#I’ll make it gawdy if I want to

[snowflake-sage]

The sweet little dogs :>

[betweenujb]

lucky lotto

nayeon x momo

warnings: smut, mtf!momo, dom!nayeon, sweet and soft (and a little bit of a dummy) momo, super cool electrician momo, rich nayeon

Hard work and a gas station breakfast sandwich are the hallmark of Momo’s success. Well, that and the fact that she’s parked in the driveway of a mansion. She shoves the last bite into her mouth and wipes her hands on her pants before she hops out of her truck. She clips her toolbelt around her waist, adjusting it as she gazes up at the ornate detailing on the mansion’s facade.

When Momo started her own electric company at the start of the year, she never thought she’d be standing in front of a mansion. It’s her biggest client to date and as much as she doesn’t want to prey on someone’s electrical downfall, she knows that the bigger the problem, the more she’ll get paid. It’ll also help her advertise better for her company and pretty soon, she’ll be able to hire people to work for her.

Taking a step back after she rings the doorbell, Momo waits patiently for the homeowner to open the door. She hears the bark of a small dog and a woman’s voice scolding it before the lock turns and the door opens.

“Good morning, ma’am. I’m…” Momo’s voice falters as the woman inside appears in the threshold. Despite having clearly just woken up, she looks like she could do a photoshoot for Louis Vuitton and walk the red carpet.

“You must be the electrician. I’m Nayeon. Why don’t you come on in?” Her smile is warm and friendly and it slaps some sense into Momo as she clears her throat. “This is Kookeu, by the way. He’s harmless.”

“I’m Hirai Momo. Yes, you are correct, ma��am.” Momo lets out an awkward chuckle and follows Nayeon inside. As she slips her boots off, her jaw drops. It’s somehow more ginormous and even more beautiful on the inside. She was expecting the decorations to be gawdy and tacky, but it seems like Nayeon has an eye for interior design.

As they walk through the foyer, Momo looks around at the art on the walls. She’s not too knowledgeable in the art world, but she’s no dummy. These pieces are worth some serious money.

“I’m not too sure what I said over the phone when I called a few days ago, but I’ve replaced the bulbs in the lights above the island and they still won’t turn on.” Nayeon walks over to the wall and flips the switch a few times. One of the lightbulbs in the silver chandelier flickers for a moment but quickly peters out. “I know about design, but I’m not too skilled with electrical work.”

Momo turns her focus from the light to Nayeon and nods. “Is there anything else you need me to check while I’m here? I think you mentioned something about a faulty circuit panel.”

Nayeon’s eyebrows raise slightly as she nods. “Right. I completely forgot about that. I never go into the basement so it slipped my memory. I’ll show you down there and leave you to it.”

Momo expects the usual sub-par setting in the basement, but as Nayeon turns the lights on, she’s pleasantly surprised. Like the main floor of the house, the basement feels warm. There’s a pool table in the back corner, a fully stocked bar, and a massive flatscreen TV with recliners set up like a movie theater.

“You said you don’t go down here much?” Momo asks in disbelief. If it were her million dollar mansion, she’d never leave the basement.

Nayeon chuckles softly and walks over to the circuit panel. She opens it and Momo grimaces at the state of the thing. Corrosion as well as a tangled mess of wires makes her head spin. The everyday person’s fire hazard and an electrician’s nightmare.

Nayeon sighs and rolls her eyes as she tightens her robe. She crosses her arms over her chest and watches as Momo adjusts her toolbelt. “My ex-husband decided to be an asshole and leave me with a parting gift. Everything still works, but he kinda just left it like this.” Her tone is full of disgust and although she doesn’t know the story, Momo doesn’t blame her. Any man willing to leave a pretty woman and leave her with this kind of mess deserves a kick in the balls.

“It’s a bit of a mess,” Momo admits as she scratches the back of her neck, “but nothing I can’t get fixed. I’ll work on this first since it’ll take the longest and then I’ll work on your kitchen lights.”

Nayeon’s look of disgust smoothly morphs into a smile. “Thank you so much again. I’m going to get out of my sleep clothes and try to look a little more presentable. If you need anything from me, I’m in the last room at the end of the hall upstairs.”

Momo nods, unable to believe that the woman could become anymore attractive. “Yes, ma’am.”

Now, Momo’s not one to read into things too deeply since that usually leads to more confusion and eventually trouble, but she swears that there’s a bit of a flirtatious air in Nayeon’s wave as she ascends the staircase.

Regardless of her client’s intentions, Momo clears her head and turns her attention to the circuit panel. She slips her gloves on and gets to work to first clean away the corrosive material around the wires.

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑

Momo tucks her needle nose pliers into the back of her toolbelt and tilts her head back to stretch her neck. She lets out a small groan and moves her head side to side. It took longer than she thought, but she couldn’t remember the last time a circuit panel looked so organized and clean.

Before she heads back upstairs to tackle the kitchen lights, Momo pulls her phone out and takes a few pictures of the basement. She knows that a few of her friends would thoroughly enjoy a set-up like this. She pockets her phone again and makes her way up the plush carpeting on the steps.

She didn’t notice it when she first got a look at the lights, but Nayeon’s kitchen has a perfect view of the land she owns. Perfectly manicured green grass with a few tasteful lawn ornaments and topiaries decorate the yard. The closest neighbor to the mansion is at least three acres away.

Fortunate for Nayeon’s wallet, but unfortunate for Momo, the kitchen lights are an easy fix. A wire in the chandelier itself was loose and with a few snips and twists her and there, the lights are back on within fifteen minutes.

Momo checks the time on her watch and notices that it’s only been two hours since she pulled into the driveway of the mansion. She hasn’t seen Nayeon at all since she left her in the basement and as much as she respects people’s privacy, Momo’s only human.

The foyer is still stunning but as Momo quietly walks through the rest of the main floor of the mansion, her breath is taken away with each room she steps in. Despite the different concepts in each, they all fit together and seem to match Nayeon’s bright and bubbly personality.

Momo walks back into the foyer and stares up the beautiful mahogany staircase. It looks like it’s been freshly stained the way it shines. If it were up to Momo, she’d stay at Nayeon’s mansion all day just to admire the design of it. It is the only job she’s got for the day, but she knows it’d be weird for her to linger just for the sake of it.

The steps are solid underneath her as Momo walks up the staircase. She peers down the hallway when she gets to the top of the landing, her eyes widening in surprise as her eyes land on the double doors at the end of the hallway. Ignoring the several doors leading to the master bedroom, Momo takes a deep breath before she knocks on the door.

“You can come in,” Nayeon’s calls out, her voice muffled by the heavy doors.

Momo pushes one of the doors open enough to poke her head in and closes her eyes just in case Nayeon’s still getting ready. “Uh I finished everything. It wasn’t too bad and the circuit panel looks good as new.”

Nayeon looks into the mirror on her vanity and chuckles at Momo’s head sticking into the room. “You can open your eyes. I’m just putting a little makeup on.”

Momo’s cheeks adopt a pink tinge as she opens her eyes. She opens the door a little further and is met by Kookeu trotting up to her. She gets on one knee and holds her hand out. Kookeu seems unsure at first, but after a few nudges with his nose, he lets Momo give him a scratch.

Much like the rest of the mansion, Nayeon’s bedroom is massive. It’s as big as Momo’s kitchen and living room combined. It’s also decorated way better than Momo could do even if she had all the time in the world to only focus on the pictures she wants to hang on her comparatively bare walls.

“Do I pay you now, or will I get a bill in the mail?” Nayeon closes her blush and turns around on her fuzzy stool. Momo already has a number calculated but it’s suddenly lost as she looks into Nayeon’s dark brown eyes. She still can’t believe it, but she’s managed to look even more beautiful. Nayeon’s only wearing minimal makeup so Momo can’t even imagine how heart-stopping she’d look completely dolled up.

“Uh- I can. Yes. Now is- mmhmm. It’s $300, but it wasn’t super hard so I can- I can lower it.” Momo barely makes it through, stumbling over her words as she tries to regain her composure.

Nayeon laughs and Momo has a hard time kneeling. She feels like her body’s turned to jelly as she melts from the sound. She’s not sure why, but she wants to hear that again and again. “How can I pay you?”

“Cash or uhm… paper.” Momo squeezes her eyes shut and lets out an awkward laugh. “Sorry. I mean, you can pay with cash or a check.”

Nayeon walks over to the nightstand by her bed and opens her wallet, a giant wad of cash inside. She pulls out a few bills and sighs a little overdramatically. Momo stays knelt down beside Kookeu, her hand mindlessly petting his fluff.

“I only have $250 on me,” Nayeon lies with a pout as she walks over to Momo. She hands Momo the money as she stands up.

“Oh, that’s okay. I don’t think I’ll die from being $50 short.” Momo shrugs and smiles, her eyes landing on Nayeon’s pout. Her eyes linger for a few seconds too long before they snap back up to meet Nayeon’s.

“Can I pay you back later?” Nayeon asks as she takes a step closer to Momo. The distance between them has shrunk significantly and as thrilled as Momo is, she’s not sure if her legs will be able to keep her up for much longer.

“Yes ma’am. Absolutely. I can come back, or you could stop by,” Momo breathes out, her heartbeat picking up as Nayeon inches forward again, “or- or you could come by the office to...”

Momo’s voice trails off as the palm of Nayeon’s perfectly manicured hand gently presses against her chest. Her breath hitches in her throat as she glances down at Nayeon’s hand.

“Maybe I could pay you back now.” Nayeon’s voice is soft and sweet, and Momo’s now 100% sure that she was waving flirtatiously whenever she started working on the circuit panel.

“But you don’t have any money. How would you… oh. Well, I’m- I’m sure you’re busy and I wouldn’t want to bother you.” Momo takes a shaky breath in as Nayeon’s lips ghost along her throat. Now that there’s mere centimeters between them, Momo can smell her perfume. The scent of raspberry and peony are intoxicating and it’s taking every fiber in Momo’s body to not lose her mind.

“My schedule is clear and you can call me Nayeon, you know,” Nayeon mumbles against Momo’s skin as she peppers kisses along Momo’s jawline. “Or you can keep calling me ma’am. I think it’s cute and so chivalrous of you.”

Momo’s hands clench and unclench by her sides. Her palms are sweaty as she feels her heart pounding in her chest now. Finally, Nayeon looks up at her, pupils blown and lips shiny and red from the light coat of lip-gloss she put on earlier.

Momo swallows, her eyes flickering between Nayeon’s lips and her beautiful brown eyes. She lets out a shaky exhale before wrapping her arms around Nayeon’s waist. In the blink of an eye, their lips connect and Momo can feel Nayeon sigh into her mouth as they move effortlessly with each other.

Nayeon grins, her teeth bumping against Momo’s as her hands snake around Momo’s waist to unbuckle her toolbelt. It falls to the floor with a heavy thud, startling Kookeu enough to run out of the bedroom.

Momo pulls back to take a breath and bury her face in Nayeon’s neck, gently sucking and biting at the supple skin there. “Oh shit you taste so sweet.”

Nayeon lets out a breathy laugh, holding back a moan as she guides Momo to her bed. She gently pries Momo from her and pushes her onto the bed. Her skin is flushed, her cheeks a rosy pink as she sits in anticipation.

“I wonder if you can fix anything else other than lights.” Nayeon smirks as she saunters forward, her hips swaying in a hypnotic motion as she sinks down to straddle Momo’s lap.

“For you? I’ll fix anything,” Momo mumbles, her hands wrapping around Nayeon’s waist. She slides her hands underneath Nayeon’s blouse, her skin so smooth and soft compared to Momo’s rough hands.

Nayeon keeps one hand on Momo’s shoulder, the other guiding one of Momo’s hands up to her breast. “I think I’ve been having some wiring issues here,” Nayeon whispers. She pushes her chest into Momo’s hand, a breathy moan escaping her as Momo cradles her breast.

“Like this?” Momo asks, her breathing heavy as she rubs her nose along Nayeon’s collarbone. Nayeon wordlessly nods, rocking into Momo’s lap as her rough hands gently tug and pinch her nipple.

Momo had just gotten started when Nayeon pushes her hands away. She enjoys the cute little whine that falls out of the electrician’s mouth, quickly replaced with a moan as Nayeon tosses the much too thin shirt that she’d only worn to put her makeup on.

“Eyes up here, cutie,” Nayeon says through a teasing giggle. She tilts Momo’s head up, her index finger gently guiding her chin up so Momo’s eyes are boring into her own. “How long have you been an electrician?”

Momo blinks a few times. All rational thoughts she had when she was sitting in the driveway are scattered, replaced with the thought of Nayeon’s skin against her own. “I uh…”

Nayeon smirks. She runs her hands down Momo’s arms, those perfectly manicured nails gently scraping against her skin as she rests her hands on Momo’s thighs. “Come on, cutie. You can do it.”

Momo swallows hard, shaking her head to try and gain at least temporary clarity. She struggles to even make it through a few words of a sentence with Nayeon’s hands rubbing up and down her thighs.

“I-I uh- seven years?” It comes out as a question because at the moment, Momo barely knows her own name. For all she knows, cutie could be her actual name and she’d be completely fine with that.

“Seven years, huh? That must explain why you’re so skilled.” Nayeon places a wet kiss on Momo’s jawline, her hands squeezing Momo’s thighs. “Oh, what’s this?”

Momo’s cheeks blaze a bright pink as she hurriedly presses her hands against the front of her jeans. “S-sorry. I didn’t mean to- I should have- I’m trans and-“

There’s not much of a chance for Momo to explain her situation, but the second she does have is cut off by Nayeon’s lips. Momo moans into her mouth, the taste of strawberry lipgloss taking any thoughts she had left rattling around in her head.

“You don’t have to explain anything,” Nayeon mumbles against her lips. It’s only a passing statement, but Momo’s heart soars hearing it. Most of the women she’s been with sexually have had polar reactions. Some are either disgusted and leave Momo with her pants halfway off while others try to make her feel like a poster child for trans rights.

It’s rare that anyone ever makes her feel just… wanted. And damn is Nayeon making her feel wanted right now. Very wanted and very horny.

“I think I have one more thing you can fix,” Nayeon says. She shifts off of Momo’s lap, suddenly dropping Momo’s internal temperature a degree or two.

Momo’s eyes follow Nayeon as she crawls on the bed, her ass sticking up so temptingly that Momo thinks she might bust then and there.

“Come here, cutie,” Nayeon says as she crooks a finger, calling Momo up to the head of the bed. Not wasting any time, Momo slides herself up the king sized bed and hovers over Nayeon. Her hands are firmly planted on either side of Nayeon’s waist, the excitement in her jeans quite prominent now.

Nayeon glances down at Momo’s bulge and smirks. Her hands snake their way down to Momo’s jeans. She looks up one more time to get permission, not wanting to make Momo uncomfortable.

Momo can’t give a clear yes or no, but the very embarrassingly loud moan that leaves her is enough of a yes for Nayeon to unbutton and unzip her jeans. She pushes Momo’s jeans past her waist, the bulge in her briefs even more prominent now.

“Pink? Very cute,” Nayeon giggles.

Momo blushes again, groaning softly as she tries to reach down to cover up her crotch. Nayeon stops her, grabbing her wrist and bringing her hand to rest beside her head. “Don’t be shy, cutie. I think it suits you perfectly.”

“Why don’t you focus here?” Nayeon directs Momo’s eyes back down to her chest, her nipples peaked and her soft skin so enticing.

Momo nods and leans down. She rests her hands against Nayeon’s waist, her clothed cock painfully trapped between her legs as she kneels to capture one of Nayeon’s nipples in her mouth.

“Oh, yes,” Nayeon breathes out. She brings a hand up to lace through Momo’s hair, her fingers gently scratching against Momo’s scalp.

Momo thinks that this is what heaven must be like, but also hell. The feeling of Nayeon in her mouth and her nails on her head are amazing, but the ache in her briefs isn’t easy to ignore. She distracts herself well enough, sucking and biting Nayeon’s nipples. She leaves tiny marks on and around her breasts, almost claiming Nayeon as hers despite knowing that the chance of this happening again is almost as low as winning the lottery twice.

Nayeon’s grip in her hair tightens a little as she feels her slick steadily soaking through her panties. Her thighs squeeze together in a lame attempt to relieve some pressure. “Momo,” she moans out as she gently tugs the electrician’s head up.

Momo doesn’t want to look up, too invested on Nayeon’s perfect breasts, but she’d never ignore such a beautiful woman’s question. “Yes, ma’am?”

Nayeon smiles, a chill running through her. She’s never been called ma’am before. She’d always thought it was reserved for her mother or older women. Now that she’s hearing it from Momo, she thinks she could get used to hearing it— at least in the bedroom.

“Take these off for me?” Nayeon asks as she hooks her thumb into the waistband of Momo’s briefs with her free hand. Momo nods, only hesitating briefly before she looks up at Nayeon.

Momo expected to see a flickering of judgement or doubt in the woman’s eyes, but once she sees only lust and desire, her briefs are off her body and on the floor in one swift motion. Her aching cock is finally freed, gently bobbing between her legs.

“Fuck,” Nayeon groans as she pulls her skirt and panties off. “Pretty pink,” she smirks as she reaches down to run her thumb across Momo’s leaking tip.

Momo’s hips buck involuntarily. She watches as a string of her precum connects Nayeon’s retreating thumb and her pink tip. She lets out a low moan, her eyes locked on Nayeon’s thumb into her mouth.

“Lay back for me, cutie,” Nayeon says. Her voice has lost the cute, slightly higher pitched tone and adopted a husky vibrato. Momo doesn’t as she’s told and lays back. She grabs onto the hem of her shirt, about to take it off before Nayeon stops her. “I like you in this shirt. So fit.”

Momo’s head spins. She stares as Nayeon’s nails rake up and down her forearms. All the time spent in the gym has certainly paid off now.

Nayeon’s gentle and slow despite the clear desire in her movements and her words. She takes her time feeling Momo’s abs, her hands moving down to Momo’s calves and massaging up her thighs. “You’re so beautiful, Momo,” Nayeon purrs.

Momo’s unsure if she’s being genuine, but one quick glance at the slick that’s pooled onto Nayeon’s satin bedsheets is enough to banish any disapproving thoughts about herself. She manages to look back up into Nayeon’s eyes just as her hand wraps around the base of her cock.

Momo’s mouth falls open, her breath caught in her throat as she balls her fists into the sheets. She can’t remember the last time a woman touched her and she can’t remember the last time it ever felt this good. “F-fuck. Oh Nayeon-“

“Ah ah,” Nayeon says as she squeezes the base of Momo’s cock. She slides her hand up Momo’s shaft, her thumb swiping over the head again to collect the precum that’s beaded there. “You know what to call me.”

Momo blinks a few times, opening and closing her mouth to say something. Instead she opts to just nod, not trusting that she’ll say anything that Nayeon will understand.

“Do you want me to help you with this?” Nayeon asks as she moves her hand up and down Momo’s shaft. Her hand is so warm and Momo’s afraid she may cum from the two seconds that Nayeon’s hand’s been on her cock.

“Yes, ma’am,” Momo moans out. She tightens her fists in the sheets, willing herself to hold on just a few more seconds. She can’t help herself as her hips buck up into Nayeon’s movements up and down her cock.

Momo’s mouth hangs open again, her eyes squeezed shut as she feels her cock pulse with every stroke from Nayeon’s hand.

“Please, ma’am, I’m about to…”

Momo’s voice trails off as she feels Nayeon’s grip loosen. All too quickly, her hand is gone. Momo looks up and groans. Her cock twitches, just on the verge of an orgasm. “I was so close,” She groans.

Nayeon giggles and leans down. She kisses Momo’s cheek, straddling her waist. At this angle, Momo’s surprised that she didn’t pass out. She looks up at Nayeon, her hands almost magnetically holding onto her waist. “Are you?”

“Am I what?” Nayeon asks as she teasingly grinds down onto Momo’s cock. She pulls another low moan from the pretty electrician beneath her. “About to ride this pretty cock?”

Momo nods, her hands tightening around Nayeon’s waist as she grinds up against Nayeon’s cunt. “Please, ma’am. I want to fuck you so bad.”

Nayeon leans down, connecting their lips as she takes her time teasing Momo. She runs her hands up and down Momo’s chest, gently pinching her nipples. “Since you asked so nicely, cutie.”

More gracefully than she’s ever seen anyone move, Nayeon lifts herself up slightly and slowly sinks down onto Momo. Their moans fill the room as Nayeon’s tight walls wrap around Momo’s hard cock.

