#He's there but also demanding I pay attention to him 🤣🤣

[spacebunnie-e]

Tbh xavier is 'there's nothing behind those eyes' lmao I absolutely love him but he is 100000% fluff brain unless it comes to battle he's such a dumdum (affectionate). Just a lovelorn eepy alien boy with a big appetite and too much love to give.

This is insanely specific, but I love how different each of the love and deepspace guy's eyes are, not necessarily in color (they are really pretty though) but in the character, I guess is the word.

I mean, Xavier's are really soft. They don't really have much intensity, but they still have a nice depth. They're really gentle.

I think I spent a good five or ten minutes trying to peg Rafayel's. His are so emotive and really very sensual. They have this quality to them that is hard to name. Gah! I have it! Aloof. His eyes are emotive, sensual, but aloof as fuck.

And Zayne's. Good gods, Zayne's eyes. Not only am I in love with their color, but his eyes are hot-and-cold. They're so often cool and calculating. You can see a great deal of intelligence, but sometimes they're so intense. Piercing. They hold so much will. It is crazy attractive.

[lixenn]

BUSTING INTO UR ASKBOX WHILE READING THRU DAVE'S PROFILE!! Lix!! Dave and Yui's bdays are one day apart sjvfhsvfsvf this coincidence is so funny 🤣🤣

Since he likes sunsets, I wonder if he likes the sea too? The sunsets are very beautiful when viewing it from the beach (asked by someone who just got back from a trip to the beach)

Because he has a lot of piercings, I wonder if he's interested in getting tattoo too?

Not a question, but reading this --- Dave simply turned up at Varia’s front door with a cheerful: “Heard you were hiring?” --- made me laugh, because I remember the snippet that you wrote about how Dan met Dave and it still makes me laugh a lot 😆😆 (PLUS !!! “I can use this guy to avoid talking to people!” DAN IS SO REAL FOR THIS!!! HE'S SO BASED UR HONOR!!)

Is there any latest hot boiling tea that Davey-boy can share with us in the class right now?

Mammon knows a lot about people huh. I wonder what Dave's relationship with Mammon is like? How does Dave interact with Mammon, knowing (if he knows) that Mammon knows background info that he hides?

Would he dye his hair as rainbow-colored for Pride Month---

EIN! BELOVED! Thank you for visiting my humble abode, always lovely to have you here 💕✨

I have managed to get this ready for Dave's birthday!

Happy birthday Davey-boy! Hope you and everyone else likes some more Dave info hehehehe

Sunset and sea

As someone whose life has been grey and dull for a long time, Dave adors colours in all shape or form, so yes he loves the sea, loves how it can glitter and reflect. The different shades of blue also appeal to him. Just colours my friend. It's a small joy for him but a joy nonetheless.

Tattoos

Is Dave interested in tattoos? Yes. Does he trust anyone enough to actually give him one? Not really. Dave has done most of his piercings by himself (which Davey-boy... no...) but tattooing himself is certainly more difficult then simply stabbing a sanitised needle through his ear. He loves the idea of body art though and he keeps drawing tattoo ideas on his paperwork (much to Chief's chargin).

Also since we are at the topic of tattoos, I'm just going to sneakily mention this for the people who aren't in the discord or haven't read my Chief/Squalo sparring snippet:

Chief has tattoos! And he actually has a lot of ink. All of it is nature based and all of it is hidden under his clothing, so at the moment in the Varia only Luss (who is his doctor) and Mammon (because Mammon knows all) know about the tats. Dave is in for a surprise when he finds out hehe. (Dave already thinks that Chief is super cool, but now he has tattoos??? No fair~ He will need to increase his mischief factor by one hundred to balance it out.)

Dan the introvert

Dan knows what's up lol. While Dani-boy can talk to people when necessary he tries to avoid it as much as possible because it sucks his energy like nothing else and he already doesn't have much energy to begin with. Also Dan might be quite observant but he sometimes doesn't get subtext and takes sometimes a bit to literal, which can lead to much frustration and hilarity. So he prefers leaving the people thing to Dave who's a social butterfly and thrives under attention.

Mammon and Dave

Dave doesn't like Mammon, at all. Honestly, it's more fear than dislike that's bothering him, because Dave knows how much power information can hold, it's one of his specialites after all. So while Dave is aware that Mammon won't reveal anything about his past unless someone goes looking for it and is willing to pay an obscene amount of money for the info, he still treats Mammon with a healthy dose of respect. He actually tries his best to avoid dealing with him and Mammon is one of the few people he tries not to prank directly.

Rainbow hair

Dave would definitely dye his hair rainbow coloured for pride month. He would burst into Luss' room on the first of June (probably when the clock rings midnight lol) and demand that his hair needs to be taken care of now.

The Tea

Now, the tea is the reason why answering this took so long, because dear Ein, once again, I have written a snippet! Rejoice! (Thanks so much to @unwrathful @childe-of-saulot for helping me brainstorm and also thanks to my dear buddy @myrmyrtheorca for solving my naming problems 🫡💕✨)

---

Dave kicks Vlasta's door open with cheerful aplomb. "Have you heard?!"

His friend doesn’t even have the decency to look up from cleaning their knives at his fabulous entrance. "You violating my privacy? Sure did."

"Like you even know the definition of that word. You were literally fucking someone in bright daylight yesterday."

"It's the principle of the matter, D." They finally put away their collection of all things sharp and pointy just to grace him with a simple blink. “Now, what’s the tea and where the hell are the snacks?”

A grin creeps on his face as he presents the chocolate covered strawberries he stole from the kitchen like they are a tribute to the gods. “I came prepared.”

The offering is scrutinized for a moment before Vlasta nods in acceptance. “You pass, but you are on thin ice.”

Dave fully skips into their domain and is greeted with the full force of the tantalizing scent of plum and cherry hiding the metallic taint of blood that has etched itself into the foundation of the walls ever since Vlasta claimed this room as their own. He places the strawberries on the nightstand next to the candles and bones, then bounces onto the four-poster bed that wouldn’t have been out of place in a film set of a dark historical drama which features witches, blood sacrifices and ritual sex. The dark red satin sheets flow smooth and cool over his skin, a stark contrast from the humid summer heat.

Dave hums lazily. “You always had great taste in decor. Less so with your partners though.”

His words are met with a pointed kick to the ribs. “Fucking- OW! What was that for?” He quickly scoots out of kicking range, rubbing the sore spot on his side. “This is abuse! Mistreatment! Bullying!”

“Talk shit, get shot,” Vlasta smirks, plucking a strawberry from the container. “Count yourself lucky that I put my knives away or this could have ended in a bloodbath.”

“But you like bloodbaths!”

“Not on my good bedsheets, idiot.” Vlasta plops the fruit into their mouth and moans in a way that would turn a porn star green with envy. “Now spill the tea before the day’s over. Chop chop.”

Dave brightens. “Okay, so I was staking out make out closet, as one does.” Vlasta nods along like this is a reasonable way to spend one’s free time. There’s a reason why they are best friends. “And guess who walked out of there?

Vlasta indulges his theatrics. “Who?”

“Sofia!”

“Sofia Nardi?” His friend tilts their head like a curious bird. “Douchbag’s girlfriend Sofia? That Sofia?“

“Yup! And she wasn’t alone.” Dave waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Ollie followed soon after.”

Vlasta perks up, finally gifting him the entire weight of their attention and he basks in it. Yes, he always has the best gossip, thank you very much.

Another strawberry disappears between black tainted lips. “Sofia and ol’ Ollie. They fucked?“

“Oh, totally.”

“Huh,” a slow blink, followed by a sadistic smile, “good for her. Does the Douchebag know?“

“Nope,” Dave answers, popping the p for maximum obnoxious effect. “Completely in the dark”

The smile turns into a full-blown smirk. “Excellent.”

Dave‘s expression mimics the grin on his best friend’s face, vindictiveness filling him by proxy.  Sofia’s (ex?) boyfriend Alberico Ordelaffi commonly known as the Douchebag is what one could call a traditionalist. In short: he’s strictly religious, massively sexist and completely full of himself. The only time he stops sucking his own cock is when he’s bragging about his prestigious lineage or insulting your lack thereof. Vlasta with all their… Vlastaness is naturally offending Douchebag’s delicate sensibilities which results in a largely one-sided rivalry that involves a lot of holy water and failed exorcisms. So, any misfortune falling upon him needs to be fully savoured and sampled.

Speaking of savouring, Vlasta already decimated the strawberry offering during his retelling leaving nothing left for him which ... yeah, that tracks. But he still wanted a taste! His friend can be so stingy sometimes.

Well, there are other ways to be fed...

“Now,” Dave risks edging a tiny bit closer to them. “Since I delivered you both juicy strawberries and gossip, I deserve a reward, yes?”

Vlasta doesn’t even hesitate in shooting him down. “I’m not telling you what Chief and I discuss when we’re alone.”

“Oh c’mon! What more could you possibly want?”

The stare he is given runs shivers down his spine. Vlasta has a way of looking right into your soul, dissecting you with a simple gaze. People often fear them because of their appearance, their fondness of blood and flesh but Dave fears their ability to stand back and watch far more. They pick up the smallest of hints that let’s them solve humans like puzzles and the only reason why Dave ever let them close is because he can recognize his people, see the same cracks that plague him day in and day out. It doesn’t change the fact that he’d prefer not being perceived and now he gave them an opening.

“Well, my dear friend.” Their voice was raspy, a near seductive purr. “How about your name?”

Dave freezes. Nobody asks after his name. The scars are questioned more often than he could count. Same for his family and body count. But his name? Nobody bothers asking after names in the Varia. Not with how the organisation collects weirdos like the most fucked up circus. You might snoop behind somebody’s back, but you don’t talk about it in person. It just wasn’t done.

Leave it to Vlasta to not give a single fuck about etiquette and social norms.

Dave sighs. “I’d rather not.”

The predatory aura persists for one more second until his friend simply shrugs like they were asking after the weather rather than one of his close kept secrets. “Shame. Names hold a lot of power. But no name, no deal, Davey-boy. Them’s the rules.”

The mood brightens considerably at the nickname. Teasing and banter, he can do. Way better than digging up pieces of his past best left forgotten.

Time to turn the brattiness to the max.

“But I wanna knoooow.” Dave gives them his best rendition of a kicked puppy.  “How can you just hoard the Chief insider info? The inhumanity! The cruelty!” He adds crocodile tears for dramatic effect. “Share the goods, V. I need all the dets. Well actually, I need to study Chief under a microscope, but I will accept second hand knowledge for now.”

Unsurprisingly, Vlasta isn’t moved by his act in the slightest, in fact they don’t budge an inch. "Your obsession with our boss is fascinating. Have you considered fucking him to get it out of your system?”

He pouts: "I offered! Well, Luss and I offered but he refused."

"Skill issue."

"Oh fuck off, how often did he reject you? Five times? Six?" He leans into Vlasta’s personal space, leering and teasingly poking their cheek. “Losing your touch V?”

“You’re about to lose a finger if you don’t remove it from my person, dickhead.” Their eyes gleam red and Dave immediately backs off.

Fuck. Pushed too much.

Touch and Vlasta can be ... tricky at times. Initiating contact always involves some risk. It's like a gamble where the odds change at a whim and clearly Dave lost this time around.

He scrambles off the bed, holding his hands up in surrender. He tries for a smile but it came out as an awkward grimace instead. "Sorry 'bout that."

The red in their eyes dims but doesn't disappear. Vlasta nods, accepting the apology but not stating forgiveness.

Yeah, this calls for a strategic retreat.

He tiptoes closer and closer to the door. "I'll see you around?" The confidence leaves him at the last minute turning his statement into a question.

Vlasta licks off the chocolate on one of their fingers, steadily holding eye contact because they are a fucking weirdo. "Until next time."

Oh, thank god. Friendship saved.

---

Ngl not totally satisfied with the ending but it will do >.< this got so long and surprisingly deep but I like how it protrays Dave's and Vlasta's realtionship.

[dirubtrentfree]

Watching TOUR 22-23 PHALARIS DVD's for the second time.

Just writing down my thoughts and feelings while watching them, so nothing important here.

__________________________________

TOUR23 PHALARIS -vol. II-

Can't go wrong starting with Schadenfreude. Now it seems insane that it took me a few listens to fully come to love this song.

Toshiya with a black veil is very eye-catching, and seeing him looking like that while he growls and does backing vocals is a treat. 😊

13 is a song I can listen to on repeat for longer than I feel comfortable admitting, so it gets me excited as hell. And the band is of course like "here's one of your current favs with even more intense emotion than on the album".

I love hearing the audience since along during Ningen o Kaburu. ;_;

Devote my life – amazing, of course. Kaoru is very interesting to watch, he has warmed up properly. 😁 I like the camera work during this song a lot, it's fun to watch.

Mōai ni Shosu is has me twisting inside my own skin, and it's funny when Kyo moves his head uncomfortably sharply; like yeah, once again you're perfectly expressing what the song physically feels like. *chef's kiss*

Hibiki is so beautiful and so is everyone's performance during it. 🖤

Uroko – very powerful performance! I love Shinya being a little dramatic here haha. (And Toshiya, you really like showing off your upper body these days?)

Toshiya's jumping with the drumbeat of Eddie. 😁👌 And Die is fun to look at during this one!

Grief takes me back to 2007 argh. We see Toshiya's smile from close-up here! 😊 But I also sigh a little like "...riiiiiight 😆" whenever a musician shows 🖕 to the audience.

Kyo's vocals in Gaika, Chinmoku ga Nemuru Koro, and the audience singing with him. 🖤

Backing vocals aren't something that really got my attention when I first found DEG almost two decades ago 🤔, but nowadays I pay careful attention to them. I like their voices, and it feels special to see their faces so well when they perform. 👀🙌

The beginning of Otogi. 😢 How can a song be so packed with feeling...

Kyo's fingers read: S A V E.

The Perfume of Sins – yup, Shinya is definitely some sort of beast.

~Encore~

Dozing green, acoustic ver.

Thank you. I'm obsessed. (Would cry if I were there.)

Un deux

Kyo let the audience start singing before him!

T.D.F.F

💚❤💚 Their expressions. 😁

Utafumi

("HOUHOUHOU" 😄) GUITAAARS 🤘🤘 and Kyo rolling on the floor. 🤣

Kyo is so demanding! I might be a little anxious in the audience for not being able to sing very much, or headbang enough. 😅😅

It ends with Relevation of Mankind. It feels nice that they don't just leave, and the last interaction Kyo has with the audience is heart-warming. 🖤

__________________________________

Some questions:

1. What tshirt is Kyo wearing? 🧐 (The first one.)

2. Looking at Die, I wondered has anyone yet drawn Die as some kind of rotting zombie mermaid? Because I cannot stop thinking about it hahah. A free fanart idea.

Stylewise, we got one angelic prince (of course), one rock musician, one mystic, one sick-looking commander, and one corpse (who died in emergency medical treatment a while back).

[fanficapologist]

Ooh!! Blue! This chapter was just 💋

The sheer audacity of Alys. And here I thought asking for Aemond’s seed was just insurance. Now she’s demanding or assuming the egg is hers.

Also, Let’s forget about the visions for a bit as the logic and logistics of her visions just baffle me because it’s like Alys expects things to work out by themselves as long as the person is at the right place at the right time. Which for me couldn’t really be attributed to her visions but more like, sheer, dumb luck or coincidence. For instance, she wanted Maera to stop patrolling the western border. Not sure if Alys thought about the consequences but Ser Adrian is right, we’re not sure how House Lannister would take that. Doing so might send a signal that the Crown abandoned them. And in this time of war, they need allies even more. Second when she wanted Maera to return to King’s Landing. and this isn’t to underestimate Maera but maybe Alys is forgetting… Maera’s pregnant. I’m not certain Alys pictured how Maera can prevent a catastrophe in her vision given Maera’s pregnant state.

