#It does sort of cinch his waist a little though.

[blackwaxidol]

Working on some torsos.... Initially just La'zaar's but I decided to put down an idea for Ru'thûn, too.

La'zaar's body chitin is more traditional, Ru'thûn's is based on something from Warmind concept art which I am quite fond of. I didn't want them to match, because I find trying to adhere to the traditional chitin genuinely aggravating.

[teeskzagain]

pov: bully!perv wooyoung couldn’t resist an opportunity to mess with you

warnings: brief mentions of bullying (nothing severe), mentions of sexual frustrations, elements of cnc (but again, nothing extreme), fingering, mutual masturbation, “unwanted” ejaculation on to reader, public sex, like a smidge of fluff? take it or leave it, desperate woo (my fav actually) minor tit play.

wc: ~ 3.2k words

a/n: yk, i find it funny how i always try to make quick drabbles, but somehow it always gets turned in 1k and up fics…….anyways, enjoy!

taglist: @hwasbbyg @velvetmoonlght @blackp1nkfan @gigikubolong29 @solarhwa

imagine bully!perv wooyoung, who’s been sexually frustrated for the past few days, grumbling softly to himself. He hops up onto his usual bus route, the one he takes after a dance lesson, with pure agony and dread.

not only is he ticked off at how shitty his sex life’s been going (he was supposed to meet up with a girl tonight, yet she flaked) but now he has to endure a 40 minute long ride back to his home city with a currently dead phone. how annoying.

scuffling down the aisle, he continues to mumble about these facts whilst darting his lower lip out in a pouty way. there wasn’t many people occupying the front section of the bus, and so as he’s getting ready to take a seat nearby, he spots something that makes his whole body go rigid.

you. near the back. staring idly out of the window. hands clasped together, watching the nightly glow from outside. wooyoung cocks his head to the side. what are you doing here? had you always taken this route and he’s never noticed before? but that couldn’t have been the case, surely he would’ve recognized you at some point during his few weeks of riding the bus here and back home.

wooyoung mulls this thought over.

well, knowing you, you’d probably ride all the way back on the dirty bus floor if it meant completely evading him.

he seriously wouldn’t put it past you to do such a thing. the dynamic between you two has always been skewed since the start of university. it’s almost laughable the extreme measures you’ve gone to stay out of his vicinity, though, wooyoung somehow always finds a way to taunt you.

and just like that, his lips form into a crude smile. he knows that you dislike him to no end. he knows you always try to avoid him at all costs. and, yeah, maybe he’s a little crass acting when he’s around you, but you make your hatred towards him so obvious it’s sort of hard not to take advantage of that. hence, the constant teasing courtesy of him.

and yet, he also knows that the work uniform you’re currently wearing is doing wonders for him right now. a pretty pastel dress that stops mid-thigh, with a crisp white collar around your neck. how it curves at your chest so nicely.

the way it cinches your waist, practically sculpting your body in perfect portions that he’s honestly never seen you in such a way before. makes him practically want to start salivating.

imagine bully!perv wooyoung, who’s just been so damn horny that he’s willing to do anything for a release. a chance to expel some of that pent up stress he’s been feeling, at least what he’s been feeling for tonight.

which is why moments later, you find the vacant spot right next to you now being occupied with a body. a body, that at the recognition of his face, makes you visibly shudder in disgust.

wooyoung wastes no time in sparking up conversation, though it comes off as one-sided with your lack of participation. he wouldn’t expect anything less from you. he deems your cold act towards him something that intrigues him. a challenge almost. and he wants to see you break.

“y/n….you’re so quiet today.” he remarks more towards himself as he watches you closely, “something on your mind?”

you drag the lower part of your lip into your mouth in attempt to distract yourself from this bastard. gosh, does he just get off on messing with you?

at the beacon of silence, wooyoung prompts more questions and even leans in to further accentuate his presence, “yah, you know it’s rude to ignore someone when they’re talking to you right? i’m your senior too, so treat me with more respect.”

without turning too much towards him, you partly twist your body and speak quietly. you didn’t wish to cause a scene, “stop it.”

ah, now he’s got you.

“i’m just pointing out that you’re a bad junior. what, does that bother you?” he raises an eyebrow with the question, and in turn has to hide the spreading smile on his face as your body does yet another scootch towards him.

“will you please be quiet?” your somber voice ends with a bite, doing a quick glance over your shoulder.

he digs further, “i’m wanting to talk with my favorite, little y/n, and here you are. acting so cruel to me. really, it’s hurtful-”

“jung. wooyoung.” you snap, shifting once again so you’re currently chest to chest with your classmate. as your gaze bores deeply into his own, you can see a mix of emotions radiating in the center of his pupils.

“yeah?” wooyoung stares you down with a sinister grin, happy to get some sort of reaction out of you.

he isn’t sure how sex deprived he is, but just hearing you say his name already sends a wave of arousal surging through him.

your lip twitches out of annoyance. there’s more words threatening to spill from your tongue, but it’s like nothing wants to come out, so for a moment you're quiet. eyes scattering around, you eventually break eye contact with wooyoung and gaze your attention downwards.

though when you finally avert your eyes, your breath quickly catches when you spot a large lump resting idly within his baggy joggers. a small, 'hip' leaves your throat.

wooyoung follows your eye line, then lets out a soft chuckle once he sees what is you’re gaping at. yeah, sporting a half chub right now probably isn’t the best look. but if he’s being completely honest, he’s getting harder at the fact you’re straight up gawking at him.

“oh, right.” he begins to half-comment, then does a quick peep at you, “this is kinda your fault, just so you know.”

"huh?" skittishly, you go to look at him before turning away as embarrassment floods your skin after getting caught staring.

wooyoung tucks in his lips to suppress an affection grin, him reaching a hand up to tug at your dress. he tries to gain your attention once more, “come on, don’t act stupid.”

he closes the space between you two as he continues to press you for another clapback. in response, you tuck your face into your shoulder and create a shield from him. but, wooyoung’s relentless.

his hand on your dress turns into a hand on your thigh. he grips your flesh with a sing-song voice until you eventually look back at him. as he continues to spew comments, you couldn’t help if your eyes caught a glimpse of the now fully erected bulge protruding through the fabric.

he’s quick to notice this and calls you out on your glances, “you wanna see it or something?”

horror washes over you face. you begin to stammer in protests, asking him why he would say such a thing and that he’s being inappropriate.

a hearty laugh bellows from wooyoung. god, does he find you cute. so dumb, yet so cute. keeping his grasp on you, he begins to slouch further into the bus seat while he spreads his legs out. his knee accidentally knocks into yours just as he rolls his neck in your direction.

“seriously, you want to?” he waits for response but as you go to shake your head, he’s already reaching for your hand, “y/n, i think you’re a fucking perv.”

“w-wooyoung, what the hell?.” you fight to take your hand off of his crotch, but he simply fights right back, keeping a strong hold on your fingers. in no time, he drops your hand on top of his clothed hard-on and forces you to rub him.

"let me go!" you hiss, but the request goes ignored. he’s enjoying your struggle, your combat against him.

in an almost exaggerated manner, he starts to accentuate his hip rolls against your touch. it begins as a joke, with him enjoying your bewildered expression at his actions. but quickly does he start to lavish in the desperate heat he’s been feeling all night, “oh fuck. y/n, you always touch guys like this?”

the nerves in your fingers feel electrified, almost like a buzz when he’s teasing you. the sensation is foreign. you want to scrunch your face in disgust at his gratification. scream help at the other three people who sat towards the front of the bus, oblivious to what’s happening.

however, you can recognize what the worst feeling was. the fact that through it all, a tiny pulse begins to build between your legs. how badly you hated this, you hated him, and yet, that’s the very thing turning you on. what is wrong with you?

the realization of his hard length being dragged against your fingers brings you back, as you start to register the slickness coating your skin. wooyoung darts a tongue out and flings his head back, exposing the vast area of his neck. he’s got a small smile on his face, “go inside my pants.”

“you’re disgusting….” sneering, you glare deeply at the boy who’s simply basking in the pleasure you’re providing. he feels your stare and you watch him slightly tilt his head down, the little hairs on his forehead falling forward.

“do you really think that?” his voices pipes up at the end before giving you a smug look, “you think i’m so bad?”

and right as you go to confirm those thoughts, a quick motion cuts you off. soon, you feel pressure from underneath your dress, then against your underwear; he’s now pressing his fingers on top of your cunt.