Momo throws her head back against the pillows, her grip on Nayeon’s waist nearly bruising as Nayeon fully sinks down. “Holy fuck,” Momo pants.

Nayeon wiggles her hips a little, her breathing labored as she starts to slowly ride Momo. Her hips are steady, unlike Momo’s. Nayeon’s able to hold Momo’s hips down enough to take control. She looks down at Momo, one hand moving up to her face to turn Momo’s face to meet hers. “Look at me, cutie. I want to see that pretty face.”

Momo nods, her mouth wide open as she lets Nayeon set the pace. It takes everything in her not to thrust upwards. But, Momo knows that her cock isn’t exactly tiny. The way that Nayeon’s soft walls hug so perfectly around her cock is enough to push her over.

Nayeon’s breasts bounce as she picks up her pace. The sound of their skin slapping together mingles perfectly with their moans. Nayeon sits up a little to try and take Momo even deeper. She presses her hands against Momo’s abs, her fists tangling in Momo’s t-shirt.

“Yes, Momo, fuck yes!” Nayeon’s loud and Momo loves it. She loves the control Nayeon has and the way her beautiful body fits perfectly with her own.

Momo manages to last for a couple more minutes, but she can feel her cock start to twitch. As Nayeon squeezes around her, she groans. She doesn’t want to finish yet, wants Nayeon to go first, so she acts fast.

Momo easily flips them over. She smiles at the little squeak that Nayeon lets out, her hands on either side of Nayeon’s head to hold herself up. Once she’s steady, her breathing heavy, she kneels and pulls Nayeon flush against her. “I don’t want to cum yet,” Momo pants out. She brushes her hair out of her eyes before gently grabbing Nayeon’s waist again.

To get a few seconds of reprieve and to keep her orgasm at bay for a little longer, Momo lifts Nayeon up, her hands firmly planted against Nayeon’s lower back. Their lips meet hungrily, desperate for more as they give each other their all.

Momo’s lips are swollen from how deeply Nayeon is kissing her, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. Once she finally pulls away, she presses one final kiss to Nayeon’s forehead before lowering her back on the bed.

Momo’s nudges Nayeon’s legs further apart with her knees, her cock pressed against the entrance of her cunt. She slips back inside easily, causing both of them to groan in relief as Momo wraps Nayeon’s legs around her waist. “You feel so good.”

“Less talk. More fucking me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Momo hears Nayeon loud and clear. She holds onto Nayeon’s waist with one hand to steady herself. The other reaches between them, the heel of her palm pressing against Nayeon’s clit.

Nayeon lets out a high pitched moan, the combined feeling of Momo’s touch on her clit and the fullness of her cock intoxicating.

Momo’s movements are sloppy as she thrusts. Driven by pure desire and lust, She moves on autopilot. Nayeon’s cunt is warm and wet, enveloping her cock perfectly as their skin meets again and again.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” Nayeon chants. “I’m so close, Momo.”

Momo pants, her thrusts growing faster as she slides her thumb over Nayeon’s clit. “I am too, ma’am,” she breathes out.

Nayeon leans up, wrapping her arms around Momo’s neck to pull her down against her. It’s a bit of an awkward position, Momo’s arm trapped between them, but she manages to make it work. She thrusts hard and fast, Nayeon’s moans and whimpers music to her ears.

“Fuck,” Momo grunts out as she feels her balls start to tighten. Sweat drips down her back and through her shirt, their breaths mingling together as Nayeon presses her forehead against Momo’s

“Ah- Momo! Fuck! C-cumming!” Nayeon screams, her body trembling as she tightens her grip around Momo’s neck. Her legs shake as she squeezes hard around Momo’s cock. Her orgasm crashes over her, piercing moans falling from her mouth as she cums.

“Oh fuck,” Momo grunts, her eyes squeezed shut. She barely moves her hand back to Nayeon’s waist, gripping it tightly before she bottoms out. “Cumming oh fuck I’m cumming!” It happens in the blink of an eye. Nayeon can feel Momo’s cum pooling inside of her, her spent cock twitching inside of her as Momo collapses against her.

“Holy shit,” Momo moans. Her breathing is ragged, her forearms barely holding her up enough to not crush Nayeon underneath her. “You felt so good.”

Nayeon chuckles breathlessly. She lets her legs fall from around Momo’s waist but keeps her arms wrapped around her neck. “Thank you, Nayeon mumbles as she presses a soft and lingering kiss to the side of Momo’s head.

Momo waits for her breathing to return to a semi-normal state before she sits up again. Nayeon groans as Momo gently pulls her softening cock out. She feels empty all of a sudden, her walls grasping around nothing but Momo’s cum that’s slowly dripping out of her.

“I’m sorry,” Momo says shyly. She crawls on all fours to reach the box of tissues on Nayeon’s nightstand. She pulls a few out, taking the utmost care to clean Nayeon up. “I probably got you all sweaty.”

Nayeon just silently watches, admiring the gentleness of Momo’s hands. Once she’s thoroughly cleaned up, she cups Momo’s face in her hands. She brings Momo’s forehead to rest against her own again and kisses her nose. “You don’t have to apologize for anything. I don’t think I’ve cum that hard in a long time.”

“Me either,” Momo whispers.

They stay like that for a few minutes. Momo soaks up the warmth of Nayeon’s hands against her cheeks, her thumbs tracing shapes along her jawline.

“Payment completed,” Momo says with a chuckle as she pulls away. Nayeon playfully rolls her eyes and watches as Momo stands up. She pulls her pink briefs back on and searches for Nayeon’s skirt and panties.

“You know,” Nayeon starts, her hands running over her satin sheets. “I may have a few more things for you to fix.”

Momo straightens up, Nayeon’s skirt in her hands. “Oh, really?”

The cute puppy dog look that Momo has is a stark contrast to the deep lust that she had only minutes ago. Nayeon can’t help the fond smile that forms on her lips as Momo hands her skirt and panties to her. She nods and rolls off the bed, walking over to her dresser to grab another pair of panties.

“Maybe you could stick around for dinner and help me fix them?” Nayeon gives Momo a playful wink as she pulls her panties up. The baby blue color adorned with a little lace bow suit her perfectly.

“I- yeah. Of course. Yes,” Momo stutters out. She looks up, still just in briefs and a t-shirt.

“You should keep those jeans off too,” Nayeon says with a smirk. She picks Momo’s tool belt off the floor and saunters over to Momo frozen in place. Nayeon’s hands are delicate as they wrap Momo’s tool belt back around her waist, buckling it in place. “Meet me downstairs when you’re ready, cutie.”

Momo dumbly nods. The weight of her tool belt on her hips without her jeans is foreign to her, but for Nayeon, she’d do anything. It takes her a second to process what Nayeon’s offer actually means, but once she does, she’s quickly out of Nayeon’s bedroom, quickly following her down the hallway.

Maybe winning the lottery twice isn’t all that rare.

[kit-williams]

I want to use the Emperor on his golden throne to fry an egg. I’ll be butchered by the Custodes within seconds but it’ll be worth. Emperor fried egg. :)

If the egg ain’t cooked to perfection then I’m using my final breath to Yeet a second egg at his divine corpse/body/being.

So I remember getting this ask and being very confused... but I put this on the backburner for when I would get around to writing yandere custodes and the necromundan scum, that one of them decided to bring home, named smoothie.

@sculptorofcrimson this is your fault/this is the funny one (again my knowledge of the golden boys is very limited/I struggle to write them)

And you lot get to benefit from it @bispecsual @egrets-not-regrets @moodymisty @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog @thevoidscreams @barn-anon

thank you to @squishyowl for the dividers

Smoothie did not like it here... the clean empty inner hallways left nothing for her to scavenge... no place to get food or drinkable water for miles. It was two days before her golden shadow found her dehydrated as she slipped away from him when he had a chance. Adonis only collected her so soon as they were about to release a small swarm of hormagaunts into the imperial palace for practice and Adonis did not like how easily she could slip from his grasp.

Like recently... Adonis felt his fingers clench and unclench as Nicodemus had jested even at how he must have picked up a mindwiped assassin with how easily she could vanish from his grip. But there was something about her that satiated the itch behind his eyes... it sated the desire to feel a crumb of affection back.

Smoothie crawled through the vents moving on padded knees and wearing thicker gloves as she looks around unable to make marks or else they'll figure out where she's going. Everything seemed to narc on her if she tried to make herself comfortable add her own touch to this gawken gawdy golden glitter glamhouse! She looks around as her body starts to tingle and she is certain that she's getting closer to the radiation.

It makes her body tingle... her nose bleed and she needs to get a bit closer to the source till she feels her teeth itch and then she's in the right spot to cook the eggs she stole from the kitchen. Not like she was gonna live very long anyway and if the glamshow that is Donnie and his brothers just casually relaxing with an open source of radiation then she could die faster making something she loved to eat.

"Adonis." One of the Companions said into the coms with a monotone drone that to Adonis belied a hint of amusement.

"Yes?" He replied going over the mental checklist of places to look for her and she rarely went to the same place twice in succession.

"She's in the vents again."

"Of course she is. Thank you Amadeus." He replied slightly between his teeth. If a companion was telling him where she was... he moved quickly.

She saw her 'lover boy' look at her with the most unamused look in his eyes as she just gave a shit eating grin offering him a radaition cooked egg, "Can I offer you an egg my lord?" She snarked at him as one of her eyes was bloodshot and her nose bleeding from even being this close to the golden throne unprotected.

"If I eat it will you come back willingly?" Adonis asked knowing he could just grab her but he hardly delt with such willful... creatures? She was certainly human... just very different from any other... paramour would be a word but so would obsession fit as equally for what this... itches would be.

"I dunno Donnie... I worked so hard in cooking these." Smoothie says peeling the shell away as she took a bite leaving a smear of the neon green lipstick she wore on the white of the egg.

"Smoothie." His augmented voice shakes the air as he does his best not to order her, because that is not what lovers did. But what the supposed ideal versus reality was also another thing to take into account.vHe watches her frown as blood trickles from her nose. She was so much more willful than any of his other paramours obsessions that it confounded him but also greatly excited him.

He is certain that his beloved Lord would have teased him... But then again he and the others would not feel that itching need so often. The pout on her green lips as she crawled closer to him before just putting one to his lips. He ate it, it was simple as he expected it to be.

"Fine we can go. At least before more of my teeth fall out." She says trying to crawl past only for Adonis to hold her to his chest. He moved quicker than she could out of the vents.

She whined as he took her to a rather unused medical area. As it was time to start some treatments to keep at bay the... Side effects of her lifestyle. Adonis had told her that she would be surprised at how much longer she would live around him. He wasn't going to let her fall apart so soon.

[theliteraryarchitect]

Hey, help me please. How do you write description in your novels? Not a character one, surrounding ones. How do you describe from 3 POV , the background of the novel?

5 Tips for Writing Great Descriptions

Hi there! Thanks for writing. I talk at length about this in my book The Complete Guide to Self-Editing for Fiction Writers (See Chapter 4 / “Building Your Story World,” Chapter 16 / Setting the Scene, and Chapter 21 / “Choosing the Right Details” for the majority of the discussion about description, but it’s peppered throughout), so I’ll just give a brief rundown here. :)

Tip #1: Use concrete, sensory details

That means describing, with precision, a detail you can see/hear/touch/taste/smell. Avoid using vague words that are hard to visualize or sense, like “the house was ugly” or “the weather was bad.” Instead, choose a sensory detail (or two) for your descriptions, for example “the house was a wretched shade of salmon pink” or “the wind was blowing I could taste dust in my mouth.”

Tip #2: Try not to over- or under-use descriptions

It’s common for beginning writers to either use no description, or go completely overboard. I give examples of both in my book. While there’s no hard rule about how much description is too little or too much (it depends a lot on the particular story, genre, and the writer’s style), I personally like to include around 4-5 sensory details per page.

The idea is to give the reader a solid sense of where they are without going on and on, making them want to skim over as you carry on for paragraphs about the smell and texture of a doily.

Tip #3: Use more description during important parts of the story

Description draws your readers attention to what you’re describing. Use that to your advantage. If that doily contains a blood stain that’s a pivotal clue in your murder mystery, by all means spend three sentences describing the particular color red of the blood or the weird smell it emits. Where you linger, the reader will linger.

Tip #4: Use description to set the scene

Use more description at the beginning of a new scene, or anytime the location of your story changes. I talk about this in the section on transitions in my book. Summary gets a bad reputation in fiction, but these transitional paragraphs are the perfect time to paint the scene with sensory details about your character’s surroundings.

Tip #5: Pay attention to “camera movement”

One common thing I see in writer’s manuscripts is what I call “jerky camera movement.” Here’s an example:

Jesse pulled into the driveway of the suspect’s mansion around noon. A white, floppy dog barked ferociously in the window. It was a warm, sweltering day. Jesse looked down and realized her shoe was untied. The house had three large columns in front, each wrapped with a gawdy red bow. 

In this example, the “camera” moves from the driveway, to the dog in the window, to the “day,” to Jesse’s shoe, to the outside of the house. If that was your head, looking around the scene, you’d get dizzy pretty fast. Here’s a smoother movement, starting wide and focusing in on Jesse’s untied shoe.

It was a warm, sweltering day. Jesse pulled into the driveway of the suspect’s mansion around noon. The house had three large columns in front, each wrapped with a gawdy red bow. In the window, a white, floppy dog barked ferociously. As Jesse approached the door, she looked down and realized her shoe was untied.

These aren’t perfect examples because I’ve dashed them off just now, but you get the idea :) Try not to make your reader seasick by making them look all over the scene (unless you’re trying to achieve that effect, for example, in a scene where your protagonist is drunk or discombobulated).

Hope this helps!

[bloodycassian]

reader x azriel - azriel takes reader to a bakery.

Azriel's cool charm filled the room, his shadows snaking the floor and receding as the meeting quieted. Without a word, he nodded in dismissal at the group and they continued debating again. He sat back, stone faced while the high lords discussed what there was to be done about The Middle. More specifically, the mountain and caverns underneath that had hosted the horror show for forty nine years. 

Guards stationed behind each high lord and their company, Azriel devoured the information his shadows brought back to him. There wasnt a single person in the room without at least two daggers on them. 

You leaned back in your chair next to Thesan, resting your chin on your hand. The plush amenities of Day court and their pastel colors had taken some getting used to over the last week, but you grew to appreciate the massive table in front of you. Large enough to fit all seven high lords and their company around it, along with a few extra chairs. If it wasnt for the lofty ceilings and open windows into several balconies you would have thought such a harty table to be gawdy, but in this instance it seemed utterly necessary. Especially when Rhysand's cousin slapped a giant map of Pryhtian down on it and the high lord's power shifted pawns throughout. Mapping each court's armies and defenses. 

A few of the leaders adjusted pawns, moving a few troops from one side of their court to another. Azriel perked up from his darkened corner at this, stepping forward and taking a glance at the map. He glared in your direction, catching your eye. He was utterly breathtaking, even with such a malice filled look on his face. You broke his stare to glance at your court's pawns on the map. A moment's hesitation after each high lord had stopped moving their pieces made your stomach drop. You glanced toward Thesan, seeing if he would move.  Rhysand seemed to be waiting as well. Azriel slowly, threateningly moved two of Thesan's pawns further south. He crossed his arms and walked back to his corner, his shadows almost hiding him completely. You felt Thesan tense as he shot Rhysand a charming grin.

You met the dark eyes of the spymaster, and rose from your seat. Stepping between a Beron and Kallis to move two more pawns east. You met his eyes again and winked, turning and going back to your seat. Thesan had ordered you before you left for the meeting to disperse your forces throughout the land, so it would make sense that the spymaster didnt know if the extra changes.

The room was tense, each high lord looking to each other to see if anyone else was hiding their foces. Helion suddenly let out a booming laugh, makin you jump slightly. "Rhysand have you been keeping your spymaster too busy perhaps?"  Rhysand chuckled, leaning forward in his seat and purring his reply "I'll have to send them back to training camp." His general's wings flared slightly and you fought to hold back a smile. Azriel revealed nothing, and said nothing until the meeting was over.

You were cleaning the scattered pawns from the map when Azriel approached. He was silent, but pushed the figuines from his side over to you in a pile. You nodded thankfully, eyeing him as he moved to roll up the cloth map still laid out over the grand table. You felt your hands get clammy, the silence in the room was palapable. The only other sounds were the hushed rustling of the trees in the slight breeze outside. The balcony doors were still open, and a cool wind slithered into the room. You opened the cloth bag for the pawns, there was a sudden clattering against the marble floor. You sighed, setting the bag down. Before you turned to pick it up you noticed the darkened atmospehre of the room. Then bumped straight into Azriel's chest in your distraction. 

"Sorry I-" You felt your face turn hot and made to step back, only to find yourself slipping on the damned pawn. He caught your arm, stablising you. "Are you normally this accident prone?" He asked, a small smirk on his lips. You looked to where his hand held you, and noticed the textured skin there. He cleared his throat and lowered your arm. 

"I guess you could blame it on the wind." You stammered. What you meant to say was 'I guess you could blame it on the fine Illyrian shadow master in the room'. His smirk seemed to say he knew exactly what you were thinking. And maybe with those shadows he did know. His build seemed to fill the room standing this close to you, broad shoulders -t support the massive wings no doubt- and muscles and the hair was immaculate. He smelled of pine and leather, sea salt and something darker. Maybe that was the shadows themselves. 

"You dont like the cold?" He asked, head tilting slightly. 

"Should I really be telling a spymaster anything that I'm afraid of?" You challenged, smiling at him. His eyes seemed to light up. He nodded and stepped back. You forgoe the groan of displeasure at the empty space between you. 

"Have you ever really been in the cold before? Dawn court and all.." He trailed off, sauntering towards the balcony and motioning you to follow. You obeyed, dropping the cloth bag on the table. You took your time approaching him, marvelling at the wings he bore. How thick the outer edges were, and how delicate the inner folds looked. In the dull darkness you could barely make out the inky black forms of them as he stretched them out. They flared and tilted, and you understood why they were so hard to see. 

His shadows had melded into the darkness, shielding them and his lower half completely, Blending him into the night. Becoming a shadow himself. You felt a chill run through you at the sight. He was darkness, and all the whispers on the wind. The epitome of pure silence, but not pressing, a soothing darkness, silence and comfort. Liek a comfort of sleep. 

"Are you going to stare or come for a ride with me?" he asked, folding his wings in tight and turning towards you. He leaned back on the balcony confidently, the column of his neck exposing a few scars behind his ear. You shuddered to think of what kind of beast could make such an impact on someone who was mist and shadow. 

"If someone sees us Thesan will know immidea-" He cut you off with a stare, and you felt coolness begin creeping up your legs. You felt nervous, heart hammering in your chest as he stood so close to you, eyes knowingly glancing to your chest briefly. His shadows danced around you like a fog, asking permission to cover you further. And you were sure they were reporting back to him how badly he had riled you.

 "No one will see us." He promised, holding a hand out to you. You took a steadying breath and nodded nervously. As soon as you touched that scarred hand he had you covered in the snaking darkness, the tendrils weaving around you protectively. It felt like being in a heavy ocean mist, and it brought goosebumps to your skin. Azriel huffed a small laugh as he bent to scoop you up.

Before you could protest and come up with some sort of excuse, he had you cradled to his chest and he was summoning those shadows even more around the both of you. 

And then you were falling. Your stomach leapt into your throat, fingers clawing into Azriel's shoulders. You were sure you were dead when the feeling stopped. "Open your eyes." The shadow master squeezed you a bit extra, getting your attention. "I dont think I can." you muttered, but slowly peeked through your lashes to see the millions of tiny lights below. 

The breath was stolen from you as your eyes flew open, gazing in amazement at the city below. Dawn court was built more upwards than any of the other courts, so you were used to seeing castles towering above and lights shine from them. But you'd never seen the city from this high. You wondered how he had flown so high in such a short time but decided you didnt want to know the answer even if he could tell you. The enormous archways of the high lord's palace was visible from the sky. The stars above were dull, as usual in Dawn and Day court. You never found much pleasure or satisfaction at night in either  territory. It only made you wonder what Night court's stars were like. If the moon beckoned and blessed the land like the noon sun seemed to make everything in Day court shimmer. 

 "You can stop trying to claw me to death at any time." His voice rumbled softly, almost scaring you. You loosened your grip on him, only enough so he wouldn't complain. He banked slowly, you could only tell so because the spires coming closer to you as you approached the center of the city. The streets below were lit with clear bright lights that showed off all the boutiques of main street and the patio areas for bars all around. The stained glass windows of second story balconies reflected pastel lights on to the sidewalks, painting them in pastels. 

