#HERES THE SECOND CHAPTER YAY

[serasfanfiction]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3| Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18

Ah, coffee. The nectar of the gods. Both a blessing and a curse in one.

When it had first made it's way into Hell, Lucifer hadn't given it much thought. Tea had been the go-to wake up drink for thousands of years, and while a nice drink, it had never done much for him in the stimulant department. He had maintained for years that coffee would likely have the same lack of effect as tea.

Right up until he'd had his first cup of joe.

And hadn't he been wrong. He'd nearly been bouncing off the walls for hours, before spectacularly crashing later that day. It had taken some experimentation, but he had found that if he drank half a cup of coffee over an hour, followed by slowly consuming the rest over the course of the day, it gave him the boast he needed without sending into an energy-high followed by a massive energy-crash.

Oh, what he wouldn't have done to have coffee for those first couple of years after Charlie was born. Lilith may have become Charlie's main caretaker following her toddler years, but Lucifer had been her go-to parent for those first several years.

Easy baby or not, Charlie had never had much of a sleep schedule. It was something that had followed her into her adult years. Lucifer was fairly certain that was his fault, as that was a trait they had in common. Lilith had been an early to bed, early to rise sort of person. Worse, she was a morning person.

Since mastering the art of drinking coffee, Lucifer had joined the rank of coffee lovers and dependents, unable and/or unwilling to start his day without one. Some days, it really was the only thing that woke him up.

That particular morning was one such morning. He had been up most of the night, first at the ceremony and then taking hours to unwind enough to sleep. He had eventually fallen asleep in the early hours of the morning, not that long before people would start waking up and starting their day.

Half asleep, despite the late morning hour, he wandered downstairs to the kitchen. As he passed the foyer, he thought he saw Angel and Cherri suspiciously hide their faces behind their hands as they whispered to each other. Charlie and Vaggie were huddled off to the side, the former making some rather extravagant hand motions at the latter. Husk might have looked like he had swallowed a lemon, which didn't look too far off from his usual disgruntled mood, so it it didn't set off any alarm bells.

If Lucifer had been more awake, he might have guessed what all the fuss was about. He might also have brewed his coffee and then immediately teleported back to his room to avoid any gossip about his (lack of) love life.

As it was, he wasn't a fully functioning fallen seraphim until the caffeine started to hit his blood stream and he missed all the cues.

Twenty minutes later, Lucifer walked back out of the kitchen with his prize in hand. The cup was already a third of the way drank, steam still rising up out of the cup to show it was pipping hot. Caffeine not having had remotely enough time to work it's magic, Lucifer proceeded to make his first mistake of the day.

He walked into the main-lobby-slash-living-room.

Charlie immediately tuned into his presence the moment he walked into the room, which should have been a clue she was on the look out for him. Her vaguely nervous expression should have been another one.

Lucifer, in his sleepy state, only picked up on the latter one. "Morning, Char-Char." He wrapped his hands around the cup, letting the heat seep into his fingers. "Everything alright?"

Charlie took a deep breathe, rubbing at the back of her head. "Well, dad, we, um..." She trailed off, her gaze flinting over towards her girlfriend, who held both of her thumbs up in encouragement. Charlie smiled, but the quality of it fell between strained and for real, which only served to alarm Lucifer even more. Pressing her hands together, she pointed both of her pointer fingers at him. "We wanted to congratulate you."

"Congratulate me? On what?" Lucifer had the nagging feeling he was forgetting something. Not for the first time, he cursed the fact that he just wasn't a morning person. Getting the strong impression he was going to want to be awake as possible for this conversation, he proceeded to make his second mistake of the morning.

He went to take another gulp of coffee, just as Charlie said, "Well, on your new relationship with Alastor!"

Lucifer choked, the coffee going down the wrong pipe, something he had always felt was a bit unfair considering he was never quite certain if seraphim had lungs. It somehow still never stopped him from nearly choking when someone said something so outlandish it was outright ludicrous. Startled, Charlie darted forward, hand patting his back as he attempted to wheeze and hack up a possibly non-existent lung.

When he felt capable of talking without immediately coughing, he managed a half strangled, "What... relationship?"

Charlie exchanged another look with Vaggie. She continued to rub his back as she explained, "Well, we saw the videos of your dancing with Alastor and thought..."

The blonde king placed his head in his hand, suddenly understanding the, well, misunderstanding. He had known people were going to draw conclusions, but he hadn't thought about how it would look to Charlie. She had known they were going to the ceremony together, but he somehow doubt it had crossed her mind that it might go as far as an evening full of dancing.

"There's no relationship," he denied, running his hand down his face. "No relationship what-so-ever, really." He smiled at her reassuringly. "Alastor just likes to dance."

In a show of how comfortable Angel had gotten around him, the porn star shamelessly pointed out, "He wasn't the only one enjoying that dance." He leaned his chin on his hand, smile outright teasing and knowing. "Looked like you were going to do a bit more than dance for a moment there."

Lucifer's treacherous mind went back to the moment in question: the moment where all it would have taken was leaning just a little bit forward, and then they would have been ki--

He ruthlessly cut off the thought as he felt his cheeks heating up. He had resolutely refused to think of that moment since it had happened. He had refused to think about the fact that it had been haunting his dreams during what little sleep he had gotten. He was certainly not going to think about that moment in front of his daughter, her girlfriend, and her friends.

He cleared his throat, holding up one of his hands. "There is no relationship," he emphasized. He turned to Charlie, taking hold of one of her hands in his own. "I don't know if there will ever be anyone after your mother, but if there ever is, I promise I will tell you." He paused, adding, "Preferably before it winds up on a gossip rag."

She smiled at him, relief visible in her eyes. She patted the back of his hand with her free one. Supportive, she said, "I'm not going to say I wouldn't be thrilled if you and mom got back together, dad, but I just want you to be happy." Her mouth twisted at the corners. "Even if it's with Alastor."

Lucifer winced. "Not happening." He took back his hand, wrapping it back around his mug to give himself something to hold onto. Turning to the hotel's oldest resident, he asked, "How... bad is it?"

He didn't need to explain what 'it' was.

"Oh, it's bad." The spider sinner giggled as he held up his phone, a news headline in big bold letters read, THE KING OF HELL SHACKING IT UP WITH THE RADIO DEMON? "It's been all 666 News would talk about last night."

Lucifer resisted the urge to put his face back in his hand or retreat back up into his room and not come out for the next century. It could really go either way, at that point.

A touch of sympathy could be found in Angel's eyes as he said, voice as close to reassuring as the blonde had ever heard it, "Aw, don't worry, your Majesty. I'm sure it'll blow over as soon as the next scandal pops up."

Which, knowing Hell, wouldn't be that long.

Lucifer internally groaned. It wouldn't be soon enough, if one were to ask him. He almost glanced up at the ceiling, towards the direction of Alastor's radio station and suite. He wondered if the Overlord had seen the news and how he was responding to it.

Knowing him, he was likely thinking of how to spin all of this in his favor, if he decided to entertain it at all.

Unwilling to let the news or thoughts of a certain radio demon sour his morning any further than they already had, Lucifer scrambled to change the subject. "So, how are things going with the trust exercises?" He didn't have to try hard to look interested in his daughter's latest plans, although he mentally apologized that he was mostly asking to distract her from his own issues. "Thought of any new ones?"

Charlie, bless her, was all too happy to talk about her latest plans. Snagging his arm, she tugged him over to a corkboard she had set up. Various hand drawn notes and print outs were pinned to the board. Some had parts of them crossed out, while a few had stars on them. "I think I have some new ideas!" She pointed to the ones with the stars on them. "I was thinking maybe we could try this one out at the next meeting." There was nothing forced about this smile when she turned it on him. "What do you think?"

Happy to have something else to think about and even more happy to have her asking for his impute on anything, he squinted at the page she was pointing to. On it, it gave detailed instructions about different team building exercises and how to carry them out. The one in particular that she was pointing to was called, 'Human Knot.'

It appeared to be fairly simple. A group of people stood around in a circle and got themselves 'tangled up' by taking the hands of two other people. The goal of the exercise was for the group to untangle themselves without letting go of anyone's hands. It sounded like it might be a fun activity, if everyone was willing to get touchy-feely with everyone.

Alastor would never agree to participate in this. Lucifer wasn't certain he would enjoy participating in this, either. The thought of touching so many people who weren't family or close friends was overwhelming. At least, while sober. It gave him too many Twister vibes and the less he thought about that game the better.

There was a reason it was Asmodeus' favorite 'family' game.

Scurrying out of the wood work, Niffty appeared with a needle the length of her head. Speared through on the end of it was a cockroach the size of her hand. Disturbingly enough, it was still twitching. She peered up at the board, her eye lighting up at the details of the trust exercise. "Ooooo! That one looks fun." She peered up at Lucifer in that way she did that always set his hackles up. "I can hold hands with all the bad boys in the room..."

Lucifer laughed nervously as she scurried off as quickly as she had appeared. Something of his true feelings must have shown on his face, because Charlie's smile was beginning to slip. Which was just not allowed. "It's fine," he rushed to reassure her. "I'm just worried not everyone will want to participate, because of the level of touching." Desperate to save her good mood, Lucifer pointed to the option underneath the one she had showed him. "What about this one?"

She leaned in, reading the name. "Two Truths and a Lie?" It wasn't one she had starred and her tone was a bit dubious.

Angel appeared at their side. He stabbed the board with a finger. "Now there's a fun game, especially if you turn it into a drinking game." He waggled his eyebrows at them, suggestively.

Vaggie rolled her eyes. She came up behind the sinner, her hands on her hips. "We are not doing any drinking games during trust exercises."

The sinner pouted at her. "Is it your mission to suck all the joy out of my life?"

The former exterminator was unimpressed. Ignoring his theatrics, she asked, "What does the game entail?"

Angel's phone pinged with a notification. Loosing interest in the conversation in favor of whatever it was, he wandered off across the room to pull it up. Out of the corner of his eye, Lucifer saw the spider demon become caught up in what sounded like a video clip, he wasn't paying enough attention to make out the audio.

Feeling invested now that he was interested in potentially participating, Lucifer jumped in to answer. "Pretty much what it says on the tin. You tell two things that are true about yourself, along with a lie. The goal is for everyone to try and figure out which is the lie."

Charlie tilted her head to the side. "And this is supposed to... build trust?"

Vaggie seemed to be catching on. "It's a way to get to know people, babe. You get to tell people thinks about yourself, while they try to see how well they know you in return."

The host of the hotel didn't look convinced.

Lucifer cracked a grin. "Come on, it sounds like it'll be fun, Charlie." He lightly patted her on the arm. "We could try it out now and see what you think?"

She looked to him, and then to Vaggie, who nodded. Charlie mulled over it, before nodding her head. "Okay! If everyone wants to play it, then we can do it during the next trust exercise." Getting more excited the longer she thought about it, she hugged her father around the shoulders with a single arm pulling him in tight against her. With her other hand, she pointed a finger to the ceiling. "We could have a meeting right now, in fact!"

"Uh, I hate to interrupt," Angel cut in, coming back towards them. His tone more than anything, caught their attention. He sounded horrified. "You guys might want to see this."

Lucifer, Vaggie and Charlie shared a glance between themselves. They all gathered around Angel's phone, which he had turned around to face them. Tapping the play button to start the video, a familiar voice came out of the teeny speakers.

"Breaking news: A new video was dropped today showing not everyone played an equal role in the fight on Extermination Day." Katie Killjoy's face was replaced by an aerial shot of the roof of the Hazbin Hotel. In the background, angels flooded the skies, hinting as to what day the video had been recorded. The recording itself appeared to be mid fight between what was quickly identified to be Adam and Alastor. Lucifer's eyes widened, his stomach dropping as he realized that despite having taking on the most powerful angel to visit Hell after Lucifer, Alastor didn't have any angelic weapons on him.

Why? Why would he be so reckless. Lucifer had seen the shield wielding angelic spears, so why didn't Alastor have any?

Holy shit, he had actually taken him on with just his own shadows.

The recording fizzled, temporarily cutting off as Alastor throwing Adam into the old hotel sign. Lucifer's blood turned cold as it phased back in, just in time for Adam's guitar to come down and slice effortlessly through Alastor's staff. The radio host looked confused for a moment, before realizing the extent of the damage. This much Lucifer had already deduced from seeing Alastor's broken staff weeks ago and while he had been suspicious that more had happened, it was still difficult to watch what happened next.

"It seems Hell's resident old timer bit off more than he could chew," Katie was narrating as Adam swung his guitar - made of pure angelic grace - straight across Alastor's chest, sending the sinner soaring across the roof. His momentum was only stopped as he hit the barrier. The sinner crumpled to the roof, blood splattering the ground beside him, damning evidence that had disappeared when the hotel had been nearly destroyed in Adam's attack not that long afterwards.

Tiny hands and feet scrambled up Lucifer's back, signaling Niffty's return. She must have been drawn back by the commotion. Normally, he would have been extremely uncomfortable with being used as a living cat tree for her to climb, but in this instance he was too absorbed by video to pay her much attention. A part of him also knew that she and Alastor was close, whatever their relationship was with each other. It would have been more surprising if she hadn't shown up.

"He needed so many stiches after that." Niffty made a low, mournful noise at the sight that greeted her on the phone's screen. "He was in so much pain..."

Lucifer's whole body froze up. Alastor had needed stiches?

As if coming unfrozen, Charlie gasped in horror, her hands flying to cover her mouth. Vaggie's expression was grim as she placed a hand on her elbow. As angels who had seen the kind of damage angelic grace could do to sinners, rare that such a weapon was employed, Lucifer and Vaggie both knew that such a wound should have been fatal.

Lucifer had thought that Alastor's staff had taken the brunt of the attack. That maybe he had only been grazed, at worse. That should have been the extent of the damage.

It had never occurred to him that Alastor might have taken the attack full on.

It was baffling that Alastor was still alive.

The video didn't come with audio, so they couldn't hear what Alastor was saying as he did the first smart thing he had done since he decided to take on Adam without a useful weapon and retreated. "And there you have it everyone," Katie was saying, her tone and smile gleeful as she soaked in the suffering of someone who had quite the distance to fall. "The supposedly big bad Radio Demon running away like a with his teeny, tiny, fluffy little tail between his legs like the fucking coward that he is."

The screen pulled away to show her cohost, Tom Trench. "Do you think he ran off to wherever he was hiding for seven years?"

"Who gives a shit, Tom." Katie turned her head in such a way that it appeared to break her neck. "He's a washed up has-been who should have stayed away--"

The phone disappeared, Charlie having darted forward and hit the pause button. Her hands hid the screen from view.

For a long moment, the present group blankly stared off into the middle distance, trying to digest what they had just seen. Each of their faces ranged from out right horrified (Charlie's) to grim (Vaggie's and Husk's) to some level of worried (Angel's). All of them were thinking the same thing: about Alastor's disappearance for several days as they rebuilt the hotel and the varying degrees of relief everyone had felt when he'd reappeared, seemingly just fine save his missing staff.

No one had questioned why he'd disappeared.

No one had followed up to make certain he wasn't hiding a wound and potentially actively dying.

But now they all knew. There was no unseeing this, just as there had been no unseeing Sir Pentious' last moments as Adam vaporized him like he was nothing.

Lucifer, personally, was kicking himself for not checking on the wound when he had Alastor trapped. He had known something was potentially wrong - had seen the evidence in the damage to the microphone - and yet he had allowed Alastor to side track him like a willfully blind fool dancing to the piper's tune.

Lucifer found himself moving before he'd even made the conscious decision to do so. He plucked Niffty off his back, the little maid making no protest as she was lightly placed down on the ground. His cup of coffee went onto the coffee table. The moment his hands were free, he was preparing to open a portal to Alastor's room.

"Dad?" Charlie's voice calling out to him made him pause.

He turned to her, placing a hand on her other elbow. "I'm just going to check on him."

She placed her own hand over his, squeezing it as she bit her lip. "Dad, you saw how badly he was hurt." Guilt was visibly crashing down over her as her eyes welling up with tears. "I knew something was wrong. Why didn't I check to see if he was okay?" Vaggie stepped in and hugged her as Lucifer squeezed her arm.

"He clearly didn't want any of us to know he was hurt." He debated saying anything about the blood drinking. Alastor had looked tremendously better afterwards and it might go a long way to easing some of her worries about how injured the sinner was. He just didn't know how to explain how they had gotten to that part.

He decided to settle for a partial truth. "He didn't tell me how hurt he was, but he's already let me help him some." Charlie sniffled, turning hopeful eyes on him. "If I had to guess, I'd say the wound is all healed up." He smiled at her reassuringly. "I'll see if I can get him to let me check to make certain everything is better, okay?"

She nodded, wiping at a tear. "Just, make certain he's okay." She moaned, low and wounded. "I can't lose him too, dad."

Lucifer looked to Vaggie, who nodded back to him. "I got her, sir."

Lucifer stepped back. His instinct to stay and comfort his offspring at war with his desire to make certain Alastor was okay. The only reason he was going to be able to do so was because Vaggie had her and he was likely the only person who could make certain their resident radio host wasn't being eaten up from the inside out by any residual grace Adam might have left behind.

A quick burst of magic opened a portal directly into Alastor's room. He stepped through without waiting to see if Alastor might need any privacy, not wanting the sinner to potentially turn him away. He was going to get that idiot into letting him inspect that wound once and for all, even if he had to sit on him to do it.

Curse Alastor and his stupid pride for not having said anything! He could have put in it the favors with his microphone, for crying out loud.

"Alastor!" His voice echoed through the room, disappearing off into the bayou. Lucifer scoured the sinner's room from top to bottom. He didn't see him in his bed, nor at the fireplace, nor at his little table in the bayou. He raised his voice to as loud as he could make it without causing any damage. "Come out, you asshole, before I hunt you down!"

No response.

There was a possibility he was out in the bayou, as there was no way of being sure how far out it extended without going out into it. He had one foot out on the grass, when the old fashioned radio on Alastor's bookshelf crackled to life.

"Greetings, sinners! It's come to my attention that there seems to be some questions about my health recently."

Lucifer threw himself across the room, grabbing hold of the radio. His head darted up as he stared up at the ceiling. He could teleport himself into the station, but that risked interrupting the Radio Demon's broadcast. Until he knew what exactly the sinner was planning, he didn't want to spook him.

It didn't mean he couldn't keep an eye on him, though.

He crossed the room in seconds, throwing open a window. Looking up, he could see the On Air sign was lit, indicating that Alastor was indeed in his radio tower. Launched himself out of the window, Lucifer took flight as Alastor said through the radio, "Never fear, dear listeners, because nothing as simple as a silly angel could take out the Radio Demon."

Lucifer snorted, coming up to hover in full view of studio. 'Silly angel,' he calls an actual archangel that had destroyed the hotel and by all rights should have killed him.

Inside the studio, Alastor spotted him. The sinner's eyes were aglow, pupils turned to dials. He had grown as large as the room would allow him to get without taking the roof off, antlers extended out like fingers reaching out to the sides of the room. A bright green 'x' marked the spot on his forehead. As his eyes fell on the little king, a streak of black drool dribbled down his chin as his smile elongated far beyond what should have been possible for his face. His fingers twitched and curled, a single finger pointing to the other side of the tower. "In fact, I think a certain voyeur needs a little reminder as to why he should mind his own business."

Lucifer frowned, not understanding what Alastor planned to do at first. It was only because he had come out the side of the hotel, furthest from his own room, that he isn't hit by the powerful wave of radio waves bursting forth from the tower. Startled, he jerked out of the way, spinning around mid-air to see where they were going.

He watched, unsurprised to see them heading for VoxTek. It figured that Vox was behind the video. He'd had footage of other parts of the fight, it shouldn't be surprising he had been spying on Alastor when Adam had come a calling. When he didn't see another wave leave the tower, he chanced moving around the obstruction the tower made of the view to better see what effect that wave was going to have.

It was difficult to see from that distance, but he could just make out the wave hitting the satellite. Could see the plum of smoke rising up as the machinery went dead. The satellite was still standing, but it likely wasn't operational. At least, not for the moment.

He raised an eyebrow at the redhead through the window. Petty, much?

Depending on how terrible the Alastor's eyesight was - deer had notoriously bad eyesight- it was entirely possible he couldn't see the damage he had inflicted himself. Regardless of his poor eyesight, he somehow knew anyway, perhaps having that much confidence in his attack. Alastor's grin was pleased as a cat having caught a canary. "Friendly reminder that I won't be as lenient next time."

The radio in Lucifer's arms cut off with a crackle as Alastor reached out and flicked a switch on his board. The two stared at each other, waiting to see what the other planned to do next.

When Alastor didn't move other than to settle back down into his more default appearance, Lucifer decided to come to him. He disappeared in a swirl of magic, reappearing a moment later in the studio. He fully materialized back into being behind the redhead.

Alastor didn't turn around, continuing his work as if he didn't have his back to someone who could easily kill him with a flick of the wrist. Lucifer took the time to study him more in depth than he had in the previous months. The sinner didn't move like he was in pain. Then again, he never had. The only indication he had ever given that something was off was when he never called on his microphone in the months before he got Lucifer to repair it.

There was nothing to tell he had ever taken a hit of pure angelic grace to the chest. Lucifer didn't feel anything coming off him either.

A visual inspection wasn't going to be enough, when it came to this kind of wound. If he was to do a proper inspection, he was going to have to talk Alastor into letting him touch him. It was almost a shame he hadn't known when he was healing Alastor's ribs and side two nights ago. He could have checked then and this whole conversation could have been avoided.

The silence extended. Lucifer was suspicious Alastor knew why he was here and was planning to wait him out. The little king fiddled with the radio's dials, suddenly glad he had decided to grab it, if only to give him something to do with his hands. One of them was going to have to kick start this conversation. It might as well be him. "You didn't say Adam got you in the chest."

The sinner made that little 'hm' sound he liked to make. It could have been in response to what the blonde had said. It could have just been in response to something Alastor was seeing on his equipment.

"Angelic grace is bad for sinners, you know." Lucifer's hold on the radio tightened, not quite certain if he was being ignored or not. "It can grow like a cancer until it burns you up from the inside out." He leaned from foot to foot, feeling more twitchy the longer Alastor didn't speak to him. He stopped the moment he noticed he was doing it. "You should have said something."

Whatever Alastor was looking for, he seemed to find for he nodded at his equipment in satisfaction. He finally rose up off his settee, the movement as fluid as ever. "There was nothing to worry about." He stepped around the furniture, waving off the concern as if batting away a fly. "I had it handled."

"'Handled'?" Lucifer's eyes narrowed, suspicious. "Handled how, exactly? By having Niffty sew you up?" His grip tightened on the radio, enough to make it give a little creak of protest, but not enough to truly threaten to break it. "You couldn't have known I was going to offer my blood. And just because it healed the physical wound that doesn't mean it cleared the grace."

Alastor's eyes zeroed in on his radio in Lucifer's hands. The thinning of his lips indicated he wasn't thrilled with the idea of his property coming to damage. "What exactly do you propose to do?" He reached out to reclaim the radio.

Lucifer took a step back, keeping himself and the radio out of arms reach. "Let me check the wound."

The sinner's fingers twitched before curling in. He let the hand drop. "What does that entail?" He followed after the blonde, first one step and then another, meeting each retreat with an advance.

Lucifer continued to back away until his back hit the window. On reflex, he glanced behind him. All that stood between himself and a drop was a thick panel of glass.

Alastor took advantage of his distraction to steal back his radio. "Out with it. You're too twitchy for this to be a simple look over."

The blonde flexed his hands, now empty of anything to use for stress relief. "No, I'd have to touch your bare skin to be sure there's nothing there."

The hand not holding the radio came up, all four finger splaying out as Alastor laughed out a short, sharp, "Ha!" He wagged a single finger of the same hand at the seraphim. "Not going to happen!"

Before Lucifer could protest or attempt to make his case, Alastor disappeared into his shadows. He scurried past him, slipping down the trap door and out of the studio.

Lucifer stared at where the redhead had just been, gapping. That... That idiot! Didn't he hear the part where he could be infected with the equivalent of a deadly poison that could be eating him up from the inside out?

Growling, Lucifer opened a portal back down into Alastor's room. If Alastor wanted to see who was more stubborn, the hundred-something year old sinner or the first sinner himself, Lucifer was more than up for the challenge. Stepping through, he found Alastor over by his book shelf, returning the radio back to it's prior resting place.

Frustrated, Lucifer marched over to him, seriously considering throwing up a barrier around the room to keep Alastor from running away again. "Hey! I wasn't done with you, mister!"

Alastor finished setting the radio to his preference, and then turned around to meet him head on. "I hardly see how we have anything more to talk about." He placed his hands behind his back, the very picture of unconcerned. "I've already declined your offer."

Lucifer threw his hands up. "Aren't you worried? This isn't a game! This could be your life on the line!"

Alastor leaned in to his personal space, his lips starting to twist into a smug, cat like grin. "Tell me, sire, why are you so worried?"

"Hello? Really?" Lucifer crossed his arms, defensive. "Have I not said that if Charlie cares than I care?" He sighed, looking away and begrudgingly adding, "She was really upset when you went missing and it would break her heart if something happened to you."

Alastor considered him for a long moment. Suddenly, a very loud buzzer tore through the air, causing the blonde to jump. "Hm, no, I think not." He flicked at one of the Lucifer's blonde flyways with a single finger, eyeing him up and down as the shorter of the two glared at him. "You know, I could almost believe that was the reason." He leaned away, tapping his chin. "But we both know that's not the whole truth."

He stepped around him, walking away and putting some distance between them. "I propose a little deal."

Lucifer scoffed, defense turning to irritation. He was starting to regret attempting to help this asshole. "You can't be serious."

Coming to a stop half way across the room, Alastor came to a halt. "Oh, come now, sire. Not that kind of deal." He spun around, one heel coming together to click against the other. One hand settled against the small of his back, while his staff appeared in the other. He used it to point at his uninvited guest. "If you tell me the real reason you care so much and I like the answer, I'll let you see for yourself that I'm perfectly fine."

He almost couldn't believe his ears. Lucifer stared at him, incredulous. "Are you actually holding your life hostage over this??"

Alastor twirled his staff, a mock considering look on his face. He shrugged, far too nonchalant for the subject. "Hm, I guess I am."

Lucifer could feel his self control fraying at the edges. He had clearly been far too lenient with this sinner if Alastor wasn't even remotely taking him seriously. He held up his hand, palm facing the redhead. It would be easy to just knock him right off his feet with a small burst of power and hold him in place while he just checked to see if he wasn't actively dying. He really ought to. It might just remind this arrogant little sinner who was at the top of the food chain and who was at the bottom between the two of them.

Alastor stared at him down, patiently waiting him out.

After several long moments of arguing with himself, Lucifer lowered his hand. He hissed, as much at himself as it was at Alastor. He couldn't do this by force, not because he wasn't incapable of doing so, but because he was trying to get Alastor to agree of his own free will. "Fine!" He stalked over to the deer demon, coming to a stop just before actually touching him. Pointing his finger up at Alastor's chin, he confessed, "Fine, I'm worried because I'm a fool and I actually care about you! I would be genuinely upset if something happened to you, are you happy??" He pointed at the bed behind the redhead, nearly breathing fire as he growled, "Now sit down and let me help you."

Alastor nodded at him. "There we go, your Majesty. Isn't it better to tell the truth?"

"Sit!" Lucifer pointed at the bed, this time with more emphasis, his tone making it abundantly clear he was not going to repeat himself again.

The redhead proceeded to show that he had some self preservation instincts in that stubborn head of his, because he didn't press Lucifer's buttons again. He took a seat on the edge of the bed, crossing his legs and settling his hands on his knees, body language just as carefree as ever. "Would any skin do?" He held up his hand, indicating he was willing to take his glove off to give him access to bare skin.

Lucifer took a series of deep, calming breaths. He was tempted to just smother the redhead, but since that would defeat the purpose of preserving his life, the blonde put the idea on the back burner to come back to later. It would make for entertaining fodder to think about while he was trying to fall asleep that night.

When he could speak without possibly setting something on fire, he shook his head. "No, I need access to the wound." He let some of his empathy for Alastor's dislike for touch seep into his voice as he said, honestly, "Sorry. I'll try to make it quick."

Alastor paused, a quick flash of trepidation appearing across his face and then disappearing just as quickly. His smile took on more of a mask like quality, as he reached up and began to undo his tie. He set it down beside himself, the protection gem Lucifer had gifted him resting up against his thigh.

His fingers didn't shake, didn't tremble in the slightest as he unclasped his coat and unbuttoned his shirt, but his discomfort was visible in every line of his body.

Button by button, he revealed first his neck and then his chest. A thin layer of - soft, Lucifer' treacherous mind reminded him - brown fur lined his shoulders, disappearing under his shirt. A lighter, fluffier bout of fur ran down his chest, fluffing up as it was freed from the restraint of Alastor's shirt. A nasty, ragged scar peaked out the bottom of the poof of fur, running along his side. Partially hidden, the scar appeared to run from Alastor's left collar bone to the last of his right set of ribs.

How he was still alive continued to baffle Lucifer, no matter how thankful he was. He held up his hands. "Can I approach you?"

Alastor gave him the stink eye, ear twitching. He almost looked insulted. "By all means, sire. Be my guest." His fingers gripped the sides of his shirt just a little too tightly, belying his words with his true feelings. When he released the fabric, it was almost like he was prying his own hands free. He settled his hands in his lap, back ramrod straight.

Lucifer moved carefully, but not too slowly. He knew Alastor wouldn't spook. He wasn't actually a wild animal. It was still polite to approach with caution, in case he needed to stop at the drop of the hat. The redhead watched him approach like a hawk, ear twitching with every noise Lucifer made.

Lucifer came to stand in front of him, close, but not quite allowing their knees to touch. He reached out, finger ghosting over what he could see of the scar. It must have been painful. The skin over the collar bone alone was thin. The length of the gouge threatened quite a few ribs. He couldn't tell how deep it had gone, but it had not healed prettily.

He pressed the tips of his fingers to the skin near the base of Alastor's ribs, the fur just as soft as it had been on his arms. Lucifer forced himself to focus, to ignore this tidbit of information and store it in the same box he kept all the other things he was slowly learning about the redhead's body, but wasn't allowed to think about. He closed his eyes, reaching out his senses.

Alastor felt human, his sins dripping like fresh blood from his soul. Lucifer could feel the way the power of his soul mingled with the darkness of his abilities. The wound itself had indeed completely healed, although traces of its damage ran deep. Several bones had been cleaved straight through, the organs beneath clipped. Alastor had only survived as long as he had because of his particular brand of magic being uniquely adept at keeping things sewed into place and Niffty was apparently very good with a needle. Without both, he would have bleed to death for sure.

Most importantly, though, to his vast relief, Lucifer could find no trace of Adam's grace anywhere within the sinner's body. Despite the obvious damage it had made, somehow, nothing lingered behind.

Alastor caught his wrist, his grip tight enough it might have bruised another sinner. Lucifer's eyes snapped open. He allowed Alastor to pull his hand away. He didn't try to free himself when the redhead didn't immediately let him go.

"Well, sire?" Alastor looked up, his sitting down giving Lucifer the height on him for a change. "Am I going to live?" This part was said with a degree of teasing, as if to say, see, I told you so.

The fallen angel reminded himself, not for the first time, that, no, he did not, in fact, want to strangle this guy. He smirked down his nose at the redhead, enjoying the fact that he could do so for a change. "Unfortunately." He ignored the way Alastor smiled at him, as if he knew how much he was enjoying being taller for a change. "You're either secretly an angel or just one lucky asshole. No grace leftover whatsoever."

Alastor threw back his head and laughed. "As you can see, your Majesty," he said with no small amount of mirth, "I am certainly no angel."

Lucifer snorted. The Radio Demon was a sinner, through and through, and quite happy with that fact. Some humans never got over their lot in the afterlife, but Alastor had embraced it with eyes wide open.

He watched the redhead loosen his grip on his wrist, his brain promptly short circuiting as Alastor twisted their hands around until he could intertwine their fingers. "Um."

"Since his Majesty has taken such good care of me..." Alastor reached out with his free hand, snaking it up and around Lucifer's waist. The blonde might have squeaked when he was pulled forward, legs automatically parting to stand on either side of the redhead's. He only stopped when his knees hit the side of the mattress. It also brought their faces within inches of each other. Alastor's voice was noticeably deeper as he offered, "I think this deserves it's own reward."

Eloquently, Lucifer managed, "Um?"

"Your reward is: I'll let you in on a little secret." Amused with his response, Alastor stared up at him, eyes half-lidded as he stated, "I also seem to care about you, Lucifer Morningstar."

Lucifer froze, too stunned to speak. He felt like he had utterly and completely lost the script and had no idea where this was going. With anyone else, he might have been able to take that statement at face value, but Alastor had long since taught him that no weakness was too small for the redhead to exploit. Sputtering, he asked, "What?"

"Ah-ah, I know you heard me." Alastor's thumb rubbed along the edge of the top of Lucifer's pants, a simple back and forth motion the blonde was suddenly all too hyper aware of. Goosebumps broke out along the alabaster skin under the fabric. "No need for repeats just yet."

Lucifer wanted to pull away so he could clear his mind and think.

He wanted to lean in and soak up every bit of attention Alastor was willing to give him.

He swallowed. "But... but you don't even like me?" He meant it to be a statement, but it came out too much of a question. He knew he hadn't read the sinner wrong, and yet, here they were, very much off script for their usual back and forth. To say he was confused would be an understatement.

"Come now, your Majesty." Alastor narrowed his eyes, giving the blonde a gentle shake. "I think I know my own heart."

Lucifer didn't dare to breathe. "And what does your heart say?"

"That I can't think of anyone who suits me better than you do." Alastor leaned ever so slightly closer, their noses brushing as he brought their faces as close as they had been just before Mimsy had interrupted them. As close as they had been during their dance during Octavia's coming of age ceremony. "What does his Majesty's heart say?"

"Are you asking if we can get together?" Lucifer was getting too many mixed signals. He had to know what Alastor really wanted. "Romantically?"

"And if I am? Would you 'get together with me', sire?" Alastor's expression was surprisingly patient, as if he had all the time in the world to devote to sorting this out. "Romantically?"

Lucifer thought about all the times Alastor had tried to usurp his place at his own daughter's side. Thought about all the terrible, hurtful things he had said before and after Lucifer moved in. Thought of all the ways they fought and clashed with each other.

He also thought about how Alastor had helped him down from his panic attack. How it had felt to have someone come to his defense, even if he hadn't needed it. How it felt when they danced, both in private and in public. How the weight of his body had felt laying on top of his own.

He would be completely crazy to agree to this, but there was only one answer he could give.

"Yes."

Alastor's smile turned triumphant, but not mocking. "Fabulous!" He stood abruptly, knocking Lucifer off balance. The only thing that kept the little king from falling over backwards was the redhead's arm coming up around his shoulders. Lucifer's face briefly brushed a chest full of downy fur as he was spun around. The back of his knees barely had time to brush the mattress as Alastor deposited him down onto the side of the bed where he had been sitting second beforehand.

Lucifer stared blankly ahead of himself, not certain what had just happened. Not certain what was happening.

Alastor released him, stepping back and letting go of him completely. Lucifer's heart dropped down to his feet, for a split second thinking that he had gotten this wrong. That he had misread the situation. That this was just another game--

A hand pressed against his cheek, snapping him out of his spiral. When Lucifer looked up at him, he noted that the redhead had merely been buttoning up his shirt.

Alastor ran a thumb over his cheekbone, and then gave him a pat. "Now, I believe there's at least one person downstairs who would like to hear I've received a clear bill of health. Shall we go reassure her?" That patient expression was still firmly in place, his gift for reading people allowing him to pick up nearly immediately that Lucifer's mind set had begun to go downhill.

Lucifer still wasn't sure he understood what had just transpired between them. He needed Alastor to just be clear with him. "Wait, what about--?"

Alastor was already spinning around on his heel, slipping his arms into his coat and heading for the door. Over his shoulder, he called, "Come along, sire." He paused near the door, turning just enough to look back at Lucifer, who was still rooted to the spot on his bed. The sinner held out a hand, palm up in invitation. "I did say us, did I not? I believe we might have an announcement to make, do we not?"

A wave of relief washed over Lucifer. "You..." He jumped up from his seat, not quite running, but certainly not simply walking across the room to take hold of the offered hand before the offer was retracted. The leather of the glove was smooth and cold to the touch as he wrapped his hand around it. Lucifer stared down at their joined hands, marveling at the fact that he was being allowed to do so. He looked up at Alastor. "You want to go public? Just like that?"

He somehow would have thought Alastor would have just let people come to their own conclusions. He seemed the type to enjoy the attention of everyone's speculations.

Alastor pressed his free hand to his chest. "Sire!" His tone was scandalized, although his eyes were squinted with mirth. "Did you intend for me to be your dirty little secret?"

"No!" Lucifer flushed, trying to pull his hand back, only to be denied. He admittedly wasn't trying to free himself very hard. "I just..." He frowned, genuinely concerned. "It's so early and... new." He stared down at their hands, squeezing lightly. "Literally just now, new."

Alastor fell silent. He didn't appear to be offended by the protest. "Very well, your Majesty," he conceded. He released Lucifer's hand, bemused by his king's look of mourning at the loss of contact. "We will keep this between ourselves, although I doubt anyone is going to be fooled."

Lucifer decided if they were really going to start dating or whatever they were doing, they were going to nip that in the bud. Hands on his hips, he pointed out, "Well, they certainly might if you keep calling me that."

Alastor's eyes narrowed. "I beg your pardon?"

"You know... 'your majesty' and 'sire.'" Lucifer waved a hand in the space between them. "You can call me by my name. I know you know it." He smirked up at the sinner, regaining some of his confidence now that he was back on firmer ground and understood the situation better. "You said it not even ten minutes ago."

"Hm, Lu-ci-fer," Alastor said, drawing out the word as if he were tasting it. Trying out how he liked it. He pulled face. "I'll think about it."

"Ugh, why do you have to be so difficult?" Lucifer grumbled, half heartedly. He reminded himself that he had more or less done this to himself. He had accepted this idiot into his life with each inch of allowance he'd given and had now agreed to become romantically entangled with him on top of everything else.

"Ha!" Alastor opened his door. He held out his cane in front of him, indicating that Lucifer should go first. "We both know if I were agreeable all the time I would be boring." When the blonde cleared the door way, the redhead joined him in the hallway and shut the door behind himself. "And then where would we be?"

Boring was the last thing that came to mind if Lucifer were to describe Alastor. Alastor and boring were so utterly and completely not on speaking terms, they weren't even speaking the same language. He let the sinner set an easy pace as they made their way down the hallway to the main staircase. "Maybe." He was tempted to elbow the sinner, but just because he had been allowed some liberties, he wasn't certain how much (if anything) had changed on account of the change in their relationship status. He put it on a to-do list of things to discuss the next time they were alone. "But it would be nice if you were at least agreeable sometimes."

He wasn't actually expecting any sort of agreement on that part.

Sure enough. "It's too early in our relationship for me to start agreeing with everything you say, darling," Alastor snarked back without missing a beat. The ends of his lips quirked into something closer to a smirk.

Lucifer felt a shiver run up his spine at the pet name. No one had called him that in... well, he didn't even remember the last time Lilith had called him that. Called him anything other than his name, really. He had forgotten how nice something as simple as an endearment was.

Alastor's smile edged a little closer to a smirk until it was almost more smirk than smile at his reaction. Lucifer had the sudden foreboding feeling that the redhead was going to milk that new discovery for all it was worth.

He wasn't terribly worried about it.

As they made their way down the staircase, walking side by side, not touching, but standing a little closer to each other than, Lucifer felt like things might actually be turning around for the better. He was getting to repair his relationship with his daughter. He had a brand new romantic relationship to explore, something he hadn't had the chance to do in some ten thousand years. He was still having depression spells and there might be some backlash from Alastor's and Vox's ongoing sniping at each other, but it wasn't anything they couldn't handle.

He stared at Alastor out of the corner of his eye, an almost giddy feeling taking root in his heart as it started to really sink in that someone actually wanted him. Wanted to be with him.

He didn't have a clue what the sinner was thinking, nor was he absolutely convinced of Alastor's motives. He still had whatever his second favor was. However, mysterious motives and taciturn attitude aside, Alastor wasn't half bad as a catch, if he did say so himself. If Alastor was being honest about this, he thought they maybe actually had a shot at this.

Yes, Lucifer thought to himself, a slight skip in his step. Yes, he quite thought things were indeed looking up.

For a brief moment, he forgot that the universe hated him, always on the look out for when his life might be headed in a happier direction. That the universe had it out for him.

And it was more than happy to remind him of this fact.

tbc

Part 19

[tojiscrack]

finally got around to reading soano and this is peak its so funny god i love your writing thanks for feeding me

omg?? you’re the third dual-reader! 🥹

i’m levitating rn i swear, like gravity isn’t working on me rn 😟🩷

i’m soo glad you enjoyed it, that story is pure crack which makes it so fun to write (and it’s also my first piece of writing so the first few chapters aren’t the greatest and are in dire need of some editing but oh well, i’ll get round to that later lmao).

your support means the world to me — it gives me motivation to write so i’m gonna get out of bed (it’s 2:36pm, the last day i’ll ever get to sleep in like this since school starts tmr) and go write! <3

[nomaishuttle]

another successful therapy

[the-kipsabian]

consuming comfort content, i havent watched project runway in ages

[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Chapter 4

Series Summary: After recently graduating you take what is supposed to be a job to save money before you go back to university to get your law degree. Your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. Easy. Simple. Mundane. Until one of your clients is home and everything you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.

Chapter Summary: JMKink is nothing and everything that you need and want it to be. Meanwhile, you are nothing and everything that Joel imagines you to be.

WC: 13.8k

TW: Warnings are below the cut in small red, feel free to skip them if you want to avoid chapter spoilers, but there are some descriptions of reader so I would classify this as more of an original character versus a blank canvas female reader.

AN: I actually cannot believe how many of you reached out all excited about September 1st approaching. From the bottom of my cold dead heart, thank you!! The more I write this, the more I picture video game Joel, so do with that what you will haha. Thanks so @ak-vintage and @lotusbxtch for beta reading for me. Support banners and dividers by @saradika-graphics. I recently got promoted at work (yay me), but the job is now waaaaaay more work than before, so enjoy this chapter slowly because I am not sure when I will be writing chapter 5.

Series Masterlist || My Masterlist

TW: p in v, dirty talk, sub dom relationships, age gap, alcohol consumption, flirting, voyeurism, description of a threesome and other sexual acts, use of sex toys, nipple clamps, female orgasm, talks of neglectful parents during childhood and loss of a spouse. Mutual pining.

“Hnnng, fuck yes, daddy.” He’s rutting into you deeper than anyone else ever has. Long, slow strokes of his heavy cock sending you into a spiral of white hot, sparkling nirvana. 

“So fuckin’ wet n’ tight. Fuck, sweet girl.” His deep voice devours you - rattling around your skull, echoing slightly as if you’re in a large, empty room. 

Everything is black; darker than the onyx pits of his eyes. You’re not sure if you’re up or down, and you’re either blindfolded or have your face buried in a pillow as he fucks into you from behind. All you can feel is the pleasurable push and pull of his thick, vein lined cock slamming in and out of you. The vast darkness and the feeling of him filling you so full is overwhelming

“Please, daddy. Please. I’m so close.”

The soft mushroom head of his cock is kissing right where he taught you to crave it, and you wouldn’t be surprised if that spongy spot had ‘Property of Joel Miller’ branded on it by now. Within seconds of him pressing inside of you tonight you had completely submitted to him; surrendering to the darkness, the sensation, the exquisite pleasure. This is exactly where you were meant to be, and he’s the only one you’d want to be here with. It has never been this good, and even with your limited experience you know that it will probably never be this good with anyone else. 

“Don’t stop this time. Please don’t stop this time.” You’re an aching, crying, desperate crumb of yourself; wholly at his mercy.  

“No coming until I say.” His voice seems further away with every word and dread settles in your stomach as it all starts to fade.

“No! Nonono. Please no.” You feel a hot tear run down your face as the euphoria fades. You can barely feel or hear him anymore as little slits of yellow light appear. You blink once, twice. After a third long blink your bedroom comes into view.

Fuck. 

This has been the start of your new three part morning routine for the last few nights, since that kiss with Joel, since filling out your preferences and signing all the waivers. Since being asked to submit test results and proof of birth control. Since Joel Miller became your Dom. Night after night you dream of him fucking you, and night after night, right as you’re about to fall over the edge, he tells you not to come until he says and you wake up.

The second part of your morning routine is a lot more cathartic and vocal - very vocal. Your newly painted cotton candy pink nails (anything to stay distracted and busy) dig into the soft cotton of your pillow as you pull it out from behind your head, pressing it to your face and screaming until your throat feels raw.

Fuck.

When all the breath is pushed from your lungs, you put your pillow back and kick off the blanket. Your bare feet drag along the worn down carpet of your bedroom to the cold and cheap linoleum of your bathroom. You pee, avoiding your clit at all costs when you clean up. You know you’re down fucking bad when even the scratchy 1-ply toilet paper is enough to make you almost crumble. 

Part three of your new morning ritual is probably the part that shocks you the most. You change into leggings and a tank top, slipping a ten dollar bill and your house key into the side of your sports bra. The old springs of your mattress creak as you sit to slip on socks and your lavender colored runners, that you honestly forgot you owned until the morning after your twenty second birthday. You sneak out of your apartment, careful not to wake your roommate and jog down the stairs from your fourth floor suite to step into the cool March morning air.

Fuck. 

After shaking out each leg, you start to run. There’s no technique to your form or a planned out route. You leave your phone behind, only sounds are the morning traffic and your struggling breath to keep you company. It's just you, pushing your body to forget how badly you’re throbbing between your thighs and trying to erase the feeling of him. As you turn the corner at the end of your block you can see the bright green grass and leafy trees of the park. Your calf muscles burn with every step, but it’s not enough; you can still feel him. As you reach the park your lungs start to burn; they feel like they’re filling with fluid. Your ankles protest with every strike of your feet against the concrete. Finally, just as you swear you’re about to meet your maker it happens, the sweet release you’re pushing for. Finally every trace of the ghost of Joel Miller disappears. 

Your legs slow below you and you clutch your side, wandering lazily around the park. The rush of blood through your ears is nearly deafening, almost completely drowning out the chirping of the birds and the trickling of the water in the large stone fountain. You suck in quick, deep breaths, essentially doing everything and anything not to pass out. You’re free from him, if only for a little bit, as you fight against what feels like death knocking on your door. 

As you walk home you grab a coffee - black with just a splash of almond milk, apologizing to the barista as you hand her the sweaty ten dollar bill that was tucked into your bra and begin mentally scheduling your day. It’s Monday, which means you don’t work today and you can focus on studying and laundry. Your LSAT retake is just a few days away, today is your last full free day, and you have to get as much studying and practicing done as possible. The dread of taking that test again has your hot coffee doing flips in your stomach. Getting some college letters would really help put you at ease. You know you applied early but it would be nice to know if you need to continue to push or if you can finally rest. 

When you get back to your apartment your roommate has already left for her classes. You check your phone and your heart lurches in your chest at Joel’s name across your cracked lock screen. There’s been no contact between the two of you since Friday night. You slide open the text with shaky fingers

Good Morning, sweet girl. Are you ready to learn? 

You bite your lip as you respond. 

Yes, please, Mr Miller. 

You stare at the text thread for a while. Although you aren’t sure if a total of three texts can be considered a thread, but you stare anyway trying to will more messages into existence. After a few minutes you give up, locking your phone and stripping your bedsheets. The trek to the laundry in the building feels like it takes forever and you rush back to check your phone. There’s no response but you do have a little red bubble on your JMK app. You excitedly tap on the app to see a new menu titled ‘Dominant Preferences’ added at the top. When you click it, everything from your Reddit wormholes is revealed.

 ‘Joel Miller likes to participate in bondage play, nipple play, toy play, dirty talk, oral sex (both giving and receiving), and fingering. He doesn’t like brat taming, but is willing to participate in scenes where his submissive needs to be put in her place occasionally. He never has sexual intercourse - vaginal or anal, this is a hard limit for him and his submissives need to understand that there is zero room for negotiation on this matter. He’s very open to impact play, but believes that only good girls should get spankings.’

You click off the little ‘Read and Accepted’ box at the bottom without hesitation. As if he’s waiting for you to accept, he texts you seconds after your finger has made contact with the screen. 

8pm tomorrow. I’m sending a car for you. You should dress comfortably.

The same kind faced man from your birthday waits for you outside your apartment at 7:30 the next night. He opens the door, smiling gently at you as you hop in; leather and new car smell wafting around you. During the drive to the club you learn his name is Arthur, but my friends call me Cap. 

“Can I ask you a question, Cap?” You ask as downtown comes into view.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Do you drive all of Joel’s, umm, do you drive lots of women around for Joel?”

He chuckles knowingly from the driver's seat, glancing into the rearview mirror at you. “No ma’am. Joel is a pretty secretive man. I have driven him places when he’s alone, or I drive Tommy’s subs, but never Joels.”

You nod and look out the window. It’s just you, sweet girl, only you.

Cap rushes to open the door when he pulls up to JMKink. The club is in a different building than Joel’s office; that was in the tall building across the street. Three bright and expansive floors of that red stone faced building belonged to JM Inc. Assumingly, the home base for all the businesses he has his hands in. This building, however, is smaller amongst the tall skyscrapers of the Austin skyline. The entire building is coated in a shiny black chrome, from the steel framing to the windows, except for the golden JMK logo on the front door. You take a calming breath before heading up the steps, the blacked out glass door slides open automatically.

Your dark high heeled boots click on the black and honey flecked marble, the floor reminding you of Joel’s eyes. You wish the marble would suck you into it so you could live in that feeling you get when Joel looks at you. Where it might be seen as cold and intimidating to others, to you it feels warm and inviting, almost familiar, and that little box of feelings in the back of your mind stirs a little bit. 

He told you to dress comfortably tonight, and you felt most at ease in a deep green sweater dress and knee high heeled boots. The dress just barely skims your thighs, making your legs look long and toned. You could use a tan, but it’s only March, everyone in Texas could use a tan at this point. You left your hair down in loose curls and kept your makeup minimal, as always. 

There are three people in the small foyer. Two stunning women stand behind the hostesses desk in matching black dresses and collars. To the right of them stands a man who looks like he could kill you with his pinkie. He’s also dressed in all black, and stands in front of a large door. Everything here seems like it’s meant to intimidate but all you can see and feel is the safety that comes with knowing Joel Miller. 

One of the women looks up at you, smiling comfortingly and asks for your name. Before you can respond, Joel's honey lined voice answers her. The sound of your name on his tongue feels like taking a breath of fresh winter air. Goosebumps break out across your skin, your own breath leaping in your throat as you spin slowly to meet his gaze. There’s no other way to around it, Joel Miller is fucking exquisite. His slightly outgrown curls are pushed back, silver reflecting off his temples and throughout his beard. Tonight he’s wearing a deep midnight blue Tom Ford suit with one jacket button done up, underneath he’s wearing a crisp white t-shirt, paired with brown dress shoes and what you assume will be a matching belt. One of his hands is tucked in the pocket of pants that literally look like they weren’t made for him, the other hangs loose at his side and you catch that gold ring again.  

He doesn’t take his eyes off you as he speaks to everyone in the lobby, “You’re all to remember her name. She is my guest, my only guest, and as far as you’re all concerned she’s the most important person in this club. Understand?”

The little box of feelings lifts its lid a little. No, you say to the box, banishing it back to its dark corner.

A jumbled mess of ‘yes’ and ‘sorry’ fills the lobby but the only thing that’s clear to you is Joel as he wanders over, placing his hand on the small of your back, and leading you towards the large black door that the lethal looking man is guarding. As he pulls you into his side his voice quiets, his words a low growl meant only for you. “Hi, sweetheart.” When he sponges a soft kiss to your temple you press your lips together to stop the giggle that’s trying to burst out of you. Joel Miller makes you giddy in a way that you haven’t felt since you were much younger and saw a One Direction music video for the first time. 