“cause if i didn’t know any better,” he removes his hand from your area and decides to shove it in your face, “you fucking like this.”

the movement startles you briefly and it takes a second for your eyes to focus. though as soon as your vision clears, you see wet fingers staring back at you. it causes your breath to hitch, “i don’t.”

“bullshit.” he dives his hand back under your dress, ready to collect more slick, and involuntarily you clasp your thighs around his hand. eyes squeezed shut, the moment contact was made, you’re brimming with sensitivity.

he watches you intensely. now that you have him trapped, he takes the time to start grazing the fabric of your panties, beginning at a leisure pace. wooyoung leans his head close to your ear and starts to murmur, “right. you clearly hate this.”

with each stroke his fingers get wetter. with each massage his dick gets harder, if that’s even possible. and with each rub, he sees your body beginning to relax into his touch. your shoulders droop, your body slouches deeper into him, and he can see your chest heaving up and down lowly. you’re such a liar.

“oh, god.” you mumble, and wooyoung has to stop a groan from leaving him at your current state. you’re succumbing to him so well, so easily. he loves each and every second of this, but he even with this, he understands there’s always more to enjoy.

“alright, y/n, nothing’s free.” he starts to ease up on you, his touches becoming lighter, and he gives you a knowing glance, “come on, let’s go.”

his pelvis raises slightly to draw attention towards his lonely cock, and you could only crane your head slowly towards him. going from his crotch and up to his face, you gaze at him with an expression of reluctancy.

the aching in your cunt is screaming at you to push forward, however, the logistic side of your brain is harshly reprimanding you for even considering. after thinking it over, it’s almost as if your hand began to move on its own, essentially giving into your tempted desires.

you drag your somewhat limp of palm up towards his waistband, slipping past the blue boxer’s he’s sporting, and finally place it onto his bare cock. he’s immediately responsive, sighing as he slowly rocks himself into your palm to create momentary friction.

at his expression, you can’t help the bubble of disgust that’s rising up inside of you, mixing with your feeling of lust. you grip his bulge, he hums in content. you start to slide your hand up and down, he’s staring at you with ever-loving eyes. in just a few tugs, he’s already huffing with breath stuttering. his own pre-cum begins to cover his shaft, and in return you can sense your hand getting drenched.

“you make me sick.” you say in a hushed voice and wooyoung scoffs at your words.

“oh, fuck off. you love it.” he counters as he takes the fingers inside your dress and uses them to shove your underwear off to the side, going back to circling your now unclothed pussy. literal drops of wetness spill from your entrance, and he can feel it spread in every round strokes he’s producing.

you melt like putty at his hand. from the perfect pressure he’s applying to his occasional dips inside. he’s giving your core the desperate assistance it needed from the moment you for first began feeling like this. it’s almost difficult for you to continue with your jerking inside of his pants, but at every moment you begin to slip, wooyoung swiftly reminds you to do a better job.

“you except me to get off with that flimsy hold? grip it like you mean. yah, i said grip it.”

he halts his movements monetarily, creating an ode to himself to not start up again until you do exactly as you’re being told. your eyelids vibrate in irritation, part of you wanting to keep up with the defiance act. yet, you knew if wanted to leave this situation with some sort of pleasure, obeying this ass would be your best option.

you reposition your hand on his cock, then start your motion up once more. wooyoung’s transported back into his bliss, his eyes having difficulty staying opened. his hips involuntarily ruts inside of your grasp, as he tries his best to not blow his load in the confinements of his pants. no, if he’s going to finish, he knew he needed to make it as easy of a clean up as possible.

which is why a few strokes later, from both you to him, and when wooyoung senses your fat pussy clenching particularly hard against his digits, it’s only then he decides to execute the final stage of his self-pleasuring. he also starts to notice the familiar streets and roads of his neighborhood which lets him know his stop is going to be coming up soon.

just as you feel yourself ready to unravel, coldness floods your core you realize wooyoung’s completely removed himself away and is scrambling to get your hand from being trapped in his sweats.

he’s rushing, now, evident of the quick turnaround he has and how his own hand replaces yours inside of his fleeced joggers. with deep breaths and hazy eyes, he drags his look towards your eyes before dropping his gaze down to your full chest.

“fuck, and i didn’t even get to see your tits,” he mumbles quietly to himself, then darts his vision up to you, “you wanna take ‘em out really quick? just enough so i can how sexy they are.”

an apprehensive groan leaves you, nervousness replacing the arousal you were feeling just a few seconds prior. but, you would be lying if you said the desperate look on jung wooyoung’s face wasn’t getting you bothered right now. how he has an expression between wanting to kiss you and wanting to do more swirling in his pupils.

which is why in no time, you’re turning your body away from the front and more toward the boy, as you begin to undo the buttons of your pretty, pink dress. you don’t go all the way down, just enough to expose the matching pink bra you decided to pair with the outfit.

he whimpers softly at the reveal, “oh my- go all the way for me.”

you do as instructed and reaching up towards you breasts, you begin to pull out your mounds and leave them to hang off of your chest. the cool, still air grazes your erected nipples, causing them to be pointed and you almost resist the urge to twirl your fingers between them.

wooyoung’s tugging grows faster, seeing as the way his hand bobs up and down inside his pants. it’s almost as if he forgot he’s wearing clothes, then once he remembered this fact, he’s scrambling to pull his sweatpants and boxers down mid-thigh. you can now see his thick, red cock out in the open, and threatening to spill at any second.

his breathing turns shallow, and wooyoung continues to rub one out. he even goes as far as taking his unoccupied hand and brining it towards your flesh, grabbing a handful of your tit then moving on to playing with your bud. the action causes you to wince and whine, your mouth forming into an ‘o’ with shut eyes.

at hearing your adorable voice, wooyoung loses it. he feels his orgasm getting ready to wash over, but instead of finishing all over himself, he tilts his cock forward and points his head directly at you.

and before you know, ropes of wooyoung’s cum is getting spritzed onto you lap, all over your legs. he’s marking you with his semen, and god is it so much. his ejaculation continues with tiny moans floating from his lips, beating his cock to your horrified look at the whiteness painting you a beautiful shade.

imagine bully!perv wooyoung, who’s finally had the release he’d been so needy to have all night.

“you’re so good, so damn good.” he says in more of an after thought, finally relieved to have been able to release his frustration, better yet, onto you. he’s still twitching from sensitivity, but that doesn’t stop wooyoung from tucking himself back into his pants and hoisting them up once again. you,still relegate in the fact that you are literally dripping with cum.

just as he’s finishes redressing himself, the bus begins to slow before coming to a stop. you don’t even have time to process what just happened as wooyoung’s quickly grabbing his stuff and standing up, ready to leave. however, he makes sure to leave with parting words before seeing you again at school the next day.

“yah, y/n. take a picture of you in that dress and send it to me.” he quietly asks with up-right corners.

you could only huff out a, ‘fine’. eliciting anything more would’ve taken far too much effort and right now, you were upset at the lack of pleasure for yourself. wooyoung softly laughs at your response but before he fully exits, he dips his head down to place a gentle kiss on your cheek.

he gives you one more smile and a, “now we can cross this one off of the list,” then in a flash he’s gone and off the bus, disappearing into the night.

it’s weird. the relationship between you two.

one minute he’s annoying the absolute reckon out of you, the next he’s placing soft pecks against your skin. you still hated him, and everything he did. his actions that somehow always left you in a perplexed state.

however, maybe what you hated most, was not the crude, antagonizing jokes, but rather the flutter your heart does at the remembrance of his lips lightly on your cheek after each and every encounter.

[miasmaghoul]

Nun forced fem on either SwissDew or Raindrop

yeah sure here

(idk what this is its barely nsfw lmao uhhh warnings for forcedfem, religious fuckery, mention of safewords without use of them, mostly implied corruption kink)

"It suits you."

"Does it?" Rain smooths nervous hands over the front of his habit, flattening imaginary wrinkles. "It feels so..."

"Pious?"

Rain gives a hum - it's not the word he had in mind, but it isn't wrong. Rain adjusts his veil as he takes in his reflection, turning to take in every angle in his floor length mirror.