You could smell the bakery below, churning out different treats of pastries and breads for the late night drinkers. The sweet warm smell of it made your mouth water. "Would you like to stop in somewhere?" Azriel asked as he whisked you upward again, avoiding the tall lights as the city rose up hill. 

"I think you might be recognized a bit too easily." You chided, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. He was watching the sky, his face unlike any expression you'd ever seen him wear. At peace, it seemed. He didnt have the clenched jaw or stern eyebrow look anymore. His hair ruffled slightly at the small breeze that came through the shield he had placed around you. 

He considered his fame as Spymaster for a moment, then nodded. And plummeted you downwards into the city. You fought not to scream, only digging your nails into his skin again, hoping it hurt. He landed in a narrow alley, hidden from the blinding lights of the street. The smell of sweets hung in the air. You still held tight on to his arm after he set you on your feet. You then shoved him, palm straight into his shoulder and sent him a step back, his wings flared and balanced him before he could falter any further. "You could tell me next time!" You growled at him. A clever grin graced his features, smoothing out his surprise at the shove. 

"Only members of the night court get free flying privileges." He shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. "I expect my payment with a side of cinnamon." He nodded towards the street. You glanced back and he was gone, likely shouded in the darkness somewhere. You whispered curses at him while heading to the bakery.

"Why do you like cinnamon so much?" You asked around a mouthful of sweet bread. Azriel had devoured his chocolate and cinnamon twist, along with the extra side of cinnamon. He still had evidence of it on his face and shirt despite the windy takeoff before he put his shield up. "Why dont you?" He retorted, his powerful wings gliding you around the east side of the tower where the week of meeting had taken place.

"I just wouldnt expect the Shadow master of the Night Court to have such a sweet tooth." You grinned at him, absently wiping the sugar from his face. His eyes went to yours in an instant, and your heart hammered being pinned by that stare. He landed gracefully on the balcony, eyes still locked on you. He merely stood there, holding you. Both frozen. 

[fascination-street-writing]

Stationary Traveler | Chapter I | Prosciutto x F!Reader

In which Prosciutto enlists the aid of a waitress to fulfill a hit placed on two former members of Passione.

Chapter Content Warnings: Smoking & Alcohol Consumption

“How long do I have?”

“One month.”

Prosciutto lifts the blazing cigarette to his lips and nods. Smoke fills the cavities of his lungs and pockets in his mouth. It permeates through the room. Flipping the filter in his grasp, he offers the cigarette to Risotto. Contemplation flashes across his red eyes, yet he does not take it. Prosciutto knows better than to press the matter.

Instead, Risotto thumbs through the dossier atop the desk. Reports and photographs adorn the pages, crudely stamped into place by wired paperclips and transparent tape. “You’re going to Calabria,” the silver-haired man states. “They bled Volpe dry before they fled. But they were sloppy and got caught selling the Boss’s own product outside of his territory.”

They – the targets: Caponata and Tortano.

“They left a trail,” Prosciutto comments, bleakly.

“Indeed, and it turned cold in Calabria two months ago – Tropea, specifically. But we know that they’re still there. Passione has no reach in Vibo Valentia: that territory still belongs to one of the remaining families from La ‘Ndrangheta. There’s a man who owns a restaurant in Tropea. His name is Ditalini Mina. He orchestrates a narcotics ring there, and he pays Passione directly for protection.”

Prosciutto stubs his spent cigarette against the crystalline ashtray. “And?”

“Caponata came to Ditalini,” Risotto says. “And Ditalini sold him out – but he doesn’t know this. You need to get to Ditalini, though he won’t speak to you; it won’t matter to him whether you are from Passione or not. Know this: the Boss has specified that the restaurant owner should not to be harmed. Unless, of course, you find out that he has been in fact aided Caponata.”

“You want me to kill him if he betrayed the Boss,” Prosciutto repeats. “I’m assuming I won’t be compensated any more for this. Why bother?”

Risotto says nothing of the backhanded comment. He points to the roster of Ditalini’s employees. A stack of photograph makes for supplementary viewing. “I recommend that you acquaint yourself with one of his staff – find out what they know before taking matters into your own hands. It might help you to avoid unneeded attention, should you find that the man is working for Caponata.”

The photographs shift as Prosciutto lays them out before him. He notes that only two women work for the man: Farinata Pavone and [Y/N] Una. Either of them will suffice. In his experience, he has found that the lips of a target are easily loosened by expensive gifts or sex. It is a horrible thing to do, using someone like that, and one that he reserves as a last-resort option.

“Ditalini frequents Di Maccu several times a week. But he never goes alone. Perhaps you should start there.”

With a sharp nod, Prosciutto closes the dossier and tucks it betwixt his arm and torso. His evening will be spent pouring over its contents, committing every face and every name to memory. “When do I leave?” he finally asks.

“Tomorrow morning.”

Prosciutto sighs. He cares little for unnecessarily arduous contracts, and this is no exception – he is paid to take lives, not to play detective. Yet, he is grateful for the work.

“I suppose I better start packing then,” he concludes with a sigh. After all, this job has never been easy.

The air within Di Maccu smells faintly of cinnamon and bergamot, courtesy of the incense burning atop the mantle of the sealed fireplace. An English song echoes through the speakers. The words are foreign to many of the bar’s occupants; yet this has never stopped the younger crowds from swaying in their seats as they upheld conversations amongst each other.

For un mercoledì sera, the bar is considerably full. The table nearest to the front door is occupied by three employees from the restaurant Il Basilico Sospeso: Farinata, a waitress and woman of twenty-six with a deep affinity for clubbing; Pandoro, a line cook who had first been hired as a young boy assigned to washing dishes; and the owner Ditalini Mina, an older man who colors the silver steaks in his greying hair with gawdy black dye like epoxy paint.

As she lowers the martini, Farinata’s voice slips from her mouth in chorus to the young pop-star’s ballad. In the waitress’s state of unassuming lucidity, she effortlessly slips into the foreign language of the singer and hums along.

Ditalini smirks over the rim of his frosted pint glass. Pandoro releases a cloud of white smoke into the air before offering his cigarette to the singing woman. She plucks it from his fingers with greed. Her red lipstick stains the wax paper. Ditalini taps the face of his studded watch. “What’s taking her so long?” he asks, his speech cutting above the music.

Farinata shrugs and flicks ashes away from the smoldering cigarette. “Maybe she died,” she says in a tone that might suggest that she is only joking. “I’ll text her.”

Pandoro leans back in his chair and points towards the window that hangs above their table. “No need,” he insists. “Here she comes now.”

The door opens, sending a ring through the cramped bar as the bell above the arch jingles. Several patrons turn to observe you – the new customer – but mostly everyone else remains focused on their own drinks. Hair sticks to your face, plastered by a light sheen of sweat. You slump down in the unoccupied chair across from Ditalini. Your coworkers gawk at you with grins. You wonder if Pandoro knows that his bottom row of teeth is filled with rot.

“Took you long enough!” Farinata berates.  She holds the cigarette out to you, which you promptly refuse and instead move to fix your own hair via the guidance of your reflection in the window.

“Sorry I’m late,” you huff, digging through your purse for your money and photo identification card. “Trish needed help with her book report.”

“A book report?” Pandoro snorts. “This late in the evening?”

“Did I mention how it’s due tomorrow morning and she waited until tonight to start it?”

Ditalini brushes away fallen cigarette ashes with the back of his hand. “Well, you sister set you an hour back,” he chortles. “You have a lot of catching up to do – go on, get your drink. We’re not going anywhere.”

You do not need to be told twice. The sound of your kitten heels clacking off the brick floors is lost to the thrum of laughter and music. The line at the end of the bar is wrapped all the way back to the jukebox. The only empty barstool is the second one from the rightmost end, nearest the line, and is sandwiched between two men. The first man strikes up a conversation with the woman to his left – who, you think, is admittedly too pretty for him. The second man stares at the bottles of fruit-flavored rums straight ahead of him. You cannot help but to notice his peculiarly styled hair, held in place by four vertically braided buns at the back of his blonde head.

You weigh your options and decide that you do not have the patience (for it never has been a virtue of yours) to stand in the line. So, you settle for the barstool. It creaks beneath your weight and scuttles against the floor. The bartender – aptly Maccu himself – takes your awaiting identification card. His trained eyes scan over the finest details of lamination and creasing. Satisfied that you are of the legal drinking age, he returns the card and places a cork coaster before you.

“What can I get for you?” he asks.

“A vodka cranberry, per favore.”

“Lime?”

“S��, grazie.”

“Any preference for your vodka?”

You clutch the wad of cash in your hand. “Whatever’s cheapest,” you specify.

“Make it a Grey Goose.” Maccu’s head snaps in the direction of the raspy tone belonging to the blonde man seated next to you; the man’s interjection has surprised you both. “Put it on my tab.”

With a quick smile, the bartender reaches for the top-self liquors. “Thank you,” you tell the man beside you. “But you didn’t need to do that.”

"Forgive my intrusion. It’s just that you look like someone who’s had a difficult day,” he nonchalantly insists, as if it is his custom to buy expensive drinks for strangers. You take note of your appearance in the wall mirror; its honesty is frightening compared to the sight that greeted you in the window. You swipe the back of your hand across your puffed, swollen eyes – you have bled your makeup dry. “None of that cheap American shit is going to make you feel any better. In fact, I would hardly call it vodka.”

You humor him: “That’s an astute observation. My mother isn’t doing well – that’s all.”

He hums to himself and returns to the bourbon that has been watered down by the melting block of ice. Despite his initial cordiality, he has made it painfully obvious that he does not genuinely wish to hold a conversation with you. Perhaps it is because of the bombshell you have only just dropped – perhaps you have killed the mood.

You were not late this evening because of Trish’s procrastination over a school assignment; in truth, there is no book report either. Your tardiness could only be blamed by an urgent phone call from your mother’s doctor. It is a challenge in and of itself to face your coworkers (whom you do not entirely care for) when you have just been told that your mother is dying.

Maccu places your purple drink atop the coaster. You thank him and squeeze the lime into the glass. Loosened seeds filter past the floating ice cubes and settle at the bottom of the glass like sediment. Your mother may be close to death’s door, but you deserve a night out nonetheless; Trish herself had insisted it.

You turn to the blonde man. “My name’s [Y/N], by the way.”

He looks up from his drink and offers his name with a faint smirk: “Prosciutto.”

You take a sip of your beverage and wince at the chill that bites at your teeth. Though your coworkers are waiting for your return, you refuse to go back. Considering your circumstances, it is not the best night to put up with Farinata’s drunken clinginess or Pandoro’s eccentricities, or to mask your annoyances with geniality.

This goes without saying that Ditalini brings about an entirely new level of discomfort for you; he unnerves you to your very core. You have worked for him for months now, and still that feeling of anxiousness gnaws at you every time you see him. In the beginning, it had been the intimidation – that he is your boss and you a new employee with limited work experience. He never hesitated to reprimand you in front of the others whenever you over-poured liquor or lost track of the rotation. But you were quick to learn. You had to be.

Ditalini has high expectations, and waitstaff is expendable.

You remember the night of the incident too clearly. You were leaving for the evening, and you used the backdoor that lead to the parking lot to exit the restaurant. And there, just before the dumpsters, stood your boss and a customer. You recognized the latter as one of your own patrons, and he had left you a sizeable tip. He held an oddly shaped parcel in his hands. Ditalini paged through a booklet of money. You had not meant for them to see you.

Ditalini’s reaction to your unwarranted intrusion had consisted only of a simple wave and a toothy grin. Among many things, you like to think that you are not a terribly ignorant person. It is not exactly a secret to the locals of Tropea that Ditalini had come from old mafia family roots, or that he used Il Basilico Sospeso as his own money-laundering scapegoat. The restaurant simply could not get by on selling underpriced beers and antipasto platters alone. You often wonder whether cocaine sales are tax deductible or not.

The very next day, Ditalini had pulled you into his office and ushered you to sit in the armchair across from his oak desk. The leather crinkled upon contact, contorting like the skin of a spoiled plum. You felt as if you were in a doctor’s office, under the scrutiny of a specialist; your boss certainly watched you the same way as your former family practitioner. You were prepared to be fired or shot in the head. Instead, Ditalini merely requested that you accompany him and the others on their weekly sojourns to Di Maccu.

You were quick to suspect the man’s ulterior motives: he sought to placate your silence with a false sense of comradery.

Downing the rest of your drink, you glance over at the table. Ditalini peers at you and rolls his emptied glass in the air as if he is contemplating another round. You turn away with a shudder. Regret is a familiar friend – you chastise yourself for finally caving into his request. You set your finished glass on the coaster. The man, Prosciutto has downed his bourbon as well. He places a hand inside his dark blue suit jacket; the sleeve shimmies up his arm just enough to reveal a silver-plated wristwatch. The corner of an MS cigarette carton pokes through his inner jacket pocket.

“Do you smoke?” he suddenly asks you.

Your eyes meet his steel-blue gaze. You think, as you take in his composed appearance, that he looks out of place in this bar. An expertly tailored suit and a large gold pendant hanging from his neck – not to mention his wristwatch – are not part of the typical uniform of the usual crowd. Di Maccu is certainly not the glitzy cocktail bar that would otherwise compliment Prosciutto’s fashion choices. He cocks a blonde eyebrow at you; you realize that your hesitation to respond has irked him.

“No, I don’t,” you tell him. Even his cigarettes are expensive.

He nods before resting his coaster on top of his bourbon glass. His form disappears as he slips through the backdoor and into the parking lot. Before he slipped away, you noticed a silver-plated lighter in his hand. It matches his wristwatch.

There is no policy that prohibits smoking inside of Maccu’s bar. Farinata and Pandoro have already demonstrated that. And yet, the handsome blonde stranger dubbed Prosciutto took himself outside to do it. Perhaps his decision was made of respect – otherwise, it came from an unspoken desire to escape from the noise confined within the bar’s walls.

Maccu comes by to collect your empty glass. “How much was my drink?” you ask him.

“13,000 lire.”

You count the proper amount and tuck it beneath Prosciutto’s cup. While you appreciate his gesture of goodwill, you cannot allow him to pay for your drink. You know well enough that a stranger in a bar would only do such a thing if he was looking for a quickie in the bathroom. Tonight is not the night for that.

Your purse begins to vibrate. You sort through discarded gum wrappers and dried mascara cartilages to find your cell phone. The bright green light of its face glares up at you

Trish – 2 New Messages:

            can u come home

            please i dont want 2 b alone

Ditalini stops you at the door. His hand rests on your bare shoulder, his skin calloused like sandpaper. You tug away from him, cautious not to draw attention from your other coworkers. “Is everything alright, bella?” he questions; the slur of his speech implies his intoxication, as if you could not already detect it on his breath.

You nod fervently and clutch your purse. “Trish needs my help again, that’s all,” you tell him. You feign disappointment. This seems to please him. “So, I’m heading home.”

“Would you like me to drive you? It’s late, you know.”

“No, grazie però.” You reply too hastily, but he does not notice the inflection. “I don’t live too far from here.”

And you are gone before he can protest.

| 2688 Words |

* Please note that future chapters will only be posted to Ao3 - you can find the link to my profile under my navigation tab

[rwby-ask-central]

RWBY Vol 8 Ep11 Spoilers

Okay, so I didn’t find that there was very much to talk about last episode. This one was kinda...eh? I had my S/O and friend watch it. They were screaming the whole way. I think this episode is very much an insight into the finale, rather than an episode based on action and plans. So let’s get thinking!

The Vault.

I’m not sure if I talked about it, but I did have a theory that Ruby could grab the staff and turn Penny into a Real Girl to terminate the virus. Which I think would be fitting because she’s similar to Pinocchio. But...somehow I don’t think they’ll give up all of Mantle’s citizens for it. So I’m curious what Ruby could be planning? In any case, I have a feeling that this will be the main focus of it all

Renora

I feel so conflicted. I understand what happened, and I agree that the outcome was positive, but I just...don’t like it. Ultimately, I think this won’t go anywhere, but I also believed that either or both of these two would be committing suicide by the end of the volume...so? I’m not really sure. If things DO work out and we see these two live, maybe it’ll be relevant by volume 10? I’ll be keeping my eyes out

The Ace Ops

Christ...I agree with our little Faunus Friend. I think he’s finally starting to see how things really are. I have to say that winter really saved his ass there. But more on that later. It seems like there’s conflict between them...I see a civil war coming. More importantly, I think that RWBY/JNR’s words from volume 7/8 about being a team and friends and doing what’s right is finally taking hold...at least in some of them. Harriet...what is her deal? She’s just so angry and infuriating. Is she that desperate to keep her position? Or maybe she’s just a bitch.

Winter/Qrow/Robin

I have a feeling these three bumped into each other at the elevator scene. I have a feeling that Winter will be helping them...but it’s not a promised thing. Her loyalties still very much lie with the military...for some reason. Which reminds me, Robin was right. Qrow is angry. He has been...her whole speech is right. And I think maybe we’ll find another love interest. I mean...they ARE both named after birds. But we know how that dance goes.

Penny

I’m going to be blunt. I still think Penny will die. I don’t WANT her to, but I think she will. More importantly...I’m shocked about what she said. She’s RIGHT. But I never thought it would cross her mind. In any case, I think that will ultimately be what needs to get done. I think they should have secured the maiden powers. And why haven’t they tried to call her father? Surely they think he can fix it? Explaining it to Ironwood might actually be a good thing here as well. It means his ultimatum would be worthless. Maybe even get support...but man...Penny is in for a rough one.

Ironwood

It’s no secret that I VERY MUCH hate Ironwood. I always have. He’s had his moments like anyone else, but ever since we’ve seen him, I never liked him. He always seemed like the rough general who would throw away countless lives to prove a point...funny, isn’t it? He’s gawdy, he’s idiotic, he’s stubborn, and paranoid. Not to mention insane, dropping a nuke on Mantle. I hope he ends up dead by the end of the season or we might just see an...alliance between Ironwood and Salem...but nothing is concrete there.

Cinder

I know I’m late to this party, but I have to admit....she couldn’t do it. She had Watts by the neck, and he just gave her nothing short of the truth. Now look...I think she needed to hear it, as a person. As a villain...well I think it dealt a blow to her Ego. As powerful as she is, she’s still so very insecure. And that’s still her weakness. She’s human. She’s angry. And she betrayed Salem again. In this case, it was probably for the best (considering the whale exploded). But I can’t imagine Salem will be happy unless they gain the artifact or the maiden powers, or both.

NEO!

So my S/O has this thought that maybe...Neo will be the new maiden. I asked specifically if she would be a maiden like Penny, using her powers for what’s right, like Raven, where she runs off to do her own thing, or like Cinder, where she fights for her own causes and those above her. To which I received a basic “to be figured out” reply. And I have to say..a maiden with an artifact? Color me scared. I like this theory, as much as I don’t support it. But I didn’t expect Neo to make it this far. I WILL SAY! I called the betrayal. At least in part. She stole the lamp. Neo will either rise to power and replace Cinder, or die here. She’s in way over her head. She needs to catch up to snuff with the rest of the gang or be cut out of the picture.

Overall conclusions

I said that I think this episode is an insight into the finale, and here’s why. Robin and Qrow escaped. Half the Ace Op team disagree with James, Penny is heading to the vault, and what remains of the bad guys are banded together. I have a feeling that a certain black-haired mother will make another appearance, maybe even sacrifice. But you guys already know my thoughts on that stuff. Maybe even Tai, but that’s unlikely. I think help will be on the way, but not to any meaningful success. I think it’ll all fail anyway. With all of these facts in mind...you can’t tell me the finale won’t be big. Blood will be spilled. A lot of blood. Maybe more than Beacon...we’ll have to find out next week...

[demigodsanswer]

Once Upon a Pointe - Chapter 3

Story Summery:

“Annabeth, you’re with Percy,’ Chiron said. Annabeth. She looked like the figurine in a little girl’s music box had come to life to dance in City Ballet. Percy felt like every opportunity to dance with her was a privilege. Just don’t forget the choreography, Percy thought as he got into the right starting spot for the wedding pas de deux. Don’t forget the choreography, and don’t drop her.”

Percy, a soloist with the ballet company, and he is offered one chance to dance with Annabeth, one of their star principals. If he nails the choreography, he might just earn a chance to dance with her. And, if he’s really lucky, he might get a date out of it as well.