This afternoon, you had your easily predicted moment of panic. As with every decision you’ve ever made, you started to think that this wasn’t the right one. Maybe Tommy was the safer choice. Maybe you’ve bit off more than you can chew, or girlbossed too close to the proverbial sun. Or in kink terms, flirted too closely with the St Andews Cross. But now, being here tucked tightly against Joel's side as he guides you into your first experience with the world of kink you couldn’t feel any more sure of your decision. 

You hold your breath as the shiny black marble door opens, this feels like one of those big climatic moments you see in the movies, like you know the main character's life is about to change, and a nervous excitement buzzes through your veins. As the club comes into view it’s nothing like you thought. For starters, there aren’t cages or naked people around, and at first glance it looks just like a lounge in a high end hotel or restaurant. JMKink is beautiful, breathtaking.

 Light pine flooring is set in a herringbone pattern across the entire club. Directly in front of you are a few tall tables and then, situated in the middle of the space, is a large black marble bar. The bartender is surrounded by a halo of soft chiffon light that casts down from a brushed gold chandelier. The tables and bar top have tealight candles on them, making the entire thing feel sensual and soft. It’s just dimly lit enough that you can’t see beyond the bar from here. Joel guides you gently to the right. The booths that line the wall are only illuminated by the flickering candle on the table. Three of the booths are roped off, guarded by a tank of a man in a black suit. As Joel leads you towards them, you notice each of those tables have a gold plated reserved sign along with a name; Joel, Tommy and Tess. 

Confusion swirls in your brain at the romantic feeling the club gives off. Part of you expected to walk into a sex dungeon or that red room that Christian took Anastasia to, but you definitely weren’t expecting this. If this place was just a bit brighter you could imagine studying here on weekends. 

This isn’t a sex club, there’s no way.

As you slide into the furthest booth you’re able to see a small stage on the back wall and empty dance floor looking area on the other side of the bar. You can feel Joel’s warm gaze on you as you look around with wide eyes. Right when you’re almost convinced that you interpreted the information you found on Reddit wrong, your eyes land on the far left side of the room.

No, now that you see if from this angle, you are indeed in a kink club; a well stocked kink club based on the entire sex shop in the corner. You feel your cheeks flush and you dart your eyes towards Joel, pushing at your cuticle under the table, smiling shyly at him.

“What’s goin’ on in that pretty little head of yours?” His voice is syrupy and warm as two drinks land on the table. Whiskey neat for him and some sort of pink martini for you.

“Nothing..I just, it’s not what I expected,” you swallow the sand that’s found its way into your throat at seeing all those sex toys just out on display in the corner and flick your eyes towards your drink.

“That's a cosmopolitan. I can get you something else if you want, sweetheart. The female staff here seems to love them.”

“No, I should have said thank you. I’m sorry.” His hand comes to meet yours as it’s picking furiously at the non-existent skin of your nail bed. He wraps his hand tightly around yours, and brings them to rest on the top of the table together.

“Take a breath, sweet girl. You’re ok.” His words wrap around you tightly, calming you. You’re ok. Your heart rate slows and you relax into the plush velvet lined booth a little bit, smiling sheepishly up at Joel. “Better?”

“Yes, thank you.” Your free hand grabs the martini glass and you bring it to your nose, it smells like cranberry and lime.

As you take a small sip Joel says, “You really don’t have to drink it, baby girl. I can get you whatever.”

The vodka burns away any sand that remains in your throat. It’s tart, and dangerously delicious. You can see yourself getting very fucked up these with your girlfriends one day soon. “No, I like it. Thank you.”

After putting the glass safely on the table, Joel lets go of your hand, wraps his arm around your waist and slides you across the seat, pressing you to his side. “Is this ok?”

JOEL

His cock twitches at the little hum you make in agreement. You lift your leg closest to him and rest it over his under the table. He squeezes your side gently, sinking into the comfort of you and grabs his whiskey. “So if this isn’t what you thought, what were you expecting?”

He loves the way you blush a little before answering him. “People just, you know, it’s a sex club, so just having sex here.”

He lowers his head to yours and whispers just for you, “There are people having sex here, sweet girl.”

He laughs to himself as your eyes narrow and you look around at the other people in the bar. “Not out here, just because you’re in a sex club doesn’t mean you have to consent to seeing or hearing people fuck. Or to be having sex yourself, really.” He loves the way you look at him with surprise at his boldness. He cocks his head towards a guarded door between the stage and booths along the wall, “But behind that door - well, people are indulging as we speak.”

He watches the small shiver of your spine, pulling back to take a sip of his whiskey, allowing you time to look around and become comfortable in your surroundings. He watches your perfect lips part, finding himself jealous of the rim of the glass as you take another sip. Great, first spoons and now glasses. As he watches your neck work to liquid down he says, “So did you leave that little pussy alone like I asked?”

Your head whips to face him, he can’t quite place your facial expression. It’s a twisted  mix of fear, shyness and embarrassment, like you’re worried that someone may have heard him say pussy; but if you only knew the kinds of things happening in this club right now.

“What?” you ask shakily.

“Did you come? Or did you listen?”

“Umm…I,” he can tell that you’re flustered, and he finds you nearly irresistible like this.

“Are you nervous, sweet girl?”

He’s not sure if you realize it, but when you’re tense and he calls you by that nickname you relax a little. Your shoulders lower, the little crease in between your eyebrows softens. “No,” you say, and he’s not convinced.

Joel deepens his voice, a voice he only intends to use when you’re at the club together. Or when she’s in my bedroom. He pushes any thoughts of you outside of the confines of this space away, “Lesson number one, don’t lie to your Dom. We have to be able to trust each other.”

You look up at him through your lashes and it damn near kills him. You’re so beautiful, absolutely glowing against all the black in the room. The soft golden light bounces off of every little perfect piece of you; from the deep cupid's bow above your top lip, to the caramel highlights in your hair. He can tell by the long breath you suck in that you’re about to do that adorable thing where you ramble. “I’m nervous, but it’s an excited kind of nervous. And no, I didn’t…that thing.” 

He can’t fight the smile at your shyness, “Lesson number two, If you can’t say it then you shouldn’t be here. What thing, sweet girl?”

You close your eyes and say, “Come,” and then open your eyes to look at him again. 

So shy. So cute. I’m fucked, so very fucked, he thinks. He takes another pull of his whiskey if only to keep his hands and lips busy and to himself. He usually enjoys the burn but with you beside him it tastes sweeter.

As you bring your martini glass to your lips he commands, “One more time, this time look at me when you say it.”

Over your glass, sparkling eyes locked on him you mumble, “I didn’t come, Joel.”

“That reminds me. Lesson number three, as soon as we cross the threshold into my private room, you will refer to me as Mister Miller only. Out here, and anywhere else, I can be Joel, but in there,” he tilts his head towards a door on the other side of the stage, this one isn’t guarded, instead there’s a security pad that you need to have a microchip to unlock, “In there, I’m Mister Miller. Understand?”

He watches your throat again as you swallow, the palm of his hand tingles at the thought of wrapping his hand around it again. One of your eyebrows raises just a touch and he knows that cheeky little line of your lips. “Yes, Mister Miller.”

Your voice is husky as you say it and this time it’s him who has to fight the goosebumps rising on his skin and the icy shiver trailing down his spine. So perfect. 

“Can I ask you a question?” You don’t make eye contact with him when you say it, like you fear he might say no and he has a feeling that whoever made you feel that you needed to make plans A through Z also told you are a burden for asking questions. Joel isn’t a violent man, but would happily ring whoever’s neck did this to you.

“Of course, sweet girl.”

You turn to face him, taking a sip of your martini before you say, “Why did you send me into your basement that day?”

Joel clears his throat, weighing how transparent he wants to be in his answer, but there’s no hiding it after what he said to you in his office last week. “I’m not always going to be nice to you here, sweet girl. I’m going to push you, I might even hurt you. Yes, it’s all consensual, but I didn’t want you thinkin’ I’m some sort of monster.”

He watches as you take a long pull of the pink liquid from your glass. You set it back on the table, the earlier tremble of your hand gone as you reply, “Thank you for being honest with me. I don’t think I could ever see you as a monster, Mister Miller. I need this.”

The devious smile you give him has his cock come to life. He doesn’t fuck his subs, but he would take you right here in this booth if he could. “Would you like a tour of the club?”

Your eyes light up, “Can I bring my drink?”

“Anywhere out here, yes. But not behind those two doors.” He takes the last drink from his whiskey and then watches as you take two big gulps to finish your Cosmopolitan. Your nose crinkles at what he assumes is the burn of the vodka.

“So fuckin’ cute,” Joel says quietly, and hopefully just to himself, as he slides out of the booth.

No, you say to the little box of feelings when you overhear his whispered words, don’t start with me right now.

You follow him as he heads towards the store in the corner. Even with the condoms, dildos, plugs, gags, whips, lube and all sorts of other things on display it’s somehow still classy and beautiful. Lots of these things you’ve never seen before, or had any desire to play with, but you’re pretty sure you’d try almost anything with Joel. 

He nods at the man working the store counter and then walks you around the main area, his voice thick with passion as he speaks. “Usually on Friday and Saturday nights there's more of a nightclub feel, couples who like to swap partners can mingle with the room. This is a safe space, monogamous couples aren’t offended by the attention and everyone stays very respectful of others wishes and limits. There’s a drink limit of course, keeping things safe and consensual is my utmost priority.”  

You walk slowly, crossing the middle of the currently unoccupied dance floor, “That stage is often used for workshops or shows. This is a place to learn just as much as it’s a place to enjoy sex and kink. We have a new workshop coming up next week actually.”

The two of you stop beside the guarded door - the door Joel said people were indulging behind. You can’t help but be curious about what's happening back there, but you’re also desperately horny and unsure how you might react to whatever is unfolding in the dark. The man standing in front of the door is also dressed in a black suit, this seems to be the uniform of those who work at JM Kink, he says a cordial, “Good Evening, Joel.” Then nods at you and adds, “Miss.”

You jump as Joel’s hand connects with yours, his strong fingers linking with your slender ones. He spins you to face him. His freehand cups your chin, the band of his ring cold against your pink flushed skin. He tilts your face up to meet his, seriousness etched across his face. “My sweet girl, behind that door can be a bit intense at first. You’re an adult, but you shouldn’t have to see anything you don’t want to see. So you’re in charge in there. If you want to leave, we leave. If you want to cover your eyes, do it and I’ll lead you away. On the contrary, if you see something you like and want to get closer, then get closer. If you have questions, just ask. Ok?”

You nod, and Joel leads you through what you hope is the second life changing door of the night. The air feels different on this side of the threshold, something about it makes you feel like you’ve been plugged into a low voltage socket, you’re buzzing in an exciting and dangerous way. It’s dark enough in here that you can’t see your black boots as they click quietly against the hardwood. Joel's strong hand comes around your waist, tucking you into the side of his body protectively. After taking a deep breath, the familiar ash and leather scent of Joel intoxicating and calming your senses, you look up.

You and Joel stand intertwined at one end of a long rectangular room. Across from where you stand and down to your left and right the wall is lined with large windows. On the side of the hallway where you stand are plush chairs and couches, some of which are occupied by singles or couples as they watch what’s happening beyond the windows. 

You wonder if it gets easier, standing in a dark hall where you can watch people fucking. Joel is so calm, like a still glassy sea, meanwhile you are fighting against the tides. He stands almost statuesque, his thumb rubbing calming circles on your hip, while keeping you tucked safely into him. He has made it clear that you’re in charge here, so staying in the shadows as much as possible, you wander towards the first window. As if he’s another limb on your body, Joel follows you effortlessly. 

Your heart thumps in your chest as you approach the first window. The room has a large bed that remains untouched. A man is tied to a chair at the end of the bed with black silk ties, and you stifle a gasp at the painful looking device he has clamped around his hard cock. You can hear his whines through the ball gag, and the moans of pleasure from the woman spread eagle on the floor in front of him as she fucks herself with a large dildo.

Joel’s soft stubble brushes against your ear as he whispers, “We won’t be doing that.”

“Looks fun for me,” you giggle and he lightly pinches your hip.

The next window has the blinds drawn, little slits of light illuminating the edges is the only sign that someone is in the room. “You can choose to let people watch or not watch, as well as how much you want those in the voyeur area to hear when you rent the rooms,” Joel explains softly as you approach the next open window.

The bed in this room is occupied by three people. A curvy woman is lying down on her back, a copper skinned man with a shaved head has his face buried in her pussy while a fully tattoed beefcake of man fucks his ass. The look of pure pleasure on all their faces has your clit twitching and aching. And when Joel lowers himself to your ear the little hairs on the back of your neck stand up. 

“We also won’t be doing that,” Joel’s voice is so light and carefree. For a second you forget that any minute now he’s going to use that deep baritone voice to boss you around while you’re completely naked.

“Again, it also looks fun for me,” you joke, and a small smile crosses your lips as you feel Joel’s body shake with silent laughter beside yours. There’s about ten windows in this room from what you can see, most are closed or dark, probably since it’s a weekday. You lead the two of you down the room to the next open window. “Can they see us?”

“Not unless you get close to the glass,” he instructs. You stop in your tracks at the next window. Despite your teasing with Joel the last two were not your thing, but this window you could easily watch for a while. A man and a woman lay on the large red silk sheeted bed while hundreds of battery operated candles flicker around them. He’s on top of her, one of her legs slung over his shoulder, the other around his waist. As you step closer you can see a sparkly, thin layer of sweat coating both their bodies as they slowly grind together, kissing passionately. You take another step closer, if they want to be seen then it shouldn’t matter if they see you. Once you’re close enough you can hear the gentle moans she’s making as he thrusts slowly in and out of her. 

“Well,” you say softly, leaning into Joel’s side and looking up into his warm chocolate eyes, “That doesn’t look so bad.”

He cranes his neck and places a lingering kiss on your forehead and as your eyelids flutter closed you can no longer deny just how turned on you are. He pulls back to look at you, smiling slightly before saying, “When I first got here he had her hogtied and was paddling her.”

“Like I said,” you say while giggling softly, “That doesn’t look so bad.” 

The two of you watch them for a while as they fuck languidly. This should feel wrong, watching something so personal, but the beauty of them together like this is comforting and almost inviting. Her cries grow louder and as she starts to shake he pauses his hips, fully seated inside of her while whispering and smiling down at her, pushing her sweat soaked hair off her forehead. The love behind the glass is so palpable that you feel yourself getting choked up a little. 

Just as you’re about to ask Joel to take you to his room, you notice another window with about five people lined up along the glass. Curiosity gets the better of you and you lead Joel the few steps to see what’s going on. No longer feeling nervous or shy, you step right up to the glass. This time, Joel moves his body to be behind yours, pulling your back against his strong body. One of his arms wraps around your middle, the other sweeps your hair to one side and then rests gently on your shoulder. 

The set up of this room is similar to the others you’ve seen: a large bed to the right, a chair to the left, and a chest of drawers to the back. There’s a woman strapped face up on the bed, wrists and ankles bound to the four posts of the frame. Her perky breasts rise and fall rapidly with her breathing. At the back of the room, a broad tanned man faces away from you, looking through a drawer for something. As your eyes travel up his back from his hard, round ass cheeks he spins to face the window. You step back into Joel as Tommy Miller’s gaze flicks to the people along the window and then to the sub he’s chosen for the night. 

In your sane mind you tell yourself that you should look away. It's one thing to watch strangers but watching someone you sort of know feels like an invasion of their privacy. Plus, there’s no way Joel wants to see his brother like this. As if he can read your mind, Joel's lips brush against your neck, “I’m right here, sweet girl. Tommy likes an audience, he’s an exhibitionist, and lots of members come just to watch him.” 

You glance up at Joel and he smiles softly. Your voice is just above a whisper, “Can we watch for a bit?” 

“You’re in charge, sweetheart.” He patiently reminds you as you nod and look back towards the room.

The horny demon that seems to have taken over your body since catching Joel in his office has you dying to see more: more sex, more kink, more Tommy. Without consciously controlling it, your eyes travel down his tanned chest, to the hair around his belly button and then down to his fully erect cock. You can’t help but appreciate the beauty of his body, he looks like he’s carved out of stone, and that includes his cock. He’s decently long, but thick, a prominent vein running along one side of it. It’s slightly upturned and the head is smooth and glistening with precome. He looks so powerful and the small fire that’s been building in your stomach grows.  

You bite at your bottom lip nervously, crossing your arms to rest on top of the one Joel has wrapped around you. Tommy walks over to the bed; grasped in one of his large hands is a black vibrator, his other holds a small glass jar housing a lit candle. He climbs onto the bed, then drizzles hot wax along the woman's thighs. Her back arches off the bed and through the speakers along the glass you hear her pained moans. Tommy watches her intently, his lips moving but you can’t hear what he’s saying. Once she’s settled back on the bed, Tommy places the vibrator on her clit.

She writhes and pulls at the velvety cuffs holding her to the bed. “Sir, oh god, I’m - I’m gonna - Sir, fuck, I’m gonna come.”

When she calls him sir you see the dark flash of obsidian across his eyes, the same look when you called him that at the poker game. Through your research, you know that doms have preferred names and your cheeks flush a little at the thought of accidentally using his with him. 

Tommy pulls the vibrator away right before she falls over the edge and drizzles wax on her stomach. She cries out with more desperation this time, and then again, once she’s calm Tommy places the vibrator between her thighs. It’s suddenly hard to breathe and when you step back into Joel you feel his cock is hard against your back and a fresh wave of arousal coats the lace of your panties. 

Tommy takes the vibrator away as she starts shaking and moaning, then hot wax splashes down her sternum. You feel antsy, like little pins and needles are pricking along your entire body. You squeeze your thighs together, Joel's warm breath against your neck causes you to shudder. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” he hums.

“N-nothing.”

“You sure? You’re squirmin’.” His hand runs slowly down your arm, your hands moving on their own so he can wrap you in his muscle lined arms. A light kiss lands just below your ear and you bite back a moan.  

The combination of not being allowed to have an orgasm, the feeling of Joel’s warm body pressed against you, and the erotic scenes you’ve witnessed tonight is almost too much. It’s also not lost on you that that could have been you in there with Tommy right now. Your clit is throbbing between your legs, and you aren’t sure if you have ever been this turned on. 

Joel smiles into your skin as you watch Tommy tease his sub with the vibrator again, “Do you like what you’re seein’?”

You nod, trying to calm your breathing. It hitches as he adds, “Would you like to try that one day?”

Wax hits one of her nipples, the beads hardening along the peak of her perky, round breast. You adjust your stance to cross your legs together, squeezing hard to ease the almost painful ache at the apex of your thighs. Her and Tommy speak softly to one another, he smiles down at her, puts the candle down and then adjusts himself between her legs, spreading the lips of her puffy pussy with two fingers and putting the vibrator right where you know it would ruin you. 

“Would you?” Joel repeats.

“Yes, Mister Miller.” You say, your voice shaky, almost like it’s impossible to form words as you look up at him. He’s so beautiful in the shadowy light, his tanned skin almost seems to glow against the darkness.  

His eyes dance around your face, his voice comes out soft and sensual, quiet enough for just you to hear, “Do you want to go play now, sweet girl?”

You bite your cheek to try to fight the smile, but as Joel’s eyes flick to your lips it’s no use. A shy smile tugs at the corners of your soft pink lips. “Are you going to let me come?”

He looks at you the same way he did when you drank the water and ate that toast. Pride. He’s proud of you for asking for what you want, and you can almost feel your insecurity and fear around asking for things starting to shrink. 

The softness in his voice morphs into a growl, “If you’re a good girl.”

You spin your body towards him, determination lacing your face. “I can be your good girl, Mister Miller.”

Joel’s strong fingers link with yours and a quiet giggle passes your lips as he hauls you towards a door in the shadows close to where you two entered. Truthfully, if it wasn't for the little red light on the security pad, you wouldn’t have even known there was a door there. He waves his ring past the device and after a quiet beep sounds the light flashes green and the door clicks open. He pulls you through and as soon as Joel hears the final click of the door closing he hauls you over his shoulder. Your squeal at your world literally turning upside down with his brute strength melts into an aroused moan as his strong hands grasp the back of your bare thighs.

When Joel stops walking, you tear your eyes away from his perfectly sculpted ass, like these pants must be stuffed, there’s no way this man has a better ass than me. You glance up to see two other doors; assumingly belonging to Tommy and Tess. A familiar beep sounds in the quiet hall and your throat goes dry as he steps into his room. He takes a few long strides before sliding you down his muscle lined chest and placing you at the foot of the bed. He stays close, your breasts just barely grazing his warm body. Your gazes are locked, and even though you’ve grown comfortable with his intense need for eye contact your breathing still goes shaky and uneven. 

Oh fuck, this is it. 

His hand cradles your cheek, “You read and signed off on everything in the app, but I want to reiterate a few things, baby girl.”

You swallow hard, his finger now tracing down your throat and you swear you can feel every whorl of his fingertips as they trail along your soft skin. 

“From now on, you belong to me and I belong to you. No one else. You are not allowed to come unless I say.” 

His hand continues its road trip of your body, settling to wrap around the nape of your neck. “Y-Yes, Mister Miller.” 

“I have a no sex rule. I’ll give you orgasms, I’ll fuck you with my fingers and toys, even my tongue, but not my cock. I need you to understand that my rule is nothing against you, sweetheart. Are you ok with that?”

“Yes, sir, Mister Miller,” you coo. The nervous excitement from early has returned, every bit of skin that he’s touching is almost humming, butterflies with sharp wings scrape at your stomach. You bring your hands to the lapels of his expensive blue suit, fisting the soft fabric.  

“Fuuck,” he moans, “That sounds so pretty coming out of your mouth, sweet girl.” 

You smile up at him. He squeezes the back of your neck gently, his other hand cradling your chin between his thumb and forefinger. The rough pad of his thumb caresses your chin. “Nothin’ tonight that will require a safeword-”

“Stegosaurus,” you say eagerly, cutting him off. It’s silly really, but that little dinosaur on top of his coffee machine is what first intrigued you about the anonymous millionaire whose home had been assigned to you to clean. It also has some sort of meaning to him, so it seemed only natural for that to be your safeword. 

He smiles, laughing gently, “Not tonight, baby. If you want to stop tonight, just say so and I’ll stop. Ok?” 

Your pussy flutters at the unexpected moments to come, but a gnawing anxiety starts to claw at your chest. You’re not sure what causes the shift, but suddenly you go from excited nervous to just plain nervous. Am I ready to give up control? What if he sees me naked and doesn’t like it. He said it was only me, what if he regrets that decision? 

Your chest tightens, the knife-winged butterflies multiplying and traveling up your throat. Joel must sense a shift in you, he steps closer to you and softens his eyes as they dance around your face, a silent sign that he’s patiently waiting for you. If you said you wanted to go home you know he would kiss you softly and call your new friend Cap, but you don’t want that. You want this, you want whatever is about to happen; you just need to let go.

Vulnerability is thick in your voice as you break one of his rules and murmur, “J-Joel?” 

“What’s wrong, baby?” His voice waivers, making you feel a little bit better. 

“I’m nervous.” 

He lowers his head towards yours, running the tip of his hooked nose down the slender bridge of yours. You close your eyes and take him all in. He’s warm and hard, yet somehow so soft. His familiar ash and leather scent is mixed with the expensive whiskey he drank earlier. 

“So am I, sweet girl,” he whispers into your lips before kissing you softly. You melt into him, his hands moving to cup your face. His soft lips sponge against yours and everything quiets. You’re not sure how he does it, but kissing him feels like dunking your head under water, everything silences, all the nervousness dissipates. It’s just the two of you, floating in tandem in an endless void. 

He’s nervous too? Because of me? I make this strong, successful, brooding man nervous? Your inner voice of anxiety starts to settle. I’m safe here.

The comfort of your thoughts is enough to have you pulling yourself into Joel more. You increase the intensity of your kiss, turning your head and parting your lips slightly. He follows suit, running his soft tongue along yours. The air in the room has morphed, it’s saturated with passion and arousal. With just one kiss he’s managed to erase all your fears and worries, your mind is silent and ready for whatever instructions he’s going to give you. When he pulls away your both panting for breath.

He turns his back to you, sliding his dark blue suit jacket down, the white t-shirt underneath clinging with perfection to the muscle and sinew that pack on top of each other along his back. He drapes his jacket over a padded bench about five feet away from you; you know from your extensive research that that’s a spanking bench. He spins to face you, slipping his gold and black ring off his hand, keeping his eyes locked with yours as he drops it in a dish on top of a low chest of drawers on his left. You can’t describe it, but the sound of the gold clashing with the ceramic dish puts you in a trance. Like a ritualistic symbol that you are his now.

His hands slip into his pockets, his voice taking on its deep dominant tone, “We are going to start now. You can stay fully clothed or you can get as undressed as you feel comfortable being. I’m serious here, sweet girl. Leave on as little or as much as you want. When you’re done, lay face up on the bed.”

Without thinking your hands fly back to the zipper on your boots, you unzip them and toe them off. You don’t break eye contact as you grab the hem of your sweater dress and pull it up and over your body. As your vision is temporarily blocked by the knitted fabric you can feel his eyes on your bare skin. You’re left in just a matching nude bra and panty set. He’s already seen your tits so you don’t hesitate to unclasp your bra and let it fall away from your body. 

Joel swallows hard and licks his lips. “Beautiful,” he mumbles appreciatively and it coats your skin in warmth. 

You hesitate for a moment with your thumbs hooked in the waistband of your panties. You know they’re soaked through, and you’re sure he can see that from where he’s standing. He’s so fucking good at reading you, so you’re not surprised when he says, “Only take off what you feel comfortable with, my sweet girl.” 

“I do…I am…I w-want to…I just,” you fiddle with the band a bit. 

“You can say it.” He nods encouragingly.

“I like having them taken off me. I - I want to see your face up close when you…when you see it for the first time.” 

Joel smirks, popping his hip out to lean on the spanking bench. “See what the first time?” 

“Don’t make me say it, Mister Miller.” 

He clicks his tongue at you, “Mmm, but I love hearing that pretty little mouth say dirty words.” You stay silent, chewing your cheek as he continues. “Come on…say it. Say, I want to see your face up close when you see my cunt for the first time, Mister Miller.”

You feel your cheeks flush. Earlier tonight he asked you to look at him when you say it, so you roll your shoulders back and hold your head high. As confidently as possible you say, “I want to see your face up close when..” you take a shaky inhale, “When you see my cunt for the first time, Mister Miller.” 

Before the last syllable has left your lips he’s across the room, lifting you off the ground by the back of your thighs. You instinctively wrap your legs around him and gasp at the sudden pressure right where you’re aching for him. 

“I have memorized every answer from your preferences,” he growls into your collar bone, walking you around the bed. “I have strategically planned what I’m going to teach you and then you say stuff like that and fuck. I have to fight every sick and twisted thought I have, sweet girl.” He climbs onto the bed, laying you down just how he wants you, “You have no idea what you do to me. How out of control you make me feel.” 

Joel shuffles his body down, kissing down your sternum before cupping your tits. Pushing them together and sucking one of your nipples into his hot mouth. This is exactly what you’ve been fantasizing about since that moment in his office. His tongue is warm and soft as it flicks across your hardening nipple. He lightly rolls the other one between his fingers.  

“Please - oh god - please Mister Miller.” You moan needily. You try to arch into him, but his large body holds you down. 

He grazes his teeth along your nipple then looks up at you, “I’m gonna take care of you. Just relax.” 

You can’t take your eyes off him as he dives back in. Sucking and biting at your other nipple. You plant your feet on the mattress, hands tangling into his hair, as you try to grind your aching clit into his warm, hard stomach. 

“Stay still sweetheart,” He says between suckles. 

“I c-can’t. Please.”

He pinches both nipples hard, harder than you’re used to, and you whimper, freezing your hips. His voice is as deep as the obsidian in his gaze, “Stay still. I’m going to make you come. I promise. You need to trust me, relax.” 

The pressure on your nipples eases and you pout before letting yourself melt back into the mattress. He smirks, a dimple carving itself in the patchy scruff of his cheek. “That’s my girl. You like your nipples being played with?” 

The pad of his thumb ghosts over the tops of them, you shiver and moan, “Uh-huh.”

“Good. Then you’re going to enjoy what I have planned tonight.” He kisses your forehead and then climbs off the bed. You rise on your elbows, watching him as he pads across the room to a chest of drawers. He toes off his brown dress shoes and removes his belt before digging through a drawer. The actions were so simple, yet the domesticity of them has you fighting with your little box of feelings again.

No, you tell it silently as it inches out of the darkness. I am his sub and nothing more. The box seems to have grown a very annoying and persistent personality and it almost says, ‘but he’s nervous too’ back at you. 

He turns back to face you, snapping you out of your fight with the imaginary box in your brain. The same vibrator Tommy had is clasped in one hand, his other is palm up, cupping something that he’s shaking much like a gambler does with dice. 

“My sweet girl, you put a five for nipple clamps. Remind me, have you ever used them before?”

“No, Mister Miller.” 

He wanders lazily back over to the bed, and if he was anyone else you’d tell him to hurry up, but you never want to rush a single moment with Joel Miller. On top of that, you need to let him take control; he said he was going to make you come if you just relax and trust him, so that’s exactly what you’re going to do. He places the vibrator on the small table beside the bed and then sits beside you, holding out his free hand to help you sit up. 

He holds the clamps out to you and explains softly, “These are beginner clamps. See this little dial? I can control how tight they are.”

You watch his thick fingers along the dainty metal of the clamps, he’s so soft yet could have you crying with the snap of his fingers if he wanted. A fresh wave of arousal floods between your thighs completely ruining the panties he still hasn’t taken off your body. You nod and whisper, “Ok.”

“You control what happens here tonight. If you tell me that it hurts too much or to stop, I will.”

It’s time to show Joel just how good of a girl you can be, you look at him through your eyelash and sweetly coo, “Yes, Mister Miller.” 

A deep growl rumbles in his chest, “Fuck. Lay down..now.” 

You lay back, hair fanning around you. Joel stays seated on the edge of the bed beside you and lightly places the first clamp on your right nipple. It’s a light pinching pressure and it feels so good that your eyes flutter shut and you melt into the bed. He puts the next clamp on and you whimper. 

“How’s that feel?” he asks, his strong hands gripping your hips, pushing you into the mattress and grounding you in the warm pleasure that floods your stiff nipples.  

“S-so good Mister Miller,” you groan. You’re almost convinced this is another dream, he’s doing almost exactly what you have imagined countless times. You open your eyes to watch him, determined to visually take in every single thing he gives you. 

“Good, baby. I want you to feel good. I’m gonna tighten them now, jus’ a little.” He twists the little knob. You start breathing heavily, teetering on the edge of pain and pleasure. You bring your hands to his strong, warm forearms as you suck in air.

“Too much?”

Your chest heaves at the delicious feeling flooding your tits. “No, no. More. P-Please, more. More.”

“Good girl,” he hums deeply, the words settling right behind your clit as he tightens the tiny clamps more. The warmth around your nipples spreads to your arms and down your sides. When you cry out he asks, “Pain or pleasure, sweet girl?”

At this point you aren’t sure, it definitely hurts, but it also feels good, and his deep brown eyes are looking at you the same way they always do, full of concern and care, almost like he’s assessing you. 

“Both. Both, oh fuck. More, Mister Miller.” He kisses the left one gently and you arch into him, “More, more, please.”

“That’s as tight as they go, are you sure you want more?”

You keep your eyes on him, nodding fervently, “Yes. Please, yes.”

He pops them off and you gasp out in pain, heat rushes to both your nipples and it burns in white hot passion. Joel blows cool air along both of them and you can’t seem to stop your mumbling begging, “More. I need more. Please!”

“I know, baby. I got you.” He opens the drawer on the bedside table and takes out two gold plated clamps. You look down, your nipples already look sore, tinged slightly purple. “I’m so fucking proud of you already. Askin’ so nicely like the good girl I know you are. Goddamn, look at these stiff, perky, perfect little nipples. I love seeing you like this, seeing them like this. Are you wet for me? Are those flimsy lace panties soaked through?”

He places one of the new clamps and you cry out a ‘yes’. 

“Ya? Just dripping and desperate for me?” He puts the other clamp on as you chant a chorus of yes’s and oh god’s. 

Joel

Joel knew that tonight would either make or break him. As his name spills sweetly from your perfect pouty lips he feels it, the same tug behind his belly button that he felt with Tiffany, that his grandpa said was how he’d know when he found something special; something to hold onto. 

“Please, Mister Miller,” you murmur. He doesn’t know what it is you’re asking for, and he’s sure you don’t know either. What is it about you saying those three little words that gets him so rattled? Countless subs have called him that in the past and it never made his cock swell this painfully behind his zipper.

He taps at your nipples lightly and watches your body shudder and arch off the bed. You aren’t even fully naked and he’s fighting the urge to come right there in his pants. He loves the way your body reacts, he can already tell you’re going to look stunning as you come. 

“That feel good?” He asks, his voice deep and husky. 

“Yes. Oh god, yes!” You haven’t taken your eyes off him and he loves how your eyelids have become hooded from the pleasure while your brows furrow with the pain.

“Does it hurt?” Your cheeks are flushed pink making the colour of your eyes pop.

“Yes,” just as he’s convincing himself to remove the clamps you moan, “Please don’t stop.” 

Joel grabs the vibrator from the bedside table before sliding his body down the bed. He starts kissing at your hip bone before wrapping his teeth around the slender band of your panties. Your eyes dart down to him, this is what you asked for; to his face the first time he sees your cunt. He pulls your panties with his teeth, smiling against your soft upper thigh when you instinctively lift your hips to help him. As he shimmies down the bed his eyes stay on your face.

He gets to the end of the bed, standing with your soaked through thong still between his teeth. He relaxes his jaw, dropping the panties in his hand and bringing them to his face. “God fuckin’ damn, sweet girl. You smell so fuckin’ sweet. Imma crave that smell when you aren’t around.” He tucks your panties into the pocket of his four thousand dollar, custom made Tom Ford suit. As far as he’s concerned, that drenched thong is the most expensive and important thing he now owns. 

He trails his eyes down your sternum, your legs are straight out in front of you, not parted, but he can see your puffy pink clit pushing through the soft looking outer lips. He feels himself switching into full dom mode. The room around him fades away, everything outside of you and this room doesn’t matter anymore.

“Show me,” he growls. “Spread those gorgeous legs and show me that perfect little cunt.”

He crawls up the bed, following the path you make as you bend both knees up. He feels like a starved dog who’s about to get a meal. Your feet stop, and as he hovers above you, gaze wholly fixated on your core, you relax your legs and your knees butterfly open. God he loves how eager you are, how good of a listener you can be. He licks his lips as your outer thighs finally meet the soft sheets, baring yourself for him completely. He stops breathing as your lips part, sticky with arousal. Your pussy is swollen and glistening, your needy clit puffy and pink. 

A deep moan rumbles in his chest as he lowers himself to the be, his face between your legs. Once he’s close enough he can see the tight little hole he’s vowed not to fuck. “Shit, sweetheart. This is goin’ to be so much harder than I thought.”

Your cries wash over him; he’s experienced enough to know that it’s from your nipples hardening under the clamps at his words. He smirks up at you, “How are you so wet already?”

“You, Mister Miller.”

“That right? Me playin’ with those nipples get you all turned on?”

“Uh-huh, and you said I couldn’t touch myself. I’ve been like this for days.” Your bottom lip pokes out and it absolutely ruins him, but he pushes down the overwhelming need to fix it and give you exactly what you need. No, you want to experience being a submissive, and that’s what he’s going to do. 

“Poor baby,” he mocks, tsking at you. He kisses right above your clit and you gasp. He’s close enough to know the heat of his breath is going to have you squirming and he can’t wait to watch how beautiful you’ll look doing it. “So wet. Smells so good. Fuck, She’s right in front of me but I already miss her. You look so soft and tight. Goddamn, you’re gonna have me breakin’ all my rules, sweet girl.”

“Please touch me. Please.”

“Mmmm, such a good girl for asking so nicely. I can’t say no when you beg like that, baby, makes me weak.” He kisses the crook of your inner thigh, he knows how much he’s teasing you right now, he watches you get wetter by the second, the beautiful folds of your pussy opening like a flower in the sun for him and flushing a deeper pink and the blood courses to your most sensitive parts.  

“I need you Mister Miller,” your voice waivers as you say his name, and you blink a little harder, he knows you’re fighting back the tears and it makes his cock throb harder, the teeth of his zipper practically digging into him.

After what feels like hours, he finally brings a thick finger to tease at your entrance. You buck into him, desperate for the friction.  

“Don’t make me tie you up. Stay still for me, please.” Even with the please at the end, it’s a command - deep and serious, and you don’t dare test him. Your nipples stiffen every time he speaks, and they ache under the clamps, it’s the perfect twinge of pain to heighten the bits of pleasure he’s giving you. 

You press your lips in a tight line, hands grounding you as they ball the sheets, focusing on keeping still. You want to shamelessly fuck yourself with his fingers; meanwhile, he’s being slow and calculated. Joel torturously draws slow little circles along the waiting hole with just the tip of his finger. He watches as your sticky white arousal coats his fingertip, then groans as he slowly pushes his middle finger all the way inside of you. You gasp at the welcome stretch and fight like hell to stay still.

“Look at you, fuck. So warm and inviting.” He slips his finger out slowly and lets out an exasperated sigh. Your heart falls into your stomach.

“Mister Miller, no. Please, it felt so good,” you practically cry at the loss at the feeling of him finally inside of you, finally giving you a taste of what you need the most.

“I know,” he shushes, “But that’s not what I have planned, not yet at least. My sweet girl, I need ya to be loud for me. I’ve been wanting this for so long. Need to hear you. Understand?”

The distinct sound of the vibrator you forgot he had comes to life and you squirm with anticipation. “Yes, Mister Miller. I will, just please, please make me feel good.” 

He reaches up, the black vibrator makes contact with your nipple and an intense pain shoots to your core before it blooms into pleasure. One of your hands leaves the sheets, fingernails digging into the forearms of the hand he has holding the vibrator and you sob out. 

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he groans before moving the vibrator to the other nipple, circling it around this time instead of holding it flush. “Jus’ tell me if you need me to stop.”

“Don’t, please don’t. Oh god, yes.” You know you’re screaming, you doubt anyone can hear you, but at this point you don’t care if they can. The pleasure becomes overwhelming, you slam your eyes shut and arch your back. Joel’s strong chest is warm in between your thighs, he’s so broad that he’s keeping you spread open. You grind into the soft white cotton of his t-shirt.

“Look at me. Focus, sweet girl,” you peel your eyes open to meet his gaze. Warm coffee and hazel eyes stare down at you. “Stay still, please.”

“I can’t - aah!” He presses hard on your sore nipple and it brings you back into your own body. You manage to still your hips and release your grip, leaving behind little crescent shaped indents in his muscle lined forearm.

“Good girl,” he praises and then pulls the vibrator away from your breasts. His free hand comes to your mound, he swallows hard before breaking eye contact, pulling his hand back and looking at your puffy, and completely exposed bundle of nerves. A devious uptick of the right side of the mouth sets your blood on fire before he taps lightly at your clit once with the soft head of vibrator.

You cry out in pleasure. 

He taps again and you gasp out loudly.

He taps a third time and you’re almost certain that this is how you’re going to die. No man has ever teased you like this. You’re desperate to come, your body breaking out in sweat, but you never want Joel to stop. Moans and whines are pouring out of you without you even realizing it, he looks so fucking beautiful between your thighs, staring at your pussy like it’s the sunrise over the ocean, like he’s never seen anything as beautiful or fascinating and it makes your feel unstoppable. You make him look like that. Him. A man who could have anyone in the world, but here he is, looking at you like you’re his whole world.

“Let me hear you, show me how you can be a good girl,” he clicks the vibrator up and holds it tightly to your clit. The sensation is almost too much and your nipples ache under the little gold clamps.

Your body starts to shake involuntarily and your moans become longer and huskier, you’re going to come any second now. You squeeze your eyes shut and Joel pulls the vibrator away.

“No,” you gasp. “More. Please, I need more. Please.” The fear of him leaving you like this has the back of your eyes burning. Was there a time limit you weren’t aware of with the room? No, this is his private room. Right? Didn’t he say that he has a private room? And it shouldn’t matter if the club is open or closed, he’s the owner.

“Look at me, sweetheart.” You blink your eyes open, trying to focus on his face, but you’re so turned on that the edges of him seem fuzzy. “That feel good? The vibrator teasing your desperately swollen clit?”

You nod your head, “Yes, again. Please, Mister Miller.”

“Tell me what you want?”

Historically, situations like this have riddled you with insecurity. You’ve never been a talker in the bedroom and as a textbook people pleaser you never, like NEVER, ask for what you want. Yes, being here fully naked with a fully clothed Joel makes you feel safer and more understood than you have ever been. You know that if you ask for anything in this room and beyond, he’d do it. 

The words leave your mouth without you even thinking about it, without second guessing or carefully planning what it is you’re going to say. “Please make me come. I’ll be so loud for you. I’ll scream and moan until I have no voice. I’ve been such a good girl and I’ll do whatever you want. Just please, please make me come.”

He raises an eyebrow at you and his voice washes over you like honey, “Good fuckin’ girl. Eyes on me and hold on.”

It happens in an instant, the vibrator flicks to the highest setting as he adjusts his body to hold you firmly against the mattress with this forearm, your hands grab onto his shoulders as he presses the soft, thick head of the sex toy right onto your clit. 

You scream and squeeze at the strong muscles of his shoulders as wave after wave of pleasure courses through your system, you tense under his touch. The build of your orgasm somehow too much and not enough all at once.

“Oh god. Oh god. Yes, I’m - Mist - fuuuck.”

“I know, I’m right here.” He says darkly.

“Gonna come,” you sputter between your cries of ecstasy. You can feel that familiar tightness building.

“Relax and let go for me. Come for me, sweet girl. Let me see this beautiful little cunt twitch.”

His words send you over the edge and your orgasm rocks through you violently. You convulse with so much force that Joel grunts as he holds you down. You’re nothing but what Joel is giving you, not a single thought or insecurity, not a single worry about studying or school, you’re just what Joel has made you and it feels fucking fantastic. His dark onyx eyes swallow you whole. 

The pleasure of your orgasm, mixed with the pain in your nipples is so much more than you’ve ever known, and Joel’s deep gravel filled voice praises you the whole time.

‘There’s my girl.’

‘Sooo good for me.’

‘Fuck, that’s it my sweet girl.’ 

‘Beautiful when you scream for me.’

It starts to become too much. Your throat is hoarse from screaming. As your nails start to dig deep into his shoulders Joel slows the vibrator down and holds it lightly to your twitching clit as the aftershocks course through you. He releases your body from his and kisses your hip bone before shutting the vibrator off completely. 

He’s stills between your thighs, your hands resting on his shoulders. Joel smiles up at you sweetly and you pull at his t shirt to encourage him to crawl on top of you. He doesn’t hesitate, bringing his stong body on top of yours, resting his forearms on each side of your head. 

“Do I have your consent to kiss you?” He whispers.

“Yes,” you coo. His mouth meets yours similar to how it did when you both confessed to being nervous. It’s soft and lingering as you take shaky, calming breaths through your nose. That annoying little box of feelings shivers in the corner of your mind and you mentally put a piece of packing tape over the lid. 

You end this kiss this time, pushing your head into the pillow. “I’m gonna grab some cooling spray and take those clamps off now, is that okay?”

You nod and hum in agreement. Your eyelids and muscles feel heavy and sated. Joel's warm body parts from yours and a chill runs up your spine. When he releases the first clamp you whimper, the burning ache goes away as soon as he sprays it with a cooling coconut scented mist. When he removes the second one, your pussy clenches around nothing, a small but powerful orgasm waves through you as the cool droplets of the aftercare spray land on your pebbled breast.

“Did you just come?” Joel questions proudly.

Your hands cover your face as you blush harder than you have in years, “Yeah.”

Joel’s warmth encompasses you again as he climbs back on top of you, he gently pulls your hands away by your wrists. “Fuck, baby. I think I’m addicted to you.” He kisses the tip of your nose, “Such a good girl.”

You shiver underneath him and he rolls the two of you so he can wrap the blanket around you, your head rests on his chest, your body half on him and half on the soft bed. He holds you tightly, his meaty hands rubbing any place they can over the fluffy down filled cocoon he’s got you in. 

A comfortable silence falls around the two of you, your breaths in sync with one another. Your eyelids flutter closed, and that little voice starts to come back, lacing you with insecurity. You don’t want to ask, but you have to. You clear your throat quietly and ask, “Are you seeing any other subs?”

“No,” he replies softly, his lips brushing the top of your head. “But I haven’t told all of them yet. The dom/sub relationship is a delicate one. I can’t exactly just message them on the app that it’s over.”

You settle deeper into him. “What else do you have planned for us?”

You can hear the smile in his voice as he says, “I’m going to show you everything you want to know.”

A fire burns in your stomach, “When?”

Joel lets out a small laugh, then tilts your chin up, pulling back a little so he can look at you. “You’re so fucking cute when you’re eager. I have to go out of town tomorrow, but we’ll make sure to find time when I’m back this weekend.”

Him leaving is a bit of a blessing in disguise for you. “I take the LSAT again on Friday, so I guess this gives me lots of study time.”

He cranes his neck to sponge his lips to yours, the scruff of his mustache tickles a little and you giggle into his kiss. “How long have you owned the club?”

“Almost five years,” he replies.

You let an impressed hum, tucking your head into the crook of his neck as the two of you fall into a comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds are your mixed breathing and his calloused hand along the blanket. You remember all the times tonight that he called you ‘my sweet girl’ and you wonder if he’s feeling the same way you are, or if he’s so used to all of this that it’s just second nature to him. The packing tape on that fucking box starts to peels as if to say ‘he was nervous too and it’s only you’.

After a while Joel breaks the silence. “Becoming a lawyer is a pretty intense process. Your family must be really proud of you.”

“Umm, well, I actually don’t really know,” you say.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Joel says lightly and you know he means it. You know he would never push you to give him something you didn’t want to, he might push your sexual limits, but never your personal ones, and for whatever reason that almost makes it easier to tell him.

You roll onto your stomach and prop yourself up on your forearms on his chest. For a second you let your eyes look around the room. You were so focused on Joel earlier that you didn’t notice the rings and hooks along the black steel bed frame; or the paddles and ropes hanging on the wall next to a ladder and St Andrews Cross. In classic Joel fashion, everything is black and softly lit. Everything but the bed sheets which are plush and white. 

You take a deep breath, resting your chin on your hands, and start, “I don’t want pity for this, truthfully I’m grateful that this is my reality, but my parents had me when they were very young and they were both very selfish when I was growing up. Never abusive or anything, and not neglectful in a physical way, but emotionally I was left alone a lot. I realized early on that if I excelled in something they would show up, and for a long time that felt really fucking good. But as soon as I hit high school I realized they were showing up for themselves. They’d brag about me to other adults, but not actually congratulate me. They’d show up to honour roll ceremonies, but not with me or for me, it was so they could say I was their daughter. They didn’t help me get those grades, I did that on my own. And I’m still doing that on my own.”

Joel’s eyes soften, those two permanent lines between his eyebrows disappearing. “That explains so much, my sweet girl. I want you to know that I’m here for you.”

The tape on the box of feelings snaps as the lid flies off. Not now, you scold.

“I know, but honestly, I don’t really need anyone to take care of me. I’ve made it this far and I plan on making it the rest of the way the only way I know how.”

“Doesn’t that get lonely?” He asks.

“Doesn’t this?” you say gently, gesturing to the room.

“No,” he blinks at you a few times. “I was in my early twenties when my wife died. I needed to focus on raising Sarah, but I’m still an adult male with needs, so I found the world of BDSM and kink. It allowed me to get what I wanted, and what my partner wanted, without the attachment of a relationship.” His words are so real and honest and in just those few sentences you feel like you know Joel Miller more deeply than you know anyone else.

“My way doesn’t get lonely either,” you say with a smile, tucking your head back into his chest.

Joel

Your breathing is calm and heavy, it kills him that he’s going to have to wake you up. Usually his aftercare doesn’t involve opening up about his past like this. He’s not a monster, but he is very strict about keeping his kink life and his real life separate. Something about you though has him opening up about Tiffany and Sarah.

“Baby,” he whispers into the crown of your head, shaking you a little. “We can’t sleep here, I’m sorry.”

You blink up at him and his heart ceases at how beautiful you look all sleepy and supple. He finds himself unconsciously memorizing the little details of your face. Your lips are puffy from his kisses and you have a little mascara smudge under your eye. He thumbs the black make up away gently and says, “Let me help you get dressed and then Cap will take you home, ok?”

You nod lazily and he helps you gently roll off him. He stands and starts to gather your clothing. After a few minutes of looking around he huffs, “Where are your panties?”

A tiny giggle sounds from the cloud of white blankets, the sound shooting straight through his belly button, “Check your pockets.”

He laughs at himself, reaching into his pants pocket to pull out your lacy nude thong. He helps you sit up, “I’m keeping these, by the way.”

“Should I be expecting my panties to go missing every time?” You say jokingly as you take your bra from him and put it on. 

He nods and asks, “How are you feeling?”

“Good, really good actually,” After you put your bra on he pulls your dress over your head and then kneels to help you with your boots. “I - umm - I was hoping that this would help turn my brain off for a while and it did. I feel, I don’t know. Recharged almost?”

This is exactly why he loves kink, it’s an escape from the world for him and his sub. He kisses your knee and moves to the other boot. “Good, that’s what is supposed to happen.”

He pulls you to your feet and allows you to steady yourself before pulling you in for a hug. “Thank you for tonight,” he whispers. He hopes you know that he needs this as much as you do, how much this helps him clear his mind and reground himself.

After closing the door to the town car and sending you home he goes back into the club, waving for a whiskey and joining Tommy at the bar top.

“She was pretty,” Tommy says, clinking his glass against Joel’s.

“Yep,” he swirls the amber liquid in the cup.

“New?” Tommy asks.

“Yep,” Joel repeats and then sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I think I’m fucked, Tommy.”

Tommy puts his glass down and turns to face Joel, gripping his shoulder. “Are you ending it with all your other subs for this girl?”

Joel takes a long sip from his crystal highball glass. Repeating the only word he seems to know lately, “Yep.”

Tommy lets out a breath, “Shit. Ya, you’re definitely fucked.”

“Tiff told me to find someone who scares me. This fucking scares me, man.” Joel finishes off his whiskey, and even though there’s a drink limit, the glass is refilled before it’s even hit the table. “This is - I just - I ain’t felt like this in a long time.”

Tommy smiles at Joel, “I’m happy for ya, man. And look, as long as you aren’t keepin’ her panties then it’s probably not as bad as you think.” 

Joel pulls that nude thong from his pocket and puts it on the bar top as he finishes off his second glass of whiskey and then waves the bartender off, silently signaling that he’s done. 

“Shit, so you are fucked then?” Tommy laughs. 

“We didn’t,” Joel says defensively, brows pulling together.  

“I didn’t ask if you fucked. I said you are fucked.” Tommy shakes his head at his older brother. 

Joel runs a hand down his face and through his scruff. “Look, you gonna be ok this week while I’m in Paris?”

“Ya, me and Tess got it.” He claps Joel’s back roughly as he stands. “Safe travels, hey?”

Joel nods and waves over his head at his brother. He hasn’t fucked you or let you suck his cock yet and he’s already feeling all turned around. But god, the way your body twitched in response to him, the way you melt into his arms every time he kisses you. How brave and confident you were after overcoming the shyness of asking for what you want. He can’t wait to teach you more, but he’s going to have to find a way to not let whatever feelings he might be having get in the way. 