It's odd how bare he feels considering how little skin he can see. His face and hands stand out beautifully, pale and sharp against rich black wool. That's all the uniform reveals, though. Nothing about this ensemble could be called flattering, and yet Rain can't stop looking. Can't stop tracing the shape of his sleeves and frowning at the one stubborn curl poking out behind his ear. The rosary hanging from his belt clinks when he moves to tuck it away, silver and red beads glinting in the firelight.

"I was going to say severe," Rain murmurs, fingering the inverted silver cross hanging around his neck. "But...I suppose that works too."

He feels the need to speak softly like this, to keep his voice low and his words gentle. He isn't a particularly loud ghoul as it is, at least not often, but something about seeing himself look so...reserved demands it.

Rain licks his lips, and finds the sight of it in the mirror to be borderline obscene.

"And how does it make you feel?"

The words are followed by the creak of a chair and steady footsteps on hardwood, a confident but easy stride, and Rain's heart skips against his ribs. The footsteps stop beside him, in what should be his periphery, but their owner remains hidden by the starched edge of Rain's wimple. He can't make himself turn to look, occupied instead by watching splotches of pink bloom on his cheeks.

"I...I don't know," he admits, and it's the truth. There's an odd stew of feelings swirling around in his skull, a bizarre blend of shame, discomfort and the most blasphemous sort of pride. His fingers tremble as he tugs at the knot binding his belt, a mindless distraction.

"Take your time," flows into his ear, velvety smooth, "but I want an answer."

Rain nods, sighing as he lets his eyes slip shut. Just for a moment. Maybe two.

He really didn't think this would be so hard. He knew it would be different - how could it not be? - but the heaviness in his gut is so much more than he was prepared for. He's been dressed up a thousand ways from Sunday; lingerie, pretty dresses, elegant gowns and the sluttiest costumes Swiss could get his greedy hands on. He's worn makeup and press-ons, learned to walk in the highest heels and had his waist cinched by corsets until he was ready to faint.

It all pales in comparison to the simple garments he wears now.

"...small, I think," Rain practically whispers, once the words find his tongue. It's the closest thing he can think of to describe the tightness in his chest. "It's like..." Rain wrings his hands together, the motion obscured by his oversized sleeves. "It's like I don't belong in this."

"That's because you don't," comes his very amused reply, and a gentle weight settles against his forearm. Rain stares at that elegant hand in the mirror, wide eyes caught on the place skin turns to fitted sleeve. "That's part of the fun," that hand thightens, a rough thumb arching over the inside of his wrist, and that voice feels like a red hot poker when it adds, "Sister."

The word makes him gasp, makes his stomach flip, and Rain wobbles in place. Has to reach out to catch himself on the body beside him, and he earns a soft chuckle in response.

"Easy, easy."

Rain feels the words as much as he hears them, radiating through the palm he's planted in the center of a lightly muscled chest. He shivers when a warm hand rubs over his spine, a familiar motion that has completely different connotations right now.

"You're safe," he's promised, quiet and serious. "I've got you."

Rain nods, takes a deep breath as he pushes himself upright, but he can't make himself open his eyes. He knows what's waiting for him when he does, and some part of him doesn't want to see it. If he sees it, it's real. A fantasy made real - not his own, but one he's been eager to help fulfill for ages now. Ever since the night he wrung this desire out of the ghoul supporting him, had pulled the words from his throat with precise rolls of his hips and a perfectly placed hand on a long throat.

"I've got you," he's assured again, and it's so genuine that Rain can't hold back his whimper.

"Sorry," he huffs, shaking his head. "It's...it's a lot."

A hum answers him, a warm palm cups his cheek, and Rain leans into it easily. Soothed by familiar skin and spiced cologne that settles flayed nerves.

"Rain," he says, and it's so gentle that he almost cracks an eye open. Almost. "We don't have to do this. You know that."

He does. Of course he does. One word and he's out, done, able strip himself of fabric that feels far heavier than it truly is. It would be easy, and there's a first time for everything. The word sits on the tip of his tongue, just behind sharp teeth.

"I know," Rain breathes instead, finally straightening up and crossing his arms over his stomach, "I know."

The hand on his spine remains, grounding, and Rain focuses on the feel of it. Breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth until the tangled mess in his belly unravels, until the pressure in his head subsides. Until he can face the body beside him and brace himself for what he's about to see. One hand fiddles with his rosary, nervous energy poured into a silent prayer he says at every midnight mass.

He can do this.

He can do this.

When Rain opens his eyes, it's as devastating as he thought it would be.

"Oh," he sighs, hot from his scalp to the soles of his feet, and the soft smile it earns him makes Rain's chest hurt.

He doesn't know where to look, too many details for his already frazzled brain to absorb; the shiny tips of polished loafers, a perfectly fitted black cassock, a blood red stole embroidered with goat heads and a sharp collar. Rain's eyes stick there, glued to that simple white square, and every inch of him tingles in a way he can't explain.

"Satanas," he says without really meaning to, and Rain is immediately rewarded with the warmest chuckle.

"Blessed be," Dew replies, and Rain feels more of the tension drain from his shoulders. He tears his eyes from that little white square with great effort and finds the other ghoul's face lined with mirth. His copper eyes sparkle in the glow of the fire, and something about it makes Rain shiver.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, taking in every inch of that handsome face. Dew's pulled his hair back, tied it into a tight knot at the base of his skull, and all it does is make him look more authoritative. "I didn't -"

"Stop," Dew orders, one palm raised, and Rain has never fallen silent so quickly. That one little moment makes something familiar start to bloom at the back of his mind, and suddenly it's just a little easier to deal with the invisible weight on his shoulders. His eyelids feel just a little heavier.

"Sorry," Rain mumbles once more, but it's only out of habit. Dew ignores it, tips his head, and then that warm palm is back on his cheek and Rain has a fleeting thought about what his habit will look like once he's inevitably tenting it.

"Tell me you want this," Dew says, voice even. He strokes Rain's cheekbone with the tip of his thumb, and Rain wishes he would push it between his lips instead. "Tell me you want it," he says again, fingertips tracing the edge of his coif, "or we'll change and -"

"No," Rain interjects, more sudden than even he expects, grabbing at Dew's outstretched arm. The cassock feels so soft, somehow plush and warm against his fingers. "No, I - I do," Rain promises, too flustered to keep his voice from shaking, "for you, I - I want to -"

He's silenced by the pressure of one long finger against his parted lips, by a soft shushing noise, and then Dew's close enough that Rain can feel his warmth. He tilts his head up, gives Rain a hungry look, and Rain can't describe how miniscule it makes him feel.

"You'll tell me if that changes?"

"Yes," Rain promises, breathless, and he nods so urgently it nearly dislodges his wimple. "Yes, I promise."

As soon as the words escape him, as soon as Dew nods his acknowledgement, Rain swears he feels the air shift. That warm hand leaves his face as Dew backs away two steps, head held high. Rain feels unbearably cold in his absence, but he knows Dew will have him hotter than he can handle soon enough.

"Look at yourself," he instructs, nodding towards the mirror. "Tell me what you see."

Rain turns on autopilot. Swivels on his heels until he's facing himself once more, all harsh lines and dark fabric. He straightens his cross, his veil, and wonders how much redder his cheeks will be by the end of this.

"I see..." Rain licks his lips again, but he can't watch it this time. "I see...purity," he supplies at length, the word syrupy thick on his tongue. "I...I see innocence."

Rain wonders if Dew will make him look at himself like this afterwards too. Once he's been used up and drained dry, left woozy and weak and with nothing in him to argue. The thought makes him queasy as much as it makes him throb, and Rain stares at the spot on his habit that he knows his cock is starting swell behind.

"Do you?"

Footsteps again, intentional. Slow. Stalking up behind him, teasing fingers trailing along the edge of his veil just enough to feel. Dew appears in the mirror beside him, and the sight of the two of them together makes Rain's knees weak.

He's starting to get why Dew wanted this.

"Yes," Rain huffs, nodding once. There's a tingle caught in his spine, between his shoulder blades, a shudder he can't quite shake out.

"Yes what?" Dew asks.

"Yes, Father," he replies, a swift exhale, and Dew looks so very pleased at the way he sways.