Chapter Title: Make it Blue 

Read on AO3

Start from the beginning

When Percy stepped into his favorite coffee shop before rehearsal, he spotted a familiar shade of blonde hair ordering in front of him. Even with her hair down under a winter hat he was sure it was her (her black dance bag with AEC monogramed on the side also helped him identify her). He stepped up to the counter to stand next to her, as he handed the barista his card.

“Hers is on me,” he said, before adding his own coffee order on.

“Oh no –“ she tried to protest, her cheeks pink from the cold weather.

“I insist,” Percy said, nodding to the cashier to run his card.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Annabeth said as they grabbed their coffees to head towards the studio.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Besides, what kind of Prince Charming would I be if I didn’t buy you coffee?”  

Annabeth laughed and sipped her drink. “I’ve never met a dancer so dedicated to method acting,”

To prove his point, Percy jogged up the stairs to the door of the studio and pulled it open for her before she could make it halfway up the stair. “After you, ma’am,” he said, going into a dramatic deep bow.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, curtseying just a little as the walked in.

~*~*~*~

Percy’s finger hovered over the ‘send’ button, trying to decide if sending Annabeth a YouTube video on why the Barbie Sawn Lake movie is the best movie of all time was a good idea. He didn’t even know if she had liked the Barbie movies as a kid.

If he had to guess, she was either the girl who had them all in a pristine Dream House, or the kid who cut their hair and drew on their faces. Either way, though, the video could work. And it wasn’t like he wanted to talk to her about Barbie, he just wanted to talk to her outside of the studio.

He had no idea where he stood with her. He was pretty sure they were becoming friends, or at least work friends. But their work required them to touch all the time, look lovingly into each other’s eyes, and kiss, which really blurred the lines between work-friend, just a friend, and friends who are flirting.

He had been following Beckendorf’s advice and not actively perusing anything with her. Buying her coffee had been a friendly one-time gesture and sending her a funny YouTube video was the kind of harmless thing that friends would do.

And they were friends, at least work friends. She smiled easily around him and laughed at his dumb jokes. She certainly did more than tolerate him. Annabeth didn’t strike him as the kind of woman who would fake being nice to someone she didn’t like; in fact, he had anecdotal proof that she wasn’t like that.

Still, they had never texted each other before, other than to confirm a rehearsal or check choreography.  

His resolve crumbled, and he deleted the text.

~*~*~*~

Percy was sore all over. He’d stopped being about to feel his legs somewhere around hour six, but they were coming to the end of hour eight now.

It was a good kind of sore. A kind of sore he only felt after a good, intense day of dancing. It was still the kind of sore that made him want to go home and take an ice bath and fall asleep listening to anything other than classical music. But a good sore.

When the music ended, he and Annabeth parted, both breathing heavily.

“Great job you guys,” Chiron said. Annabeth smiled wide at Percy. “Go home and get some rest. We still have some work to do before we move to dress rehearsals,”

Dress rehearsals. They moved to the theater in a week, which meant the show went up in two weeks. Percy’s heart began to race as he realized how little time there was left to go.

Before Percy got the chance to tell Annabeth how great she had done that day, Piper ran up between the two of them, throwing one arm over either of their shoulders.

“You guys looked so good up there!” She said. “Have you gotten to try on your costumes yet? Because I tried mine on yesterday and it is gawdy, and borderline camp, and everything I’d want in a fairy,"

Annabeth snuck her way out from under Piper’s arm. “I tried on my act one costume yesterday. It’s the big pink tutu with roses on it. I look like a storybook ballerina,”

As opposed to all the other days, Percy thought, when you’re just a regular beautiful woman in a tutu.

~*~*~*~

Percy took the risk of looking creepy as hell and waited for Annabeth to change before heading home. It had gotten dark hours ago, and he didn’t want her to walk to the subway alone if she didn’t have to.

“Hey,” she said when she saw him waiting, “what’s up?”

“It’s, uh, pretty dark out, and I wanted to see if you’d like me to walk you to the subway?” His face felt hot.

Annabeth just smiled and nodded. “Sure. I take the 1 train,”

“No shit, so do I,” Percy said as they walked out the door and into the cold New York City street. That was kind of a dumb thing to say, he realized. The closest subway station only ran the 1 and the 2. It wasn’t completely surprising that she’d take that train. But maybe she found absolute idiocy charming. He could hope so, at least. “Uptown or downtown?”

“Way down,” Annabeth said. “West fourth. You?”

He shrugged and smiled, “Uptown, west one-hundred and fourth,” he said. “How’d you end up so far downtown?”

Annabeth shrugged. “I liked the area, and … well Luke really wanted to get out of midtown,” she smiled. “I hope Portland is far enough for him,” she said that softly, like she was pretending that Percy wasn’t supposed to hear her.  

“So, you’re there alone now?” He hoped that didn’t sound creepy.

“Yup. It’s actually been pretty nice,” she paused before adding, “besides if I get lonely, I can just put on a podcast and pretend there are other people around,”

Percy began to smile as an idea formed in his head. “Well, if you want someone to hang out with or if you want a nice home cooked meal, you can come over to my place on Sunday. My mom and I are excellent chefs.” He bragged humbly, hoping she’d agree to the invite.  

“You live with you mom?” Annabeth asked.

Percy blushed, “Yeah, but not in like a weird Greek tragedy way or a sad way,” he clarified. “My mom and stepdad way undercharge for rent, and they are saving the rent money I give them to help save for my little sister’s college, and since my mom is one hell of a cook, … it works out for everyone,” Percy said a little too quickly. “Plus, my mom makes the best chocolate chip cookies in the entire world, so you need to come just for those.”

“I don’t think you want me eating too many cookies before we have to do all of these lifts,” she said.

“Don’t worry,” Percy promised, “all the food my mom makes has no calories.”

Annabeth laughed as they made their way down the subway stairs. “Well, how could I pass up a good meal with no calories?” She turned to face him. “That would be great though. I can’t cook for shit. Well, I mean, I could cook if I wanted to, I’m not an idiot. I just hate doing it.”

Percy’s heart did little flips in his chest as they pushed through the turnstiles, about to go in opposite directions. Annabeth was coming over for dinner, and he felt like he was walking on air.

Percy was hoping for a slow goodbye where he promised to text her, and then wished her goodnight. But as soon as they were through the gate, the downtown 1 train pulled in.

“Shit!” Annabeth yelled, taking off towards the stairs. “See you tomorrow!” she yelled, already out of sight.

See you tomorrow, Percy though, smiling, as he made his way down the stairs to the uptown side.

~*~*~*~

“So for your date tonight –“ his mom started.

“It’s not a date,” Percy protested. “It’s just Annabeth.”

“She’s coming all the way from downtown to meet you.”

“Well, yeah.”

“She’s staying for dinner.”

“Yeah.”

“You two are dancing together.”

“Mom!”

She held up her hands in surrender, before she asked him to pass him some spices.

“Seriously, though,” he said, “it’s not a date. If I had asked her out, our first date wouldn’t be in our apartment with you, Paul, and Stella around.” He stood at the counter, his back to her as he chopped the vegetables. “Besides, I don’t think she wants to be dating.”

“Well, I’ll still try not to embarrass you just in case,” she said.

“You know, it’d be great if you tried not to embarrass me at all ever,” he said.

She walked over and ruffled his hair. “I gave birth to you; I can embarrass you when and how I want. That’s the arrangement.”

“To be clear,” Percy said, “I did not ask to be born.”

~*~*~*~

Annabeth arrived about half an hour before dinner was ready. Percy buzzed her into the building, and then opened the door to his apartment for her.

“Hi,” she said, looking a little frazzled from the cold. She handed him a bottle of wine in a paper bag. “I brought a bottle of wine,” she said quickly, “because I didn’t know what else to bring, but, I don’t know about you, I don’t drink this close to shows, so I’m sorry if this is totally useless.”

Percy smiled at her nervousness and let her inside. “It’s fine. My parents will enjoy it, or we can save it until after the run of the show.” That seemed to relax her a bit. She slipped off her jacket and hat, which Percy quickly took from her, hanging them on the hook near the door. She was wearing a simple cream-colored sweater and a pair of jeans with her long blonde hair down around her shoulders. It was a simple look, but Percy so rarely saw her in street clothes or with her hair down that he almost forgot why she was in his apartment at all.

“Let me introduce you,” he said, ushering her into the kitchen and living room.

After introductions, which were thankfully free of embarrassment for Percy, the two sat on the couch. Annabeth fiddled with her hands and started straight forward. Percy had seen her dance in front of a crowd of thousands, balanced on two toes, without a single sign of nerves or anxiety, but something about Percy’s small family had made her uneasy.

“Are you okay?” Percy asked.

Annabeth nodded a little too quickly. “I just haven’t met new people or had dinner at someone’s house in, like, a year. And other people’s parents tend not to like me.”

“Don’t worry, I think my mom will like you just fine.” Annabeth sighed and shook her head, not saying anything. “Hey,” Percy took her hands, steadying them, “there’s nothing to worry about,” he assured her. “My mom is probably going to ask you polite questions about where you trained before New York and how you like the company, and all of that. My sister will probably ask you ask the costumes and the hair and the shoes. And my stepdad will probably make a bad pun and pretend to know what any of us are talking about.”

Annabeth smiled and nodded as her shoulders relaxed. Percy pulled his hands away when he realized he was still holding hers, trying not to blush.

~*~*~*~

They shared small talk, talking about company drama and recalling old stories, until Sally called them into the kitchen for dinner.

“Thank you, again, for having me,” Annabeth said as they sat down.

“It’s my pleasure, dear,” Sally told her. “Please, enjoy,” she said, handing her a bowl of food to scoop from.

“So,” Sally started once they were all served, “Annabeth, where are you from?”

Annabeth cleared her throat. “Well, my whole family is from Boston, but I grew up in Virginia, until I moved to New York for the ballet school when I was fourteen. I’ve lived here ever since.”

“And they took you into the company very early, didn’t they?” Sally asked.

Annabeth nodded. “I was sixteen. It was grueling,” she said. “I’m glad that dancers are being taken in later that I was, because it was hard. I still don’t think I was prepared for it, and I have no idea how I got through it.”

“What’s the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to you on stage?” Estelle asked. Sally frowned at her, but Annabeth laughed.

“I was dropped once.” Estelle’s eyes went wide, and Sally gasped. Percy laughed, remembering the story she was about to tell.

“When I was twenty,” Annabeth said, “I was Juliet in Romeo and Juliet, and there is a scene at the end where Juliet has taken potion to make it look like she’s dead.” Annabeth explained to Estelle, who was looking at her with an extreme intensity. “And Romeo comes on stage, and he sees me laying on this tombstone, which was just this wooden slab on a platform three steps up. And Romeo has to pick up Juliet’s lifeless body and carry her down the stairs and do a pas de deux. But, of course, I’m dead, so I can’t help the guy. So, he’s just swinging me around like deadweight.” Percy and Paul laughed at this, but Sally kept on looking horrified. Percy wasn’t sure if his mom was still hung up on the fact that Annabeth had been dropped, or if she was uncomfortable with the choreography being described. Estelle, though, just looked fascinated with the story.

“One night, Charles Beckendorf, who’s one of the best partners in the business, is my Romeo, and climbs up the stairs, picks me up, and then, all the sudden, I am falling down the stairs.” Percy heard his mom whisper “oh my god,” as Annabeth continued. “And I have no idea what happened, because I’m dead, so my eyes are closed. Turns out, he had slipped at the top of the stairs, and we had both fallen down onto the stage. Thankfully, neither of us were hurt, but the orchestra was still going, so we had to keep dancing. But I’m still dead. So, he had to lift me, dead weight, off the stage and finish the dance.

“The worst part was that, at that point in the ballet, Romeo and Juliet don’t leave the stage until the show is over. So, for the next twenty minutes, we are both panicking thinking we’re going to get pulled from the ballet for the rest of the run or that we’re going to be fired.

“Curtain falls, ballet is over, we meet Chiron backstage who just nodded and said, ‘I liked it, leave it in.’” Percy laughed at Annabeth’s Chiron impression – a stiff nod, a frown, and a gruff voice offering compliments when you expected nothing but critique.

“Apparently,” Annabeth continued, “from the audience, it had looked planned, as if Romeo was so overcome with grief, he just couldn’t stay standing. Of course, one of the ballet mistresses heard about Chiron’s plan and told him it was too dangerous for me to be dropped down the stairs every night, so we never did end up doing it again.”

“Well,” Paul said, “hopefully Percy won’t drop you like that.”

“No,” Percy said, “this ballet is thankfully free of carrying her down stairs. Although,” he looked at Annabeth, “you are in a death-like sleep again.”  

Annabeth smiled. “As long as I never have to be a snowflake again, I’ll take all of the only-mostly-dead roles.”

~*~*~*~

Annabeth opened up after that, charming Sally and Estelle with her dance stories and compliments about Percy’s skills as a partner (which Percy didn’t mind either.) She tried to help Sally clear the table, but Sally refused to let her help, insisting that she and Percy relax in the living room. After a few minutes, she brought in a tray of blue cookies for them.

Annabeth’s eyes went wide when she saw them; she picked a big one off the top and held it in front of her face. “Blue?” she asked.

“It’s an inside joke between my mom and me,” Percy said, picking up a cookie of his own.

Annabeth eyes went wide and she smiled, “Oh! That’s why everything you own is blue!” She said, like she had solved some grand mystery. “Your bag, your foam roller, your water bottle.” Percy smiled and nodded, confirming her conclusions. “And see, I just thought you were super into that ‘blue for boys, pink for girls’ thing.”

Percy laughed, breaking off a piece of his cookie. “No, I think that’s kind of bogus.”

Before Annabeth could respond, Sally poked her head in. “We’re going to be in our room, but it was so nice to meet you Annabeth. Please, feel free to stay as long as you’d like. And take some of the cookies home with you!”

Annabeth waved them goodnight. “Goodnight and thank you again for having me. I really appreciate it.”

“Anytime, honey,” Sally said, disappearing around the corner.

“See,” Percy said, “I told you they’d like you.”

Annabeth smiled. “Yeah, must just be my family that doesn’t like me, then.”

She said that nonchalantly like it was a joke, but it caught Percy off guard. “You’re not close with your family?” He asked her.

She shrugged. “No, not really.”

“That must have been hard,” Percy said.

She nodded. “I mean, I should be grateful for them,” she added. “They’ve supported me my entire career and paid for everything, you know? But mostly I think they were glad I found ballet. It kept me out of the house most of the time.” Annabeth laughed sadly as she nibbled on her cookie. “It was funny. There was this one time, right when I was about to turn seventeen and find out if I got my company contract, and I got a text from my step-mom that just said: ‘Your dad got a new job in San Francisco. We’re moving in a week.” She forced a laugh again, but when she saw that Percy didn’t find that funny, she let her guard down. “They’d all known for months, but none of them thought to tell me.” She finished in a voice much sadder than the one she had started with.

Percy rested a hand on her knee, which she took willingly. “I’m so sorry, that’s awful. Can I ask why they didn’t –”

She cut him off. “My mom left me and my dad in the middle of the night when I was a few weeks old, and we never heard from her again. I guess things were fine with just me and my dad for the first few years, but he got remarried when I was three. They started their ‘real’ family, and I was just wrench in the machine.” She shrugged. “But anyway,” she said, forcing herself to perk up, “it all worked out. I mean, I got this amazing dance career and an absolutely awful taste in men,” she joked, “and you didn’t invite me here just to talk about my problems. Tell me about you. We’ve been dancing together for years, and I feel like I barely know you.”

“Can I give you a hug?” Percy asked her.

She was taken aback. “What?”

“Can I give you a hug? You just seem kind of sad.”

Annabeth dropped her plucky attitude and nodded, opening her arms to him. He held her tightly, rubbing her back gently to let her know that he was there.

When she pulled away, there were some tears on her cheeks that she quickly blotted off with a napkin. “Jesus, look at me, I’m so sorry.”

“You’re fine,” Percy assured her. “And, seriously, if you ever need to talk, I’m here. I would really like to be your friend.”

She smiled at him. “Thank you, that really means a lot to me.”

They fell into a comfortable silence for a few moments, before Annabeth said: “But, really, tell me about yourself. How did you get started in ballet?”

“Kind of like you did, I guess. I needed something to do after school to get me out of the house and away from my stepdad,” he said. “Not Paul,” he added, “the guy my mom was married to before him.” He ran his hand through his hair and relaxed back on the couch. “I didn’t start dancing until I was ten,” he told her.

Her eyes went wide. “Really?”

He nodded. “I started at the Y, really basic classes because I needed something to do.” He didn’t tell her it was because he’d gotten kicked off the rec basketball team for punching a kid who’d made fun of Tyson, Percy friend and teammate, for having down syndrome. Percy’s reasons for decking the kid didn’t matter to his coach, though, who’d just hung his head, exhausted constantly by Percy’s troublemaking. “Just go home, Percy,” his coach had told him. “Just go home.” When he’d gotten kicked off the team, he had known he’d have to find something else to do after school as soon as he could. He couldn’t stand the idea of spending hours alone with Gabe before his mom got home from the candy shop.

“Why’d you pick dance?” She asked.

“I wanted to play basketball,” he said, “but the season had already started. The only thing I could still sign up for was ballet.” Percy smiled. “It was funny, the week I had my first class was the week before my mom got paid, so I didn’t have ballet shoes yet. I tried to do the barre in my socks, but the instructor saw, and she came back with these girls ballet slippers. They were extras they had. They were too big and for girls, but they were better than nothing. I ended up wearing them for four months. My mom had to sew the canvas where my big toe had popped through.” Annabeth smiled at the detail, but Percy figured she’d never had to wear second-hand shoes.

“Why’d you stick with it?” She asked.

Percy took a deep breath and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It was a control thing, I think,” he said. “I …” he hesitated, but he decided to be honest with her, the way she had been with him. “I was a troubled kid. I have ADHD and dyslexia, so my grades were bad. I got into fights, my stepdad …” he decided to leave those details out. “Well, he’s not around anymore and that’s for the best.” Annabeth nodded, looking at him even as he kept his gaze forward.

“I understand that,” she mused as he continued.

“But when I got to ballet … well, it was this quiet room with piano music, and no one was talking to each other. We all just plie’d in peace, and it was just so nice,” he smiled, “and I felt in control there. I realized that if I put a lot into ballet, I’d get a lot out of it. So, I started to practice every night, and after six months, my teacher told my mom that I had to be in a better program if I wanted to be a better dancer, because she really believed that I could go the distance.”

He paused, smiling at the memory, but his eyes felt a little misty. He took a sip of water to avoid crying in front of her. “It was the first time a teacher had really believed in me,” he said. “She helped me find a school and scholarship money, and … that was all she wrote. I started dancing pretty much every day until I got into the academy at fifteen.” He smiled and looked back at her.

She was listening to him intently and had leaned closer to him. When he sat up straight, she had to readjust so that their bodies didn’t collide. He smiled when he saw that she was still listening to him. “You know, the year I started at the school was the year you got into the company?”

She didn’t answer his question. Instead, she placed her hands on his, the same way he had for her earlier. “You must have worked really hard.” She said.

Percy nodded. “So many people in the school and the company had done all of these summer intensives and had been in youth companies and all of that. And there I was, this ragamuffin kid who got his start as a pre-teen at the YMCA,”

Annabeth smiled uncomfortably. “I was in a youth company,”

Percy forced himself to laugh and assure her that he didn’t hate people who had been in youth companies or had been dancing since they were very young. He knew it wasn’t her fault that she had gotten lucky, he just always hated that sense of what-if: what if he had more money growing up? What if he had gotten started earlier? How much further in his career could he be if he had half the opportunities Annabeth had?  

“Besides, you haven’t had it easy either,” he said.

She nodded. “I actually spent the last few months back in Virginia at the youth company. I did some choreography, led some classes, and kept up with my own training. It was nice to get out of the city for a while.”

“I bet,” he said. He wanted to ask her what happened, but he figured she would have already told him, so he dodged it. “I’m lucky, my get-away is a lot closer than yours.”

“Oh yeah? Where do you escape to?”

“Montauk beach, out on Long Island.” He pointed vaguely towards the east.

“You know, I’ve lived in New York for twelve years, and I’ve never been to Long Island.”

Percy’s eyes went wide. “What do you do in the summer? Suffer here? Or do you jet off to Disney World or Hawaii?”

She bumped her shoulder into his. “Please, I don’t have that much money.” She said. “I go …” She paused, and the put her hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. “Oh my god, I don’t even want to tell you. I feel like you’ll stop being my friend forever.”

Percy smiled when she called him her friend. “Nothing you could say could change that. Come on, just tell me.”

