiddle to Ben.

Frankie picked up her hands, guiding them to his shoulders and placing his own respectfully on her shoulders as well.

“Thank you.” She whispered, too embarrassed to look him in the eye.

“I might now know a lot, but I’ve watched enough period pieces to know not to leave a lady on the dance floor.”

Everything was so overwhelming right now, the pregnancy, her feelings for Will, everything with Ben who she very much loved… her eyes welled up with tears and her red lips quivered.

“Oh, hey now, c’mere Lorelei.” Frankie gently guided her head to his chest, but met slight resistance.

“M’make-up…” She mumbled, not wanting to ruin his nice white suit. 

He didn’t push her head, taking a moment to caress her hair. “S’alright, just let it out. I’ll take off the suit top later.”

She wanted to say no, but she didn’t have it in her to fight it. Lorelei planted her face right on Fransico’s breast pocket and let it go, full face of make-up and all. Lorelei cried, all her frustration and anger collapsed into Frankie’s comforting hold, the music pausing and fading into something by Tony Bennet, something Lorelei would normally love.

Today, all she could hear was Will, Alice and Ben arguing.

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

So much has happened, when the next chapter comes out yall will get why it had to be split.

Anyway, more hints into Alice's bullshit

Im not getting rid of my tag list, but im adding an update blog, @romana-updates ! come follow and/or turn on notifications so you dont miss a thing!

Let me know you're thoughts!

@pimosworld @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @whatthefishh @missdictatorme @milkymoon2483 @poeedameronn@itspdameronthings @miraclesabound @babymills16 @rayslittlekitten

[indigothemuse]

Lemongrass Tea and Other Small Things

hi!! here's my KOTLC secret santa!! for @novaliae!! thank you so much to @song-tam for hosting this event!! it was super fun and i hope everyone else had a good time!

you can read it here on my ao3!

oh my god, and, of course, thank you so so much to @wonder-womans-ex for being a FANTASTIC beta, and the reason why it's coherent (im so sorry i forgot to mention you the first time around)

Being part of the group to create the Black Swan felt natural. Tiergan had never felt as though he turned his back on the rest of the elves. Weren’t they trying to create a better world for themselves? He sighed. He’d never imagined that this would be the outcome. Prentice had been lost for so long, so to only now get him back…

But only to get him back, memories almost lost. And…Cyrah. Tiergan had loved Cyrah, and her death had almost broken him completely after Prentice called Swan Song and his mind breaking.

Prentice was slowly coming back. It was a process, he had to remind himself. Losing your mind and then regaining it was practically unheard of. (Never mind Alden.) And Sophie…he felt grief for her. She had lost her childhood, turned into a soldier by not only circumstance, but by them. By him.

“I can hear you brooding. You can’t solve anything by being miserable.” Prentice leaned against the railing beside him, holding out a mug of tea. At Tiergan’s look, he smiled softly. “Lemongrass. You used to drink it when your anxiety got worse.”

Tiergan’s mouth felt dry. He hadn’t drunk lemongrass tea (or mint—Prentice’s preference) since the mind break. It tasted like home. By his smile, Prentice knew it.

“Thank you, even if you’re going to act insufferable about it.”

“Me? Insufferable? Never!”

“Mhm.”

Tiergan broke first, laughing into his cup. Prentice grinned. He took another sip of tea. It tasted, well…like lemon. But it reminded him of home, of sitting in Cyrah and Prentice’s home, of playing with a young Wylie. Prentice smiled at him, and the two stood in silence.

The silence breaks, just a few minutes later as Wylie, Linh, and Tam come home. They look happy, and Tiergan greets them warmly. He’s glad that they’re happy.

Linh is beaming, teasing Tam about something. His son The boy is blushing furiously, much to her delight. There’s water droplets hovering around her, a sure sign of her joy.

Wylie has such a fond look on his face, and Tiergan wishes, oh so desperately, that he could preserve this moment, forever. Prentice is laughing at something Tam said, face transformed by joy. He’s so alive.

He takes a sip of his tea, relaxing into the comfort it gives. And he watches, surrounded by his family.

Tiergan is going into his final year of regular Foxfire, before the elite levels, surrounded by his family. Prentice is draped across his lap, feet in Cyrah’s. Livvy is there too, all on the floor of Cyrah’s room.

They’re dressed in finery, preparing for her Winnowing Gala. Her hair is pulled back in an elaborate updo, gold threaded through the red strands. She’s beautiful, he thinks, and reaches across to squeeze her hand. She gifts him with a bright smile, eyes twinkling.