But I’m so happy for our girl because the Lords support her and so nice of Aemond to finally stop being a bystander 🙄. I reread the previous chapter and the difference between Aemond’s participation here versus there is just, wow. When she first arrived at Harrenhal, I can only imagine the humiliation she must feel yet she had to put a brave face and endure it because she can’t afford to be seen as weak, so even though she wasn’t invited, she invited herself, asserted herself in that council meeting despite Aemond not really paying attention and just letting Alys run the show. And now, her efforts are finally bearing fruit! It’s as if Maera herself released the inhabitants from Alys’ spell.

Also, Maera is right, since when did Aemond have that epiphany? Or was it more of a culmination of the events that passed, particularly when they found the dragon egg? How did he come to the conclusion that he risked losing Maera? What gave him that idea? Lol I just want him to suffer, i’m so sorry 🤣

But she’s also right, his sense of duty I think also made him not want to deviate from Alys’ plan and thinks he must follow it to the letter. Can’t really blame the poor guy, it’s what’s been drilled into his mind by his mother: duty and to never step a toe out of line. Still, he must have forgotten a little critical thinking eh? He also forgot he’s got his own free will. But okay, i will be nice but I still think she ought to ice him out more lol hahahaha

That said, I can’t help but feel like Maera is right, since Aemond poked the bear, I’m worried Alys might try and resort to drastic measures because she feels her influence or control over Aemond is diminishing. And to eliminate her problem is Maera. Soooo I am a little terrified of what’s to come 😬

We think so alike sometimes it honestly scares me 🤣

[rikeijo]

Today's translation #469

Go Yuri Go!!!, Yuri!!! on ICE official fanbook, Yasumoto Hiroki interview

Part 1.

-- Please tell us, what is your personal impression of the character that you play?

Y: Chris' strong point is that he's a powerful skater. Perhaps in the TV series, he wasn't really able to show that off, but... That he's quite aloof and doesn't show emotions that much also proves that he's an outstanding competitor, I think. But the passion that hides inside him seeps through here and there. I think that it's also a part of his charm. His weak point is... That he shows off his butt more than it's needed, I'd say. But perhaps to some, that's another of his strong points (laugh).

-- What you were paying attention to when playing the role?

Y: First and foremost, that he has "two faces". First I've heard that he's a sexy character, so I started to wonder: "what does 'sexy' means?" Because different people find different things sexy. Victor is also close to Chris, so I wanted to go with Chris in a different direction. In every scene, I was very mindful of the "difference in temperature" between him and Victor to show that Chris has a different way of thinking, and looks at things from a different perspective. But he also identifies with Victor to a certain degree. Chris is simply a fan of Victor, so that's also one of Chris' emotions that was important to me. But on the other hand, in some lines, for example the "Yoisho! [it's a word you say to yourself before/when doing something physically demanding, like lifting something heavy eg.]" line, Chris says during his performance, regardless of how I portrayed him in other scenes, I express his "passion" as he focuses on the competition. This is what I mean by saying that he has "two faces". If you overdo it, the character starts to feel off, so I was mindful to not overdo it, but I my aim was to separate "stillness" and "motion" [there really isn't much of "stillness" in Chris, so I don't really know what he meant... Stillness = focus on competitions, maybe? Motion = emotions? 🧐]

[Notes: I was avoiding VA interviews for so long that the only part of this guidebook that I still haven't translated are VAs interviews 🤣

Chris' VA this time!]

[ciaossu-imagines]

hiii! nix here! i saw that you opened your ask box, but i don’t have any requests just yet, so i thought i’d just chat with you instead. i did mention before how your match-up made me consider self-shipping (and you’re so great at promoting it, too). since you are sho-chan and i’s biggest shipper so far, i’ve decided to share some of the self-shipping headcanons i’ve come up with over time, just to supplement the headcanons you did for me. feel free to ignore this if you find this tedious, but here they are:

-

-

i’m actually a night owl, so there might have been some misinterpretations of a piece of information i previously gave you (which is totally fine!). whenever i go out with my friends at night, i tend to head home early, but then i spend the rest of the night lying in bed, glued to my phone, until it’s 3 or 4 a.m.—or until the sun starts to rise. like shoichi, i can get myself up early if i have to, so i’m used to getting only 2 to 4 hours of sleep whenever i have morning classes. not gonna lie, i’m a little scared that it will eventually take a toll on my body. shoichi’s also concerned about that, but i suppose he doesn’t have much room to comment since he’s also a night person himself 🤣 we’re both the same in a way that we find joy in the peacefulness of doing our own things while everyone else in the world is asleep.

my mom can basically whip up anything in the kitchen, and i wouldn’t trade her homemade dishes for any restaurant food. i could see her letting shoichi try most of her culinary creations, and she’d always invite him to any of our family occasions where her food was served. on the other hand, my dad is also a huge guitar enthusiast, so i can envision him and shoichi finding common ground and enjoying conversations, despite being quite different in many other aspects.

shoichi doesn’t really hang out with my two best friends. sure, they do get along well, and my friends have a high regard for him—after all, they know sho-chan fits my ideal type and support him as my boyfriend. however, whenever i’m with them, shoichi understands that i need my time with my girls. he wouldn’t be bothering me at all or demanding my attention, but i still make sure to let him know where i’d be and what i’d be up to with my friends so that he wouldn’t get worried.

i’m quite a picky eater (i don’t know why i forgot to mention that), so whenever sho-chan and i go out to eat, i’ll mostly end up passing the stuff i don’t like (e.g., pickles, tomatoes, eggs) from my food to his plate, and i think that’s something he’s gonna put up with for the rest of his life. sorry, sho-chan.

whenever i’m being introduced to a new board game, i struggle to pay attention during the instructions part (and those board games that involve using strategy? god, i’m so dumb at them!). you mentioned sho-chan being into dungeons & dragons, but i had no idea about the game itself, so when i looked it up on the internet and saw some pictures, i immediately thought, “oh my god, that looks complicated.” 🤣 but for shoichi, i’ll definitely give it a try. i hope he doesn’t mind me looking at him with bedroom eyes while he’s explaining the rules because he’s just so nerdy and enthusiastic about it that i find it cute 🙈

i tend to suffer from hyperacidity, which is triggered when i skip meals or indulge too much in carbonated drinks. it’s quite a hassle, but i never seem to learn my lesson. i could be stubborn as hell, so shoichi sometimes scolds me if he catches me holding my second can of cola. that’s also the reason why he brings travel-size tums in his bag whenever he’s with me because he knows it’s my lifeline sdfhjksdafk

my college course sometimes requires us to perform return demonstrations for specific medical procedures—for example, intramuscular injections, inserting intravenous lines, and such—and shoichi lets me practice on him for those because my brothers flat-out refused (those poor things chose to miss out on the opportunity of becoming my lab rats ☹️). sho-chan does his best to play the role of a patient, even though he’s so awkward and tense, and we often end up stealing kisses from each other in the middle of it. but i’m truly grateful to him. one day, if things go well for me, he’ll be one of the reasons i make it through this hell of a degree (especially since i’ll be graduating next year, and nothing could make me happier).

of course, it goes without saying i’ll do my best to support him with his studies if he requires my help, even if my knowledge is mostly limited to general or medical-related topics rather than those specific to his courses.

i can see sho-chan being roped into my hobbies. occasionally, in the dead of night, i have this thing of trying on some not-so-modest dresses from my closet that i’d probably never wear out and playing around with makeup just to snap a few photos before wiping it all off. shoichi, albeit reluctantly, becomes my makeup practice dummy (he's only cooperative when i promise not to share his photos with akiko). i’m a woman of my word, of course 😉

i actually got my driver’s license last month, so i’m looking forward to having road trips with him as we sing our hearts out to our favorite songs, and then maybe we could hit the beach or go on a camping trip. i see it as a brief escape from our academic obligations for even just a couple of days.

-

-

i’m sorry that it’s long, and thanks for taking the time to read it 🧸🧁⭐️

Yay! Hey Nix! It’s always such a treat to see you in the ask box and thank you for stopping by to chat with me 😊 It makes me really happy and I’m so glad that you’ve been having fun with the self-shipping. It’s really flattering that you think I’m great at promoting it too; I really do try hard to promote anything considered too ‘cringe’ in fandom, since I really feel very passionate about fandom being a safe place where you can be happy doing whatever, without having to worry about whether you’re being ‘cool’ enough to fit into the fandom spaces or if you’ll be teased for this or that. ‘Cringe’ is dead to me, as is gatekeeping or anything else that actively keeps people from fully enjoying something that is meant to be relaxing and fun for everyone. I definitely was so happy to read these to because I am for sure such a fan of this ship! I love all of my reader’s ship, but you and Sho-chan? Just perfect together! These weren’t tedious at all!

I love the idea of you and Shoichi both being night hours and him being worried about you not sleeping enough, but not being able to say anything because like…he’s the same. I can see late night texts to each other definitely being a thing between the two of you, haha, though Mama Bear on this side encourages both of you to get some sleep! Sleep is essential (this is definitely a do as I say, not as I do, but my Zopiclone got taken away because it interferes with another of my pills and that was the only surefire thing that helped my insomnia) and you both deserve it! Though I definitely relate to feeling at peace because the rest of the world is off and sleeping so everything’s quiet and lovely and you get to feel like you’re the only one in the world for a little bit so like, that sentence very much resonated with me.

Your mom is amazing to me, honestly! So much kudos to her because I am not the best chef and I think Shoichi would love getting all that homecooked food. While he loves his mom, cooking was never her real strong suit, so your mom might actually succeed in fattening up a bit. Despite you saying they’re really different in a lot of aspects, I can definitely see him and your dad bonding over guitars and music and general and Shoichi makes friends with your dad, for sure! He might actually really look forward to visiting your home (of course because he loves you and every chance to spend time with you is precious to him) but also just to talk to and chill with your dad! I also fully agree that Sho gives you all the space you need to hang out with your friends and I can see him hanging out with the friends that you’re not really super-close to and you being the same with him. He really would appreciate the fact that you even think to let him know where you are and what you’re up to though, just so he doesn’t worry about you.

Sho would actually be super into the fact that you try so hard to learn D&D for him but he’s quick to realize that you have trouble with the really complicated rules of the game, so I think he convinces the group he plays with (him, Spanner, Gokudera, Byakuran, Chikusa, Haru, Longchamp, Fran, Reborn, and sometimes Dino) to run a one-night more simple, one page tabletop rpg campaign that will be a lot easier for you. I’m thinking something like Himbo Treasure Hunt or something silly and fun like that. (Also, yeah, D&D can definitely be complicated, especially depending on how strict your DM is about all the rules and such…the only game I’ve met that was worse in terms of all the rules you have to learn and all the things you have to keep track of was Magic: The Gathering).

Sho not only carries travel-sized Tums with him everywhere, but when your hyperacidity acts up really bad, I think he eventually starts sharing his stomach pills with you because I definitely believe that boy has stomach pills and definitely has a bleeding ulcer by the time Choice rolls around in the future arc. Note because I work in pharmaceuticals and feel it must be said– please don’t share your prescriptions with people. He’s also more than happy to eat all the food you don’t like for you, especially the eggs. (Side note but you don’t know how happy it made me to learn someone else out there hates eggs too because I get treated like a freak for hating them.) Him being treated as your patient for your demonstrations…that he had to get used to at first but he’s so happy to be able to do something to support you and he’s getting paid in kisses, so he actually might feel like he’s winning there. Same with being used as a guinea pig for you playing around with make-up. He gets to see you in those not so modest dresses after all, so who’s really winning there? Him. He feels it’s definitely him, though please never, ever share those photos, the poor boy would die!

Aww, I just honestly loved everything you typed and shared and just, it put a huge smile on my face so thanks again for sharing!!

[veronicaphoenix]

It might take me a while but I'll eventually pop here with a long review! The perk of reviewing days later after it's posted and I read it is that i get to read it all again and pay more attention to little things that i might have missed on the first go :)

Again, mesmerized at the way you manage to start chapters in ways that suit the ending perfectly. So much sweetness and fluff in the first paragraphs and then, the cliffhangers of cliffhangers at the end 💔

"He had tucked my head under his chin, keeping me safe from the world and the cold outside of the bed, and lowly hummed a nonsensical melody that seemed to vibrate through my whole body in the nicest way. It would have suited me just fine to stay here with him forever, the noise of the shower in the background assuring me that there was another amazing man just a few feet away, waiting to join us again." plsplspls i love these paragraphs more than the sex ones. I know that's just a preference but... they're the sections where everything holds meaning beyond the fun and pleasure of sex. They're just everything 💕

"His hand remained there, large and warm" i know of something else which is also large and warm

whoops what was that

not the i love yous again 🫠 i melt every.fucking.time

"Oh my god he confessed during sex, didn’t he! That sly dog.” i had the same reaction, girl. He waited for the most cliché moment, but we're not complaining, all right?!

"Water-based: Great for toys but doesn’t last as long. Silicone-based: Don’t use with toys because there’s a chance it will dissolve them. Great for anal though because it’s long-lasting. Any other main ingredients, don’t even bother." is this fic a guide for different lubes or —because i'll buy it 🤣

"I was supposed to be here to support Noah when he faltered, not make it worse." The way i keep thinking how well you've thought and considered every aspect of this fic has me kicking my feet. You're amazing and so freaking talented.

Blossom is the perfect safe word!!!! I have heart eyes!!! Noah's reaction is also so on point haha "i hate it" deal with it, pretty boy.

“What did I say?” “No touching,” Noah grumbled. “And what did you do?” “Tried to touch.” I.DIED

“I think you need to sit out for a while. Take a seat on that armchair and think about how to be better when it's your turn. Because I really need my dick sucked so I can concentrate but it's not gonna be you.” I could really hear Oliver saying this. The whole thing was so hot, jesus this man will kill me

every time any man says "good girl" in any fic I'm a puddle on the floor. Is it just me?

“Fuck you're getting so good at this, soon you'll swallow me whole, baby.” It's the way you manage to make everything nasty and sweet simultaneously. I bow to you and no one else, QUEEN

I'm still replaying the next scene in my head since last week when I read it for the first time... 😇

tiedup!noah is a noah we all love, don't we

"On his knees, more submissive than I'd ever seen him, his head hanging low even though he hadn't been asked for it, hair tickling his face." Ah, so he does know how to behave properly

"the tone in his voice was hard to resist. I wondered what it would be like to have all of it directed at me." I'm not sure how THE SCENE is going to unfold when it comes, but I'm starting to imagine things, to get ideas, and I think I'm going to FUCKING LOVE IT

You portray Oliver so demanding but simultaneously so sweet and willing to give them anything. I'm on my knees for him 🧎🏽‍♀️

"pure concern masking the pleasure" he's concerned, i just can't

omg oliver was his first, the realization hit me and i find it just so beautiful

I love that they were both so spent that Aubrey had to do all the cleanup. I just love this dynamic. They work so well together 🤌🏽 Can't wait for them all to be together, like TOGETHER as in an established relationship

Both of them getting her to orgasm in the shower is a dream. aubrey you're a lucky woman, but i'm pretty sure you already know, love <3

There were so many realizations and confessions in this chapter. I know we're getting close to the end so it was required, but it just makes everything more tense and I'm scared and excited altogether and honestly i don't really know how to feel. I saw that ending coming, as I told you, but it was still painful as fuck and I'm on the edge waiting for the next chapter to know how Noah will deal with this new knowledge and what Oliver and Aubrey are going to do to fix it.

in love with the mess - day thirteen

summary : Aubrey is going on tour and, for once, she’s decided to focus on having as much fun as possible. Oli can be a little shit but he does nothing short of adore Audrey and… well, maybe Noah a little, too. Noah likes the flirting, as long as no one gets too close, emotionally. But what will happen when the three of them take it too far?

content : smut (oral (m receiving), anal sex, dirty talk, I genuinely don’t remember the rest lmao help), angst, fluff

length : 7k

tags (let me know if you want to be tagged!) : @veronicaphoenix @cookiesupplier @lma1986 @jilliemiw86 @bngurngheart @lacktoesandtoddlerants @narcissisticbehavior81 @flowery-mess @shilohrosechicken @justeli6 @starvingarsyn @floatinglikeaswan @blacksoul-27 @somebodyels3 @kageyasma @spikeisdaddy @broken0mens @sunsshinesunny

a/n : we’re back, baby!!! hope you enjoy this one!!