She took a deep breath. “I go to Jersey,” she admitted.

Percy groaned and leaned back against the couch. “Oh my god!”

“It’s nice! They have nice beaches, good pizza –“

“Get out of my apartment!” Percy said while laughing and pointing at the door. Annabeth grabbed his hand and pulled it out of its pointing pose.

“It’s nice, I promise!”

“Please!” Percy said. “Long Island might not be the Bahamas, but it’s better than Jersey.”

“Have you ever been to New Jersey?” She asked.

“No,” he admitted, “but that’s by design.”

“Don’t knock it till you try it,” she said.

“Alright, tell you what,” Percy said. “This summer, I’ll take you to Long Island and you can take me to Jersey,” he couldn’t believe what he was saying, “and we’ll decide which was better.”

Annabeth held out her hand. Percy took it and they shook on it. “Deal.” She said.

~*~*~*~

They stayed up talking and enjoying a few too many cookies but not worrying about it, for two more hours. When Annabeth caught a flash of the time: 10:15p.m. She gasped.

“I had no idea how late it was getting,” she said, standing up. “I should head home and let you get some rest.”

“Do you want me to come with you on the subway?” Percy offered. “It’s getting late and you’ve got a long train ride.”

Annabeth shook her head. “No, thank you though, that’s sweet. I’ll just call an Uber,” she said, taking out her phone.

Percy nodded, picking up the tray of cookies. “Sounds good. I’m sending you home with at least half of these, though, or else my mom will kill me.”

Annabeth smiled. “If I don’t fit into my costume, I’m telling Silena that it’s your fault.”

Percy placed a few cookies in a zip-lock bag and handed it to her. “They have no calories remember,” he said.

She zipped up her coat and forced her hat onto her head. Before she could say goodbye, Percy slipped on his jacket and shoes. “Let me walk you out,” he said.

~*~*~*~

They stood on the curb waiting for her car as snow started to fall. Percy looked up at the sky and smiled, watching the flurries fall in the light of the streetlamps.

“Thank you, again, Percy, for such a great night,” she said.

“Anytime, seriously. My door is always open.” He was suddenly very aware of how close they were standing and how beautiful he thought she was. There were times where he thought his crush on her was maybe just the result of admiration for her dancing. He thought that, maybe if he got to know her, he wouldn’t like her as much outside of the studio. Tonight had disproven that theory.

Her Uber pulled up. “Annabeth?” the driver asked. Annabeth double checked the license plate number before confirming. She turned back to Percy to say a final goodbye.

That would have been the perfect moment to kiss her, as she stood under the snow, looking up at him, the yellow light of the streetlamp bouncing off her blonde hair. Sure, they had kissed before, but rehearsal kisses were different. They didn’t count. This would be an “I like you” kiss, a “let me take you out to dinner” kiss, it could be a wonderful, earth-shattering, life changing kiss.

But that kiss would ruin everything. Instead, he tried to memorize the way her eyes looked, and the way snow stuck to her eyelashes, and the way she waved goodbye to him from the window of her Uber.  

[adonis-koo]

Three’s a crowd

| 3 |

Plot: (CEO AU) When your mom’s fairytale life begins to bleed over into your world you’re suddenly caught between two men and one big secret, what was suppose to be a relaxing trip soon begins to spiral out of control. All you wanted was a free vacation...

Pairing: Jungkook/Reader/Jimin, Hoseok/Reader, Taehyung/Reader,

Genre: Smut, angst, drama, angst with a happy ending

Word count: 5k

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Tags: daddy kink, vaginal fingering, slight praise kink, degradation, nipple play, orgasm denial, edging, semi public sex, dirty talk, finger fucking,

Warning ⚠️ This fic touches on drug use, alcoholism and abuse. Please read with caution if any of these things are triggers for you 🖤

Sitting out on a balcony terrace was on god never a way you thought you’d open your morning. But here you were, gazing out over the busy city with a glass of water in hand as you mused. Most likely you’d be headed from the psych ward to the bakery by now. Probably stopping by the ragged gas station to get breakfast on your way before opening up shop. You’d most likely be in the back with Taehyung prepping Monday’s batch of bread while joking about the night before as well.

“Y/n? Are you even listening to me?”

You finally turned your gaze back to Jimin who sat across from you, lips in a large pout as he collapsed back in his plush seat huffing, “It really doesn’t take a lot to distract you, does it?”

Closing your eyes you exhaled sharply out your nose as you replied, “Sorry rich boy- shocking as it may be- not everyone lives like this on a daily,” licking your lips as you rested your hand against your chin, “Furthermore, can you blame me? I mean I get it, my dress choices weren’t the greatest but you didn’t have to go as far as calling them atrocious.”

Jimin’s lips curled into a coy grin as he straightened his back, perhaps knowing you were right, but if there was one thing you had taken note of, it was his darker disposition. He was innocent on the outside, but you had ever so often got the impression he was much more cold hearted then he appeared, “But it was.”

He shrugged easily, obviously not sorry about his words. Just proving what you were suspecting about it. It hadn’t particularly bothered you regardless. He was born into wealth and knew no different, so naturally- your entire wardrobe probably made him cringe. Rolling your eyes heavily you slumped back into your chair, not caring for his snobbish remarks, whether he was born into wealth or not it never killed anyone to have a little bit of humility, “Okay Mr Vogue, where are we going?”

This made him smile, relaxing his shoulders you hadn’t even realized were tense before as he replied, “There’s plenty of boutiques on the 42nd floor, we’ll go there first before exploring our options outside the hotel.”

You nodded, saying no more on the subject as you resumed eating breakfast. Turning your head to look back out over the city, as nice as this was, you didn’t expect to miss your friends so much. What was the point in so much luxury if you didn’t have anyone to enjoy it with? Briefly you glanced back at Jimin, he was on his phone again. Gaze focused and almost deadly, nothing like the aura he portrayed around you and your mother.

While you felt this way you had the distinct feeling Jimin wouldn’t necessarily agree. He bit his plump lip as he dragged a hand through his shiny, soft black hair. There was no doubt about it that he was definitely attractive. Having browsed your phone earlier that day you found out he even made it on the top ten list of most successful millionaires under 25. 

Granted the article was geared towards the sexual appeal for young women to fantasize about. Not necessarily up your alley, although...Jeon Jungkook took the number one spot at only 23 with an income of over 20 billion a year....and you walked in on him getting dressed this morning. Closing your eyes briefly, you felt your face getting red again. Why was it always you? 

Remembering the intense gaze he sent your way before the door shut was enough to make you weak in the knees. Without even realizing it you unconsciously squeezed your thighs together. Were all rich guys like this? You weren’t sure you wanted to be associated with this scene if they were. For your own sake but more importantly the sake of your body. 

Which was currently burning up and ready to take a cold shower. Breakfast continued silently as your parents had took off once more. Apparently Seung had business to attend and asked your mother to accompany him so she could start getting acquainted with his business partners. Your mother, seemed to be enjoying herself thoroughly and you supposed that was all that mattered in the end.

Sitting on the black velvet octagon cut stool you watched Jimin pluck through racks as an employee swiftly lifted them from the rack on command. The selection was wide and vast and while you wanted to explore you were almost glad Jimin seemed to want to take over. Folding your hands you were unsure of where to look. The entire store screamed expensive and you were worried if you accidentally broke anything it’d cost you your retirement fund- not that you had one but still.

Finally Jimin turned around nodding you over to the employee, who past his fake smile seemed almost sneering at you as he lead you towards the back. The employee stopped at the entryway on the right signaling you to go in, following you inside briefly to hang the dresses up on a rack before exiting. The entire room was walk in. A white cubed chair in the corner while three full length mirrors stood at the front of the room. Pulling the thick curtains back to conceal the entrance you pressed your lips together before trying the first one on.

It was a deep blue color and had mountains of tulle that you were buried in instantly, not particularly caring for the halter neck that just about choked you as well. Jimin didn’t care for it either sending you back right away. You honestly weren’t sure how you felt about modeling for him. But then again if he was footing the bill you didn’t have that much dignity to say no.

You were use to being on your feet the majority of the day so changing in and out of dresses was easy. The difficult part was finding something Jimin liked. You found out quickly he was picky and even the slightest of things he didn’t like were a deal breaker. Even you weren’t that harsh on the gowns. Some weren’t your taste but regardless they were all gorgeous. The one you were currently wearing you’d admit you were particularly fond of. 

The tulle skirt flowed a bit wider then an a-line but nothing you were drowning or tripping in. It was off the shoulders with tulle sleeves fitted to your elbows, petals decorated the sweetheart neckline, enough to make you look fashionable but not gawdy. The deep wine red color was mature but still sensual enough that you could get away with it without looking dated.

Taking one step caused you to pause, taking note in your leg that briefly flashed, a long slit running up the right front of the gown you hadn’t noticed before. A bit oddly placed but you rather liked the touch. Opening the curtains again you almost slammed into a figure that had come out of their own room at the same time.

Jumping back you almost fell had a pair of hands not caught you, “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

You felt like a deer in the headlights as you looked up to see the one person who had been haunting your memory all morning. Thankfully clothed this time Jungkook gave you a once over, though he appeared more inspecting to see if you were okay before asking for verbal confirmation, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” You fumbled out, your face undoubtedly as red as the gown you wore, “It’s the dress you should probably be checking on.” If you could’ve cringed any harder at your words you would’ve as soon as they left your mouth. Awkwardly looking away from him as you finally forced your lips closed, closing your eyes as you wished nothing more then to embrace the icy void of death.

Very well aware of his large hands that held your waist tighter then necessary, in fact, him holding you wasn’t necessary at all. He licked his lips as he curved an eyebrow, smirking at your fumbling words as his voice lowered, “It’s okay, I wouldn’t mind you taking it off if its damaged.”

As if your face wasn’t hot enough, you squirmed in his arms making him chuckle as he glanced down at you, “Sorry, you’re just so easy to tease, I have a hard time controlling myself.” He didn’t look very sorry though as he finally, though almost reluctantly let go of you, taking a step back as he tossed a wink your way. Striding back out the hallway as you looked away huffing. Following in his path as you found Jimin looking down at his phone with that same icy stare again. Jungkook was talking to what appeared to be a seamstress who was taking measurements, “I want it right above my wrists remember.”

“Shut up you brat, I’m well aware of where you want it cut.” Your eyes widened at the seamstress’s snippy words as she huffed, wrapping the measuring tape around his upper arm before taking another note. They must’ve been close for her to talk to him so informally.

You turned back to Jimin clearing your throat as you raised an eyebrow expectantly. He looked up, his icy look melting as he put back on a charismatic look, wiggling his finger to signal you to turn. Doing so he finally gave a hum, “Too bland. Is there any black ones in the collection I picked out?”

Frowning you looked down at the gown, too bland? You supposed he had a point but you really didn’t want to look like a disco ball decked in gems either honestly, trying to hold in a sigh you nodded before replying, “Mhm, ill go try another if you want.”

Jimin nodded, standing up as he glanced towards the door, “Go ahead, I’ll be back in ten minutes I have to go take care of something.”

You crossed your arms not looking very impressed but you finally sighed waving him off as you turned around, “You sure do know how to steal a girls heart Jimin.”

He gave a smirk before turning his back to you, quickly exiting the door. Sighing your shoulders dropped as you glanced towards the large mirror wall, fidgeting with your fingers as you took one glance at the dress, it was a pity he didn’t like it.

“Don’t listen to him. Jimin’s taste in wardrobe is too saucy for most parties he attends.” You whipped around to see Jungkook still standing there, the seamstress measuring his neck now as he continued, “In regards to the eye candy he dresses up atleast.”

You shrugged, looking back towards the mirror, examining the dress once more as you replied, “I wouldn’t say I’m surprised but he’s paying so I’m gonna do what he wants.”

Jungkook only pressed his lips together saying no more as the seamstress suddenly flicked his head, scolding him quietly as he rubbed the spot, looking thoroughly annoyed, “Don’t you have other people to measure Irene?”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes as she waved him off. Letting him go back down the hallway as she shook her head, “Whatever he says, ignore him. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

Confused by the seamstresses words you tilted your head. Watching her walk back into the employees room before looking back at the mirror. Taking one last look before trailing to the hallway again. Taking a step into your fitting room as you sighed. Suddenly jumping back at the figure who sat in the plush chair, looking up from his phone casually Jungkook grinned mischievously at your gasp, “Don’t mind me, I’m just here to help.”

“Help!?” You almost yelped out, taking a step back, ready to bolt if necessary, was it their wealth that made them so bold? Or was Jeon Jungkook just really that ballsy of a guy? “Sitting in my dressing room isn’t helping.”

Jungkook laughed, letting his legs which were already spread apart relax further, making you turn around as you put a hand on your forehead, “I already picked a few out of the selection for you to try on if you don’t know where to start,” Jungkook called out, his voice still amused, “Not very fond of Jimin’s taste, especially knowing they don’t fit your style but I think you could pull off the few I chose.”

Closing your eyes you almost whined out, “You want me to try on dresses with you in here?” 

“Mhm...” Jungkook relied, his voice almost playful as he continued, “You said didn’t care sense Jimin was the one paying. What about me though? What if I paid?”

He had a point, but was your dignity that low? You supposed, at this point in your life. It might as well been. Sighing you let you shoulders sag. Red faced you turned back towards the mirror as you unzipped the back letting the dress fall to the floor. 

Catching Jungkook’s eyes in the mirror, he had a hand resting on his chin, clearly enjoying the show. You had half expected him to remark about your body but none came, simply staying quiet as he observed. Maybe knowing it would send you into orbit if he did. Hanging the dress back up you plucked the next one off the hanger. Stepping into it as you pulled the material up and zipped in. It was flowy like the last one, the white brightened your skin and the tulle long sleeves cling to your wrists. It was long but sat more like a sheathe and the neckline plunged slightly.

Turning back to face Jungkook you raised you eyebrows though unable to look him in the eye, “Nice but needs color,” he stood up, making you shrink back slightly as he strolled over to the rack, plucking a rose gold pink gown as he wiggled a finger. Signaling you to follow as he stood in the middle of the room. Setting the gown down on the coffee table as you stiffly stood in front of the mirror.

You jumped slightly at feeling his hand press against your back, almost painfully slow he dragged it up your back before grabbing the zipper. Pull it down before letting the material fall off, leaving you exposed again, feeling a pang between your legs at the closeness. Awkwardly you looked towards the ground unable to meet his gaze again in the mirror as you clasped your hands, covering your exposed breasts.

Jumping again at the warmth of his fingers wrapping around your waist, one slithering down to grab your arm, the other grabbed your chin, his thumb stroking at your lip as he lifted your gaze, his lips soft as they grazed against your ear, “Look at me babygirl.”

His words alone were enough to make you rub your thighs together in attempt to cause friction. There was no denying Jungkook was immensely attractive, and even with only having met him once before you wouldn’t deny your body the honor of having Jungkook fuck you, which seemed exactly his intentions. 

Holding your chin he forced you to look up at the mirror meeting his eyes through it, his thumb intently stroking at your bottom lip while staring you down with a dark hunger in his eyes, glossed with lust as he wrapped a hand around your arm tugging it away as you obediently unclasped your hands.

Finally a smirk creeped on his lips as they pressed down against your neck, “That’s a good girl.” You almost whimpered at the praise as wetness began to shamelessly form in your panties. His lips dragging down your neck as he continued to watch your reactions in the mirror. His hands finally leaving their former position before looping around your waist, slowing letting his fingers trail up your stomach and to your breasts.

Pressing your lips together as you carefully watched his hands began to massage your breasts, squeezing slow but firm before pinching at your nipples making strangled yelp escape your lips as he began to nip against your neck, “Eyes up here princess, I didn’t give you permission to watch.”

Your face was a hot red and your panties were sticking to your wet folds as you trailed back up to lock eyes with him again, feeling his fingers pinch your hardening buds again as you let out a whimper, rubbing your thighs together as he let out a chuckle against your throat, “Do you want my fingers baby? Use your words.”

He had paused making you ready to protest only to realize it was his way of asking for consent, his original purpose in your dressing room had obviously strayed off path but then again you also anticipated this happening. He was extremely attractive and you hadn’t gotten laid in several months, you knew this was a likely case when you allowed him too stay, for good reason. Despite all warning signs in the back of your mind you nodded, “P-please...daddy.”

You watched his smile fade as lust consumed his eyes again at the lewd words, letting his fingers trail back down your stomach as he found a new spot on your neck to bite. His fingers played with the band of your underwear, it was a simple white lounge pair considering you didn’t have plans of getting laid on this trip. Jungkook didn’t seem to mind in the least as he let his fingers stroke over your clothed heat, “Already wet and I’ve barely touched you.” he tsked making you squeeze your thighs again. 

Letting his fingers find their way underneath the band of your panties as he let them take a long stroke up your sticky wet core. It both made you want to close your thighs again and simultaneously open them, choosing the ladder as you let your back press against his chest. His free hand went back to massaging your breasts as his other continued to stroke your wet cunt. 

Finally letting his fingers find their way to your clit, brushing over it causing you to buck your hips slightly, “Daddy please...” You murmured closing your eyes. He pinched your nipple once more causing you to jolt, letting his other fingers brush over your clit again as he murmured, “What do you want daddy to do?”

He rested his finger back on top of your clit, watching as you quickly began to shift your hips in attempt to get yourself off, “Let me cum daddy.” Your voice becoming strained as you finally let your ass press against him. Feeling an unexpectedly large dent pressed against his pants, letting your ass drag against his length in attempt to get his fingers to hit your sweet spot as he let out a small grunt.

His hand leaving your breasts to grab your hip, “Watch it babygirl, use your words or you won’t be cumming anytime soon.” His fingers suddenly began to move again at a faster pace as he began to explore your clit, making you whimper as you squirmed against him, the stimulation making you buck your hips and breathy moans escape your lips.

“Please daddy! Please!” You quickly whimpered as you attempted to press back against him, his hand on your hip, gripping it tightly keeping you from finding his length again. It didn’t last for long though as he let his other hand find its way down your band. His right still circling your clit before finding your sweet spot.

Making you moan as he nipped your neck again, “Not too loud kitten, unless you want everyone to know who’s taking you here.” Realistically you knew he was right but any thought of that had been thrown out the window when you let him stay in your dressing room.

His left hand began to stroke your wet cunt as the right continued to work your sweet spot making you grind against what was definitely a thick, long and harden dick making a grunt of approval escape him. Finally he let a finger slowly push inside you making you bite your lower lip, attempting to buck your hips as he tsked, “Impatient brats don’t get to come, be a good girl for daddy and don’t move.”

You whined at the command but did as you were told, letting him stroke you before sinking his first finger inside you while the other began to slow his pace with your clit despite the building pressure, “Mmm princess you’re so tight, I don’t know if you’ll be able to take daddy’s cock,” Just his words made you buck your hips again, your little walls clenching around his finger in excitement at the mention of his thick, swollen cock you kept grinding against, “Babygirl don’t be a brat, I told you not to move.”

Licking your lips you finally opened your eyes as you firmly pressed back against his length, locking eyes with him in the mirror. You were a mess of red cheeks and tangled hair as you grinded his hard twitching cock with a defiant smile, “Then make me.”

His jaw clenched and his eyes glowered, suddenly picking up the pace as he began to roughly drag his fingers back and fourth against your clit, shoving a second finger inside you becoming dragging his tips into your g-spot making you suddenly whimper throwing your head back against him, “Careful what you wish for you dirty slut. You like punishment don’t you?” He growled lowly in your ear as you felt two fingers sink into you pumping sharpingly, making the pressure in your core build faster.

You rocked your hips as much as you could to keep in pace with his fingers as you whimpered, “Y-yes...” his merciless gaze didn’t falter though as he added a third finger.

Making you bite your lip to keep from moaning too loudly, feeling his long digits fill you as they pumped further into you suddenly hitting your g-spot making you sharply buck your hips again as you moaned. His fingers on your clit finding their way back to your sweet spot as they both hit harmoniously in a ruthlessly speed. Your orgasm building higher and higher as Jungkook growled with a taunt in your ear, “Cum you slut, go on.” Just his words were enough to make you push closer to the edge of your orgasm. Feeling yourself at your peak, ready to unravel as you let out a moan.

The feeling however came to a jolting stop as he pulled all of his fingers off you. Your mouth suddenly opening into shock as you beggingly looked at him in the mirror, legs trembling at being so close to your high and not achieving it. Jungkook only glanced at you through the mirror ruthlessly, “Impatient brats don’t get to cum.” he repeated his words from earlier as he suddenly resumed brushing against your clit again, using two fingers inside of you instead of three as you began to obediently buck into them again as he pumped into you. 