"Well I've heard otherwise, dear Sister," he lilts, and then he's moving. Stalking slow circles around Rain a fox ready to tear into a particularly fat hen. "In fact," he adds, coming to a stop right in front of Rain. Reaching out to slip two fingers under his chin. Lifting his gaze so all he can see is Dew's neutral expression, wild eyes and that fucking collar. "There's a rumor going around that you're a regular Jezebel." Rain winces, and Dew gives him a falsely sympathetic smile. "A common whore masquerading as a lost little lamb in need of guidance."

"N-no," Rain whispers, giving his head the tiniest shake. "I - I promise, Father," he manages, already starting to get a little fuzzy around the edges. "I'm - I'm pure, I'm -"

Dew shushes him, and then he's gone. Floating away on sure feet and gliding back to his chair. Rain watches the way his cassock billows around his legs, catches glimpses of tight-fitted black slacks beneath it, and when Dew snaps his fingers Rain follows with silent obedience.

Dew looks positively regal in the oversized armchair he's pulled in front of the fireplace. He sits with his back straight and both hands folded on his lap. Rain doesn't think he's ever seen him look so powerful, so commanding of attention, not even on stage.

"Kneel, Sister," Dew commands. "Kneel and confess your sins." He tips his head and Rain's breath catches in his throat. "Kneel," he says, "and let me decide if you deserve forgiveness."

Rain drops so hard the floor shakes.

[deiscension]

I think about SQX's physical traits and how they changed as she aged not only as indications of her growing into herself as a person, but how safe, stable, and happy she feels as well. This can be applied to all verses/AUs, just swap out canon event mentions for what I've written in place of them. The long and short of it is I believe in stick-thin short-stack Qingxuan --> tall and limber and curvaceous but not just in the hourglass way, in the 'gained weight and wears it with pride' way. #Pudgy tummy SQX advocate.

Chubby wubby tubby baby Qingxuan grows into chubby wubby tubby toddler Qingxuan. Any physical ailments that were caused by the initial fever of The Reverend’s curse are either hardly there at all or nonexistent. Adorable round cheeks. Laughs at anything and everything. What more is there for me to say really.

The baby fat does it’s best to cling to her past early childhood but once she starts approaching the double digits it’s all but disappeared. Her relatives depleting most of Shi siblings’ inheritance implies living well past their means up until each of their untimely demises at the behest of the curse, so it’s not from lack of good food so much as genetics.

Pre-teen and teenage years SQX is about as lanky as you can get. All elbows and knees. Bird legs and stick arms. Mostly genetics again, but now there’s the added anxiety of being hunted down by The Reverend. Food was available enough as implied by her trying to take a food box to SWD while he was up in the mountains, though I’m left to wonder what quality and kind— the necessary staples obviously, but inheritance being depleted + what they do have being painstakingly split between provisions and paying to cultivate under a master + little to no income (I HIGHLY doubt SWD would’ve even suffered the thought of SQX doing any sort of payable work, all things from her age (around 11 when they initially ran away iirc, and any work a no-name teenager could get likely wouldn't be safe work) to his pride considered) = getting by alright but in a rather pitiable way. Wouldn’t do amazing things for a teen’s appetite I imagine. Nonetheless she’s still healthy, even if reedy in build. Kind of kid who would try to hold herself with pristine grace, yet end up stomping and tromping about. Aging into full teenage years she would fill out some but not by too terribly much. Descriptors would likely have changed from “lanky” to “slender”, “awkward” to “willowy”.

Her Middle Court days are when she gets some meat on her bones in terms of musculature and fat. I base my headcanons off a mix of donghua visuals + novel descriptions and my own applied fancies. While she did indeed live a lavish life as soon as her brother brought her into the Middle Court, it wasn’t necessarily a wholly idle one. She was described as “the bellwether of the Middle Court.” Out and about, doing this and that. Softened arms and legs would shape up despite her not needing them to— she’s always been the type to do what wasn’t asked of her, to go gallivanting about and push her freedom to its limits. Eventually it would show in her physical build. But she’s not known as The Young Lord Pouring Wine for nothing. Her perfectly flat stomach softens, hips no longer all sharp edges, cheeks round once again.

As a goddess, she doesn’t change much about her build. Everything feels perfect. Hourglass figure accentuated with more curve rather than cinched at the ribs and waist, arms and legs sitting pretty on the line of elegantly toned and full. There’s a little thrill of joy for her every time she moves a certain way and a fold of fat nestles along her waistline, feels the weight of her well-endowed chest pressing snugly against her hanfu, notices the way her inner robes sometimes cling to the curve of hip or thigh or stomach. Her body is most like home regardless of form when it meets her standards and not what's expected of her— it’s a hallmark of safety and happiness, and though she doesn’t quite understand it, the perceived femininity she craves.

Bonus -- post BW arc, she's back to being a reed; gaunt and hollow from shock and the demands of being a no-name beggar and wanderer. There's no trace of that elegant, lavish Wind Master. But it is still her, and she has learned to love the body that was always meant for her. That's not to say she doesn't miss how safety and abundance settled on her frame in ways she would dream of as a longing, terror-stricken child. She's making peace with the fact it never belonged to her, and it was a blessing unearned that she was afforded the privilege as Lady Qingxuan rather than just Feng. Ask her if she's still pretty, she'll say yes with a wink.

[masterqwertster]

Fashion for the Bells Hells C2 Class Swap AU

Had some thoughts on appearance changes for everybody based on their "new" classes, so here we go!

Orym: School of Divination Wizard

Same base layers, but replace the armor with a happi (think haori/captain coat from Bleach, but butt-length instead of ankle-length). It gives that wizard robe vibe without actually being long enough to threaten to kite Orym around Zephrah

The happi is filled with pockets on the inside for components, including a few in the sleeves for quick access. The spellbook goes in a pocket over Orym's heart

The bottom and sleeve edges have a swirling clouds pattern, there's a vine and flowers pattern around the neckline, and an Ashari emblem on the back of the happi. He's also got a little lapel fastener-pin-chain where the pin parts are a Big Moon Little Moon

Orym still has Will's shield, and uses it as a casting focus. Or at the very least can finagle it into a scrying tool, either by filling the bowl of it with water or polishing it mirror bright. (Derrig's sword went to Lita since Orym has less use for it as a wizard)

Orym's spellbook is pocket notebook sized, as regular-sized books are a little hard to squirrel away on his person. Plus with his Perception, it's not like he needs a big font for his spells (though it's hell for others trying to copy his spells)

Fearne: Path of the Herald of Storms (Desert) Barbarian

Hair in a big braid, first of all. Her hair would look great in a braid with flowers tucked all through it. Plus it keeps her hair from going all over the place as she gets up close and physical

Corset like her Level 9 art, in leather, for a bit of protection

Same dress as Level 3 art, but knee-length all around for ease of movement

Detached sleeves are replaced with arm bands on the upper arms and leather bracers on the forearms

Long sickle for her weapon

Imogen: Order Domain Cleric

Honestly, there's no reason really to change her overall Level 3 look. The big difference would be no gloves.

Showing off the lightning marks as a "divine blessing"

Wears a Stormlord belt buckle as the lightning marks led people to believe he's the god that "blessed" her. She knows he's not, despite the storm dream and lightning, because she reached out to him once and it felt wrong. But she pretends to be a follower of his to not raise questions she doesn't have answers to

Also wears a lightning brooch Laudna made for her, and is her actual holy symbol (representing her new lease on life after meeting Laudna)

Has her dagger for a melee weapon, though vastly prefers spells

Laudna: Way of Shadow Monk

Blouse is the same, but wears a four-split "skirt". Think sort of like TLoVM Vex's long tunic, but there's dangling panels on sides as well. And when Laudna stands still, it looks like a full skirt

There are basically capris on beneath the skirt, so when she does dope monk shit she's not flashing bare thighs and shit

Flat shoes/slippers

She has a three-part collapsible staff for her weapon

Hair is either all cut short at shoulder-length to keep out of the way, or up in a full bun with tuck behind the ear bangs (and the bags can be let loose for her Ring Girl impressions)

Chetney: Oath of the Ancients Paladin/Hexblade Walock

Wood armor, because it's funny

The wood armor is either enchanted or made from a steel hard fantasy tree. And Chet has to roll to see if it catches on fire when he takes fire damage (weather conditions affect the DC)

His sharpest chisel became his pact weapon for Hexblade

FCG: Mastermind Rogue/School of Enchantment Wizard

The only difference for FCG is that the straps of their backpack double as a bandoleer for throwing knives/darts. Maybe a special side-pocket for his spellbook

Ashton: Order of the Lycan Blood Hunter (modified/reskinned)/Forge Domain Cleric

Regular pants, not a jump suit, but the sides of the pants are laced up, ankle to waist, with a fair bit of extra lacing tucked in special inner pockets

Instead of buckles, the vest has cinch straps across the torso and also over the shoulders

These modifications are because Ashton's clothes need to expand pretty fiercely to fit their elemental "lycanthrope" form. It's only a foot taller than normal Ashton, but easily twice as wide/thick

No sleeves if he even thinks he's going to go hybrid form. The arms are too thick and bottom heavy with huge crystal claws. Plus crystal spurs at the shoulders and elbows. Sleeves would just rip and explode

Pants get away with expanding trick because they're just tree trunk thick with no spikes to worry about

Holy symbol is a wireframe pin of the symbol on the pocket of the Ashton Pocket T-Shirt from the critrole shop. They pin it to their lapel. Might fill in the gaps later with colored glass or gems

[ohsocyanide]

unrequited // buddy daddies

There’s nothing for it.