“Cy, hold still. You’re going to make me mess up!” Livvy has a makeup brush clutched in her hand, dipped in fine gold powder.

“Liv, it doesn’t matter—”

“It matters to me, hold on.” Tongue poking out, she dusts the gold across her eyelids.

Prentice sighs, leaning back against him. “I think I could just fall asleep like this.”

“Do it.”

A soft laugh. “I need to finish getting ready too.”

“Mm. You look fine.” He punctuates this with a soft kiss to his cheek. He smiles, clearly pleased.

“You smell like lemongrass. Did you get perfume?”

“Mhm. Kesler.”

“Nice. Maybe I should ask him for some.”

“What? For your boring tea?”

Prentice twists, a look of pretend outrage. “Hey! Excuse you, I have great taste!”

Tiergan can’t help the fond smile. “Sure, love.”

He scrunches his nose. Cyrah, done, moves closer, resting her cheek against his shoulder.

“Gross,” Livvy calls, clearly unbothered.

“The polycule is open for you! As we’ve said many times!”

“I’m good. Now, finish getting ready so we can go wow everyone with our hot gayness.”

Tiergan snorts and lets Prentice pull him to his feet. “Okay, I’m thinking of eyeliner.”

“Are we trying to give Cy’s parents a heart attack?”

“Mhm! It’ll be fun, baby!”

“I agree. Can you imagine Mom’s look?” She presses a kiss to his cheek.

He rolls his eyes, but leans against her for a moment.

“Right!” Livvy claps her hands a few minutes later, resplendent in a bright red dress, gold beads in her hair. “We ready?”

“Yep!” Prentice has a gold bracelet on, matching Tiergan and Cyrah. The three of them look like a set, and makes something inside him warm. They’re both beautiful, each positively striking in their splendor. (He could look at them forever, and never grow bored.)

Tiergan and Prentice take one of her arms, and together they walk down the stairs into a dazzling ballroom. It’s filled with young men, all vying for her attention. She graces them with one last smile, before sweeping into the crowd. Tiergan dances with Livvy, and then Soheila, Cyrah’s younger sister. They talk amicably, before the song ends, and he’s left alone.

He spends two dances leaning against the wall, watching his friends. Cyrah is a sight to see on the dance floor, her blue dress easily more magnificent than anyone else's. It makes sense, seeing as she’s the star of the night. Still, she’s beautiful in her element, a specter of powder blue and gold and shining red. I love you, he will say that night, later, when all three of them are in comfortable clothes and her makeup is gone and her hair is down, and he will find her just as beautiful.

Prentice too, is alluring. He’s in dark blue pajamas, lounging back on her bed, eyes closed. Maybe he is foolish, he thinks, but he kisses his forehead anyway, pulling a blanket over him. I love you, he has whispered over and over, and it’s never felt as true as it does right now.

He hasn’t said I love you since Cyrah died. It’s as though his heart has closed off, unwilling to let anyone near. But this is Prentice, he reminds himself, as they sit on the couch. His feet are back in Tiergan’s lap, as they so often were Before. His hands are holding a book, balancing it upon his legs. Prentice is drinking a cup of tea, eyes almost shut. He laughs a little at that. Some things don’t change. He had always been an early sleeper, the first to fall asleep anywhere. He keeps reading, only reaching over to take the cup away to place on the low table.

“I love you,” Tiergan breathes, oh-so-quietly, hoping Prentice hears but also wishing desperately that he doesn’t.

He wakes up the next morning underneath a blanket and resting against him. He’s warm. It’s like being a student all over again—falling asleep on sofas together, waking up late for class.

He’s not quite sure what woke him up until he hears the kids frantically whispering.

“I said to be quiet! Not to bump into anything!”

“I didn’t do it intentionally!” Linh whispers back to him, and he can practically see the twins locked in their quiet debate.

Wylie laughs quietly. “I’m sure they’re still asleep. Dad can sleep through anything, and I’m pretty sure Tiergan can too. Trust me, we could set off alarms and they’d sleep through the night.”

He’s not…wrong, exactly. Cyrah had been the early riser of the three, and she would wake them up in the morning. Tiergan would be content to sleep through the day, but he has to teach.

Oh no. He has to teach; he has a job. But he’s warm…hm. Would Leto care if he called in sick? Wait, no, he has a meeting with Sophie. Hmm.