Next chapter

[taegularities]

candles & flames: air | jjk (m)

bonus chapter I: air

Summary: Voices over the grapevine murmur that somebody has been yearning for you who certainly shouldn't. Jungkook is agitated to the core – reacts immediately until something far sweeter overshadows the envy and turns his and your life upside down.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: established relationship, royal!au; fluff, smut ➳ warnings: so much okay let's see; jk is jealousss, mention of a dead parent, daddy issues, pregnancy, birth (no details), kissing, insecurities that are resolved, worries and tears, somebody faints :'), 19th century culture/beliefs/society, short mention of the struggles after birth, a guest appearance!, and a cute baby 💕 jk loves the kiddo so much that his affection makes him cry; explicit sexual content: making out, muchhh teasing, fondling, biting, he loveees her tiddies, oral (f. receiving), he touches himself/masturbation, manhandling, soft dom!koo, big dick!koo, he threatens to tie her up lol, "fck me like you hate me", both hard and soft s/x moments, love spanks, delaying of orgasm, hair pulling, he's roughhhh, fingering, multiple orgasms; pls spot the lil references to the other parts hehe 😁 ➳ wc: 24.4k yay! ➳ a/n: hi hi hiiii. it's been literal months, but we're here again and sharing another piece of our soul. hope y'all like this one, whether you've just arrived here or been here for a while. love you all and as always, let me know what you think!! 🤍 ➳ a/n2: this is a bonus chapter for my mini-series candles & flames. reading the rest of the story helps!! find the mpost below <3

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

The quiet hysteria starts with a whisper.

It echoes off the walls that Friday afternoon, seemingly insignificant at first. Most of the whispers are — a cacophony of hisses and sharp tones and hushed nodding.

Uttered between members of the staff, Jungkook catches the conversation coincidentally. He never means to eavesdrop, but these accidental occurrences have revealed one or two things to him before.

Like, what they ate for dinner last night. Or how their sons had learned to read. Jungkook would laugh at stories about neighbours, pout at tragedies of lost family members. But what he hears today is worth neither of those reactions; just mild yet growing confusion.

He wouldn’t have registered a word if he’d left his office a minute later. Wouldn’t have known if he’d opted for his meal thirty seconds earlier.

No. He had to step out now. Cross paths with the staff in this very moment as if it was supposed to happen, coming to a stand in the hallway, mind instantly whirling and eyebrows furrowed. 

The two women, startled by the sudden appearance, freeze at their spot a couple feet from Jungkook’s body. They stare at him as though met with a ghost, eyes trailing from his uncurling fist to the Lord’s unmatchable face — puzzled at the moment.

Abandoning curiosity and the hint of amusement, sudden respect spreads over their countenances, and once they have made sense of the situation, they straighten their backs. Bow a little. One of them a little deeper than the other.

Their eyes are as wide as his; the scene couldn’t be more comedic in the afternoon sun shining through the wide window. Three baffled figures fighting the awkwardness; growing by the second until one of them murmurs, “Lord Jeon.”

Her tone is timid, as if she fears he might’ve heard — which he did, alright. But they don’t dare make an attempt at asking about it, perhaps finally realising that things like these aren’t really their business.

So they only nod again, waiting for the man to react in kind, and then rush past him and down the hall. Jungkook isn’t stupid, though — he knows they won’t stop talking.

And he could confront them. Call them back and demand an explanation, lay out every word he just heard and analyse it with what they know. But he doesn’t. He lets them approach the end of the hallway, turning left at the end of it just a few seconds later.

His body’s balanced weight shifts to his left leg, and he puts both his hands on his hips, curling his lower lip inward and tracing it with his tongue. He knows better than to believe rumours mumbled in the gardens or halls of this place.

Maybe it’d be foolish to overthink just yet. Guess he’ll need to ask you yourself.

But he can’t help but replay the conversation in his mind, gaze wandering out of the window and to the blue sky above. He soaks in the summer, lowers his eyebrows, appetite forgotten as he simply voices—

“Huh.”

Existing in this world with you as the love of his life isn’t easy.

There’s magic to how you move. To the way you slip under the blanket with that enchanting smile. To how you reach for the back of your head, undoing the bow.

For a moment, he can’t keep his eyes from the locks that fall over your shoulder; how you sigh in relief as your scalp finally breathes. And when you lean against the bed frame, pulling your legs up and knees close to you, book in hand, you look endlessly cosy.

Warm and inviting, soft hands holding the novel. Your side profile is tender, lips always a perfect curve. Your mouth moves with the words you read, and you smile whenever a description delights you.

You always live in a dream. You are one, too.

Loving you isn’t easy because you’re a constant source of healthy insanity. Of the burning in his chest, the odd feeling in his stomach, and the yearning in his fingers.

But especially tonight, you evoke something he only ever experiences with you. He did it when he saw you dancing with somebody else two years ago. And feels a sliver of it whenever he catches men staring at you at gatherings.

The emotion boils green inside of him, and somehow, you’ve managed to elicit it more than once. He could swear he never knew of it before he met you. You’re truly a spell; only right now, he wishes he felt something else.

You shut the book suddenly, keeping a finger where you stopped, and look up into his eyes without a warning. He flinches just a little, as if awakening from a dream, and you laugh.

“Will you speak what’s on your mind or just keep staring?” you ask; the tilt of your head is sickeningly sweet.

He improvises — nods towards the novel and wonders, “What is it about?”

“Oh,” you look down, holding it up, “secret affairs. Princess to be betrothed is in love with someone else.”

The situation lacks so much humour that he can’t help but find it funny. He suppresses the sarcastic smirk and the shake of his head, keeping the facade upright as he admits, “That is very brave of the author to thematise.”

Your eyes narrow a little, drenched in confusion. “Well, I mean. A lot of them are. But it’s just words on pages. How many secret affairs do you think happen in actual life?”

More than you’d know. Jungkook has seen enough to understand that lovers often reunite in shadows; or that they betray loved ones when the world goes quiet.

You believe in people, though. You romanticise the world. Assume that cruelty is rare, and that most human beings strive for loyalty and flawlessness.

But he doesn’t say any of it; only shifts closer to your optimistic, angelic warmth, craving your scent. He says, “We were the opposite, weren’t we? Made everyone think we were in love when we still despised each other.”

You cock an eyebrow; he instantly regrets his words, realising how harsh they truly sounded. You might be gentle, but you can be just as fierce, too — so he prepares for some scolding, lips parted.

But you only puff out a breath, freeing the finger trapped between the pages, and put the book aside. Then, you say, “I still despise you.”

Jungkook stares, pausing for a moment, and you let him ogle for another second before you laugh. You grab the still hand on his thigh, lifting it to your lips and press the feather lightest of kisses against its back.

You keep the palm against your cheek, inquiring carefully, “Is something troubling you?”

“No,” he immediately shoots, “no. I just wanted to ask about your novel.”

“Just about the novel?”

“Mhm. Yes.”

“Hmm. Well, yes, that one,” you grace it another glance, “it’s good. A typical story about a royal princess mingling with the stable boy and rejecting the prince.”

Jungkook nods, but you think his pupils widen. Is he imagining a scenario of his own? Not enjoying the storyline? Perhaps.

Because he states, “Disloyalty is quite something. I would,” he pauses, blowing a raspberry, “die if I was the prince.”

He emphasises die with all his tongue’s strength; you huff at the dramatics of the moment, puzzled by the sudden shift in mood. In truth, this is not such an unusual behaviour.

Because more often than not, Jungkook displays interest in your little hobbies. Novels render you sentimental, and you’ve pulled him into the whirling storm of emotions that those stories made you feel before.

Like,

“They won’t accept him because he’s an artist?”

“So he decides to leave instead of fighting for her?”

“Alright, tell me about the first time he tells her he loves her.”

He’ll lean forward, turn to his side, eyes wide, indulging in the narrative. Mirroring your emotions, a sucker for tales and sentiments, albeit barely ever picking up a book voluntarily.

Just today. Today something seems off. The issue he has with the feelings prevalent in the book seem to reach far deeper — to a personal level, it seems.

You start slowly and patiently, shaking your head once before you say, “But you won’t die. I chose my prince wisely, and I do not care for our stable boys,” you pause, lifting a finger with a laugh, “wait. In such a way, I mean. They are actually very kind.”

Jungkook doesn’t appreciate your joke — your suspicion grows. Although he does turn to the side again, elbow digging into the pillow, body closer to yours.

“What about lords?”

Huh. What?

You echo your thoughts, “What?” You wait for only a moment before the space between his eyebrows morphs into a crease, and you mimic the expression. “Alright. Now you’re not making sense anymore.”

It takes another second or two for his drying eyes to blink. The movement is slow, a little frustrated; he looks to his hands. Then up to you; to the wall behind you and back to you.

Then, his Adam’s apple bops, swallowing thickly before he finally reveals, “The maids were talking about some neighbouring man. Lord Jeong or something. Would you happen to know him?”

Jeong? 

Hm…

You think for a moment.

Of course you know him. The town isn’t too far from yours, and the people around here never speak ill of him. In fact, one of your cooks was just praising him a couple weeks ago as you dined without Jungkook during his busy working hours.

The cook kept you company for most of the time, speaking of his pre-Jeon adventures in other towns, with other lords.

You hum before you respond, “I know of a Jeong Yuno. But I have never spoken to him.”

The sigh of relief that Jungkook heaves is immediate. You stare bewildered.

“Good,” he answers, “they were just…”

He scratches his scalp before the hand drops to the mattress with a dull thump. For a distracted moment, he smoothens the already flat baby blue surface, drifting from his original thought.

The light tug at the sheet creates new wrinkles; you watch intently, relaxed and calm. Only, you aren’t sure he feels the same way. Especially when his fingertips shift to the back of your hand, a ghost touch looming over your thumb.

He must have thought about this a lot.

“They were saying that a lord was spreading rumours about how he used to want you and would still not hesitate if you could be his.”

Oh.

“That’s… not a proper thing to announce for a lord,” you sympathise, gaining an instant nod, enhanced by the round, big, brown eyes.

“Yes. It is not. A very outrageous statement to give about a married lady anyway.”

“Mhm…”

You are in full agreement that the words shouldn’t have fallen out of a presumably respected man of the country. Someone as loved and cherished by a community shouldn’t comment on a married couple, even less on the wife of a well-known man.

Jungkook’s father was celebrated around towns and villages — the head of the capital.

It’s just that in this case — you can imagine what occurred. The lord in question relishes a far lesser known reputation than Jungkook. If it’s who you imagine it to be, he must be reigning over a tiny village now. 

You remember that back when you knew him, he was still young, uninterested in his parents’ legacy; seems he has made it far. Though, it seems he hasn’t quite understood the responsibilities that come with royalship.

Shit.

Jungkook notices your fog-shrouded gaze; you probably haven’t blinked in a while. He touches and taps your wrist, pulling back your attention, possibly still tense as he asks, “What?”

When you look at him, he resembles a curious, frightened puppy, trying to make sense of his surroundings. He’s pouting, waiting for an answer, lips parted. He lifts his head off the propped up hand, alerted, and repeats—

“What?”

Waving his concerns off would do nothing, right? You swore to always be transparent — and this issue isn’t big enough to be postponed. In fact, it might only grow if you do choose to stuff it in a chamber.

“You are not talking about Jeong,” you explain, carefully wrapping your fingers around his, “but Jung. Jung Hoseok.”

The curtain of relief falls and gives way to a dark, gloomy night. You know he expected this conversation to be over, for his misunderstanding to turn out as just this. But there’s more behind the maids’ whispers — and he hates it.

“Who?” he asks.

“We don’t have to talk about it if you feel displeased with it.”

“Why would I feel displeased?” Jungkook prods, slowly sitting up. “Is there a reason to?”

Absolutely not. But you also know your husband isn’t the most patient of men when it comes to envy and poison green feelings alike. You still remember the night you confronted his uncle — slivers of jealousy found their way through him even then.

“No,” you admit, “but it is absurd, and I knew you would react like this.”

“Like what? I am calm.”

That he is.

At least the rapid breathing, the voice gaining on pitch, the manner in which he squeezes your hand — they indicate a form of calm unknown to you, alright.

“Jungkook…” you mumble, wiping over the back of his hand with your thumb, trying to calm the grip.

You move on the bed, butt bumping against your book and nearly knocking it to the ground. Tired from the day, you grunt as you get on your knees, watching him follow your body before you finally straddle him.

Jungkook gets into a proper position, heaving himself up until his back is pressed to the bed’s railing. He holds onto your waist to keep your balance, and you shift properly onto his lap.

Once stabilised, your hands hurry to his face, squishing his cheeks just a little as you speak, “I shall make you wiser then?”

“You shall stop teasing me.”

The fiery eyes could throw daggers at you on any other day, but the pout he talks through just makes him look… sweet. Thick eyebrows kiss, and he pulls at one of your hands to lighten the cradling grip around his face.

You angle your head, fond of the soft care, albeit hiding behind an insecurity. There’s flattery in the way his mind created a nonexistent rival — at least, he thinks you’re worth the worship.

You surrender when he blinks, letting out an exasperated breath, “Alright. Remember when I told you I have only fallen in love very few times?”

“At the orphanage.”

His answer shoots out of him as if scripted, and you dare a subtle chuckle. Your thumb brushes against his lips and the mole underneath them; you think that despite his agitation, the gesture soothes his soul.

“Jung Hoseok was one of those people,” you say.

A few buttons of his linen shirt are open, so you see his sun kissed chest heave at the admission. You move a hand down to touch the sculpted skin, warm and immediately comforting under your touch.

“He was the only other Lord I ever dared to mess with, but he wasn’t too important back then yet. And Hoseok… he caught me at a time when I was not yet ready for bigger commitments. Despite my feelings for him.”

Jungkook’s eyes are glistening. Helplessly observing your every move and expression, lost for words as he digests yours. There’s an ego in men that you haven’t understood just yet; fragile at times.

So this piece of information must be activating a thorough thought process in him.

It’s odd. How those once roaming around town are usually the ones affected the most when they actually fall in love. Protective and dedicated to an exceptional degree.

Maybe, however, because his escapades never meant anything at all. And you… You put your heart in someone’s hands once.

“What happened?” Jungkook wonders, puppy stare intact.

You don’t think there’s more to tell — or more for him to know. But a curious mind is a curious mind.

So you tell him, “He wanted more right away. Dedication, marriage, for me to leave my house. And,” you shrug, uncomfortable with memories of a past lover; you want to keep loving and touching your current one, “I couldn’t.”

You’re not sure whether his nerves are calming at all; but you’re satisfied and relieved when he lifts a palm to the small of your back, gaze warm. You keep playing with the collar of the soft linen.

“And now I am happy I didn’t. In hindsight, we were so incredibly different. I mean, people are different, but… we didn’t match at all.”

“Were you…” His voice is so unbearably quiet. So sweet and lovely; the cocky boy from years ago has a delicate heart, and you want it pressed to yours. “Ready when I asked you to marry me?”

Ready? In fact, your skin was tingling with joy; every moment of the day.

You soothe his worries, “I would not be here if I hadn’t been. This,” you raise your fingers to his cheek again, brushing his face with their back, “you. I won’t ever want more. You’re all the dreams I’ve ever dreamt.”

Are you referring to nightly images conjured by a dreamy mind? When you’re fast asleep, barely ever tossing beside him? Because as far as he’s concerned, you follow him even into his daydreams, in your presence and in your absence.

If he told you now, he fears you’d dissipate; you’re a soul with its head in the clouds, and you’ve always appreciated a gesture of romance here and there.

You’re a force of nature, and someone to be desired greatly.

But.

Perhaps that’s what’s troubling him the most right now. And it never has before. He knows you’re captivating, and he’s proud that somebody loves him who’s easy to love, but this time… this time the whispers prevail, and they do something odd to his mind.

He matches your smile, giving into the relief you bring; yet, distressed by his own intrusive thoughts and memories of conversations he’s gathered, he can’t help but let his gaze fall. It floats over your bare neck and clavicles and then drops further to your lap.

A hand on his neck, you opt for a question — he knows by the way you suck in a soft breath, knows every of your motions and their meanings. But before your inquiry tumbles out, he murmurs, “They were saying he wants you back.”

And the worst thing is that you don’t hesitate, immediately nodding. “I heard about it. I uh… the other day I went down to the village and one of them told me her sister was part of the staff over in his town. And they heard others in his mansion say it, apparently.”

Jungkook doesn’t like the ugly, searing hot feeling spreading beneath his chest. It differs entirely from anger or disgust; pure fire burning up his insides and extending to his head.

That you talked about the still rather yearning lord with somebody else isn’t Jungkook’s favourite thought, admittedly. Worse even when you proceed, “He’s unmarried, I’ve heard.”

But what could you do with what you heard? Do you even care?

Jungkook swallows the balls of flames until the vexing sensation burns in his stomach, nearly afraid to ask, “What do you think of that?”

He shouldn’t be, though. Because you’ve proved time and time again who you stand with — yet, it feels like a wanted relief when you, with absolute certainty unmatched, assure, “Nothing. How could that affect my life? I’m here, with you.”

“I…” Jungkook tilts his head, and when he stares back up to you again, you could swear a piece of your heart detaches itself from the rest. Shoots right into his chest. “Am I being stupid?”

And how could it not if the man of your dreams, yours in this and the next lives, usually so composed, wordlessly declares you his kryptonite every single day?

Your eyebrows furrow slightly in unending adoration and worship, and you sigh, touching his cheek, wishing there was a far superior way to showcase affection and love of such tender sort.

“A little,” you admit.

“But… you’ll forgive me for it?”

“Nothing to forgive you for.” You match the tilting motion of his head, but in the opposite direction. You blink slowly. “Except maybe for the fact that you provide so much love without giving much of it to yourself.”

When he downs the knot in his throat again, it feels and looks different. Not the insecure envy from before, but rather a truth spiking his heart.

“…Darling,” he whispers, “why?”

“You know as well as I know that you trust me. That’s not why you’re afraid, right? It’s because you don’t trust yourself.” You remove a strand of dark tresses off his forehead. “We’ll change that.”

You don’t judge him for it, huh? You could. In truth, you could absolutely distance yourself from such an unwanted trait, but you don’t. Combatting it seems easier to you.

Yet, he can’t find a better answer than, “I’m sorry.”

Your husband is a jealous man, but he’s also a fragile man. You’re not allowed to leave him; not because you regard it as a duty to serve as his remedy. But because you made a vow to love him regardless, regardless of fate’s cruelty.

And.

You want to show him what you see through your eyes; what he doesn’t notice through the looking glass.

“Thank you for forgiving me, though?” he then speaks, forming it as a question rather than a statement; though he finds himself pretty soon. “Albeit, I have to say, if you hadn’t, I would’ve found ways for you to do it either wa—”

His promise is broken by your yelp when he presses you in, tickling your waist. He grits his teeth, cuteness aggression kicking in when you call his name, holding onto his face. Your nose inches close to his as he squeezes your hip.

Eyes closing before they open again and he says, “I will never let you go. Never. And let nobody ever have you but me.”

“Aren’t we a little more obsessed tonight?” you jest, watching him shrug his shoulders. “But. I would be mad if you did.”

“My princess…”

There’s something about the breathy tone, filled with growing desire, a not too subtle hint to how the night will inevitably evolve.

It’s insane, how the breathing stagnates when you’re in love; crazy at just the prospect of lips touching.

And once they do, your lungs dry out right away, and you lean back, slowly losing your grip. But he holds you and holds you tighter, eyes aflame with sheer willpower, and then holds you so tight, it hurts…

The kiss is breathtaking, in the truest sense of the word. Goosebumps covering all your flesh, you raise your shoulders, hands in his hair as his wander along the lines of your body. He moves just a little underneath you, but you feel the change so obviously.

Harder, stirring, hot and heavy. And you enhance the effect, continuing the sloppy kisses until he, impatiently, breaks away from the kiss with a quiet moan and opts for your neck.

The break between the change, he uses to focus on his hands. Raises your dress at light-speed, brushing his palms over the curves of your ass. And he doesn’t take too long before he’s snuck his digits further in this complicated position, winding his arm to find your aching heat.

You move forward a little, helping out, so his limb can wrap around you easier, digits floating to the hole. But your decision distracts him; you laugh.

“It’s amusing to you, yes? Having your tits in my face,” he teases, as shameless as ever when he bites and misses your nipple by an inch over your gown.

The free hand pushes the clothing down, freeing one side, reluctant to practise restraint when swollen lips engulf your hard nipple. You whimper immediately as his teeth gently nibble at the nerves, and you tighten your grip around him, head falling back.

“Cannot say it’s not,” you admit, unconsciously toying with the hair in the nape of his neck until you start pulling, barely noticing. He does, however, gasping with a mouthful of your tits. “Sorry.”

He shakes his head, an indicator that he doesn’t care; that he enjoys the pleasurable pain if it’s you inflicting it in a moment like this. As a masochist and a pet at times, you won’t disagree.

But you don’t hold the power for too long when he continues with his intentions, finger pressing against your pussy, desperately longing for the garment to disappear. Wanting to sink into you with all his might.

But… endurance. Patience.

You nearly suffocate him in your tits as he caresses your cunt, and then your ass again, only managing to resurface to say, “Pretty girl… weren’t you tired?”

“I was,” you tug at him, wanting him much, much closer, “make me more.”

“More tired?”

“So I sleep better tonight.”

“Sweetheart… you will. I promise you.”

It’s vows like these that stir the last stage of lust in you, so unbridled that it leaks out of each of your pores. You want his trousers off, want them to magically disappear. But sorcery doesn’t exist, and your wish will be impossible to fulfil in this position.

And he notices, reads your thoughts as if floating above your head. “Lift your body?” he kindly demands, holding you for a second until you’re inches over his crotch. He uses the moment to lower his clothing along with the underwear, suddenly half bare.

Oh so bare…

When you look down, you’re met with protruding veins, a length twitching slightly, wanting to lay against his stomach. And you don’t hesitate as you lower yourself again, dragging your clothed pussy over the hardness so recklessly—

But the harsh material of your clothes rubs him wrong, literally, and he whimpers. Should you do it again? You fucking love it when he whines and writhes… but not in such a way.

You don’t want to hurt him. So you oblige. Stop when he digs his nails into your waist, ordering, “Get off, so I can—”

You don’t know what for, but you can imagine, and the thousand possible pictures are more than enough for you to lift yourself off immediately. Carefully, you move away, expecting for him to let you know how to continue, but instead…

Within the blink of an eye, you find yourself flat on your back, flipped over and caged in. Only rising again when he aids you in doing so, just the upper body, just a little. To remove your dress, pulling it over your head and stuffing it in a corner.

You swear the time passes in slow-motion, yet simultaneously paces faster than usual. Because it’s a leisurely blur when you see him discard the last piece of your bed-attire. But a rush when he bares his golden chest and back, laying next to you and starting to kiss your tummy.

It’s so funny because…

You sigh. Nevermind.

You put your attention solely on how he kisses his way down, still next to you, further down until you only see his back and his mane, and somewhere far beneath, hands caressing your thighs. Then spreading them. And then, working up… up towards…

“You’re defeating me today…” you happily conclude, not one to reject a night with him winding under you, but also not one to decline… whatever he’s doing right now.

“You are very welcome.”

Cheeky jerk. You’d snort and roll your eyes if you had the energy and power to. Although, the latter does not stay absent after all, even if the roll of your eyes occurs backwards, mouth open when he parts your folds and touches your swollen nub.

Gauging your reaction, he throws a stare back, just briefly and quickly. He barely flinches when you pierce his skin with your nails, scratching him, biting your lower lip with desperation in your pupils.

And it’s enough for him. Boosts his keenness. You see it in his smirk, and see the desire, the devotion, the appetite in his lost eyes. 

He cocks an eyebrow at you, never bothered by your frequent love-wounds, yet sly when he warns, referring to your nails, “Stop it. I will tie you up if you keep going.”

Is that… a threat or a promise? You’re tempted to test him.

But for now, you wish to indulge further in what he’s initiating, and if you said something right now or provoked him into a pace of change, you’d lose the moment. So you remain still. Or, as much as you manage to.

Not quite when he moves over you, turning the back towards you once more, and—

Is that… oh. No doubt that he just spat right onto your clit, wet, warm and enhancing your greed. And then the damned finger. Touching your thighs as if to tease you, advancing to your cunt slowly, as opposed to the ball of frustration building in your chest and tummy.

“Could you move that up?” you mutter, barely registering how nonsensical you might sound.

But Jungkook knows you inside out, and reads your words as well as your body. Uses the knowledge to torture you some more, sneaking to your folds before he finally touches them, but doesn’t dig in.

Okay…

“Why?” you ask, not expecting an answer. “I’ve been good these days.”

“You’ve been great,” Jungkook retorts, tugging at one of your nether lips as if busying himself, “but I’m just kidding. Who am I to deny you anything?”

“In this situation? Perfectly Jeon Jungkook…”

The unsteady breathing accompanying your statement adds to the comedic aspect of the moment, and he doesn’t hold back when he laughs. Only briefly stopping when he leans down, delivering a chaste kiss to your aching bud.

And then he does the unforgivable, and lifts himself up. Away from you. Entirely.

“What—”

“It’s alright,” he ensures, nodding as if to make it believable for himself, “I am right here. See?”

He crawls — crawls! — towards you, very briefly until he reaches your lips, kissing you with the same filthy mouth that touched your intimate part just a moment ago. His mouth moves against yours just a little, then retracts and then comes back for another shorter kiss.

“Want me to do it?” he asks.

“Do what?”

“Tie you up?” The constant head tilts are killing you, not well for your heart or mind. Even less combined with the sickly sweet smile, so awfully in love. “You didn’t reject the idea and,” another kiss to the corner of your lips, “you’re being so terribly cooperative tonight.”

He says it as if it’s news to him. As if you’re not true-blue every second of the day.

Jerk wants things spelled out to him. Waits as he plays with a lock, face hovering inches from yours, and the tip of his tongue so visibly touching the spot behind his front teeth. 

As you refuse to answer, however, solely for the purpose to gauge what he might do next, he chuckles quietly, inhaling before he says, “Alright. Different idea, then.”

He gets back on his knees, straightening his upper body for a mere moment only before he opens your legs. Positions himself between them. Distances himself from you before finally getting into the desired stance. Stomach-down, hands touching your thighs, parting them with his mouth close to you.

It takes everything in you to not shut your limbs again when the warm breath mingles with your sloppy centre; and you already feel wasted when his tongue darts out. Opens up your pussy a little. Tickles you so lightly.

“Put your hands over your head,” he uses the pause for, haphazardly gesturing into your general direction with his chin, “no touching allowed. And if you endure until I’ve tasted you till the end, I’ll do whatever you want for the rest of the night.”

“Put your hands over your head,” he uses the pause for, haphazardly gesturing into your general direction with his chin, “no touching allowed. And if you endure until I’ve tasted you till the end, I’ll do whatever you want for the rest of the night.”

The image his words conjure is mesmerising. Yet, you don’t know if that’s the outcome you’re wishing for, or rather the absolute opposite, submitting to him and letting yourself go entirely for his pleasure.

There is no time to think. Your mind isn’t capable of thoughts at all.

Of course not, not if he attaches his mouth to your cunt, wrapping gorgeously soft and swollen lips around your equally soft and swollen ones. He kisses your pussy, drawing back with a smooching sound.

Goes in again, repeats. Then, slowly, adds his tongue. Swirls it around your clit, making your right leg twitch, your body react. A strong hand holds your thigh down, breath falling against you so hotly; the sensation is unlike anything else.

You don’t know how he does it; but you don’t just feel the tickling, endlessly lustful phenomenon where he causes it, but across your body. On your warm skin, in your stomach, in your chest.

You’re light-headed when his tongue flicks over your clit again, and then moves back to your hole; you curl in your toes. For the first time after a long while, you think this won’t take very long.

Digging your nails into your palms, you wet your lower lip with your tongue, uttering, “I’m almost there…”

“Mhm,” he muses with his mouth still licking you up, spreading the warm feeling all over. Then detaches himself to say, “I thought so. I can hear it.”

Knows you too well…

You recognise that he wants to take his time. Your pleasure is his sole purpose, fully focused on your reactions, your sounds, your winding body. But as the two of you deduced, you’re closer to the end than ever.

He kisses your thigh, provides little love-bites, tongue tasting your skin before he dives back in. Breathing in and out through his nose, he buries himself in you, bringing a thumb under his tongue and pushing in just a bit, but not entirely.

At the same time, his other thumb shifts its attention to rolling over your clit. Apparently, he trusts you enough now to not pin your legs to the mattress anymore, doesn’t expect you to give in and touch him, even if you want to. The way you’re holding yourself back, seeking your pleasure and obeying his orders floods pride and immeasurable greed through him.

As he French kisses you thoroughly, you notice when he smiles against your pussy. Even laughs a bit in amusement. Your body moves and lifts when his light but calculated touch toys with your nerves; he follows the insane writhing, glued to you.

And then he pushes a finger inside, pumps a couple times; moves his tongue to your clit. It’s crazy. Crazy. The saliva dripping off his chin when he eats you up, so diligent and powerful, executing this as perfectly as ever.

But it’s neither of these things that make you topple off the edge; not just the fingers or his tongue or how worryingly good he is at this.

But the damn eye contact at the end.

The immediate connection between you, the way he wants to see you, understand your reactions, but simultaneously keep going.

And all that knowledge helps you feel it all over. The contractions coming in waves; the pleasure radiating to every other part of your body. The sense of warmth and tingling experience.

Shit, and the euphoria. The profound relaxation while perceiving the increased heart rate at the same time; your glowing skin and the sweat.

And once you’re done, throat dry from not speaking, only yelling, you breathe, “That was… quick.”

“I am sorry,” he responds, still exhaling against you; you still feel the waves inside your cunt, so it’s hard to listen. “I needed to let my frustration out somewhere.”

You half-roll your eyes, as much as manageable.

“But in exchange… I’ll hold my promise and let you do anything,” he repeats, rubbing your leg and then your sides softly. Slowly moves up to you until his length presses against your heat and his lips align with your mouth. “Can I just first…”

“Love,” you interrupt, “you don’t need to. You don’t need to hold your promise, because I don’t want you to. Not tonight.”

“What?”

“I want you to let it all out,” you confess, ”claim me.”

Because frankly, you see it in his eyes. That he wants to release the beast, too. Of course ready for your ministrations, but yearning to wreck you so desperately. Already in the headspace, affected from the moment he licked you dry and wetter.

“I promised,” he tries, but you shake your head, still breathing stagnantly.

“I… So I… May I?” he still inquires permission, stuttering, so gentle, polite and tormented. “Goodness. I might die.”

You chuckle at the hyperbole, though the sound comes out weak as you still breathe through your craze. As you stare up at him, you think you recognise pure anguish reflecting in his gaze, made visible by the candlelight. Eyebrows kissing, mouth open. 

You feel similar, so you’re not one to turn down the plea.

“Yes, but… I mean it. You don’t need to submit entirely. I want you to do what you want to do.”

Because that’s when he’s the most authentic. And because the statement never poses a risk with Jungkook. Any other man might forsake you, but you could say such a thing a thousand times; even as he seeks his own pleasure, he won’t forget about yours.

And unleash all desperation on you simultaneously.

You want this. You want this.

“Fret not,” he assures, “I will. I am not neglecting either of us.”

Lining himself up, he sits up properly, starting a languid movement of the head of his length up and down your pussy. He means to tease you just a bit longer, wanting to test your reaction to the thickness rubbing between your folds.

But you see the surprise in his face when his cock threatens to slip in the moment it reaches your hole, even though there is no reason for his bafflement. Doesn’t he know what he does to you?

“Oh…” he murmurs, trying again, once again watching just a few inches disappear inside you before he pulls back. “That is… nice.”

In, then out again. Once more, in. Once more, out.

Then a tap of his heavy cock against your pelvis, stroking it in the process for further hardness, and you observe. Fully undisturbed and entirely amazed by what you’re seeing. Every single time.

You let him touch himself, and then close your eyes to listen to his sounds. But he soon leans into you again, whispering to keep them open, and when you do, he uses the proximity to kiss you again.

Harder this time. Moaning as he jerks himself off. A second longer until he brings it back to your pussy, and you raise your back off the mattress a little when he pushes the head in. Whimpering into the kiss, never having him back away.

You grip his shoulders for safety, trying not to go insane, and right before he parts from you, he nods. Asking, “Yes?”

“Please.”

“Shall I?”

“Please start.”

“Start… if you want me to fuck you numb, I will. Right until your mind is vacant of everything else. Will fuck all of me into you. Yes?” You take a shaky breath, barely nodding, but he sees and laughs quietly. “I need every lord to know to keep their hands off just by the way you walk.”

The nod turns into a shake of your head, and as he presses in further, you try to whisper, “That would be… incredibly scandalous, my love.”

“Oh? What difference does it make? The entire house always knows when I do these things with you.”

“Do they—”

“The staff always whispers. And they pay extra attention to you. Always lurking and trying to see if something changes about you. I’ve heard them, you know?”

Oh… oh, you know what he means. Of course you do. Perhaps you’re not the only one dreaming of a blooming future with him, of seeds being planted and growing into this family of yours.

The entire place must be waiting for the announcement to arrive one day.

Right…

“Then…” you start, interrupting yourself to press your lips together, muffling your moan when you feel him bottom out. “Then do not hold back now either. I want you to.”

“To hold myself back?”

“No.”

“Want what then, darling?”

“To fuck my mind numb of thoughts. And my legs of any feeling.”

Abruptly, he pulls out. Then, all of a sudden in again, all at once. You’re cross-eyed when you moan, and he more or less falls onto you as you pull him in, resisting the urge to bite into his shoulder as he nuzzles your neck.

A hand settles under your knee, raising one leg over his waist, starting to move. Messily, he licks and kisses your neck, continuing at your jawline, and then down to your clavicles. Fucks you lovingly enough to light a fire in you.

His hanging strands tickle your skin, damp from the sweat much like his forehead. His greedy sounds are crazy against your collarbones, and then decrease in volume when his lips wrap around your nipple once again.

“Sweetheart,” he mutters.

“Mhh…”

“This is not enough, is it?” No, it isn’t. He barely needs to speak on for you to momentarily shake your head, but he does, and it adds to your madness. “Not enough to disable straight walking…”

“Yes. No, yes—”

You mewl embarrassingly when he slides his cock out again; you see so much more of him outside of you than fucking necessary.

And God. God, you hate it when he presumably accidentally retracts it fully. Silently complaining, you sigh with worried eyebrows, but he finds his way back to you easily. It’d be odd if he didn’t. You suck him in effortlessly.

And he seems to enjoy it. Seems to seek an end to his goal, still keeping his previous question in mind, and then—

Your thighs quiver when he pushes in with all his power, all at once and as deeply as physically possible, and your eyes shut so hard that they hurt.

“Would you look at these tits…” you hear him say, forcing yourself to look at him again, fluttering your eyelids open.

And as sassily as your foggy brain allows, you respond, “I am looking, as well.”

At small, brown, constantly hard nipples. You want to touch them, kiss and bite them. Want to destroy him as much as he’s intending to destroy you. But you can barely move.

How could you if this time, when he returns to his ministrations, he turns entirely, irrevocably, positively merciless.

He gently falls forwards, holding you as he did before, but this time, when he hammers into you, the entire bed shakes. You raise your arm over your head, holding onto the railing for a second, inspecting how far away your head remains from it.

But Jungkook is attentive, and you only notice a second later that his palm is covering your head, keeping it from bumping against the railing. So you remove your hands from it, letting it glide over his smooth back again, sweat-covered and hot now.

He’s a monster, this man. Or perhaps, you make him a monster. You want to believe you’re the sole reason he forgets the universe like this; pounds into you, causing your body to move up and down the mattress, just because you’re the weakest spot he has.

Of course you are. Of course. 

So obvious when he confesses for the millionth time, “I love you.” Muffled, but clearer when he moves to look at you, expression beyond words as he repeats, “I love you so much.”

“And I you, my love.”

Strange. So strange how you never would’ve imagined yourself saying such a thing just a few years ago. How you avoided him, took a different path than him, never voluntarily meeting his eyes.

The words floating between you urge him to slow down for the moment; he attempts to take you in, to memorise you. Lets his eyes flit from your mouth over your nose to your pupils. Touches your cheek.

And the slower pace allows you to speak a bit more properly, even though you can’t help but feel distracted when he drops his head some to peck your skin.

“It… it has not been more than two years, has it? When we still despised each other.”

His kiss burns scars into your shoulder, hotter than hellfire. A raspy voice murmurs, “The world changes in mysterious ways.”

“Mmmh—”

It does. So does your mind. Because why is it that the most utterly sweet romance births the wildest of desires?

“And… Maybe that is what you need to unleash tonight, Kook. Perhaps I need it, too—” You shudder when he hums. His digits are still restless on your face, sliding up and down; not knowing what to caress. “What if you fucked me like you still hated me?”

“I… would that… You want that? I cannot even act as if I hate you, though.”

“Try it. I want you to.”

Jungkook remains speechless for too long, still comprehending your words, clearly torn between adhering to your wishes and worshipping you with the same adoration as you give out.

But as you so faintly mouth a hushed Please, you diffuse something in his brain. Inexplicably, because the rush of sensations, while never absent, feels new each time he touches you.

Perhaps that’s why he never gets enough of you; you hang a new star onto the sky every day, a new moon every night. Alternating every moment and refusing to leave a single one bland.

He’d be damned if he didn’t give the same excitement back to you.

Pushing his body up, he kneels above you, slipping out of you bit by bit as he grips your left knee. He shifts your limb, changing the position until you’re laying sideways, somewhat twisted.

You see the fleeting glimpse of pride as he slides back home and you mewl, soon squinting your eyes shut because shit — whatever you were doing before doesn’t compare to the tightness the shift allows. How your legs are nearly closed, allowing for much more friction.

You’re wrapped around him so fucking well, reminiscent of old key-to-its-lock-metaphors; and he feels infinitely closer to you. Possibly having a harder time than you, even.

The drag of his cock is endless as he begins, still too gentle, but effective enough. Your hands seek a place to hold onto, immediately opting for his leg; but he doesn’t seem to dig the idea as much.

“Let go,” he orders, not quite waiting for you to oblige before he’s captured your arm harshly and removed your touch, pinning it to your hip. “Same as before. No touching or I’ll stop—” The thrust he delivers isn’t quick, but relentless and hard; deep to the hilt. “—this. I don’t care if you cry or complain then.”

Shit…

He’s started. And he’s playing the act well. In your drowsy idiocy, you can’t help but wonder how the two of you would’ve fared if you’d turned your hate into lust much earlier. If you hadn’t used the time to despise each other, but transform it into this kind of energy.

Of course it is stupid to retort to such fantasies. Back then, you were disgusted by his personality, irritated by the way the two of you treated each other. There would’ve been no scenario in which he would’ve landed balls-deep in you.

But fuck, does the image prompt something in you.

You don’t bother for an answer, reckoning that the quiver of your lower lip might suffice, but… seemingly, not for him. Because he presses into your wrist harder before moving it to your back.

Yelping, you nearly stuff your face in the pillow, not entirely realising his next moves until you open your eyes again. See his mouth floating right over your ear. So close to you, pushing your damp hair back, whispering ominously, “Are you not fucking hearing me? Do you not understand?”

“I…” Goddamn it. Is he gritting his teeth? Playing his aggression so well? Or does it derive from the sheer lust he can’t contain? “I hear you. I understand.”

“What did I say?”

“No touching.”

The fingers stroking your strands back are more tender than his words, rewarding you with caresses as he continues just a tad softer, “Was that so difficult?”

He leaves you with another squeeze of your tits, moving his knees on the mattress to draw closer to your body. To bury himself further into you, leaving no spot untouched. And then, perfectly in character, claims, “Looking as pathetic as years ago, aren’t you? Probably dreamed of fucking me then, too.”

Wow—

Regarding the assignment with absolute diligence, it seems.

Even more cruel when he slips out of you so casually, so easily, despite adjusting to the position a mere moment ago. For a good purpose, however — because his digits replace his rock hard, soaked cock not soon after, testing the situation with languidly slow pumps.

They feel so different from his length; so… inadequate. You desire so much more. Back to where you were a minute ago. It’s… so hard not to touch him.

But if you begged for it now, would he give in? Or rather hold onto your previous idea?

You can try.

“Kook…” you whisper carefully, albeit immediately noticing how his breathing overshadows the word. You attempt again, “Kook.” This time, he hears. “Please. Need more? Please.”

“Asking for mercy all of a sudden… you cannot be serious.”

“I…”

“You’re lucky I do, too, you see? Need more.” Firmly, he lets a heavy hand fall to your ass, moving it up before your surprised squeal leaves you, and pushes at your back; your body flat on your stomach. “Or you’d long be sprawled over my lap.”

One of your dangerous traits is that you’re constantly tempted to test him. To act out, to follow his little warnings. Then again, he already provides enough; already at a hundred percent.

Like now, when he returns with the intent to wear you out. Wrecking you from the moment his cock intrudes again, falling in so smoothly that it’s almost embarrassing.

He starts right away. Pants a couple seconds later, matching your squeaks, probably delighted by your desperation as you hold, nearly rip the sheets. 

Tired, he leans in, chest closer to your back, and uses the nape of your neck as leverage to move easier. Wrapping a hand around it, pressing you down, hearing you whine and sniffle against the pillow.

You cannot recall the last time he fucked you this brutally. Snapping against your ass, letting all of the massiveness he sports disappear inside you. You don’t know what surprises you more — his stamina or the fact that you can take him this well at all.

But even Jeon Jungkook has his limits. You hear the approaching end in the way he sounds, breathing irregular and words incoherent. How broken his sounds are, high-pitched and absolutely unhinged. How his thrusts are slower now, indicative of his fatigue.

You know he’s close. But when he doesn’t slow down but stops altogether, you know he doesn’t want to be.

Refusing the orgasm, he pulls out for the nth time, much, much to your chagrin. With a dry throat, perspiring skin and droopy eyes, he delivers a harmless smack to your ass, and says, “Get up. Your turn to work on this.”

And with that, he means making himself comfortable against the back of the bed; letting the muscles of his arms bulge when he lifts them; using both hands to card through his hair, bringing some order into his messy mane.

Then, watching as you sit up, crawling on all fours and nearing his awaiting body.

Your gaze falls to his lap right away as you inch closer. To the shiny, wet member, secured in his fist, moving in it just a little, so as not to explode prematurely. Reserving it for you, and you only.

Such a giant. Towering. Thick enough for you to once again wonder if you can truly fit this inside you. Jungkook is gifted in every way.

And it’s not just the package he’s so proudly touching right now; it’s all of him. The golden skin, the thick thighs, the firm chest and the moles across his body. How his plush lips part further, the more your warmth nears.

Ready for you when you don’t take a seat right away but instead, steer straight towards his mouth, seeking a kiss you so hopelessly need. And for a second, he falls weak to your actions.

Only, until he suddenly yanks you back by your hair, probably reluctantly because…

Even now, his face draws to yours like a magnet, wanting more. Resisting. Extending the misery.

“Sit down,” he instructs, hitting your hanging tits. “Now.”

You do.

You do as quickly as you can; even rolling back your eyes, throwing back your head, unconsciously submitting to the reflex of gripping his shoulders. Bad idea — because he snatches your wrists, working to bring your arms behind your back again. Away from his body.

“Without this. Start.”

You try. You drag your pussy along his cock, up and then back down again; give yourself time to actually take in every little bit of him and how he makes you feel. The muscles of your legs and upper body are in full swing, exhausting your capacities.

But you’ll admit that it’s hard; not because your limbs have turned as wobbly as is usual with this beast, but because you’re awfully out of balance.

As he holds you captive, you’re struggling with the stance, even when he pulls your chest to his, melting the two of you. You don’t voice the difficulty yet, keen on observing his reactions; enduring the tremble of your body.

“So incredibly cooperative,” he repeats, “we make a strong pair, don’t we?”

Tease. Tease. Taking advantage of how much you crave praise.

You cannot pinpoint whether you’re coveting his appetite particularly strongly these days, or whether he’s just now awoken desires unknown to you so far — but his advances leave you salivating. Make you hunger for more.

Odd how you didn’t know you’d enjoy it if he gripped a patch of your hair as he is now, shaking your head, face close enough to you to repeatedly graze his lips against yours. Or that you could tighten around him like this the moment his fingers dig into your cheeks, holding you like an enemy.

“Mmmmh, you are pretty,” he hums, delivering two light slaps to your cheek. He hisses when he feels you constrict again, trapping his cock between your drenched walls, only able to whisper multiple fucked-out, “Pretty, pretty, pretty.”

His fitful breathing doesn’t allow for much interruption of his air flow; his chest is heaving and he seems far more spent than he did in the beginning. But he’s never ready to stop or wave the white flag.

Still succumbing to said hurdles when his lips dash forward, instantly blending his taste with yours as his tongue snakes around yours. His lips move against yours with ferocity and determination. Teeth bite your lower lip softly, giving his aggression a soft outlet.

And it seems to you that he might not pull his claws in again tonight, unleashing all the savage fierceness his lust and envy combine into. Perhaps this will turn into the most ruthless night just yet.

But you’re wrong.

And for once tonight, you don’t mind the 180 turn.

Because the moment he surfaces from the kiss to catch his breath, you use the pause to whisper his name. With a gentle shudder, kissing eyebrows and half-open eyes, you bring your forehead to his, and all of a sudden, he lets you go.

You don’t understand why until you look at him again. Blinking innocently, still not touching him properly, but carefully bringing your fingertips to his legs. The crease between your eyebrows vanishes, allowing them to rise, and you echo, “Kookie…?”

That’s all it takes. You might be hallucinating, but you think you see something in him break. Something shifting back into place, as if he’s going through a change, returning to himself after separating from his mind for a bit.

And he slows down. The dizzying brutality of his pounding leaving you drooling turns into something friendlier. A welcome alteration but…

The change in pace surprises you. Not even inspecting his expressions helps you understand what he might be thinking, what he might be intending to do next. He’s unpredictable in moments like these.

He might turn the tides. Or he might return to his demonic self.

What you don’t realise is how your eyes affect his thumping heart so badly; how you emanate sweetness with all of your being, and how you make this played aggression nearly impossible.

Rendered hypnotised, he understands that’s enough for tonight. This isn’t the true nature the two of you share. What was it again in simple, human words, never enough to describe the celestial feeling within?

In love. Devoted. Ready to do anything. And so, so beautiful.

Jungkook cradles your face, gently massaging the back of your head. His thumb touches your cheek as if you’re fragile, careful to keep you together now and forever. You’re tenderness personified; the object of all his desires.

The definition of a treasure to be protected. And you are—

“You’re the kind of person to kill for.” His warmth breathes into your face when his lips ghost in front of yours, words sugary when he admits, “I cannot do this like I hate you. Because I don’t.”

…If there is one thing aside from you that your husband will remain loyal to forever, it’s his feelings. Not only towards you, but everything he regards the world with.

He always claims he hid most of himself before he met you, but you’re convinced he never stopped being the person he is. That he was merely believing in what others wanted him to believe.

That’s all.

Even now, as his touch falls to the small of your back, he refuses to deny the fondness and care that has grown in his heart, right around your name sheltered in there.

You swallow thickly, touching his waist, and shake your head, “Then don’t. Do it just how you mean it.”

He nods, bringing his fingers back to yours and lifting them as he asks, “Would you like to touch me again?”

“Will you let me?”

A kind laugh meets your curious, yet genuine question. He places your hands on his shoulder, jesting, “Imagine… having the power over you to decide whether to let you or not.” 

Bringing his own fingers to your ass, he moves you a bit, and with that, his hardness inside you. “I love it when you are desperate like this, my love. But.” You moan when he urges you to move. “So am I.”

“Jungkook… I’m yours. You can do whatever you want.”

“I can, right? And— in return, I can be whatever you need me to be, too.”

Yours — that’s all. All of him.

The arms you finally touch, up to his shoulders, neck and jaw. The soft lips he’s kept parted ever since you started. The mole on his nose, under his mouth, near his jawline. The kiss he shares with you and the hands clamping at your body.

How he fucks you with a passion you’re certain is reserved for nobody in this world but you. You’re selfish like this; you don’t believe anybody loves like that.

It’s all yours; that’s what you need him to be.

You murmur his name repeatedly, and he pecks your neck dryly. Your sounds change as you near the end, feeling a bubbling sensation in your stomach pleading to be released. Impatiently, you lean back, planting your hands to the mattress, face towards the ceiling.

Jungkook uses the position to latch onto your nipples, fucking you harder now, even if not with the same craze as before. He knows your body; he knows it so well. So you’re not surprised, yet gasping when he brings a finger to your clit, hitting and touching the right stops over and over and over again.

Your body winds on top of him as the chaos inside you unfolds, your shoulders sinking, eyes in the back of your head, upper body so fucking weak. And as he massages circles onto your clit, never rough, and murmurs against your jaw, you lose your mind.

“You’re my love. Gorgeous, beautiful sweetheart. I want to see… this every night.”

Doesn’t he know he will all his life? Doesn’t he know you’ve surrendered every piece of you to him?

Fuck. Fuck—

The knot uncoils the moment he utters the last word, voice dulcet and hazy, so loving and breathy. Your arms give out, threatening to let your body fall, and you rush to find an anchor in his shoulders, holding him, embracing him within a second.

Without a single thought ahead, you blurt, “I’ll— I’ll never want anyone but you. Never.”

“You’re all I know, baby,” he responds in kind, holding you the same, a confession between each kiss to your neck, “I love you. D-did you know? I love you. Love you. Love you so much.”

And God, do you love him.

The waves crashing over you are metres-high, and they’re drowning you ocean-deep. Why does this feel new and crushing every single time? He’s helped you experience this a hundred times. Nobody ever has before.

But you never get used to this. Not to how hard your pussy tightens and loosens over and over again, how your body becomes weightless, needing to be kept upright. How your stomach feels much more free, like you’ve gone through an epiphany.

The world sparkles. You feel ridiculous, alone in your head with these thoughts, but you’re above clouds, and the stars sparkle. What the hell…

“H-how much?” you ask, gripping his black hair, dizzy. 

“You cannot ask me. I have no fucking idea,” he curses, “I wish I could measure it, you see? Wish I could show you better. Tell you. Write it in a book.”

You’re fond of books; but he doesn’t know there’s no need for him to create a story, because he’s one himself. Isn’t he? A chapter after another.

He lifts your face from his shoulder, making you look at him. Pushes your hair back, his stare fond. Crashes his lips against yours again before it’s his turn to let go.

Affected by your contractions, he moans against your cheek, closing his eyes before he’s shooting all that he kept back into you. Hot, wet and sticky, loads of it, requiring multiple pumps until he’s drained.

Then, falls back against the railing with you in tow, hiding in your chest as you keep him close to your heart. You touch his tresses, caressing his scalp, matching his breathing until your bodies wind down.

It takes endless minutes in each other’s arms until the burning sensation all over your skin diminishes.

The room has grown darker now, candles burned halfway through. When you allow yourself a glimpse of him, the shadows are dancing across his features, hiding half his face. The light is so faint where it hits him, a gorgeous weak golden that still doesn’t do his own teint justice.

You can’t believe you get to keep this for a lifetime. That this is the very being you have the honour to wake up next to every single morning. That you’re the only one holding his heart, and that he’s the only one matching your soul.

Is this what it means to share everything with someone? To indulge in something far greater than love.

Which… reminds you…

“Jungkook,” you call, and he hums quietly, smiling through it. Eyelids falling, he listens as you ask, “Kook, do you think I feel— or look different?”

There’s a pause in your hushed conversation, a rise of eyebrows. If he wasn’t so tired, he’d sound a lot more concerned, you reckon. Immediately question your thoughts.

Instead, he sounds weaker, yet confused when he mutters, “…Why?”

“Do I?”

Another break in thought. This time to take you in. To lean in just a little, regard you carefully, to let his eyes drag over your being to detect the change you speak of.

But maybe…

“I think you were quieter these days. In thoughts? I assumed it was the Jung thing. But,” he eventually says, “responsibilities didn’t allow me to be around much either. Did I… miss something?”

Were you quieter? Possibly. 

Saying you were trapped in your thoughts is an understatement; if he’s figured something out without being around, it’s this much. The utter truth, a successful deduction. But was it the Hoseok rumours?

You can’t yet say for sure. So you choose to not say anything at all.

Only, “That might be it.”

“Other than that, however…” he speaks, moving with a grunt. The hands on your hips are gentle as they instruct you to get up; and unbothered by the seed soon flowing out, he urges you to your back, face soon levitating above you. “You’re still the same.”