Rei sucks on his sixth cigarette of the hour and stares at his own reflection in the mirror: the ghost-white canvas of purple-green bruising dappling his forearms and biceps from grappling practice, the spare lines of his waist, the concave flatness of his chest.

He looks at himself and he thinks of Kazuki, and he knows he is everything the other man doesn’t want.

There’s nothing for it, he thinks again.

He is not soft. He is not kind. He cannot soothe with a touch, calm with his words, and he thinks that Kazuki looks for that sort of airheaded tranquility in a partner. Deserves it too, someone better at comforting than he could ever be. He wonders if the woman Kazuki is bedding tonight is anything like that, if she’ll last longer than it takes for him to bury his cock inside her body.

Somehow, he doubts it.

A knock at the bathroom door has him cursing beneath his breath, Miri’s little voice muffled against the crack of the jamb as she says, “Uncle Rei?”

He tamps out the cigarette in the sink and leaves it there. Shoves his head through a nightshirt, shuffles his way into a pair of baggy sweats as he calls, “Just a minute, Miri.”

One day, maybe, he’ll quit enabling Kazuki’s lifestyle long enough to force him to find someone he can take the kid around. Someone good, someone patient, someone with better instincts than his. He is designed to kill, to take down — never to build up or boost.

That’s what the child needs.

He flicks on the vent and opens the bathroom door a crack to slip out so the smell of smoke doesn’t cling to her clothes.

Big eyes peer up at him balefully, waterline wet with tears and her nose dripping snot. He sighs and doubles back for the bathroom, tears off a strip of toilet paper and scrubs at her face with it.

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t find Papa,” she says. Her gaze skitters away from his face and back; she shuffles closer, small hands gripping at the leg of his sweats. She wants up, wants to be held, and he doesn’t want to do it.

He picks her up anyways.

He’d love to track Kazuki down — easy enough to do by scent alone; he’d poured on more cologne than was necessary before finger-gunning his way out the front door. He won’t, though.

Rei will stay here, because regardless of how irresponsible Kazuki may think he is, he’s moreso than he receives credit for.

“Obviously,” he sighs. “What do you need him for? You’re supposed to be in bed.”

She rests her cheek against his shoulder, and his heart does not grow three sizes at how sweet the motion is. She tugs at a piece of his hair and sniffles. “Papa didn’t tell me a bedtime story tonight.”

Another flash of irritation, and Rei grinds his teeth hard enough his molars ache. This is Kazuki’s mess, Kazuki’s kid. Not even Kazuki’s house; the fucking freeloader’s been crashing for near six months and hasn’t so much as offered a dime towards rent.

No, he’s just… cooked and cleaned and jokingly told Rei have a good day, honey, stupid little apron cinched around a sinful waist like some sort of stacked housewife.

“Right,” he says instead of the myriad of curses he’d like to say. “Well. You’re not getting a bedtime story from me.”

Her head pops up from his shoulder. “You have to.”

“Says who?”

“Says me,” she responds. “Says—says Papa.”

“Your papa isn’t my boss, kid,” he tells her. He swipes at her nose again and stuffs the used tissue into his pocket.

“Since when? You do everything Papa wants.”

Rei is thankful for the relative darkness of the hallway. It masks the burning of his ears, the rush of blood to his cheeks. Does he? Is he that obvious in his desire to please Kazuki, unrequited as it is?

“Not true,” he argues, and then quickly realizes that arguing with a four year old is stupid. He’s an adult.

“Uh-huh,” she says, nodding. “Papa told his friend you were spanked, ‘cause you do what he wants.”

“Spanked,” Rei repeats, nonplussed. “You—you mean whipped?”

“Yeah!” she kicks her legs happily, and he muffles a grunt when her foot slams directly into his liver. “That thing that happens to kids who are bad.”

“I’m not whipped,” he says, and he carts her down the hall to the living room. He’s annoyed now, whatever wash of sadness he’d felt in the bathroom replaced by the knowledge that Kazuki has some grasp of how down bad Rei is for him. He knows and he uses it, manipulates it, and Rei lets him.

It takes one of those sweet, goofy smiles, a wink, and he’ll do whatever Kazuki wants.

Well, fuck.

He turns on the television and drops onto the couch, Miri still in his lap.

She twists to watch as he opens a streaming app and flicks through the options under the anime category.

“I’m not allowed to watch tv this late,” she says slowly. She turns back to face him, chin tipped up so she’s peering into his face. “I’ll get in trouble.”

“It’s not tv, it’s a bedtime story,” Rei tells her. “About a girl who finds a magical cat who tasks her with saving the world from evil.”

She considers that, blinks her big eyes up at him as she takes in the information and likely memorizes it for later use against Kazuki. Finally she relaxes, gives a nod and allows him to reposition her so they’re stretched horizontally across the couch.

Rei clicks the first suitable option he finds and proprs a pillow beneath his head. Despite her initial reluctance, Miri snuggles against him, head tucked securely beneath his chin as lights flash across the screen.

There’s nothing for it, he reminds himself as the intro for Sailor Moon starts up.

He’s here. And he’ll be here, until Kazuki finds someone new or gets sick of Rei hanging around like some lovesick little schoolgirl.

He doesn’t want to think about which of those will happen first.

[pinepickled]

I posted 5,842 times in 2022

80 posts created (1%)

5,762 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@primeemeraldheiress

@shy-daredevil

@justaregulardecoratedemergency

@elmaxlys

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I tagged 233 of my posts in 2022

#pine talks - 56 posts

#jason todd - 15 posts

#pine's asks - 13 posts

#under the red hood - 13 posts

#batman - 13 posts

#bruce wayne - 9 posts

#the red hood - 8 posts

#mystic messenger - 6 posts

#brujay - 6 posts

#jason todd meta - 5 posts

Longest Tag: 130 characters

#id be one of his funny little side characters who have a mysterious past with him who shows up every 10 chapters just to annoy him

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

GUYS

This post was just slap after slap after slap what the fuck!!! I now desperately need to learn Korean so I can experience this real time like what do you MEAN Jumin calls Zen Zen-ie and Zen has called Jumin Juminnie???

Zen refers very casually to Jumin and Jumin simply??? Does not care?? That he doesn't use honorifics??

Yoosung calls 707 Sevennie hyung... 😭 why am I crying... Seven calls Jumin Juminnie Hyung?? He refers to Jumin so affectionately but Zen is just Zen hyung...

Pls read the whole post I love it

93 notes - Posted November 28, 2022

#4

Once the time for the great evil to appear passes, and no man has been born to the Gerudo, all take a sigh of relief. The prophecy will not come to pass this go around, they think.

But there's one Gerudo, with long red hair and a veil over her face, a thin attempt to try and hide a truth no one could see anyway

She has all the parts, and no more strong is she than the average woman of her race. She's normal. Absolutely normal. A good Gerudo girl who's mind had never been touched by the miasma of Ganon.

But one day, a young blond Hylian visits. He is strong, and earns the respect of the Gerudo soldiers easily. A sword of mystic powers strapped to his back and centuries of the trees, the sky, and courage lay in his history. It's not his time yet, this good Gerudo girl knows- but she doesn't tell anyone.