•••

day thirteen

Noah called dibs on the shower first thing in the morning and neither Oli nor I minded very much as we cuddled deeper into the blanket for a little longer, wrapped up in each other, perfectly warm and comfortable. He had tucked my head under his chin, keeping me safe from the world and the cold outside of the bed, and lowly hummed a nonsensical melody that seemed to vibrate through my whole body in the nicest way. It would have suited me just fine to stay here with him forever, the noise of the shower in the background assuring me that there was another amazing man just a few feet away, waiting to join us again. Unfortunately, what did happen was that my brain caught up with the reminder that I needed to talk to Oli.

Keep reading

[yoonpobs]

back-burner | christmas drabble

yoongi doesn't like christmas that much; but he loves you—that much

GENRE. fluff, smut

WARNINGS. christmas decorations bc we know how stressful it can get lol!!, Yoongi's POV!, yoongi is a teasing lil shit, yoongi is also deeply in love, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, cockwarming (ish?)

NOTE. i miss our back-burner couple even if it hasn't been that long 🤣here's them being the cutest ever. this takes place a year after the epilogue so some time has passed!!! there may be some plot/logical conflicts but we move LOL 💕

hope you enjoy this Christmas gift to ya'll 🥳 also...some talks about 👀will be seen in this drabble...which foreshadows future drabbles...hehehehheehhehehehehehe

(the back-burner couple will never leave us I love them too much)

WORDS. 6.2k

“To the left.”

Yoongi shifts, just a little because he’s anticipating another—

“No, you idiot! My left—not yours!”

And there it was.

“Love,” he sighs, and if he was any more observant maybe he’d notice how you preen ever so slightly at the term of endearment. “It looks fine. No one is going to notice if the star is point five millimetres off centre.”

You blink.

“So you admit it’s off-centred?”

Yoongi opens his mouth to refute your rebuttal, but it’s left to no avail when you wave him off, equally annoyed and frustrated when you gesture for him to step off the step ladder that enabled him to reach the top of your overly-ostentatious Christmas tree.

Yoongi’s spent a few Christmas’ with you, though they were nothing extravagant. It’s the first year that the both of you were really celebrating with each other, learning about the other’s quirks and requirements when it came to the annual celebration. Based on previous occasions, you weren’t quite particular with where decorations went, or what colour theme you ought to follow.

The thought, while exasperating on its own, still brings a semi-fond smile on his face that he hides so that you won’t nag at him for finding your vexation amusing. It was more that he finds himself settling into a sense of comfort that you finally allowed yourself to do what you like—with him.

“I can do it, you know,” Yoongi sighs, folding his arms across his chest as he leans against the wall next to the tree.

You’ve already replaced him on the step-ladder, hands busying themselves with manoeuvring the star on the top of the tree with snipers precision. Yoongi wasn’t even sure if the ornament was moving with how careful you were being with it, and the look of concentration on your face tells him that you weren’t listening to him. By choice.

“Please pay attention to your surroundings so you won’t fall and die,” he says blandly, “I’d be quite heartbroken if you did.”

You shoot him a snarky look, “Quite?”

Yoongi’s lips twitch in amusement when he sees you puff out in annoyance, an indignant pout on your face when you edge your head backwards briefly to observe the apparent angle of the star.

“Very,” Yoongi corrects himself with a small laugh before he makes his way behind you.

You were too focused on frowning at the inanimate object to notice his presence, more concerned about finding a way to telepathically connect with the star so it’d be your puppet and perch itself into a position up to your standards.

You were stubborn. Yoongi knew that. It was one of your few quirks that he accepted, knowing that it was never as harmless as people made it out to be. He’s learnt—known—that you were a little rough around the edges, but you were pure. Someone who needed someone else with a little more patience to understand the edges that carved out the beautiful, and unadulterated version of yourself.

So, when Yoongi wraps his arms around your waist to lift you off the step-ladder—you squeal. Then, you whine. And then it’s a thwack to Yoongi’s shoulder (the right one because as much as Yoongi has told you that he’s fully healed, you never wanted to leap over that barrier—it was endearing) as he laughs at your chagrin.

“Put me down!” you demand with a hiss, “Yoongi! Stop laughing!”

“No,” he says, and he’s glad he can’t catch the daggers you were shooting at him since you were facing forward. “Let’s take a break.”

“That implies the both of us were working,” you say dryly, “You stood on a step-ladder for five minutes. Yay. Would you like a medal?”

Yoongi huffs, “I—”

“God, the bar is so fucking low,” you mutter under your breath.

Before Yoongi can say anything to that, he tosses you onto his couch, earning an equally loud shriek at the way your body makes contact with the plush surface.

When he stands above you, you’re glaring at him so vehemently that your expression may as well as telling him to dig his own hole to get buried in.

“A half an hour break won’t hurt,” Yoongi smiles, kneeling down to reach your eye level as you scoff. Your arms are folded across your chest petulantly, pointedly avoiding the way Yoongi attempts to catch your gaze.

Yoongi rests a hand on your knee, squeezing the flesh as you pretend like it wasn’t doing anything to you. Frankly, Yoongi couldn’t tell with the way you were stubbornly clenching your jaw in vexation as you stare at the entrance of his apartment as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

You did this often. Get annoyed with Yoongi, stay silent; sulk; pretend like you were mad (maybe you were, but Yoongi likes to think you’re softer than you acted), and wait until Yoongi started to grovel.

Yoongi almost laughs, a smile threatening to make its way onto his face when the routine refreshes itself in his mind. If you were anyone else, he’d leave them on their own until they cooled down enough to listen to him, whether they agreed or not. But you were you, and as much as you exasperated him—he was a man in love. He was putty, and you had him wrapped around your finger whether you were aware of it or not.

Another squeeze and he notes you jolt ever so slightly, knees parting on instinct. He wants to smirk but he knows you’ll start cursing him out again.

“Sweetheart,” Yoongi murmurs, fully knowing that it was your favourite name. Gosh, you were unpredictable and predictable at the same time. Your nose twitches. Yoongi smiles. Score.

“The tree looks beautiful,” he reassures softly, thumb rubbing a soothing circle under your knee. He wasn’t lying. You did have an eye for things like this while Yoongi was rather simple. He appreciated aesthetics but didn’t place it as a priority. He valued company over outlook—but with you, he’d get both. “The house looks beautiful. You did a really great job at decorating.”

A shift. Your chest was slightly facing him despite your gaze still being trained to his front door.

You needed to hear these things. Yoongi knew that. You liked hearing that you were doing a good job, seeing the approving smile on Yoongi’s face even if he thought you didn’t need his approval. Who was Yoongi to deny you the everlasting truth he holds?

“You deserve a break,” he says softly, inching closer until he’s kneeled between your parted thighs, catching your dubious expression when he smiles up at you. “Let me take care of you, hm?”

“We need to finish the decorations,” you deadpan, voice impressively stable when you glare down at him.

Your legs make space for him.

“After.” He cocks his head to the side in a way that you claimed made him look cocky. But hot. Apparently. “No one’s coming over until 8 PM.”

“It’s five-forty, Yoongi,” you huff, flailing your arms to gesture towards the analogue clock on his coffee table.

“And Jungkook doesn’t know early even if it hit him in the face,” Yoongi snorts, hands now rubbing slowly up and down your thighs. You curse under your breath, something about wearing sweats instead of the shorts you were dawning. Yoongi’s not complaining. Easy access.

“Jimin said—”

“Jimin too,” Yoongi says quickly, almost huffing at the mention of the intern-turned-resident. You’ve taken a liking to his apprentice, and while Yoongi wasn’t…possessive, Jimin had a crush on you and Yoongi—well, he was your boyfriend; your partner—he was allowed to be sceptical!

(Jimin was nothing but polite to you, but the cheeky looks he’d shoot Yoongi when you weren’t looking tells him that Yoongi’s downfall was amusing to him.)

“What if Hobi comes early—?”

“I’ll tell him to fuck off,” Yoongi replies curtly.

You flick him against his forehead as he winces. You glare down at him, knuckle still pressed against his forehead so he couldn’t get any closer when you realise that he was edging closer to where he wanted to be.

“Haerin? Namjoon? You know they offered to help,” you remind.

“Namjoon would understand the innate need of a man to ravage his girlfriend in his own home,” Yoongi says.

A pretty flush appears on your cheeks as your jaw slackens. You always said Yoongi was too much. But he doesn’t think you know. Know just how much more he wants to give you—the world; the universe—all the multiverses out there if they existed.

“You’re so annoying,” you seethe.

“Okay,” he shrugs, then he shoots you a small grin. The ever soft tilt of his lips makes your features soften ever so slightly. “Now are you going to stop pretending like you’re mad at me and let me take care of you?”

“I am mad,” you snap weakly, fingers darting out to grasp at his shoulder when he suddenly pushes your thighs apart with his hands. “We’re supposed to be decorating—!”

“You know for someone who seems to really like Christmas, you’re very grumpy,” Yoongi teases.

You gawk at him. “I’m not grumpy! I just want the decorations to be perfect—!”

“And it is.” Yoongi presses a kiss to your inner thigh, arms wrapping around your thighs as he tugs you forward. You yelp, bum on the edge of the seat as he grins up at you so widely as if you were the one doing him a favour.

You were. Every day. Being with him. Staying by his side despite the hectic year the both of you had. And you were here, in his home, a plane ride away from the home you called yours.

(“Merry Christmas,” you had said shyly, turning up on his doorstep when he blinked at you. Shocked. Stunned.)

“What if someone—” you mumble, nibbling on your lips as Yoongi can’t help but smile at you. It seems like the only thing you can evoke out of him is happiness; apparent in his expression too.

“We’ll deal with it later,” he reassures you gently. Then, he peers up at your eyes when you finally decide to grant him the liberty of looking into your gaze. “Now, I want you to sit there and let me service you. Got it?”

“Don’t say it like that,” you mutter.

“Always telling me what to do,” Yoongi huffs, shaking his head as his fingers reach towards the band of your shorts, teasing. Featherlight. He feels the goosebumps raise on your skin as you narrow your eyes menacingly at him. “Relax for me, okay?”

“Don’t tell me to relax,” you snark.

Yoongi smiles. You were so stubborn. Noisy, when you didn’t need to be. He’d need you to be quiet, and he knew exactly how to get you that way.

Your fingers are still on his shoulders, and Yoongi takes a second to turn his head, pressing a soft kiss to your right knuckle. You pinch his neck, but it’s so light that it feels like a love tap. It probably is, because when Yoongi looks up with a pointed look, all you do is huff like the petulant Princess you were.

He pulls your shorts down, greeted with the bare sight of your pussy, already glistening with your wetness. He smirks to himself. You could play this facade as much as you’d like, but Yoongi knew you and your body like the back of his hand. He learned every bit of who you were; loved every bit of who you were—he knew.

“This isn’t a reward,” you warn, hands going to clutch at the strands of his hair.

Yoongi laughs, tugging you closer until he was eye level with your pretty pussy. Before you can yell at him for laughing at you—annoyed—he dips his head, tongue darting out to catch the drop of wetness that threatens to fall to the couch beneath you.

You gasp, a sound Yoongi’s well-acquainted with and even less tired of. He’d have you moaning for him every single second of the day if he had it his way. But you were ambitious, a lady with dreams and he respected that. He’d service you, day and night, every minute—anytime. He’d settle for these moments.

“Yoongi…” you say breathlessly, legs twitching when he hooks a knee over his shoulder for better leverage.

“Taste so good,” he whispers against your mound, tongue dragging up your slit to collect all your wetness towards your swollen pearl. When his appendage drags against the bud, your back arches, sensitive as ever and just how Yoongi likes you.

“Don’t tease,” you scowl, voice shaky when you tug at his hair.

“Me?” He feigns innocence, pulling away to shoot you a lopsided smirk as you glare at him, cheeks already flushed. Yoongi feels all the blood rush to his cock just by looking at your beautiful (yet, angry) face. “I’d never.”

Yoongi decides to spare you the wait, leaning in and wrapping his lips around your clit as you gasp, legs almost snapping shut. He keeps them spread, palm digging into the meat of your thighs as he laps against your sodden folds, your clit—swirling and pressing like he wanted to imprint himself upon your skin forever.

Yoongi loved giving head. To you. He never divulged his sex life with any of his co-workers, with the exception of Namjoon (and even then, the details were very sparse because your business wasn’t his—and he didn’t want anyone else to know just how amazing you were). But he’s heard stories of men who weren’t so keen on giving head, claiming that it wasn’t as satisfying as being on the receiving end.

Yoongi would always keep his opinions to himself but the eye roll remained. They were selfish lovers. Period.

Even if that was the case, Yoongi thinks you must’ve done some magic on him because anything you did, any little reaction you gave him—aroused him. He was insanely attracted to you, attuned to your body like a snake to fiddle and he could almost laugh at how whipped he was. Having you this way, spread out so pliantly for him, pussy clenching around nothing as your bud pulses against his tongue—was his definition of sexual gratification.

“Y-Yoongi—,” you mewl, legs clamping against his ears as he feels you shudder under his ministrations.

God, you were so fucking sexy. Your breathless moans, the way your fingers wrap themselves tighter around his strands of hair to ground yourself; the half-lidded gaze you shoot him from above like an angel peering over her people—you were so tantalising and Yoongi couldn’t get enough of you.

Then, powered by his devotion, Yoongi delves in deeper and sucks on your clit like he was on a mission to suck the soul out of your body. A high pitched sob escapes your lips, your legs vibrating by the side of his face as he smiles into your sodden cunt, feeling the way your hole pulses uncontrollably.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” you chant, voice hoarse when you do juxtaposing actions—your hands pushing him away when he feels you shake under his actions, and your legs keeping his head firmly put where he wants to be. Either way, Yoongi wasn’t going to stop until you were coming.

“That’s it,” he encourages with a smirk. And to seal the deal, he adds two fingers—quick because he knows you can take it—and curls them up until it hit the spot that made you—

“Yoongi!” His name sounds like heaven when it rolls off your tongue and he’s so hard that it almost hurts. But he’s on a mission to get you off. A reward for himself despite your earlier warning, and an act that fits into the context of gifting season.

You cum. Loud. Wet. Messy. The sounds are so obscene when Yoongi slurps against your oversensitive cunt, your hands weakly pushing his head away with a breathless whine when he continues to lap at the honey that pours out. You taste so good that Yoongi’s head is a little hazy. Your wetness is smeared all across the bottom half of his face and he couldn’t have had it any other way.

When he pulls away, he feels fucked out—and he watches the way your chest heaves up and down in exertion when you stare at him with a dumbfounded expression.

“What the hell,” is all you say. He knows it was good, and he gives you a parting kiss to your thigh before he pushes himself up.

“Tis’ the season, sweetheart,” he smiles.

You gape at him, your eyes boring into his skull as if you were attempting to regain some sense of consciousness. But before Yoongi can ask, you’re pulling him down onto the couch with you, and with wobbly legs—you perch yourself on his lap.