A creature of habit, he wipes the drying locks out of your face, kissing the tip of your nose. You’re almost entirely sure that you look like a proper mess — but it’s impossible to not believe him when he claims, “Still the same beautiful woman I fell in love with two years ago.” Another kiss to your eyelid. “Stunning darling.”

“Are you still in love with me the same?”

“No,” he immediately blurts, and if you didn’t know him so well, you’d panic, “of course never the same. Always a little more.”

“Mmmh. And I love you.” You touch the smooth surface of his back, drawing figures over the defined muscles. “So. Does this prove that I wouldn’t run away with some lord?”

He puts on the act of a thinker, purposely teasing you until you hit his bicep. Then, “Yes. But does it prove you won’t run away with a stable boy?”

“…I hate you, Jeon Jungkook.”

The laugh he emits is genuine, so different from the troubled voice you heard less than an hour ago. His old jesting self, he refers to your awkward idea before, mentioning, “I know. You surely got that across tonight. And oh, how you kept looking at me. Pure hatre—”

“Shut up. I gave myself to you tonight or you would’ve begged and whimpered—”

“Oh? How so? Tied me up, hm?” he mocks, fingers cautiously following the veins of your arms before he’s caught your wrists again. He lifts them over your head, trapping you again. “Like this?”

You laugh as his lips trace your neck, the tickling sensation not quite the same as the lust spreading before. Helplessly, you surrender, begging, “Alright. Okay. I apologise for saying that! If you keep going, I will be crawling tomorrow.”

“Is that so bad? Not having to tend to so many things?”

“You’d make it worth it, I’m certain.”

He lets you go the very next moment, sighing before he asks, “Do you feel alright? I was worried about going overboard.”

“No, I am more than alright. Dog-tired but… this was perfect. I am a little happy you got jealous. Do you feel better, too?”

“I feel extraordinarily well.” He keeps his mouth open, pondering on saying more, but as you see his mind whir, you reckon another thought has replaced his previous statement. “I was not jealous. Merely worried.”

“…You yourself have said you are a jealous man.”

“Have you got any evidence? I thought so.” Another snicker in a joyous night, setting the mood for your dreams. “But. You are loved by many, and I admire you for that. And objectively I know I will always love you the most, but… it’s scary.”

“Ah… what is, Kook?”

“Knowing that somebody might want to overtake me. To try better or make you reconsider.”

“They couldn’t. I do not have to tell you… you know me and you know I will be here.”

“Good. I know,” he assures, countless infinitesimal sparkles of yearning in his eyes. They glow even in the shadows of candlelight, even without flames. “I really want this with you.”

“What is that?”

“…Everything.”

Everything.

His thoughts are a repetition of your own. A confession of a forever. Which is why you understand so well what he means, not a single explanation necessary. Because you want it all, too.

Of all the facts existing in your realm and universe, this remains one that you could never doubt. And you’re trying to provide him with the same amount of everything, as well. You are.

Which is why the thought of disappointing him is so unbearable for the time being.

So for now, you’d rather avoid it by keeping your mouth shut just for a little longer.

For all the longing touches revealed last night, Jungkook was certain he’d meet a glowing face the next morning. Sparkly, familiar eyes, taking in all hallways despite already knowing them so well, pointing out a new detail each time as you love to do.

For all the affection revealed last night, he was sure he’d eliminated all doubts and sorrows, every piece of thought and afterthought left of the conversation about other lords and past love.

In such a sense, he finds himself cheerful in his office the following day, enduring the staff’s playful ridicules. Grateful about the comfortable atmosphere, the lightness of the morning. His humour runs off the charts and he catches himself snickering about his own jokes.

You left him bright at least. Hopeful and joyful, with a heart filled with so much love and craze that is barely comprehensible for a mortal mind.

When you stroll into his office with your hands folded, his dark gems glitter, lights dancing in his pupils. He didn’t see much of you yet, despite from the tiny moment he left you sleeping in bed, kissing your shoulder and removing the lock off your face.

Tending to his duties, only torn away from you when he was urged to do so.

“Good morning,” you say in your sweetest voice, so small and soft.

And he hears the alteration in your words, so vastly different from last night. But your eyes look somewhat swollen, sleep still apparent in them, so it’s easy to give into the first instinct and blame a short night for your fatigue.

“Good morning, my love,” he responds, silencing as he nears your body, tenderly aligning your fingers and raising yours to his mouth.

As he kisses every knuckle, you ask, “Working so early?”

“Did not choose to,” he murmurs in between pecks. He concludes the gesture with rubbing a thumb ever-so-gently against the back of your hand before he leads your palm to his face. “I can come back to you any moment, though.”

You smile, but the blinking of your eyes is slow, and your reserved stance grows. He finds it odd when you hesitate, but you’re faster than him when you speak, “No, no. I didn’t want to disturb you, please do what you need to do.”

“Then… keep me company?”

“I will, but later, yes? I was thinking of a brief outing.”

It’s not unusual for you to seek fresh air or promenade along a nearby waterfront. Ever since you left town, you’ve grown even fonder of nature. The blossoming flowers, the sun, the summer rain and the rainbows afterwards match your energy.

But your usual light is missing; you don’t look quite downcast, but moreso worried about something. Your chest rises a bit too hard when you breathe in, and the nerves burn hotter when he asks, “Where to?”

“Just nearby. Picking flowers.”

Maybe he’s thinking about it too hard. Maybe you’re honestly just drowsy and opting for the crisp air, hoping for it to clear your mind. And maybe your demeanour will have changed by the time you return.

Might at least just be worth the wait, right?

So he doesn’t intervene with your thoughts, merely nodding. He leans into your tender palm, still resting on his warm cheek, and presses a careful kiss into it, as though a mistake could make you run away.

“Sure,” he concurs at last, “rush back to me. And show me the flowers you collect, alright?”

Which you don’t really oblige to, keeping a safe distance from his yearning, worried heart for an hour or two.

It becomes increasingly difficult to focus on work with you away; inquiring about you doesn’t do much, because how could the staff within these walls know more than he does? Would you confide in them but not in him?

Are you afraid of something?

When the attention drifts off his work eventually and his gaze keeps switching to the view out the window, to a path that you might be walking, he plummets into his chair. Waits. Fiddling. 

“Dojoon,” he calls, immediately met with a guard outside the room, speaking to the stiff, polite form, “has my wife returned yet? Have you seen Aza around?”

Denying his lord’s questions, Dojoon shakes his head, causing Jungkook’s chest to deflate, and informs him that no, he has neither noticed the presence of you nor of your chaperone.

Fitting, a timing so appropriate, because the guard has only nearly finished his sentence and increased Jungkook’s concerns when footsteps echo through the hallway outside. Jungkook cranes his neck momentarily, hoping for an end to his perturbation.

And at last, some deity seems to have heard his prayers, even if, in hindsight, he knows he’ll probably have nothing to worry about. You’ve been away for longer, albeit usually announcing your departure more cheerily and with less uncertainty.

Which, to his pleasure, doesn’t torture your expressions as much anymore as you finally enter the room. The hands are still folded, a shawl wrapped around your back and gracefully falling over your arms.

You’re always so pretty; so stunning that he nearly forgets the issue on hand.

That your folded fingers don’t carry anything.

Which is not too suspicious, it shouldn’t be. You might have handed the flowers to somebody, might have hastened back into his room without thinking of his prior request.

But his paranoid mind has been wreaking havoc lately, and he hates, hates, hates it — yet, can’t stop it.

So he despises the feeling in his chest when he asks, “Where are the flowers?”

“I…” you unfold your hands, inspecting your fingers as if you forgot they were vacant of said bloom. “Staff took them.”

Of course. That’s the most logical option, one he considered. So why…

He inches closer to you, nodding towards Dojoon and signalling for him to leave. As the guard exits right away, Jungkook lightly touches a strand of your hair, tucking it back as he so gently wonders, “Where did you go, baby?” 

“Just out for a while. I told you before.”

“But…” You swallow as he talks, nervous about something and suddenly fidgeting with your way too warm cashmere shawl. Only looking up when he breaks his barriers and asks, “What’s the matter?”

“What?”

“I do not know. You tell me. What’s the matter? Is it because of something we said last night? Or because of…”

There. He said it. Stupid unease that might prove wrong and oh-so-utterly and truly stupid soon.

Of course he’s had this in his mind. But somehow, he’s started to wonder… do you feel okay? Are you ill?

“What?” you echo, shaking your head. “No. What are you saying—”

“Something must be bothering you, I reckon, and you…”

“No, I think I just,” you start, pausing, tonguing your cheek until you turn your body a little. Almost facing the door. “I probably only need more rest. I feel tired and you wore me out so much, you see—”

It’s meant as a joke, and he’s sure he even recognises a smile — but the mood won’t allow for otherwise very welcome jests. Before you can even reach for the door handle, he places a flat hand on the surface of the door, ensuring that Dojoon didn’t leave it ajar even a tiny gap.

Half caged in, you look at him in disbelief, lips slightly parted as you say, “Won’t you let me go out?”

“Talk to me, sweetheart.” The genuine distress in his expression hurts you; just because you’re so fearful of disappointing him, or putting him under more anxiety. No reason, no reason. “Tell me what’s going on.”

You want to. It’s just — he’s been forlorn before. You’ve seen his lows and seen the reasons for it. Waded through parts of his pain with him. The news you want to deliver are merry and colossal, but you don’t know if he’s ready.

And fuck. You’re taking too long to answer, aren’t you?

You are. You see it in his eyes. How they start to burn, how frustration grows so apparent in them. Never replacing the care and worries, but certainly furrowing his eyebrows the way he often does when irritated.

“What’s troubling you?” he tries again, keeping himself from snarling. “Where did you go? Did you… did you see him somewhere? I apologise if I said or did something wrong last night. If I hurt you.”

Keeping himself from snapping. Because your eyes are so big, and your stare so innocent and you look so concerned for him rather than for yourself, and… and…

Other than every reason in this universe, he can’t bear to be mad at you.

“Hm?” he voices.

“No,” you finally reveal, “it’s not him at all.”

“I know… Of course I know. But what is it?”

You blow out air. “I am…”

“Yes,” he interjects when your pause proves longer than a moment, “are you ill? Oh goodness, this is nerve-wracking. I think I might fai—”

“Jungkook,” you interrupt, both hands dashing to his arms. He’s out of breath, unfiltered craze in his eyes, as if expecting the worst. So you free him of his misery, taking a deep breath, and then, outrightly, reveal, “I’m expecting.”

…The world stills.

You hear it and you feel it; are certain that all movement has ceased, that the birds have halted mid-flight. That the wind has ebbed down. That the people down in the village have frozen in whatever state they were in before.

Selfishly, you believe that the centre of the world has shifted from the sun to right where you’re standing, right where the love of your life has paused. Where he’s looking at you and you only, barely blinking, out of words, lungs as dry as yours.

“My lo—” you start at the same time as he mumbles, “What?”

So you speak on, “I have not been bleeding. I went to consult the doctor and—”

“Outside? Where?” he asks, the memory and logic in his mind so disrupted that he finds himself in a state of utter bafflement and insanity. “Why didn’t you go to the mansion’s—”

“He went to his family for the week. Do you remember?”

“Right… right. What did you… You just went?”

You nod. “Spoke to him about all the things I have been experiencing and he’s certain those are all signs for me expecting… it seems.”

“…You didn’t tell me.”

“Because I wasn’t sure. And I… I know how much this scares you, so I didn’t want to stir chaos in case it turned out to be nothing.”

Which is a truth you weren’t sure you’d be able to spell out. Jungkook has wanted children; he has mentioned it on several occasions. But ever since you fathomed his deepest fears, laying in a fatherless past and a sorrowful childhood, you’ve been careful.

He’s affected. He always has been. And perhaps you’ll see glimpses of those very worries the more your pregnancy advances; let’s see.

For now, however, they don’t seem to roam his mind.

Instead, he shakes his head, hints of an expression creeping onto his face that you know too well. The first sign of approaching tears; of a swelling heart. Of love growing so fondly and fast that it overflows.

Every single tongue-tied reaction gathers in eventual words when he summarises, “I barely know what to say.” And right there it is; underneath his eye, on the apple of his cheek. One single tear. And with it, a breaking voice. “I do not know what to say.”

But he knows what to do. And what he does is tilt his head, sighing into the stuffy air of the office, not bothering to wipe away the tears — and you can’t either as he grips your hands. Smushes them in his. Calls forth your own liquid affection, blurring your vision.

And then you’re pulled off your spot, crushed in a long-overdue embrace. Before you know it, you’re safely secured in his arms, one a snake around your body, the other hand holding the back of your head as if you could disappear.

He hides his lips in your hair, still not able to put his thoughts into words. But he cries silently against you, leftover panic subsiding and giving way to raw sentiments.

“Jung— kook—” you hiccup, and he shakes his head, possibly keeping you from sobbing; yet, not faring better. “I apologise for— for keeping it from y—”

“No. No, you…” he takes a deep breath, and you know without looking that he’s closing his eyes. Putting his chin on top of your head. “You’re the only one who’s ever cared like this. And shielded me like this. How do you care so much? No, I know. Because I do, too…”

His words turn into a murmur, and he swallows a syllable or two, but it doesn’t matter. You hear his heart, and it speaks volumes without him needing to.

You could cry all your life. And you could love all your life.

“So,” he adds, “we are finally growing, yes? You and I and another. The only another we need, right? Fuck the rest of the world.”

You nod against his chest with a broken laugh, palms wandering further up from the small of his back, and you try to hold him as tight as he’s holding you.

There is no need for words and confessions anymore. There is no need for anything at all; just this very thing. And this very touch. These tender sounds of your sobs, ongoing until they turn into a light and quiet mingling of smiles and tear-filled laughter.

“I promise to you,” Jungkook finally says after a minute, his voice calmer, steadier, “I will do anything. Everything.”

Pause. Waiting to collect his thoughts. All those of lords and kings knocked out within a moment.

And then—

“I will do so much better.”

Over the course of the one year you have spent within the same walls as your husband, you haven’t just learned how to share the same home but the same habits, too.

Some are deliberate — reading the Friday newspaper together in the morning; craving eggs on Saturdays; taking walks to wind down from the week on Sundays. They have become a reflex; unspoken activities you indulge in without the other pointing them out anymore.

Others developed accidentally — like, unconsciously counting the windows you pass in the long hallways, because you caught him doing it before. Or, not being able to sleep well unless you have bid each other a good night. Or — in such a case, seeking each other out once the other side of the bed feels too cold.

It’s not rare for Jungkook, who’s still learning to handle responsibilities, to overwork himself deep into the night. At times, you find him at the edge of the bed, still reading a document. On other days, you tap blindly along the walls of the mansion, meeting him in the library.

Tonight, it’s neither.

The place looks eerie, somewhat haunted in the dark. Still adjusting to the darkness, you stroll from room to room idly, trying to make out a light, or a shadow, a sighting of the man you woke up without.

It must be late; or incredibly early. You can’t say when he awoke and skulked off; the sky is still pitch black outside, but sunrise might break in soon.

A few minutes later, akin to an eternity, you finally push the unlocked door to the study, lit by faint flames. Jungkook flinches when it squeaks open and you step in with featherlight steps. He nearly throws the book into the air, catching it as it threatens to slide off his knee.

The gentle heart only calms once it recognises you, taking a deep, shuddering breath in. He isn’t angry; rather delighted to see your figure standing in the dark, in a long, white nightgown and big, worried eyes.

As much as he’s able to perceive from his spot, you look relieved, fingers fiddling, and he doesn’t think he could love anybody more than you, ever. Not when you’re here steering towards your goal, obviously having scoured the mansion to find him.

“You’re so light on your feet, love,” he faux-complains, tutting, “thought you were a ghost.”

“Oh. A pretty ghost?”

“One I’d let haunt me any day.”

You let out a gentle laugh, stepping closer until you’re towering over him, “They say one glows when with child.”

“If you glow any more, then…” he whispers as you take a careful seat on his lap, simultaneously securing you there with an arm and covering his eyes. Charading being blinded by the light.

How dramatic.

Shaking your head, you take a look down to his fingers, following his touch until you’ve opened the shut book to the page his thumb serves as a bookmark for. The cover isn’t particularly telling, a mere title on it too small to read.

The chapter he was reading is an advanced one, the page starting in the middle of an ongoing sentence. but as most stories beloved to dreamy poets go, kindness prevailed in the end.

You don’t ask for the content right away; rather, you wonder, “Jungkook, why are you still up? And here of all places.”

The golden candlelight highlights the fatigue in his eyes — but it makes his heart-stirring smile evident, too. A note of pride resonates in his voice as he lifts the book, holding it towards you as if that doesn’t worsen the lighting drastically.

“It has lullabies and bedtime stories,” he says. You lean in, staring at the right page, and recognise colourful, faded illustrations. “Father used to read them to me. I remember how they shaped me, so I— I wanted to practice, too.”

No matter how many arrows Cupid shoots into your heart, Jungkook always seems to outdo the beneficent god. He’s diligent in watering and growing the affection in you. Tending to your heart — just like that, effortlessly.

Despite your tired mind, your emotions are on overdrive; because of your tired mind, you, in the tone of a statement, repeat, “You were preparing.”

“Is that odd?” he immediately blurts, a little too loud for the room. When you shake your head in denial, he nods in comfort. “I was afraid I was doing too much. This book helped. There is another one on parenting, but,” he reaches for his desk with a groan, putting another, smaller piece on top of the other one, “but I feel like this advice is a given. Look.”

He flips through the pages, halting at one that outlines tips and tricks in imperatives. The first you lay eyes on is already one that proves his point, odd as you read aloud, "An affectionate household works wonders upon a young mind. Remember to, uh— cultivate a serene and harmonious family atmosphere!"

“Fair enough, is it not?” Jungkook jests, shutting the book again.

The smile he flashes, the one you never hesitate to join is a peculiar one. Utterly sweet, undeniably handsome; yet, strange, considering the history the two of you share.

You wonder once again.

When did he become this tender? The boy you knew, smirking so slyly, evil words shot towards you in a group of fellow pals — none of the damaging energy remains today. Today… sitting on this very lap, going into raptures.

Carrying his child.

Then again, people change, but never thoroughly. A basic foundation, the core that one is made of always healthily and steadily remains. Jungkook’s traits, the ones you have learned to love and cherish, were always part of him.

He just needed an outlet. Somebody to practise them on; a lifelong companion to pour the softness onto.

And things never end there. No, they go on and on, a flood of sparkly emotions. Like, when he gets into a more casual conversation now, never quite realising that his little statements are pulling you above clouds.

”I asked some of the staff about their experience with their children. Did you know some of them have young toddlers themselves?”

”Mihee gave me a list of things to be careful about once birth comes around. It sounds painful, darling. You can do it, right?”

”You can. I’ll be there, too. You can certainly do it better than I will, possibly.”

He tells you he has been working a little less these days; having struggles forming a clear thought. Informs you about his spontaneous and perhaps too early decision of planting a tree just for the child. Explains to you how to not hold a baby, the information courtesy of Mihee.

And then, he kisses your forehead, sucking in a breath as if shivering. He adjusts for a moment, never pushing you off his lap, and then eventually, quietly, admits, “It is so frightening, as well, though, isn’t it?”

“Hm?”

“This… this whole thing.” You gaze at him with gentle worry, suspecting what’s to come, but he misinterprets it for doubt. “I am not anyhow indicating that I don’t want this. Not at all. I wouldn’t want it with anyone but you.”

You nod understandingly, clarifying that you never assumed such. But he continues, “Still, I can’t help but wonder how well I will do.”

You could tell him that it’s a valid and often occurring worry. That no parent-to-be will ever dive into this with full confidence and a pure lack of insecurities. But you know why he’s saying this.

Not everyone has a dead father. Not everyone deals with an abusive household growing up. And not everyone was fed with doubts and deep-rooted issues that provoke such hesitant thoughts.

“Is that why you are reading books on parenting, my love?” you inquire, speaking slowly.

“I would guess so,” he answers, “I want to be there. I’d hate it if I had to leave… you never know what might happen, you know? Or maybe, if I was here, yet tried too hard and then failed in the process—”

“First of all,” you interrupt, “do not make me imagine a life without you. Second of all… we are thinking about it in such a theory. I reckon that… once you hold someone in your arms,” you put your head onto his, keeping him close, the free hand seeking his, “it feels more natural. Love happens naturally.”

“Does it? I have never been a father before.”

You chuckle, “So I hope! But. What was it like to love me? A process? Progress? Were you scared of loving me?”

“I was.” The answer is unexpected. Then again, it’s not. Certainly rapid, though. “You’re an unstoppable force. Of course it is scary to love you. What if one messes up? That’s nothing that can be forgiven.”

“You always speak too highly of me.”

“I am not blinded. I see it clearly and I mean every word. Loving you was frightening, but it developed…” He removes his touch from your fingers, instead tracing up the skin of your arm until his digits skim your elbow; echoing, “Naturally.”

“Mmmh. And does it ever feel like you’re trying too hard?”

“No. You’re right, it doesn’t. It just happens.”

“So,” you whisper, “who’s to say this will be different? And to tell you a secret: You’re doing so amazing loving me. If you can give this one the same amount as you give me, we will be fine.”

He hums, nodding instantly. This must boost his confidence.

He’d be a fool to ever doubt the sentiments he houses for you. He knows he loves you well, because he regards you as worth it. Because he vowed to provide to you what you deserve; the intensity of that adoration will never be subject to confusion.

“I will share another secret with you,” you clear your throat, shifting. “Can you imagine how terrifying it can be for a woman to leave home after so long? How, considering the role of the woman, the thought of living with a man can be intimidating?”

Jungkook’s head sinks in thought. Big eyes fixate on a random spot and a plump, rosy lower lip curls outward, pouting. Another hum before he does a head tilt and confesses, “I haven’t thought about it yet. But… if I had a daughter and she left, I would be scared to death for her well-being.”

“Yes. And she would be, as well. It can be difficult. But to tell you something… Despite my fears and the adjustments I needed to make here, I didn’t fear for my well-being. I knew you’d take good care of me.”

You swallow, sighing when he leans in, lips close to your chest, “And if this is what you consider your nature, Jungkook… Then I do not think you have to worry about anything.”

“Hmmm. This makes so much sense. You are such a bright woman, did you know?” he says, rubbing your arm, then your back. Buries his face in your breasts; his voice vibrates against you as he speaks, “You are everything good. And incredibly smart.”

That’s what he’s saying. The true feelings run much deeper than that; you understand.

The sudden affection that washes over one on the best days. When it overwhelms the senses and dips the air in vibrant shades of pink. Feelings of invincibility and eternal happiness.

Yet, hard, or even impossible, to grasp into appropriate sentences. What Jungkook is doing is merely spitting the most harmless of his love confessions, because his true thoughts cannot be constellated into actual words.

“I love you. I do love you. So, so much,” he mutters, scattered kisses between words a habit now, “and I want to take care of you forever. I will bring you tea. And carry you to bed. I will even cook for you, I do not care about the intensity of effort…”

He’s said that before — delivering whatever you crave, whenever you crave it. To your surprise, the royal you thought spoiled previously has a knack for bringing delicious creations to the table. You know because he gets bored sometimes. Takes some work off the staff’s overworked shoulders.

“Speaking of,” he soon inquires, just as you foresaw, “are you hungry? Are you eating well? We should sneak into the kitchen.”

You shake your head immediately, telling him that eating before sleep does not do well to the stomach. Tell him that it is far too late to hide in the corners of the mansion the way you hid around town when engaged.

That now, it might be much easier to stroll back into your room. Slip under the covers. Smile and talk and drift into sleep.

And you promise that you’re already well fed as long as he fills you with the care your dreamy youth would always read about.

But the clouds you float above dissipate and drop your body into a fall, from heaven to absolute hell.

You’re not sure what you expected from this entire affair; perhaps you should’ve known that carrying and leading a full human being into the world wouldn’t occur so blissfully as the pregnancy itself was. And yes — compared to this, the pregnancy was a bed of roses, no matter how often you whined.

Damn the society around you. The only knowledge you had of this moment came from the few books Jungkook brought you every now and then, his gentle warnings that this might hurt, and the brief conversations you had with your mother about the existence of people.

One or two comments from your doctor here and there.

Oh, it will be all good!

But that’s it, isn’t it? Women do not get informed properly; you do not fully understand the concept of such things until they finally roll around.

And the day you wake up once again with the highest expectations, you finally speak those hopes into existence. As you walk up the stairs shortly after dinner, you feel a liquid drain your legs; confused until your stomach so agonisingly twists. 

A punch to your guts.

The moment it happens, your heartbeat accelerates, its sound echoing in your ears — for the very first second, you fear the worst. Did something go wrong? Is something bad happening?

But it doesn’t seem the case, because the tumult around you suggests otherwise entirely: the royal mansion breaks into an immediate excited bustle. You don’t know how they do it, but word spreads like a wildfire.

As soon as the world starts spinning and you let out one or two groans, slowly turning into yelps of pain, you’re escorted to the empty bedroom. Barely minutes later, you’re accompanied by the doctor residing in your mansion these days.

Jungkook’s doing.

Ordered the physician Sang and the midwife Yumi — yes, both — to spend their days here because this is the time they predicted for the baby to arrive at. Nine months… plus, minus a couple days.

The skies have darkened and the seasons changed. It’s colder now, but you feel hot, tortured by your body temperature as staff members drape more blankets over your body, comfortable pillows under you, water and cloths beside you.

And among the blurring faces you perceive under the growing pain, you don’t see his.

Not now; not a couple minutes later; not even more than half an hour has passed. Have they not informed him? He went out for a stroll, but he couldn’t have gone this far.

Your pleas were whispers before, asking for him, yet somewhat ignored, as if you never uttered them at all. So when the light contractions turn moderate, threatening to worsen over time, you raise your voice, “Where’s my husband?! Are you being serious? Get him o—”

“Lady Jeon,” Yumi calmly starts; your possibly irritated mind perceives the probably neutral tone as condescending, and as such, your title makes you internally cringe. “We cannot.”

“What?”

“Husbands aren’t allowed at childbirth. But—”

“What?!” you repeat, rage redirected from the pain to the person only trying to help. You’ll feel guilty later, you know. “This is his child, too. He’s a goddamn part of th—”

The blunt curses are unlike you, and your brain understands; they understand, too, because they have seen and appreciated your true nature for the past few days. Maybe that’s why they don’t take your outbursts too personally; or maybe because they have done this before.

And you know, you know that whatever bond you share with Jungkook, you probably can’t breach society’s rules and the things it deems inappropriate. You weren’t aware that he wasn’t allowed in here; the books didn’t teach you that.

But you should’ve known.

“The Lord will be with you the moment this is over,” Sang promises, preparing whatever he needs to. You’re barely looking, only praying to the ceiling. “He won’t miss a moment with his child. Now, listen to what I say.”

You do. You are.

It just gets so hard with time; the pauses between the contractions seem to shorten and then they vanish. The intensity grows, each time a little more than before; and every other minute, you’re sure you’ve reached the peak, but you never have.

Then, everything starts spinning, your skin soaked in sweat and the little one moving inside, your vision blurring… have hours passed already?

You don’t know. You don’t care — you want this to be over.

But the warm liquid between your thighs, the urge to push, along with the midwife’s words and reassurances, indicate that you’re almost there.

And that’s when it happens. Not the end of it all. Not the appearance of whoever you’ve been anticipating for so long.

But the aggressive thump at the door, repeated and rapid. It hurls your heart from your chest into your throat, your breathing a little more arhythmic than before and you nearly cannot imagine who might be provoking chaos so close to the end.

Then again, could it truly be such a surprise?

Because when the door opens a slit, a familiar face peeking, something in you stirs so hard that you nearly jump into a standing position, pain be damned. Adrenaline rushes through you as a hand pushes you back again; you must’ve risen a couple inches, calling a name.

“You can at least tell me how she is,” Jungkook’s shaky voice inquires near the door, louder than he probably intends. His words are filled with anxiety, and you know he cried before. “I deserve to know.”

Sang hesitates; even in such an advanced state, you still hear his composed words, as calm as he’s been taught to be. “She’s been bleeding a little. We are, however, taking care of it.”

“…What is a little?”

“Bleeding is a common occurrence. It’s just…” The man clearly leans in, because you hear him a bit worse now, yet well enough to understand why your thighs feel so oddly wet and warm, and you so weak. “Somewhat more than it should be. But she’s nearly done, so it’ll be—”

“No,” Jungkook resists, “this is unspeakably stupid.”

Not the man speaking to him, and not anything about what you’re going through, what so many women a day must be going through.

But the distance — you know. And when you move your head towards the open door, meeting his eyes at just the right moment, almost hidden behind Sang’s figure, they widen. Once again, you know why.

Because he’s snapped.

“Jungkook—” you murmur, and it’s enough.

With a combination of impatient aggression and respectful care for the physician, he pushes past the arm blocking the entry to his own bedroom. Someone in the room catches onto Jungkook’s sleeve, but he shakes it off without ever averting his gaze from you.

Yumi follows her responsibilities without a moment of hesitation, nearly leaning over your body as she warns somewhat shyly even, “You are not allowed to be here, I apologise, but…”

But her message is sharply cut in the air before it even reaches Jungkook, because he finally breaks eye contact with you, instead redirecting the flaming pupils towards her.

You don’t see much else than the bottom of his jaw, but you’ve seen the stare before.

When he manages a business that irritates him. When he gets into a rare but bad argument with you. You saw it when he met his teasing friends again, way after your engagement, ready to mock you. And when he faced the idiocy his uncle committed.

Intimidated, Yumi leans back, nodding just once, probably accepting that should whatever myth about childbirth come to life, it’d be your problem. But Jungkook has always been careful; doesn’t believe in the warnings of infections and other unspeakable things that apparently occur when the husband joins the birthing process.

“You are almost ready to push. Just a bit more,” she informs you instead, taking her place at the end of the bed, taking a glimpse under the blanket over your legs.

You feel it, too. Your body is telling you to.

“This is so stupid,” Jungkook repeats, taking a seat on the chair shoved behind him. His hands seek out yours, clutching it immediately. “Hours of waiting and hoping you’re alright? Incredibly dumb, isn’t it?”

“I know,” you say, faintly nodding, only noticing how much you’re crying when he wipes away a stray tear, “I told them. It’s taking so long, Jungkook…”

“Yes, I figured it might, but… but,” he starts, waterline shimmering, bangs already damp — where did he run from to you? “It will be over and so worth it.”

“Read it in… a book?” He nods, and you chuckle as much as possible. “You’ve been reading so much.”

“More than ever! I have never read so many books before, you know?” He sniffles. “And still nothing prepared me. Do you know what happened, darling?”

He’s fighting tears until he can’t. A single one rolls down his cheek and over his mouth, his smile remaining intact, even if somewhat damaged by the profuse emotions. His lower lip trembles like yours.

You’re in no mindset to answer, but his voice, his words, his touch soothe your heart. Lessen the pain, even though in reality and in theory, they don’t.

How does any woman do this without her beloved?

“Two hours in, and I fainted.”

Immediately, your eyes shoot open, your fingers squeezing his, but before you can utter your worries, he shakes his head and continues, “They kept me in there and guarded me like a child. I was scheming how to escape… climbing out the window.”

He smiles when you laugh again, sniffling again, and concludes, “Then they told me they had heard you were struggling and that you were screaming more often. And the room was so hot, as well — it is winter, for Heaven’s sake! And I just…”

Shaking his head, he emphasises the embarrassment of the moment, aware that you cannot talk much, but guiding you through it nevertheless. Speaking his mouth wound, “You’re the one doing this. I did nothing.”

“You did,” you manage, “it is not the same, but you were there.”

“I was there. But you’re doing this, yet I fainted. I would’ve been with you so much earli—”

His soft conversation is soon interrupted when you scream again, your chin quivering, head thrown back when another excruciating contraction catapults you almost into unconsciousness.

Somebody wipes the sweat off your hot forehead for the millionth time, and finally, finally, you feel something happening.

But Jungkook can’t contain his concerns, an observer who can’t feel any of this, only seeing the love of his life sobbing, yelling, squeezing her eyes shut until they hurt. You hear him ask, “What?”

“Just… blood,” Yumi’s voice answers at the same moment as another pair of hands start massaging your stomach for whatever reason, “just…”

“Is that bad?” Jungkook wants to know, out of breath.

“It’s not great, but it won’t be fatal.”

“What? Is she…” He stops for a second, and you see him looking at you through half-lidded eyes, then back at the headless body, covered by the blanket, “God. Then do something!”

You rub a thumb over the back of his hand, fully breathless, already feeling veins pop as you push. And once more. Then say, “It’s alright. It…it will be alright.”

“I should be telling you that! Is that why they mock men? Huh?” He looks back and forth, and you want to laugh, barely managing to listen as you focus on the pushes. You hear his words faintly, but they help. “I am guessing you are feeling it quite a bit as opposed to me, yes?”

You’re crying harder when you shut your eyes again, back arching, yelling out sarcastic words, “No! N–not feeling a thing!”

Your upper body is killing you. The pressure is unbearable, the sensation burning. Through it all, as you near the finishing line, wishing to skip these minutes, he keeps encouraging, “This is so amazing. Just a little more. Almost… almost do—”

The last word is swallowed, quiet, barely spoken. Maybe because his voice is breaking, too. But maybe, because it’s interrupted by another, much shriller cry of change. Entering a world so new is surely scary.

Somebody knows it even better than you, because the first ever sounds of the baby once it finally emerges heal and break your heart. How can that be? You haven’t even touched it yet.

Then, how are you already caught by such an… odd feeling? Floating somewhere between reality and a dream, not quite realising that you’re actually hearing the crying. Isn’t a child just what you were a while ago, too?

You remember the moment you first met Jungkook so vividly. In the rain, attempting to soothe his sorrows, trying to figure out what misery had ambushed the disconsolate boy.

You were a child back then, too. That wasn’t long ago, was it? Are you really married to the same being now, sharing your all with yet another existence that is yelling away in this very room?

Overwhelmed by someone you only felt and cherished through your own skin, without ever touching, without ever speaking to it? 

“Is it… a girl or a boy?” you want to know.

Jungkook takes a stand, leaving your hand for just a moment, but Yumi and the rest are busy tending to the bloody and fresh child. Wrapping it in a blanket. Holding it carefully. Cutting off the umbilical cord — a relatively young term Jungkook told you about.

“It’s… a girl, Lady Jeon.”

A girl.

Oh God. The father’s beauty. The mother’s wit. A lion-heart and a strong-willed mind. If the two of you are combined, that’s what comes out, doesn’t it?

And all of her, all of what she is is yours. And you’re hers.

Jungkook doesn’t get to inch too close to his flesh and blood, because Yumi turns away; you’re too tired to be angry, albeit a little relieved when she lets you know extra gently, “We’ll just clean her up and get her back to you immediately. You can hold her then.”

You let your arms sink, and Jungkook comes rushing back to you. Instead of grabbing your hand again, he places a palm to your forehead, wiping at it, moving back the hair. The calming gesture helps you wind down, even though you’re nowhere close to being yourself again.

The aftermath of the pain remains, but you’re eternally grateful for the end of the contractions. For the ceasing of your screams. For the temperature coming down, your breathing calming just gradually.

And for—

“Thank you, my love,” you mutter absent-mindedly, noticing when his movements slow down. You’re so dizzy. “For being with me through all this nevertheless. I do not know how they expected me to do it without you.”

“Well… they did not know I read all those books. I mean, you heard it. I’m more or less a certified royal midwife now.”

You can’t help but let out an unexpected snicker, still too exhausted to open both eyes. You crack one of them a split apart, teasing, “My midwife fainted.”

“We have bad days, too. No?”

You hear the actual midwife’s voice jest something in agreement, widening your smile, and state, “Then. In that case, you need to redeem yourself, yes? How— about a crown for our baby?”

When you look at him properly, you see new tears emerge. He’s trying his best not to cry — but with you so close, alive and courageous, and a child weeping away a couple feet from your bed… how could he hold back?

“Well, I was thinking of a nightdress with a tiny crown print. A real crown might be a bit much, don’t you think?”

The counter-jest is already forming on your tongue, something about toys and humility and joy combined into some type of coherent sentence. But as Yumi turns towards you, holding the vulnerable, now calmer baby in her arms so carefully, you lose track of your thoughts.

Even from afar, you hear the tiny sounds. Noises of comfort, remainders of the crying. You see a miniscule hand with petite fingers curling and uncurling before they disappear close to her face, hidden behind the blanket.

You can’t see much more from down here on the bed, sinking into the mattress. You attempt to get up a little, but you still feel faint, taking it step by step until someone from the staff rushes to your side. Helps you sit up.

In that time, Jungkook has already taken upon the offer to hold her first, his stance unbearably and sweetly cautious. As if he’s holding freshly crafted glass. No… much more careful than that.

He draws a breath in, and you see the furrowed eyebrows. The shine in his eyes. How he looks at her with utter, pure, unfiltered, raw affection until he can’t bear it anymore. Averts his gaze for just a second to blink the tears out of his eyes, trying not to let them fall on her face.

His lips remain parted, focusing on breathing, cradling her. You see the knotted ball of a dozen emotions in his stare, each string made of a different sentiment.

Like a fierce protective instinct, surging through him as it does through you. Awe and wonder, marvelling at her delicate features. And a smile, a little laugh, an obvious sign of endless elation. Speechlessness.

Without words, he says—

I’ll keep you safe.

You’re so perfect.

I would die for you.

All summarised in a quiet, “I can’t believe it.”

He’s close to you, and you reach out to him, touching his knee softly with a palm, rubbing until he looks at you. Shooting a curious look, he shakes his head, barely any reason behind, before he says, “She’s curled up. Touching her face.”

“Is she… looking at you?”

“Barely opening her eyes. Just a slit, and… it’s all dark pupils and nothing else, you know? But…” His next breath is shaky, his upper body trembling; the baby with him. You wait patiently, expecting anything but what he says next. “She’s even prettier than you.”

“Shut up,” you immediately blurt, laughter mixed with relief. It’s hard to speak; there’s a clump in your throat. “Yet… it’s so easy to believe you.”

“See?”

He leans in, moving naturally, gracefully, and you widen your arms, ready to welcome her in the first embrace, and once she settles and you get comfortable and lean back again, you realise—

He’s so right.

The slight crack she opened her eyes to. And the small tongue darting out every now and then. A hand on her face, arms close to her body, as if guarding herself. No weight on your arms at all; cheeks that remind you of some fluffy pastry.

You don’t know her yet, but you already know her name. You haven’t spoken to her, but you’ve already internalised the shrill voice. And the face is new to you, but you do already treasure it.

Does she feel the same? It’s crazy… This is crazy.

In theory, you know most newborn babies look similar. You know they sound the same and act the same. You’re aware that they need to be cleaned thoroughly, and that they need to grow into more than this little bundle in your arms.

But, perhaps as a mother, you can’t deny how gorgeous she is.

You already know — already pronounce her the diamond of every season and every year to come.

They say that love opens your eyes to new colours. Unlocks a path to brighter sunrises and clearer nights. They say in every second of loving somebody another star is hung into the sky, shedding more light onto the world.

There’s utter truth to these fairytales and supper anecdotes; but they never quite mention how draining a life as a mother can be, too.

That it’d be torture to your once bright mind; that you’d wake up in pain and beg for sleep and never quite receive it. That you’d realise how mean your mind could be to you after experiencing such heart-shattering worship the moment you saw her first.

The nights are difficult, but Jungkook exerts an effort equal to yours. You’re grateful when he takes a few days off as needed. Constantly shows his appreciation for your hard work and refuses to let you do this alone.

And you both agreed. You want the nanny to interfere as little as possible; want to keep the child’s attention glued to you for the most part, but with a balance that allows her to never shy away from other people, either.

Like, when your and Jungkook’s family visited a while ago; not once did you feel like she couldn’t handle a moment without you. Was switched from one hold to another, moving towards whoever was ready to provide affection.

She’s a social butterfly. Doesn’t fear strangers. But you still help her familiarise herself with you, independent from a nanny who’d enable more of your time to yourself, but less time with your baby.

And neither you nor Jungkook urges for that distance.

It’s never easy.

You’ve cried more often than your fingers can count, on your last legs as you wept into Jungkook’s clothes. Feeling a palm wiping at your tears a dozen times. Motherhood always sounded so gorgeous, but it hurts, too.

Then again…

See, then again, it’s easy to circle back to the metaphor of the sun and the stars, the fresh start to your life that cannot be replaced by any other experience. A million little moments that wrap you into your own bubble. The three of you and nobody else.

They render each of those troubles worthless; you cherish them with an unspeakable vigour, aiding yourself as your exhaustion fades once faced with warm, sunlit afternoons as today’s.

Jungkook offered to watch over her as you wallowed in the breeze and the walk you desired for so long. It’s been too long since you enjoyed the miles outside; steep hills and green fields, accompanied by the sound of birds you yet need to study.

Then down to the village, then another stroll back up again. You sought out tranquil moments, escaping your chores. But when you come back, nothing compares to the sight that meets you.

Damn all these walks.

Because only a fool could resist such an image of your husband lying on your bed, on his back and with his legs crossed, head facing sideways and away from the window. Away from the descending sun. Suhana sprawled right on his upper body. Cheek above his heartbeat, her fingers on Jungkook’s sharp jaw.

A pocket-sized hand holding him close to her.

His proportionally large palms rest on her back and under her little butt, both of them dozing peacefully. She moves with him as his chest rises, but she looks so undeniably at peace — as if there’s no better heaven. And mouth open, like no thunder could wake her.

Suhana’s bangs have grown longer now, hair covering some of the nape of her neck and her forehead. Her lips are rosy; the same shape as his. Even if reluctantly, you have to admit that she looks a lot like him.

You act offended when people remind you of that. Because you vehemently claim you want to see more of yourself in her, and Jungkook always calms you with the forecast that she’ll grow up to be as beautiful as you.

Something he thoroughly fears, however, judging the world’s intentions.

But you must also confess that seeing two pieces of the same gentle soul makes you feel lucky.

You drape your shawl over the chair at the large, wooden desk and step closer to the royal bed. Rest your legs from the excessive walk, laying down right beside him — facing him directly.

Gently, you reach out and graze the apple of his cheek; soon repeating the action with his miniature version before you tuck your hand under your temple. Then, you wait.

She doesn’t stir — as expected. But the tickling touch you left along his face elicits a sigh out of him before he lets out a small sound. Voices something like a harmless groan, along with a quiet smack of his lips that reveals the tiny dimples at the corners of his mouth, and a barely-there crease between his eyebrows.

His hand slides over her mini-body as a protective reaction, an immediate reflex. His eyes flutter open so slowly, just a slit; and when they do, you’re not the first thing he sees. Because they drift straight to her, ensuring that she’s still right where he left her and alright.

And only once he’s gathered that she’s still asleep, he blinks into your direction. They also say that priorities change with a child, no matter the amount of love for the partner; and you can’t blame anybody for this.

He smiles when he realises your presence, only lightly nudging you with his elbow. You move closer as he deduces, “You’re back. Was it…” Loving yawn. “Was it long enough for us to fall asleep?”

“It seems so. What were you two doing?”

“Talking.” Of course. Not an absurd answer by now at all. You nod. “She was explaining to me the existence of the pillow and the sun. Pointing at them. I was listening.”

Jungkook doesn’t ever describe her curiosity as exploration. To him, she’s talking, conversing. Your heart swells as you ask, “Ohhh, yes? What else?”

“I made her toy talk and she liked it, I reckon. Giggled so much that she fell off my lap once.”

The fantasy of the moment makes you break into laughter; you have a handful of questions. Did she get hurt? Did she keep laughing as she fell? Was she out of breath as much as you are when you observe her shenanigans?

You quiet down when she moves, fingers curling in. Shushing yourself and grimacing, you shift your attention back to your husband, taking in his freshly awoken expression before you state, “Your eyes are so swollen, though. And your face is dry.”

As if liquid dried on it.

Attentive assumption, because Jungkook instantly discloses, “Uh… I might’ve cried a bit.”

Oh? Oh no. Not him, too—

You wonder, “Why did you cry, my love?”

“Because she was crying…”

“What? Why?”

“Mmmh…. She’s always touching her face, you know?” You do know. You keep her from squishing her cheeks all the time. “I think she poked her eyes at some point and I mean… it didn’t hurt her at all.” Of course not; you make sure to keep her nails trimmed. “But it was a new sensation for her and her baby brain must’ve thought it hurt. So she started crying.”

“Oh no… and then you cried, as well, huh?”

You reach out to him, clearing his right eye and temple as you swipe away the strands of hair. By now, your language and manner of talking are mixing; you feel the same protective instinct towards both.

He sighs before he continues, “The parenting books said not to. I was supposed to stay calm, so she doesn’t interpret the situation as worse than it was. But I hate seeing her sad. So stupid.”

The position doesn’t allow him to shake his head properly, so he settles with a slow blink of his eyes. Then, he says, “But that made her stop. Look how hard she’s sleeping now. So deceiving!”

“Oh, baby…”

You don’t know what it is; maybe the permanent, lingering, overwhelming fact that this dream is actually your reality. That the three of you are alive and together and undoubtedly part of each other.

Whatever it is, it looks as though he is about to cry again.

“She is so feisty. Reminds me of you,” he whispers. “Right?”

He’s not talking to you, but to her — because she’s opened her eyes and he noticed before you even saw it.

Upon hearing his voice, she moves. Tiny fists stretch out, and she starts kicking slowly against Jungkook’s stomach. Her body winds restlessly, put off by his reaction just for a second when she hits against his body again and he utters, “Owwwh!”

And then, shamelessly, she yawns. 

Coos and gurgles, croaks and caws. The sounds are small and high-pitched, sweet and tender. Curious wonder rests in her eyes as they crack open entirely, adjusting to her surroundings and you suddenly being here when you weren’t before. Not that she remembers.

And…

God, your heart jumps out of your chest, bloody and beating.

Because the very moment she sees you, she smiles in joy. She so often does. Sometimes, as you walk over to her crib at night, shining the candlelight into the space between you, she smiles with barely open eyes, too.

She squeals a little, reaching out for you, and you bring her fingers to your face for a fleeting moment before she retracts them again with a tired giggle. But when she registers her father’s breath, his voice sounding against her ear, she stops again.

Cuddling back in. Right where she wants to be.

No matter how much she loves you, she will never feel the same towards anybody in this world as she does for him. 

He settles his hands on her more firmly, and then sits up with an encouraging, “Aaaand, here we go. Let’s take a look at you.”

He stares at her as he holds her in front of him, and she laughs again, seemingly amused by floating, held by two strong hands. Meaty legs kick in the air until he seats her down between the two of you with a shielding hand on her back.

She can’t fully sit on her own yet, but she always tries. Doesn’t wiggle too much anymore, though. Hits the mattress with her palms playfully.

“I swear… I will die for her,” Jungkook proclaims, moving until he meets her eyes. She looks up in a sudden movement, snickering again when he tickles her a little. Then, he repeats through gritted teeth, “Do you know, hm? I will die for you, I will!”

Before you know it — probably even before she, with her limited attention span, knows it — she’s back at playing. Then, another shift to you; a touch to your cheek. Leaning in, almost falling onto you when you scrunch your nose and kiss the air, communicating with her silently.

As her body attacks your face, an open, amused mouth drooling onto your cheek, you protest. Sitting up, you help her into your lap, and she has the audacity to yawn again.

With a shake of your head, you declare, “Sometimes you act spoiled, alright. Haven’t acted up yet, but I think we should probably feed you now, shouldn’t we?”

“Probably before she starts crying again,” Jungkook agrees.

“Can’t have that. Or you will, as well.”

“Ha-ha. But you know what, I might as well. It was insane.” He tuts, cocking an eyebrow as you prepare to bare your chest. “But if that’s what being with this tiny little thing means, I’ll take it,” leaning in, he returns to his talk with her, “alright? Listen up.”

Somehow, she does. No matter what he says, he manages to flood happiness through her, because she coos again, inhales sharply as she perks up her ears, “I’m serious. I’ll die for you, but only if you do not grow up. Stay like this, yes?”

“Stop it. I need her to grow into a woman like me and save the world.”

“Is that right? She can’t even say Dada yet. Give her some time.”

“Or Mama.”

“Yes. But you know as well as I do what word she’ll start out with.”

Standard banter between parents, you assume. You wouldn’t want it any other way. You prepare for a counter-tease, but then you fare better. “Of course. Something distinguished and eloquent like crown princess, probably.”

Jungkook blows a raspberry, and when tiny Hana mimics the action, spitting in the process, he roars with laughter. His usual child-like, sugary sweet titter, head thrown back and a hand under his chest.

This right here.

This is worth the pain, you think. Despite the hurdles, you think you’ve settled in this job, understood its responsibilities and set goals that will probably enable the life you desire.

Nothing can break this. Right?

As if diving into your thoughts or seeing them floating at the surface of your eyes, Jungkook reaches out, placing a warm palm on your neck. You look into his eyes, half his face dark as he covers the sun falling in from behind him.

If she wasn’t still on your lap, you’d jump into his, cuddle in and stay like this until the hot ball outside sets and rises again. But instead, you keep staring until he says, “We’re doing well. Really, really well.”

You are.

You have made yourself at home with the most tender of men, have gained luxuries and a noble style of living, still sporting a kind and generous heart. Yet, you’ve never been prouder of yourself.

“We are. And you are! See?” you agree cheerfully, touching his knee briefly. “You were so worried. And now— I’m losing her to you. God, just look at this—”

Her eyes must have followed your hand when it caressed his knee a moment ago. Because she crawls out of your lap, squeaking in joy as she targets his. Climbing it until he helps her up and settles in the way you wished to do just a minute ago.

“Mmmh. I guess I’m great at this, yes,” Jungkook concurs, “seems that bad traits aren’t learned after all, hm?”

The environment might be crucial in many cases, but if one inhabits a strong heart and a solid will, nothing can sway you.

Your chest feels as warm as the weather; your mind is as fresh as the breeze. And staring at his set of cheeks as flushed as the roses planted outside, you can’t help but be flooded with inexplicable magic.

You tell him, “You got into this role very easily. And I’m happy you’re happy.”

And he, the effortlessly fitting, second part of your soul, answers without a moment of hesitation and doubt—

“You make it easy to be.”

The bright, opulent room you enter floods back bittersweet memories in soaring waves.

It has been a while since you attended a noble ball like this. They’re cosier where you live. Smaller, the names less known; differing rigorously from events in the main city, in the capital, in the centre of your country.

Your seethingly beloved lorddom where you now reside has a humble and warm note to it; but no matter how thoroughly you might seek quiet peace, it will never bring the same nostalgia your former home does. Where you grew up.

Where you come from. And where Jungkook comes from. That one connection, indicating where the two of you started; your family; the crowds. This is all your life, playing out right in front of you.

As two of the most noted royals entering the hall, all eyes flicker to the two of you. Their gazes are brilliant and their attire posh. His brother, the host of the night, invited the best of the town; or rather, his wife did.

It’s wedding season again, which means that courting and heartache, confusion and intrigue will come back in all the glory you remember. Even now, you see a sliver of all the drama already.

Because no matter where you look, somebody is whispering. Somebody is eyeing another. Mustering the courage to dance with the object of their affection, or hatching a plan how to go down as the most desired of the year.

And from an outsider’s perspective, it’s fun to watch. In hindsight, you wonder if the crowd noticed the tension between Jungkook and you all that time ago; if they tittle-tattled about you, making up rumours or silent bets on what might transpire between you.

They probably did. You don’t recall much of the reactions as much as you do the touches, gazes, the butterflies his existence brought along.

And just as well, you remember the time before — when you’d hide behind your sister as she sought out a partner. Never did you think that the two of you would come out of the season with a beloved like the ones you now cherish.

And never did you think it would be the man who’d stand near those very pillars you’re now passing, a mere boy, keeping his eyes on you, but never saying anything particularly nice or productive.

It was events like these that you attended with him after he posed the question that changed the two of you.

“Let me court you.”

Sleepless nights. Rainy evenings. Swirling on dancefloors, bonding at orphanages, teasing in carriages. Locked rooms, secret conversations, broken hearts. Unexpected secrets and reunions.