He waits for a few minutes until the kids leave, and carefully moves off of Prentice, fixing the blanket. Tiergan can’t resist, and presses a light kiss to his forehead. “Sleep well, love.” I love you. He goes to get ready for the day, leaving a short while later, brushing his hair back into a bun.

With a quick, “Foxfire!” he arrives on the campus, giving a quick greeting to some of the prodigies. At least he gets to skip orientation. In his office, he sits down, pulling out a folder.

He has to prepare for his first prodigy—a level 4 student named Sage Keyston. They’re working on better mental concentration, especially when it comes to transmitting.

It’s a good lesson, and Sage makes a lot of progress.

“Good job today, Sage. I’d recommend practicing with someone else too. If you’d like, I can send you a list.”

“Sure! That sounds awesome! Thanks, Tiergan!” Sage gives a cheerful wave and flounces out, going to their next class.

He only has a few moments before Sophie’s coming inside, giving him a nervous smile. Her hair’s been braided with small flowers, possibly courtesy of Biana. “Hey, Tiergan.”

“Sophie. Do you need something?” She’s not scheduled to come in until later, close to the end of the day.

“I had a question. It’s, uh, a little personal though.”

“Okay…why don’t you sit down? I have some tea, if you’d like it.” She’s trembling slightly, he notes as she sits down.

“Yeah, that sounds good.” Sophie is devoutly staring at her hands, and he turns to give her some privacy. He doesn’t have lemongrass here, but he does have rose tea. While he makes them each a cup, she starts talking. “I… being queer isn’t really accepted here, is it?”

Tiergan flinches, almost splashing himself. “Er, not really. Most younger elves are more accepting, but you know how traditional older elves can be.”

“Yeah.”

“Can I ask what brought this on?” He hands her the cup, and she hugs it to herself.

“It’s uh. I think I like Biana.”

“Ah. Any reason why you came to me?”

She peers at him from underneath her bangs. “You’re the only adult who wouldn’t be weird about this, or strange for me to talk to, especially without anyone listening.”

He nods, taking a seat. “I see. Well, I’m happy to help, if I can. As I said, most of the older elves aren’t quite as approving since it’s a “bad match”. However, I don’t care. It doesn’t bother me. Hell, I don’t think it even could.” He gives a soft smile, glancing at the photograph on his desk. It’s from when they graduated—the three of them, all smiling and pleased. Sophie is still clutching at the cup desperately, and he aches. He knows.

“I just…I know it’s natural, and normal, and perfectly fine. But that was back in the Forbidden Cities, with humans. And here…everything is so focused on getting a good match that even the idea of a bad match…”

“It was hard. But, Sophie, it gets better. Trust me on this one. It might hurt, and it might be difficult, but it’s worth it.”

And really, it is, isn’t it? He’s…he’s happy now. She smiles tentatively at him, and drinks some of the tea.

“Thanks, Tiergan. I think I’m gonna go to my next class. Can you write me a note?” “Of course, Sophie. Good luck.” He writes out a quick tardy pass and hands it to her. She grins, and leaves.

And there he is. Back in his office, on his own. He drains his tea, and glances down at his imparter.

Prentice: Tiergan, how important was the red vase to you?

Tiergan: What did you do.

Prentice: Absolutely nothing, I’m a perfect angel and you know it

Tiergan: Mhmm, sure. And to answer your question: No, I don’t care about the red vase. Please sweep up the glass so no one gets hurt.

Prentice: Sure thing! Have fun at work, love

His face warms, and he taps out a quick reply. I love you. He doesn’t send that, but the thought lingers throughout the day.

He goes home, bearing a message from the kids. Prentice is waiting for him on the sofa, reaching out to pull him into a hug.

“Good evening. How was work?”

“Not too bad. Sage made a lot of progress.”

“That’s excellent! I’m glad they’re improving.”

“Mhm. Also, the kids said they were going to go to Havenfield.”

“Sounds fun.” Tiergan adjusts to sit sideways on his lap, leaning his head against his shoulder. “Hi.”

“Hm?”

“Nothing important, love. Do you want me to read outloud?”

“Mhm.”

“Alright. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

This time, it doesn’t have to just be in his thoughts. This time, he says it, soft as it may have been.

And so, the night draws to a close: the two tucked away in their own little world, reading. And he’s happy.

I love you.