“You can’t just do that and not give me your dick,” you deadpan.

Yoongi blinks, then he bursts out laughing. His shoulder shakes when you continue to glare at him, both in annoyance and in desire.

“Thought we needed to get back to decorating,” Yoongi throws your own words back to you as your face morphs into a scowl, brows furrowed in a way that tempts Yoongi into brushing his thumb in-between them to placate your expression.

“Now you want to decorate?” you scoff, hands resting on his shoulders as his own naturally find their way to your waist, squeezing the flesh that’s bare of clothes with the way your sweater has ridden up.

“Someone once told me that the decorations needed to be perfect,” he shrugs noncommittally, thumb rubbing against your skin as he feels you shudder under his touch.

“Well that someone wants you to fuck her,” you snap.

“I have a girlfriend so I don’t think she’d be too happy about that.”

You roll your eyes, and Yoongi feels all the more accomplished when he spots the quirk of the corner of your lips at his silly statement.

“At least I know you won’t go run off with some lady,” you huff as your hands are busy with the drawstring of his sweats, already palming his hardened length over the fabric.

Yoongi’s breath hitches, feeling the heat in his body travel to his lower region with the way your tinier hands engulf his cock over his sweats like second nature.

You looked so pretty like this. Your hair was slightly matted down after your shower when you left it to air-dry, and there’s the semi-permanent frown on your face that he always jokes about being good for pre-mature wrinkles—but it’s you. The same girl, woman, he’s loved since he was eighteen. Now, the both of you were older, and finally together.

It’s funny how things in life worked out sometimes.

“Never,” he grins widely, one hand retreating from your waist to stop you before you can get your hands under his sweatpants—even if his cock was dying for some form of friction, already riled up after witnessing your orgasm.

“Yoongi,” you whine with a pout, “We don’t have time!”

Yoongi smirks. “Then we can go back to decorating.”

You frown at him, and he spots the way your eyebrow twitches as he stifles his laughter.

“I don’t want to decorate now,” you sniff, “I want to sit on your dick.”

“Come on, has chivalry really died?” he muses, “Where’s my kiss?”

“I’m a lady, Min Yoongi,” you say with narrowed eyes, and Yoongi’s indulging in the way your cheeks flush a deeper shade.

“What happened to modern-day feminism?” Yoongi chuckles, voice lifting into a tease as you gawk at him.

Even if he was hard beyond belief, he enjoyed sharing moments like these with you. When you were you, and he was him. Where all your conduct and expectations were knocked over whenever you were with him; the little snarks that you’d throw at him when Yoongi would poke at your buttons. It’s a dynamic that’s always existed between the both of you—a push and pull that he’ll never get tired of.

“Are you seriously going to equate me not initiating a kiss as proof of how chivalry has died when you men were—!”

But, Yoongi’s still a man, as you loved to remind him whenever he’d annoy you a little more than usual. And despite the way he loves having you like this—he wants to be inside of you, to fill you up to the brim and feel your heat envelop him like you were made to take him.

So, Yoongi wraps his thumb and index finger around your chin to swoop you in for a kiss, pressing his lips tightly—yet with warmth—against your own, feeling the way you immediately melt into his touch.

“I’m teasing,” he reminds lightly, still murmuring the words against your lips.

“You’re so annoying,” you say breathlessly, and then you’re pushing back onto him until his back hits the back of the sofa.

You waste no time getting him out of his sweatpants, haphazardly tugging the material down until it pools under his thighs as opposed to getting it fully off of him. As expected, you were on a time crunch and you were a woman on a mission.

“Use your hand,” he directs, leaning back to enjoy the way you take charge even if it’s just for a moment.

You lift yourself off his lap ever so slightly to wrap your hand around his shaft, eliciting a hiss from Yoongi when he feels you squeeze the base of his cock. Yoongi usually took control in the bedroom even if it wasn’t a fixed role. Naturally, you took control in most aspects of your life and even in the dynamics of your relationship—so you often allowed Yoongi full reign over your sexual reprieve. Yoongi didn’t have a preference but it would be a lie to not admit that seeing all the ripostes filled with fire die on your lips when you sought for his commands—his validation—was enthralling.

“Slowly. Just the tip,” he continues, voice strict as he sees the way your lower lip juts out in potential defiance. He shoots you a look. A warning. He wonders if you’ll decide to disobey today.

“It’ll fit,” you whine, “You always fit.”

Yoongi hides his groan well. His eyes flutter shut ever so slightly when he feels himself lose control when the tip of his cock breaches your fluttering pussy. He’s been inside of you enough times, but every time is a new experience. He’d never get tired of the pop that it makes when he passes the threshold, the gasp that you and he let out as if you were synced to each other.

“Patience,” he says with a small smirk, thumb rubbing against your cheek when your teary and desperate eyes peer up at him. “Sink down just a little for me.”

You do, and he feels more of your heat engulf him as his other hand squeezes around your waist. God, the way you were pulsing around him makes his head spin. But the way you squirm above him is even better. So, he holds out a little bit longer, taking every bit of self-control to not fuck upwards until you were putty in his arms.

“Yoongi please,” you mewl, forehead dropping onto his shoulder as he laughs. The vibrations cause you to let out a breathy whimper when his cock jostles ever so slightly in your cunt. You wrap your arms around his shoulder, clinging onto him as if he was your last lifeline.

“Doing so well for me,” he croons, tracing his fingers up and down your spine as you shiver. “Last bit for me, love. You can take it.”

“I can,” you warble, finally sheathing his cock deep in your cunt as you let out a sinful gasp, head was thrown back when he’s nestled deep in your pussy. You didn’t top often, mostly because Yoongi was so big that it made you feel so whole—according to you. But when you did, Yoongi knows it’s an experience that the both of you want to replicate, over and over.

You don’t move, your manners impeccable when you await his commands. Yoongi knows that you know that he’d never really punish you for disobeying him. But he knew that you liked this—liked waiting for the green light; liked the way that Yoongi controlled your actions that delivered mind-numbing pleasure.

You rest your hands on his chest, and he slowly palms your waist—then the underside of your breast, and finally your mounds as you remain still on his cock.

He slips off your sweater with ease, no dragging it out—nothing particularly sexy about it. Almost intimate when the two of you share a smile. Soft and warm. Just like Christmas. Just like this moment.

“Thank you for coming,” Yoongi whispers, suddenly feeling sentimental. Really, he always felt this way around you. An overwhelming sense of feeling that he needed to get off his chest. He never knew he could be as expressive as he is, not until you were his, and him—yours. “Thank you for decorating my home. For inviting everyone over to spend the holidays with us.”

You flush. You’re not usually this shy. But you hide your face ever so slightly when you duck your head down.

“You don’t need to thank me,” you mumble. It’s intimate; the way his cock is firm inside your cunt—hard as a rock—as you possess the ability to rock forward and bring the both of you home. The both of you choose not to, just for a second. “I never got to celebrate Christmas like this. It’s…nice.”

You say the last part quietly, voice hushed in a whisper as Yoongi shoots you a small smile. When you look up, your cheeks are so flushed that he’s tempted to tease you. But you squeeze his shoulders, a nervous habit whenever you felt like you were about to go on a ramble. Yoongi knows this, so he waits.

“Christmas wasn’t fun,” you tell him, “My parents never really cared for the holidays. And Haerin…well, we weren’t close. You were the only one that really paid attention to me so…I wanted to do this right.”

Yoongi’s heart clenches at your soft tone, almost as if it was your inner-child speaking and not you. You rest your cheek against his chest as he holds you tighter to his body.

“I’m sorry for being so…anal about this,” you wince, “It’s just—I want this Christmas to be perfect. And I want things to look pretty so we can take loads of pictures for memories.”

“You know this Christmas is already perfect because you’re here with me, don’t you?” Yoongi finally speaks up, the words uttered into your hair as you scoff.

You pull away, the you that he’s always known slightly returning as you narrow your eyes at him.

“Don’t be such a cheeseball,” you say with a scrunch of your face, “You know what I mean! It’s our first Christmas together and I want it to be special! And you think the star is fine when it’s clearly off-centred! You know—I really hope our kids don’t inherit that habit of yours because—”

Yoongi freezes, his hands stilling against your waist as his eyes blow out wide. You’re still rambling, going off your mini tirade. Your mouth is moving but he can’t really piece out anything except for the fact that you took a one-eighty and was now calling him an idiot, along with some other words that he’s gotten way too used to.

Kids.

Our kids.

Yoongi’s heart seizes in his chest, and he can already picture it. Years from now. Or even a year. Who knows—fuck, he doesn’t care but he can see it. Christmas Eve. You’re decorating the tree again, and Yoongi isn’t helping you because your daughter—or your son—or both—is helping you. They’ve inherited your stubbornness that takes years of Yoongi’s life away, but also your livelihood, the energy that brings you so far—and it makes his life brighter.

He sees the matching sweaters, a cheesy tradition that he never liked until this picture came to mind. He sees the hot chocolate; the whipped cream moustache that he doesn’t tell you about so he can snap a picture. Fuck. He sees it all—and suddenly, he needs to—”

“—like I know it’s not that deep but it is! The star was off-centred, and it’s obvious—” You don’t finish your words because Yoongi’s planting his feet against the floor, and hands around your waist, before he’s thrusting upwards.

“Fuck!” you squeal, caught off guard by the sudden force that knocks the air out of your lungs. But Yoongi’s delirious, the visual in his mind never leaving when he continues to fuck upwards, deep into your sodden pussy as you let out cries of pleasure at his ministrations.

“You want my kids?” His voice is uncharacteristically soft for someone who’s holding you so tight to his body, thrusting his shaft deeper and deeper into your hot walls as you cling onto him for support.

“I-Is that what—fuck—you got from what I said?” you snap, but he knows you’re flustered. You’re glaring at him, but your mouth falls into a pretty little ‘o’ when Yoongi pulls you down on his cock at the same time he thrusts upwards.

“Tell me,” he grunts, feeling the way your cunt clenches around his length as he lets out a low groan. You moan a high-pitched sound that he freezes to memory as one hand releases your hips to tilt your chin up so that you were looking at him. “Tell me you see it too.”

“Y-Yoongi, shit, fuck,” you babble on, mewling incoherencies as your eyes meet his manic ones. The sound of skin slapping against the skin is obscene, and the Christmas music you were playing earlier is muted by how loud you’re getting, along with the squelches of your cunt.

“Tell me,” he growls, “Do you see it? Christmas morning? With me? With kids?”

You squeal when another hand leaves your hips to play with your clit. The arms around his shoulder are the only things keeping you rooted in position as your eyes pierce into his own. You felt so fucking good around him that he feels himself already losing it—but he needed to know. He needed to hear it from you.

“I-I—” You’re struggling with your words because Yoongi’s fucking you so hard and fast that it’s a little hard for him to think too.

“Fuck, I’ll give you kids, all right,” he snaps, bringing your lips to him and captures it in a blazing kiss. You moan into his mouth when he bites on your lower lip, all while he speeds up the finger working against your clit. It’s pulsing. It’s wet. You were close—he could feel it. “I’ll give you everything you want. A home. A family. The world.”

“F-Fuck, Yoongi,” you sob, “I’m going—I’m gonna cum, please, please—”

“Shit, I’m so—” Yoongi laughs tightly against your mouth, the both of you breathing into each other as he shoves his cock upward and stays there for a beat longer as you let out a garbled moan. “You drive me crazy, you know that?”

You pull away to give him a tired but satiated smile. “I-I’ve—ah—heard.”

“Look at me,” he whispers, hips still working upwards as he finally feels your vixen-like grip around his shaft. A guttural moan leaves his lips, his eyes shutting in a moment of weakness before they’re open again—only to see your gaze falling onto his own.

“Cum for me, sweetheart,” he commands, and suddenly—like magic—you’re clamping down on him as you convulse around his cock, legs shaking and body shuddering.

Somewhere in the midst of your orgasm, your shaky fingers find their way in-between Yoongi’s ones. You grip his hand so tightly, and he feels the press of the ring he promised you a year ago bite into his skin. It drives him crazy—crazy enough that he continues rubbing at your clit through your climax. Yoongi cums with you, hot spurts with a promise painting your inner walls as you cry out his name.

Your sweaty bodies are pressed together when you attempt to catch your breath. Your hand is still squeezing Yoongi’s, and he doesn’t intend on letting go either. He feels his cum leak out of your cunt when he begins to soften. You don’t make an effort to move, only rests your head against his shoulder as he feels your chest heave.

The two of you stay there. He’s not sure for how long, but it feels nice having you against him like this. He should probably pull out and clean up the mess before guests actually start arriving while the two of you were anything but presentable. You’d probably yell at him for dragging you into this. And he’d let you, every—single—time.

“Love,” he murmurs, wondering if you’d fallen asleep. You got tired after sex, and while he wanted to let you rest—he didn’t have an eye for aesthetics like you did. He didn’t want to burn twice. But his curiousity—his desire—still wins. “Were you serious?”

He feels your body stiffen ever so slightly before it relaxes. He helps your body upright so that he could see your face when he got an answer. He could wait; he knew people said things during sex that didn’t really translate into their daily lives. He just needed confirmation.

“I…”

“I was serious,” he adds on softly, brushing hair away from your cheek when he pulls your face closer, nose brushing against your own. “I’ll give you anything you want. And if you want…”

“I do,” you mumble shyly, looking away. “I want…kids. With you.”

Yoongi feels his heart soar, and he really can’t stop the wide grin that appears on his face when you snuggle into his chest, playing with his fingers as you look anywhere but his face.

“I mean obviously we’d have to be married first but I still want kids,” you say quickly, almost childishly as if you were hinting at something.

Yoongi smiles, looking down at you as if you had painted the star in the sky for him.

“Obviously,” he reiterates with a teasing grin. “You just got to be patient.”

You huff, opening your mouth to say something before you decide against it. “No public proposals. I don’t want to break your heart in front of an audience.”

Yoongi hides his laugh. “Okay. Thank you for your consideration.”

“And…” you continue, words muffled with the way your cheek is pressed against his chest. “Nothing gaudy.”

“Got it,” he nods. He knew that. Of course, he did. But hearing it from you, speaking as if your future together was absolute—made him softer around the edges. The way he’s like only when he was with you.

“But don’t make me wait forever! I waited this long to…” you trail off, sheepish. “…to be with you…and I don’t want to wait too long. If not I’ll be infertile. And old. And ugly.”

God, Yoongi’s heart was going to burst. He can’t help the laughter that bubbles inside his chest as you scowl at him with an annoyed glare.

“Whatever happens, I’ll never leave you,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to the peak of your cheekbone as you sniff, pleased. “You got to try a lot harder than that.”

“You better not,” you warn, hugging him tighter.

A beat. Yoongi’s heartbeat—he’s sure you heard.

Then:

“I love you,” Yoongi says.

You smile into his chest.

“I love you too,” you murmur, shy.

Just as you’re about to lean up to press a kiss against his lips, his phone vibrates in his pocket. It’s a surprise that it’s managed this far through your escapades. He shoots you an apologetic expression as he fishes for his device.

When he slides open his notification, he’s already bracing for another round of expletives from you.