Was that your life within a few months?

When people grow bored or notice the indecency of staring, they drift back to their old conversations. Jungkook and you conclude your entry, soon moving to the side. Fearing upcoming talks with people curious about the two of you.

You sigh as you listen to the strings, stress dropping off your shoulders as you say, “I love Hana so much, but… it’s so nice being here with you again.”

“It is,” he agrees, though hesitating, mouth open as if to add something. And then he does, “I do miss her, though.”

You laugh. Of course. “I know you do. I bet she does, too.”

Of course.

She could barely contain herself from babbling constant Dadadadas before you left. And yes, she said it before she learned to pronounce Mama. An insult, considering that you were the one who tended to swollen feet and a weight hanging off your tummy. Building to the moment she’d call for you.

But no! A daddy’s girl through and through. Then again, you are, too.

You do adore her to pieces, as well, but… it’d be a lie if you said you didn’t look forward to a night without a single obligation. Thankfully, the nanny took it upon herself to take care of Suhana tonight, so you are free to roam.

Despite, she’s already two years old now.

She’s been articulating herself clearer these days, so it’s gotten a little — a little! — easier to explain things to her now. She didn’t whine much when you told her you’d be out for a bit, but come back soon.

She must be asleep already anyway. And you hope you can keep your husband’s yearning in bay, too. You understand; it’s hard to leave. Especially as she stood ogling at you before you bid her good night, muttering a teeny tiny, “So pretty,” to you as you presented your gown.

“Mine?” she uttered.

You squinted, puzzled; you spoke her language, but couldn’t decipher this just yet. “…Yours?”

To explain, she nodded, making you understand when she patted her chest with a flat palm. Eyebrows cocking, you voiced, “Ohhhh. Hmmm. Darling, shall we go tomorrow and get you a pretty new dress for the summer?”

She was unspeakably delighted.

“Do you want to dance?” Jungkook asks, a hand already lifting.

For a while, you’d rather watch. It’s custom to dance, but… you’d rather observe the world from a different point of view, see what they used to see. Besides, you don’t enjoy Galop as much, and that’s what the piano is pulling out of the guests right now.

“You want to exhaust yourself already?” you laugh as he shrugs his shoulders. “Hmm. Am I allowed to decline?”

“Well…” he starts, lightly gripping your wrist, thumb touching it sweetly. “Do you have a card that you need to fill?”

“If you were courting me, yes. But I’m already shackled to you, and can’t escape even if I wanted to.”

“Ahhh,” he draws closer, mouth inches from your ears. Acting as if forwarding gossip, but only driving you insane in reality. “So you want to escape?”

“Something’s telling me I should try and see what you’ll do.”

“I mean, go ahead. Not opposed to going full-courti—”

Your laughter overshadows his last syllable, and you push his chest away, careful not to risk a scandal after coming out here after so long. He’s unabashed and would kiss you right here, if you let him.

So you move away, still giggling, and the moment your eyes lift to the guests, you silence. Right there, among the faces, you recognise one in the distance that had long dimmed in your memory.

You haven’t seen him in such a long time. And you didn’t expect it to happen today, either.

The man must have noticed the presence of a direct stare, because he soon looks into your direction at the very same moment. Squints his eyes, the smile adorning his mouth dropping as he spots you and understands who you are. Eyebrows raise. Features always expressive.

You want to grab Jungkook’s arm and flit away, but the man excuses himself from the conversation, idly strolling towards you and not leaving a way to escape anymore.

“Oh shit,” you quietly curse, and Jungkook hears, alarmed instantly.

He widens his doe eyes, so sweet as he looks at you, fingers coming up to pinch your chin as he asks, “What happened? Are you alright?”

“Yes. Certainly, just—”

“Oh… I won’t ask if it’s you because I know it is.”

The smooth greetings are accompanied by a surprised call of your name, and when you look back at the person matching the voice, your expressions move to kindness. You don’t want to appear awkward, and you don’t, but you wonder what Jungkook might be thinking.

Smiling, too, as you observe. But this one’s definitely awkward, the friendly kind that can’t do anything else but wait until the question marks have cleared up for him. Right there in his eyes until you enlighten him.

“It has been ages,” the man in front of you chimes.

“It has been. Years!”

You turn to Jungkook, an introduction sitting on your tongue, but he beats you to it. Still weirdly smiling, as amiable as ever, he asks, “Do you know each other?”

And the man, heart-shaped lips rising back to a smile, apologises immediately, “Ah, yes, yes, yes. My manners. I am Lord Jung. Jung Hoseok.”

He bows, missing the way Jungkook’s mouth parts, eyes blinking nearly unimpressed until— his features become defined all of a sudden, jaw far sharper than usual. Akin to a razor.

He’s not liking this.

“Ah,” Jungkook mutters, returning to the sociable expression that households drill into their children for years. “I am Jeon Jungkook.”

If anybody knew him as well as you do, they’d realise much sooner than later that he’d rather switch the situation with an easier one. But you can’t say any of it yet. You only listen as your past flame says, “You settled so well.”

Of course he knows. You guess after the craze over two years ago, he soon found out what the truth really held. You only reply, “I did.”

“Married life suits you!”

“Thank you, Hoseok! What about you, have you—”

“Oh, actually I—”

He seems much more cheerful about this than you imagined. Then again, what did you think? His life has probably changed now and the sentiments his heart once tended to evaporated. Everyone moves on at some point.

And he sounds genuinely happy for you.

But that’s not how Jungkook seems to perceive it. Because to your chagrin, he interrupts the man facing you, and you immediately hold your breath, already preparing a couple warning words when he starts—

“It is rude of me, but may I perhaps interrupt?” Hoseok silences upon Jungkook’s words, listening attentively, and you ready yourself for more teeth-grinding. “I apologise for being so impudent and straight-forward, but… this is uncomfortable to me because—”

“Jungkook—” you cut, trying to save the situation.

“I know, I just do not wish to let feelings out on anyone who doesn’t deserve it.”

Hmm…

“Uncomfortable?” Hoseok repeats, watching Jungkook’s Adam’s apple move as he swallows. Ponders over the words hanging in the air, and when none of the two of you speak on, Hoseok finally understands. “Oh! Ohhhh…”

He snaps a finger, and you resist the urge to slap your face. You know you’ll laugh about it in a couple hours; in truth, you don’t care if it might get odd for you because in all pure honesty, the situation has the potential to turn into comedy gold.

But Jungkook has an envious fibre; one to occur rarely, but when it does, he doesn’t hide it. To him, you’re the most striking creature to exist; in his opinion, everybody should be in love with you.

Yet, the thought of you with someone who he might consider better than him is unbearable.

For a second, you consider lifting your frock and storming to the entrance, or a room upstairs and to squish Jungkook’s cheeks between your palms. To make crystal clear who your heart thumps for, to bring back the confidence he’s built in the marriage with you.

But you restrain yourself when Hoseok speaks, “I understand. Back then, I actually hoped to see you at some point because I know what you are talking about.”

Jungkook reacts, “You are?”

“I think so. Is it not about the shenanigans people crafted a few years ago?”

Two and a half years now, to be exact.

“Yes, I apologise,” you chime in, “they shouldn’t have spoken about you or your personal feelings. But I thought you knew I had married and—”

“No, I,” he says, flushing, raising a hand in objection, “I— this is what I wanted to explain, so the two of you never find yourselves despising me.”

Oh god.

“The thing is that,” he hesitates. If you didn’t know his heart better, you’d assume he’s teasing you. But he scratches his temple, scrambling for words. “One of my staff came to my mansion with me as we settled there. He lived in this town before as well. Like you and I did.”

He looks to the side as if he could find that friend here, but then soon lets his eyes drift over you and Jungkook again, continuing, “He had heard stories about… what we used to be.”

“Right,” you add.

“He asked me about it. And my best guess is that somebody must have heard and interpreted that I was still yearning for those sentiments. But I wasn’t. I had a secret fiancée for the longest. I never told anyone until the wedding day neared. So…”

It takes a moment. Then another.

You think back to the reactions each of you had two years ago; how it spread throughout the mansion and spawned chaos in your bedroom. In any good or bad way, and yet.

And when realisation finally trickles in, a big of course ghosting through your minds, Jungkook and you both voice a simultaneous, “Oh.”

You should’ve known. Then again, didn’t you? Didn’t both of you doubt the truth behind the rumours, yet believing what a collective of people said? You guess, once more than one person claims a thing, it becomes more plausible.

No matter that it never was.

“Please don’t misunderstand,” Hoseok emphasises, “it’s not how I felt. Certainly not. I just never thought you’d believe it, or,” God, how stupid, “as a happy married woman, care. So I never bothered reaching out. We both have our homes, right?”

His fingers touch almost shyly, another smile flashing to defuse the situation. You’ll definitely laugh about this later. But right now, you only feel heat in your face, desiring to chase your staff throughout the mansion until they tire out.

Damn it.

“We did. We do.” You put an ashamed hand to your stomach. That feels funny. Weird. “I actually have a daughter now.”

Good change to lighten the moment. You shoot Jungkook a look; his cheeks are as flushed as you expected. But Hoseok does well in playing along, latching onto the new topic effortlessly and naturally.

“Oh, you do? I have a son as well. Maybe yours and he could be friends.” You nod as he talks, grateful for his kindness. “Another’s on the way for us, and Soo swears she can feel it’s a girl this time.”

“That’s so lovely, Hoseok,” is all you need to say. You might not feel towards him as you used to. Whatever flame the two of you ignited all that time ago has long been extinguished, but you always wish the best for him. “That is honestly so lovely. I’m happy for you.”

One single nod, smile reaching his eyes. Then, no more beating around the bush, the end of the conversation already overdue when he says, “Enjoy the night. Don’t ever trust anyone but your own eyes and ears, yes?”

“Yes… you as well, Lord Jung.”

And then he walks away. Leaves the two of you in silence.

Lips tight, eyes on the ground, nearly dissociating until you nod. Then you raise your lips. And then laugh. Chuckling with a shaking head and a hand lifting hand. Touching your hot forehead as you say, “I feel stupid.”

“And I feel stupid…” Jungkook finally speaks, his first words after a while.

“Did we really argue about this years ago?”

“Well, before you reprimand me, I need to defend myself and remind you that the argument worked for us that night, not against us. Did Suhana come from it or what?”

“Do the math, Jungkook! I told you about the pregnancy already a day after. Suspected it that night, too.” You giggle again, amused by his dumbfounded expression. “You know what? Maybe I could use that dance now.”

“Ah? Thought the lady would be rejecting me tonight. That would’ve robbed much of my honour.”

“Shut up, you envious fool. Either you’ll come and sway with me or I’ll never let you forget it.”

“You won’t. Either way.”

You don’t respond with much other than another beam and an accepting palm in his. You don’t need to.

In the end, Hoseok didn’t make a difference. Guess you would’ve lived either way, just the way you are, content and in love and eternally blissful to all obstacles. The evil of the word and sorrow fear you, not vice versa.

Because it’s him. It’s you.

And her. The three of you; three pieces of the same heart.

Or perhaps— perhaps it’s you who’s doing the math all wrong.

yoooo!! it took a while, but we're finally back. as summer and vacation near, i will have a lot more time to write again, so sit tight and look forward to more content, like entertainer and cmi (ofc these two, as well). i really really hope you liked it. some parts were written under a bad migraine and exhaustion, but i hope i could still deliver the emotions well.

and love you all!! thank you for still being here with me :') and stay healthy and happy, don't overwork yourself! hopefully this one could serve as a bit of relaxation. if you liked it, don't forget to let me know as always, no matter if you just arrived here or have been here for some time. and like, reblog, comment as well! you knowww how much i cherish all the words ever sent hehe <3

[thatnonameuser]

The Red King holds a Bleeding Head

A Wonderland of Yanderes - Masterlist Chapter 1. Heartslaybul Part 4.

When things do not go well, they continue to not go well.

This is the feared Dorm Head Riddle Rosehearts. This abridged story's Red Queen, the Rose-Red Tyrant. And to you the most frightening title of all, the Head of a Dorm full of controlling yanderes.

Ace wasn't very smart. That was the first thing. Rule of thumb, don't bad mouth someone when you haven't checked first to make sure they aren't around.

Second thing, of all the ways to officially meet Riddle Rosehearts, this was had to be the worst way. Immediately after Ace's smear campaign. Are you unlucky? You feel unlucky.

Well, here we are, no turning back now.

Whatever you do next, it's all based on Riddle's reaction to Ace's stupidity. Riddle's face is tight in a scowl, arms tightly crossed and you can feel the glare going through Ace right now. Let's hope this doesn't end with an actual beheading.

Cater jumps in to damage control, "Hey Riddle! What's shakin', pal." That was so forced, it might as well have been written by a computer, and not said by a chronically online person. "You're lookin' adorbs, as always!"

Riddle's scowl softens, maybe there's hope. "Hmph, Cater, keep running that mouth and you'll lose it - along with the rest of your head." Nope, no there isn't. When was there ever? Riddle's face may have softened but his temper sure hadn't. Is he always like this?

How can he so casually threaten doing the magician's equivalent of an amputation for an greeting he didn't like!? Maybe your plan was doomed from the start. Does this guy even have friends?

Still, you're not trying to actually be friends. You're looking for allies to use in cases of emergencies. So you'll bite your tongue.

"Sorry, sorry! My bad!" Cater shuts up, faster than you ever seen him so far.

Grim probably seem can't read the room, because he tries to square up with the magic severing Dorm Head with a fuse shorter than Grim himself. "Myah?! You're the guy who put that stupid collar on me at the orientation ceremony!"

Riddle doesn't miss a beat, and throws it back at your foolish feline friend. "And you're the new students who were nearly expelled earlier this week. I'll ask that you not refer to my signature spell as a 'stupid collar" Ok, shitty start so far.....

He glares directly at you next, and you hadn't even said anything yet! "The headmaster's habit of tolerating rulebreakers like you is going to send this entire campus spiraling into chaos one day." You tighten your jaw around your the tip of your tongue. Don't say anything. Just don't say anything.

"Those who break the rules should have their heads removed immediately, without exception." You can taste blood in your mouth, but you won't say a word against his little slander rant. Even if Ace and Grim are sending this plan downhill at the speed of an avalanche, you will persevere.

Unlike you, Ace doesn't seem to know when to shut his big fat mouth, because even after that, and how this conversation started in the first place, he doesn't shut up, "Dude, seriously? This guy looks like a wimp but he sounds like a monster," You hear Ace hiss under his breath. You only hope Riddle didn't hear it.

This polite insult-laden speech finally draws to a close. "The headmaster may have forgiven you, but if you break any further rules, I assure you I will not."

Ace, pulling the idiot card from the deck once again, chooses now to get his collar off his neck. Perfect. "So, uh, listen, Dorm Leader, sir..." Off to a wonderful start, Ace. "Any chance i could get you to remove this collar?"

The response wasn't a surprise. It was expected, really, "I had intended to remove it once you'd taken an opportunity to reflect upon your crimes," So, no. Yay, Ace is stuck in your dorm tonight...."But I've not detected so much as a hint of remorse in the foolishness I've heard you spout today. So I think I'll let you keep that for a while." Saw that coming a mile away.

You tune out the reassurance that he offers regarding school life, more concerned with the fact Ace will be alone with you tonight, again.

"Now, if you've finished your meal, you should quit gossiping and prepare for your next class. Rule 271 is quite clear: One must leave the table within five minutes of completing their lunch."

There are over two hundred rules...? You'd scanned the first fifty rules of the Queen of Hearts, before stopping under the reasonable belief that no one actually followed these insane rules. Was that too much to hope for?

This time his ire is pointed directly at Ace, "You DO understand what happens to rulebreakers I trust?"

Ace sighs, "More insane rules...."

Riddle's eyebrow twitches in irritation, "I believe you mean to say, 'Yes, Dorm Leader!'"

"Yes Dorm Leader," Ace and Deuce yell, and you felt nearly compelled. He's like a dictator threatening his troops.

"Very well then."

Trey tries to calm Riddle down, "Don't worry I'll keep an eye on them."

Riddle eyes Trey with skepticism, "Hmm. As Vice Dorm Leader, I trust you'll avoid any further indiscreet conversation."

Trey is the Vice? Why didn't he tell you guys? Is he trying to hide something. Or, is he trying to separate himself from a certain tyrannical dictator.

Riddle seems satisfied now that he's said, read ordered, his piece. "Now, as per rule 339: The post-meal beverage is to be lemon tea with two sugar cubes. Thus I must go acquire my sugar cubes. Farewell." As he walks away you can hear him mutter under his breath, "Don't even get me started on their violation of running out of sugar cubes....!" Is he ever happy? If you can nitpick every single detail and violation then how do you find any joy in your life? No wonder he's such a jerk to his own dorm mates.

Is it even possible to get him to forgive you? Much less befriend you?

"Yeesh!" Cater exclaims, "That was terrifying."

"That guy......has some serious issues." says Grim. "I don't think serious is enough of a word to describe this...." You agree.

"Hey, we shouldn't disrespect him.." Deuce sounds like wants to agree with you but can't.

You shake your head. "I don't think we're the only ones who think that your Dorm Leader is a bit nuts." You can hear the fearful murmurs of some other Heartslabyul students, relieved that Riddle didn't collar them.

Cater and Trey don't argue against your claim, and that speaks enough in itself. Two upperclassmen are too afraid to even deny what you had said. Trey's smile now feels forced as he explains, "Riddle managed to secure the Dorm Leader title before the end of his very first week at school. I know he can come off a bit harsh, but-"

You cut him off, "Trey, no offense but over half of your dorm mates are cowering in fear because Riddle walked over here. I don't think he comes off a bit harsh. I think he is harsh."

"I know....but" But it doesn't seem like even he believes that, "he's not a bad guy inside. Everything he does, he does because he thinks it'll improve the dorm."

"Would a good guy go around putting collars on strangers' necks?" Trey and Cater laugh awkwardly but they can't deny it. So Grim actually is right.

"So what's this signature spell he mentioned?"

"Hm? You're curious about Riddle's signature spell?"

"That means, like.....it's a spell that only he can cast, right?"

"I doubt he's the only person in the whole world....But yes, a signature spell is a magical ability that is, generally speaking, unique to its user." It might be best you remember this. If there's magic unique to the user, could that magic be dangerous against you? Riddle's own seals off magic, so you're not in immediate danger thanks to that. But you still don't know about the rest of the Heartslabyul students you know. What exactly is their Unique Magic? Does Grim have one?

"Which is why all of us at Heartslabyul House try hard not to violate Riddle's rules." But back to the present issue, Riddle's magic sounds terrifying to magic users. So that does explain why Heartslabyul lives in fear.

"And as long as you are following the rules, Riddle isn't so scary." And that's all you needed to know. If he is kinder to those who follow the rules, then you just had to be a teacher's pet, or a dorm leader's pet. Wait, that sounds wrong either way.

"Speaking of which- are you still not gonna let me into the dorm until I buy a tart, Cater?"

"Don't @ me, but yeah. That's rule 53, so my hands are tied."

"Isn't that taking this too far? Sure, Ace stole something but he still lives in that dorm. Kicking him out is too harsh of a punishment."

"Riddle really looks forward to having the first slice of a tart. So he won't forgive you unless you come back with a whole tart."

Perfect. So all you have to do is find a tart and all will be well. You're starting to realise that that is a whole lot of fat chance served on a plate. Maybe Ace will steal it, and cut you a break.

But as it turns out, Ace is flat broke, so he can't just go buy a tart to replace it with. You would happily just go buy one to save your own ass, but Crowley (the bastard) is yet to give you any money.

Thankfully, Trey offered a solution that would work, make a tart on the cheap and give that to Riddle. You also learned he was a talented baker, which sounds like something you might take advantage of in the future but priorities.

You hope that the tart plan does work, because if you have to do an entire run around for a honestly exhausting wild tart chase is becoming very annoying...

"Riddle wants a chestnut tart next, so I'm gonna need you to gather a ton of chestnuts."

"Like that's any less of a hassle. But.....fine. How many do you need?"

"Well, it's for the unbirthday party, so....Probably two or three hundred?" You choke on your own spit.

"S-Sorry, HUNDRED!?" You splutter.

"And they're all gonna need to be boiled, shelled and pureed." What you do to get Ace out of your house. It may seem that easy to just make a tart and be forgiven, but with how complicated this whole thing had been so far, things will probably be more difficult.

Whatever you have Grim and Deuce to help-

"Alright, I'm gonna head out." "I'm leaving too."

Why are you even surprised. You would have done the same really.

"You heartless cowards!" Ace objects from the abandonment and betrayal. But to be honest, considering he caused this whole mess because he couldn't keep his fingers out of someone's tarts, and the fact he exposed you to another obsessive psycho, you really want to leave him to his own devices.

Before you can jump in with a BS-laden speech to persuade them Cater thankfully jumps in. "Hold up! Haven't you ever heard that food tastes better if you make it with your friends? This'll be a memory to treasure! It could even be your chance to make a splash as a cooking blogger!"

Trey even proves useful, "Don't tell Riddle, but chestnut tarts are at their tastiest when eaten right out if the oven.. And the only people who get to experience that culinary privilege are the ones who make it."

That's enough to convince Grim, "Well, when you put it that way...Come on, humans, let's do this!"but you doubt that's the same for Deuce. But where you'll go, he'll follow.

"I'm only helping because it will mean you're back in your dorm sooner, Ace. You gonna help, Deuce?"

Deuce smiles at you. "S-Sure, Prefect." You're starting to get the hang of this.

Later, you'd focus on Ace's apology tart. Right now, you'd focus on your own. The apology, not the tart part.

After getting the cut in your tongue treated, you'd asked Ace and Deuce to go to class with Grim without you to get something private done. They'd both pushed to go with you but you managed to shut that down.

With what you had planned, you needed Ace, Deuce and Grim away from you. To prevent any unwanted incidents like accidentally sending Riddle off in an angry fit.

You had a plan, so you just needed to start that plan.

So here you were back in the cafeteria, searching for a head of red hair and there he was sipping a cup of lemon tea with exactly two sugars, if you remembered the rules right, completely alone with only thick tomes for company.

You don't bother yourself worrying about the implications of the him sipping tea all on his lonesome. That's not your priority right now.

You tap Riddle's shoulder, "Excuse me? Riddle Rosehearts, was it?" you say as politely as possible.

He first gives you a look of chagrin, only for it to relax when he realises that you're alone. "You are correct. Have you come to cause more trouble and break more rules?"

His suspicion is warranted, but you've prepared for that. "Actually, I'm here to apologize to you specifically for all the trouble I caused." His eyes widen in surprise. He wasn't expecting that. Alright, here we go. "May I sit with you?" You say, allowing a small smile grace your lips.

He snaps out of his surprise at your question, but he doesn't reject you. After a few moments of silence, he finally says, "I-I'll allow it." He motions to the empty seat in front of him, and you accept the seat with another smile and a word of thanks.

Alright, step one of the potentially dangerous plan, apologise the the Heartslabyul Dorm Leader. "I'm sorry about bothering you like this. I'm sure you'd rather spend the time around your friends rather than a troublemaker."

He doesn't answer for a few seconds, "I'd rather spend my time in solitude than in the company of troublemakers," he responds. Does he not have friends? That answer makes you feel that the answer to the question is a yes. "However, you wish to apologise for your violations, so I'll humor your presence." Ok, so far so good. "Well, I should get the apologies out the way. I'm sorry about all the trouble I've caused since I've been here. Grim during the ceremony, accidentally damaging the Great Seven statues and destroying the chandelier. I hadn't meant to."

Riddle frowns, setting aside his teacup to cross his arms, "One should not apologise whilst making excuses." he recites as if he'd heard or said that a thousand times. He really is a stickler for the rules.

"What rule of the Queen of Hearts is that?" You ask, with how many there are you really need to remember them.

He shakes his head, "It isn't one. It's one of my mother's." Let's not touch that, insulting someone's mother is the fastest way to piss someone off.

You take a deep breath before continuing, "Well, then I'm also sorry for making excuses for my behaviour. I hope you can forgive me."

Riddle's silent for another few seconds, as if contemplating the validity of your apology. You feel yourself stop breathing in anticipation.

Finally, he answers, "It's rare for a troublemaker to be genuinely repentant, so I'll accept your apology. However, I won't be as forgiving should you choose to continue breaking the rules." So he is capable of forgiving troublemakers, that means Ace will eventually be back in his own dorm.

"Thank you." you let out a sigh of relief. Alright, time for stage two. Suck up like the worst kind of teacher's pet, "If you don't mind me asking, could you maybe teach about the rules of the Queen of Hearts?"

Riddle chokes on a sip of his tea, and looks at you in incredulity "Y-You what?"

"I want you to teach me about the rules of the Queen of Hearts, so if I ever break any of them I can't use ignorance as an.....excuse?" You trail off as you find Riddle completely stunned, has this never happened before? Has no one bothered to ask him to help them learn the rules so they could avoid breaking them?

"W-Well, it seems you really are trying to atone for your mistakes. If that is the case, then yes." He pauses, before offering you a cup of tea, smelling of sweet citrus, " Would you like some?"

If it's lemon, you don't want to drink it. The citric acid in the lemon will burn your tongue like hell. But there are unfortunately rules. "Are they any rules that say whether I can say yes or no?" You're not failing if this is a test.

Riddle smiles at you, "You learn quickly, Rule 114, One must never reject a cup of tea from the Queen." You, against your better judgement, accept it and take a sip and the tea burns the cut on your tongue but you force it down nonetheless. In the name of Future you's safety you would do what you had to. As long as it goes down without objection, you'll drink as fast as you can to dull the burn.

"Perhaps there is hope for you, even with that unignorable violation." Riddle says and you hesitate in your next sip.

"And what is that?" You ask, before taking another mouthful of tea.

He spares a few glances around as if looking for any eavesdroppers before dropping his voice into a hushed whisper, "That you are a darling attending Night Raven."

You choke, how does everyone keep knowing?! "H-How did you know?!" You ask, your voice barely a whisper.

"I was taught to recognise all the traits your kind has as soon as I was registered." How many of those were there?! Besides all the darlings here can't be exactly like you, that would just be impossible. Right?

Riddle continues, "That and you remind me of my father, kind and bubbly when you are surrounded by people you do think are trustworthy and jumpy and frightful when you think you are surrounded by those you don't. Subtly is not exactly your strong point."

You deflate like a balloon. You carefully set down the teacup before it breaks in your hands. "Are...Are you going to tell anyone?"

He shakes his head, "No, and while I feel your presence at this school is a travesty that Crowley has allowed to happen, you attempting to hide your identity keeps the members of my dorm from killing each other. You must understand it is quite difficult to mix paint in manner that hides the smell of blood." They kill people and mix their blood with the paint. Oh, shit, did...did you paint with blood earlier!?

"So I suggest you figure out how to circumvent your little issue." He finishes.

But that's impossible thanks to that stupid law, "But how do I do that if I can't access any of the things you can?" You ask.

"Your testing papers, all darlings have the legal right to see them after their registered. Headmaster Crowley should be able to give them to you if you request them. You'll be able to tell with those." Riddle gives you the first answer that actually helps you.

All you need to get Crowley to give you those papers and you'll be free to figure out how to save your skin.

You sag in relief, finally some good news. And then you remember, "Wait, why are you helping me?"

"Because it will keep you out of trouble. Speaking of, I expect your attendance at the unbirthday party tomorrow, so that I can keep an eye on you."

"Thank you." You whisper, for once you actually feel relieved. You were wrong about earlier it seems, he isn't as bad as you though he was.

"Now, Rule 71 of the Queen of Hearts states that one must never arrive on time, always early. You should leave now, before the bell rings." You nod, rising from your seat as he does the same.

"Thank you for everything. See you tomorrow, " You say with a smile before turning heel.

If only you hadn't failed to see how his face flushed and how he grabbed his heart as you left.

The woodland behind campus were surprisingly bright and vibrant, like a painting you would see in picture books, even with the change seasons coming up. As it seems the chestnut season is equally vibrant, as hundreds upon hundreds of chestnuts covered the forest floor. But the chestnut spines were too much of a bother to ignore, so here you were in the Botanical Garden looking for a basket and some work gloves.

The gardens are stunning, full of life and thousands of plants. Some you recognise, some you don't. The whole building is enormous. Finding anything here is like looking for a needle in a haystack.

Which means you have to split up to find what you need. "We should split up, we'll cover more ground that way."

Ace and Deuce open their mouths to object, "But-"

You're not wasting any time on them coming with you and taking longer. Besides having two bodyguard/friends feels a little suspicious.

"We're going to spend the rest of the night making tarts, we don't exactly have time to waste..." You argue and they don't fight back against this.

".....Sure. Dibs on the right side."

"Then how about I go left, while Prefect and Grim go straight ahead?"

"Sounds good, we'll meet up here at the entrance in 10."

You immediately regretted your decision to split up, as Grim got distracted every ten seconds by all the ripe, sweet smelling fruit. So you spent the five minutes that you were supposed to spend looking for a groundsman, chasing after your 'boss'.

"Hey, come take a look at this!" Grim runs to another bright, ripe fruit. "There's a ton of fruit growing here! Smells like they're ripe."

You grab his tiny body and yank him away from the fruit on the tree. "Grim, we're supposed to find a groundsman, not snacks!" You don't recognise any of the plants in this section. They all look mystical, but that doesn't mean safe. "Don't pick anything."

Grim wriggles loose to run to chase after another bright and shiny fruit. The grasses here are tall enough to reach your waist, and Grim disappears into the long stalks, "Grim. Stop!" Grim doesn't listen to you. "Don't pick anything!" You yell out as you wade through the tall grasses after him.

You stumble over the lush stalks of grass. It's so thick that you can't see your own feet. You hope there aren't any animals-

"Ngh!" A groan of pain fills the air and you feel something underfoot slip out and you reflexively take a few steps back. That didn't sound like an animal...

"Did I just step on something?" You think aloud, looking around for a source as a nearby patch of grass starts to rustle.

"Hey! You got some nerve steppin' on my tail and just walkin' away!" To your surprise, someone rises out of the grass, and he looks angry. Crap.

Originally, your brain had failed to compute the 'tail' part of what he'd said, but it's obvious to you now that you see his ears. He's a beastman. And he's wearing the Savanaclaw colours. Wait, didn't Cater say that Savanaclaw students like fighting. Shit.

"I-I'm sorry!" You say immediately, taking a few more steps backwards. You feel compelled to run.

"Tch. Ain't nothin' worse than bein' in the middle of a good nap and havin' some jerk step on your tail." Ok, no. He's the one who decided to sleep in waist high grass. Be mad at yourself for your bad decision making, buddy.

Despite how you feel, "It was an accident...." is what you mumble instead, but he doesn't seem to care, instead he stalks towards you, with a smirk on his face. "You.....I know you. You're that herbivore from orientation who couldn't use magic."

"What did you call me?!" You demand, outraged. He still ignores you, and he leans forward and..."And why are you smelling me?!"

He ignores you, pulling away with that punchable smirk. "Huh. It's true. You don't smell of magic at all."

"Did you miss the part where the mirror said that to everyone?!" You can feel yourself losing every ounce of your patience. You'd felt apologetic for accidentally stepping on his tail and waking him up, but this guy was being such a jerk, you no longer found it within yourself to care.

"Well, well, well, the little herbivore thinks she has claws. Can't say it'd be much fun to hurt someone like you. Still gonna do it, though."

"Do what?" You spit through gritted teeth. You clench and unclench your fists.

"No one gets to stomp on my tail and just walk away without payin' the price."

Ok, that's fucking it. You aren't a weak darling, and all the earlier rage and anger that you've felt in the last two days.

"Then maybe don't sleep in waist-high grass, and maybe in your dorm next time? That way no one will step on your tail" You say as sarcastically as possible.

"Hm? Herbivore, I'm afraid you're all bark and no bite." Oh? All bark and no bite, mystery animal man? Let's see how he bites your fist when it flies into his-

You tighten your fist before taking a swing aimed at his jaw. With his face so close to yours, he has no way of moving out of the way in time-

He stops your fist just shy of his face. He gives you an unimpressed look, before replacing it with that fucking smirk. He laughs at you, like you were foolish to even think that would work. His grip on your wrist is so tight that you wince as you struggle to twist it away.

"L-Let me go!" He laughs at your pathetic struggles to free yourself.

"Pathetic, like a mouse trying to kill a lion." He's a lion? Well then, what an arrogant asshole he is.

You struggle fruitlessly for a few more moments, before giving up. "Fuck you." You spit.

"You're a brave herbivore, I'll give you that. Still," His already tight grip feels like it's crushing the bones in your wrist. "You woke me up from my nap, that'll cost you a tooth."

"Fine. Take it." You hiss. Maybe you can get him in trouble for darling abuse or something after this. Would Crowley take you to a dentist?

"Leona! There you are!"

"Heh?" Leona turns to someone, and you follow his gaze to another beastman student, wearing the colours from the same house Leona is. His cocky, arrogant face tightens in annoyance.

The new mystery beastman looks like he's spent the time since last bell chasing down Leona. "I knew I'd find you here! We got after-school classes today, remember?"

Leona groans. "And now, I've got this guy on my tail...." You can hear him mutter.

You take the chance to do something stupid, rewarding in the moment but still stupid. Ah, whatever you only live once.

"What's wrong, Carnivore? Too afraid to bite?" You taunt, throwing his own words around and right back at him.

He glares at you. But the beastman speaks up before Leona can actually break your wrist. "Leona, you've already had to repeat one year. If you get held back again, we'll be in the same grade." You snort from repressed laughter, trying to hold back your laughter before the person holding your wrist captive decides killing you is better just breaking your wrist.

"Oh, put a sock in it already. I'm tired of all yer yappin', Ruggie."

Ruggie frowns, "Look, you think I like always being on your case? C'mon man. You act like it'd be hard for you. You could skate through life if you'd just TRY. Come on! Let's go already!"

Leona finally releases your wrist and you wince as blood returns to your fingers. "Hmph...Herbivore, you better not cross me again."

"Oh, I'll be sure not to." You turn, and walk as confident as possible through the tall prairie grass back into the fruit trees.

It was nice to actually be in control for once.

You eventually find Grim half finished eating a dozen multi-coloured unknown fruit. You don't feel as mad as you were earlier. So you don't bother with the scolding that you originally planned on giving him. Instead you scoop him up like a bag a rice.

"Nyeh?!" Grim exclaims in surprise, "Henchman, where'd you come from?!"

"Nowhere, I thought you already ate your weight in lunch earlier?"

Two familiar voices fill your ears.

"Yo, guys, we found the baskets and gloves."

"Prefect, what in the world happened to you?" And you smile.

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

You feel a little better now.

You feel worse now.

Not in a bad mood, just tired. A sleepless night would do that, then harvesting about three hundred chestnuts on your hands and knees plus hauling them back to the communal kitchens.

And now here you stood struggling to peel the soft skins of the chestnuts.

Deuce and Grim are lucky because they have the magic that Trey showed them to magically and quickly peel them, but you, a poor magicless human, must fiddle with sticky skins. Ace, forced to do this the old fashioned way, is struggling equally with the much higher pile that he'd been delegated for getting you all into this mess.

Still, it was actually fun to see the 'friendly' competition Ace and Deuce went through as Ace struggled to keep up with the magical efficiency.

Problem was, you were so much slower.

"Need any help?" Trey asks. He'd stopped supervising Deuce with his peeling. And he's looking at you with"You look like your having a hard time."

"Yeah...I've never really done this before...." You reply, still fiddling with the finicky skins.

"Here." He places his hands over your own, directing your fingers into a proper hold. "Like this." You can feel his chest against your back, his head over one of your shoulders. He smells nice, like a bakery right after the oven is opened and the sweet aroma of warm pastries has filled the air. The shell holding the nut finally gives way, done with your hands and guided by Trey's.

"Thanks", you say with a smile.

"It's no problem", he returns with his own smile. "Do you want help with the others?" He feels friendly, and you can't see that glint. Maybe it's his glasses.

"Sure." You respond.

With Trey's help, you start to fly through the pile of chestnuts that you'd once struggled to peel. You can actually keep up with Ace and Deuce in their chestnut peeling, being only a few dozen behind.

It's like painting the roses earlier, you like the serenity that you feel as you do this. The same when you were straining, and pureeing. Despite the fact you were willingly unwillingly roped into this, it's actually quite relaxing maybe you could talk to Trey about teaching you.

After what had to be a good two hours, straining and pureeing three hundred chestnuts, Ace finally groans in relief "There! Finally got 'em all pureed!"

"My arm is killing me..."

"Well at least it's over.." You agree as you massage the ache in your forearms. Deuce and Ace actually did most of the work for you, but you still tried to help. And now your arms hurt more than your legs.

"Nice work. It'll be all the sweeter for your pain!"

"Are you sure about that?" You say with a laugh. But seriously, your muscles hurt. It better be sweet for all the work that it better be.

"The smell alone already has me droolin'." You manage to grab Grim before he sticks his paws into the puree. You're not letting everyone's hard work to waste.

"I just need to add butter and sugar to the chestnut paste, and a sensible splash of oyster sauce- that's my secret ingredient." Oh, cool then you'll be done soon. Wait...

Your brain fills in the blanks. "Did you just say oyster sauce?" You say in utter disbelief. Maybe Trey shouldn't teach you how to bake....

"Yep. The umami of the oysters gives the cream a deep, savory flavor." He can't be serious, can he? Are desserts different here? Because last you checked a sweet dessert wasn't supposed to taste like salt.

"I use this one here: Walrus-brand Young Oyster Sauce. All the best bakers use it in their tarts." Your brain tunes him out in utter disbelief. Was this place just completely fucked? Because you'd have to dig through the mold on the underside of the barrel to actually find this madness. It's not the scariest thing or the most insane thing you heard in this misadventure, but an insane thing nonetheless.

Deuce actually seems to believe him, at least a little, "Really? But isn't oyster sauce like, super salty?"

Apparently so does Ace, "Some folks put chocolate into curry, don't they? Maybe it's the same idea." No, Ace. Whether it's pineapple on pizza or chocolate in curry, whether you like or hate it, it is not a total abomination of the culinary world. Oyster sauce in a chestnut tart cream is.

"You guys......are messing with me right?" You say, still in disbelief.

"Pfft...Ah ha ha ha!" Trey laughs, is he mad? If this dorm is Wonderland, is he actually the Mad Hatter and not the three of clovers.

"I'm totally lying! No one in their right mind would put oyster sauce into a pastry." You breathe a sigh of relief, okay this world wasn't completely far gone.

"Let that be a lesson to you. Don't believe everything you hear."

"Feh. And here I thought that human was actually somewhat decent." Grim murmurs.

"It wasn't that bad." Out of all the things you'd experienced this week, let alone today, this was by far the most tame. At least he revealed the lie, before Ace poured oyster sauce in the cream.

Trey has to be the most tame person you met so far, it's actually hard to connect that he's supposed to be a yandere and not a normal friendly dude with a hidden mischievous side.

That reminder isn't a fun one, but he seems perfectly nice...you hope.

"Next, I'll put in the cream....Oh!"

"What's wrong?"

"You guys gathered so many chestnuts that we may have overdone it with the chestnut paste. I don't think we have enough cream to mix in."

"Then I'll go buy some." Deuce volunteers himself, "Do they sell it at the school store?"

Thankfully, according to Trey, it does. You haven't been there yet, but no better time to find out like the present.

"I don't think I'll be able to carry all that back. ___-"

"I'll go with you." Whatever gets you back here faster. As soon as Ace gives Riddle this tart back tonight, you'll be in the clear. If he doesn't you're stuck with him tonight.

Deuce ended up calling this shop wild. Wild is an understatement. The shop is full of....everything. From fruits to stationary, and crystal skulls to rare plants. There's even a restricted access section, with locked cabinets full of freshly sharpened short and long blades to guns to pre-made potions filled with unknown fluids.

It's a perfect one stop shop for students, and for criminals.

"Do you really think they sell cream in here?" Grim says incredulously. Grim ended up tagging along, and looks equally mystified from all the products this 'school' store as to offer.

"I'm not-"

"Greetings, my stray imps, How fare you today?" You yelp as you reel back in surprise. The shopkeeper appeared quite literally from nowhere. "Welcome to Mr.Sam's Mystery Shop. What among my humble selection interests you? A charm from a secluded land? The mummified remains of an ancient king? A cursed tarot card?"

Ok, a name, the shopkeeper's name is Sam...something. And humble is modest understatement. You're pretty sure that this place makes the mega department stores back home look empty.

"How about some cream...for baking?" With so much stuff here, you feel a little overwhelmed.

"Y-Yeah, we wanted to buy all the items on this list."

"Ring up two cans of tuna while you're at it!"

"With what money, Grim?"

"Yes, Grim! We're not here for tuna!"

"What's this? Cream and eggs and....Quite the sacchariferous list! I'll get everything for you." It's impressive that he even knows that he has everything. With all the stuff here, you wouldn't even notice something strange or normal on these shelves. There's animals skulls, jewellery, weird taxidermy, even a weird shadow hand waving at you.

.......Y'know what, who cares. You wave back just in time for Sam to return with all your groceries. That was fast.

"Here you go. It's pretty heavy.....Are you sure you can carry this?Luckily for you, our 1/100th size flying saucers are 30% off today. Perfect for carrying groceries!"

Grim falls for the advertising, but Deuce stops him before he spends your nonexistent money. "We're fine, thank you. Let's go."

"Myah! I didn't realize today was National No Fun Allowed Day!"

"You're allowed to have fun as long as you don't make a mess." He deflates, "Grim, if it makes you feel better I'll give you an extra can of tuna for dinner." he perks up at that.

You and Deuce take the bags and bid Sam thanks. Deuce pulls you aside on the way out, "That store was amazing."

"Yeah, it was." You make a mental note to inquire about some products before your time of the month comes. That store has everything after all.

Main Street is practically void of any students, though you can see a pair walking up. The two are wearing red vests, Heartslabyul or Scarabia students probably. Besides that it's just, you, Deuce and Grim, who starts whining about his lack of purchases. "Yeah, and you guys are amazingly cheap."

"Hey!"

"Who are you calling cheap?!"

You shake your head, before readjusting the cords of the bags digging into your arms. You wince from the pressure relief, the bruise on your forearm that Leona gave you from earlier still stings. The bags are too heavy but you'll manage the rest of the way back.

"Hm?" Deuce must have seen your struggling, "_____, looks like you got the bag with all the cans. That must be heavy."

"It's not that bad," You shake your head, lying, "I can carry it."

"Here, let me take that one." He takes one of the heavier bags from you. And you breathe a sigh of relief now that the weight is off. "I've got a little trick for carrying heavy bags."

Smiling, you say, "Thank you." He smiles back, balancing all the heavy bags with ease. "You're quite the power shopper."

He nods, "Yeah. My mom always used to stock up at sales, and the bags would get ridiculously heavy. I was the only man in the house, so I got to do all the heavy lifting, and-" He pauses, "Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to monopolize the conversation."

You shake your head, "No, it's okay..." Actually, you might be able to learn something useful from this. "Y'know if you want, you could talk about her, you seem to care about your mom a lot."

He deflates, "No, it wasn't like that at all." He takes a deep breath, "The truth is, I-OW!"

The students you saw down the street from earlier, ran directly into Deuce.

The sound of something cracking into bits fills the air. Clear and yellow goop drips out of one of the bags.

"The eggs!"

Deuce hurriedly opens the bag to inspect the damage. "The carton is completely smashed! And now the bag's dripping egg goo everywhere."

"Ugh! Why don't you watch where you're- Hey!"

The offending student turns around infuriated, and then his eyes widen in recognition. You recognise them too. The delinquents from earlier. The ones who through a fit over a broken yolk. Surprisingly, they're wearing the Heartslabyul ribbons. Hard to be delinquent when a tyrant can collar them with ease.

"It's you from earlier."

"Yeah, and you're the jerks who broke the egg yolk on my carbonara!"

"It was just a yolk." You repeat but it's pointless.

The other delinquent stalks up to you, grabbing you by your tie , "I've had enough of you punks. You need to learn your place." They threaten.

You can see Deuce's eyebrow twitch in fury. "You're the ones who darted out at as from around a corner!" He mutters, you can hear the hostility deep in his voice. He's angry. "And you picked a fight with us at lunch over an egg that you were still totally able to eat!"

"And now you've destroyed six of OUR eggs!" That anger in his voice is getting louder, clearer. You've seen Deuce a little angry before, but something's off about this time.

"Yeah, he's right!"

"So what? You sayin' that was our fault?"

"I am. Please reimburse us for the eggs." Deuce is frighteningly calm. He's not yelling or anything. "And then apologise to the chickens."

"Ooh, look who's got his big boy pants on. You sure are makin' a big deal outta some stupid eggs." The one with hold on your tie taunts Deuce.

"You shut your mouth." You hiss at him.

"What?" Deuce is still way too calm.

The idiot delinquent keeps blabbering, "They haven't even touched the ground, so they're still edible. Quit whinin'."

His idiot lackey keeps up the nonsense jabber. "Yeah, you should thank us for savin' ya the trouble of crackin' em."

They laugh and it's mocking and cruel.

"That ain't funny." Deuce's voice has a low growl and very quiet, the delinquents are idiots so they don't notice but....

"Deuce?" You ask, and you can see his eye twitching. He's angry. dangerously so.

"Huh?" Idiot delinquent number one asks.

And then that anger that Deuce was holding back finally bursts forth.

"I said......THAT AIN'T FUNNY!" The yell is so loud, it stuns you. The normally polite and reserved Deuce is replaced with one with a voice so loud, you're surprised that it didn't awaken the statues.

"You don't get to call my eggs stupid! You don't get to call ANY eggs stupid!! Those eggs may not have gotten to be chicks, but they were gonna make some amazing tarts!!"

"And you," Deuce's voice drops low as he rips the second delinquent away from you. "You apologize to her, right now. Do you get it yet!? DO YOU!?" Your tie comes apart in the delinquent's grip, said delinquent too afraid to actually let it go. They looks like he's about to piss himself from fear.

"W-What is with this guy all of a sudden?!"

"You owe me six eggs. If ya ain't gonna pay me for em, then you're gettin' a bruise for each one!" Deuce cracks his knuckles for emphasis.

"A-Are you serious right now?" The other little twerp is shaking in his sneakers.

''Buckle up, jerks!!"

Deuce's fist sails home into the cheek of the red-haired one, and another into the nose of the other. Blood splurts out staining the gloves he's wearing.

Like two pathetic little bitches, the two delinquents scamper and struggle against the one man army Deuce proves to be. And he isn't even using his magic.

"This guy's outta his mind!" The first one stammers.

"Bwah! L-Let's get outta here!" The other squeaks. And they both take off running. You hope Deuce doesn't get in trouble for this.

"Next time you eat an egg, you better apologize a hundred times, you buncha chumps!!" He yells at the retreating duo.

"D-Deuce! You need to calm down." You cup his face with both hands. And the blind rage on his face dissolves completely into calm.

He pants as he tries to calm himself. "....Urk!"

"W-What's wrong?" You let him go. All that anger is replaced with sadness, or actually....It looks like disappointment. "Are you ok?"

"I did it again, didn't I...?" Did what again? Deuce stares at the blood on his gloves, and he looks pained. "ARGH! I was dead-set on becoming an honor student this time, too."

"Huh?"

"What do you mean?"

"When I was in middle school, I was pretty wild. I cut school all the time and got in fights. I called my teachers names, hung out with bullies, bleached my hair..." Deuce lists off all of his middle school crimes, and honestly....He did sound a lot like the delinquents back in your world, minus the Magic Wheel thing and the magic.

"So you were only a little more annoying than you are now?"

"Grim, not now...." You scold Grim before trying to comfort Deuce. "No offense, but that's kind of hard for me to picture..."

Deuce continues to tell his backstory, "But one night, I saw my mom talking with my grandma. She was trying to hide from me, but I saw her, and I could tell she was in tears. She was saying how she must have been a horrible mom, and that she never should have tried to raise me by herself."

Ouch, that must have been tough to hear, especially from his mom.

"That had nothin' to do with it! She hadn't done anything wrong. It was all me......And when the carriage came to take me to Night Raven, she was so happy for me. I decided then and there that this time, I wouldn't do anything to make her cry. That this time, I'd become an honor student-someone she could be proud of."

"And I messed it all up!"

"No, you didn't." He looks so surprised at what you said.

"But-"

"Deuce, you didn't get into a fight for no reason. You got into to a fight because someone destroyed your stuff, and threatened your friends. Besides, they probably would have attacked me if you hadn't stepped in. And protecting the people you care about is something honor students should do."

"R-really?" You nod.

"Plus the thing an honor student should do....is report this to the Dorm Leader that some of his students tried to get into a fight with two freshmen." You whisper into his ear. "Let's see how they like it when they can't use their magic." You chuckle.

"______....."

"And to be honest....I really enjoyed that."

Deuce cheers up at that, "Heh heh....I guess you're right! I just hope those chicks can rest in peace."

"Uh, Deuce, the eggs were unfertilised..." He blinks at you, he doesn't know what you're talking about. "They were never going to hatch in the first place..."

"Wha-WHAAAAAT?! Are you kidding me?!"

You giggle again whilst shaking your head. He's not very smart, but you don't mind.

"But about your mom, could you tell me about her? She sounds like a really nice lady."

[jjenthusee]

Racing Hearts Pt. 4

f1!driver!jason x reporter!reader

A/N: hello my gremlins <3 i wanted to share with u guys that i successfully moved YAY so that explains the update being slightly behind and the less responses i’ve given to comments (i read them all i swear <3) BUT HERE IT IS \(^o^)/ i took way too long to edit and rewrite the way i believe the story should go, im having so much fun with this series and i want to thank all of u who are supporting it from the beginning or saw the updates as they came. ENJOY the fourth chapter of the Racing Hearts series (ALSO THERE’S 300 FOLLOWERS WOW 🥹 THANK U TO ALL THE PEOPLE THAT LIKE MY PAGE AND CONTINUE TO SUPPORT MY CRAZY SAD WRITING AND MY DRAWINGS i love reading your funny comments, unhinged reblogs, and talking about your favorite parts of the story, it really gave me the push to write and contribute to the jason todd community) and i just wanted to remind yall…i haven’t forgotten about that hurt/comfort tag :)

Check out the Racing Hearts masterlist! It shows all the updated chapters and upcoming ones <3

Tags: banter, agonizing fluff, hurt/comfort, strangers to friends to lovers, spicy if u squint, we’re hitting halfway thru the story so let me introduce what i do best…angst HAHAHA

Word Count: 4.1k

“In all of my career, I have to say that I never thought I would be standing here wearing…these.” Jason looked down to his feet.

The camera focused on the two of you standing next to one another, the lens following Jason’s stare toward the ground. The camera woman zooming in on the bright red Lightning McQueen crocs he was wearing.

You sheepishly admired the shoes, proudly smiling back up to Jason. Bewilderment plastered on his face as he couldn’t believe you actually gifted him Lightning McQueen merch, not even in private but in an interview with multiple cameras pointed at him.

What a predicament he was in. He was definitely not offended when you told him how similar the red car and he were.

“It’s a small thanks from the company for completing your third interview with us.” You smiled brightly at Jason. “Also consider it as a way for us to say ‘good luck’ for your upcoming season.”

Jason couldn’t believe it as he laughed. No matter how much time he spent with you, you always surprised him in the best ways.

“Y’know, I thought the Cars jokes were going to fade out, but you’re a bad influence on my fans.” Jason lightheartedly teased you, stomping his foot enough to let the crocs light up.

You fought a straight face, holding in laughter and trying to stay as serious as you could, but you were about to break any second. You bit the inside of your cheeks to prevent yourself from smiling, internally promising yourself that you would make sure to get a picture of him later.

You already had his new contact picture picked out.

“I couldn’t think of any other way of showing you my support.” You nodded your head proudly.

“Really? Nothing else?” Jason’s eyebrow rose, his tone sarcastic.

“You’re the best F1 driver I’ve ever interviewed.” You smirked, watching the shoes sparkle.

“I’m the only F1 driver you’ve ever interviewed.” Jason looked at you in disbelief.