His fingers dragged against the sweet spot of your clit again, your walls desperately clenching around his fingers making an embarrassingly loud squelch sound and the familiar pressure build in your core again, “D-daddy please let me come, please, I’ll be a good girl.” You whimpered begging as quietly as you could. Feeling him pinch your clit between his thumb and index finger as the other began to hit your g-spot again.

You let out a string of moans feeling the rush of your orgasm so close again, you wanted it so badly. So, so badly. Just as you felt it almost come over you Jungkook stopped again, almost making you whimper out a sob in the process from being so close yet again. This time almost painful as you tried bucking against his hands, “P-please daddy.”

“Learn to behave you brat and then talk to me.” Jungkook growled as he resumed his edging, letting his fingers brush back over your sensitive clit, while letting the over quickly pump you again, the feeling building much quicker then the last time. Despite knowing the inevitable end your hips were still fixed on trying to get your orgasm off, it was almost painful at this point bringing near tears to your eyes as you whimpered, “I’ll be a good girl daddy! Please let me come please! Daddy please!”

You kept murmuring it like a mantra as you continuing bucking your hips feeling the orgasm so close, you wanted it so badly. Clenching around his fingers, one more pump, just one you could feel it. But rather then one long pump Jungkook started shorter quicker thrusts with his fingers, continually hitting your g-spot as his fingers on clit began to stroke painfully slow.

Milking every last bit of your edge before you painfully almost orgasmed. On the verge of a scream that never came due to him stopping, tears glossing your eyes as you whimpered. The feeling excruciating as you continually bucked your hips in hopes of chasing your orgasm, “Naughty girls get punished, if you don’t listen to daddy this is what happens,” Jungkook despite wanting so badly to rough fuck you against the wall stood his ground firmly, “Let me put you over my lap and then I’ll consider.” The idea made you excitedly rub your thighs, rewetting your pussy that ached dully for its orgasm.

Jungkook had begun to lead you to the chair when a sudden ring went off. Temporarily grounding you to reality as you turned your head to look at him. His phone was going off, making him sigh obviously annoyed at the interruption, “Sit, legs open and let me take this call.”

Obediently you sat down, opening your legs qas he answered the call, “What?” His voice snappy and sharp, obviously annoyed not by the interruption anymore but by whoever called, “I’m busy, get someone else to do it.”

After a moment he closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose before sighing loudly, “Personal project- that I was enjoying before you interrupted,” realizing he must’ve be referring to what you were both doing, however Jungkook seemed to be able to lie through his teeth flawless about finger fucking you just twenty seconds earlier. After a moment he gritted his teeth before speaking, “Fine, when do I have to be there?”

Another second went by before he looked towards the mirror, running a hand through his messy hair as he huffed, “Yeah whatever I’ll see you soon.” He dropped the call before putting it back on the inside pocket of his jacket. Sighing as he turned back to face you. Noticing his dark demeanor had been melted away by reality as he kneeled down grabbing your chin gently, “I have to negotiate a meeting in ten minutes so I have to go.”

“You’re seriously gonna leave me like this!?” You huffed out raising your eyebrows, a pout you didn’t even realize took over your lips. It made Jungkook grin before a smirk suddenly coiled on his face, “Let me take you for dinner tonight and I’ll make up for it.”

You were tempted to say no just to see the look on his face but after his performance with only his fingers you couldn’t even imagine what the rest of him was like, shaking your head you finally cracked a breathy laugh, “If you wanted to take me on a date you could’ve just asked without going the extra mile.”

Jungkook leaned in, his hand crawling up your thigh as he stroked the inside, letting your arousal spike again as you bit your lip frustrated, “I was going too regardless, but I don’t like letting opportunities pass by, seeing that pouty preorgasm face was worth it babygirl. 8 o’clock?”

“Sure.” You closed your eyes trying not to focus on his hand that gave your thigh one last squeeze before letting go.

Jungkook ran a hand through his hair one last time, poorly fixing it as he stopped by the curtain, “One last thing baby,” he curved an eyebrow turning to face you, “No touching yourself allowed until then. Don’t want another punishment do you?”

Licking your lips you crossed your legs as you rested your elbows on the arm rests, finally a wicked smirk curled onto your lips as you rose your eyebrows, “Never, I’m a good girl.”

Jungkook had to leave while attempting to wipe the grin off his face. Playing with Jimin’s toys was a dangerous game but shit, when they made a face like that Jungkook couldn’t resist.

Sighing you collapsed into the chair, you hadn’t gotten laid in several months and you still managed to not get off in front of one of the worlds most richest and attractive young men. Way to-fucking-go.

Jimin never did show back up, finding a text from a private number saying it was him, coincidentally having to attend a meeting last minute as well. Briefly you wondered if it was the same one Jungkook went too. You ended up leaving the store empty handed despite Jimin saying you could just put it on his tab if you found something you liked. After seeing the price tags you couldn’t force yourself too. You explored parts of the hotel though, there was even an arcade on the 12th floor and an indoor pool.

None in which you were equipped to go into but it was amazing regardless. Eventually you got a text on your phone from your mother asking if you’d like to attend brunch with her and Seung. Seeing as you had nothing else better to do you went ahead and agreed. You’d need to warm up to this all eventually and putting it off wouldn’t make it go any faster. Sighing you made your way to 52nd floor which apparently had an incredible balcony view. It was reserved apparently but after hearing your last name the employee immediately let you back.

“Ah Y/n I’m glad you could join us!” Seung smiled brightly as he waved you over to the empty seat, “Let me introduce you to one of my closest friends.”

You however swallowed thickly not at who he waved too but who he sat beside. Why was it always Jungkook? He sat first on his phone not looking incredibly invested in the conversation until your name came up. Head suddenly shooting up with raised eyebrows, a smirk wiggling it’s way onto his lips as his phone was suddenly put back into his jacket. This child...

Ignoring Jungkook’s suggestive stares you gave a sheepish grin as you walked over, sitting across from Jungkook who on the right of him was accompanied by an older lady. She wore a black knee length pencil skirt and a green silk button up blouse that complimented her nicely. She wore simple yet elegant golden jewelry and her thick glossy black hair was styled effortlessly. This was undoubtedly his mother.

The man on his left was older and had gray accompanying his dark raven brown hair and his facial features were strong, clearly where Jungkook inherited his stronger features, his face however was fixed in an almost permanent scowl that suited his black silk suit well. This was the person who made you the most timid, “This is Jeon Hwan, his wife Soo Yun, and their son Jungkook.”

“Oh we’re well acquainted.” You closed your eyes as your smile tightened at Jungkook’s words. Not having to see to know the smirk that accompanied his expression. Why did he have to be so obvious? Even if they didn’t know they had to be able to figure out something was up.

Coughing as you nodded attempting to do damage control as you strained a forcibly relaxed smile while quickly explaining, “Oh yes, I met Jungkook earlier when I was with Jimin.”

Seung nodded enthusiastically, clearly delighted to see you were already becoming familiar with some of the upperclass families. God if only he knew Jungkook was three fingers deep in you two hours ago. None the wiser however Seung replied happily, “That’s good to hear! I don’t expect you to become thoroughly acquainted with my way of living. But I want you to know you’re always more than welcomed Y/n.”

You could tell, unlike Jimin’s words, his father’s were much more genuine and it made you give a small warm smile as you nodded. It made you wonder though, how could Jimin seem so cold if his father was so warm? Surely being raised in wealth wasn’t the cause? Jungkook was a fairly good testimony of that. The question lingered in the back of your mind but you outwardly chose to not say anything to Seung’s words as a plate was put in front of you by a server.

You could feel your stomach growling but you paused. Noticing Jungkook’s father watching you closely, making you sink into your seat as you tensely smiled. Was he accessing? He was definitely accessing you. Jungkook appeared confused at your expression before trailing your gaze back to his father. Making him frown as his expression dropped to one you could only adequately describe as resentment.

Looking back towards you Jungkook gave for the first time, an awkward smile that you assumed must of be an attempted reassuring one. Giving an awkward one back before it quickly melted as you sunk into your seat before glancing back down at your plate. This was going to be a painfully long day. Wasn’t it?

Note: hey babes! I wanted to get this up sooner but I haven’t really been feeling it with proof reading any type of smut buuut here we are! Gonna finish up the last scene of 6 and try and get a request finished today, wish me luck!!🖤

Tag list: @sapphireprinces5 @jazzytfw @theslumberingcat (Let me know if you’d like to be added!)

[furubaish]

10 Fav characters from 10 different shows, movies or books!!

Thank you @thewinterose @uchisuke @aryllahiruelric @machi-kuragi for tagging me <3 I had a lot of fun making this list. So many good vibes associated with these characters and their stories.

I tag @hideriame @palamig @awaiting-my-escape @grayteapath @peacefuloasis @dontlookatmepwease if they haven’t already done it!

Here goes:

1. Kyo Sohma. We will forever stan one endearing, awkward, respectful young man who is a grumps to the whole world except On Ray of Sunshine aka Miss Honda Tohru who gets an honorable mention for sharing the #1 spot because she’s carried my favorite story and shared some lessons I’ll have with me forever.

2. Sakura Kinomoto from Cardcaptor Sakura. She was my first love. Ah, to be Sakura. Twirl that Clow staff like a bawse, summon those Clow cards, fly around in those amazing costumes my BFF made for me, glide beneath the cherry blossoms on those roller blades, was all I wanted as a 9 year old and tbh still do...

3. Zuko from ATLA. ONE ANGRY HONOR DEPRIVED FIRE PRINCE WHO IS AN ACTUAL HUMAN DISASTER. I love Zuko so much. Does he have THE best character arc ever written or what.

4. Lily Evans from Harry Potter. We had so little to go on with about Harry’s mom, but she’s been my favorite forever. This bright, vivacious young witch who married an equally charming , brave, young man and then tragically died for her son, fighting the most evil wizard of all time. Sign me up for the angst any day.

5. Chihiro from Spirited Away, my fav Ghibli movie. I guess I saw a lot of myself in the sullen, grumpy little girl sitting in the back of her parent’s car. The image always stuck, and the movie itself was so haunting and enchanting and will always be a favorite I return to.

6. Taichi Mashima from Chihayafuru. He possibly has one of the best character development arc i’ve come across. A literal Cinnamon Roll. He’s like the under-dog, but honestly he steals the the spotlight and carries the whole show/manga.

7. Ben Wyatt from Parks and Rec. We stan a conscientious nerd with a heart of gold. His confession, proposal and vows to Leslie make me tear up every time. Also a human disaster in many ways but he’s good, he’s good.

8. Margaret Hale from North and South. She is to me what Lizzy is to many others. N&S is basically my P&P, but it is set against a much harsher backdrop. Also both book and series(it’s on netflix!) are amazing.

9. Aragorn from LOTR. He’s the real deal omg! A fierce warrior, a reluctant king, a loyal af friend, also has such an angsty love story which finally gets a happy ending.

10. Edward Elric from FMA B. This show has such an amazing cast, it was so hard to pick a fav but after a recent rewatch, Edward became one of my forever fave. He has my whole heart, that punk kid. He’s the perfect angry disaster with the most gawdy taste its not even funny. Actually, it’s pretty hilarious.

[fuwafuwamedb]

Wedding Days (Solomon Lily, Kid Gil, Hakuno, Gudako)

Watch them, the two kings had warned the two of them before they had left the room. They had been so fiercely against the two little kids, as though the two were a source of problems and troubles in Chaldea.

“I still don’t get it.”

“Hmm?” Hakuno looked over at the redhead, earning a shake of the head.

“Solomon Lily is a tiny lamb. There’s no other word for him. He cuddles and he loves reading to me or bringing me flowers. He’s like- the epitome of a good child. He has only mentioned wanting to marry me once and that was when we first met.”

“Kid Gil mentions it from time to time for me, but he’s a kid.” Hakuno shrugged. “What am I going to do? Harass him to get him to stop? Be mean and ruin our good relationship? He’s a good kid. He’s very helpful with the other two Gilgamesh.”

They were both good kids. There was no need for this attitude from Archer Gil and Solomon.

The sound of the two boys’ voices could be heard.

Hakuno nudged Gudako, nodding towards the door.

They could prove Archer and Solomon wrong right now.

“That’s too gawdy.”

“Gawdy?!” Kid Gil’s voice went up two octaves. “You want to grow Miss Gudako’s hair out and braid it in the most complicated, frustrating looking braid that I’ve ever seen!”

“It’s customary!”

“It’s annoying.”

Solomon Lily was huffing now. “I would rather let her hair her hair designed than loose!”

“I want Hakuno’s hair at our wedding to be adorned with only flowers, that way, when we kiss, I can run my hands through her hair and tell her how beautiful her hair looks that way. I’m going to make sure that her outfit is comfortable, not those stuffy looking dresses that you’ve got.”

“These dresses are from my mother’s collection!”

“Boring! Boring!” The sound of fabrics could be heard. “Look at these. The finest fabrics in the universe. I’ll decide with my Hakuno which she loves most and make her a set of Sumerian robes for our wedding day. I already know what perfume I will use on her for the ceremony. Cocoa Channel Number #02.”

“Your fabrics are gawdy just like the jewelry. Now, my Gudako will wear one of these dresses and then I have one of those pretty uniforms from my older self for her to wear when she wants to cheer me on in singularities.”

“You want her as a cheerleader, huh? I thought you didn’t like idols!”

“I-I do! It’s just… I like the skirts.”

Gudako pulled her back from opening the door. Her amusement was gone, her hand waving across her neck quickly.

Yeah.

Yeah, she could agree with that.

Hakuno motioned back towards Archer and Solomon.

They owed some men some apologies.

Oh boy. The two kids were planning their wedding days.

What a mess.

[writings-of-dumpy]

If Only - III

A/N: Like I said, a literal Disney Princess story complete with an overbearing queen

Riya couldn’t stop staring at the gawdy and obnoxious ring on her finger. She felt spoiled and ungrateful because of her opinions on her situation, and it made her want to scream and cry until her throat was sore. Looking at the ring, she knew that this was her life and there was no running from it. She couldn’t sleep, so she decided to go to the gardens to think. The moon was full tonight and illuminated every inch of the palace that faced it, which included the rose garden which was one of Riya’s favorite spots to get away from the craziness of her life.

After sitting there for a while, completely caught up in her head and feelings, she heard slow footsteps rounding the corner. She assumed a guard was passing by, but when whoever it was sat next to her, she looked up and saw a familiar face that she more than welcomed to be next to her.

“Stiles?” she asked the brunette sitting next to her with a concerned look on his face.

“You should be in bed, Riya… What’s wrong?” he asked her. She appreciated and was comforted by the familiar tone he took with her; he spoke to her like she was his friend for many years even though they had just met today.

“I could say the same about you, you know. We’re not like the owls, unfortunately; we’re supposed to sleep at night,” she said to him with a soft smile and a nod to the horned owl that had perched on the branches of a tree above them.

“You want to be an owl?” Stiles questioned with a small smile.

Riya shrugged once. “I’d like to be able to fly away sometimes.”

Stiles was silent for a moment, then spoke again, “You know, Scott’s not a bad guy. I can’t imagine how you must be feeling right now, but if it’s any consolation: Scott’s happy to be marrying you.”

Riya looked at him and searched his eyes for any sign of deception or manipulation. Instead what she found was concern, sincerity, and integrity. She smiled and took a deep breath in and let it out.

“Yeah, he seems like he’s a wonderful person. I should give him a better chance than I have been. After all, I can’t stop this wedding without major consequences that nobody likes,” she half-spoke to Stiles and half to herself.

“Did anyone ask you if you wanted to do this? I mean, it’s a big decision…” Stiles commented and leaned closer to her.

Riya shook her head and enjoyed the comfort he provided with his presence. “No. My stepmom just told me a couple weeks ago that the Prince of Beaconshire had agreed to marry me. Hell, I didn’t even know his name at that point.”

Stiles looked taken aback and placed his elbows on his thighs. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

“It really isn’t. But I guess it’s for the good of our kingdoms, so I’ll suffer in silence,” she sighed out and looked at her ring again.

“Scott chose you, you know,” Stiles told her and faced her once again from his position. She responded with a raised eyebrow and confused expression. Stiles nodded and continued, “There were about three kingdoms that wanted to form an alliance with us. All of them had very compelling political reasons with either inconsequential or nonexistent down sides. But he picked Drepanwood because of you. I suppose it was your stepmother who wrote the letter describing you, but when he read it, he was totally floored and picked you right away. I know this isn’t an ideal way to get to know someone, but I genuinely think that he wants to be happy with you.”

As he spoke, Riya searched his golden-brown eyes and found herself becoming lost in them. The fact that he was here and talking about how wonderful Scott is said mountains for his character. He spoke with conviction about his friend and Prince and made a compelling argument for Riya to give him a chance. The gut feeling she experienced when Stiles spoke, however, contradicted that effort.

“You know, Scott’s pretty lucky to have a friend like you who’s willing to come out and try to talk his difficult fiancée into giving him a chance,” Riya said with a soft laugh. “Whoever you end up with will be one lucky girl.”

Stiles’ cheeks flushed and he shook his head awkwardly and scratched the back of his head. “I’m not really in the position for that…”

Riya smiled and raised her eyebrows, “Well neither am I, but here I am with a boulder on my finger.”

Stiles laughed and Riya thought the world had stopped for a moment to listen to the bell-like sound coming from this man’s body. She watched his eyes close and his hand gently grip his chest as his body spasmed with the laughter. She couldn’t help but smile at his response to her hyperbole.

Once his laughter subsided, he looked at her and asked, “So how are you feeling?”

“What do you mean?” Riya asked him.

“Well, you’re supposed to be in bed, but you’re out here instead. Are you alright?” he asked gently.

Riya shrugged. “Not really. But I don’t have a choice in the matter, so I had better start making the most of the situation if I don’t want to be miserable for the rest of my life...”

Stiles nodded. “I’m sorry, I wish I could make you feel better.” Riya barely noticed the gentle and comforting rub Stiles gave to her arm as he spoke. Riya enjoyed his touch and when he pulled away, she looked up at him.

“Well why are you awake? You should be in bed too, you know. Are YOU alright?” Riya echoed his concern genuinely.

Stiles shrugged and stammered, “Um, yeah. I just have trouble sleeping in new places sometimes, but I’m all good.”

Riya nodded. “I’ve never had that problem. Mostly because I’ve never been anywhere.”

“You’ve never traveled?” Stiles asked her.

Riya shook her head.

Stiles let out a scoff and spoke under his breath just loud enough for Riya to hear, “I’d take you so many places—anywhere you’d like.”

Riya looked at him fondly and said nothing, then saw the man yawn. “Looks like it’s time to head back.”

Riya felt safe with Stiles and she also felt a fondness toward him that sent her blood running hot in her veins. She was betrothed to Scott, but somehow Stiles had her complete and undivided attention. She hoped that sleep would no longer ignore her as she crept back into bed and covered herself with the blanket.

Riya awoke to Lydia’s opening of her curtains.

“Rise and shine, princess! You have a big day today!” she chirped.

“You said that yesterday,” Riya groaned.

“Well, until you get married, you’re going to have lots of big days,” Lydia smiled and started setting out Riya’s day clothes. “Now, come on, you need some breakfast in you before the seamstress arrives.”

Riya simply groaned in response. She had slept quite well last night in spite of having trouble getting to that point, but she was mostly grumpy because her first thought this morning was not of her groom, but of his best friend. She had thought about the color of his eyes and how incredibly handsome he was while he was talking to her. She loved his smile and the way that he held himself upright after she had made an exaggeration.

Riya got out of bed and let her bare feet touch the chilly wood floor below her, then softly padded over to where Lydia was and looked at the dress she had picked for the day with a sigh.

“I’m going to assume you know what I have scheduled for today?” Riya asked with a slightly embarrassed look.

“When your Queen was going over it with you, I made mental notes of everything since I knew you were too zoned out and upset to listen. I mean, you had just gotten engaged after all. I can’t imagine I’d be able to pay attention to much of anything after I got engaged,” Lydia said with a hint of bitterness in her voice.

Riya grabbed her dress and the half-corset she made the day before and went to change. “Things not going well with Sir Jordan?”

Riya heard Lydia sigh. “Well… They are, but we’ve been seeing each other for almost a year now… Am I not good wife material?”

Riya poked her head out and turned her back so Lydia could tie her in.

“Thank you. And you will make an incredible wife and mother if that’s what you want to be. You love him, right?”