From: Kim Namjoon

Haerin and i are 5 minutes away. hope our presence can help w the decorations lol

Also, dw, ___ is scary but at least you’ll have back-up

[ssamorganhotchner]

Hi Morgan!! Happy Sunday ♡ I'm dying to talk about Hotch's voice today for some reason. Its deep and captivating, his voice instantly demands authority and its somehow still the most comforting thing about him. Its even and has a soft and smooth quality (kind of like warm butter if that makes sense), in contrast to his moans we heard in S4E2 where I think a bullet grazed his ear IIRC, those sounds were raw, almost animalistic. Okay I'm done now 😇

hi friend <333 !! i’m so sorry i didn’t answer this sooner! i was at work all day yesterday (& unfortunately work today too 😩) 👀

it really is the hottest, most soothing thing i’ve ever heard. I am always down to talk about his voice 😩🦋🦋 i love how he’s demanding, dominate, and everyone automatically pays attention when he’s talking (especially when he’s angry at a detective).. but yet he does it without yelling?? he just talks and everyone’s like “😳😳 yes sir” but but but then he goes from that to talking to children & the victims & it makes me scream bc hakskfhskdkfh ITS SO HOT. he’s so gentle and talks so softly to them. he’s so supportive of them and i just- i don’t have the words.

you’re exactly right. his voice is smooth as butter and like liquid when he talks. honestly, it’s so soothing to me that ive been binge watching cm with @ssa-hotchnershoney & I’ve fallen asleep more times than i can count 🥲🤣 not on purpose, he’s just super comforting.

also there’s a video on YouTube of thomas gibson reading a script (it’s like 30min long) & i’ve also used that to fall asleep many times. ❤️ it’s so comforting and sexy all at the same time. i’ve never heard anything like it. AND WHEN HE LAUGHS??? 😭😭🥺 it’s so high pitched and so cute. i can’t explain it because both his laugh and his voice are the hottest yet sweetest sounds I’ve ever heard. 😭💕

[turnaboutinlove]

Hello! How are you? Could I request a Edgeworth ❤️ x Mathematician reader who saves him in that one trial when he is accused of murder?? I know it's a crazy idea but 🤣 Maybe like they're discussing something with numbers and karma calculates wrong so the reader shouts that's wrong and corrects him

Mathematician!Reader saves Edgeworth

i’m doing well, anon! i hope you’re also well, take care of yourself, okay? honestly this is a kinda cute idea hehe, saving edgeworth with numbers! struggled a little with fitting in mathematics, but i hope this will suffice!

“So I summise that the correct answer to my findings, the bullet holes, the ballistic markings, each clearly counted which if you times the numbers, it should lead to a correct answer of 2.568. This points the conclusion that he is guilty, and I am not. Now, I demand a verdict—”

“Objection!” You yelled, standing up from your seat and pointing your finger at von Karma. Finally, you thought, a crack in his perfect composure. “You’re wrong. You claimed that 2.568 is the answer to your basic mathmatics, however, the correct answer is 1.348, making it impossible— the timings and ballistics are wrong all because of you, von Karma.”

“W-What? Preposterous, what would and insignificant child know about guns and numbers?” von Karma had quickly gained his composure, but you could see him trembling. Besides, did he seriously call you a child? Perhaps his perfect facade was breaking.

Edgeworth gave you an uneasy glance from his seat, though you ignored him, continuing to pursue defeating Von Karma, “With all due respect, Von Karma, I’m a mathematician — someone who works with numbers. I know my stuff, and you don’t.”

“P-Pah! Judge! This insignificant fool is interrupting the trial, have them removed.”

The Judge shook his head (to your surprise — you thought Von Karma would have a freater influence on him), “I cannot do that, Mr. von Karma, since the mathematician raises a fair point.”

“Y-Yes!” Phoenix jumped to grab this moment, giving you a smile as a sign of thanks for your findings, to which you smiled back at, “(Name) is right! Not that I would know much about maths, but they’re a professional!”

“I’ve run many calculations to double check my findings, I have the proof here,” You brought up a sheet of paper with an array of numbers scribbled upon it, “So I’m confident that my answer is correct, therefore proving the innocence of Edgeworth! Besides, I had a few suspicions about the bullets in this case…”

“I… This isn’t…” von Karma stuttered, eyes widened with horror as he clutched his shoulder.

“Therefore, von Karma, this is the final piece of evidence that PROVES you are guilty! Thanks to the other bullet, and the photograph, we have now found the truth!” You yelled, pointing at him dramatically once more.

von Karma let out an ear piercing scream, one that had lasted for a few moments, before admitting to his guilt. You had finally gotten him, you thought, releasing the tension you had in the form of a sigh.

You weren’t paying much attention to the rest of the trial, exhausted and ecstatic that you had proved Edgeworth’s innocence. However, you paid enough attention to hear the “Not Guilty” verdict and the hitting of a gavel to signify the end of the trial.

You were standing around in the defendant’s lobby, waiting to thank Phoenix for his work and to find Edgeworth. You hadn’t expected him to come up to you, you were a little surprised that he noticed you first, and not the other way round.

“(Name)… I’m indebted to you. If you hadn’t proved von Karma’s findings wrong, I would not have found the truth.” He spoke, bowing his head (you weren’t sure if it was in shame or something else), “I… I’m unsure how to phrase this.”

“No, no need to thank me,” Despite not stating the explicit words ‘thank you’, you had gotten the notion that he was thanking you, “I was just pointing out the contradiction in von Karma’s statement. Besides, I knew you were truly innocent, I believed you were and I sought to prove it.”

You could barely see a faint flush on his face, though he tried to hide it by looking away from you, “I.. I… I would like show my gratitude by treating you to a meal,” He stammered, you could see his face grow a little redder, “I-It is only proper to thank you this way, correct?”

A quiet laugh escaped from your lips, and Edgeworth gave you a preposterous look, “Of course, Mr. Edgeworth, we can go out for a meal.”

“R-Right, I—”

“Hey, It’s Edgeworth! And (Name)!” Maya called, bumping into both of you, “We won the case!”

Phoenix trailed behind Maya, looking tired from how long the trial was, “Yeah, thanks to you, (Name). Honestly… who knew that von Karma wasn’t… great at math…?”

“It might be that he purposefully spoke the wrong answers to gain an advantage,” Edgeworth replied, looking away.

“I’m glad we solved the case anyhow,” You smiled, patting Edgeworth on the back. He responded by stiffening up, probably because he wasn’t used to physical contact. “Let’s celebrate sometime, this was a long case.”

“Dinner’s on me, pal!” Gumshoe burst through the defendant lobby doors, cheerfully grinning. “E-Even if my salary got cut… this is a cause for celebration. Whoooooop!”

“Hey, looks like the whole dinner thing is sorted. Since Gumshoe is paying, you don’t have to take me out somewhere!” You nudged Edgeworth, though he shook his head at you.

“N-No, I insist that I pay for a meal, b-because we… I mean, I would still feel indebted to you.” He reasoned, “But… dinner, us… a-alone.”

Oh. How surprising, you thought, you hadn’t expected him to ask you out, though you weren’t sure if it was truly him asking you out. The implication was there, however, so you decided it was probably that (though you hadn’t expected him to be bold, if you could call his stuttering bold). In a way, it was charming, though you didn’t say a thing.

“Alright, alright. But first — we gotta celebrate with the others, okay?” He nodded, still looking away from you bashfully, gripping his other arm with his hand. You held out a hand for him, which he awkwardly accepted, to lead him out of the lobby and to the others.

“T-Thank you, again,” He said, the tiniest of smiles appearing on his face, “Truly. You’re an amazing mathematician… an amazing person overall.”

[leeloooonfire]

Naaaaw, you dont have to be good at math to write a character who is good at it. You have the narrative freedom to showcase his strength without having to lay it all out.

One thing I learned while writing my book and literally millions of words in fanfiction is:

believe your readers to be smart enough to fill the gaps! If you lay it all out, they probably think the author is pretentious and thinks they lack brain mass to understand what the narrative tries to explain.

Sooo, you can write about characters that are smarter and/or more talented than you without then and their strength falling flat. [You can also write a murderer without needing your own experience in that matter.🤣]

For Steve and his mathematics brain I would probably write an outline for scene something like this:

The kids are all sitting on Steve's dinner table, they're mostly quiet expect for a few heated exchanges here and there. Which is odd - usually, by this time in the DnD game, the living room is filled with laughter or screaming.

Instead, they're arguing whether it's logical if [insert interesting narrative idea, I'd probably go with something physics] the force shield Lucas casted earlier would be able to stand against the Cthulhu worshippers maze.

"It doesnt make sense - mathematically," Dustin screeches. [For Stranger Things it would make sense to bring in Dustin or Nancy because they're canonically pretty smart and we all know this. F.e. It makes sense to take Dustin so we can compare him and what we usually know about him to be true with Steve and what we know about him.]

Steve, intrigued by their outrage AND it being a problem that's probably easy to solve with numbers, comes closer and checks into the conversation. [Perhaps one person could dismiss him in a lighthearted manner (not too much, because we want them to be an ass to home bc Steve deserves the world), indicating that yes: Steve is not known by them and the reader to be the smart person in the room.] Instead of taking the comment to heart, Steve leans in closer, demands for the group to give him an overview of the issue and after receiving it, he sits down, grabs Dustins pen and an empty paper and gets to work. He feels their stares, surprised and disbelieving, but he concentrates and then shows them the result.

Theres an uproar - claiming it to be wrong, that it can't be that easy or fast to solve, etc until Eddie [let's take Eddie if we want them to have a deeper connection and perhaps if we want Eddie to be extremely impressed by Steve and Steve being flustered ☺️] takes the paper and reruns the equation once, twice, trice, always coming to the conclusion that Steve is correct.

Then Dustin and the other kids tear the paper out of Eddie's hands, also checking if it can be true, but Steve doesn't pay them attention anymore...not with Eddie's eyes fixed on him.

He does, however, jumps when Dustin screeches into his ear that this is advanced mathematic without any help of a calculator or a physics book and how the fuck did he do that?!

And Steve, smug and gloating, just says something like "Oh, as if it's hard." [Doing a tiny homage to legally blonde for the readers to enjoy.]

Give me good at math Steve. Maybe he’s dyslexic and words never made sense and always swam away from him, but numbers? He can memorize formulas, he can recognize pattterns.

I feel like it would add so much dimension to his character. I always like it in fic when they write Steve knowing a second language, or playing an instrument because I feel like the fandom has taken this idea that Steve is incompetent and ran with it. He’s incredibly clever, and sarcastic (a sign of intelligence btw), and snarky. He thinks quickly, is it well thought out? Not always, but that’s just his lack of self preservation skills. People can be smart and idiots at the same time, they can have their strengths and I wish that was portrayed more in fic and fandom.

So let him be good at math. Let him just be able to make sense of it. Show him tutoring El and assisting Lucas and Max when Mike and Dustin seem too condescending or intimidating or bitchy.

He’ll be bitchy too, but in an understanding way, because he knows what it’s like to struggle with something others find simple.

Also give us a scene where Mike or Dustin find out and flip their lids PLEASE

[elvensorceress]

Is the fic ’What I Did For Love’ something you’ll finish sometime? I read it earlier this year and became HOOKED and I’ve been having a desperate need for the last two chapters since April😍

Hi! Yes, definitely going to finish What I Did For Love at some point. Since I didn't finish before 5b started airing, I put it on the back burner while I figure out what I want to do with it. I had some things planned but I could add some canon things? Still debating that one. I had a May Day-esque sort of thing sketched out, but then May Day happened and I want to do something completely different. I totally called Chim staying with Eli and Chris wanting independence though. 🤣

Basically, I've been deciding how I want to finish it out, so it's waiting right now. I’m so happy you enjoyed it though! I was having a great time writing it 🥰 

I’m finishing up my Orpheus&Eurydice s4 fic right now, and then I’m hoping to get back to WIDFL and Love Spell.

Since it’s been a while? Here is a little (spicy 🔥) preview of chapter 11. Love for you! 💕

--

They were going to watch a movie. Buck very distinctly remembers inviting Eddie over after his shift and debating options and pulling up the menu with the remote, but now he’s pretty sure said remote is lost forever. The only light in his loft is the shifting Netflix screen saver menu that turns on when no one has paid attention to it. 

He’s definitely not paying attention to it. 

Eddie is sprawled out on top of him. His tongue is in Buck’s mouth, teasing out breathy gasps, and his hands are in Buck’s hair— were in Buck’s hair? One tugs his head to the side and teeth drag over Buck’s throat and Eddie’s other hand runs down Buck’s chest and teases his right nipple through the thin cloth of his shirt, and there’s never going to be a movie. Ever again. 

Unless they put on porn or something? Just for the hell of it? But even then. Why would he ever pay attention to anything but Eddie? Gorgeous, beautiful, sexy, needy Eddie. Especially with his demanding hands and dress shirt half unbuttoned and the hungry, possessive mouth that gives kisses and bites and makes Buck lose his fucking mind? There is nothing else. He never wants anything else. 

Buck grips the thighs splayed on either side of his hips and rocks up against Eddie. He’s so dizzy and overheated, he could seriously come from just this without much more effort. It’s been so fucking long since he could have this. It’s been so long since he could feel. He thought it would be awful to feel anything anymore. But god, this is anything but what sex was before. 

Eddie grinds down to meet him and the shift in angle must let him feel how hard Buck already is for him because he moans like something broken but also surprised, and frantically rubs their dicks together through all the layers of clothes they still have on. “God. Buck,” he practically growls, voice low and ragged. “You’re so hard. I love making you hard. Fuck, I want you.” 

And what can Buck possibly say to that? Just the words, wrecked and desperate and breathed like fire all over him? The way Eddie wants him? Not just anyone but him? How can Buck not give him everything? How could he ever have enough of this? 

He pulls Eddie down by his open shirt and into a hard kiss. Their teeth knock together and press into lips and it stings and he needs more. He needs so much more. He gives soothing wet licks across the seam of Eddie’s mouth. “What do you want? I’ll give you anything.”

Eddie kisses him again, a little softer this time, or maybe just slower, deeper so it curls an even more prevalent need through both of them. Heat blooms in waves through his stomach and rolls through every part of him. Buck moans into it, ready to let Eddie possess him completely. 

Eddie pulls back, panting hot and heavy over Buck’s face as he catches his breath. “Would you want…” His fingers curl into Buck’s shirt. He licks his lips and doesn’t lean down again but his thighs flex and his body still shifts and rocks against Buck. And Buck has to whimper and bring him closer. He wants anything, everything. He wants Eddie to just tell him what he needs so they can have each other. 

There’s something uncertain though in the way Eddie doesn’t quite look at him. Maybe he’s nervous? They haven’t done… everything. And Eddie always has to fight himself on asking for what he wants. It seems like he’s getting a little better at it though. Hopefully. He deserves everything, and Buck would give him everything and then some. He stretches up and kisses Eddie’s jaw, his chin, his neck. “Would I want what, baby? Tell me?”

Eddie exhales and tips his head to the side. He rubs Buck’s shoulder and his thumb sweeps over the hollow of Buck’s throat, and it’s a rush of warmth through Buck’s chest. Eddie searches him for a moment, still breathless, panting softly. “Would you want to fuck me?”

Heat swoops through Buck’s stomach and leaves him dizzy, unbalanced, unsteady. Eddie wants… He doesn’t know why it’s a shock because they have talked about it. Maybe his brain categorized it as theoretical? Or just a fantasy? Maybe he wasn’t expecting? But. Holy shit. Of course Buck wants that. What kind of a question is that? “Yes. Fuck, yes. You want me to? Really? I’ll do anything you want. However you want.” 

Eddie smiles at him, almost too sweetly. But Eddie is just like that. “Like this?” He slow grinds against Buck, trapping their cocks between their bodies and shifting until his longer torso is covering Buck’s completely. 

Buck whines and grips Eddie’s ass so he can keep their bodies together. “Yes. Perfect.” 

Everything about having sex with Eddie is perfect. Everything about being with him is. Even when it’s not, it still is. He’s never been with anyone who loves him like this. 

At least. He’s pretty sure Eddie loves him. They promised they were partners in everything. There has to be something like love, like being in love. Buck doesn’t want to think about that anymore though. 