“Anyway! We’re closing this as the last part of our series, I’m glad you were able to be a guest before you get busy putting on the RedBull uniform again, I know your fans will really enjoy that—” You wrapped up the finale, finalizing the last public appearance the two of you would have next to each other. A bittersweet ending.

But you always had the Jason laying with you on your couch. Feeding each other dinners, taking motorcycle rides late in the night.

“This can’t be the last time I see you. You’re my favorite interviewer.” Jason lulled his voice, rephrasing your earlier comment back at you. “After all, you gifted me something so…special.”

You paused, shocked at Jason’s forwardness with you, the timber of his voice adding an underlying flirty tone to him.

You’ve never talked to him about the public appearance about the two of you. Could you go public?

It’s for the camera. You silently told yourself.

“You have to win for me to see you again.” You smirked, quickly playing along with his attempt to fluster you.

“That’s too easy, you could try to make this a little harder for me.” Jason chuckled lowly. “It’s almost like you want to see me.”

Oh my.

“So much talk for someone who hasn’t started his comeback season.” You playfully rolled your eyes. “You also didn’t start your last season smoothly, so don’t talk so confidently.”

“But who sat at my last press conference celebrating my win? I don’t end things so easily.” Jason tilted his head as he looked down at you, tension increasing. “I’ll come back when I win, it’ll be our little secret.”

Jason winked at you, the cameras focused in on his face and your reactions.

You raised an eyebrow, trying to decipher between the RedBull Jason on camera and your Jason.

He was his playful self, the signature half smirk trying to get you to blush, but his eyes were soft when he glanced over to you.

You calmly gave in, maybe it was for the camera or maybe it was for you.

“Aw, that’s so sweet, but I don’t think I could keep that a secret.” Your polite smile opposing Jason’s mischievous one. “I don’t think you realize but,” you leaned toward Jason, pausing to eye his figure up and down, gleefully watching him pay attention to your every word. Your smile getting wider at how easily he was wrapped around your finger. “I’m a reporter, I can’t keep that beautiful face to myself.”

“But I’m really good at keeping them.” Jason stepped closer, eyes never leaving yours.

His eyes beamed a playful hue to them.

You cleared your throat, looking at the camera woman who also stared in awe.

Crap, the office was going to get suspicious.

“You should focus on winning first before you make any promises.” You coughed, diffusing the atmosphere Jason created as the film crew watched. “Then call my business number and you don’t have to keep any secrets.”

Once the camera stopped rolling, you resumed your professionalism. Saying goodbyes and getting final pictures for the website and both social medias.

All the previous interviews went well. The fans saw Jason’s personality in action, gaining more attention and love for the racer. Jason’s management team was satisfied with you and the attraction he was gaining before the season started.

It gave him the right press he needed to put him in the spotlight.

After Jason left with his management team, you finalized the video upload that his company agreed to. Your draft for a new article about Jason to be edited and reviewed for the upcoming week. It was business as usual.

Getting work done during the day, then meeting Jason for the evening.

When you got back to your desk, you organized yourself to overlook the release date for the final interview and reviewed for the next big project to tackle now that your work with Jason was finished. Multiple meetings with project managers and your team.

Work was picking up for you, managing larger projects, interacting with larger faces.

Jason lit the hallway to opportunities for you.

Your phone lit up next to your laptop, distracting you from one screen to another.

(Handsome) Mr. Todd: pick you up at 6?

You smiled to yourself. Happy, but bittersweet.

You reminded yourself that Jason’s off-season was ending. You wished time could slow down.

—— “Gosh, you’re so clumsy.” You adjusted Jason’s helmet. All the time spent with him reflected in your familiarity with the motorcycle helmet.

“Only for you.” Jason stood there, leaning down to let you reach around his head. Watching you worry about the two of you.

Jason had kept his promise to pick you up.

Most of the time he waited on you to get back from work. Sometimes pushing the boundaries and secretly meeting you for a quick lunch. Meeting him far from where your coworkers frequented.

Your first encounters were hidden behind the idea of work, finding answers to questions for interviews, or suggesting new places to eat.

It was like you couldn’t be apart from one another.

Oh, how you can change a man.

You let Jason fake his ignorance through certain tasks, giving him any reason to get you close to him.

But you gave into his every attempt. Not fighting against his clinginess.

Your roles would switch soon, he wouldn’t wait for you after tiring days of work. You would have to watch him race lap after lap on live television like the rest of the world.

He was leaving soon, you knew he would be busy, it was inevitable, but you wanted as much time before he left.

You sat behind Jason, his body warming the front of you as you wrapped your arms around his waist.

Holding onto him close, wearing the helmet he got you, feeling his solid stomach shift the motorcycle as you rode around the city. You were getting used to your new lifestyle, despite the hidden secrets you shared.

He couldn’t announce a relationship after you were waiting for the last installment of your interviews.

The timing wasn’t right and the meetings this would cause for you and Jason were going to give you a headache.

You heard the motorcycle engine interrupt your thoughts.

Jason slowing at a red light. He stopped, placing his feet on the ground to stabilize the two of you while you waited. The red glow reflected onto Jason sitting in front of you.

The streets were almost empty. Gotham barely waking to the darkness, a city that never sleeps.

“Jay.” You hesitated behind him.

“Hm?” Jason unconsciously acknowledged, resting his hand over yours around his stomach. Rubbing the fabric of his gloves onto yours.

“I want to stay with you longer.” You calmed your voice, careful in verbalizing your feelings.

“You want to drive around more? I think we can drive by—“ Jason continued to rub your wrists. Cars passing in front of him, the opposing traffic keeping you still.

“No, I don’t want to leave you tonight.”

Jason paused, his hand resting on yours, no longer moving. If the cars weren’t in front of you, crossing the intersection, you would have thought time was frozen.

Jason tilted his helmet back, to get a look at you.

You don’t know what he was looking for, your face covered by a protective helmet like his was, but he found what he needed when the light turned green.

It was green, but you stayed there, no other traffic surrounding you.

Just you and Jason.

“Want to come to my place?” Jason kept his black visor on you. “I have a killer TV to watch Cars on.”

You chuckled. Squeezing his waist a little more.

“Better have a good speaker for playing Life is a Highway.”

Jason smirked, hidden from your eyes as he watched you lean back into his warmth.

The humid air covering the two of you into summer clothing. Thinner fabrics and showing more skin.

Jason wore a simple fitted thin long-sleeve, matching the look of his helmet and gloves. It made a great view of his broad back.

A quiet exhale as he looked forward again, revving his engine to life to make a quick turn, opposite of your home.

You were racing the rain as Jason was taking you back, but after you spoke the magic words, how could he send you back home?

The dark summer rain clouds were no longer behind you, the two of you heading straight for them as you watch Jason take you down new streets, an unfamiliar path to Jason’s place.

“I don’t think you’ll make it to the living room before then.” Jason quietly spoke to the light drizzle hitting your bodies

“What did you say?” You couldn’t hear above the engine.

And he was right.

After you were soaked to the bone, fabric sticking to your form, water droplets falling down your skin. A glossy sheen from the harsh rain falling all around you.

Jason had pulled into his garage.

He was in the same state, wet clothes stuck to his skin. The water from you and the motorcycle dripping onto the concrete floor.

You pulled your helmet off, the only dry place.

Once Jason parked the bike, he took off his helmet, placing it on the nearest work table. Your body shivered as you threw your leg over to maneuver yourself off.

You looked down at your state, smiling in disbelief at being caught in the rain.

Maybe you could wear Jason’s clothes after a nice warm shower. You internally thought to yourself. Excited to enter Jason’s place. A new location unlocked.

When you put your helmet next to Jason’s, you could finally take in all of him.

Black shirt tight from the weight of the water, his hands littered with scars, free from the gloves. His hair dry, but messy.

All his muscles more prominent.

You stood in awe, your chest rising from the breaths you took. Humid air invading the inside of the garage, elevated from warm summer nights.

The sight of Jason reminded you of the professional pictures taken of him, leaving his Formula 1 car after a race. He was sweaty, running his hands through his hair with a towel in hand.

After all the time you spent together, it was your favorite photo of him. You secretly saved it because there was something about the look on his face, happy to win, alive on the track.

How attractive he looked was a definite bonus in your opinion.

Jason glanced over to you, finally realizing the state the two of you were in. He slowly looked you up and down, lost in the same visual you were in awe of once you saw him.

You suddenly remembered the last time you and Jason were enclosed in a garage, close to each other, messy from a hard day of distributing winter jackets and food to those who stopped by.

A slight warmth increasing on your face.

Jason stepped closer to you, hands grabbing for your waist to pull you in. His hands reaching under your chin to stretch your neck to adjust to his height.

Breaths mixing as your lips touched only from the movement of your lips unconsciously opening, ready to kiss him.

He waited.

Letting the pressure build as he spoke.

“There’s no volunteers to interrupt us now.” Jason lifted you, letting you sit on the surface of his work table. His arm swooping everything off as he cleared enough room for you.

You could hear objects fall, but you couldn’t care less as Jason stepped between your legs. Quickly, but carefully rubbing at your legs with his palms, his hands getting closer to the blurs of where your thighs met your waist.

Everywhere felt great that you didn’t know where to focus.

The feeling of your lips, your sides, his body between your legs?

You could only huff between the intensity he was igniting in you.

“Jay—inside—it’s cold.”

Despite your words, you didn’t bother to move. You kept touching, feeling everything before Jason lifted you again, the placement of his hands as he carried you, lifting the edges of your shirt.

The feeling of a mattress beneath you as you uncomfortably tried to peel the clothing off your body.

Jason chuckled at your frustration. You couldn’t bother to give him a snide remark as he also struggled to get your soaked clothes off.

When lifting the shirt didn’t work, you tried rolling the fabric, but it only bunched just below your sleeves.

You could only laugh as Jason desperately tried to get the shirt through your arms. Tangled in the mess you both created that you were left with a heavy shirt stuck around your biceps.

“Why is there always something stopping me from seeing all of you?” Jason laughed as he kneeled above you, his shirt completely off at some point along the way to his room.

“I don’t think a pair of wet clothes are going to stop you now.” You smiled at him, glancing up at his figure through the darkness. Only the city lights creeping through the blinds, illuminating his skin.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.” Jason yanked your entire shirt off your arms.

You sucked in a breath at his desperation, memorizing the look of his face as he leaned down closer.

“I want to turn you into a mess.” He whispered into your mouth, kissing down your body.

Overwhelming gasps and breaths left your mouth the more he touched your skin.

“I want to touch you too.” You exhaled, trying to coherently express yourself.

“Next time, sweetheart. I want to focus on you. Everything I want is you.” Jason moved your hair out of your face, stuck from the sweat covering your skin.

The night filled with you repeating Jason’s name, no distractions keeping that man off of you.

After a shared warm shower, Jason gave you a nice pair of his dry clothes. You walked around his place, relaxed after Jason’s…expertise.

What you weren’t prepared for was just how normal his apartment looked. It felt like yours, but bigger, a little more luxurious like it was bought with the intention of having better quality to last longer.

You hoped he had no plans of moving anytime soon.

You stood in the kitchen in awe.

“You have a kitchen island.” You whistled in excitement. “Formula 1 money is good, huh? Maybe I need to pick up a Redbull uniform.”

Jason chuckled, hugging you from behind smelling like the same soap in your hair, his face nuzzling into your neck. You continued to speak.

“No, I can’t steal your fame.” You whispered to yourself. Jason feeling the vibration of your voice the longer he leaned into your neck.

“I’m happy you’re here.” Jason mumbled into you, ignoring everything you said.

“Me too, I’ve been curious where you live.”

“I invited you before, but I guess we’ve always gone to your place.” Jason smiled into your skin. “What do you think?”

“Its very…Jason. I like it.” You glanced around.

You more than liked it. It smelt like Jason. A smell you’ll never grow tired of.

His apartment was slightly bare, the space a little too large for the one man, but that was charming too. It felt like you were able to occupy that small empty space in his life.

When you walked around, Jason following you like a duckling, you noticed the small knick-knacks you bought with him on your dates.

Matching plushies, a book you picked randomly, a bookmark you gifted him, and a tiny paper frog you made while waiting for your table before dinner.

You felt cherished, looking at the physical representations of your memories together.

He grabbed you again, wanting the closeness. You fell back into him, the small paper frog in your hand, made from old receipt paper.

Jason resumed his prior back hug, absorbing your warmth.

He was more clingy than usual tonight.

“How was your trip to the charity today? I forgot to ask you about it at dinner, it must be hard to take a break from them to race again.” You leaned into him more.

Jason buried himself further. Not a great hiding spot since he was larger, but it was the thought that counted.

“I would love to hear about it.” You put the frog back on the shelf, letting it watch the two of you.

“It was good, I got to do one final check to make sure everything would be good when I’m gone. But…” Jason hesitated, squeezing you a little tighter.

You waited, rubbing circles on his forearm.

“I had noticed a lot of stuff come in, it’s a good thing, but it wasn’t like our usual haul. I didn’t recognize it as the stuff I brought over either.” Jason breathed, agitation filling his voice. “When I asked around about it, they said Wayne Enterprises had it delivered.”

Jason went silent. He was tense.

“I always tell that old man to fuck off. He never listens.” Jason sighed.

The last thing Jason wanted was another check from Bruce. Taking over the hard work he had volunteered for months.

Another sanctuary was being taken away from Jason’s grasp.

“I can’t stand it.” Jason whispered. His eyebrows taut.

You maneuvered your head back to kiss him on the cheek.

“I’m sorry, I know that was the last thing you wanted to happen.” You soothed.

Jason leaned in for more kisses.

“Don’t worry, I’m feeling better already.” He exhaled, his shoulders relaxing. Jason smiled into your skin, his voice returning to normal. “But looking at those damn crocs every morning makes me mad.”

You laughed as he grew bolder, pushing the topic aside as you leaned to the floor buried from Jason’s affection surge.

If he was deflecting, distracting himself from his hurt then you could let him kiss you a couple times to distract himself.

Shared kisses, lost in each other’s presence, too occupied to notice the multiple buzzing sounds from Jason’s phone.

——

Once the public release of the third and final interview was released to your company’s website, the usual flood of comments embraced the look at the two of you.

You lost yourself in the positive comments, ignoring the negative ones, but that was the price of social media. It was the evils of publicity.

You read comment after comment about the excitement to watch the fresh new season. Iconic racers coming back to their playing field, excited to reveal new car designs, getting the opportunity to collaborate with anyone and everyone.

As the time for Qualifying reached you, the temperature fully warmed and Jason wasn’t next to you to enjoy it.

He had conferences, practice drives, and flights to catch. Now that he was past elimination, it was time to test his fastest time.

It wasn’t even the peak of the season, but you were missing him.

You sighed into your phone, a small vibration felt in your palm. A message from Jason appeared.

It was a photo of his Lightning McQueen crocs on the plane. A big contrast to the fancy carpeting, expensive seats, and an up-to-date screen playing the children’s movie.

You smiled to yourself in your desk chair, but a small prick to your heart struck you.

The difference in your lifestyles hitting you. He was a rich racer, traveling the world in one of the most expensive suits in modern racing.

You felt…small.

The two of you hadn’t talked about what would happen once he started racing full-time again.

How far was this relationship going?

Would you follow him to his races around the world? Should you follow him?

Would you officially announce anything?

Was this an off-season romance? Only an off-season romance?

What about your job?

“Hey, we need to be there by one. Should we grab a quick lunch?” Your coworker called out to you, interrupting your pessimistic thoughts to yourself.

“Yeah, I’ll be right there. Meet you in the lobby?” You locked your computer, grabbing your key badge, ready to go out of the office.

You quickly typed out a message, taking advantage of Jason still on his phone.

You: Hey slow down try to give the other guys a chance

(Handsome) Mr. Todd: fast is the only way I go. you, especially, should know that ;)

You blushed, quickly putting away your phone to catch up with your team.

——

Jason’s performance during qualifying went as expected. He performed in P1, claiming and boasting as he usually did. His time seemed to be getting faster, raising the competition standards for everyone.

You only shook your head as you looked at the results on your phone, a small smile on your face.

Jason was busy going to opening days, press conferences, driving on the racetrack. His replies were becoming sparse.

You: I knew those crocs were good luck charms

No read receipt. No reply.

You kept yourself busy at work. Falling into a routine.

You checked your phone again during lunch. No messages.

Your apartment felt empty when you came home, no lovable man standing in the kitchen.

Still no reply from Jason. It would’ve made you sad if you weren’t so tired.

Your phone rang as you got ready for bed. Letting your head hit the pillow as you heard Jason’s voice in your ear.

“I just saw— paper frogs that—vendor—the street and—grab some.” Jason’s voice went in and out of your mind, fighting the urge to sleep.

His voice was too soothing.

“That’s nice, Jay.” You slurred.

“Sweetheart? Are you awake—“ His voice started to get farther and farther.

You couldn’t keep your eyes open and your dreams filled with you sitting in the stands, watching Jason race.

Wind hitting your skin, watching the flags fly in the air, engines roaring past you.

He was so far away and kept driving further away from you.

You jerked awake. Looking for your phone in the blankets.

You had fallen asleep while on your first phone call with Jason since he left.

“Shit, I wanted to hear his voice.” You shook the blanket in the air until your phone fell from it.

You looked at your call history. Apparently, it had been a video call, but you hadn’t realized after you woke up this morning.

Jason not only heard you embarrass yourself, but he saw it too. You quickly opened your messaging conversation.

You (Yesterday): I knew those crocs were good luck charms

You (Today): i’m sorry I didn’t know it was a video call

(Handsome) Mr. Todd: don’t worry about it, I got to see u when your phone fell off your face

“Nooo!” You screamed to yourself.

Your face fell in your hands as you read the messages coming in.

(Handsome) Mr. Todd: I got something out of it HAHAHA

(Handsome) Mr. Todd: let’s talk next time

(Handsome) Mr. Todd: I wanna hear your voice

You sighed.

Getting up to start your weekend, putting Jason’s live race on the TV screen.

Putting on the shirt that smelled like Jason.

Tag List: @jaybirdstreet @gallusstuff @meowkn @velvetberries @i0lovepink00 @rayaskoalaland @spidernuggets @janybabyy @deimks @yasmin-oviedo @bigraga-sk @indulgentdaydream @uhhellnogetoffpleasenowty @idontknowanythingsblog @xakilicious @livvyliv15

[genderlessdude92]

Hi, I really love your work! If your requests are open and if it's allowed, can I request for headcanons of Vox/Val/Alastor/Lucifer with their biological baby w reader?? I'm sorry if this is weird I just die for family dynamics😭😭 like, how would they act, would they be present or neglectful, and that stuff!! Ik it's impossible to have a child in hell but HEY. ITS FICTIONAL. It's really your decision if this is super fluff or super angst, but personally I believe it would be angst because it's hell and they are really famous 😭 THANKU

AUTHOR RESPONSE: First ask but urmmmmmm OFC OFC OFC!!! I’m all in for dis req :3 I feel like i absolutely will eat up Al’s part of this post so stay tuned. Other ones are questionable because idk if it’s OOC or not but…I’m just a girl!! >.< (I’m a genderless dude as you can see from the name ^^) I’m sorry i’m not funny- These might be short btw im rushing a little bit bc i’m trying to start a multi-chapter fix yay awesome but uhhh i’m still having fun with this 💋

¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩

AL, VOX, VAL, & LUCI WITH THEIR BIOLOGICAL CHILD

(and reader that gave birth to em somehow <3)

PAIRINGS: Alastor x Reader, Lucifer x Reader, Vox x Reader, Valentino x Fem!Reader (ALL SEPARATE) SUMMARY: Alastor, Lucifer, Vox, and Valentino are dads now. Aw shucks. (Headcannons) WARNINGS: MINORS DNI. Breeding kink, (obv bc Val is in here), Val mention, reader is female because they literally gave birth to them, mentions of pregnancy, birth, Valentino being a weird fuck, Valentino again, unhealthy duck obsession in Lucifer’s area, Breastfeeding, Cannibalism, physical slaps, everybody being nervous shots but Vox, really rushed, lmk if i missed anything pookie (*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ)

NOTICE: please don't copy or steal or translate any of my work or you will be haunted in your dreams and i will spawn something unpleasant at your porch the next day. But...thanks for liking my work !! >.< Property of @l4zyb0n35 and @genderlessdude92

Requests are open, support is highly appreciated!

〰ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭ ..。.:*･ﾟ♫₊ ♪ *♬‧₊enjoy!~

. ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠. ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠. ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠

-Alastor is 100% nervous at first since he has to be the dad and his dad wasn’t…the best!! ^^

-But also doesn’t want to back away because, I mean, it’s kinda rude to just walk away from your creation that you INTENDED to make real.

-This gentleman’s baby was not an accident, I assure you.

-Alastor would absolutely dangle the baby off the edge of a balcony just to tease you.

-Also tried to feed the baby devil meat to make it a cannibal.

-Suprisingly worked.

-Um.

-He probably got taught to knit by Rosie so if the baby ever needs clothes he’s on it.

-Cradles the baby during his radio show hours, aw, and if the baby ever cries he immediately cuts to a quick song break.

-If both you and Alastor are like completely booked and can’t take care of the baby, he’s giving it to Rosie.

-Rosie can’t? Charlie.

-Charlie can’t? Cancelling all plans.

-He just cares for his bloodline, yeah?

-If the baby ever needs like a chewy sensory toy, he’s going to try and get one that resembles Lucifer.

-Like and apple or a snake OOO A SNAKE NVM

-Snake is better since it resembles two ppl mwuhehehe

-Alastor would be a great girl dad but in general i think he would be rlly doting to them.

. ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠. ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠. ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠

. ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠. ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠. ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠

-Oh, you thought Alastor was nervous?

-Oh, you’re so funny.

-‘Cuz Lucifer is QUAKING once he finds out you’re pregnant.

-and expecting.

-…and that it’s alive and out the womb.

-Basicslly all because he wasn’t really in Charlie’s life that much.

-But you told him that this can be a second chance?

-Which made him cry more than he was before.

-Yikes.

-Feeds the baby the most fine meals to ever exist for a baby to eat, even tried to sneak in some wine in its milk bottle.

-Then earned a slap at the back of his head from yours truly.

-You.

-I see him as a helicopter parent at first, but then is just chill once they grow more older.

-But he’s like, devoting his immortal LIFE to this baby 24/7.

-The nursery is themed ducks.

-Everywhere.

-Sometimes you get dizzy when you walk in.

-He even wanted to name the baby duck.

-You slapped him again, of course.

-This man acts like a 8th grade frat boy whenever you breast feed the baby like he just scoots away gagging.

-Another slap.

IM SORRY-

-One time in bed you guys were like getting freaky or sum and then you but his nip

-“Honey…what was that?”

-“That’s just how it feels, Luci.”

-“…What?-“

-“When i breastfeed B/N.”

-“…Ew.”

-“BITCH I-“

. ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠. ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠. ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠

. ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠. ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠. ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠

-Bro is so confident in being a dad.

-The first day after the baby was born he cancelled all his special guests on his show just for the baby to be the only one.

-This man is fucking insane.

-Puts this baby on his. advertisements.

-We’re talking billboards, pop-ups, etc.

-Only lets his supervisor babysit the baby when needed.

-Don’t expect Velvette or Val to even step foot near this baby without Vox in the room.

-It’s like a sibling love-hate relationship :D

-Now i wouldn’t say this baby was on purpose…most likely?

-But honestly, it might happen again because he thinks you’re hot pregnant.

-Who said that what.

-Omg who typed that???

-Fuck this is so short uhhh He like puts on child shows for the baby if they sit in his lap.

-But the baby never ever sleeps in the bed you guys share.

-not in a million years.

-Puts those shirts that look like tuxedos on the baby but they’re just printed on.

-Feeds the baby deer meat.

-Has a deer head mounted above the baby’s crib.

-Takes him deer hunting.

-Vox just needs em to learn early.

. ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠. ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠. ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠

. ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠. ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠. ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠

-Valentino was “so, so careful” when you guys did it.

-and this baby was 100% and accident.

-obviously you guys couldn’t abortion because like some health reason.

-Val cried that night.

-It was kinda funny that he was crying to keeping a baby.

sorry not sorry

-When the baby is born,

-Oh god should i write that

-Uh

-He’s probably recording.

-Not posting just like…saving it.

-Guys, come on, it Valentino, you should’ve seen this coming.

-Deletes it later though fuck that’s hilarious.

-He starts whining and crying when he sees you breastfeeding.

-“Your wasting the milk, mi precioso, are you kidding me?”

-He’s like in the middle of being a good dad and a bad dad.

-Suprised he made it that far on the scale.

-whenever he’s busy, he gives the baby to some random star and tells them to bring them back by like 10:30 or smth.

-with a coffee order. Very iconic.

-Same idea with Vox and liking you pregnant, and tried to get you pregnant again but you ask him why he doesn’t have a condom on if you don’t have your pills.

-He gets frustrated when that happens lol.

-Can’t wake up the baby!

proceeds to wake them up each night

¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩

END NOTES: zomg this was sososo fun to write <3 But it’s so fucking short and i didn’t even realize until i was done. I’m actually so sorry. I still like these headcannons, very humorous, very real, thank you for asking me to make this because this is my first ask i got, i still have exactly 16 more, so ur just a little lucky duck, asker. Support is appreciated! New multi-chapter fix i’m working on might be posted on Friday-Sunday!! Baiiii!!!!

-Lynn

¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩

Masterlist Link

[stevie-petey]

episode one: MADMAX

Steve is looking at Nancy so tenderly, and when he removes his sunglasses you see how much his eyes light up when she hits his shoulder and leans in close to him.  “I missed you,” Steve tells her, his voice soft and sensual.  It’s the way he says it that makes you want to run your hands through his hair, be the one in his arms as he kisses your neck and whispers how often he’s thought of you since you’ve been gone. You’ve felt his arms around you before, once. You know how securely he holds on, how his cologne lingers on your clothes long after he’s gone. You miss him, you miss everything. 

Summary: what does steve fear more ? you or the plague ? currently it's you, some guy with an awful mullet stares you down in the parking lot (gross), nancy invites you to a party from your nightmares, and you become an official unlicensed therapist for will. yay for junior year !

Rating: general, slight cursing

Warnings: fem!reader, use of y/n, descriptions of PTSD (slightly), swearing, and general angst and exhaustion

Words: 5.2k

Before you swing in: hello ! welcome back to the rewrite, hope yall are well :) heres chapter 1 of season 2 !!! so so so excited and ready to dive into this new season. things get a bit darker, feelings get even MORE complicated, and poor reader just really needs to take a fat nap and maybe some reassuring words. shes more angsty this season, so buckle up

-

October 29th, 1984

You originally gave Dustin the phone number to Bookstrordinary in case of any emergencies.

Now, you’re really starting to regret it.

For the fifth time this week, Dustin calls you at work to beg for money. Him and the boys recently started going to an arcade that’s opened up in town and have spent practically every day after school there this year. Sure, you don’t mind loaning your brother a few quarters, but at the rate he’s going he’s gonna drain your next paycheck.

Just as you’re thinking this, the phone rings.

Right on cue.

Alex, your coworker, smirks. “How much do you think he’ll ask for this time?”

“If I’m lucky, only a dollar.”

“Will asked me for three tonight, so I wouldn’t jinx anything.”

You gape at Jonathan, who has started hanging around your job after school just to have something to do. “No fucking way.”

“Way,” he laughs, pointing towards the phone on the counter. “Answer before Dustin sends a drone our way.”

You sigh and pick up the phone, which is on its second round of calling, and put on your best customer service voice. “You’ve reached Bookstrordinary, may I ask who is calling?”

“Don’t play dumb, Y/N.”

“Aw, I’m doing well tonight. Thanks for asking, Dustin.”

“I need five dollars.”

“Ya know, ‘please’ has such a nice ring to it.”

“... if I say please, will you give me the money?”

“No.”

Silence fills the other end. Alex and Jonathan are hunched together, trying to stifle their laughs. You send them a thumbs up, and they give you one back.

“You’re a horrible sister.”

“What!” You scoff at Dustin. “I think you owe me like, at least ten bucks now. Yet you don’t see me complaining.”

A loud groan, then an obnoxious scream. “I promise I’ll clean Mews’ litter box for a week straight if you just give me the money.”

“Tempting, and honestly I’d take you up on that offer, but I already spent my last paycheck on my Halloween costume. You’re outta luck.”

Dustin gasps. “You were gonna say no this whole time? You just wasted like, at least five minutes of my time! I could’ve been digging through the couch for coins by now!”

“Jesus,” you pull the phone away from your face as Dustin continues to shout. Jonathan lets out a loud cackle and Alex just shakes his head. “I can give you some money next week–”

The line cuts off. Dustin has hung up.

What a little shit.

“You remind me why I’m grateful I’m an only child.” Alex says, now walking from behind the counter to begin stacking some books. Technically your shift ended almost thirty minutes ago, but you and Jonathan prefer to hang around for a while. It’s rare to have some time with just the two of you (even if Alex is there as an unfortunate third wheel).

“Glad I can help.” You respond. Once he’s gone, you turn to Jonathan. “And you were right, Dustin indeed wanted more than Will’s measly three bucks.”

He laughs. “Figured as much. The look on your face was genuine disbelief when he asked.”

“Mhm, I’m scared these boys will turn into horrendous teens. The lack of gentlemen in Hawkins these days is astounding.”

“C’mon, I’d say I’m a gentleman. I mean, I’m riding on your bike pegs tonight to keep you safe.” Jonathan says, waving an arm in front of his body as if to present all his gentleman-ness to you.

“Sure, bee.” Although, he has a point. Joyce has the car tonight so she can drive Will to the arcade and Jonathan doesn’t like you biking home in the dark. After what happened last year, none of the Byers are particularly keen on letting their loved ones go off alone at night. So, to ensure your safety, Jonathan has started riding on your bike pegs all the way home.

It’s endearing really, wholly unnecessary, but endearing.

Jonathan flicks your nose. “Who else would be such a gentleman to you? Steve?”

Hearing Steve’s name sends a wave of varying emotions through you. Guilt, shame, remorse, longing. You miss him. You really, really miss him.

“I thought we agreed to stop talking about Steve.” You mumble, now busying yourself with a piece of paper on the counter.

After Will was found last year, you and Steve had gotten really close. He’d spend hours bugging you at work, he’d gotten you such a lovely Christmas gift that still hangs on your wall, and you’d grown close with him in a way you haven’t before with anyone else. He would’ve done anything for you, he cared about you with such genuineness, and you couldn’t handle it.

Summer came and the heat that came with it scared you.

You’d pushed Steve away, severed any connection you had to him. It was easier when you didn’t have to see him every day at school, but ever since junior year started, you’ve been in your own personal hell.

Steve walks past you in the halls without batting an eye. He doesn’t look your way, like the months you spent learning every inch of his wonderfully unique brain and the moles scattered along his face never happened; he doesn’t give you that smile that makes your knees weak. He’s avoided you like the fucking plague, which you can’t blame him for, but it’s only made things more awkward between him, Jonathan, Nancy, and you.

Jonathan sighs. “I’m sorry, bug. I just… he seemed good for you, ya know? I was actually starting to like the guy before you suddenly stopped hanging around him.”

You play with the piece of paper, hoping that if you don’t respond then Jonathan will just drop the subject, but a thought seems to cross his mind.

“Wait a minute. Steve didn’t like, hurt you or anything, right?” You don’t respond again and now he’s starting to get worried. “Y/N, I’m serious. Did he do something to you?”

The irony of the situation is so comical you want to laugh. Here Jonathan is, demanding to know if Steve hurt you and if that’s why you’ve stopped being his friend, when in reality it’d been Jonathan who hurt you. Jonathan, your oldest and dearest friend, is the reason you’re so fucking terrified of letting Steve in. Of falling in love with him.

You’re already in love with Jonathan, you can’t put yourself through any more hurt.

But fuck, you miss Steve. You’d come to rely on him and his obnoxious sense of humor that never failed to make you laugh. The way he so effortlessly filled the room with warmth.

“Relax, bee. He didn’t do anything. I just wanted to focus on Will and the boys more.” You lie through your teeth.

He gives you a funny look. “I know you care about the boys, but you know they’d want you to have some other friends.”

“I have you, that’s all I need.”

It’s all I can afford.

“Bug, I’m worried about you. You’ve all but thrown yourself into school, you work non stop here, and when you finally have some free time you’re spending it researching child psych for Will–”

“Just drop it, Jonathan!” You finally snap at your friend.

He stops, surprised by your outburst. He can see the angry flush in your cheeks now and the slight heavy breathing you do to try and calm yourself down. Jonathan drops his shoulders, defeated. He’s been worried about you ever since junior year started. You’re more withdrawn, you look like you haven’t slept at all, and now you don’t even feel comfortable telling him what’s been bothering you.

All Jonathan knows is that one day you were glowing while telling him a story about Steve and his stupid jokes, then the next day you looked frail and sickly as you told him that Steve was no longer visiting you at work.

Something happened between you two, he’s just not sure what or how to even help.

For once, Jonathan is at a loss.

–

“And then she chased Mike all the way down the street for her money! He got away!” Jonathan finishes his story with a grand flourish, laughing and hitting his steering wheel as if it’s the funniest thing in the world.

You let out a weak laugh, exhausted from the night before. It’s early morning and you’re in the school parking lot, hanging in Jonathan’s car as always, and you feel like utter shit. You stayed up late last night reading this journal you’d found in the school library about acute trauma in children. It had been fascinating and there were some things you thought could apply to Will. Before you knew it, it had been three in the morning and you needed to be up soon for school.

Which leads you to now: slouched in the passenger seat, sunglasses over your eyes to block out the annoying sun, tiredly listening to Jonathan’s recounting of his phone call with Nancy from last night. Apparently they’ve progressed to nightly phone calls now.

Lovely.

Without meaning to, your eyes start to drift shut. The car is the perfect cozy kind of warm and the late October air wraps around you as if to lull you to sleep. Jonathan notices you’ve gone quiet and pokes your cheek.

“If you fell asleep I’ll tell your mom and she’ll put you back on house arrest.”

You slap his hand away. “Don’t do that, then she’ll just ban me from your house.”

“You were up all night researching again, weren’t you.”

“If you have to ask, then that’s probably your answer.”

“Y/N–”

You put a finger up, using your other hand to rub at your temples. A headache is forming and you’re three seconds away from just skipping first period to nap in the car. “We aren’t doing this again. Drop it.”

Jonathan rolls his eyes. “I’m your best friend, it’s my job to worry about you–”

“And it’s my job to tell you to fuck off whenever you’re getting on my nerves–”

Suddenly a loud blue camaro comes speeding into the school parking lot, effectively drowning out whatever you’d been saying to Jonathan. The car revs its engine and almost hits a few students as it jerks its tires and then screeches to a halt, parking right next to you guys.

You and Jonathan look at each other.

“What the fuck?” You look out your window and are greeted with the sight of an attractive blond guy staring at you. His music is blasting so loud you can hear it through Jonathan’s windows.

“Jonathan,” you whisper, getting his attention. “Am I really tired or is there a guy with a god awful mullet staring at me right now?”

“He’s real.”

“Cool.” You continue to stare at the guy, unsure what to do. You’ve never seen him before, there’s no way you’d forget a face like that in Hawkins. He’s attractive, almost unappealingly attractive, and there’s a coldness to his beauty that makes you uncomfortable. He looks dangerous, like he knows how much power his beauty brings him.

The boy winks at you, a lit cigarette dangling from his mouth, and then gets out of the car, slamming his door rather harshly. It’s then that you notice the redhead girl, much younger than him, possibly around Dustin’s age, getting out of the car as well. She slams her own door and doesn’t even spare the guy a glance as she drops her skateboard down and rides towards the middle school across the parking lot.

Meanwhile the boy saunters inside, a lazy pace in his step that also holds immense confidence. He’s cocky, cool and collected, and he takes one last look around, as if to survey his new claimed battleground. You notice a few of your classmates gazing at him with interest, which you don’t really understand. He’s hot, but his attitude alone tells you everything you need to know about him.

Once he’s gone, Jonathan finally speaks. “Who was that guy?”

“No clue,” your eyes linger on the doors he’s just walked through. There’s something off about him. “But I don’t think we want to know… C’mon, if we don’t head in now we’ll be late for our first class.”

–

During your lunch period everyone’s buzzing about some upcoming Halloween party. As you’re walking towards your locker with Jonathan, you notice a few pieces of orange paper being passed around. You don’t pay much attention to them, but when Nancy joins you two she eagerly takes a few from the girl passing them out.

Nancy playfully shoves the papers at you and Jonathan. “You guys are totally coming to this.”

“We are?” You ask, eyeing the flyer wearily. You have nothing against parties, but the thought of being surrounded by a bunch of drunk teenagers in horrible costumes is frankly terrifying to you.

“You sure are, Y/N.”

“But Nancy–”

“‘Come and get sheet faced’.” Jonathan reads aloud. “Yeah, Nance. I think we’ll pass.”

Nancy groans. “I can’t let you guys sit all alone on Halloween. That’s just not acceptable.”

“Actually,” you correct her, annoyed by the assumption, “we have a tradition with the boys. We take them out every year to trick or treat and it’s always been fun. We won’t be ‘alone’.”

“No offense, Y/N, but spending Halloween with a bunch of middle schoolers isn’t much better.”

You make a face and look over at Jonathan for help, but he shrugs. “You gotta admit, it is kinda lame.”

“I can’t believe you’d betray me like this–”

Nancy smiles at this. “See? Plus, I doubt trick or treating with the boys will take all night. You’ll be home by 8:00, and Jonathan will be listening to the Talking Heads and reading Vonnegut or something, while you, my dear Y/N, will be baking a fresh batch of cookies and throwing away all the candy corn you find.”

“Sounds like a nice night.” Jonathan responds, and you nudge your shoulder with his. It does sound like a nice night, one you’re looking forward to.

“I forgive you for your earlier betrayal.”

“Guys!” Nancy stops at her locker now, slight frustration in her voice. “Just… Come on! I mean, who knows? You guys might meet someone and–”

Her words are cut off with a squeal as she’s suddenly lifted in the air and spun around, Steve having snuck up behind her. Nancy now puts all her attention on him, he has his arms wrapped low on her waist and he’s wearing sunglasses inside like some idiot, and your heart hurts. He looks good, too good.

Steve is looking at Nancy so tenderly, and when he removes his sunglasses you see how much his eyes light up when she hits his shoulder and leans in close to him.

“I missed you,” Steve tells her, his voice soft and sensual.

It’s the way he says it that makes you want to run your hands through his hair, be the one in his arms as he kisses your neck and whispers how often he’s thought of you since you’ve been gone. You’ve felt his arms around you before, once. You know how securely he holds on, how his cologne lingers on your clothes long after he’s gone. You miss him, you miss everything.

Steve, as if sensing what you’re thinking, risks a look at you. Your eyes meet his and for a brief second no one else exists anymore. It’s just you and him in the small Hawkins high school hallway, where he’s yours again in a way that’s clouded with “almost” and “not enough”, and you want to tell him how lovely he is and how horrible you feel for hurting him, but then he diverts his gaze and focuses back on Nancy and you’re thrown back into reality.

He isn’t yours. Hell, he isn’t even your friend anymore, and you’re the one to blame.

Once Nancy and Steve start kissing, you share a disgusted look with Jonathan and silently agree to leave.

“Young love, huh?” Jonathan jokes bitterly when you’ve left them behind.

“I hate it.”

And you do.

You’re really starting to hate this whole “love” thing.

–

The only highlight so far this school year has been you and Will growing even closer. When Jonathan told you that Will started seeing the Hawkins Lab people for treatment and to see how he’s been recovering, you pulled Joyce aside later that night to ask if it’d be okay if you spoke with Will yourself. Since everything that happened last year, you’ve only become more interested in psychology, and you’d be lying if you said Will wasn’t an interesting case study.

You told Joyce that you’d been doing your own research, reading journals upon journals, and she made you a deal. You could help Will as long as you also took care of yourself, that you wouldn’t place an even heavier burden upon yourself. Of course you agreed, promising her you wouldn’t, and that’s how your weekly chats with Will began.

Jonathan had been against it at first, telling you that you didn’t have to worry about Will because you already do everything else for the kids. You told him you could handle it, and secretly you liked helping Will because you were able to pour all your anxiety and complex feelings for Steve into research and studying. It was a win-win in your eyes.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Waters had been extremely understanding when you asked for Wednesdays off. After all, you’d been working at Bookstrordinary for almost three years now, so she was quick to make the accommodation.

Now here you are, another Wednesday spent at the Byers’ home. You’re sitting with Will in his bed, the both of you quietly scribbling with his crayons. You’ve learned that he’s more receptive if you draw with him, if you take your time.

“How was Dr. Owens today?”

Will pauses mid-scribble. “Fine.”

“Just ‘fine’? Nothing else?” Your head is down so he doesn’t think you’re studying his reactions, but you keep an eye on him anyways.

“Yeah. I told him about my latest episode.”

“You had another one? Would you like to tell me when?”

Will thinks for a moment, and you tell him that he of course doesn’t have to say anything if he doesn’t want to.

“Last night. I was back in the Upside Down… and there was this… this thing.”

Now you stop drawing. “Like the monster we killed last year?”

“Different,” he shakes his head. “This thing was evil.”

Will’s eyes are darting everywhere around the room, and you can see his growing unease, so you decide to put the topic to rest for now. Clearly the episodes are getting worse, scaring him more, so you shift gears.

“Okay, I believe you. I’m sorry for the episodes, but besides them how have you been feeling? Is school getting any better?” Earlier this month Will had confessed to you about the kids in school calling him “zombie boy” and treating him like a freak. You did your best to comfort him, and once you finished your chat with the boy you’d gone to Joyce to let her know.

Will sighs. “School is… school.”

You reach out and move some hair out of Will’s face. “I’m sorry, little bee. Middle schoolers are idiots, they’ll never understand how much you went through. I mean, I had to face that monster for only about twenty minutes. You had to hide from it for days, so you’re honestly incredibly braver than me.”

This gets a smile out of Will, which you’re relieved by. He’s been quiet lately, more closed off, and you’re worried that with the one year anniversary coming up, his episodes will only get worse.

A knock on the door, and then Jonathan pokes his head in. “Hey, guys. Mind if I join?”

“Actually, I think I should go. Bob’s been begging me for my cookie recipe, so I’ll leave you two alone.” You send a look Will’s way, a you better talk to your brother about this look, and he weakly nods his head.

As you walk past Jonathan out the door, you lean in close to Jonathan and whisper, “he’s struggling at school. Be gentle, kids can be fucking awful.”

He nods and squeezes your hand, silently thanking you, and you close the door behind you. While you want to help Will, make sure he’s adapting well, you also recognize your limits. He’s not your brother, Jonathan is, and you know he’ll be more open with him.

Joyce is in the kitchen with Bob, making some popcorn over the stove. He’s filming her with his ridiculously large camera and you can’t help but smile as you watch them. Joyce looks so happy around the guy, laughing more than she’s laughed in the last five or so years you’ve known her. She deserves this, she deserves a guy like Bob. Sweet, slightly silly, but good.

When Joyce sees you lingering in the doorway, she waves you in. “Hey, honey. Any luck with Will tonight?”

“A bit, he told me some of what’s happening at school. He still seems… off, but at least he was opening up. It’s a good sign.”

Joyce hums, but you can sense that there’s more on her mind. You look around to make sure Bob isn’t near, he’s busy digging through a cabinet to find a clean bowl, so you move closer to the woman and lower your voice. “What did Dr. Owens say this time?”

“Claims we need to just pretend everything is okay, despite the fact that it’s getting worse.”

There’s an edge in Joyce’s voice, so you’re careful with your words. “Well… I think he’s right.”

“You do?” Joyce turns to you, her voice loud with surprise, before she quickly remembers Bob is near and lowers it again. “Why do you think that?”

“I was up late reading a new journal I found about acute trauma in children. It’s been almost a year since Will disappeared, he spent days in complete fear, almost died… I mean, it makes sense that his body is remembering those traumatic effects.”

“So you think we should just leave Will alone, let him suffer through his episodes without any help?” There’s more confusion and fear than anger in Joyce’s voice, and you rest your hand against her arm.

“I know it seems counterintuitive, but the best studies we have all show that we have to let those who suffer from post-traumatic stress adapt at their own pace, through their own ways. They hate feeling pitied, and I have a feeling Will is starting to as well.”

Joyce turns the stove off and shakes her head at you. “You sound like Hop. I thought you hated the guy.”

“I don’t hate him,” you chuckle, now helping the woman peel off the foil and sprinkle some salt onto the popcorn. “He just reminds me too much of my dad, and we all know how that ends.”

“Well if you ask me, I think it’s because you two are so similar.”

You gasp. “How dare you!”

Joyce laughs and the seriousness from the previous conversation dissipates. Bob finds a clean bowl and together you and him pour the fresh popcorn in as Joyce prepares the drinks. They’re having a movie night together, and you want to cry because of how adorable it all is. Joyce deserves this.

“You know you’re welcome to join us tonight, Y/N. It’s Will’s turn to choose the movie.” Joyce tells you, but you politely decline.

“Normally I’d love to, but I should get going. I have some homework and I promised Dustin I’d bake him some Halloween treats.”

“Oh!” Bob turns to you. “Speaking of, you promised you’d give me that recipe of yours!”

You and Joyce share an amused look. “You caught me, I did. I’ll write it down right now and you have to swear that no one else will look at this. Deal?”

Bob nods, ecstatic, and you grab a piece of paper and quickly scribble down all the ingredients he’ll need and how to make the cookies. Joyce watches fondly, and you fill with warmth having pleased her. When you’re done, you hand the paper over to Bob and make him cross his heart, just to be extra sure he won’t reveal all your secrets.

“Scout’s honor!”

“Very good then, soldier.” You salute him, and then pull Joyce into a hug. “I really gotta go now. Can you tell Jonathan I said goodbye?”

“Of course, bike home safe, alright?”

You wink at her. “Scout’s honor.”

Bob lets out a loud cackle and you can’t believe that this guy is real, but Joyce is laughing along with him and you’re pleased she’s found someone as endearing and kind as him.

–

As soon as you get home you throw down your backpack and bunker down at the kitchen table. Your mom isn’t back from work yet and Dustin seems to be off somewhere doing god knows what, so it’s just you and Mews for now.

Mews plops herself on the table next to an essay you’ve been working on and you scratch her head as you work. You get lost in your writing, humming softly to yourself, enjoying this small moment of peace.

You won’t admit this to Jonathan, but he’s right. You’ve been overworking yourself, your body aches and your eyes droop with exhaustion almost every day now. But keeping yourself busy is what’s helping you stay afloat. The more you pile onto yourself, the less time you have to think about Steve and his stupid smile and stupid hair and stupid face.

In the middle of one of your sentences, Dustin flings the front door open and scares you. “Jesus, dude!”

He doesn’t spare you a glance, but when he sees Mews on the table with you he suddenly looks a bit alarmed. “Mews is here?”

“Yeah…? She’s helping me with this english essay.” You respond, confused.

“Huh,” Dustin thinks for a second, but seems to shrug it off. “Anyways, I’m home.”

“I can see that.”

“Are you gonna ask about my day?”

“How was your day, my dear brother.”

Dustin hops onto the table and shimmies his shoulders. “I met a girl.”

“What?” You drop your pencil in shock and Mews scatters, your exclaim having frightened her.

“Don’t act too surprised, geesh.” Your brother rolls his eyes, but then he frowns. “Actually, technically speaking I haven’t met her yet, but–”

“You have a crush?” You’re in shock. In your eyes, Dustin is still a baby, no older than six years old. And yet here is he, thirteen and talking to you about a girl.

“Yes, Y/N. Her name is Max, she has red hair and is new, and she’s totally awesome.”

Red hair? You remember seeing that girl in the parking lot earlier today. “Was she with that weird new guy, the one with a mullet?”

Dustin nods, so you poke him in the stomach and ooh at him. “I saw her this morning, she was prettyyyy.”

He shoves your finger away and blushes, which you find adorable. Dustin’s first ever crush, you can’t believe how old he is now.

“Yeah, she’s pretty, but she’s also just awesome. I think she’s the one with the new high score on Dig Dug.”

“Dig Dug?”

Your brother scoffs. “The arcade game the party always plays? Honestly, do you not listen when I tell you about my days?”

“Alright, fine. If you can remember what I told you I did yesterday, then I’ll apologize for not listening better.”

Dustin closes his mouth, unable to recall a thing.

“Mhm, that’s what I thought.” You flick his hat. “Anyways, since you officially like girls now, I’ve been dying to give you some girl advice.”

“Y/N–” Dustin groans, but you shush him.

“First things first, always be a gentleman. Max does indeed seem cool, but I’m sure she’d appreciate a nice and polite young man like yourself.”

Dustin nods. “Okay, be kind. Got it.”

“Good. Now secondly, we Hendersons are charming people, so just be yourself.”

“Duh,”

“Lastly, if she shows interest, tell her how you feel. Better you’re honest and true about how you feel rather than hide it and sulk.”

Dustin snorts. “Says you.”

You look away from him, slightly hurt. “I don’t know what you mean by that.”

“C’mon, Y/N. When are you gonna tell Jonathan you love him? I mean, everyone knows you do, it’s about time you confess.” Dustin drones on, unaware of your hurt feelings. “And he’s obviously in love with you, you guys are disgusting to be around–”

“He doesn’t love me back.” You whisper, looking down at your paper. You feel pathetic, confessing this to your little brother.

Dustin freezes, now realizing you’ve gone quiet. He can feel your mood darken and he feels like shit for not noticing it sooner. He’s upset you. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I thought he did, I mean the party and I all assumed…”

His words fade off, and you want to crawl into a hole and never come out. It’s embarrassing, you shouldn’t be pitied like this by your brother. “It’s okay, I know what you meant.”

“Y/N–”

You get up from the table and gather your things, shoving them into your backpack. “I’m gonna finish up this essay in my room, then I promise I’ll start baking those marshmallow puffs you like–”

Dustin jumps down from the table and blocks you from leaving the kitchen. “Jonathan is an ass–”

“Language–”

He doesn’t let you interrupt. “You’re cool, he’s stupid, and I’m here for you. Alright? Don’t make me pull a code blue on you.”

You wrap your brother into your arms, something he hadn’t been expecting, and allow yourself a small laugh. “No need for a code blue, I promise. Just, give me like an hour to sulk and then I’ll be as good as new. Okay?”

When you pull away, Dustin eyes you, but understands he won’t win this argument. The two of you handle your emotions the same way: alone, in solitude, away from prying eyes. He knows you just need some time to yourself, but he still feels like a jerk for upsetting you in the first place. “Fine, but if you’re sulking later I’ll flick your nose.”

You flick his nose and then quickly flee to your room, Dustin not far behind you. “Flicked you first!”

“Not fair!”

You slam your bedroom door and giggle as you lock it. Dustin bangs on the door, but you can hear the amusement in his voice. You tell him you’ll be out as soon as you’re done with your essay, and then go and sit down at your desk. Sighing, you dig into your bag and pull out what you need. Without meaning to, you look up and see your Spider-Man poster, your wonderful Christmas gift from Steve, hanging in front of you.

The small joy you’d been feeling vanishes.

The poster stares back at you, you can almost hear it calling you a pathetic coward, and you feel guilt claw at your throat. You close your eyes, remembering the cold from that winter day, and you can almost smell the cologne Steve had been wearing when you’d thrown yourself into his warmth. Sometimes, if you sit still enough, you think you can feel the ghost of his embrace.

You open your eyes.

Steve isn’t here.

Of course he isn’t here.

You exhale, feeling the familiar ache and exhaustion within you; junior year is looking quite grim.

-

⌑ series masterlist

⌑ if you would like to be added/removed from my taglist, just let me know :)

⌑  taglist: @siriuslysmoking @sheisjoeschateau @myeclispedsun @innercreationflower @juhdoche @frostandflamesfanfic @goosy-goose @quinnsadilla @munsons-queen @stefansring @rice-elephant @bex22109 @bitchkeery

[lethby]

The story of how Mammon fell first (and hard) ⍣ ೋ

Pairing: Mammon x GN!reader

Summary: What was going through Mammon's stupid (-ly cute) head the first few chapters of the game. And how mc survived the Devildom (mc angst yay)

You were a stupid human. There you stood, with that dumbfounded look in your eyes, scanning the foreign area with tensed shoulders. You couldn't look any more similar to a deer. A yummy and juicy deer in a lion cage.