This Hylian, he leaves the city. He cannot reside in the same quarters as the women, and in a town of all women this means he must sleep outside. The boy is not bothered, he sets up camp at the city walls with indifference, and for some unknown reason, the good Gerudo girl goes out to meet him.

"I've simply brought provisions, nothing more." She tells him. The Hylian doesn't speak, he never speaks, but he smiles. The mark on her hand pulses.

The Hylian invites her to sit, and out of some sort of obligation she does. She cuts up the fruit she'd brought for the Hylian, and the Hylian gives her another smile. She feels sick, in a way. The heat of the desert night persists, and as a bead of sweat trails down her back, she becomes hyper aware of herself. The jewelry on her ankles accentuating dainty legs, the elegant bow of her straight back encircled in gold, the high ponytail of red hair cascading over her shoulder. She was a good Gerudo girl.

It's summer in the Gerudo Desert. Even at night, the heat easily clears 100 degrees. The Hylian, the Hero, he strips. Casually, as though unashamed in the presence of a good Gerudo girl. She'd been told the Hylians were more prudish than her own people, but something about this one, he was wild. The deranged holiness of the forest and the skies shone in his eyes. When he prompted her, the good Gerudo girl took off her own top. Laid bare before the Hylian, he did nothing. The Hero simply sat down once more, gazing up at the stars as he accepted the cut fruit. Slowly, carefully, breathing shallow as though a sword was to her neck, she shed the loose pants cinched with gold at her waist. The Hero only glanced over, uninterested. The mark on her hand throbbed harshly, and the mark on the Hylian's hand did the same.

But that didn't matter. She was a good Gerudo girl, and the great evil hadn't been born this time around. No sin had been bred in her mind, no power she wielded more than normal.

Right?

Right.

Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, she copied the Hero's stance. Her own elegant posture was that of a good Gerudo girl, she'd trained it into herself since she was but a child. The warrior at her side had the lazy stance of a predator, as though he were a jaguar lounging over its prey. The Gerudo girl didn't want to be prey, but as she rearranged her legs and shifted her waist to copy the Hero, she couldn't help but feel as though she'd fallen into the Hylian's lap. The pleased smirk on his face could have been a figment of the Gerudo girl's imagination, and the sharp blue eyes roving over her body could have been a trick of the light.

The hero did nothing, though, and now both in the position of men, horrible, un-Gerudo-like Men, the Gerudo girl closed golden eyes and reached out. The hand with a mark identical to hers, except for the triangle on the opposite side filled instead, took hers.

She was an awful Gerudo girl.

The Hylian drew words in Gerudo script in the sand, and pointed them out to the very bad Gerudo girl.

Your name? he had asked.

The very bad Gerudo girl couldn't speak her name aloud. She would be an even worse Gerudo girl than than if she didn't say it at all. Perhaps this Hylian was wise, sticking to the ways of silence.

As though admitting to the greatest sin of all, the Gerudo girl who was perhaps not a girl at all, wrote in the sand one of her numerous secrets.

Ganondorf.

106 notes - Posted August 2, 2022

#3

Get fucking owned

109 notes - Posted March 6, 2022

#2

Honestly, Mystic Messenger deserves kudos for how unique it was. I really can't think of another dating sim with the overall vibe of MM, nothing compares. Like, the dynamics between love interests first of all isn't jam packed with cheap drama. When you read the conversations between them, you can actually believe that these people are friends and get along with each other. You can sense that they've known each other for a very long time, you sense the trust and the deep bonds more and more as you progress through the story.

Not only that, but the love interests are unique as well. Any dating sim fan can tell you all about the various tropes that our love interests embody, but I feel like MM is the only sim that actually has a unique take on them. Like yes, Jumin is the overbearing rich CEO who's into BDSM and wants to own you like he owns everything else, but going through his story you truly see a side to him that feels so gratifying to learn about in the format of MM. His conflict with his dad is unique to the core- his dad isn't abusive, not to Jumin. On the contrary, Jumin holds nothing but warm praise for his father consistently and you can tell that aside from the womanizing, they have quite a good relationship! But you see Jumin's emotions change real time, how he slowly breaks down until he can't stand it anymore. How he just needs someone to comfort and understand him in his lonely world, someone who isn't a cat or his friends that don't know how to act when Jumin's collected demeanor falls apart.

Or Zen, the classic narcissist flirt, who isn't at all. You really get to see where his narcissism comes from, how he copes with being an actor, how he learns to let down his walls and let people in all the while his sweet personality coming through.

Just. Ugh. Mystic Messenger.

383 notes - Posted November 24, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Back at it again to talk about just how much I hate the very concept of Jason 'giving up' on the Joker to return to the batfam.

Like, I see so many people who write meta and fics that claim that the one true solution to the current conflict between Bruce and Jason is for Jason to have a come to Jesus moment about why killing is wrong and to just accept that the Joker will continue to live, doing so for the sole reason of reconciling with Bruce. To me, it just reeks.

I cannot say this enough, but their conflict is not about whether killing is moral or not!!! That is not why Jason just cannot make up with Bruce as things are! Jason was considered one of the only comic book characters to be permanently dead for a reason, his death continues to mean something even after his resurrection for a reason!! The conflict starts in that the man who was supposed to protect him failed to and Jason DIED! The conflict continues because Jason was not avenged at all! His death was meaningless! Completely, utterly, meaningless!

The whole reason Jason goes on his murderquest in Gotham is because he saw newspaper clippings of the Joker, still alive and well, escaping Arkham! He must have thought of all the times Joker escaped while he was just a little kid, how they were constantly rounding the guy up and putting him back, watching the body count that this man has personally caused go up and up and up while they were functionally powerless to stop it. Jason himself says so, directly asking Bruce why he's let the Joker fill entire graveyards with innocent lives!

Under the Red Hood is a well thought out story. It never meant to make the case for whether murder is morally justifiable or not, that was Batman's trauma filled excuse. The reality, as outlined in samiralula01's post, is that Jason's death killed Bruce. He lost his ability to be compassionate, loving, merciful, and more. His little boy was dead. Clinging onto his belief that murder is wrong was just a means to justify to himself why Jason's death would have to go unavenged, and as a direct consequence of this delusion and trauma, which is explicitly said in UTRH, most of Batman's sidekicks have left him! Oracle, Tim, Steph, Cass, everyone except Dick! He's pushed them all away because of this crippling fear of losing them like how he lost Jason, this fear that has made him a colder, less loving man. The fear that turned him from a bringer of justice and hope into a dark shadow.

Jason is right, at the end of the day. He knows the Joker cannot be rehabilitated nor contained, he knows that Bats is just making excuses for himself, and his point of view is further justified by two events: 1, the fact that Barbara was brutalized by the Joker even after Jason died, and 2, that Bludhaven and supposedly Dick was literally NUKED right before Jason went to kill the Joker and instead of running to see if his son was okay, Batman went after Jason.

Batman chose the Joker over his kids not once, not twice, not thrice, but four times.

Jason dying and the Joker living on was the first.

Barbara being tortured to the point of disability was the second.

Dick being nuked and Bats not running to save him was the third.

and Jason having his throat slit by a batarang so Bats could save Joker was the fourth.

UTRH is the story of how Batman does not actually have a solid moral ground to stand on anymore. It displays not only what a broken and defeated man Bruce is, but also implies several times, most notably through the coffin maker's story, that even Bruce believes that Jason is right. He believes that his precious second son deserved to be avenged, not even through bureaucratic or judicial means, but through death. UTRH is a story about Batman, all alone, making huge mistake after huge mistake.

Jason asks Batman to choose: him or me. The Joker or Jason. Your kids or a villain.

Batman chooses.

The Joker puts it the best, after Batman upholds his no-killing rule for the Joker by killing Jason.

"You managed to find a way to win... and everybody still loses!"

717 notes - Posted June 28, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[mae-gi-writes]

DISTRACTED || JAY (ENHYPHEN)

Jay has to go to work. Except, he keeps getting distracted by you.

Genre: bestfriends to lovers!au, fluff, confession time, heated makeout sesh

----

Jay is distracted.

More specifically, he's distracted by you.