He holds tightly but then slips his hands under Eddie’s loose shirt until he finds heated skin. “It’ll be good. For your first time, I mean. If you’re on top of me. You can control speed. And— and depth.” And Eddie bends to suck kisses into Buck’s throat and Buck’s whole body is already on fire and thrumming with need. “God, Eddie. Please. No more clothes. Please. I need you.”

Eddie stills and strokes his fingers through Buck’s hair, gazing down at him before he gives Buck a sweet kiss. It’s slow, almost too soft and he touches Buck gently but maybe like he never wants to let go. “I need you, too,” he whispers then pulls away to toss off his shirt and let Buck sit up enough so he can get rid of his own. 

Buck manages to get his fingers into the waistband of Eddie’s work slacks and pop the button open but that’s as far as he makes it before Eddie’s hands are cupping his face and Eddie’s mouth is back on his, and Eddie is kissing him, endlessly, frantically kissing him. And whispering his name, his given name, like Buck is the only thing he needs right now. 

[thebabblingbrookenook]

This was delightfully funny. I laughed out loud multiple times. It was also incredibly sweet. Seeing Anthony step in to fill a role so effortlessly made my heart smile. That experience would have been so daunting without him. That little greeted whisper in her ear made my pulse spike. Just his proximity alone is intoxicating. I love that he was her first dance. He set the standard. For her and for the men contemplating their worth for her attention. I would not want to follow the act of Anthony Bridgerton. He's an incomparable predecessor. I also really adored that when he relinquished her to another man for a dance, he went to stand with her mother. Again, in the place where her father would have been. I bet that would feel confusing emotionally for our reader. He's paternal/fraternal, but it's hard to look at him and not see a man who evokes desire. The lines are getting blurred a bit. I wonder what Regency Era therapy looked like 😂

These poor dullards attempting to win her affection. Smh... Arrogance is rarely an attractive quality. Well, more precisely, undeserved arrogance. It needs to be balanced with an authentic humility to make the perfect cocktail of allure. The boring man can be given the benefit of the doubt. It could have been nerves. But the book banisher is unforgivable. I would have feigned an illness to escape his evil clutches. The garlic toad was a hilarious touch haha. In reality, though, none of them stood a chance once Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome made his way into her world's eye view. I love that you have managed to capture exactly who he is, and we haven't even met him yet! You can feel it. The twinkley kindness that is so innately Benedict. This may seem odd, but looking at him makes me feel a sense of wunderlust. His cup runs over with youthful exuberance. Once she notices him in the room, that feeling forever lingers just knowing he exists. Even when she doesn't have her eyes on him.

That little exchange with Anthony at the end had me dying with laughter. It was just SO Anthony 😄. "Alright then. Let's have you pick. Anyone here catching your eye? I'm ready to list off the litany of their misdeeds." Lmao! This man... And then when she points out to him who she would like to be introduced to... his reaction is priceless. I may be reading too much into a subtext that isn't there, but I swear I picked up on a faint flash of panic when he realized who she was referring to. You know that sinking feeling in your gut that prepares you for heartache? That familiar desent that warns, "Hold on tight Buttercup. We're about to go down." That's what Anthony was giving me there haha. But as quickly as it appeared, it was gone. He stuffed the feelings he wasn't ready to dissect back into their cage.

Your readers' personality is whitty and charming. Her immediate assumption that Anthony was going to tell her the worst of the worst about her choice of man was comical. As a fellow beacon for red flag men, it makes me wonder how much of a history she has with that, for doom and gloom to be her knee-jerk reaction. I feel you, sister haha. Oh man, and when she panics and demands Anthony stop pointing 🤣. Gold! He's such a turd.

You took me from giddy laughter, immediately into "Oh! Pay attention, Brooke. Did you feel that?" Emotional whiplash! When Benedict starts to walk towards them and Anthony's whole demeanor changes. She notes him as being puffed and proud at her side. Which is so interesting to me! The fact that she clocks that poses the question of whether or not she understands what it means. I'm trying to read between the lines of what Anthony's inner monologue would be in that moment. Benedict is a perfect choice, and he can't deny that. He's a good man. Anthony knows his brother's capacity for love. He knows she would be looked after and cherished. It would meet Anthony's qualifications of keeping her close. She would laugh and smile for the rest of her life. And that is what makes Benedict an actual threat. This is real now. Anthony knew somewhere in his mind that she wouldn't find any of these other men suitable. But Benedict.... he might as well have been wearing a flashing red sign that shouts DANGER. And with all that to consider, Anthony also knows that SHE would be more than worthy for his brother. And doesn't he want to see Benedict happy? Oh, the complex simplicity is so beautiful!

My tummy tightened the closer Benedict got to her. His beauty is overwhelming. And he's so cheeky! A modest touch of fingers would have been appropriate, but he kisses her hand instead! And the EYE CONTACT! God, just take me now. There is no recovering from that. She's in trouble.

I love you for this lol 💜

Love to Spare - Part 3 (Anthony Bridgerton x Reader)

Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader: platonic, fluff Word count: 2.1k Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Summary: Anthony helps you navigate your first ball

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You approached that oncoming social season with more anxiety than you had ever felt in your life. Your mother took what little money you could spare to outfit you with an array of shimmering, impractical gowns, and she began attending teas with the other society women, inserting your family name into conversations and trying to establish the narrative that you were quite ready to find a match and start a family, now that you had learned enough from your father to ensure a robust education for your future children. 

Anthony called on you just after arriving in town, and the two of you walked through your small back garden while your mother sat in a corner as chaperone, looking entirely too hopeful at the sight of you together. 

“Dear god, Anthony, you must help me survive this.” You whispered harshly. “This is your world, not mine, I have no idea what I’m doing.”

He chuckled deep in his chest. “I don’t know that I’ve ever seen you quite so flustered. You certainly can’t behave this way on the dance floor.”

“I won’t.” You swatted at him lightly. “I know how to dance, I just don’t know who to dance with. I’ve hardly ever interacted with your set. I’m already going to be an oddity, the poor little destitute spinster swooping in at the last minute for scraps, and I know they’ll all be talking about me. I suppose I don’t care. I just don’t want to feed into anyone’s perceptions of me. I want to talk to the right people, keep my head down, find a generally respectable man and be done with it.”

He smiled wryly. “You talk about finding a match like it’s a business transaction.”

“And you don’t?” You volleyed back at him. 

He tilted his head in that way that showed annoyance but concession. “So you are not looking for great wealth or titles, just a stable reputation and average income?”

“Yes.” You nodded firmly.

“I shall also add a degree of kindness to the criteria. And proximity. I won’t have you marrying some brute or a Scotsman who’s going to whisk you off to who knows where.” He looped his arm around yours as you rounded a corner of hedgerows.

You scoffed. “Trying to find someone with property in or close to London is going to narrow the prospects, surely. Those are the wealthier families.”

“Perhaps, but it also means I can keep a closer eye on this fellow, whoever he turns out to be.”

“Anthony,” you stopped short, tugging on his arm so he faced you. “Are you intending to spy on me and my future husband?”

“Y/f/n,” he said shortly, eyes burning intently, “I intend to ensure your wellbeing. I will do everything in my power to help you find a suitable match, but even then, a lot of these vagabonds put on their best faces for the season, but are imbeciles or monsters behind closed doors. I want to know who he is, who his people are, and what the rumors are from his estates. I want to know that he will take care of you and your family. If that turns out not to be the case after you are wed, I will hear about it and I will rectify it. You deserve nothing less.”

You were rooted to the spot, gratitude fluttering breathlessly in your chest as tears threatened the corners of your eyes. This was a father’s role, to look after you in such a way, and he was stepping in without even being asked, as if it were his natural obligation. He could see that you were overcome and gave your arm a gentle squeeze. “I will help you through this, you have my word. The first ball is Lady Danbury’s, two nights from now. I will find you when you arrive and be at your disposal for the night.”

---

Lady Danbury’s ball, the first of your life, was overwhelming. Outfitted in a silver gown and accompanied by your nervous mother, you moved slowly through the crowds, towering palms and flower arrangements of the space, a cavernous ballroom of one of the ton’s new money families. Columns swept up to the vaulted ceiling and couples swept expertly across the dance floor. You secured a dance card to your wrist and then promptly started to melt into the wall until a familiar voice whispered warmly in your ear.

“You look absolutely lovely.” You jumped, but it was just Anthony, of course, smiling proudly at you. It was the first time you had ever seen him in tails and you began to understand his rakish reputation. He was devastatingly handsome. “Might I have your first dance?”

You smirked at each other sarcastically as he added his name to your card but then immediately pulled you onto the floor as the music began. Happily, it was a waltz, easy enough for you to remember and glide through without making a fool of yourself. 

“So, how are you feeling?” He asked, a peacocking smile on his face. He loved having the upper hand of experience in this setting, that was clear.

“I’m alright.” You smiled. This was actually somewhat fun. “Are you just dancing with me to draw attention and make the other men think I am more desirable than I actually am?” You quirked an eyebrow at him conspiratorially.

“That was the idea.” He grinned, twirling you under his arm. “I think it’s working. All eyes are on you.” 

You wrapped your arm around his shoulders and looked behind him as you moved across the floor. Heads indeed were turning, eyes were trying to meet yours, a nod or two was aimed in your direction. Blonde men, dark haired men, tall and short and old and young. 

You leaned in toward his ear, “Thank you,” you whispered. 

His hand pressed tighter into your back. “I’m only doing half the work. You really do look lovely. They should be falling over themselves to dance with you.” You squeezed his hand affectionately, and he continued. “But I have a few names in mind, gentlemen that I think meet our criteria. I will introduce them to you. And keep an eye out for anyone who interests you. I will tell you who they truly are.”

The dance was drawing to an end as you pulled away from each other, hands clasped and outstretched. “Why Lord Bridgerton,” you smirked. “How could I do this without you?” Both smiling, you dropped your hands and bowed, then you followed him off the dance floor and into a sea of black coattails and eager eyes. Anthony introduced you to so many sirs and barons, even a marquis and an earl, that your head began to spin. Your dance card was quickly filled and then you worked down the list, swirling across the dance floor as Anthony and your mother stood watch from the perimeter.

You were surprised how very few of the men on your dance card were physically repulsive. You had assumed you would only be of interest to widowed old toads, and while one of them might have been said to match that description, the others were decent looking men close enough to you in age. But unfortunately, they all proved to be either devastatingly dull or insultingly arrogant. Within three sentences exchanged, it became clear why these men had not yet married, despite their titles or reputations. One spent the entire dance describing the issues he had with his carriage axles on the ride in, and the other insisted that he would not keep books in his family home because he didn’t want a wife to be distracted away from her childrearing duties. 

You plastered a smile to your face, feigning interest and biting your tongue as you moved automatically through the steps of each dance, praying for it to end. You began to feel guilty that Anthony’s selections for you were all proving to be unbearable failures, and on your fourth dance, your mind began to drift. You held onto the man’s shoulders as he spun you around the room, a lanky blonde baron whose name you had already forgotten, and let your eyes cast around for anything more interesting to focus on than what he was saying. 

That’s when you saw him. It could have been that he stood out a bit taller than most of the other men, or it could have been that his brand of handsome was precisely to your taste, but in retrospect you think it was because there was something so familiar about him, almost as if you had met him before. With black hair and smiling eyes, he was laughing, and you immediately felt drawn to him. A minute later, when the baron pivoted you toward the same corner, the man was still there, drinking champagne. You could only snap your attention away when your dance partner called your name, but you didn’t much care if he found you rude. You wouldn’t be speaking to him again after that dance, which mercifully ended a few moments later.

Then there was the dance with the widowed toad, and you couldn’t help your eyes from scanning across the room for the dark haired man. He had moved, and you saw his back in a knot of people. At one point you could have sworn he turned and met your eyes, but then the toad lowered you into a dip and you held your breath as his garlicky smell bore down on you. When finally released from his clutches, you excused yourself from the dance floor and moved to a corner, desperately drowning a glass of lemonade, wishing more than anything that it was gin. This ball was becoming more of what you had always assumed - lots of pomp and beauty, but dull and rotten within. Shortly, Anthony appeared at your side.

“What do you think? Anyone worth pursuing?”

You swallowed the lemonade with a grimace. “Anthony, I deeply, deeply appreciate that you are helping me, but…”

He sighed, anticipating the rest of your thought. “Alright. I knew this would be difficult.” He grumbled.

You grew a big indignant. “I need to marry, Anthony, but I insist on someone with half a brain in their head, a modicum of respect for women, and who doesn’t smell like a barnyard.”

He rolled his eyes and huffed, but you could tell he understood. “Alright then. Let’s have you pick. Anyone here catching your eye? I’m ready to list off the litany of their misdeeds.”

You shot him a sour look, then turned back to survey the room. It took a minute of searching, but then you found him in a nearby corner, arms crossed, looking bemused.

“Him,” you nodded in the dark haired man’s direction. 

Anthony, sipping his own glass of lemonade, followed your gaze and then swallowed hard, his eyes going wide. “Him?!”

“Yes, him.” You said assertively.

Anthony set down his glass, shaking his head. “No. Not that one. Surely you mean some other gentleman.” 

“Anthony,” You gritted your teeth. “The tall, dark haired one. Tell me about him.”

Then he pointed outright. “That man?”

“Yes,” You hissed and batted his arm down. “Stop pointing! Who is he?”

He turned back to you and pressed his lips together, his whole face turning red with repressed laughter. He looked about to bust at the seams.

“Oh no,” You groaned. “What’s wrong with him? You’re about to tell me he’s the most scandal-riddled lecher, who’s penniless and has a wake of bastards behind him, aren’t you?”

Anthony kept shaking his head, snorting and staring at the floor.

“Anthony,” You punched him lightly in the shoulder, not much caring who saw. “Stop laughing! You are not helping me! Tell me who he is. Is he attached? What…”

“Oh look, he’s coming this way.” He suddenly straightened and wiped the smirk from his face, standing puffed and proud at your side as the dark haired man approached. You turned to face him and nearly dropped your glass. He grew more handsome with each step closer, as the details of his features came into view. Tall and lean, with long slender fingers, a tie playfully worn askew, perfectly tousled hair, and a crooked smile spreading across his face.

“Benedict,” Anthony bellowed, beckoning him into your circle. “Please let me introduce you to Miss y/n.”

You clambered to set your glass down and extend your hand. A gentle grasping of your fingers would have been appropriate, but the tall man bent and kissed you through your glove, his eyes never leaving yours, sparkling, grey and mischievous. You forgot to breathe until Anthony spoke again.

“Miss y/l/n, this is Benedict Bridgerton. My brother.”

[safarigirlsp]

This is some seriously gourmet shit right here! Omg I am in love with this! I was grinning like an evil psycho all the way through! I too love a couple going undercover together, and the more unsavory for them, the better! Of all the couples' undercover scenarios we've discussed, this is definitely my favorite possible scenario! And with my favorite AU couple!

First off, I adore the dark and kinky vibes like Eyes Wide Shut and The Ninth Gate! Getting to attend one of those pervy occult parties with Mills forced into being his sexiest and most possessive and most alpha role is absolutely delicious! I love that we're on the same dark and sexy wavelength. After flexing his sex party muscles in Duel, AD really needs to give us a modern kinky occult soiree. Until then, you are doing the lord's work writing it!

The opening is immediately interesting and gripping. I love things that start with movement, and this is perfectly done with an engaging, moving scene that also doesn't waste time on secondary characters. The interrogation scene is great too and how I would expect a hardened killer to conduct it.

If this isn't living the dream!

Two people, outrageously in love, killing for a living.

It's really impressive how you've worked in this forbidden romance element into a story that most - albeit unevolved - people would consider the antithesis of romantic. The tension between them is delicious and they behave completely like two people in their positions would. It's really a joy to read their dynamic.