"Mammon will be your guardian and he will ensure your safety in your stay here."

Say what now? This must be the most unfunny prank Lucifer has pulled on him. After some whining and protests, he learned that it was no prank. Come on, really? THE great Mammon babysitting some lousy human? This is even worst than all the three hour lectures combined!

He hated the idea, and made it very clear. Seriously, couldn't you walk any faster? Cat got your tongue? Stop being so startled by everything, it's driving him insane.

You, on the other hand, were about to cry. You were just sitting in your comfy bed looking through your phone and the next second you spawn on the literal pits of hell. You're following a strange demon that very clearly doesn't want anything to do with you. He was complaining to you nonstop about how much of a nuisance you are, how you look like the perfect meal and you can't really do anything about it because of how weak you are. Thanks.

You're walking a path completely unfamiliar to you under the eternal moonlight that gave very little light to your surroundings. Whispers and growls from the vicinities were driving you insane (that's two). Were they monsters? Demons? You didn't know, and that scared you.

You didn't know when you entered some classy big house, but the walls were already suffocating and the statues were gnawing at your mind.

Suddenly, all of the sounds drowned in your ears and became a mere vibration in your brain.

'I don't wanna be here. I wanna go home.'

When Mammon looked behind, he noticed the lifeless eyes that stared into the nothingness and sighed annoyed. You weren't listening to him! Just how much dumber can you get?

Then, a loud noise interrupted your trance, snapping you out of it. You put your guard up as an angry demon came straight in your direction two steps at a time. He shouted at Mammon for something about money. Your fogged mind didn't really comprehend much.

What you did comprehend was your so called guardian pushing you against the angry demon as bait while he made a run for it. The words spoken earlier about being nothing more than demon food replayed in your head like a broken disk.

'This is where I die'

Fortunately, the demon, whose name was Leviathan, showed the minimum manners you'd expect for a demon and left you be for the most part. Also, his room was nice. Like a peaceful change of scenery from all the dangers and noises of outside. You didn't mention it, but he caught you staring at his aquarium and jellyfish lights, so he hesitantly enlarged your stay. Just a little. Not much. He couldn't stand normies in his room.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the House of Lamentation, Mammon was laughing his ass off. He killed two birds with one stone, avoiding Levi and getting rid of you. At least for now, since he wouldn't hear the end of it if Lucifer found out he was totally evading his responsibility. However, at the moment he was just thinking about going to the casino and win some Grimm, easily forgetting about you. Why would he care, either way?

That night, when all the lights were out, the only soul who couldn't sleep was your own. In the silence of the late hours, there were no distractions keeping your thoughts to wander, so they did. The realization of the whole situation came crashing down like a waterfall. You laid with your eyes open, seeing but not watching. Your body was being hugged in a soft but harsh embrace by the unfamiliar sheets. The light of the little lamps, hanged on the strange tree, slightly illuminated the room. It wasn't even your room. It was a room. An unknown room in an unknown world.

'I'm not going home'

That thought prevailed on top of the other ringing ones. Cold tears slide through your numb face. You didn't bother wiping them as they kept falling from your eyes like dense, thick honey. You couldn't fall asleep, but you didn't want to be awake either. You didn't want to be right now.

The following morning, you tried to maintain a natural facade. Your dry answers made your voice sound alien to you, having used it so little since you arrived.

Mammon couldn't be more fed up with your attitude. Don't you know that makes you easy prey? He made sure to tell you. He was doing you a favor, you know? He doesn't understand why you become rigid at his statement, he was giving you a piece of advice.

The day continued without much change. Demons looked your way and licked their lips. You almost felt naked under their watching gaze, standing with your tail between your legs. You tried to follow along with Levi's plan about Mammon's credit card. Goldie, was it? Anyway, it's not that you were inspired to pass Lucifer's lie detector, but you did it anyways.

Your memory is incapable of remembering much of the day as you stood before the freezer. Levi had a frozen Goldie in his hand and Mammon was yapping about something, mostly complaining.

Your body worked on autopilot until you felt a burning sensation in your hand. You dazedly lifted it to see a yellow mark on the back of it. How did that get there?

Mammon swore he was about to lose it. You just made a pact with THE great Mammon and you looked like you didn't care. He grew himself to hate that emotionless expression on your face. He thought you would be less annoying if you showed any sign of, I don't know, humanness? Even demons reacted more than you! You could at least laugh at his jokes. That would be... Nice, I guess.

From that point on, you drowsily made it to your room. You sat on your bed and looked at the mark on your skin. You should be happy, shouldn't you? At least Mammon was now forced to protect you if you said so. He's the second oldest, that meant strong, or something, right? So why were you crying again? Why was it quietly raining on the golden pact? Yet another night filled with many water droplets that made a depressing pattern on the sheets. However, as numerous as they were, they all felt lonely and abandoned, like the eyes that shed them.

Mammon also wanted to cry, but for other reasons. Say embarrassment, if you had to name it. He was kicking every object in the floor that had the misfortune to make contact with his feet. Not so silent grunts echoed in the walls as he paced through his room. He forcefully shoved a pillow against his own face and screamed his heart out. Stupid human! Stupid! Incoherent curses left his lips until late at night, when he fell asleep.

The next morning, Mammon tapped his foot impatiently. It was already becoming unbearable with the constant berating of his brothers, that were making fun of him. THE great Mammon doesn't wait for no one! Well, except you, I suppose. But that's because he has to!

When you finally came down, Mammon scoffed and pulled you along, not leaving you time to have breakfast. Fine, it's not like you were hungry, anyways. You've lost your appetite ever since coming here. Three days into the Devildom and you looked the same as day one, if not worse. It was getting harder to breathe as timed passed and the dark circles under your eyes were starting to rival the dimness of the night sky.

The day followed as usual. You really hoped you weren't expected to get good grades here, because everything that managed to get into your brain left rapidly like a ghost train with no passengers. You only caught something about a TSL tournament against Levi. Why did you agree to that again? Oh yeah, to enter his room. Why did you want to...? Nevermind, you only knew that one moment you were at RAD and the next you were walking home with Mammon.

He was ranting about something about the casino or Lucifer, as usual. You didn't mind the background noise of a somewhat known (although rather annoying) voice for the most part. However, what he said next as he flicked your forehead wasn't part of that 'most'.

"Ya know, yer lucky I take time off my very busy schedule to walk ya home. If you keep spacin' out like that, yer only makin' yourself an easy prey to any passerby!"

Three times. He now has called you 'prey' three times. You stopped in your tracks with your head low, nails stabbing your palms in a fist. Mammon looked confusedly at you after noticing you fell behind. The sight of your figure made him both exasperated and... was that worry? Nah, just exasperated. You murmured something under your breath he didn't quite catch.

"Huh? You gotta speak louder that that, deer"

That's it. You suddenly lifted your chin, locking eyes with his deep blue ones. Mammon visibly flinched at the hatred they held. That raw emotion radiating from your pure anger was the first time he saw you actually alive.

"I said, stop calling me that. I get it, really do. I'm nothing more than a stupid, defenseless piece of meat that got trapped into a world filled with wild beasts willing to have a bite, I know. You think I asked for this?! I have enough with the situation as a whole for you to keep reminding me of it!"

In that moment, your voice didn't sound like it was yours, but it still spoke what your heart felt. The demon in front of you was left speechless. To him, your outburst was an overreaction that caught him by surprise, not knowing the pent up pressure you hid in your fragile body. Now, it was his brain's turn to not process the information around him, since when he snapped out of his trance, you were already a few meters ahead stomping your way to the House of Lamentation.

He fucked up. He knew he fucked up. Ever since seeing the way your brows furrowed the moment you first interacted, Mammon knew he was fucking up. Every part of him was screaming at him, but he didn't dare to admit it, not even to himself.

So even now, he hid behind a mask of annoyance. Look at you, walking just ahead of him without care. When he told you to show emotion, he didn't mean that you could get angry at him! How dare you yell at the Great Mammon like that?! Don't you know how easily someone could attack you there all alone? Don't you know that any demon could kill you with ease? Don't you know how much you look like prey-...

...

Don't you know how bad he doesn't want that to happen?

By the time you reached the House of Lamentation, your anger hadn't subsided one bit. It was like all your pent up emotions mixed homogeneously into anger and exploded uncontrollably. Even so, you don't regret that happening. Why would you? You've been treated like nothing but a nuisance ever since you stepped foot here. Regret comes from realizing bad choices, and the only one you've made was letting these demons drag you to hell.

You make a dash to the room you've grown accustomed to and quickly close the door without slamming it from frustration, not trying to get unwanted attention. When you stand under the tree lights is when you notice the pools in your eyes, ready to cascade at any moment.

'Shit, this always happens when I'm angry'

You rub furiously at your wet eyes to get rid of the tears and, when that doesn't work, you throw yourself on the bed and scream into the nearest pillow. Too tired to get up, you close your eyes for a moment, waiting for your mind to find peace on its own. Or at least some silence.

You don't realize when or how long you've been asleep, but your cheeks are dry when a knock in your door wakes you up. You really didn't want to answer, but the knocks only got more frequent and impatient the more you ignored them. You hesitantly untangle yourself from your sheets and get to the door.

To your demise, at the other side was the last person you wanted to see at the moment. Mammon stood there in a futile attempt to check on you before nighttime. He looked everywhere except you, hoping he didn't have to stare at your hatred eyes again.

"You didn't come for dinner."

You've slept the day.

"Didn't feel like it." You lied

Mammon furrowed his brows and put his hands in his hips hoping it would boost his own confidence.

"Don't humans have to eat to survive? If ya starve to death, Lucifer will kill me."

You've been like shit for the past three days and now he worries. Real smooth, Mammon. At your lack of response, Mammon realized he was losing you, so he quickly tried to come up with something else.

"Anyways... You have the TSL tournament with Levi tomorrow, dontcha? Well lucky for you, the Great Mammon has brought you the series so you can watch them tonight! I still think yer gonna lose hard against the nerd but-"

You tuned out the rest of his speech and looked at the wall beside you. You definitely didn't want to speak to, listen to or be with Mammon. You didn't want to go to the tournament and you didn't want to spend the night binge watching this random TSL thing. Despite all the things you didn't want to do, Mammon still pushed you inside and prepared the TV. You sulkily sat in your bed making yourself comfortable, trying not to kick the demon off when he sat beside you.

A couple of hours passed and you were hating every part of this. The show, Mammon and everything... Or that's what you thought would happen.

In reality, you felt a familiar yet longing feeling of... Home. The series was actually not bad and, being used to movie nights back in the human world, you were at more ease doing something you enjoyed. Besides, it kept your mind occupied and away from everything, which you wish you could have done before. Finally, though you hate to admit it, Mammon's presence was actually not so bad. His comments were actually funny and it gave you the feeling of hanging out with your friends, forgetting the events from before. You've never felt like this here, but you weren't complaining for once.

Meanwhile, Mammon was having his own silent crisis besides you. He was sure you were having the worst time of your life. How could you not? You skipped dinner just to not see him! Besides, he locked himself in your own room forcing you to watch something for a stupid contest. But he wasn't doing it on purpose, he swears! He actually was here in an attempt to make amends with you. However, getting the words out was proving to be more difficult than he thought. He tried to ease the atmosphere by joking around, but his knee was still bouncing in a constant rhythm. Mammon wasn't akin to apologizing, much less to a human.

Minutes turned into hours and he honestly was about to explode. He stopped paying attention a while ago and even began sweating. Unable to hold off any longer and despite his awkwardness, he turned to you with his eyes closed.

"Human, I-"

A soft, mermaid-like sound followed a funny scene in the screen, interrupting him, but it was not part of the show. The demon shifted his attention to the source of it, and then it hit him. You. It was your laughter.

That was the second time he saw you express any kind of emotion, but the first he saw the way the corners of your lips tilted upwards and your eyes squint while trapping a warm shine within them. Mammon saw you in another light, a light that newly illuminated your features since you came to the Devildom. A light that showed your smile. And damn, how pretty it was.

He then took notice of your posture, with details for the first time. From the way your legs intertwined with one another to how your arms kept a pillow close to your chest with relaxed shoulders. Where you always like this? No, no you weren't. Right now, in his eyes, you were far from the scared deer that annoyed him so much; now feeling like he was looking at one of those elegantes statues in Diavolo's castle. He still hadn't realized, but your smile trapped him like a siren's song. Your humanness he oh so wanted you to show now left him speechless.

He didn't know when the marathon ended, but he found himself waving you goodbye casually at the other side of your door. To his surprise, you tiredly waved back, although with no smile painting your face. In that moment, walking back to his room, he just thought of ways to see it again. To see your light.

When he landed on the comfort of his sheets, he felt once more the pact that tied you together and didn't feel embarrassment or hatred anymore. He felt something else deep within his heart, something that he couldn't quite put his finger on. A sense of connection he never felt before.

Then he sat up in a swift.

...He didn't apologize!

He threw his hands to his face and groaned, although the frustration in it not directed at you now, but at himself. He had yet to realize that it was always at himself.

You on the other hand just went to bed first thing to catch the hours of sleep taken from you. However, your mind stayed clear and your cheeks remained dry for the first time under de Devildom's sky.

The next day followed as usual. Everyone in the House of Lamentation woke up, had breakfast and headed to RAD following their own routine. You and Mammon did no different, but both of you could tell the atmosphere shifted for the better. Your eyes shined in a way that made him forget all the reserved glares, and Mammon made sure to not comment on anything that could make you uncomfortable. It was like a weight cleared off your minds and the heavy air was easier to breathe. Where before you found an obstacle, now you saw a person, a friend even.

At RAD, you even tried to socialize a little more. You found that the best way to cope with the situation was to actually try and enjoy it. Surprisingly enough, chatting with the other exchange students proved to flow rather easily, interacting more than you've ever had here. What stood up to the angels and Solomon, although they didn't mention it and despite their initial surprise, was your contrasting behavior that made the atmosphere so light. Thankfully, they left with content, and so did you.

Although you still had a long way to go, the mist of terror that obscured your eyes dissipated enough to let some light pass through, which you were grateful for.

However, as the school hours finished and the time for TSL tournament approached, a unnerving feeling squeezed your chest. You had come up with a plan in the morning, and you even got the help of Simeon. The plan, unfortunately, had a major flaw, as you were advised that taunting the Avatar of Envy's sin was a dangerous game to play, lethal even. And you weren't in the mood to play games.

The brother's all headed to the tournament's location, whether their intentions varied from amusement to seeking shed blood was not for the demons to judge. Admits the powerful beings, stood one that didn't attend for neither reason.

While Mammon walked at his own pace, suddenly his shirt was tugged. He turned confusedly and, when he saw you gripping his clothes with one hand as you looked directly at the floor, something pulled at his heartstrings. A feeling that was forced out of him when your voice snapped him out of his trance.

"Will you come if things go south?" You said barely above a whisper.

That was the longest sentence you spoke to him ever. Well, when you weren't angrily putting him in his place.

"Huh?"

Confused by the many elements you surprisingly decided to display before him, your question caught him off guard. However, seeing as you kept your mouth shut and shifted in your spot, he quickly turned to you completely.

"Ah- I mean, of course! What kind of guardian would I be if I didn't? Count on me!"

The slight hope in your eyes allowed his to muscles relax. And when he saw that light, he remembered that night. But most importantly, he remembered what he didn't say. His usual easy chat turned dry in his throat at the thought, but he had to get it out of his chest. While you confusedly looked at his still stance with a brow raised, he looked at you with a new determination in his eyes.

"I-" His hands sweaty and his ego shattering, he still looked at you "I'm sorry for calling you prey" ...That was easier than he thought-

"You're forgiven"

What?

I mean, this is what he hoped for but... Your immediate response made his eyes widen as he stared at you dumbfounded. Meanwhile, yours dropped, but not with the melancholy Mammon was used to. They dropped in softness. He already lost count of the times he got lost in them.

Your steps felt light approaching Levi, whether they were from determination or dizziness, you were not sure. Orange irises looked down on you without a drop of doubt he would win. Feeling small, you glanced to the side and caught deep blue eyes looking back at you. With mixed emotions, you took a deep breath as Asmo extravagantly initiated the duel.

You noticed the difference on difficulty on the questions and you didn't know if you should be grateful or worried, feeling the amusement in Asmo's voice as Levi's frustration grew more evident.

Then, the moment of truth came. You played with your fingers as you recited future events that were yet to appear in the show, leaving the demon before you speechless. Just as you finished your rambling, your gaze caught coral-like horns and a dark tail slashing the air with a frightening speed and strength. You tensed and the danger everyone has warned you about ran through your veins with a chill. Levi's predatory look made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You were prey.

Mammon jumped in your aid the moment your eyes locked with his in a cry for help. His help. He wasn't the fastest for nothing. You didn't even have to use the pact to get him running in your aid. He wanted to save you. He had to. Not because Lucifer told him or, heck, even Diavolo. He had to because he cared. Because he didn't want to see you hurt. However, the world, along with his heart, made a flip as his knees connected with the floor, his will to get up forced down by the slippery surface.

'Fuck, I'm not gonna make it'

His frown deepened as he saw you backing away from Levi and falling, making a pained expression. Just when he was about to unleash his demon form to get to you, two pairs of black feathery wings blocked your figure from the aggressive demon's way.

His lips let out a shaky breath, but the shine in his eyes still wavered. He couldn't pay attention to the scene unfolding before him; how Lucifer calmed down Levi with the help of Diavolo and his brothers gripped the wood railing in anticipation. No, his focus was entirely submitted to you.

His pupils shrunk as he scanned the way your chest rapidly rose and fell with each panicked breath. How your eyes trembled as they stared at the floor beneath. And most importantly, how you clutched your red wrist close to your chest.

His heart clenched and his thoughts ran wild.

'They got hurt. They are hurt. I couldn't save them. They're scared. I let this happen. I should have saved them. They trusted me to. They hate me. They're hurt. They-'

...

The walk back to the House of Lamentation was tense. Silence prevailed except for the occasional whispers of the brothers. Levi stomped his way to the front leaving the others behind while you slowly walked in the back. Besides you was Mammon, who kept sending you quick glances from time to time. However, you didn't get to notice, occupied in your small steps and shaky breaths.

Your mind ran wild like it never had before. You almost died. That reality felt so far yet so suffocating, enhancing the stinging pain in your wrist. You were helpless. Small. Weak. Every noise and movement in your peripheral echoed in your head like a broken radio. Like before. You were sent back to zero.

The depressing steps to your room fell on deaf ears. Accompanied by two demons, Mammon and Beel, you sat on your bed on autopilot. It felt dry under you, but you knew how it soaked in your sadness numerous times, and you had a feeling it wouldn't be long before it did again.

The mattress sunk on both sides, and you couldn't stop the flinch of your body when a tanned hand reached for yours with a first aid kit nearby. You hated how you were scared of that hand crushing your already damaged wrist. A hand that you've once reached out for. You hated how you couldn't stop your muscles from tensing. How your jaw clenched. How your breath wavered. How you could only see spiky fangs and horns on the demons that came to comfort you.

You didn't register the bickering of the other two, not how one stood up and left until the door closed.

Mammon really tried to bandage your frail wrist as best as he could, but he was distracted by constantly glancing up every few seconds. He checked your eyes and the way they gazed into nothingness. And he checked again and again and again, because he couldn't believe it. Because he didn't want to believe it. The light that once filled your eyes with emotion faded away. That light he grew to search for as a candle in a snow storm, gone; replaced again by the lifeless shell of your irises.

That was until they shone, but with tears. The depressing hour didn't stop for you, even when not alone. You didn't even react until a pair of hands gripped your upper arms.

Two sets of eyes looked at each other, both conveying very different emotions. However, none spoke a word, their voice locked in their throats for their own reasons. The silence of the calm before the storm.

The trance was broken by launching yourself at Mammon in a desperate hug, which he didn't expect at all. It took a moment for his embrace to match your own, messy wrist already forgotten. By that time, you were uncontrollably sobbing in his arms, which made him hide his frown on the crown of your head.

At this point, you didn't know by what, but you were terrified. No matter human or demon. Friend or foe. You needed a shoulder to cry on, rather than something to shed your tears to. You needed someone.

Mammon shared whispered apologies that accompanied your sobs. Neither of your grips loosening on one another, your hands locked into fists behind his back while he secured his own in your hair and waist.

And that's when it hit him. He wanted to protect you. At all costs and by any means. He wanted to give himself to you. He wanted to love you.

I can't believe this is finally finished. And I can't believe I got the motivation from a YouTube video on how to properly write. And I can't believe it worked.

Anyways we all know the game isn't heavy on angst and the fandom has to do the work so here is my contribution! Hope you like it and stay tuned for my rewrite of lesson 16! (I feel like that's gonna be even harder to write)

Do what makes you happy,

Lethby ༊*·˚

[dancingbirdie]

This request is really out of the blue but, i need I CRAVE i require a fic where tav and astarion finally find a cure for his vampirism (in dnd5 it can actually happen yay!) and he manages to see his reflection again and finally have his natural eye color again (blue bc he's prob a moon elf but I don't mind other colors too). The fangs can stay or not, idc, i just want my boy happy, in love, and cared for. Bonus points if there's cuddles too

OK first of all, thanks for this prompt!! Second, I had to break this up into two parts because I'm afraid of how unwieldy it would get otherwise. So see part 1 below. I'm actively writing part 2 and should have that posted within the next few days. Hope you enjoy!

UPDATE: Chapter 2 available here!

I Promised You (Chapter 1)

Rating: G

Pairing: Astarion x GN!reader

Word Count: 3.1K

Warnings/Tags: mentions of unconsciousness, cheeky banter, domestic life, post-events of BG3, potentially problematic levels of self-sacrifice by reader.

***

“All right. I think you’re ready,” Gale affirmed as he peered over your shoulder, analyzing your hand movements as you practiced the incantation. 

“You think? Shouldn’t we wait until you’re sure?” you replied, heavy skepticism coloring your tone. 

“I can’t give you my complete assurance because you haven’t actually cast the spell,” the wizard sighed. 

The two of you had had this argument many times over the past several months as you studied and practiced. And studied and practiced some more. The conclusion was always the same, but your anxiety always managed to convince you that a different outcome would be had if you just asked him again. 

Conjuration magic was one of the most difficult forms to master. Yes, you had specialized in it during your formative years, under the tutelage of several learned wizards across Faerûn, but this spell was perhaps the pinnacle of feats in conjuration. Only a handful of wizards could perform it. Thankfully Gale was among that number, which is why you had come to him for help.

“As I’ve said, this isn’t a spell you can just cast for practice runs,” he continued. “You have one chance. And if it works, the sheer power of it is undoubtedly going to knock you unconscious.” 

“I know, I know,” you grumbled. “I just… I need to be absolutely perfect. I have to do this. For him.” 

“Have you told him what you’re planning yet?” Gale prodded.

“No. Not yet. I didn’t want to get his hopes up. Or have him tell me how unlikely success will be. Not until I was absolutely sure I could do this.” 

“I see,” the wizard returned, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Well, tonight is as good a time to tell him as any. There’s nothing more I can teach you to prepare for this. You know the incantation by heart. You perform the gestures almost through muscle memory now. You’re ready.”

“I’m ready,” you repeated, as if saying the words would will it to be so. 

“Send me a missive if he wants to go through with this. I’ll come to the cottage and oversee the spell’s casting.”

“All right,” you nodded.

“It’s going to work. You have to believe it’s going to work,” Gale encouraged, meeting your eyes with a serious, stern sort of expression.

“It’s going to work,” you agreed. “It’s going to work.” 

***

It was dusk by the time you returned to the cottage. It was a modest home you shared with Astarion, situated just outside the city walls. It had a lovely view of the rolling hills that surrounded Baldur’s Gate, and proximity to the Chionthar River gave the air a refreshing, misty feel. Pastoral communities dotted the countryside with sheep and cattle grazing freely during the day, though they had returned to their stables long before your return.

Astarion was no fan of the bucolic lifestyle, as he was wont to remind you. But you both agreed that this living situation afforded him better meal prospects than the rats, cats and errant stray dogs that dwelled within the city limits. At least this way, he had more fulfilling options for food, since the livestock attracted their fair share of large predators. A mild, perpetual confusion charm that you cast kept the neighbors from questioning why – unlike their peers in neighboring villages and towns – their animals were never plagued by roving bears and panthers. 

Astarion was lounging listlessly in the bay window of the den when you entered your home, one leg dangling off the ledge of his reading nook while he carelessly flipped through a book. Probably one he had pilfered from Gale’s stockpile a few weeks ago, you surmised. There had been an uptick in the wizard’s grumbling about discrepancies in his library catalog of late. 

“Anything interesting?” you asked as you shrugged out of your traveler’s cloak and hung it on the coat rack by the door. 

“Ugh, hardly,” Astarion grouched. “Nothing but debunked theories and philosophies from bloated scholars who died a hundred years ago.”

“You’re going to have to return Gale’s books to him eventually, you know. He’s beginning to realize how many from his library are missing.”

“Haven’t the slightest clue what you’re referring to, darling,” he replied breezily.

“Of course, love,” you chuckled, planting a kiss on his forehead as you passed him by to make your way into the kitchen. 

“Care for a glass of wine?” you called.

“Mm, yes,” Astarion returned. “Red, please, dear.”

Uncorking the bottle and pouring the glasses gave you a brief moment to collect your thoughts. To steel your nerves for the conversation looming before you. Drawing a deep breath in and exhaling it slowly, you made your way back into the den and braced for the inevitable. 

“Darling, do you have a moment?” you asked as you offered Astarion his glass before taking a seat next to him. “I’d like to talk to you about something.”

“Gods, it must be serious,” he teased, straightening from his reclined pose to take the proffered glass and make room for you. “You like you’re about to be ill. Go on then, love, before you faint and spill this vintage all over the floor.”

“It is rather serious, in fact,” you began, clearing your throat that had suddenly become tight with nerves.  “I’ve waited to tell you until now, but I’ve been researching some more difficult conjuration magic with Gale the past few months…”

“Oh?” Astarion prompted as you paused. “For what purpose, darling? I thought you had already mastered the school of conjuration.”

“I have. But this is a more specialized form. More… niche, I guess one might say. And, well…” you trailed off again, hesitant.

“Go on,” he encouraged. 

“I’ve-been-researching-a-spell-that-cures-vampirism-and-I-think-I’ve-found-a-way,” you spat out all at once, the words tumbling into each other like a wagon train gone wild. 

Astarion met your eyes with a blank stare, seemingly forgetting that his one hand had been in the process of lifting the wine glass to his lips. 

“I beg your pardon?” he asked hoarsely.

You coughed to clear your throat. “What I mean to say is: I’ve been working with Gale for months now to learn a spell that can cure your vampirism. He and I believe I’m ready to perform it. If you would allow me to try, that is.”

“If this is your idea of a joke,” he murmured, a slight quiver in his voice. “Then I have to tell you, it’s absolutely not funny at all.”

“It’s not a joke!” you assured. “I swear to you, Astarion. It’s not a joke,” you continued, squeezing one of his hands in yours. 

He nodded absently, his gaze trained on your thumb as it soothed over the knuckles of his fingers.

“H-how?” he whispered finally. “How can you cure it? I’ve read every tome I could get my hands on for over two hundred years. Nothing, nothing, I’ve read has ever offered a solution.”

“Because this is a highly guarded spell. It’s only passed down through oral tradition among wizards who specialize in conjuration magic. Which is why I’ve needed Gale’s help,” you explained. “I broached the topic with him some time ago, told him how we were going to look for some way to cure your vampirism. Being a master of magicks himself, I thought he would be a good source of information for me to begin my research. I wasn’t even aware of the spell until he shared it with me. He’s been teaching me the mechanics of it since then. It’s been a difficult spell to master but–” 

“What’s the cost?” Astarion interjected suddenly, meeting your gaze with a new intensity.

“It will cost you nothing, obviously,” you retorted, disliking where the conversation was heading. 

Astarion huffed through his nose. A caustic, frustrated sort of sound. “Don’t play cute with me, darling. You know what I mean.”

“No. I don’t,” you hedged.

“What will the spell cost you,” he bit out through a clenched jaw. 

You bit your lip, hesitant to reply. Astarion’s gaze never wavered. 

Finally you sighed. Better to reveal the consequences of it all than attempt to hide the downsides from him. Even though they were negligible in your eyes, compared to the wonder that would be returning his elfhood to him, you knew he would resent being told only partial truths. You couldn’t fault him for it. You would feel the same, were the roles reversed. 

“It will permanently weaken me. There’s a small, very small, chance it could kill me if I perform it wrong,” you confessed.

“No,” Astarion responded bluntly, without a hint of hesitation. He rose from the bench and made to leave the room. As if the matter had been settled and it was time to crack on. 

“Wait! What do you mean, ‘no’?” you blurted. Jumping to your feet, you snatched at the sleeve of his nightshirt. 

He turned to peer at you with a haughty gaze, one eyebrow arched delicately. “Exactly that. No. You’re not risking your life on the off chance of this working.”

“But it’s not an off chance. It will work! And the likelihood of me dying is incredibly slim!” you protested.

“But the likelihood of you being ‘permanently weakened’ is essentially certain, yes?” 

You rolled your eyes. “I’m sure it’s not as bad as it sounds. And besides, I don’t mind. I want to do this, Astarion.”

He scoffed. “Have you gone absolutely mad? ‘It’s not as bad as it sounds.’ Do you even know what will actually happen to you afterwards?” he shot back angrily.

“No,” you admitted, a bit quieter. 

He deliberately widened his eyes at your response, crossing his arms across his chest as if to say See? My point proven. 

“But I know I can handle it! And I love you enough to try!” you retorted.

That appeared to be the wrong choice of words. You realized it immediately as his expression morphed from outright anger to something darker, icier.

“Well then, it seems we’re at an impasse, darling,” he growled. “Because I love you enough not to have you go through with this.” 

You opened your mouth to object once more, but he continued, ignoring you. 

“AND, since it is my body and my life we’re discussing, it means I have the final say on the matter. My answer is no.”

You had anticipated this conversation going many different ways. You thought you had prepared for the most likely scenarios. But, in all your pondering, you hadn’t seriously considered the possibility that Astarion would reject this opportunity outright. 

Your eyes welled with tears. Hot, angry, disconsolate tears. 

“Astarion,” you murmured, desperate. Angry though you both were, you couldn’t resist the urge to curl into his embrace. Gently, you pulled at his arms in an attempt to un-cross them. With a soft sigh, he allowed you to manipulate him so that you were pressed chest to chest. Your arms banded around his waist, locking him against you. Slowly, he raised his arms to mimic your stance, peering down at you.  

“Astarion, my darling, this is your chance. It’s the only chance we’ve found in over two years of searching. I know I can do it. And you can win it all back. I can help you. Let me do this,” you pleaded. 

“Darling, how could I ever ‘win it all back’ when there’s a possibility I could lose you forever? Or that you could be seriously harmed in the process?” he lifted a hand to cup your cheek, smiling sadly. “I would never forgive myself if you were harmed in an attempt to cure me.”

You closed your eyes, tears slipping freely down your cheeks. “Please. I know I can do this. Please let me do this. I want to do this for you.”

“Come, pup, no more tears. I’ve given you my answer,” he murmured, swiping a thumb across your cheekbones to catch each tear.

You opened your eyes to glare at him. “If the roles were reversed, would you want to try this for me?”

“Of course,” Astarion huffed. “But that’s obviously different, I –”

“WHY? Why is it different?” you cried, clutching him. 

“Because you’re worth it!” he implored, arms vibrating as though he were resisting the urge to shake sense into you. “Your soul is worth a thousand of mine! It’s not marred by death and torture and sacrilege. Can’t you see that? Don’t you see?”

“No, I don’t,” you argued obstinately. “Because you are worth it to me. Your soul is priceless to me. I love you. You’re the love of my life.”

Astarion said nothing, just stared at you with sad eyes. You couldn’t tell if his silence meant you were persuading him, but you couldn’t relent without giving at least one more desperate plea. 

“I promised you. Remember? After everything that happened, I promised you we would find a way for you to walk in the sun once more. I didn’t make that promise lightly. I want to do this for you.”

“Darling…” he murmured sadly, shaking his head. 

“Astarion, please,” you beseeched, shifting to clutch his face between both of your palms. “I’m literally begging you to let me try. Gale and I have been practicing for almost a year now. He wouldn’t tell me I was ready unless he was certain. I know I can do this. Please. Let me try.”

“Don’t you have any regard for your own life?” he whispered. “How is it that I’m more concerned for your well being than you are?” 

“Darling, all of us have the slightest potential of dying every single day we continue to breathe. Anything poses some risk to our lives. I’m telling you, the risk of me dying from this is the same as the risk I take casting any other magic.”

“But there’s still a permanent cost to doing this. Have you even asked Gale to elaborate on what that entails?” 

“No,” you admitted a bit sheepishly. “I didn’t really think about it.” 

Astarion rolled his eyes but planted a kiss against your forehead. “You’re ridiculous, you know.”

“I’m sorry that I was so ecstatic about finding a cure that I leapt straight into studying it!” you said defensively, although your tone lacked teeth. 

He chuckled and wrapped you in a tighter embrace, resting his cheek on the top of your head. The two of you stood like that for some time, arms wrapped around each other, lost in thought. 

After a while, Astarion cleared his throat. “I want us to speak to Gale. I want to know the full details, the consequences of a spell like this.”

You jerked your head up in surprise, staring at him with wide, elated eyes. 

“I’m not saying yes,” he clarified, attempting to tamp down your burgeoning excitement. “But I’m willing to hear more about this… possibility.”

A delighted squeal rocketed up your throat. Quick as a flash, you jumped to wrap your legs around his waist. Long used to your ebullient antics, Astarion caught you with a practiced ease. His arms banded under your thighs and across your lower back, squeezing gently. 

“I love you, you daft, feral thing,” he chuckled, nuzzling your cheek. 

***

“I would have gone over this months ago, had you afforded me the opportunity,” Gale had groused upon arriving at the cottage the following evening. The three of you shared a bottle of barrel-aged Callidyren while Astarion peppered the wizard with umpteen questions about the spell’s mechanics. To his credit, Gale managed to assuage Astarion’s concerns. At least for the most part. 

The permanent effects of casting the spell, you both learned, would diminish your inner well of magic, rendering you unable to cast as many spells as you currently could before resting for a longer period of time. Almost as though the cost of performing the spell would revert you back to the strength you had had as an apprentice so many years ago. You would still be powerful, capable of wielding even the most intricate of spells. But your endurance would be shorter, more concentrated. It was a price you were more than willing to pay. Even more so now that you had actually allowed Gale to describe the effects in detail. 

“I still can’t believe you didn’t press for more details,” Astarion grumbled. 

“It didn’t seem important at the time,” you sniffed, waving a hand dismissively. “Still doesn’t, in my opinion.”

“You know, in some schools of thought,” Astarion countered dryly, “people believe the difference between bravery and complete idiocy is so fine a line that it frequently gets crossed.”

“So I’ve heard,” you crooned. “But, alas, I’m nothing if not an incredibly adept fool in love.” 

Gale observed the two of you warily, as if uncertain whether this exchange constituted harmless domestic banter or an undercurrent of severe agitation. 

“Yes, well,” he interrupted awkwardly, “as I said before, you’re as ready as you will ever be to perform this magic. I’ll be here to supervise and intervene, if necessary, though I don’t think it will be.”

“Bully for us. Is there anything else we should be prepared for, if we’re to go through with this?” Astarion snapped. “Sudden onset sliminess? Gills? Frothing at the mouth?”

You winced. He was always his most discourteous self when he was afraid. Gale might not realize it, but you knew him well enough to tell when his rudeness was obfuscation.   

“Ahem,” Gale coughed, clearly affronted by the impertinent question. “No, nothing of that sort. But this spell is incredibly demanding on one’s body. It’s very likely they’ll fall unconscious once it’s been cast. The effect shouldn’t last for more than a few hours. Enough time for a proper rest.”  

“You failed to mention that yesterday,” Astarion said peevishly, glaring at you from across the dining table. 

“Because it’s the equivalent to me needing a good sleep after a tiring day,” you quipped. 

Gale winced. “It’s a bit more serious than that, I’d argue.”

“Thank you,” Astarion intoned. 

“Tsk. An inconvenience at worst. Nothing unmanageable,” you retorted. “So, what say you, darling? Are you willing to give this a try?”

Astarion’s glare shifted between you and Gale, studying you both. 

“And you both swear to me that all information is now disclosed, yes? No partial truths, no hidden side effects?”

“I swear,” the two of you responded in unison. You reached for Astarion’s hand across the table. 

“My darling, this will work. I’m going to be fine. And you’re going to be cured,” you smiled gently. “Please, trust me.”

He squeezed your hand, crimson eyes boring into your own. 

Finally, after a moment, he gave you a terse nod.

“All right. Let’s try,” he agreed.

[ariaste]

My god, IWTV fandom has some of the worst comments-to-hits ratios on fics I've ever seen. I've got two chapters of this fic I posted, 1600 hits, and 52 comments. In other words, only 3% of readers left a comment, and that's with me being a DAMN good writer. I just looked up the most kudos'd fic in the whole fandom, and this poor fucking writer has ~27,000 hits, ~2700 kudos (10% kudos-to-hits is a normal and expected standard for a Good Fic) but 80 comments. 0.3% of readers left a comment. The second most-kudos'd fic is an outlier with 50 chapters, so we're setting that one aside, but number three has 15k hits and 112 comments, which is 0.7%. wtf wtf wtf. My 3% is considered doing really well? WTF WTF WTF.

(For a control group so that we all have a sense of perspective, let's compare this to my most recent fic in the Nine Worlds fandom, which has ~2800 hits and 237 comments (8.5%), or one of my most popular fics in the Untamed fandom, which has ~63,000 hits and 1082 comments (just shy of 7%).)

Now here's the thing. I'm confident enough in my abilities as a writer to brush this off and go about my day, but not everyone is. A LOT of people out there are writing fics because they want to connect with other fans and share something they love, so posting a fic and getting near-total radio silence can feel really disheartening. If you liked the fic enough to leave kudos, take two extra seconds to comment. It doesn't have to be complicated or long! Even just "Loved this, so fun!" or "Kudos!" or "Thanks for sharing!" is GREAT.

Commenting on fics is part of a healthy fandom ecosystem. Fic authors who get a lot of positive comments are very often encouraged and energized to write more of that thing you like. You are directly contributing to your own happiness by commenting.

And listen, I hear people worrying that it's going to be annoying or bad if they leave impersonal "bland" comments, so let me preempt that: No, it is not annoying. I once had someone leave the same boilerplate comment ("Thanks for writing, I really liked this" or something along those lines) on every chapter of a fic that she binged in one sitting so I saw them all in a row. My reaction was, "Oh yay, I'm so glad she liked it <3 And how kind of her to comment on every chapter!!!"

We have a GREAT show -- IWTV fans Never Stop Winning, right? ...Except when it comes to fic comments. So just consider being the change you wish to see in the world, ok? Two extra seconds of your day to feed and water your local fic authors and to carry that "we never stop winning" and "oh we are SO back" energy through the hiatus until s3. <3

[joelmillerisapunk]

Beach Daddy IV. Got Me Feeling Vertigo

Rich bfd!Joel Miller x f!reader

Series Masterlist • Masterlist

Wordcount: 11,847

Summary: The weight of your secrets and the impending danger from Todd threaten to tear you apart. Will you find the courage to confess your feelings to Joel, or will you let fear and deceit ruin your chance at love?

Warnings: 18+, this ones just back on its drama - boo Todd 👿 yay Joel 😘, tis fluffy, we meet Marnie (Sarah's mom), more on Blaine. Just Joel being the hard-headed but southern gentleman he is.

Notes: hiiiii! I hope you enjoy! Happy May 💐 Comments and reblogs and thoughts are always appreciated ilysm for reading these mammoth chapters and sticking it out. Ty @saradika-graphics for the divider

“Get your ass to bed before I throw you off my ship."

You fumble for the doorknob at your back, and the door swings open behind you, almost causing you to trip backward inside. Joel follows you into the room a few seconds later, leaving Todd out in the hall. You think it's probably for the best because Joel looks like he really might throw Todd over the side of the ship.

Joel locks the door behind him. You make your way to the bed and sit down, trying to catch your breath. You feel safer with Joel here. He comes over to you and places his hands on each side of your face looking into your eyes. Worry swims in his, and you nearly pull his mouth to yours.

“Did he hurt you? You have to tell me if he hurt you."

“I'm fine, really. I'm just a little shaken up, but I’ll be okay."

He continues to hold your face in his hands as if he's inspecting it to reassure himself that you're not hurt. You have to keep your eyes focused on him so they don't drift down to his perfect lips. Joel leans in closer, and you close your eyes, waiting - 

Cool air hits your cheeks, replacing the warmth where Joel's hands had been. Your eyes burst open, and Joel's back is to you as he makes his way to the sofa. Heat burns through your entire body, and you wish Joel  hadn't pulled away. 

“I need you to tell me the truth."

“What do you mean?" You ask, still breathless.

“I saw your face when that piece of cheesecake with the engagement ring was set in front of you. You weren't surprised; you looked almost heartbroken. Then at dinner tonight, Todd said something that made it sound like he’s known you for a lot longer than just this week. Then, I came up here to check on you, and he has you cornered."

“Joel, he was just drunk. I don't think he knew what he was doing," you say, looking down at your feet.

“Is he the reason you wanted to leave?" Joel asks bluntly. You can't  understand his anger. Is it possible that he's jealous of Todd?

“Not him specifically," you say, quickly bending the truth. “A lot of the group makes me feel like I don't belong. I don't come from money like the rest of them, and it's very obvious to me that I don't fit in with them."

In all actuality, you do feel like the odd one out a lot of the time. You imagine it feels similar to following an older sibling and their friends around. No one really wants you to come, but they put up with you so they won't get in trouble. It is, however, still a lie about the reason you wanted to leave.

Joel looks at you with a hint of sympathy in his eyes. “I didn't know you felt that way."

“I don't feel that way when I'm with you. Sometimes it feels like you’re the only one who wants me on this ship." You make your way across the room to sit on the sofa opposite him.

“I do want you here," Joel says softly.

You think back to the maid, Charlotte, talking about how Marnie had run off all of the women that ever got serious with Joel. You realise that he isn’t the playboy Sarah always makes him out to be. It isn't his intention that none of the women he's ever dated have not stayed around for long.

“I came up here to make sure you were feeling alright."

“I’m feeling a lot better," you say, feeling guilty about getting out of dinner with an excuse of being seasick. It felt like the best option, though, since you were apparently a topic of conversation at dinner. You wonder what Todd said about you to Joel but know it's best not to ask, or he’ll start asking questions you don't want to answer.

“Did you get anything to eat?"

“No, I didn't want to bug anyone."

You think back to the few handfuls of popcorn you ate while playing cards. You could definitely use something more substantial. Joel stands and walks to the intercom on the wall of your room.

“Can you please send some dinner up and a whiskey for me?"

—

“Is there anything else I can get you, sir?" Brenna says as she sets down the tray on the coffee table between Joel and you. She turns and winks at you, and you try your best to hide a smile.

“No, that's everything. Thank you, Brenna; I know it's late."

“I was up anyway, sir, and the night chef was in the kitchen making preparations for tomorrow, so it was really no trouble." Brenna turns and walks out the door, clicking it closed behind her. 

“I like that you call all of your staff by name," you say, impressed that he cares so much about his staff despite his wealth.

“One of the few valuable things I learned from my father was to respect the people who work for you. Without them, I wouldn't be able to do the work that I do or enjoy my limited free time. My father always made it a point to call each employee by their name. In that way alone, I followed in his footsteps."

Joel takes the cover off of your plate for you. It's a bowl of chicken pesto pasta and a side of garlic bread. The smell of the garlic hits your nose instantly, and you can feel your stomach urging you to grab the plate.

“Your father sounds like he was a very harsh man?" You ask, hoping you're not overstepping. You grab the bowl of pasta off the tray and take a bite. The cheese melts in your mouth perfectly, complemented by the pesto.

“He was very harsh, and strict. He had high expectations for me, and he made it known when I disappointed him."

“That must have been hard."

“It was, but it made me who I am today. I don't take the wealth, or the work it takes to maintain it, for granted. But I do try to be a kinder man than he was."

You stay quiet and work on the rest of your pasta, slowly savoring each bite. You know Joel will probably leave as soon as you're done, so you take your time.

“I forgot to tell you I got in contact with a law firm I've worked with in the past. They would like to bring you in for an interview for a secretary position."

You nearly drop your fork. “Are you serious?"

Joel smiles at your response. He nods  and takes a swig from his whiskey glass. “I'll get you their information. They're ready to bring you in as soon as you get settled."

“I can't thank you enough, Joel. You don't understand how life-changing this is for me," you say, setting down the bowl of pasta on the table. You wish you could stand up and hug him.

“I'm just glad you decided to stay. You are the only one making this trip bearable," Joel says, meeting your eyes. The look in his eyes makes your heart flutter.

A loud vibration against the leather of the sofa breaks the moment, and Joel pulls out his phone. His face falls as soon as he reads the notification on his home screen. “I’m so sorry but I have something I have to deal with. I'm glad to see that you’re feeling better, darlin. If you need anything, let me know."

You stand. “Thank you for everything, Joel, truly everything."

He smiles and quickly makes his way to the door without looking back and closes the door behind him. The room suddenly feels empty with Joel gone. You slump back onto the leather sofa and grab the garlic bread off the plate, dipping it in the remaining pesto at the bottom of your bowl. 

Your phone screen illuminates the dark corner where your bed sits, so you hesitantly get up to check your notifications. At the top are a few messages in the group text between your friends, and just below that is a friend request from Joel. You smile to yourself and accept it, then open your group chat.

Lin: What amazing thing did you get to do today? I am bored of packing for the move. I need to live vicariously through you.

Aubrey: Lin, keep packing you only have a few more weeks. 

Lin: Don't sound too sad to have us go, lol!

Aubrey: You know I am going to miss you two like crazy, but I know you will panic pack at the last minute and forget half your underwear drawer. I am not shipping your panties to you, Lin!

Lin: You know me too well, Aubs.

You: I love that every time I check my phone, I have messages like these! Nothing exciting today. We have been at sea all day on our way to Sarah's dad's mansion in the Bahamas. I went down to the employee's quarters and played cards and got a lot of dirt on Sarah’s mom.

Lin: Okay, I'm going to need pictures of this Bahama's Mansion and details on her mom!

You: Sarah's mom left her dad for another man because she thought it would help her climb the social ladder. Turned out he wasn't as rich or well off socially as she thought, and when he died, she did a paternity test, and here we are.

You: We are going to her dad's mansion for Sarah and Todd's engagement party…

Lin: It sounds like Sarah is the spitting image of her mother.

Aubrey: Not only did you have to witness their engagement, but now you have to go to their engagement party too?

Lin: I swear, you have the absolute worst luck on the planet.

You: You don't even know the half of my bad luck on this trip.

Lin: What do you mean? What else has happened?

You: Well, I don't really fit in with the rest of the group.

Aubrey: But I thought you said you were making other friends? Joel right?

You: I am.

Lin: So, what do you mean by bad luck?

You: Joel is Sarah's dad.

Aubrey: Why is that a problem? I have a lot of friends in my classes who are like double my age.

You: It's a problem because I'm falling for him. Absolutely head over heels falling for him.

—

Once in the hall, Joel opens the text message that interrupted his conversations with you

Lucille: Do you know someone named Blaine?

That simple sentence makes his stomach drop. He was now contacting family members. Joel makes his way back to the privacy of his office for the second time in the same night. He closes the door behind him before dialing his cousin Lucille's number.

“Joel, I am so glad you called me. I just had the strangest conversation with someone named Blaine. I was just getting out of the bath when I got a call from an unknown number. Now, usually I don't answer the phone if I don't know the number, but I gave my information to this adorable man at the coffee shop earlier today, so I figured it was him."

“Lucille, this is important; I need you to tell me exactly what Blaine said to you." He has to keep Lucille focused on the topic, she's always been a talker, but at this moment, he can't politely listen to all of her stories in their excruciating detail.

“Oh, right, the call from Blaine! He told me I needed to meet his demands or else."

“What were his demands?"

“He wants me to send half a million dollars in a box to an address in New Jersey. I'm sure it's just one of those scam callers that has nothing better to do with their life."

“Lucille, if you thought it was a scam, then why did you ask me if I knew him?"

“Well, that's what I found so strange. He knew all about our family tree and how we are related. I just thought it was a little more information than scammers normally have. However, who knows? With the Internet, I'm sure people can find out all kinds of information about our family. We aren't exactly flying under the radar - Oh! Did you see that latest news article in the paper? Apparently, you are about to agree to an arranged marriage to the Princess of Thailand."

“Lucille, I'm afraid this isn't a scam. But the arranged marriage definitely isn't true. Have you left your house since you got this call?"

“No, why? Joel, you're making me nervous."

“Okay, don't leave your house. I'm sending some of my security team over there now. Do not open the door for anyone else."

“What should I do about Blaine's demands?"

“Just ignore it."

“Joel, who is it we’re dealing with?" Lucille asks. She’s clearly nervous now.

“You don't have to deal with anyone, Lucille, I promise. I will take care of everything. Don't answer any unknown numbers, and do not go anywhere without one of my men with you. I will get this figured out."

“Okay, Joel. Just be careful."

“I will be. Call me if you need anything."

He hangs up the phone and slams his palm against his desk, even though he wants to punch something instead. He allows himself a few seconds of anger before picking up his phone again and calling his head of security.

“Hello?" a burly voice sounds on the other end of the phone call.

“Bruce, I need you to send two men over to my cousin Lucille's home in the West Village. Her address should be listed in her file."

“Of course, sir. Has there been an incident?"

“A man named Blaine Blake. He’s blackmailing Lucille at the moment. I’m not sure what he’s capable of, but he is a threat to the entire family. I need your best men on this."

“Two men are already on their way to your cousin's, sir. Do I need to send a team to you?"

He knew he hired Bruce for a reason. He’s extremely efficient and always one step ahead of everyone else. He’s exactly who he needs to help him take care of Blaine.

“No need quite yet, but I'll keep you posted. Oh, and Bruce?"

“Yes, sir?"

“Keep your ear to the ground, and let me know anything you find out about this Blaine Blake. Any information that you find needs to be kept under wraps."

“On it, sir. Everything will be done with the utmost secrecy."

“Thank you, Bruce. Have a good evening."

Joel hangs up the phone and sets it on his large oak desk. Unconsciously, he's been pacing around his office while on the phone. He slumps himself down into his leather armchair and swivels it around so he can watch the ocean. It's so dark, it's hard to differentiate the water from the sky.

He should have known he would hear from Blaine eventually. He first found out about his existence after his parents' death when he was seventeen. His father's will had very bluntly stated that Blaine was to receive nothing. Joel had no idea that he had a half-brother out there in the world until after his dad was gone and couldn't explain the situation for himself. Joel was left spending the rest of his early adult life piecing the clues together. His parents' constant fighting and lack of affection for each other made complete sense as soon as he knew that his father's infidelity was likely the cause. He ripped apart his father's office, trying to find any clues about his hidden life. The only thing he found was a check register, showing he had paid a woman named Anne Blake - one hundred thousand dollars. He had no illusions about his father, he knew exactly what he'd done. 

His father kept detailed records of every dime he ever spent; the lack of information on the check register told him everything he needed. The hundred thousand dollars was hush money, and the woman, Anne Blake, had to be his father's mistress. He searched for years to find Anne Blake, but her name was so common, it was impossible to narrow down his search enough to find the right woman. He had no other information to go off of, and was left with a million unanswered questions. It wasn't until he found out he was Sarah's father that he had a hope of finding his brother. Sarah had taken a DNA test that linked her to other Miller's who had their DNA in the same database. Joel took the same DNA test and waited for a notification that he had a sibling match in the database. Last year, that notification finally came, but after some digging into his brother Blaine Blake's history, he wished he'd never known about him. More importantly, he wished he didn't know at all. Blaine's criminal record was far from clean, with multiple charges of petty theft and blackmail. It wasn't long after that, that the threats started coming in. At first, it was easy to shake the threats off, and Joel simply ignored all of them. In the last month, Blaine must have gotten desperate because his attempts at blackmail were getting increasingly threatening.