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

And that's that! thank you so much for reading, and i hope you enjoyed reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it <3

[redmemoirs]

You caused me to have existential crisis with asking what character I'm most like so I'm returning the favor <3

Give us 10, 4, 18 and 14 girlie!

why fear when tomo's quiz exists 😌 fhsjfjf thanks for asking <3

4. Character with the best hairstyle

look im biased as hell and think haki is absolutely rocking that super elegant updo. aside from that tho i love yuzuris hairstyle! its sooo cute and fluffy

and ofc my biggest loves these two are... dare i say, serving. i really like that short bob(?) on the second girl its super cute and i want more short haired girlies

10. Ships or characters who you think deserve more love

i want to say haki so bad but a big part of my obsession with her is literally the fanon ive invented for her so... mitsuhide, honestly. im getting a little obsessed with that guy and his never making the top ranks with the rest of the ot5

14. Most hated arc

ahhh i dont think i have any arcs i hated! maybe the mihaya miniarc? it did feel a little ridiculous with mihayas abandoned castle haunt and zens perfectly timed perfect shoujo prince-esque rescue but i didnt really hate it. shirayuki actively escaping and fighting back was really fun. i guess in general i just prefer the later story to the early one

18. Your favorite rare pair

KIKIYUKI... WHERE ARE MY GIRLS. i love them and im dying for content of them i cant wait for my exams to end so i can go on a fic binge. maybe even write stuff myself hopefully! obizenyuki are too canon to be a rarepair <3

[mellarkably]

I 100% agree with ur predictions. It’s what I am leaning more towards too. The only thing still unclear to me is the Ben promo pic looking at Devi in her locker, would go ahead and assume it’s after NYC when they’re finally besties again. The pic of them studying or some sorts is still unclear to me which episode but will go ahead and say around 406. And that random clip of Devi in a bed (? with a metallic outfit on it must be from the NYC episode. There’s a lot of things I’m still confused about but I agree with ur theories and how everything gets a conclusion.

I think that Devi/Paxton scene is the only one explicitly romantic they’ll get because it will serve as a conclusion for their arc. The writers high key closed their arc well on Season 3 and the only reason Paxton is a coach is to keep Darren in the finale season. That’s very clear. But their arc was pretty much completed.

Devi and Ben for sure will have sex again after prom on Devi’s room but this time it won’t be like 401 because they are clear on it and Devi isn’t doing it out of rush but there’s a lot of love and softness in it. We might even see the after match of them being calm and not longer the awkwardness after their first time.

I even thought about how in that Jaren and Maitreyi celebration video for their last scene. Mait is wearing the corsage but not her updo hairstyle from prom so it must be another attempt at prom. A clever person said that it looks like it could be her graduation dress since Devi is wearing her hair down similarly to that video but the outfit is covered by the red graduation gown so this could be the same episode of their graduation (Devi gets to be valedictorian) and Ben prepares a “retry” of prom for her.

*I might go further and say the library scene is a flash toward scene to college.

hello anon! glad to hear you agree with my predictions.

the promo pic i think you're talking about (inserted below) is actually from 406! so yes, it's after the club fight in 405, which im still assuming is nyc since the settings for every scene in this episode seems different than the show's usual sets. he seems very fond of her here and i assume they're engaging in their routine locker banter. its what gave me the impression that they patch things up after the club incident.

as for the pic of them studying which i am also putting below (correct me if its not the one you're talking about) its from 409. the same episode as prom. im assuming its before because i don't really see them placing prom at the beginning of an episode, but it could be possible that it's the morning after he climbs into her window and whatever happens after.

devi in this outfit still has me confused. she looks amazing, but it's clear its in some effort to seduce a guy, im assuming. i do agree with you about it being in nyc, although im not sure. my guess? she's decorated ethan's hotel room to have sex with him. its giving the same vibes as devi trying to have sex with des. again, don't know what and why or how this fits into the main plot, but i guess we'll see. it doesn't help that i can't seem to figure out which episode this is in.

you're much more hopeful than me to believe the supply closet scene is their only romantic scene. considering she's already romantically involved with ethan in the first half of the season, id say that makes sense considering the time we have left to develop ben and devi. but this show always throws me off-guard so fingers crossed its true! really did feel like they closed off their arc in s3 but i guess some closure is allowed, still it just feels like dragging atp.

agree on prom! if not sex, some form of intimacy has to happen. whether its a really honest pillow talk, or a full on romantic scene, we'll have to wait till june to see.

you're very right about her hair! although it could be just the actress letting her hair down after filming. about the dress, it seems to be a part of an american eagle campaign which she was a part of, so i don't know if its as much a graduation dress as just a part of maitreyi's wardrobe. i could be wrong though and regardless, am holding out hope for a prom redo of sorts.

the library scene could very much be a flash forward! i actually think that makes the most sense. considering the timeline.