Look, the thing is: he's someone who loves keeping track of his money. Hence the reason why he'd asked to share half of his rent with you and, considering that you've lived in the same dormitory for the entirety of your university life, the changes had been minimal, practically close to nothing. Having grown up on the same side of the road and seeing each other everyday did that to him; it made him take for granted that your friendship was somewhat special, somewhat different from the usual encounter with girls.

He's lived with you for a few weeks now, and he won't complain. You cook him meals that take him by surprise whenever he comes home from work, you make sure to wash his laundry when he forgets and in return, he does the same. It's quite an amazing teamwork that you've got with the young man. He's pretty certain that in another life, he would've gravitated towards you all over again.

So what is this?

Why is he feeling so weird?

To be honest, Jay had known that albeit the fact that you weren't popular among most of the male population -- the ones that lived on short skirts and high heels and perfect manicures -- you did have some potential candidates asking around for you. So, you're not completely erased from the dating scene.

But to be clear, you'd never been Jay's type.

So he feels like slapping himself upon catching his own eyes wandering over to the dampness dotting your collarbones.

I mean, he thinks to himself while quickly down at his coffee, it is an attractive sight.

You're the type of girl that holds a no-nonsense look, a wardrobe that consists of large t-shirts thay you've inherited from your older brothers and baggy shorts that did nothing to help your sex appeal in his opinion. You're the type of girl who always has her hair in a ponytail, who's always late to class and would rather stay home and chill instead of dressi.g up to go shopping and get pampered.

Jay, on the other hand, loves seeing girls getting dolled up, loves the feminity that it brings out, loves the show of legs, the clad, skin-tight tops that cinches at the waist, the type of girl that isn￠t scares to ask for help or to show that they're interested in romantic adventures.

But this morning is quite different. Because it seems as though a veil has just been lifted from Jay's eyes.

You, with your friggin collarbones dotted with the dampness of your morning shower, decked in your usual attire. Same, yet different.

Damn.

"What if they ask me about my previous jobs?" You're busy chatting on about your worries, about your interview and the possible questions that might follow but as much as he wants to comfort you, he just cannot be fucked when his eyes are so riveted on that naked patch of skin.

His lips tingle and he licks them.

Just as you say, "Jay? Earth to Jay? Hellooo?"

"H-Huh?" He snaps to attention, blinking as warmth seeps up his neck, "sorry, what d'you say?"

"I asked whether you think I should wear a dress or pants," you turn, press back against the kitchen counter and take a sip of your coffee, "I looked it up and google said dresses look more feminine, but pants are more professional."

He tries imagining you in a dress and his blood turns hot. He averts his gaze, "how am I supposed to know?" He mutters into his cup in a manner reminiscent of a sulky pup.

You cock your head curiously, an amused smile gracing your lips, "what is up your butt this morning?"

"Tired."

"You're always tired Jay," his toast pings and you place them on a plate before you hand it to him.

He thanks you quite sourly as he butters it a little too aggressively for your taste, "I got a lot of stuff to sort out at work."

What a pitiful excuse, his mind chimes.

"Oh yeah? Says the guy who was proclaming his job was the best."

"That was before overtime was a thing."

"Ahh overtime, the joy-killer," you say dramatically, even hold a hand to your forehead. Your own toaat pops out and you place your plate upon the counter opposite him, proceeding to spread peanut butter, "so, to answer my question: dress or pants?"

"Ppft. Neither--ow!" He yelps when you slap his shoulder, a pout forming on his face as he rubs the sore spot, "you're asking me this when you've never even worn them."

"You don't have to see me wear them," you roll your eyes and take a bite from your toast, "use your imagination a little."

He munches on his breakfast, "you're asking for too much."

"Oh my go-- you know what Jay? Nevermind. I'm just gonna wear the pants."

He's about to retort back a reply, only to get distracted by the way your t-shirt dips slightly to show more skin that needed. He spots the crevice that runs down and disappears underneath your t-shirt, which leaves little to the imagination.

He sucks in a sharp breath. Lord. The lord was testing him.

"--also, stop giving me so much sass. It's only like, seven in the morning and I--"

It's on impulse. One minute you're reprimanding him and the next, he's shot forward, grabbed on to your shirt, and yanked it back to hide your neck.

A surprised yelp falls from your lips, "what the fudge, Jay?!"

But now he's distracted, because by doing so means that he's so, so close to you. If he moves a little forward, your noses might brush.

Your lips, parted and looking oh-so-appetizing that he feels his entire body still.

Oh.

Oh wow.

Oh no.

He should not be looking at you like that. He should not be thinking up imaginary scenarios of kissing you senseless--

"Jay? Hey Jay?" Your voice brings him out of his thought bubble. You're tense, and he feels it.

"S-Sorry, I just--" his mind scrambles for something to get him back out of the gutter he's just fallen into heads-on, "sorry. You're...you gotta stop doing that."

"Doing--wha--what did I do?" You can't help but stutter and his heart practically lurches up to his throat because that is fucking adorable.

"N-Nothing," he drops your shirt, averting his eyes so as not to see it slip back down and exposing the said patch of skin he's been avoiding like the plague all morning, "I think the pants would be nice."

It's a pathetic attempt to try and turn things back to normal, but you accept it, trying not to show your concern by devoting your entire attention to your toast.

The rest of your breakfast is quiet and you wash the dishes in silence as you hear Jay changing in his room. It's almost quarter to eight, a little later than Jay would normally leave, but you decide that today is a little weird and maybe it should just be swept under the rug and ignored.

God knows you do not want to breach that small incident with your best friend. Nor do you want to get another reminder of your useless, endless crush on him.

You reach for his bag, set upon the said kitchen counter, and tuck his lunch inside as you usually do, when you feel a presence hovering behind you.

You turn, and gasp.

Jay's arms cage you against the counter, face so close you spot the small scar dotting the corner of his eye. And you almost lose breath at his closeness because goddamnit, you're not used to this.

Your hands grip his bag, a tight ball of cloth that separates your two bodies like a peace offering.

"Jay," you say quietly, "what are you doing?"

But it's almost like you've just lost him to another world.

His eyes are glazed over, and his chest rises and falls with every shallow breath. He looks breathless, though you're certain he's got the lung capacity of an Olympain athlete.

He looks hot.

"Jay," you try again, "what are you--"

Your sentence is cut short when he leans in close. Nose along your neck. Brushing against skin.

Oh.

"H-Hey," your stuttering doesn't stop the said young man from nuzzling into the crook of your neck like a giant feline in need of affection. He lets out a soft sigh that tingles the skin at your collarbone. You tense in response, uncertain of what's about to unfold.

What is this?

You can hear the soft rumble at the back of his throat, the scent of his boy deodorant wafting through your nostrils as you feel his lips skim your nape, along your jaw, to rest at the corner of your ear.

You don't want to move. For fear that this, whatever this is, is just a piece of your wild imagination.

Maybe you're dreaming. You should be dreaming.

When Jay speaks next, his alto his hoarse, raspy with emotion:

"Y/N, I'm sorry but..." he takes another breath that shudders through his shoulders, "I’m going to try something.”

"Wh-What?”

“Just—Just trust me.”

And before you have time to react, Jay’s hands are cupping your cheeks before he pulls you in for a kiss.

His mouth slants over yours in the purest of ways, causing a series of goosebumps to prickle along your spine. You take in a sharp breath, but Jay kisses that away as he holds your face in place and kisses you senseless, until you’re light-headed, until you feel like you’re floating on cloud nine.

Slowly, you kiss back and Jay groans lowly at the back of his throat, one of his hands slipping down your arm, curving along the back of your elbow before grasping your hip. He pulls you closer to him as if you’re a drug and he’s in need of you, desperate for a taste, and the intensity at which his mouth moves over yours causes something to ignite in your chest.

A small gasp echoes through the back of your throat when Jay tilts his head and, slowly buy skillfully, swipes his tongue over your bottom lip. You feel light-headed, dizzy with Jay’s scent and Jay’s touch and Jay’s taste. It’s almost scary how quickly you fold under his hands as pliant as origami paper, and you’re not quite sure what to make of all this sudden realization.

But that is quickly shoved out of your head the moment his tongue manages to slip past your lips. You let out a strangled whimper, which Jay responds to with a growl of his own. His body presses you back against the counter, one thigh sliding in-between your legs and causing another gasp out of you, while a hand cards through your hair, fisting through the strands like he fears of letting go.