So far, he even avoided telling his security team about the threats, but now he's threatening Joel's family. He knows Bruce will get to the bottom of the problem, but he'll likely find out about all of his family's dirty laundry in the process.

Joel runs his hands up his face and through his hair. Leaning back, he stares at the ceiling. He knows he’ll never be able to sleep after the events of the last few hours, so he turns back around to his desk and opens his laptop. Might as well get some work done if he's going to be up anyway.

A notification greets him as the screen flashes to life. You accepted his friend request. At that, he can't help but smile, just a little. There's something about you that makes it impossible for Joel to get you out of his head. He's immediately distracted by the memory of you riding on the back of the jet ski to find the dolphins. Thinking of that day, he can almost feel your body pressed against his back and how your face lit up when the dolphins swam into the cove. That night when you walked out of the salon in the dress he mentioned would look good on you; you nearly knocked him senseless. You felt beautiful and he could see it on your face.

He realises sitting there alone in his office, he would give anything to make you feel that way all the time. There's no point in denying it any further, he's falling for you. If you were anyone other than Sarah's friend, he'd pursue you without a second thought. But, the last thing he needs is to complicate his relationship with his daughter even more. It doesn't help that his daughter is so clueless as to be cruel to the one person she invites that could actually help her grow into a decent person.

The screen of his phone alerts him to another incoming text message.

Marnie: I need a plane ticket to the Bahamas. It was bad enough that I had to hear about my daughter's engagement over the phone. I refuse to miss her engagement party too. So we will also need to push the party back so I can be there.

A few seconds later, another message follows the first.

Marnie: Also, we need to start discussing the wedding plans. Sarah's wedding needs to be absolutely perfect. We can talk about the details later. Send the flight information as soon as possible.

Joel opens the drawer of his desk and slides his phone inside. He is not in the mood to deal with Marnie and her demands. He knows deep down that Sarah is becoming more and more like her mother each and every day. A part of him is excited about Sarah's wedding for the simple fact that she’ll be another man's problem. He immediately feels bad for thinking that of his own daughter, but it seems she only cares about his money. Thinking about Sarah's upcoming wedding brings a new wave of memories rushing in. Embarrassment floods his veins as he thinks about the conversation he had with his daughter over dinner. She said that you didn't fit the aesthetic of her wedding, so she wouldn't ask you to be a bridesmaid. He couldn't understand that. But if Sarah won't have you at the wedding as a bridesmaid, maybe he'll just bring you as his date.

—

The last thing you want to do is run into Todd, especially after his actions the night before; you think it would be wise to avoid him completely. Book in hand, you head to the secret deck off of the dining room balcony, where you had shared a few quiet moments with Joel. You figure it would be the best place for you to hide out and also possibly run into Joel again. He left in such a rush the night before, you’re curious to find out what happened. You check down the hallway before speed walking to the dining room. As soon as your hand hits the doorknob, Sarah's voice sounds behind you.

"I have been looking for you everywhere!"

You turn around quickly, and you’re relieved to see that Sarah is alone. She’s wearing a one-piece swimming suit in navy blue with the bust line cutting down to her belly button. She has a white sun hat and a pair of Chanel sunglasses to complete her beachwear.

"Sarah," you say with a smile.

"Come with me down to the beach. I am so bored, and I can't stand being on this boat for another second," she says with an overly dramatic sigh.

"I thought we were heading to your dad's place and wouldn't get there until tonight." You turn and look out the dining room windows. You’re surprised you hadn't noticed earlier that you aren't moving.

"Daddy said we had to stop to refuel. He is also giving some of the crew their half-day break so they can go on land and contact family or something stupid like that," Sarah says with a roll of her eyes.

"Oh," you say, slightly irritated at Sarah's insensitivity. "Well, a half-day isn't that bad."

"It is when you have an engagement party to plan. Plus, daddy told me that my mom is flying out for the party. She is going to be waiting at the house while we sit here all day."

The thought of meeting Marnie makes you slightly nervous. Maybe because you’re worried she’ll be able to tell you have feelings for Joel. You can't let Sarah catch you in a daydream about her dad, so you shift the conversation as quickly as possible.

"Where is everyone else?"

"Everyone has a hangover. Todd started a drinking game last night, and everyone had a little too much."

Well, that makes a lot of the previous night make more sense. Todd is never one to handle his alcohol very well, and he’s even worse at games. You’re curious as to just how many drinks made Todd forget himself the way he did last night. He was not waiting long into the engagement to show his true colors.

"How are you not hung over?" you ask, looking her up and down. She doesn't look like she was drinking the night before at all. As always, she looks absolutely flawless.

"The bartenders know to give me water instead of an actual shot. I hate the way I get bags under my eyes when I drink too much. It’ss much better to stay hydrated than look hungover."

"Right. Well, I was just going to go find somewhere quiet to read, but reading on the beach sounds a lot more fun."

"Great! I can wait for you to go get ready," Sarah says, looking at your outfit.

"I am ready, Sarah."

"Oh, you look…cute. Anyway, let's go!"

You follow Sarah out on the dock and quickly realize it will not be a simple morning on the beach.

A few members of staff have set up a large tan beach canopy surrounded by white gauzy curtains. In the center is a pair of chaise lounge chairs made of rattan and topped with matching white cushions. It looks like a photoshoot.

"Do you think you could take a few pictures of me? I haven't posted anything in a few days, and my followers are getting antsy."

The true purpose of Sarah inviting you to spend time with her this morning becomes very obvious. She needs a photographer, not a friend.

"Sure, I can take a few. I really want to read this book, though, so if we could be fast…"

"Oh, that is an awesome idea!"

Sarah grabs the book out of your hand and flips it from the front cover to the back. You must look confused because she quickly explains.

"We could take a few shots of me reading on the beach. I haven't done that before. Is this one of those books that will make me look smart?"

"Yeah, I guess we could. It's just a romance novel, I don't know if your followers will think it makes you smart, but it might make you a little more relatable to some people."

"Smart people read. You, of all people, should know that. Maybe I’ll stop getting all those mean comments about being stupid. I can caption it 'steamy reading on the beach.'" 

Sarah takes her place on the lounge in a very photogenic pose that makes her look graceful while still artfully showing off her cleavage. She opens the book and drapes it over herself, careful not to block her best assets. After a few pictures, she will check your work and find the smallest thing she doesn't like and will make you take more.

"Make sure you get the lighting just right and hold the camera up higher for a better angle. Oh, and make sure to get a good view of the ring. I'm hoping someone will notice it, and then my comment section will blow up."

"Don't you want to wait until the actual announcement?" you ask.

"Oh, no! I am going to pretend like it is a mistake that I posted a picture with the ring on; that way, it will attract more attention."

"It's always about the attention with you," you say under your breath.

"What was that?"

"Tilt your head up higher, so you don't have a double chin."

Sarah gasps and asks to see the pictures you had taken, so she can search for the nonexistent double chin. You feel bad as soon as you say it, you don't need to stoop to her level. After finding out so much about Sarah's past, you understand why she can be so hard to be around at times. If you had found out your father wasn't really your father after he passed away, you would have been devastated too.

"I think it was just a shadow, Sarah you don't have a double chin in any of these pictures. I don't think it is even possible for you to have a double chin," you say, trying to make up for your moment of weakness.

"Of course, you're right," Sarah says as she hands her phone back to you. Apparently, you aren't done taking pictures.

"Maybe we could get a few shots of me in the sand. Those always get a ton of likes."

Sarah begins to position herself on her stomach in the sand with the book open in front of her. She bends her knees, so her legs are in the air, and she bites the end of her sunglasses while she pretends to read. The pictures look like they belong on the cover of a magazine. Sarah looks so natural, even though she's strategically posing herself.

“Sarah, do you ever get tired of this?"

“Of taking pictures? No, not really."

“Not just of the pictures, but of constantly worrying about what others are thinking of you."

“That is why I take so many pictures; if you put your best picture out there, the only ones who comment mean things are the people who are jealous."

“It just seems like so much work to paint yourself as perfect all the time. I guess that's why I stopped using social media so long ago for the most part."

“For once, things actually are perfect. I have the perfect fiance, and soon I'll have the perfect wedding too. If you ever want to get back onto social media, I could help you.”

 "I'm good for now, but thanks," you say, resuming taking pictures. You realize that Sarah likely doesn't know about your past relationship with Todd because you never posted anything about it on social media. If you don't tell her, she likely wouldn't ever know, and you don't want to be the one to break that news to her. So you keep your mouth shut and keep taking every picture Sarah asks for.

"I think I should have something I can work with from these. Thanks, for helping me out. It was so much fun to spend some time with you," Sarah says, making her way back to the ship without looking back.

It isn't exactly your idea of fun to take pictures all afternoon, but you are finally alone, and you can enjoy your book. You take Sarah's chaise lounge under the shade of the canopy. Even with the breeze gently fluttering the sheer curtains hanging off the canopy, you are still dripping sweat. You had to stand directly in the sun to get all of the shots until your wet tank top clung to your body.

You check the beach to make sure it’s empty before slipping your shirt off and setting it next to you on the empty lounge chair. You feel so much cooler as the breeze snakes through the gaps of your lacy bralette. You open your book and are so thankful for the silence. You get sucked into the story on the pages, so much so that you don’t hear the voices approaching until they are only a few feet from you.

"Can you call and make sure the interest rate we discussed earlier is set in stone?"

"Of course, sir."

You don't have time to slip back into your shirt, so you press the open book to your chest, taking advantage of the little coverage it offers you. You look up to find Joel and Reggie staring at you. Reggie quickly averts his eyes. Joel stares openly at your body, and when his eyes meet yours, you know he wants you as much as you want him.

Reggie apologizes, "We didn't realize you were out here. We will give you some privacy." He keeps his head down and shuffles through the sand back to the dock.

"We aren't leaving for a few more hours." Joel holds your gaze as tightly as you’re holding the open book to your chest. "Take your time and enjoy yourself. I'll make sure no one comes down and bothers you if you'd like to resume reading," Joel offers. He winks at you and then follows Reggie back to the dock.

You watch Joel as he walks away, his neatly pressed linen button-up fluttering gently in the breeze. Once he and Reggie are at a safe distance, you grab your shirt off of the lounge chair next to you and slip it over your head. You let yourself fall backward on the plush cushions and close your eyes, imagining Joel undressing you the way he had done with his eyes when he realized you were wearing nothing but your bralette.

A wave of heat rushes through you at the thought until you remember where you are. You sit up so quickly that you make your head spin. After waiting a few seconds to regain your balance, you place your book under your arm, and with your head down, you race back to your room. As soon as your door clicks closed behind you, you head for the shower, throwing your clothes to the floor on your way there. You stand for a long time under the cool water. Eventually, you feel the embarrassment wash down the drain. It takes even longer for the heat Joel made you feel to wash away.

Wrapping yourself in a towel, you make your way out of the bathroom. You would love to sit on the balcony and let the breeze help extinguish what you’re feeling, but you figure you've already taken too much risk for one day. Instinctively, you grab your phone off of the bed to text your friends an update.

You: If I could die of embarrassment, you two would be making funeral arrangements as we speak.

Lin: Oooo, is there some daddy drama we need to know about?

You: Unfortunately, yes. I was just lying on the beach in my bralette, and I had no idea Joel was walking by until it was too late.

Aubrey: I'm sure he didn't mind. If it is that one you bought on our last shopping trip, I know he didn't mind!

Lin: So what did you do? Let him stand there in awe?

You: So not funny, you two! I covered myself with the book I was reading… but we definitely shared a moment.

Lin: Sounds steamier than those romance novels you read!

You: I think I am in way over my head. What do I do? We are staying at his house in the Bahamas for the next few days. We should get there later tonight.

Lin: Let it happen!

Aubrey: Just see where it goes, but if you want to leave, I will find you a plane out of there.

You: It might not be a bad idea to get that flight information. Would you mind Aubrey?

Aubrey: Of course, I will send you the details; that way, you have them if you need them.

You: Thank you. I will keep you both updated!

You close your phone and sigh. You don't want to leave, but it might be for the best, so you don't do something stupid. The thought of leaving this vacation is a weighted decision. If you don't see Todd again for the rest of your life, you'll be overjoyed. However, the thought of possibly never seeing Joel again, of never finding out if you could be more, is painful to think about. Your head is spinning over what the best decision is. So, instead of making any big decisions, you get yourself dressed, fully expecting another quiet day at sea. Exhausted from the heat of the morning and Sarah's impromptu photo shoot, you throw yourself on the bed and close your eyes for what feels like a few minutes.

A light knocking on your door wakes you up, and your eyes take a moment to adjust to the lighting in the room. A quick look out your balcony window, and you know you've slept way longer than you had intended. The golden glow of sunset is streaming through the windows, dusting everything in a light pink hue.

"Brenna! Hey, what's going on?" you ask as you open the door, happy to see a familiar face.

"I was sent up to help you with your luggage. We should be arriving at the Miller's vacation home in about an hour," Brenna explains.

"Oh, wow. I slept a lot longer than I meant to," you say and hold the door open for Brenna to enter your room. You try to rub the sleep from your eyes as she walks into your room.

"No worries, the only thing you missed was the 'Richies' showing off in the pool all day," Brenna reports.

"Then it sounds like I made the right decision. How were they showing off?" you ask.

"Oh, you know the usual 'I'm so annoyed my parents bought me the wrong color convertible,' 'I can't believe he really thought that I drank anything but sparkling water,' 'the sheets in my room are so uncomfortable–the ones on my dad's yacht are Egyptian cotton.'"

You laugh and shake your head. Brenna does a great impression of the things you have heard from different members of the group all week. You head to the closet, Brenna right behind you. "I don't think it will actually take me an hour to get everything packed up. Most of my stuff can just be thrown back in my suitcase, and my new clothes are all still in the garment bags," you say.

"It must be my lucky day. I was in that girl Megan's room earlier, and it looked like she tried on an entire store's worth of clothes and threw them on the floor when they weren't what she was looking for. I feel horrible for whoever got assigned to her room," Brenna comments.

"I would pity anyone who had to work for Megan. I avoid her at all costs. When she glares at you, it feels like you're going to start burning right on the spot," you say.

"I know, right? She's the worst of all of Sarah's friends, but her dad owns some luxury watch company, so she has been a regular on the guest lists for a long time," Brenna explains.

"Brenna, what is the vacation house like?" you ask.

"It's more than someone like you or me could ever believe one person could afford," Brenna replies.

—

As the yacht pulls up to the private dock of the Miller's Bahama vacation home, the size of the mansion is on full display. The white colonial-style mansion is three stories tall, with cantilever balconies off of the second floor. An illuminated infinity pool rests at the top of the white sanded private beach. A small runway off to the side of the property ends at a white stone gazebo that juts out into the ocean. Full palm trees edge the beach, making it feel secluded from the rest of the island. Music plays from the large deck, and shadows of people dot the beach and poolside.

Sarah rushes down to the dock, where a group of very rich women wait for you. Sarah squeals and thrusts her hand forward to show off her engagement ring. This is followed by echoed squeals from the group. You hesitate as your feet hit the dock, not wanting to get in the middle of the model-like women.

"Oh, sweetie, the maid's entrance is around to the side," one of the women says.

You stop in your tracks, not knowing how to respond to the assumption. You feel a warm palm on your lower back push you gently forward past the woman. Joel.

He leans down close to your ear and whispers, "Don't let them intimidate you. You're twice the woman any of them could ever be." His breath tickles your neck, and goosebumps prickle the skin down your arms. You look up at him and give him a weak smile. "Let me show you where you’ll be staying," he says quietly as he lets the corner of his mouth brush your earlobe.

"Thank you," you nearly moan.

Joel keeps his hand on your lower back as you walk to the mansion. He leads you through the back doors and into a living room with a giant chandelier hanging in the middle of the room. Two fish tanks containing every color of tropical fish rest on either side of the large staircase you take to the second floor.

"This is one of my favorite rooms in the entire house," Joel says. He leads you into an elegant bedroom with white double doors exiting onto one of the balconies you had seen from the yacht. Palm fronds are a recurring theme in the decorations throughout the room in a pale green color.

"It's so beautiful; I wouldn't dare touch anything," you say.

"Nonsense. Make yourself comfortable. It's one of three master bedrooms, so you have your own ensuite just through that door there," Joel says, gesturing to an open door on the other side of the room.

"I don't know if I belong in one of the master suites. I would really be okay with one of the smaller rooms," you say.

"This is where you belong. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.”

— 

Waking up in the enormous master suite, you find yourself bathed in the soft glow of morning coming through the windows. The tranquillity is broken by screams of irritation from the floor below. 

Wrapping the robe Joel had given you around yourself, you open the door to your room and hurry down the stairs to see what's going on. "You have got to be kidding me! This is completely unacceptable!" A woman with hair matching Sarah's is yelling at Max, the staff member you'd played cards with on the yacht.

"Ma'am, I don't know what to tell you. Mr. Miller has already assigned the rooms; I cannot go against his direct orders. There is already another guest staying in that room, and I am sure Mr. Miller would not approve of me kicking them out of the room," Max replies, clearly exasperated.

"We will see about that. You will be lucky if you still have a job by the time I'm through with you," the woman retorts and spots you on the stairs. Her face is devoid of emotion, probably from the excessive and very obvious botox treatments. "Come to enjoy the show, did we?" she asks, but you can't tell if she's trying to glare at you or not. You turn around, deciding it's best not to get involved. 

A few hours later, you dare to leave your room again but are met with more yelling coming from the lower floor. Your empty stomach protests the idea of going back through there, so you hope you can make it to the kitchen without anyone seeing you.

"So you are the one that took my room," Marnie says immediately, and you know it's her.

You turn to find not only Marnie but Sarah, Todd, and Megan too. Megan has a small smirk on her mouth that she tries and fails to hide.

"What are you talking about?" you ask, pretending you have no idea what she means.

"I just found out that one of the master bedrooms went to you. I am stuck on the bottom floor in one of the guest rooms like some commoner," Marnie complains.

"I don't see the problem. I was told which room had been assigned to me. I didn't ask for it."

"Oh, you must be the poor one. It makes sense why you can't understand something so simple," Marnie says with a pointed look at your simple clothes.

Megan laughs at Marnie's comment, and Sarah playfully slaps her arm to get her to stop. You can't bring yourself to look at Todd's face, but you figure he's getting a laugh out of this interaction as well.

"Do you know who I am?" Marnie asks.

You internally cringe. You've always hated customers who tried the 'do you know who I am' card at the bar. "I'm guessing that you’re Sarah's mother," you say as calmly as you can.

"Exactly. So you need to pack up your things and get out of my room."

"I'm not moving my stuff. I was assigned that room, and I'm going to stay in it."

Marnie starts stammering an explanation, but Joel walks into the room without her noticing. Relief floods your entire body, knowing Joel is here. He has an angry burning look in his eyes that makes Marnie nervous.

"This whole thing was just a misunderstanding. I just figured, with our history, I would have one of the bigger rooms. I just remembered, though, that I love the view of the ocean from the room I'm in, that’s  probably why you picked it for me," Marnie explains.

Joel doesn't say anything in response, and Marnie tries her best to make an escape. Sarah and Todd follow Marnie out of the kitchen, and you feel heat on your lower back. Joel has placed his hand there and leans close to you.

"Are you okay?" he asks quietly.

You nod and step away from him, grabbing an apple out of the fruit bowl on the counter.

—

The rest of the morning is spent carefully avoiding Marnie, but it seems like everywhere you go, Todd shows up a few minutes later. He's always talking very loudly about what needs to be done before the engagement party. Not wanting to talk to him, you give up and go back to your room. You go out to the balcony and lean over the railing to watch the ocean. A few men are surfing, and you can make out Joel sitting on his surfboard bobbing in the water.

"Baby cakes?"

You look over to see Todd leaning over the railing of the adjacent balcony, straining to see you on yours. You shake your head at him.

"Please, I just need to talk to you."

"You have nothing to say that I would be interested in hearing," you say and go back into your room, shutting the door behind you a little more forcefully than you intended. Your heart is pounding, and you know you need to get control of your anger, but you can't do that knowing Todd is in the next room over. So you grab your book and a beach towel out of the bathroom before heading down to the beach. You walk through the living area of the mansion and nearly run into two giant ice sculptures as they are being brought through to the kitchen.

"Oh, careful!" Sarah says, rushing over to inspect the ice sculpture. You quickly step back to avoid a life-size rendition of Sarah and Todd embracing.

"Oh wow…" is the only thing you can say, looking at the ice sculpture.

"I know, right? It is absolutely perfect," Sarah beams.

"It sure is something."

"Mom commissioned it as soon as she found out about the engagement party."

"Well, I want the best for my little girl," Marnie's voice flows down the stairs as she makes her way toward you with Todd on her arm.

"It really is the perfect embodiment of us both," Todd says with a smile in your direction.

"It matches your heart, Todd. Ice cold," you mutter under your breath.

You make a hasty exit out the back door and nearly run towards the beach, needing to get away from both versions of Todd.

You spread your towel out in the sand and lounge on the ground, hoping to continue the book you had been trying to read the day before. Sarah's demanding voice carries all the way down to the private beach.

You need a better distraction. You throw your head back and look up at the bright blue sky. You don't think you can make it through this engagement party. Your phone vibrates with a text message from Aubrey, containing flight information for a flight leaving the next day. It would cost the rest of your savings, but maybe it would be for the best if you left.

"Every time I've seen you lately, you've had that book with you, but you never seem to be reading it."

You sit up to find Joel standing in front of you, shirtless, soaking wet, and holding a surfboard. Beads of water are sliding down his naked torso, and you can't help but watch them caress his skin, slowly sneaking lower. You look back up at Joel's teasing smile.

"Do you need a towel? You're dripping on me," you say with a playful smile.

"Would you share yours? Unless you'd like to join me for one more wave."

"I have never been surfing," you admit.

"I would be happy to teach you, as long as you don't send us both flying into the water again," Joel says with a wink and a charming smile.

“I can't make any promises about that," you say with a laugh.

“Then it might be best for you to stay on dry land. The engagement party is supposed to start in a few hours."

You sigh quietly and look down at your toes; you buried them under the sand. You pull them out and brush off the sand.

“Well then, I'm going to head back up to shower and get ready." Joel offers you his hand and helps you off the ground.

“I'll see you there." You hand Joel the towel you had been sitting on.

“In the shower?" He asks with a raised eyebrow.

“I'll see you at the party Joel," you reply with a seductive glance over your shoulder as you walk back toward the mansion, leaving him behind you. You can feel his eyes on you as you walk away.

—

The soft fabric of your chiffon cocktail dress swishes against your thighs as you make your way downstairs. The music is already thumping through the house from the back patio, making the windows rattle slightly. The infinity pool is illuminated, giving the entire party a slight glow. The first place you head is to the bartender, knowing it's going to take a lot to get through this night and needing all the help you can get.

"Would you like a Sarah Lemon Drop or a Todd Tequila Shot?"

"Are these the only two things on the menu?" you ask. You shouldn't be surprised that they have signature drinks named after themselves.

The bartender gives you a sympathetic smile, "Or we have the Marry Me Margarita."

This is going to be a very long night.

"A margarita then…"

You walk away with your margarita in hand and join a small group of people surrounding the life-size ice sculpture of Sarah and Todd. A woman turns to you and asks, "So how do you know the couple?"

"Oh, I went to school with Sarah at NYU." You figure it's best to leave out how you know Todd.

"I didn't realize that Sarah went to college. She never mentioned it at our photo shoot in Greece last year. That's how we met," she says with an air of superiority.

"What did you study at NYU?" a man says, entering the conversation.

"Oh, I got my Bachelor's in history and I just graduated with my Master's in political science. I'm going to Harvard for Law school in the fall."

"That sounds absolutely terrible. I went for the first week of college and dropped out. They wanted me to show up for classes before, like ten in the morning," the woman says.

"Yeah, some of the classes can be pretty early," you say, not knowing how to respond.

"So, are your parents making you go to law school or something? Does your dad own a law firm? I have a friend whose dad is making him become a lawyer so he can take over the law firm someday," the man asks you.

"No, I'm not being forced, I just have always wanted to be a lawyer. No one in my family owns a law firm, although I wish they did. That would make finding a job after I graduate a lot easier," you answer with a nervous laugh.

The two give you a strange look as though they had never met someone who willingly went to college to pursue a career simply because it was what they wanted.

"So you're, like, smart," the woman says in a patronizing tone. They turn to each other and actually laugh at you while you’re still standing next to them. 

"Don't tell me you are putting yourself through school too. Let me guess, you're a waitress or something," the man says with a mean smile.

"I'm a bartender," you say quietly.

This answer sends them both over the edge with giggles. They move forward, effectively cutting you out of the group with their bodies. You realize that you have nothing in common with these people and turn to leave. 

Tears sting the corners of your eyes, and you need to get away from the thumping beat of the DJ's speakers. You refuse to cry in front of these people. You walk down the runway to the gazebo that juts out into the ocean, so the waves crash against all sides, drowning out the music and laughter from the party. You brace yourself on the backrest of an iron bench, wiping away an escaping tear from your face. You know you don't belong here, and you can't stand staying another day. You pull your phone out of the clutch you're carrying and send a quick text to Aubrey and Lin.

You: I just got laughed at for wanting to become a lawyer. I need to get away from these people.

Aubrey: Do you want me to book you that flight?

You: Yes, I'm ready to come home.

Aubrey: Bad news. The flight tomorrow is booked.

You: When is the next flight out of here?

Aubrey: In two days.

You: Book it. I will just find a way to hide out for one more day.

Lin: You can get through this! I will be waiting at the airport to pick you up.

You: I can't thank you two enough. What would I do without you? I miss you both, and I can't wait to see you.

Aubrey: Your flight has been changed. We will see you in two days. Hang in there! We love you!

Lin: What Aubrey said. Just two more days!

You: Love you girls too!

A hand grips the top of yours on the bench and gives it a small squeeze.

"I have been trying to talk to you all day. Why have you been avoiding me?"

You look down and are disappointed that it's not Joel's tanned hand on top of yours. You rip your hand out from under Todd's and give him an icy glare. "What do you need?"

"I need to talk to you in private."

"This is private enough," you say, looking back at the party. You know someone would hear you if you screamed loud enough.

"Just come back to my room with me." Todd leans in close and whispers, "I miss you."

"You can talk to me here or not at all," you say and take a large step back and away from him.

"You look amazing, baby cakes. I have never seen you wear a dress like that. It looks good on you and would look even better off," he says with a sleazy smile.

"Do not call me that! Don't think about me like that! Does your fiance know where you are?" you hiss.

"Of course, she doesn't, and she doesn't have to."

"Does she know anything, Todd? Does she know about our past? Does she know that you dated me for years and how you were still dating me when you two met?" Your breaths are coming in ragged gasps now. You have never been so angry at Todd before. You can't stand the fact that he has not only thrown you over for someone else after you had wasted years of your life on him, but now he has the nerve to try and win you back at his engagement party.

"Of course, she knows," he says quickly while looking away.

"You are such a liar!" Your voice echoes against the pillars of the gazebo. Angry tears burn your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall.

"Are you sure I'm the liar and not Sarah? What if she just invited you here to make you watch her get engaged to your ex? It sounds like just the kind of game that she and her rich friends would find so entertaining. They have been laughing at you behind your back this entire trip."

"You've always been the liar, Todd. I wish I had seen that from the very beginning. You obviously don't know Sarah. There is no way she would be that cruel. I never mentioned you by name to her when we were dating because she never seemed to care about my personal life. And if they've been laughing at me this entire time, why didn't you tell me sooner? You're just lying to save yourself." You hope the words you say are true. Spending this much time with Sarah is a rare occurrence, and she seems different. However, you can't fathom that she would intentionally cause you pain.

"We have the chance to get back at her for humiliating you," Todd whispers.

"What are you talking about?" you ask, puzzled by the sudden change in topic.

"Take me back. She never has to know that we made up. Everything could go back to how it was."

"Back to how it was? Really, Todd? How do you think that would ever work? You expect me to be fine with the fact that you are marrying Sarah? Do you really think Sarah would be okay with her husband having a girlfriend on the side?" you ask, taken aback by his request.

"I would still marry Sarah, and we would have more money than we would even know what to do with. As soon as my dad makes me a partner, I will have to go on business trips all the time, and you could come with me. Sarah will never know that we are back together."

"You're ridiculous, Todd. It's all about the money, isn't it? You want everything that you can't have, and you are only marrying Sarah for her money."

"Well, she's not bad to look at either," Todd says as if you are the one being unreasonable.

"I can't believe I ever loved you. You are a terrible person. Just leave me alone, Todd," you say, turning away from him and crossing your arms. You are drained from your conversation and realize that there is no way to make him see how wrong he is being.

"Take me back, please," Todd says, reaching out and grabbing your arm.

"Don't touch me," you say, pulling away from him.

Someone clears their throat at the entrance of the gazebo. Todd drops his arm and takes a step back. "Todd, Sarah is looking for you. I think it would be best if you went and found her."

Todd doesn't respond and quickly leaves. You watch as he stops in front of Joel, waiting for him to move so that he can leave. Joel remains where he is standing, so Todd has to awkwardly squeeze past him. If you weren't so angry and trying to hold back the tears still hot in your eyes, you would have laughed.

You let out a frustrated sigh that turns into a small sob. Joel is by your side in seconds. "Are you okay?" Joel asks, putting a hand on each of your arms and rubbing them comfortingly.

"I'm fine," you lie, trying to hide the few tears that have fallen down your face.

"You're shaking. You are not okay. Come with me," Joel says, holding out his hand, and you take it.

"I don't want to go back to the party," you say.

"We don't have to go back to the party.” 

"Then where are we going?" you ask, your voice cracking.

"To my room.”

Joel holds your hand as he leads you through a side door of the mansion, avoiding the large crowd of the engagement party. When the door closes behind you, the music and noise of the group become muffled. All you can hear is the low rumble of the bass as it vibrates through the walls.

Joel and you walk in silence, and he never lets go of your hand as he leads you back to his room. Joel's room is decorated in soft grays and silvers. The massive bed stands alone in the center of the room with a crystal chandelier hanging over the center.

Your feet are sore, so you slip your heels off and set them by the double door entrance of the room. Joel clicks the lock on the door, walks across the room, and sits down in an armchair on the other side of the room. You follow, your bare feet cold on the tile floors.

The room's soft coldness makes you feel like you're surrounded by a cloud, comfortable and warm but still in a storm. You nearly sink into the plush armchair that matches Joel's. You would love to be enveloped by the chair and not have the conversation you know is coming. Unfortunately, the truth will likely bring on a storm of its own.

"I need to know the truth."

"I know you do," you say. You let the silence fall between you, not knowing how to start. So you wait for Joel to ask a question first.

"You've known Todd for longer than just this week, haven't you?"

"I met him at NYU in one of my general classes," you admit.

"So you've known him for years?"

"Almost four years," you say barely above a whisper. "We dated for three."

You hear Joel take a deep breath at your confession.

"Why didn't you tell me or Sarah?"

"Honestly, I didn't know what to do. When I got here, I had no idea that Todd would be on board too. Sarah introduced me to him as her new boyfriend, and he acted as though we had never met before.The situation was so uncomfortable. I was still in shock and so hurt." 

"So you just decided to say nothing instead?" his eyebrows cinch together. All you can manage is a nod as the tears blur the edges of your vision. "You said you were hurt seeing him again. How long ago was this break up?"

"He officially broke up with me the day before I walked to receive my Master's degree. We had been fighting for weeks before that, though, when I found out he had been cheating on me for months."

"Shit. With my daughter?"

"Yes…they met at my birthday party."

"Did she know?"

"I honestly don't think she knew. Or at least if she did, she didn't know I was the girlfriend."

"I'm so sorry. But how did you expect to spend an entire vacation keeping this all a secret?"

"By the time I came to my senses, the yacht had already departed. I figured I would avoid Todd, and at the end of this vacation, I would go back to my normal life. I would never see him again after I moved, and I honestly didn't think that Sarah and Todd would last. Sarah never dates anyone for longer than a few months. I never imagined that Sarah would get engaged to him."

"Why has he been following you around?" Joel says sternly.

"I don't know why he can't just let our relationship go…" you say.

You hear Joel sigh, and when he speaks again, his tone is softer. "What did he have to say to you tonight in the gazebo? You looked like he had you cornered."

"He was lying to me...." you attempt to avoid his question, not wanting to go into the awful details of your conversation with Todd.

"About what?" Joel asks, he was clearly going to keep pressing until you told him everything.

"He told me Sarah knew and that she invited me on purpose as some kind of joke for her and all her rich friends."

"I know my daughter can be thoughtless at times, but I don't believe she would purposely be so cruel," he says, rubbing his hands on his face.

"I don't believe him," you assure Joel, seeing the worried look on his face.

"Why would he outright lie like that?"

It takes you a few minutes to respond, trying to find the best way to word your answer. You sigh and look down at your feet. "He was trying to convince me to sleep with him again… to get back at Sarah." 

Anger heats Joel's gaze as his eyes bore into yours. "Do you want him again?"

"What are you talking about? No! Of course, not. I don't want him in any way ever again. He completely betrayed me," you say, completely shocked by his question. You'd figured his anger would be towards Todd, not you. Joel's eyes remain dark, and he doesn't respond. Instead, he gets up from his chair and starts pacing the room. "Aren't you worried that this is the man that your daughter has picked to marry?" you ask, exasperated that he is questioning you about wanting to sleep with your ex. As if you are so weak that you can't possibly say no to a man who has utterly betrayed your trust.

"If I go and tell Sarah what's going on and try to convince her to end the engagement, then he would be free to come back to you. Is that what you want?" Joel asks through clenched teeth.

Joel's words sting.

"Why are you twisting everything I say?"

"How can I trust anything you say after you've lied to everyone this entire time?"

The tears truly start falling then. You quickly stand from your chair and make your way to the door. Before you even reach your shoes next to the door, Joel grabs your wrist, making you pause.

"Stop. I'm sorry. I didn't mean that," he says softly as he runs his thumb in circles on your wrist. Normally, that would have made your heart flutter, but at that moment, the only thing you want is to be alone on a flight headed for home.

"I don't need this from you." You use the back of your free hand to wipe the tears streaming down your cheeks.

"I just hate imagining you with him," he says quietly.

You let the unsaid meaning of his words float between you. Neither of you acknowledges the implications of his words.

"I just have to know. Do you love him?"

"Will you believe what I tell you?" you ask, finally turning around to look at him again. 

He lets your wrist fall from his fingers. "Yes. I promise," he says with a note of fear in his eyes. Is he truly afraid that you are still in love with a man who treated you so poorly? He reaches up to your face and wipes away another stray tear.

"No. I do not love him," you say pointedly, your voice steady.

"Did you love him?" Joel asked softly.

"I was with him for three years, Joel," you say with a sigh

"That's not what I asked. Did you love him?" he asks again, more forcefully.

"I did love him, but after everything that's happened, how could I still love him? I was wrong about so many things in our relationship," you respond.

"What if you change your mind?" Joel resumes pacing the room.

"I won't. I don't take betrayal lightly," you say firmly.

"I just wish you would have said something from the very beginning."

Anger surges through you. Anger because Joel doesn't seem to understand that everything between you and Todd is over. You don't want anything to do with Todd because the only person you want is Joel. You only want Joel. "You don't get it though, do you?" you say, stepping up to him, blocking his path.

"What am I not getting? Tell me why you lied to me for so long. I would have understood."

"Would you really have understood? Don't you get it? If I had told the truth from the very beginning, I would have been on the first flight home. I would have left as soon as we made the first port," you say, raising your voice.

Joel stares at you, still not understanding. You take another step closer to him, so close that your bodies almost touch. You take a deep breath to calm yourself down before continuing.

"If I had told the truth, I would have never gotten to know you!"

Joel looks at you intensely. He knows you're right.

"I wanted to tell you first thing, but I was just scared. I don't fit in here, remember? The last thing I needed was to make Sarah mad. And who even knows if Todd would've owned up to it? He could've pretended I was lying to cover for himself," you explain, turning away from him.

He gently grabs your arm, making you face him. He looks down at your hand and then interlaces his fingers with yours.

"So, you're glad we've gotten to know each other then?" he asks with a sly smile.

You can't help but smile back. "Of course, I am. Isn't it obvious? I spend most of my time with you."

He nods. "That's true." He lets go of your hand, but your fingertips still touch.

"Todd wanted you to have sex with him to make Sarah mad? He seems to be pretty hung up on you,” Joel says, looking at you.

You raise your eyebrows slightly at that. "Are you trying to ask me about our sex life?"

Joel looks at you. "Honestly, I'm just jealous he knows what sex with you is like."

Your cheeks grow warm, and your heartbeat quickens.

"Why would you be jealous of that? I'm sure you've been with plenty of women," you say.

"Yes, I've been with women, but none as beautiful as you–inside and out," Joel replies, looking into your eyes.

You stare at each other, your fingertips brushing against each other. He moves closer to you and lifts your chin up. You gaze up at him, and he brushes a strand of hair out of your face with a smile and then ever so slowly, he leans down and kisses you.

Taglist:

@lizzie-cakes @ashhlsstuff @puduvallee

[inurnctdreams]

it’s the way you are - l.dh

haechan x fem!reader

genre: fluff, comedy, strangers to lovers, college au, soccer au, smau with a couple of written portions

warnings: dark humour, suggestiveness, lots of swearing, mentions of general frat/college shenanigans (e.g. drinking, smoking etc.), the author’s lack of both fraternity and sporting knowledge lmao, mainly nct but idols from other groups are also here

status: ongoing

y/n suh is going into her second semester of her sophomore year at snu. as a self-proclaimed snu lions fangirl, she can’t believe there’s a new player on the team she hasn’t met yet, especially one as cute and funny as lee donghyuck, who nearly everyone she knows seems to already be friends with. how did she manage to avoid him (even if unintentionally) for almost an entire year and a half? he seems way too good to be true… and then she remembers; he’s in the frat.

taglist (open): @ilovejungwonandhaechan @neozon3nha @sunflowerbebe07 @minkyuncutie @multifandomania @amrqxz @wonbin-truther

profiles:

the too broke for therapy squad

the mark take a break challenge (impossible) squad

the y/n’s fake older bros (1 real) squad

chapters:

i. HE’S MY HERO

ii. what is yuta putting in their water

iii. you’re a menace to mankind

iv. yay capitalism

iv s. does he not know

v. okay and what’s wrong with jeno?

vi. SO NO YANGY/N??

vii. rawr XD

vii s. alexa play hands up by 2pm

viii. are you starting a freshman babysitting service? (written - 1.5k)

ix. what’s the opposite of slut shaming

x. you’re not okay

xi. bros before hoes and all that

xii. men ain’t shit

xii s. that’s the goal… ha, get it?

xiii. just because you have the tastebuds of a five year old

xiv. rule two of sleepovers: never be the first to fall asleep 😈

xv. y’know they’ll hold you to that

xvi. you KNOW i love bitching

xvii. help they’re flirting on main now 😓

xviii. not a date

xix. more like your incredibly inflated ego

xx.

[ladykailitha]

A Love Connection Part 5

Hey, guys! You really seem to be loving this story! Yay. This is the first of two today as the next chapter will be posted later tonight.

Just a heads up Billy's introduction is very indicative of his attitude throughout the whole thing.

@tartarusknight 's tags made me laugh because how spot on their assessment of the three Suitors was.

In this we get a feel for each of the contestants and Steve is already done with this shit. I won't put a warning up here, but this does have a lot of more adult themed questions for a dating show. Mainly because I figure it's on a streaming service.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

~

“All righty!” Bob said with a bright smile. “We have three rounds in which our lovely Suitors will earn points and two of our Suitors will get a chance to win a date with our Catch! The first round is the all around where our Suitors will each have a chance to answer a question from our Catch. The one with best answer will get three points, second place will get two, and the last place will get only one.”

The audience clapped and cheered.

“The second round is our lightning round. Our Catch will ask either or question that the Suitors will have to answer quickly. For each answer that matches our Catch they’ll receive a tally. The one with the most tallies will get five points, the second will get three, and last place will get one.”

The audience again clapped and cheered.

“Then in the heart to heart round, our Catch will get to ask each contestant five questions and then will rate the answer from one to three. A one will get our Suitor three points, a two will get you two points and three, only one.”

The audience again clapped and cheered.

“And now our lightning round!”

Steve was told to just call out all the either or questions he felt spoke to him as they handed him a list of the thirty plus.

He called Dustin’s first. “Star Wars or Star Trek.”

All three picked Star Wars. And all three got a tally.

He just started calling out the ones as he saw them on the page.

“Silver or gold.”

“Cat or dog.”

That one had been a bit divisive considering Steve owned a cat and of the three only Tommy was a cat person. Bob winced at that one. “Ooh. That one hurts.”

Steve could only agree.

“Bondage or blindfold.”

“For me or you?” Billy asked before answering.

“All the questions are for the Suitor, not the Catch,” Bob explained. “You are trying to match with your Catch. But in this case it would what you want to do with the Catch whether you were the one it being done to or not.”

No one was surprised when Billy picked bondage. Tommy did, too. Eddie being the only one to get a tally for that one for the blindfold.

“Camping or the beach.”

Again only Eddie got a tally on that one. Steve lived in Indiana where there weren’t a lot of sandy beaches but lots of great places to go camping.

“Give or receive a blowjob.”

Eddie snorted and Steve could almost imagine a little smirk on his face. All three preferred receiving and so none of them got a tally.

Bob laughed. “I think that’s actually a good thing. Stevie here can give his final Suitor the best bj after all this.”

Steve was again grateful for the Suitors not being able to see his face as he blushed a dark red.

“Vampires or werewolves.”

Only Billy got a tally for that one as Tommy and Eddie both picked vampires.

The game continued until finally Steve called out his last either or question: “Taylor Swift or Beyonce.”

Eddie snorted again. “Billie Eilish. But if I have to pick a billionaire, definitely Taylor Swift.”

The audience laughed.

Steve laughed, too and happily gave Eddie the only tally as the other two picked Beyonce for Chrissy’s question.

The final rundown of points after everything was added up, Tommy with five points for having the most tallies, Eddie with three for coming in second, and Billy with only one. Tommy barely beating Eddie by two tallies.

~

They took a lunch break after they filmed that and Steve was whisked off to a dressing room where a nice girl named Vickie brought him all his food and two bottles of water to sooth his throat after talking so much.

Steve was a little bit more nervous about this portion of the game. The questions would start fun and go deeper or in some cases spicier.

“Everyone knows the first question,” Bob said as if they didn’t just spend two grueling hours answering either or questions.

“What would be your ideal first date?” the audience roared.

“Damn straight!” Bob said. “Or in this case, damn gay!”

The audience laughed, but Steve squirmed in his seat.

“I would drive up your place in my shiny red 1969 Camero,” Billy said, low and seductive. “Then I would take you to a five star restaurant and order the most expensive wine. Then I would take you to my hotel room and fuck you into the mattress until our neighbors call in a noise complaint.”

“Oooh,” Bob said, “already starting off hot.”

“I would take you to my private jet,” Tommy answered, “and wine and dine all the way to Paris where we would have breakfast on the balcony of a French villa and make love as the sun rises on Paris.”

“Fancy and romantic,” Bob said with a saucy wink at the camera.

“For a first date?” Eddie mused. “I’d find out all your favorite foods and drinks from your best friend and then we’d go on a picnic complete with a blanket and a six pack of your favorite beer. Then we’d go miniature golfing and then your favorite diner for dinner where we share an old fashioned milk shake. Then I would walk you to your door where I would hope for a goodbye kiss.”

Steve’s jaw dropped. He had never heard such a perfect date in his life. Even Bob was speechless. He just kept glancing at Steve and the camera just back and forth as everyone was stunned by the answer.

“I think we all know who’s getting the three points for this question,” Bob finally said. “Steve tell us who came in second and last place please.”

“Billy in second,” Steve said, “and Tommy in third. I’ve been to Paris, whatever it was when it was named the city of love, it certainly isn’t now.”

Again Eddie snorted and Steve was starting to think he had the same sense of humor as him.

“What is your favorite sports team?” Steve asked Lucas’s question.

“LA Lakers,” was Billy’s reply.

While Tommy said, “Chicago Bulls.”

Steve face fell. He didn’t like either of those teams.

“I’m not much of a sports fan,” Eddie admitted, “but my favorite thing to do growing up was watching the Hoosiers with my Uncle Wayne, because I got to spend time just him and me. So I’m going to say Hoosiers.”

The audience went ‘awww.’

Steve choked up. “That was a beautiful answer, Eddie. The Hoosiers are my favorite team, too. Three points to you. Two to Tommy, and one to Billy.”

Billy grumbled something his mic didn’t quite catch.

“What’s your favorite pick up line?” was Steve’s next question. This one was Robin’s question. She thought it would get some cheesy answers.

“I’m Billy.”

Bob snorted, but wisely said nothing. The audience however seemed to agree with Billy.

“I have a private jet, just say the word and we can be in Paris by breakfast.”

Bob blinked for a moment. “Does that really work?”

“Oh yeah.”

Steve shivered at Tommy’s smarmy tone.

“This must be a museum,” Eddie said into the resulting awkward silence, “because baby, you’re a work of art.”

Steve laughed. There was the cheesy answer he had been expecting. But the top points ended up going to Billy for the sheer balls of that one. Eddie did come in second though.

He went through a few boring questions like favorite book or quote to go with some of the spicier questions.

Then he asked his last question of day one.

“Do you consider yourself a good person?”

All three men are shocked into a stunned silence.

“That’s one hell of a question, boys,” Bob said, “how about it?”

Eddie actually being the first to speak.

“I try to be,” he murmured close to his microphone, “but without a doubt I wish I was better than I am.”

Tommy laughed and quoted ‘Firefly’ complete with him saying stab between each downgrade.

Steve chuckled a bit at that one.

Billy scoffed. “I’m no philosopher, I don’t get into shit like that. But yeah, I’m good person. Fuck you.”

Steve gave Tommy the top points on that one, with Eddie again coming second. Billy was not happy with coming in third. Again.

The director called cut and Bob said, “Ooh. We can’t have you saying the eff word, but I’m not sure if they’ll bleep it or cut it.”

“Whatever.”

Now Steve was absolutely eaten up with curiosity about what these dudes looked like.

He would find out soon enough.

~

After eating at the hotel restaurant, Steve went back to the hotel and called Robin.

“Hey, Robbie,” he murmured, flopping on to the bed.

“Hey, dingus,” she said softly. “I’ve Chrissy here with me, so I’m going to put you on speaker.”

“Hi, Stevie,” Chrissy cooed. “You have any idea who are going to be the final two yet?”

“Oh yeah,” Steve huffed, playing with the tassels on the decorative pillow. “Because unless Suitor number one gets his head out of his ass, it’s bye bye birdie. Dude is so full of himself and only interested in how much sex he can get. I’m really dreading the final round when I have to start asking personal questions for each one.”

“Why’s that?” Robin asked. “Or can’t you tell us with all the NDA crap.”

“NDA crap,” Steve said, resigned. “But I can say that Suitor number three is the one I hope gets at least to the dating portion. His answers were so cute. He sounds like an absolute dork.”

“Perfect for you then,” Chrissy agreed. “Tell us about everything else. The hotel, dinner, the clothes you got to wear.”

So Steve did and by the time they had worn out every topic it was late. They all needed to be up early the next morning so they said good night.

Steve got ready for bed.

He slept fitfully, dreaming of three large shadows looming over him and laughing as he fell into the abyss.

~

The hair and makeup lady certainly had her work cut out for her when Steve arrived that morning. She gave his shoulder a quick squeeze.

“Everyone sleeps badly on filming days,” she assured him. “It’s all the anxiety. You aren’t making my job harder by having not slept, okay?”

Steve nodded and let her do her work. By the time she was done, he looked exactly the same as he did yesterday.

He was impressed and told him so.

“You’re sweet, sugar,” she murmured. “Now, go knock ‘em dead!”

Steve got into his little booth and sat down.

“You ready for day two?” Bob asked, stroking his tie like he had the day before.

He shook his head.

Bob laughed and counted down with his fingers, three, two, one!

The first question on his little cue card read: “What would you do if someone important to me called while we were in the middle of sex?”

“I’d hit the text me button and toss the phone on the laundry pile,” Billy said. “Whatever it is, it can wait.”

Tommy chuckled. “I would answer it for you and tell them that unless this was an emergency, my dick up your ass is slightly more important and then hang up. If it’s important, they’ll call back.”

Bob and Steve shared wide-eyed expressions over that one.

“I’d let you answer it,” Eddie said softly. “Your people are important to you. I would hope, however, that you would chose to continue to go back to doing what we were doing if it wasn’t essential right then, though.”

“Fair enough,” Steve said with a huff a laughter. “Three points to Eddie, two to Billy, and one to Tommy.”

There was a little murmuring of surprise from the audience on that one. But Steve felt that Billy’s wasn’t as rude as Tommy’s was. Telling them to text wasn’t as bad as being lewd about it.

That would be the last time that happened, much to Steve’s dismay.

When asked about what they wore to bed, Billy said he was naked, Tommy said that he wore a silken matching set of pajamas with matching eye mask. Eddie said that he wore an old band t-shirt and Garfield pajama pants. Steve immediately was endeared. Billy also came in second place on that one.

When asked about their favorite act of foreplay, Billy didn’t do foreplay, Tommy was all for getting blown, and Eddie’s was even sweeter than the last. He said he enjoyed stripping his partner and kiss every inch of newly exposed skin.

The audience was starting to get excited as Billy began to pull into a dead heat with Tommy, though Eddie was clearly in the lead.

Then came time for the final question of round one. God that felt weird to say considering they had already done round two.

“What would you do if the house we recently moved into,” Steve said, leaning forward to the microphone, “and I believed it was legitimately haunted and was scared?”

This was Will’s question and he loved it. It really spoke volumes about a person.

“I’d buy you a new house, baby,” Billy said. “You think it’s haunted, then fuck let’s get the hell out of there.”

Steve was little surprised on that one. He would have thought that Billy would have been the one to tell him that it was all in his head.

The audience clapped in appreciation, too.

“I’d hire a priest to bless the house,” Tommy said, “before anything else. We just bought it, I wouldn’t want to give up a new investment so easily.”

“Uh...” Eddie said sheepishly. “I’ve always wanted a haunted house. And like it would suck, because you were scared and shit, but it would be so cool to live in haunted house. So I’d try to make friends with so it would stop being mean to you.”

That was the sweetest dorkiest thing Steve had ever heard, but it was also the most insensitive of the bunch and no one was surprised when Billy and Tommy were one and two respectively.

Bob smiled. “Can’t win them all, Eddie. You’ve been batting a thousand this round.” He turned to the audience. “Eddie got forty points that round, with Tommy and Billy almost at a dead heat with twenty-five each.”

“So with the totals of the two rounds, Eddie is in the lead at forty-five points, Tommy at twenty-eight, and Billy at twenty-six. But the next round is anybody’s game. Each Suitor will be asked one question and based on how well our lovely Catch Steve likes the answer they can get anywhere from one to three points. Get ready for the final round!”

They broke for lunch like they did yesterday and Steve was exhausted. He was almost too tired to eat, but he forced himself to eat and drink, for the energy if nothing else. He certainly was going to need it.

He buried his head in hands. He wasn’t sure if it was going to be worth it in the end. He was so worn out. He could only hope the Suitors were as tired as he was. He didn’t even know if they got to go out and enjoy the city while he was stuck in his hotel room every night.

He let the makeup lady retouch his makeup and he put on his best parent teacher conference face and stepped back out onto the stage.

~

Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Tag List: CLOSED

1-@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @justforthedead89 @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @dreamercec @wheneverfeasible @themoonagainstmers @garden-of-gay @little-birch-boy

10- @ollieolive @dissociatingdemon @stripey82 @kultiras @micheledawn1975