Your mission, should you choose to accept it:

“You need to become Cipher and Gage for the duration of this Exhibition,” Adriane underscored. “They are ruthless, reckless, and passionate."

Yes. Yes, I absolutely fucking do 🤣!

Omg this is an absolutely hilarious line and image. I was grinning like an idiot.

You barely contained a grin, thinking of this scrawny little man, twisted with perversion, trying to entice the architectural marvel that was Julian Mills.

Architectural marvel is maybe the best possible description of him too. I think that and John Oliver's 'rudely large man' are now my running favorites.

This is so casually sexy and the type of thing that more writers should pay attention to instead of things like, 'you knew at once you would gag so pleasantly on his horsecock from the sight of it twitching in his pants' 🤣

Julian made his way to Adriane’s desk first, picking up the two rings with discreet tracking devices installed inside. He deftly slipped the smaller one up to the knuckle of his ring finger and let the other one drop. You followed moments behind and picked up the ring off the desk. It gaped around your ring finger, looking too big even for your thumb. “Doesn’t fit,” you dismissed, setting it down and pushing it towards Adriane. “Let me,” Julian said lowly, his long, thick fingers wrapping around your wrist. He brought your hand up and twisted the ring off his finger, sliding it carefully over yours and inspecting his work when he was done. He seemed to approve of the way your hand looked adorned with his wedding ring. He then picked the other ring up and set it in your hand, expecting you to put it on him. “Do I have to love, honor and obey?” you looked up at him as he offered a waiting hand. His silence filled the air with crackling intensity and you fought with yourself not to look away.

And Omg what a mood! So true for both of us!

Obey, you scoffed inwardly. Love was easy. Honor, you conceivably could. The only demand they both had of you was the one you struggled with most.

The elevator scene was really a nice transition scene. More of the forbidden dynamic and angst! It's so artful and well done how you sprinkle it in and give it such punch. As we've talked a lot, it's much better writing to show these things rather than just tell them, and you really are the master at all of these intricacies and deep emotions. The nuances you include are always perfectly fitting and insightful. It makes it feel so much more real.

He turned and looked hard at you, pleading with you to hear what he was not allowed to say. “Adriane is under the impression that we are convincing as two people in love.”

The setting is beautifully lush and so easy to immerse yourself in. You write the dark and decadent atmospheres so well. Whether it's sensual vampire parties with Kylo or kinky sex parties with Mills or Jacques and Pierre hosting their shithead bacchanals, I can feel them all and see them playing out like a movie. Each feeling and tone are unique and they're really a blast! Each one is a joy to read and I look forward to them all.

I'm putting this on any future resume:

the requisite depravity of character

The stripping scene is the best mental eye candy, and I love that RC is a little bit of a bitch about it 🤣 Mills being a slut flaunting his body is a blast. Because of the main Museum story and now this addition, Mills peacocking around like a cocky slut is totally canon to me now!

All the detail put into the party, the sights and sounds, and the atmosphere is wonderful! It makes it really easy to take a walk on the wild side along with our heroes and see the world through their eyes. It's all beautifully done.

This is such a great description!

You and Julian, by contrast, were trained by the Museum to be lethal, and having looks to kill was not a mere phrase where you came from.

I love that and the whole scene preceding it! Mills is such a sexy bastard here, and you write it so well! It's really a much needed excursion for him, since we have some real turds of projects coming up. Being able to objectify Mills like this and have this version of him running around scantily clad through our mental reels makes up for it!

I love these lines!

Your body spoke for itself, like a cat bristling and hissing, ready to claw out any eye that rested too long on Julian. The scene drew many masked faces to turn towards you and examine you with uncanny glittering eyes from behind impassive disguises. They had the eerie curiosity of carrion birds, waiting for their prey to become carcasses.

This entire scene is so ungodly hot. This is such a fun version of Mills to stick in this setting and let him go wild!

Julian drew you close, acting possessively, as if the fighting and territorial behavior was part of your foreplay.

I think it's great how the closer they get to Rostov, the weirder and fouler the participants get. The whole party is really top notch, but the descent into deeper depravity works so well and is so much fun to picture! It's fitting that he's a short little turd too 🤣

The peep show idea is really a fun addition to the exhibitionist extravaganza. Because I'm a sicko, it also had me wondering what else an enterprising villain could use them for.

As you were led along the balustrade to Rostov, you saw peep show-like personal rooms with acts going on in glass cages. These seemed to be one per box and, anticipating that you were brought here to perform rather than talk, you were grateful you wouldn’t be ogled by a multitude of criminals. Just one.

Rostov is such a fun bad guy! He's so well done as a creepy little perve! Emphasis on little! This was great!

Julian heard Rostov’s labored breath behind his mask and was sure the man was hard to bursting, though his proportions were such that robes successfully hid on his body what they could never hope to hide on Julian.

I've said it before and I know you know lol, but omg I love it when a hot manly man actually knows he's hot and manly and how to use it! I hate that meek wimpy uncertain way so many 'hot' men are written. Those fuckers should be designated by a hallmark sweater warning. Or conversely, the 'hot men' are written like douchebag frat boys with 24/7 hard ons. Neither version is written by someone who knows what a genuine hot manly man is like.

He observed his host, aware of his own intensely masculine appeal and let the man’s desire win out, breaking his determination

Omg you do the best cliffhangers! I can't wait to see what all you have in store for our heroes!

servants came in to escort you and Julian inside the glass box

I love this so so much! Thank you for taking the time to write this for me! This is maybe my favorite AU of all! This has all the insanity I love, all wrapped up into one dark and gorgeous package! 💗💗💗

Oh, and I would absolutely kill for a part 2... Murder, mayhem, Mills letting his freak flag fly... This may be the best Halloween story brewing 😈

This is so me! I love that we're in the sicko club together! 😈

Birthday Week Vignettes

*

As a little gift for my bestie and worstie, for her birthday week, I’ve written a selection of fun little vignettes (stretching the terms fun, little and vignette to mean several thousand words of something gory or fucked up).

It has been the greatest and most treasured experience I’ve had on here getting to know you. From the hilarious shit talking, to expanding my horizons in terms of what I read and write, and giving each other constant new ideas and support, I am so grateful for all the downsides of existing in an online space as it’s meant making a wonderful, cherished friend. Happy birthday and may we enjoy your presence in our lives and this garbage fire for a long, long time to come! 😍😍❤️❤️😈😈 @safarigirlsp

*

Day 1; assassin!Mills x RC

*

Summary: The Museum needs two operatives to pose as a married couple and go into a chateau full of depraved people letting loose and acting out their fantasies in an Eyes wide shut-type party. That old chestnut.

A/N: I’m a sucker for going undercover as a couple, in every iteration of that trope, and undercover at a sex party is an especially fun variation. This little episode didn’t fit into my main assassin!Mills story, but it was too interesting to throw out completely, so this seems like the best way to share it. If you like the premise, I’m happy to write a conclusion for it.

CW: mentions of wlw, mlm, group sex, fetishes, voyeurism, dubcon, murder, drugs, alcohol, sex work

WC: ~5.5k

*

Cipher and Gage picked up their small leather bags soon after they landed, exiting the airport hand in hand. Cipher’s steel toe boots thumped loudly on the tiles, his long leather coat rustling with every casual move of his tall, broad frame. Gage sized him up out of the corner of her black-rimmed eye, appreciating the sexy, disheveled swoop of his sandy hair, the frosty glint of his blue eyes, his sharp jawline dusted with a few days’ growth of beard. Her eyes wandered lower, to the tight black tank top that peeked out from his unbuttoned white shirt, the studded belt drawn tight around his narrow hips, and the tightly coiled muscles of his legs working under his equally tight pants. She couldn’t wait to get her hands on him in the car. Their quick encounter in the airplane toilet was too short for her appetite.

She walked briskly in her six inch shiny leather boots, barely reaching his shoulder despite the added height, feeling the chill in the airport as a gust blew under her scandalously short skirt. A man walking past them balked at what the blown up material revealed and she giggled to herself. Cipher squeezed her hand tighter and walked even faster in retaliation, leaving her to practically run to catch up with him. They barely jumped into the stretch limousine parked and waiting to take them to the rendezvous point that Rostov decided on when Cipher pulled her roughly onto his lap and glared, squeezing his large hand painfully around her thigh until she squirmed and pouted, removing her round Windsor sunglasses and giving him a plaintive look, all innocence and invitation. She had often remarked that it didn’t serve him any good to get all worked up over other men ogling her like that; if he wanted an attractive and flirty wife like her, then there were consequences to deal with.

They had enough time to redress and clean up as well as could be managed on a backseat when the limousine pulled up on Museum property. The partition rolled down and an Acquisitions operative pointed the barrel of a gun at the pair.

*

The heavy metal door creaked and moaned as it was pushed open for Adriane. She entered the small circular cell, windowless and bleached by harsh white halogen lights, where Cipher and Gage sat bound and gagged.

Without gracing either with eye contact, Adriane walked briskly, sweeping an elegant circle around the small cell, her heels clacking an ominous rhythm on the concrete floor. “In a moment, you will be separated. You will never see each other again,” she spoke the chilling words quietly and emotionlessly, as though to herself, as she circled the young pair like a crow awaiting carrion to feast on. “Whoever talks first will go free. The other will not leave this place alive.” She tossed the last words over her shoulder as she slipped like a shadow out the door and it closed heavily behind her.

She was not negotiating. She was not trying to entice them with anything only to pull the rug out from under them, as other people they had dealt with in the past had. The pair understood the danger they were in as they locked eyes, determined to leave this place together, and alive.

*

30 minutes, my office. A, the letters scrolled across the beeper in your hand.

When you arrived, with a minute to spare, you were feeling pretty smug about yourself that you managed not to be late, to say nothing of the fact you were chosen as the operative to be entrusted with this last minute, highly sensitive task.

Adriane’s office looked like the wardrobe department of some grungy photo shoot, with distressed denim, faux leather, fishnets and studs galore. Racks and racks of clothing were hurriedly rolled in, no doubt for the purpose of outfitting for this impromptu exhibition you were going on.

“Our guests have a meeting with their prospective employer this evening. We intercepted the coordinates Rostov provided and took Cipher and Gage on a detour here,” Adriane informed as Mills strode out from behind a rack with an armful of clothes. You looked from him to Adriane, wondering if this was some test and her omitting he would be there was supposed to catch you by surprise. Satisfied you did not betray your heart jumping into your throat, you diverted your attention to the racks of female clothing surrounding you.

“Won’t he know we’re not them? You know, when he looks at us?” you asked too snarkily for someone who knew Adriane wouldn’t waste anyone’s time if this was a real concern.

“Rostov doesn’t know what they look like. Both he and our guests are too discreet in their dealings to allow something like that. And the private party you are attending is designed to ensure privacy. At least where your faces are concerned.”

You felt a nervous knot tie in your gut, thinking ahead at what the night would more than likely demand of you. “And their stupid nicknames?” you asked, forcibly casual, as you pressed a red plaid skirt to your hips, wondering if it would even cover half your ass.

“For the same reason. They are decently intelligent, cautious people in their business dealings, even if their behavior otherwise is questionable. Under different circumstances, they might have been potential operatives for the Museum. As it stands, their use is limited to a single outing.”

You followed Adriane to her laptop computer, as thick as a briefcase, sitting in front of her leather chair, with a video paused. Scattered on the desk were photos of Cipher and Gage, taken over the last few weeks, as evidenced by the changes in the color and style of their hair. They were photographed several times in rather compromising positions, not that they seemed to mind. Gage was always smiling brightly when her hand was shoved possessively in Cipher’s back pocket, and he was not shy about embracing her in a town square and kissing her with what you personally deemed to be an excess of tongue, with both his hands on her ass, peeking out of another too-short skirt. Frenzied moaning and the squeak of leather grabbed your attention and you looked up at the video Adriane played.

“This was just over an hour ago, in the back of the car we sent for them,” she informed, looking unimpressedly at the screen.

The parallels between you and Julian were not lost on you. Two people, outrageously in love, killing for a living. Except the pair rutting wildly in a limo were free to be out in the open, not concealing anything from anyone, while you could only look at Julian askance and steal brief moments when you were sure no one was looking, which was hardly ever.

“The girl has great stamina,” you quipped, averting your eyes discreetly. From their copious, almost defiant public displays of affection, you didn’t imagine either would be bothered to know a few people had watched some blurry, low resolution footage of their intercourse, but the aversion was for your sake, not letting the Museum make a voyeur out of you. It was enough they made you a ghost and a killer.

“You need to become Cipher and Gage for the duration of this Exhibition,” Adriane underscored. “They are ruthless, reckless, and passionate. Their reputation precedes them in Rostov’s inner circle.”

“We understand,” Mills assured, seeming to imply that even if you didn’t quite get it, he did.

Adriane came up to stand next to you and snatched the blue tinged, white rimmed sunglasses off your face, replacing them with a dark, edgy pair more in line with Gage’s confirmed style. “Rostov is a hedonist with wild delusions of grandeur. He will try to flirt with you, and his demands are known to go far,” she informed in a tone that signaled you were to go along with it, as far as necessary.

“I’m cool,” you shrugged, stomach twisting with disgust you were still not entirely able to suppress.

“He will likely flirt with you too, Julian,” Adriane said in the same demanding tone to him.

“Mh,” he grunted vaguely, shucking on a leather biker jacket and ruffling his hair, as he studied his reflection, deciding if it all came together just right for Cipher.

You barely contained a grin, thinking of this scrawny little man, twisted with perversion, trying to entice the architectural marvel that was Julian Mills.

A clink of metal on hard wood rang through the air. “Put these on.”

Julian made his way to Adriane’s desk first, picking up the two rings with discreet tracking devices installed inside. He deftly slipped the smaller one up to the knuckle of his ring finger and let the other one drop. You followed moments behind and picked up the ring off the desk. It gaped around your ring finger, looking too big even for your thumb.

“Doesn’t fit,” you dismissed, setting it down and pushing it towards Adriane.

“Let me,” Julian said lowly, his long, thick fingers wrapping around your wrist. He brought your hand up and twisted the ring off his finger, sliding it carefully over yours and inspecting his work when he was done. He seemed to approve of the way your hand looked adorned with his wedding ring.

He then picked the other ring up and set it in your hand, expecting you to put it on him.

“Do I have to love, honor and obey?” you looked up at him as he offered a waiting hand. His silence filled the air with crackling intensity and you fought with yourself not to look away.

“Just obey,” Adriane answered for him and brought the moment to an end. Without ceremony, you slipped the ring on Julian’s finger and turned away from both of them.

Obey, you scoffed inwardly. Love was easy. Honor, you conceivably could. The only demand they both had of you was the one you struggled with most.

“You leave in 15 minutes,” Adriane informed as dispassionately as ever.

Before you left, curiosity got the better of you. “You got all this information out of them… Which one cracked?”

“They both did, of course,” Adriane gave a serene, composed smile, assured in the Museum’s methods.

“So who got to go free?”

Adriane blinked and for a moment, you had the distinct sense a huge grin would slice across her face. A jeering, hideous one, mocking your naiveté. “You should go get ready,” was all the reply she would give, and all the reply you needed.

*

As you descended in the gold-adorned elevator, on your way to the armory, Julian was quiet, looking at his panel and committing every detail of the plan, of Cipher and Gage’s history and activities, of intelligence on Rostov - all he could - to memory.

“Why was I chosen for this task?” you asked, choosing the opposite approach to Julian’s and clearing your mind before jumping into the task at hand.

He was silent as you descended for several levels and you started to assume he had not even registered your question. “It was an opportunity to improve your field mechanics,” he answered like a politician on the campaign trail.

Silence then followed from you. “Field mechanics,” you repeated, deeply unconvinced.