[linpunny]

Okay so as promised I'll throw you together a few random Taiju Headcanons my head came up with so it won't be silent hehe 🫶

Taiju has to bleach/dye his hair to get his signature look and one time he accidentally grabbed your dye, walking around half pink and he absolutely hated it but when it faded enough to dye over it he was kinda upset because he always got reminded of you when he saw his hair

HATES it when someone touches his hair but you can do everything with it. wanna make funny updos? He'll sit still for you. Braid it? You got it. Curl it? No problem.

Also his tattoos. He's such a sucker to have you trace them or pepper kisses along them especially the text above his hipbone

Talking hip bones. your man is SO defined and could melt when you take your time admiring him, fingers tracing his V-line only for you to add little purple marks to his hipbones

He could burst from the anticipation because you're so close to his length and it's so god damn intimate to him when you kiss him so close but not quite

That's a moment where you see that he's putty in your hands, eyes fluttering shut, head tilted back ever so slightly and his big hands cradling your head or his fingers running through your hair

He won't ever push your head onto him unless you explicitly tell him that he can do that. He might not look like it but it's a consent king.

Your body language is second nature to him as well. He reads you so well and if anything looks off he immediately stops everything he's doing to ask if you're okay / if you need anything

He would let you put a collar onto him if you ask nicely- only if you'll wear one too for him at some point

He actually has a ring with your name engraved on it. It's not a wedding ring or anything but he wears rings often and that one he rarely takes off, only if he really has to

We all know his favorite position is the mating press because you just look so fucking small beneath him and the way your belly bulges from him makes him lose his mind

Fucks his seed into you just so you're nice and stuffed but god he wants to have a child with you so badly

Dad!Taiju who's the biggest softie for his little bundle of joy, letting them sleep on his chest at all times and he almost cries when the tiny hand can't even hold onto his finger properly

He kinda hoped he would have a boy first and then a girl so he could raise his son to protect his younger sister but he would be overjoyed no matter the gender

Because the fact that this is a product of his love for you. The child has your eyes and he swore he couldn't love anyone more than you but then that little bundle of joy entered his life

Spoils them rotten just like you! Would do the dumbest things no questions asked. Wears a tutu and attends little tea parties if asked and ready bedtime stories every night, giving every character a different voice and he really does a great job at being a father

— Rhy 🫶

I frew upped

BAJAKAKAKSKKSKSKSKS

Please please I’m dying I’m crying im screaming and creaming, chasing my tail scratching at the walls, chugging his cum—- and and he I the stuffs me so well so I feel full 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 keeps me warm and cozy with yummy cummy ANJAISKSKSKSKS

COLLAR?! I mean I uh I have a really nice leash and collar obviously but but HIM IN A COLLAR??? I’ll break my fooking hands beating the table right now KAKAKAKAKSKSNNSNS restraining his hands too while I ride him? HELLO the 14% switch in me is clawing at my chest cavity trying to emerge REEEEEEE

The ring he has a ring with my name on it oh my god I’ll cry shut upppppppoo please 😭😭😭 that’s so sweet I love him I’d get one with his name too maybe those ones that leave an imprint/ skin tattoo when you wear them. 😩

Matching mating press always always 🥺 soul mates. Constantly thumbs over the bulge he’s making, loves feeling how deep he is just as much as he loves to see it.

I WORSHIP THIS MAN. HE IS MY GOD ILL RUN MY TONGUE ALONG EVERY SINGLE TATTOO ON HIS BODY. trace em with my lips, nibble, mark , cum on em. Just wait hold on tracing over his v-line fuccccck me. Mmmm I’m so unwell. I just wanna kiss all over his well cut torso, his abs, his hips, that slight happy trail he his—— im gunna be sick

I can’t, consent king 🙇‍♀️ and couple that with how observant his of me. I give him complete consent, absolute territory of my body. But just imagine him looking down at you and he sees that twinkle in your eyes, the way there half lidded, heavy with lust. Before you can even nod HE KNOWS and he’s gently pushing your head down so your lips are level with his dick 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 loves when you trace over that thick bulging vein, makes him groan 😩

That’s so intimate just worshipping him, god I’d do it all night, every second of the day let him feel like the god he absolutely is to me