Lydia nodded and smiled.

“Then tell him that you want to get married. After all, I’ve only just met my groom and we’re getting married in two weeks, so there’s no reason that the two of you shouldn’t be perfectly happy together,” Riya advised with a smile and a pat to Lydia’s arms.

“So, first you’ll go to your fitting, and then you, their majesties, and his highness will announce the engagement and invite the kingdoms to the ball at the end of the week. After the announcement, his highness has invited you to lunch with him,” Lydia rattled off, and Riya stopped her.

“Will Stiles be there?” she asked, which earned her a side-eye from Lydia.

“I believe so, why?” she asked, suspicious.

Riya blushed and bit her lip slightly, then hurried back behind the divider to slip her dress on.

“Then I want you to come too. If he’s bringing his best man, I’d like my maid of honor there,” Riya said and put her feet into her castle slippers. Once she reemerged from the divider, she saw Lydia’s eyes lit up and a smile larger than Riya had ever seen.

“You… want me to be in your wedding?” Lydia asked in a shocked tone.

Riya smiled and nodded. “You’re my best friend. You know I’d tie your corsets and do your laundry if you let me.”

Lydia teared up. “I know, but it isn’t proper for a princess to do a maid’s chores, as I’ve said before… Thank you so much, I’m so honored, your high—er, Riya.”

Riya smiled and hugged her friend tightly. “Now if you need me to knock some sense into that knight of yours, I will.”

Lydia smiled and laughed.

The pair walked down the steps and greeted the seamstress with Vera and Melissa standing close by. After the seamstress greeted Riya, the five of them convened to the gown room. Prominently displayed on a model in the center of the room was Vera’s wedding dress.

“What a lovely dress,” Melissa said and Vera smiled proudly. It seemed as though Riya was the only one who caught on to Melissa’s patronizing tone. Riya couldn’t help but agree; the dress was hideous.

“So, would you like to try it on, Riya? It will look gorgeous on you,” Vera offered and took the dress from the mannequin.

“Must I?” Riya asked and took the dress from her stepmother’s hands and went behind the partition with Lydia.

Lydia tied the corset of the dress and Riya looked in the mirror at herself. The large and bubbled out shoulders, chunky lace patterned sleeves, a skirt that was far too large and made her torso look disproportionate to the rest of her was enough to make Riya’s stone-faced façade break and she actively frowned in disgust.

“What do you think, Lydia?” Riya mumbled. Lydia said nothing, but shrugged and mimicked Riya’s facial expression.

“Well, given that I’m against this wedding I may as well be against what I have to wear to it, too,” Riya sighed to herself and Lydia and stepped out before her stepmother and mother-in-law to be.

“Oh, I was right! You look gorgeous!” Vera gushed and went over to her daughter to fawn over the dress from every angle. “This is the one! This is what you’ll get married in, dear!”

“Yay,” Riya let out with the most cynical sarcasm she could muster at the time. Melissa looked at Riya with a concerned frown, then turned to Vera.

“Now, not to offend you, of course, but maybe Riya should get a say on what she’s to get married in? I’m sure she’d be more comfortable in a gown of her own choosing, yes?” Melissa offered. Riya smiled at her offer, but knew how stubborn her Vera was.

“Oh, she loves it! She’s wanted to get married in my dress for ages, right dear?” Vera asked.

“Oh, you’re asking me… In that case, maybe we can alter the dress so that it’s more to my liking?” Riya suggested and looked at the seamstress.

Vera looked shocked and angry in spite of Riya never once mentioning marriage or anything of it in her life. “Fine! Completely throw my plans out the window! Here, let me just tear the dress up, is that what you’d like?! Would you prefer to get married in rags like a commoner?!”

Riya had seen her stepmother’s temper many times before, but she had never expected such a severe reaction to something so simple as a dress. Deciding that this wasn’t a battle that is so easily won with her stepmother, Riya decided to back down.

“Okay, okay! The dress doesn’t need to be altered, it’s just fine the way it is,” Riya ceded. Vera instantly calmed down and smiled.

“I knew you’d see it my way!” Vera said jovially. “Now, run along to the groom, seamstress! I told you we didn’t need you here!”

Melissa’s face crinkled in concern and sympathy, and Riya just shrugged her shoulders. Lydia helped Riya out of the god-awful wedding gown and back into the previous and now seemingly more gorgeous dress.

“I’m sorry, Riya… I had hoped that you might get your way with at least the dress,” Lydia muttered and patted Riya’s back.

The group then headed to address the kingdom. Riya saw that Scott, Leon, Stiles and Stefan had all been waiting by the balcony for the ladies to arrive and Riya’s eyes lit up upon seeing Stiles. He was wearing slightly more close-fitting attire today and Riya silently cursed herself for not averting her eyes right away. When their eyes met, Stiles smiled and bowed to her, and effectively the rest of the women who had just entered.

Scott approached Riya and her attention was taken from Stiles to the prince she was to marry.

“You look even more stunning than yesterday,” Scott commented with a kiss to her hand.

Riya stifled an eyeroll and instead nodded and smiled. “Thank you. You look handsome, too.”

“Shall we then?” Scott offered his arm to her and she took it. During her father’s announcement, Riya didn’t do much—her job was to stand there and look like a princess, a blushing bride waiting for her future to unfold and be dictated to her. She looked at Scott and decided to try to find one thing that she liked about him. She looked at his eyes: they were a deep brown color and she decided they were nice, but just beyond her gaze were eyes that glimmered in the sun a golden honey brown. She shook the thought of Stiles away and returned her attention to Scott’s face. It was practically flawless with the only exception being a noticeably uneven jawline. His smile was charming, and Riya decided that for today, she would focus on how she liked his smile. Doesn’t hold a candle to Stiles’, though… she thought to herself unconsciously.

After the announcement was made, the crowd cheered, and Riya saw a new liveliness in the people she was to rule one day. Scott turned to her and smiled. She smiled in return, remembering her promise to herself. Stiles’ voice and accolades of his friend echoed in Riya’s head as she looked at Scott.

“Would you like to have lunch with me?” he asked her and rubbed the top of her hands with his thumbs.

Riya smiled and nodded, “Sure! I’m assuming your captain will be joining us?”

“Yes, if you don’t mind,” Scott said with a glance toward his friend.

“Not at all. Lydia will also be joining us,” Ria said and motioned for Lydia to stand next to her.

[a-pretty-nerd]

Red Handed (Patrick Hockstetter x reader smut)

Requests: "If you’re not too tired of pat x reader could you do one where the reader and Patrick are hooking up somewhere and they get caught? Maybe by the gang or the losers? Love your fics they give me life ❤️" ~ Anonymous

"Could you make a one shot about Patrick hocksetter dating a cute innocent reader with lemons :3 lots of lemons 🍋🍋🍋" ~ @weepingprincepeace

I'm combining these, I hope thats cool! ✌❤

A/N: Keep requesting and such! So because I fucking feel like it, Imma go ahead and write that damn Jasper series. Another one, Ruby? YES! As always, your requests and feedback keep me goin'! ✌❤

Warnings: NSFW, sex, rough sex, public sex, etc.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

School dances weren't your scene. Well, really nowhere was your scene. But your mom made you go with your friends. Who all kind of wondered away from you with their boyfriends. They danced while you stood leaning against the snack table watching and waiting for your date to arrive.

Could you really call him a date? It wasn't so much like he asked you or you asked him. It was just a general understanding that at some point your boyfriend and his friends would crash the spring bash.

You awkward sipped at your punch as you swayed back and forth in your incredibly hideously pink dress decorated with gawdy lace and fake flowers. Your mother picked out for you, obviously. You didn't even see him walk in. All of a sudden, out of the corner of your eye you saw a tall shadow figure. You turned to see a lanky boy swaying his arms as he walked towards you. Dressed in ill-fitting office casual. His pants were a little too short, and so was his shirt.

Behind him came three, equally awkward guys. His friends. Wearing old button ups and jeans. Belch wore a clip on bowtie over his short sleaved button up with jeans. Henry only owned one pair of dress pants and an old flannel. Vic was the only one who looked like he somewhat belonged.

"Oh, h-hey!" You stood up straight and watched as Patrick's gaze waved from the crowd to you. He looked you up and down and gave a hardy chuckle.

"What the fuck is this?" He snorted, pulling up your dress skirt. You swatted his hand away.

"My mom picked it out..." you explained with an embarrassed blush. He nodded and stood next to you as you watched the crowd for a moment as he spoke.

"Makes sense. Peggy has shit taste..." he waited a second, "personally, I'd rather see you in...nothing at all." He purred as he leaned in and down to your neck. Your cheeks flushed a bright pink.

"Patrick!" You scolded wtih shrill embarrassment. He giggled into your neck and he kissed the soft flesh. You pushed him a little farther away.

"Aw c'mon sweetie pie," he cooed jokingly, "put out a lil won't ya?" He hooked you by your waist and pulled you to him. It made a chill go down your spine. "Lets get out of here." He rocked you from side to side as music played, almost dancing with you. The way his hands glided across your body, and way he looked at you. Oh god. "I wanna see these nice tits you've been hidin'" His hands slid up and gave two quick gropes.

"Hey!" You swatched again and he just laughed at you. "Patrick, y-you know how I feel about-"

"I'll change that." He told you as his hands went back to your waist and he kissed your neck. He made you melt. "C'mon. No ones in the hallway. We can sneak out to the janitor's closet." He pulled you out towards the door and into the hallway. You couldn't fight him. You wanted him too. His lips kisses your hungrily, sloppily, as you made your way to the closet. He practically threw you into the room with giddy giggles. It shut tight behind you, and you were left alone in the dark.

"Oohhh Patrick." You moaned as he left hickies on your neck. He quickly got your dress unzipped and he let it fall to the floor with a loud 'huff' of fabric. He instantly went for your breasts. Gropping and squeezing. He played with your nipples as he kissed them and sucked. He breathed heavily as he chuckled to himself. He pulled you close to him as his hips curved up so he began grinding against you through his pants. You whimpered as he played with you.

"I knew it. I knew you had a rockin' bod!" He cheered and laughed.

"S-Shut up." You struggled. He pulled away and through the darkness you heard him remove and drop his clothes. Before you knew it, he turned you around and pressed you against the shelves. His long fingers ran over your as and he took a sharp breath.

"And what a great ass too!" He remarked before giving a good slap.

"Ah! Hey! I didn't say you could- ow!" He spanked you again. He did again, and again. It made you wild. You pressed your ass against his cock and he chuckled at you as he ground himself against you again. Enjoying the sweet little sounds you made.

"Oh thats it." He growled and pulled your panties down to your knees. A single fingers dragged from the front to the back before he inserted a finger. "Haha, so wet." He remarked.

"N-No....Patrick." You moaned. He took a moment to finger you first before he pulled his finger and placed it in his mouth. You heard a loud smacking sound.

"Oh hoho, what a taste." He growled before you felt his tongue. He licked, and sucked, and nibbled anywhere he could.

"Ooohh Ah!" You cried. You squirmed for him as he held your ass and moaned into your wet flesh. He stood, and wiped his mouth with a slurp before he adjusted himself. You felt his tip, and you opened your mouth to say something. "Patrick, I- oooohhh FUCK!" You barked as he slid deep inside. You shut your eyes tight and braced yourself. He only took a few good slow thrusts, before he got intense. It felt so good. You moaned his name as he held your hips and started really fucking you.

"Fuck Y/A," he grunted, "you're a wild one, huh?"

"N-No." You whimpered.

"Oh yes you are." He leaned forward as he hips kept slapping against your ass. He stuffed his face in your neck and pulled your hair. "You can't lie to me. Your body's telling me everything I need to know." He snacked a hand down to your clit and played with it.

"Ah!!" You cried in pleasure.

"Like how you're about to cum." You kept your head dead down as he drove you to orgasm, pausing his own movements. Suddenly there was a loud creeking sound and a bright light came. Your heart jumped. You were still cumming and there was nothing you could do.

"FUCK OFF!" Patrick screamed at what appeared to be a young kid who was attending the dance.

"Ahhhh!!! Run Eddie! He's killed her!" A voice cried before the door slammed shut. You road out your high before Patrick just went back to fucking you.

"P-Patrick they...oh god- we-"

"I told you. You're a wild thing." He growled with a smile as he fucked you, harder. He fucked you senseless in that closest for what felt like forever. Making you cum, god knows how many times. Your eyes were rolled in the back of your head and you were focused on your breathing when Patrick started to really struggle. He bucked irrationally and grunted. His nails dug into your skin as he lost himself. "G-Gah..ah..fuck!" He cried as he came. You panted and leaned against the shelves. He leaned against you. His arm out stretched to balance the both of you as his chin rested on your shoulder. "Mmmh my wild little thing." He finally cooed.

Suddenly, the door opened again and you would have panicked had it not been for the intense wokrout prior.

"Patrick!" A voice shouted. He looked up at Henry, who stood in the doorway. "What the fuck man!? We've been lookin' all over for you! Those fuckin' loser kids keep shoutin' about you killin' someone!"

"I'm busy!" Patrick yelled back.

"Get your dick out of your girl and lets go!" The door slammed shut.

"Come on. We'll give you a ride home." He got himself dressed and just barley helped you. You felt dizzy. When you were dressed, he walked you out by your waist. And when no one was looking, he stole a kiss on the cheek.

[dsmadmin]

#GoodAsHell

Written by: @demonhunter1887 , @DemonicGeneral_ & @LilyResurrected

Jacob: I suppressed my California memories years ago. At least I thought I did. But they all came rushing to the surface when I turned on the news. There had been an increase in the number of people picked up for solicitation and public indecency.

There were only so many details the friendly floating head from the news could share with the public. This seemed eerily familiar. The vibration of my phone pulls me from my thoughts.

"What do you want?" I answered. I didn't bother looking at the Caller ID. It didn't matter who it was. They wanted something from me.

"Jacob Greyman?" the small voice on the other end of the line answered.

"Guess you should know who you're calling before you pick up the fucking phone, right?" Irritation was evident in my voice. "What do you want?"

"I'm Sister June," she said, "from the Cathedral of the Holy Cross."

Of course, I thought, Catholic churches were always so pretentious.

"How can I help you /Sister/," I responded.

"The Prince of Hell has risen," she said.

"Which one?" I asked, "My fath-- ... Lucifer created several."

"Asmodeus."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

Asmodeus: -Standing on the second role balcony he looked down upon the ground of people. Lights flashed and changed colors as the music offered a beat to move by. He could feel the sexual prowess coming off the crowd, many of who were engaged in sexual acts right in front of others. The club had so much potential as the group of women lying in the bed behind him would prove. He'd been sent back to complete their mission, his to seed the world of many demons as he could. The humans made it so easy, they succumbed to their desires so easy it didn't take much of an effort on his part. MDMA was being passed out and only increased things. Five more beautiful women were brought to him and the others were taken away to the warehouse beyond.-

:::::::::::::::::::::::

Jacob: "No wonder this shit looked familiar," I mutter into the phone. I open my laptop and peck out a few keys.

"I've dealt with him before," my lips pull into a slight smile, "he does make things... /interesting/ doesn't he, Sister?"

"Sinful," she says, "utterly utterly sinful."

"What you call sin," I tell her, "most people call a good time. But Asmodeus' isn't just trying to get laid. At least that wasn't his prior MO. He wants to create more halflings."

"Yes," she answered, "Demons that pass as humans."

"And fuck if that wouldn't be a terrible thing," I responded, "Send me the details you have. Has he picked a woman to carry his seed? Most don't survive the possession."

"That's why I've called you," Sister June stated.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Asmodeus: -Cages descended from the ceiling overhead holding nearly nude dancers, screams went up as the dancers sprayed the crowd with water. Bodies rolling into each other as the new beat started up. The lust thick in the air. Bubble butt, black hair, and blue eyes mounted a pole swinging round. Locking her leg around the pole leans back exposing most of her breasts in the tiny halter top she was wearing. A blonde guy in the crowd leans in and kisses her. Within minutes they're both on stage fucking to the beat as the crowd cheered them on. Asmodeus shoved another woman off, the pile of corpses was piling up. Looks at one of his demons.- Get this shit out of here. -Lighting up a cigarette, walks out to the balcony shirtless looking over the crowd. He hadn't even broken a sweat yet.-

::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Jacob: "Of course," I snort, "the church rarely does its own heavy lifting." My fingers peck on the keys of my laptop searching for anything that would be a hotspot.

"There was a girl," the nun started.

"It always starts with a girl," I responded letting out a deep sigh. "Where is she?"

"She's locked at her parents home," Sister June says, "Cardnal Antonio is waiting for your there."

"Way to bury the lede, Sister," I replied, "Text me the address and I'll be there." I close my laptop and walk to the end of the hall. I open the closet and grab the bag from the top shelf. I put it away a long time ago. But I had to pull it out again.

I toss it in the back seat of my car and pull out of the drive.

:::::::::::::::::::::

Asmodeus: -He'd sent out some minions to see about the half-breed the church had killing his spawns hosts. He was both annoyed and curious. He wasn't completely human to have survived the encounters that were making it back to Asmodeus but confirmation had not yet be made. He wondered if indeed it was the same he'd encountered so long ago and had been bested by. Breeding at least another twelve women he went off in search of other distractions from the club and waited for information to come in.-

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

Jacob: I pulled into the driveway of the address the nun had sent me. Typical Irish Catholic family home. Gawdy cross hanging over the door. I did nothing to detur the demon that ate the soal of the girl locked away inside.

I tilt my head, listening to them praying. I hated to be the one to tell them that it was too fucking late. The daughter they loved was gone. What was left was just an empty shell of what was once there. Maybe she was an innocent girl. But it didn't matter.

I tapped on the door, ready to put on the show before putting down the demon that filled the husk of the girl's vessel.

:::::::::::::::::::::::

Asmodeus: -The priest had been cited the exorcism when the demon turns its charms on him and soon the priest succumbed to his lust of the flesh. The demon attacked the priest and took great pleasure in killing him, head snapped up baring teeth at the knock at the door.-

:::::::::::::::::::::::

Jacob: I follow the chants of the excersism up the stairs of the family home barely hearing the voices of the family begging for my help. It was too late for the help they wanted.

I swing the bedroom door open and see her. The girl was writhing against the prayers. It wasn't enough to destroy her. Priests never got there in time. They had to think and plan and pray before action. By then it was always too fucking late to make a real difference and the body was dead.

The girl started laughing when she saw me, "Yay, a threesome!"

"I don't think so," I told her, "neither you or he are my type."

::::::::::::::::::::::

Asmodeus: -Her limbs contort in odd directions as she crotches like in the middle of the dead eyeing the newcomer.- Well that's too bad but don't worry you won't live long enough for me to care. -Launching herself at Jacob, nails scratching at his face with teeth snapping at his throat.-

:::::::::::::::::::::::

Jacob: I caught the flying girl as she launched herself in my direction. She was strong. I remembered how strong he made the carriers of his seed were. My fingers tightened around her wrists and I push her hand from my face.

I listen to the priest's fruitless effort to cast the demon from the girl's body. But there was no human soul remaining in her body. I push her hard against the wall, "Where is he?"

:::::::::::::::::::::

Asmodeus: -Spitting in his face her head canted to one side her eyes inhuman looking now.- Don't worry he'll find you soon! -Using her feet she shoved with all her might against him and soon as she got loose she bit into the priest's neck ripping open his carotid artery. Blood sprayed over her and the wall.-

::::::::::::::::::::

Jacob: The blood spray coated the girl's room like a bad paint job. I quirk a brow and waive a finger letting a chair slide out from the girl's desk, I take a seat and watch as the possessed girl dances around in the sprays of blood. Like a child running through sprinklers. It was too late to save the priest.

It was likely too late when I walked through the door tonight. But I could report back to the Church that I tried.

"Where is he?" I asked her again, "You're dead either way. Doesn't matter to me."