He turned and looked hard at you, pleading with you to hear what he was not allowed to say. “Adriane is under the impression that we are convincing as two people in love.”

It was not a compliment. The words had the cadence of a slur, and his tone of regret. It was not a good thing at all. He narrowed his eyes, satisfying himself that you took his meaning correctly.

*

The warm sunset, full of purples and oranges, gave way to a fine evening as you drove outside the city. As soon as you exited, you donned your masks as a precaution, wary of how far Rostov’s eyes reached. Yours was a white mask that extended into a crescent moon shape above your forehead and under your chin. Along its edges and around the eyes, the mask was outlined in silver and small stars twinkled along its face. Julian’s mask was white and gold, representing the sun, with five curvy rays creating an inverted pentagram around the smooth white face of the mask, adorned with golden arabesque designs. You looked at each other once the masks were on and the eerie blank canvass they presented, not knowing what face and expression they hid, was chilling.

You joined the scattered trail of other cars, uniformly black and armored, as they traveled noiselessly  down a private road that would have been impossible to find without very specific instructions. The road was maintained to perfection, allowing you to glide smoothly down and weave its serpentines as they appeared without the slightest trouble. If not for the heady mix of trepidation and excitement that kept you wired and buzzing awake, you could have been lulled into a dreamlike sleep and sunk into the impenetrable darkness that surrounded you.

After stretching for what felt like an eternity, the road finally ended at a well-fortified gate, where you were ushered in and led up a lavishly landscaped path. A veritable army of masked guards stood sentinel all along the path, the entrance to a grand building and all the way to a sequestered area separated by gold stanchions and a red rope. Neither the host nor the guests wanted the security’s scrutiny while indulging in their hidden pleasures, a mistake that Julian and you were instructed to exploit. Behind unadorned gunmetal gray masks, the guards’ eyes followed every guest as they approached the rope forbidding entrance to the room beyond to all but a select few. There, you were instructed to shed your clothing and don party attire.

Rostov had purchased the magnificent château a few years back and it currently served as the crown jewel of his ostentatious tendencies and debauched proclivities. He restored it to its former glory, and had it outfitted with every modern comfort to boot, ensuring maximum pleasure and safety. It soon became the perfect place to host his monthly bacchanals, a pleasurable distraction from his usual activities of acquiring and testing biological weapons.

Invitations were handed out either to former collaborators who had displayed a keen sadistic and perverted streak, or to prospective talent, like Cipher and Gage, to ascertain if they possessed the requisite depravity of character to join in on Rostov’s activities unflinchingly. Masks and the privacy of the location guaranteed zero risk of discovery and damage to anyone’s reputation that would result from engaging in this sort of activity in a public venue.

With that in mind, you did not hesitate to disrobe. There was little to remove anyway and the mask served another useful purpose in making you bolder by hiding your face and whatever chagrined expression it might reveal. Julian watched, his eyes moving appreciatively behind his white and gold mask, as your skirt hit the floor and you removed your cropped top in one smooth movement. He waited, and at first you wondered why, but quickly surmised he meant to wait and have you undress him. You were proven right when he stepped into you as your last stitch of clothing came off and stood facing you, to shield you from any prying eyes. He did not put it beyond this rabble to be spying on guests as they changed. You slipped his trench coat off and, suddenly aware of your nakedness and his imposing proximity, made quick work of his shirt and pants, unzipping them roughly and making him flinch, before tugging them down just as harshly. Remembering your role, you chuckled, as though you had done it to tease him and crossed your arms over your bare chest, eager for the dress, as revealing as it was. Julian seemed unfazed by being completely naked in a large anteroom and offered the white halter neck satin dress for you to step into. The dress had a large slit in the side and flowed with every step, and the back was left entirely bare. It glided as smoothly as water up your body as he pulled it up and tied it at the base of your neck. He pressed his mask into your neck, in an approximation of a steadying kiss, and you felt the length of his body pressed into you, with the material of the dress dividing you leaving little to the imagination.

Julian’s attire was similarly revealing. A similar white material folded and tucked in around his hips, like the bottom half of a toga, and draped over his torso, cinched over one shoulder with a gold hoop and cascading down like a cape. He looked like an ancient marble statue, its perfection exaggerated by an impassioned artist in ardent love with his model, was brought to life.

The low thump of the music pulsed through the closed door as you neared it, and Julian brushed the bare skin of your lower back with his clever fingers as he claimed your waist, holding you close to his side as you ascended the steps and entered the party.

The renovated ch��teau was a blend of showy rococo and sleek modern styles. The dichotomy made for a luxurious experience, striking a balance between the lavish furnishings of the past and the present-day creature comforts, such as telephones, cameras, air conditioning, and modern mechanics. You followed a servant, distinguished by her plain gunmetal gray mask, into a spacious ballroom where the main activities were taking place. Heavy velvet curtains were drawn over the tall windows that lined the walls, keeping the lighting in the room low and atmospheric with only the dimmed chandeliers and scattered candelabras to set the mood. Dry ice created a mist swirling around the floor and ghosting around your steps. Erotic house music filtered in from the speakers embedded high above, and its thumping bass rattled in your bones as it provided a steady rhythm to rut to.

You passed sections of the ballroom, some divided by pillars and more heavy drapery, others raised on a dais, and each offered different activities. In some, more accessible areas, guests mingled and leaned masked faces close to exchange conversation and toasts, lifting only the bottoms of their masks to take quick sips. On a chaise longue, red and trimmed in gold, lay a man with his toga hiked up around his waist, straddled and vigorously ridden by a woman with nipple piercings connected by a series of chains and pendants, and her dark skin extensively tattooed. A small group of people, in various stages of undress gathered around them and commented on the participants and their activity.

You passed onto a higher level, leaving the couple behind you, and noticed that this area had raised platforms around one central viewing point. Each platform had two red leather sofas, one lower and one higher, permitting more positions and participants, surrounded by several waist-high columns. Each column held an object for members to use, either for pleasure or pain. You took in a few, including phallus-shaped implements, ball gags, riding crops, and pliers. In the viewing area, more of those comfortable chaise longues were laid out for those wishing to observe. Several platforms were currently occupied, but one drew your attention. A masked woman had her long legs wrapped around two men, one inside of her, the other inside of the man between them, and the three were being observed by a masked man in a black robe. He was one of Rostov’s inner circle, designated by his robe as untouchable – unless he asked to be – and irrefusable. His build was wrong; he was too young and too fit to be Rostov, so you moved on.

Sooner rather than later, you remembered as the stench of too many bodies fucking in an enclosed space hit your nostrils, you would have to engage in some activity yourself, lest your restraint draw unwanted attention. Even now, you felt appraising eyes land on you and Julian as you passed. You could not blame them. For all the young and attractive participants present, paid or drugged, who walked around and offered themselves like hors d’oeuvres to be sampled, they smacked of sex workers who were only doing a job. Some had the shaky, twitchy physique of junkies, while others had the used up bodies of veteran sex workers. You and Julian, by contrast, were trained by the Museum to be lethal, and having looks to kill was not a mere phrase where you came from. All those lessons in walking runways, learning classical dances, gymnastics, yoga, and the subtle art of erotica over the two years of your training made you both stand out in the most noteworthy way. Every step showed off your bodies, effortless grace and proud bearing; every brush of your fingers against Julian’s sculpted arm promised something more between you, and you felt eager eyes follow you, hoping to witness the moment you decided to take it farther.

The sounds of leather cracking and moans, quickly drowned out by delighted praise or mockery, led you into a large chamber, lined with ornate columns. A red carpet painted the floor red and several servants walked unobtrusively around with smoking censers, diffusing aphrodisiac scents around the cavernous chamber and perfuming the aroma of sex before it grew stale. In its center sat a long table, with a smorgasbord of men and women on top. From your vantage point, you could see two women with their heads between the other’s legs, one on her back, the other over her on her knees, both writhing and exaggerating their pleasure as their surgically enhanced breasts jiggled in one unmoving spot. Next to them were two handsome men on their sides, performing the same act and moaning deeply around the other’s shaft. In the middle was a piano bench with three women of widely varying ages in an embrace, busily alternating positions and acts. Around the table sat the more important attendees, watching, some stroking themselves or others under the table. The first woman you’d seen dressed in a black robe sat on the lap of a bony old man, his skin hanging like wet paper over his frame. She wriggled on his lap from his touch under her robes and pulled up a sleeve to offer her arm. He produced a syringe and injected her with a cloudy substance before resuming his ministrations. Julian walked by and caught the woman’s attention. She reached out for him and he extended her a hand, letting her pull him in close as she arched her back and spread herself across the table for him to sample. Julian loomed over her until she couldn’t wait anymore and tugged on his arm, splaying his large hand over her comparatively small breast, instructing him to knead at her chest. He did so, leaning closer over her so he could swipe the empty syringe from the floor and tuck it into the folds of his clothing. When he accomplished his task, he disengaged from the woman and you could see her roaming hand had found his way in between the folds of his toga and was trying to get in another one or two strokes as he retreated. As his partner, his wife, for the evening, you felt no need to disguise either your proprietary sense or your jealousy. Grabbing for his elbow, you jerked him towards you and spun him out of the way, positioning yourself between the woman in black and the object of both your desires. Too late it occurred to you that it could be huge mistake to challenge a high-ranking member. Your body spoke for itself, like a cat bristling and hissing, ready to claw out any eye that rested too long on Julian. You looked at her hand, suspended in midair as she considered demanding Julian back. With what relish you would break each and every finger, enjoying the snap of each knuckle. The flash in your eyes seemed to communicate this rather eloquently to the women and she turned back to the decrepit old man she was sitting on and threw her head back, her deranged laughter muffled behind her mask. The scene drew many masked faces to turn towards you and examine you with uncanny glittering eyes from behind impassive disguises. They had the eerie curiosity of carrion birds, waiting for their prey to become carcasses.

Julian drew you close, acting possessively, as if the fighting and territorial behavior was part of your foreplay. Grinding his hips into your backside, you felt him stiffen reflexively. His hands squeezed your hips and you threw your head back against his broad shoulder, letting him play out the scene and get you safely away. His hands roved up your body, following the contours of your waist and ribs. One hand slipped inside your dress and drew a lazy circle around the nipple, drawing it into a stiff peak and rolling it between his rough fingers. You let a shudder roll visibly through you and pressed your thighs theatrically together for the benefit of those savoring your reaction, creating some friction and relief. Julian’s other hand snaked up and coiled around your throat as he bent to whisper in your ear. “Fuck,” you heard a guttural grunt as he panted behind his mask, and his strained voice sent a jolt of pleasure through your body. You arched your back into him before you could think not to and his hips responded with a deep thrust as his stiffening cock sought some relief against the curve of your ass. “We should get out of here, he’s--” words failed him and he had to swallow hard before resuming, “he’s not here.”

As you straightened up, trying to find the closest exit point and make for it, one of the marauding sex workers, emboldened by whatever chemical cocktail she was on, made her way to you and placed one hand over the breast Julian wasn’t cupping, and the other around his neck, inviting herself into your company. Not worried about causing trouble due to her rank, you unceremoniously slapped her hand away from Julian, to delighted comments and encouragements from the throng watching on. She tottered like a toddler and you knew a single push could knock her down, and in her state, she likely wouldn’t even feel it. Still, she did not take the hint and tried to touch Julian again. His hand fell away from you and you caught her wrist, twisting only a little before she crumpled into the ground.

As you turned to leave, you nearly bumped into a woman, stripped to her waist, holding a young man’s wrists over an antique letter writing desk. Another woman, with sagging breasts that suggested breast feeding several children, bound in a leather harness, was whipping the youth across the back while an old man in black robes held his hips and frantically pumped. His legs were wiry and crooked and his gut was visibly round as he worked around the protruding flesh to stick his small member into the young man. You squeezed Julian’s thigh in question, as the gesture could be viewed as announcing your eagerness to join in. He wrapped his hand around yours and stilled you, signaling no. Rostov was scrawnier than this round-bellied man. But you were likely getting close. 

Julian raised his masked head towards the upper levels of the chamber. All along the top floor were small viewing chambers, like opera boxes, and most of them held a member dressed in black, with a select guest, or guests, keeping them company. It was there he spied him.

Rostov, ever the attention seeker, was the only attendee with a mask made entirely of gold. Noticeably shorter than the naked woman accompanying him, he seemed to be watching Julian too. Without flinching or looking away, Julian stood and waited for a few beats. Finally, Rostov seemed to make up his mind and with a quick summoning gesture, a servant materialized next to you and asked you to join the host on the uppermost level.

As you were led along the balustrade to Rostov, you saw peep show-like personal rooms with acts going on in glass cages. These seemed to be one per box and, anticipating that you were brought here to perform rather than talk, you were grateful you wouldn’t be ogled by a multitude of criminals. Just one.

In one box, there was a woman in thigh-high boots and a collar around her neck, with a leash leading to some unseen master, bound to a velvet-cushioned chair. The viewer was issuing commands on what was to be done to her and you tried not to listen as you passed that box and approached another. In the glass box, a throuple was enjoying hot wax and blindfolds. At Rostov’s box, you saw a naked man wipe himself down as he exited and a pair of servants untied the woman and helped her out of a harness. The truncated scene confirmed what Julian had shared about Rostov and his penchant for more dominant men and submissive women. Gage’s impish and dominant behavior was a departure from that, so you made sure to remember not to play a meek, passive role.

The small man, hardly larger than a child, wore a golden mask that was reminiscent of hannya masks from Japanese theater, with large eyes, and a twisted grimace with a gaping mouth, revealing sharp teeth. Rostov examined Julian first, holding his large hand in his two small ones, looking at the golden band on his ring finger. He gave yours a glance to confirm he had it right, and let Julian’s hand go. As if examining a thoroughbred, he ran his hands over Julian’s thickly muscled chest, the marvelously  sculpted ridges and valleys of his arms.

“You hold Gage so close, so very close,” Rostov said in a thick accent and sighed. “I can see why.” He ran a finger over your mask, down its smooth, cool cheek, and lower still, dragging his small hand flat down your chest, down the valley between your breasts. Julian shifted his weight and his chest involuntarily puffed up, making Rostov huff a small laugh.

He walked a few small steps away, into his box, and Julian surmised he should follow. When Rostov lounged on the divan, Julian did the same, and they were at last on the same plane.

“From the moment you two walked in, I had one single thought.” He waited until Julian leaned in closer, tacitly asking for an answer. “I want to fuck your wife,” he stage-whispered, loud enough for both of you to hear. “This is a family, Cipher,” Rostov placed a proprietary hand on the back of his neck, pulling him intimately in. Without the masks, they would have been a hair away from kissing.  Julian heard Rostov’s labored breath behind his mask and was sure the man was hard to bursting, though his proportions were such that robes successfully hid on his body what they could never hope to hide on Julian. The man’s eyes devoured him, taking in his body greedily, lust shining in his beady eyes. “We do everything as a unit,” he coaxed.

Julian did not blink. He was playing the role of a man who did not share the woman he loved, and it came naturally to him. Both he and Cipher were the sort to risk powerful people’s displeasure for what they truly wanted. He observed his host, aware of his own intensely masculine appeal and let the man’s desire win out, breaking his determination and making him willing to negotiate.

“Bah,” the little man waved a frustrated hand, “I can see that your wife is not the sharing sort – for a moment there, I was worried she would break my wife’s arm when she was playing with you. And you can imagine the sort of pain in the ass she would be then,” Rostov laughed and phlegm rattled in his lungs. “I’m saddened to see you have the same sick notions of fidelity.” He sighed again and shook his head. “I’ll satisfy myself with watching you this first time, then.” With the matter decided in his mind, Rostov rolled away from him, and servants came in to escort you and Julian inside the glass box, while the pair that was in it before you came back and fell into an embrace with their host.

*

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