::::::::::::::::::::

Lily: It was a typical day for Lily, waking up in a homeless shelter, leaving to go find one of the local dealers to get her fix. She took in all the sights; the couples doing their mushy things, people walking their dogs, squirrels playing with each other, the flowers that were blooming for the year, the trees having healthy leaves and children playing since school was out for the summer. Even though Lily was strung out on every drug imaginable it was nice to get a glimpse of the real world every once in a while. By the time she got to her local dealer she had went into depression mode from 'walking down memory lane'. "How'ya doin' today?" "Could be better." Lily answered the dealer. "Well hell, let's fix that." He said with a smile. The two had done their exchange then headed off in different directions. Lily had found an empty alley....well almost empty, the stray animals would dig through the trash cans for food. Ducking behind a trash can Lily had pulled out a tourniquet and wrapped it around her upper left arm. Once it was tight enough she pulled out the syringe that had the special juice that her body was craving. Lily had tapped on her arm to find a good vein, once it was found she popped the top off of the syringe and stuck the needle in then slowly administered the liquid. When the last drop was pushed in she sat back and waited for her high to kick in.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Asmodeus: -His minions always on the lookout for potential humans, they frequented the slums. Forgotten people with no one to care or come looking for them. Coming across a junkie in an alley one grabbed her by the hair and tossed her over his shoulder disappearing into the buildings so she could be taken to his master along with many others. The hotel they'd taken up residence in was filled with people everywhere and sex was stout in the air. Moans and groans filled the air as they took up the latest finds tossing them on the floor at the master's feet. The possessed girl back at the house didn't cooperate just cursed him till she collapsed on the floor eyes blank and soul gone. One more death in a rising death toll.-

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

Jacob: I stepped outside of the Irish Catholic home. The Church's cleanup team would be here soon to take care of the bodies.

I should feel sorry for them. The girl or the priest. But I don't. They are just a blip in the war between heaven and hell. That war had been brewing since the dawn of time it seemed. Each side worked to build its numbers. Both used deceit to get there.

I had to figure out what the target is now and how to slow or stop it.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Lily: Being on her high, Lily's process times for reactions were delayed. She had no clue that she had been picked up until they were in the building. She had tried to ask where the minions were taking her but her speech was too slurred to understand. When they got to their master, Lily barely processed to put her hands out before her face hit the floor. Blinking a few times to get used to the different lighting she heard the moans and groans of pleasure. She raised her head to see more women around her and then her attention came to a man that was in front of her and all the women. What did Lily get herself into this time?

::::::::::::::::::::::

Asmodeus: -The hotel was full of humans fornicating all over the place but the women were brought to his bedroom first. It was huge and many women laid upon it. Candles flickered around the darkroom. Lust was oozing from his pores and moans were slipping past the whores lips. They thighs opening and begging to be bred. Each one he took the lusting seemed to get worse, twisting and thriving they were ready for him without complaint. As he got to the latest arrival he ran his vessels fingers down her spine before rubbing his rather large members between her now stripped thighs. He breached her with out word and began to fuck her like the trash she was. He hoped some of these were strong enough to bring his children into the world and serve their master well.-

[joel-furniss-blog]

Anti-Taste

During my project I’ve often described my work as being anti-taste. Why? Honestly, I saw it in one of my assessment feedback tutorials and like it enough to adopt, something about it ringing true to me and sounding like a highfalutin professional artist phrase or some such.

My only problem is I struggle to understand the exact definition of ‘taste’, let alone how to be opposed to it. For this is why I’m researching, to see the meanings of taste, it’s societal standings, its spectrum of good/bad, and its relevance to my art practice. In my ignorance I often associate taste with humour, where jokes are often categorised into good taste or bad taste, but when jokes are highlighted for their taste its often done by calling out those that are bad taste. A joke in bad taste is recognised as inappropriate, mean-spirited, ‘punching down’ ethos or otherwise being cheap, lacking substance or comedic weight. Naturally, this leads me to believe that good taste jokes are the opposite end, they are appropriate, good-hearted, they punch up, they are rich, and substantial. But I’m not talking about comedy, we’re talking about the far less serious artworld.

From dictionaries we can define the taste I want to tackle as ‘a person's tendency to like or be interested in something’, ‘the ability to discern what is of good quality or of a high aesthetic standard’, and conformity or failure to conform with generally held views concerning what is offensive or acceptable’. This information is certainly contradictory as it displays taste as being individual and social, both dependent on singular intake and expression but also a cumulative collection that dictates the wider society and culture. This is ‘good taste’, a collection of agreements and reinforcement that certain aesthetical aspects are pleasing while others are not.

So aesthetically what is good taste? It’s mainly contextualized as a broadly defined standard of beauty, a set of angles, tones, colours, and lines that, for some reason, appeals to us and please our minds Philosophers have discussed aesthetics for centuries, from the ancient Greeks who saw aesthetics as purity and beauty, that which pleases the emotional side of a person. However, into the modern era thinkers began recognising pre-deemed culture as effecting sociology, the decided values and traditions built around us and our personal interpretations of those influence us and our taste. German philosopher Immanuel Kant recognised this and formulated in his Critique of Judgement a more inclusive approach to aesthetics, seeing that there exists both a personal taste as well as an objective beauty, which he specifies is empirically impossible to define.

This presumes that there is a cultural or societal consensus on taste, a lofty standard that all visual creations are to be judged by. Kant says this faux-consensus enables the judgement of taste, essentially a template which others are judged upon and that this base ‘good taste’, and that this base taste is actually good for aesthetics, as it gives us freedom to appreciate other aesthetic pursuits.

If good taste is less of a guideline for artistic elements and more of a base to judge art upon, then what is or makes bad taste? Bad taste is often conflated with vulgarity, a lack of sophistication and emphasis on the crass, or it is bombast, all style and no substance, or kitsch, a mass-produced item lacking artistic merit. Much like good taste, it is difficult to describe wholly as there exists no definite indicator of it, only examples. A quick example would be to compare a rustic cottage to a busy city street, the cottage is minimal, quaint, and elicits a feeling of comfort, it would be classed as good taste whereas the city street is overbearing, monolithic, and might feel dangerous, thus bad taste. However, this speaks only to aesthetics, the emotional aspects of each example are as equally important. While a cottage is secured it is also isolated and potentially boring, whereas a city street is less secure but rife with a humanistic presence and opportunity. Surface level they might seem either flawless or flawed entirely but when observing them removed from labels ‘good’ and ‘bad’ we can see each having negatives and positives. In that sense taste is just more dichotomising rhetoric, boiling down complex and multi-dimensional examples as being one or the other, good or bad.

There’s also an argument to be made on the intersection between class and taste. Historically, good taste has been decided by the ruling classes, those in power who are either rich or powerful enough to appreciate aesthetical status. For example, a field peasant is not concerned with the colour of their tunic as its strictly utilitarian, it keeps him warm, whereas a king who is able to afford bespoke clothing can consider its aesthetical importance. Eventually this became a way to separate oneself from the working classes, by focusing on aesthetical abundance it created a clear divide that both protected the ruling class as sophisticated and oppressed the working class as vulgar. While attitudes have shifted slightly more toward equality, elements of classist taste are still prevalent in society, for example we still appreciate colours for their ‘richness’ like royal purple and burgundy, colours which were reserved and used by those in power. It’s why we see opera as classy and sophisticated, an aspirational event of glamour, even though the average J. Doe would probably get little out of watching people sing in foreign languages for hours.

However, like I said, attitudes have shifted away from good taste as wealthy maximalism, which we now recognise as gawdy and shallow. The Palace of Versailles, home of the French monarchy, is famous for its baroque interiors laden with gold and mirrors but is not seen as desirable to the common person, instead it’s a relic of a bygone time, an example of the hubristic decadence of funny kings.

But perhaps the class effect on taste hasn’t dissipated but has simply shifted from bawdy maximalism to quiet minimalism. Designer homes show this, with their minimalist approach to exterior and interior, white walls, slender furniture, hidden storage, espoused as the environment of the intellectual and the reservedly powerful. It may be appreciated by many for its cool, pleasing design but how many in their lifetime will be able to afford a Kevin-McCloud-approved white countryside cube? Despite being a stylistic and theoretical response to baroque styles, minimalism is held with similar unreachable regard as its ostentatious counterpart.

Not everyone has adopted minimalism as the new ‘good taste’, as the garish design policy of the western aristocracy still lives on through small bubbles. Take for example the home décor of Russian celebrities laden with rich materials and animal prints, or the Dubai attitude of excess having people drive Lamborghinis with pet cheetahs in the side seat, or look at the Manhattan penthouse of the current US president shining with marble and gold. The gawdy still exists in the contemporary era. The reasoning for this is theorized as compensation for a past trauma or inadequacy. For example, the recent adoption of baroque styles by the Russian elite is maybe making up for the decades of the culturally deficient brutalist and sickeningly grey Soviet design. The excess of Emirate nobles is perhaps a statement response to western imperialism that effected their past, a supposedly deserved oil-funded ‘fuck you’ to the powers that were. And I’ll let you decide whatever Donald is compensating for.

This take on taste is quite interesting to me. For long I had thought of taste as a hidden order unconsciously decided and enforced by wider society, and that individual taste exists but only plays into and is ultimately trumped by the societal taste, but perhaps taste is less of a metre on which we measure things but more of an aspirational insecurity for which we try to atone for. Often I’ve looked at an artists work and thought ‘Wow that’s great… I wish I did that’, I feel like it’s par for the course of all artists, it can hearten us to resolve our work or just as easily depress us into a state of creative dearth. Our individual parameters of taste are a reflection of what we lack and aspire to be, it is a cathartic response to ourselves.

So then what does it mean to be anti-taste? The ‘anti-‘ implies rejection, but a rejection of what? Is it a rejection of society’s understanding of a standard good taste, so that individual taste is supreme to the individual? A Marxist denouncement of taste as aesthetical class oppression? Or is it a more personal dismantling of insecurity and a want to create without the constraint of doubt? If there’s one thing I’ve noted in my research it is that binary thinking is ultimately reductive, sorting, labelling, and pigeonholing such a vast term is equivalent to intellectual bondage and only serves to maintain the confusing aspects of the term.

I see anti-taste as an adoption of deliberately unseemly aesthetics, what would be bad taste, as simply that, a demonstration of perceived bad taste. By adopting the unaesthetically pleasing I attempt to demonstrate the key foundation of taste, that ultimately it is subjective opinion and subject to scrutiny. Hopefully my denouncement of taste is not mistaken for simply being in bad taste, but then again perhaps that’s what I want. I suppose it ties into my other themes of self-destruction as not many artists seek to make deliberately bad work, a representation of worse as better.

Egotist, n. A person of low taste, more interested in himself than in me.

[lillianfromaccounting]

Happy birthday Katie!

To one of my partners in crime @katiekeysburg, even though you’re moving across the country, I’m happy for you and I hope it’ll bring all the fun and growth that you want.

Note: I wrote most of this over the last year and a half or so. I’ve had snippets in draft forever. I knocked out the last part tonight and I promise I’ll actually write out some of the events that I glossed over in this. I really hope you like it. I really love this universe. (To everyone else, sorry, there’s a ton of inside jokes that no one else will get. This is a fic for Katie. I don’t even know why I’m posting it publicly).

Malted - First Anniversary and Charlie’s Proposal

Billy walked into Malted and was greeted by Niall, the young Simon Pegg lookalike.

“Ms. Billy, where would you like to sit tonight?” he asked.

“The usual, Niall,” she replied.

“Of course,” he said, leading her to her seat at the bar.

“The lovely Ms. Billy,” Victor, the bartender who looked like Enver greeted, “I have just the drink for you!” He muddled up some herbs and fruit in a glass and poured a concoction out of a chilled shaker. “I call it Billy’s Sunrise.” The muddled fruit on the bottom of the glass gave it a cloudy look, while the liquid above seemed to weave between shades of sepia, red, and orange.

“That’s beautiful, Victor! I don’t know if I could drink that...oh, who am I kidding? Of course, I could drink that. Thank you!” She took a sip of the drink and closed her eyes, savoring all the flavors. She opened her eyes to find a tall, blonde gentleman standing to her right.

“May I have this seat?” he asked.

“Of course. It’s a free country,” she replied.

“I’ll have what she’s having,” he said to Victor. “You come here often?”

“Not as often as I would like, but often enough,” she responded.

“How about you and I blow this popsicle stand and run off into the sunset?”

“Oh, I don’t think my boyfriend would appreciate that too much.”

“Yeah? I can probably take him. I’d give a good fight.”

“I might pay to see that...so what are we talking, Steve Rogers vs. Johnny Storm? I’m not sure who’d win that one, actually.”

“Cap always wins,” Chris said.

“But the fire…”

“Cap always wins.”

“What about...Lucas Lee vs. Curtis?”

“Well...Lucas Lee got beat by Michael Cera, so really, I’m going to have to go with Curtis on that one.”

“But Curtis is dead.”

“Presumed dead.”

“I could start a bracket with this…”

“Doesn’t matter. Cap always wins. This drink is amazing by the way. Fantastic job, Victor!”

“I’m glad you like it,” Victor replied.

Chris clinked Billy’s glass, “Happy anniversary.”

“Happy anniversary,” she replied, sipping her drink.

Chris laced his fingers with hers and squeezed firmly before letting go. He wanted nothing more at that moment than to kiss her, to show her how much she meant to him, but they had an understanding. Public displays of affection just don’t come with this territory and he was grateful that she was extremely understanding about it. Still, there were times when he couldn’t help himself, so he would squeeze her hand and look into her eyes. She would return his gaze with her usual whimsy and knowing. Somehow, the quick exchange would be enough to reassure him of her affection, but more so, it reminded him of her constant patience since they had gotten back together that night in Hoboken.

It has been a surreal year since the bizarre night of Katie’s birthday.

While Chris and Billy only reunited in February, Charlie and Katie might as well had been picking out china patterns, even though neither were the type to pick out china patterns. The summer had brought lots of family parties. Chris and Billy celebrated their birthday with a whiskey pool party, where Chris and Charlie met half the Klutz family and close friends. They all spent Fourth of July up in Boston, where Billy and the kids met Chris’ family and Charlie got an earful from the rest of the Klutzes. The boys each supported Katie at a highland game into the fall, with Scotty and Ben attending most of them. In fact, earlier that day, Katie ran a demonstration out in Long Island.

Chris watched as Katie lifted the caber, moved a few steps to regain her balance, and then threw it forward in a way that flipped the log straight in front of her before it landed on the grass.

“Wow, she's a beast,” he said.

“She can probably squat the both of us combined. She puts me to shame at the gym,” Charlie said, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

There was a large crowd for this demonstration, and the boys hoped their sunglasses, ball caps, and beards would be enough to keep them incognito. They were also dressed in plain white t-shirts and black shorts, as if they had just come from a workout themselves.

“Look at that form. That's amazing,” Chris praised.

“You're ogling my girlfriend.” Charlie cleared his throat.

“I'm admiring,” Chris corrected.

“Billy's form isn't too bad either. Have you ever done yoga with her? She can really stretch those hip flexors,” Charlie teased.

Chris turned and glared at Charlie. “Why are you checking out my girlfriend's hip flexors?”

“It's purely for scientific reasons, I assure you. Scott was there too.”

“Man, you guys hang out with my girl more than I do.”

“Your schedule is pretty daunting. I don't get to see Katie during filming season and press tours, but most of the time, she's only a few hours away, sometimes less if I work the flights out right. We facetime a lot.”

“Yeah, we use Google hangouts almost every night. Thank god for technology,” Chris said, taking a sip of his beer.

“Have you considered settling down?”

Chris sighed as he considered his answer. “We've talked about it. It's complicated.”

“Because of the kids?”

“No. Yes. Sort of. I love them. They’re incredible. She won't leave the New York area. I get it; it’s not fair to uproot the kids, but I’m not ready to leave Massachusetts. It's neither here nor there.”

“You could maintain two homes. How much time do you really spend up in Boston anyway?”

“This is working out and neither of us is ready for the next thing yet.”

“Well, if it's working out for you folks. Speaking of the next thing, can you keep a secret? I'm going to propose.”

“What?! That's awesome. Congrats, man!!!” Chris pulled Charlie in for a tight hug.

“Don't congratulate me yet. I don’t know if she will say ‘yes’.”

“Oh she will! I see how you guys look at each other. Hell, I called it that first night. Ask Billy. I told her that I want an invite to your wedding.”

“Well, if all goes well, you'll be a groomsman. I mean, if you think about it, you were a major driving force the night we got together.”

Chris gave Charlie a big hug as Billy walked up to them.

“So this is what you two when Katie and I aren’t around, huh?” she said.

Chris pulled Billy into the group hug.

“I told Chris that I'm going to propose,” Charlie said.

“Oh good. Did you figure out when?” Billy’s voice was muffled by Chris’ chest.

“Wait, you knew about this and didn't tell me?” Chris said.

“He told me this morning. I was going to tell you when I saw you, which is now, but he beat me to it.”

“It's going to be in London, when we go over for Christmas holiday,” Charlie replied.

“I have to keep this secret for two more months?!” Chris said.

“You can do it, hon. If you can keep Marvel secrets for over a year, you can keep this secret for two months,” Billy took a step back and exaggerated her breathing.

“I had the fear of unemployment and death with the Marvel stuff,” Chris said.

“You’ll have worse to fear from me if you tell anyone about this,” Billy glared.

“This is going to be so exciting!! I love weddings!” Chris said, bouncing up and down.

New Year’s Eve. Tower of London.

“Are we going to be able to make it to your sister’s before midnight? The Ceremony of Keys ends at 10:05,” Katie said, hooking her arm into Charlie’s.

“Oh yes, we’ll have plenty of time. We’ll hire a cab, it’s a short ride,” Charlie reassured her.

“Won’t the roads be closed for the festivities?” she pressed.

“The drivers will know all that. Don’t worry, we’ll be fine. And if we end up ringing in the year in a cab, will that be the worst thing?” he asked, pressing his lips to her knuckles.

“No,” she cooed. “I don’t care where we ring in the new year as long as I’m with you.”

He smiled and tilted his head, gesturing towards where a crowd has gathered for the Ceremony of Keys.

“So what did you think of the Crown Jewels?” he asked.

“Not as impressive as I expected? Some of it was kinda gawdy. It’s just a flashy, my jewels are bigger than yours, display,” she replied.

“So you wouldn’t wear anything of that sort?” he asked.

“No.” She shook her head. “You’ve seen the type of stuff I wear. I like colors and nerdy pieces. Oh look, I think it’s about to start.”

Silence fell upon the crowd as a steady march echoed over them.

One sentry cried out, “Halt, who comes there?”

The Yeoman Warder replied, “The keys.”

Charlie gave Katie’s hand a squeeze.

“Whose keys?” the sentry asked.

“Queen Elizabeth’s keys,” the Yeoman Warder replied.

“Pass then, all’s well,” the sentry said.

The echo of the footsteps receded quietly away.

“That was cool,” Katie said, turning to find Charlie on a knee. “Did you drop something?”

“Katie,” Charlie said in an even voice. “Katherine. It’s been a whirlwind of a year since we met at Malted. Not a day goes by where I don’t think about what might have happened if I hadn’t joined you guys, if I had just left through the back door as I normally do when someone recognizes me at the bar. I am so grateful that I didn’t. I’m so grateful that Billy sat down and convinced me to join your party, because this past year has been incredible.

“I thought I knew what love was, but you have opened my eyes to commitment and so much more. I find myself wanting to learn something new about you every day. I like who I am when I’m with you. I strive to be that person every day now and I guess what I’m trying to say is that--that I want to be that person--I want to be with you for the rest of our lives. What do you say, Katherine, will you marry me?”

He held out a black velvet box with an ornate ring. The center stone was a small sapphire with round diamonds surrounding it on a gold band.

Katie’s hand had been over her mouth during the entire speech, trying not to let her emotions get the best of her.

Charlie crinkled his eyes and tilted his head slightly, trying to read her expression.

The lump in her throat prevented her from speaking, so she just nodded. “Yes,” she managed to whisper.

The crowd around them erupted in a roar of applause. Katie startled, having forgotten that they were even there, but smiled politely at the passersby who congratulated the couple and wished them well.

After putting the ring on Katie’s finger, Charlie got up on his feet. He looked into those beautiful eyes of hers and then pulled her in close to him. He pressed his lips against hers. Katie’s arms wrapped around his neck, her hands running through his hair, preventing him from doing that thing where he breaks the kiss to make her kiss him back. They stood there, as one, until a guard coughed loudly.

“I’m sorry to have to cut your celebration here, but we are closing,” the old man said.

Charlie finally broke the kiss. Not taking his eyes off of Katie, he responded to the guard, “Thank you. We’re leaving now.”

As they walked out one of the exits of the Tower of London, Katie stopped Charlie.

“So are we still going to your sister’s now?” Katie asked.

“Yes, so we can tell the family!” Charlie said.

“Did they know about your plans to propose?”

“No. Yes. They knew I was going to ask during this trip, just not when,” he said.

“What if I had said no?” she asked.

“Well, then it would have been an awkward new year’s party!” he laughed. He leaned in and kissed her ever so softly. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Katie replied.