“Jay,” you murmur out the moment your mouths part. You gaze at each other, breathless and trying to blink away the sudden haziness of it all.

If you’re dreaming, you wish to never wake up.

You swallow hard instead. Your eyes flutter to the ground, to the way his body seems to mold with yours and, maybe realizing that the young man is pressed against you, your cheeks flush a bright red.

“What was that?”

Jay, on the other hand, does not appear the least embarrassed by what has just transpired. He leans in closer to nuzzle the crook of your neck in what seems to be affection.

“Jay,” you call out in warning. You hate it when he gets like this; locks away his thoughts for you to decipher.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what that was, okay?” He mumbles into your skin. His breath fans against your collarbones and that makes you shiver, “maybe I…maybe I like you. Maybe that’s it. I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, maybe you like me?”

Pulling away, it’s his eyes that are glued to the edge of the kitchen counter now. You wouldn’t be surprised if he starts shuffling his feet like a primary school kid getting scolded by his teacher.

There’s a silence that falls over the room as you wait for Jay’s response. It stretches on indefinitely. A warp in time that makes you hold your breath.

“I do.”

Your eyes snap up to his face. But he’s not—or rather— he can’t look you straight in the eye.

His hand comes up to rub the back of his neck and it’s almost instinct that he starts backing away from you in an attempt to protect some of that damn pride of his. The little that he has left.

“I do like you,” he whispers.

You swear your heart starts singing.

Your eyes find his. They lock. And you probably stare him down for more time than you should’ve.

“Do you…” you swallow thickly, the weight of emotion settling in your chest, "do you mean that?"

A pause. Jay, flustered red and looking everywhere but you, croaks out, "I do."

You can't help it. You start laughing.

Adorable.

It's a small chuckle at first. And then, seeing the furrowed confusion on Jay's face makes you laugh even harder.

"Oh I'm so sorry, Jay--" you clamp your lips down and cover your mouth with your hand as Jay bellows out, "what's so funny?"

"Nothing! Nothing at all--"

"You're making fun of me aren't you?" He leans back into your personal space and you yelp, hands latching onto his shoulders for support when you lose balance.

"I'm really not! I swear," you can't help the grin practically splitting your face in two, "I wasn't expecting you to be so serious--"

"I am serious, Y/N."

"I mean yeah, but like--"

"Wow. I confess to you and the only thing you can do is laugh in my face?" He looks offended, though his hands lacing around your waist tell another story, "I'm hurt."

"That's not it," you flash him a grin, giggles still lingering upon your tongue and you don't know that, but Jay swears he feels his entire tummy flip upside down.

He's gotten it...what was it that Heeseung said?

Oh right. He got it bad.

Though at the time, there was no way Jay believed Heeseung when his friend told him that love was bound to happen between the two of you.

"Do you?" He presses on to move the subject away from him.

You cock your head, "Do I?"

"Do you--I mean, if you didn't you wouldn't have kissed back..." his words trail off as a frown falls over his brows, "right?"

Your grin widens, "right."

"Stop smiling at me like that," his cheeks are a vibrant red, looking as though he'd like to be anywhwre but here at this precise moment, "it's creepy."

"Jay, you're blushing."

He jerks away, "I am not"

You laugh some more as your arms slip up to his neck and tug him closer, "aw, you're all flustered and stuff, it's so cute--"

Jay interrupts you with another kiss, presses long and hard until you're a gasping mess against his mouth.

He parts slowly, lips milimeters from each other, "not so chatty now, are you?" He breathes.

"That's cheating," you're the one blushing now. It's not all the time you get to see your best friend like this, all charm and charisma. You decide quickly that you quite like this side of Jay.

He smiles. That tender, affectionate smile that makes butterflies erupt through your chest, and as he brings you in for another hug, you close your eyes and hug back just as hard. You love basking in the comfort of his scent, of the warmth that wraps around you in a blissful utopia.

"Oh shit."

Jay pulls back so suddenly you lose balance.

"I'm gonna be late for work."

------

"Jay, you're going to be late," you mumble against Jay's lips as he keeps on pressing insistent kisses. His arms wind around the back of your thighs, lifting you up without warning as you yelp in indignation.

"Jay!"

But he doesn't seem to hear your warning, smothering your protests with his mouth dancing against yours and making your toes curl in delight.

You'll never get tired of this, of Jay spending his mornings kissing you till you're gasping for breath, of Jay showering you with so much that you have no idea where to put your hands.

He's kissing you now after placing you atop the counter and sliding between your thighs. One hand cupping your jaw while the other holds your waist against him, you whimper out his name in a breathy moan when his mouth goes to nibble along your jaw.

"So pretty," he murmurs, the hand at your waist dropping to your clothed thigh, "god, I've been missing out."

"Yup, you have indeed--" your words turn to a gasp as he starts suckling on a patch of skin close to your ear. The hand at your jaw slips up to card through your still-damp locks while his other hand pushes your basketball shorts up to reveal naked akin.

That's enough to cause fireworks to explode behind your lids. You let out another small whimper, unable to help yourself as Jay starts a slow path of kisses down your neck, grumbling in satisfaction as he does so.

"Don't blame me--" you stutter out as he finds your sensitive spot that makes you hiss in delight, "--if your boss gives you shit--"

"Oh shush," his breath against your skin makes it tingle. He kisses his way back up to press one long kiss against your mouth.

"You're impossible," you say the moment he parts, arms around your waist in a loose hug and a lazy grin dancing on his mouth, "I know."

"Now go, or you'll really be late."

Groaning, he does as he's told though, and you walk him up to the door as he gathers his bag, coat and shoves his shoes on.

"See you tonight," you smile at him.

He throws you an annoyed look. Clearly, he isn't amused about the fact that you're pushing him out of the house and you swear he looks like the spitting image of a forlorn pup.

"What?" You jab at his shoulder playfully, "stop looking at me like that."

"Can I call in sick?"

"No!"

"But what if I really am si--"

"No you're not--"

He leans forward too kick for you register until he's kissing you again. A hard smack against your mouth.

"Love you."

You watch him go, a slow smile creeping over your lips.

"Love you too."

[hansolmates]

shiver | 01 (m)

banner done by the wonderful @dnrequests​

summary; jungkook changed since he moved out of his small town church community and attended college. when he returns for a christmas mass, you suddenly crave a taste of his fun and carefree life. in exchange, jungkook craves a taste of you pairing; bad boy!jungkook x church girl!reader genre/warnings; childhood friends to lovers, brief childhood friends to enemies, fwb!au, catholic guilt, jungkook is a meanie who eventually turns into a soft tsundere, bicuriosity, sexual exploration, virgin!oc, eventual smut—in this installment: touching over the clothes, mc is hornee, *pulls out cards against humanity* “a gentle caress of the inner thigh”, panty kissin, mc is a big ol’ pushover and hopeful for jkk:(( w/c; 1.9k a/n; it’s here! aaaaaa!!! i’ve been really eally realllyyyyyy nervous to post this. even though this is just a drabble series  let me know how you feel about it! enjoy [shiver masterpost]

“Oh, you’re so dead.” 

Jeon Jungkook isn’t thaaaat buff, he's more of a skinny kind of muscular. You don’t understand the hype, why everyone croons over Jungkook’s strength and physique. However, how else could you explain Jungkook being able to climb the currently dilapidated fire escape to the top floor of the chapel. The ladder is rusted beyond repair and is definitely a fire hazard rather than a fire escape. Yet he barely breaks a sweat doing it, and he wipes the minor sheen off his brow with the back of his hand. There’s some soot and whatever nasty residue from the fire escape that gets on his face, a black streak marring his already annoying face. He’s currently wiggling his fingers in a sarcastic “hello.” It makes you sneer, your two consciousness (inappropriate and appropriate) warring against each other to determine whether you still find this man attractive or not. 

Convincing yourself that Jungkook is ugly is the worst quick-fix idea you’ve ever had. 

The words of your Aunties, the family friends in the church, echo in your ears. Jungkook’s bad. They’d say over and over. It would cause you to snort and giggle, unable to imagine what sort of things he’s done to warrant such a cliché label. Yet some of the girls your age, girls that have gone off to college agree with sultry looks and longing eyes that yes, Jungkook’s bad. So bad, it’s good. 

You haven’t a clue what he’s actually done to earn such a hushed title, his parents are lip-tight about his doings, unless it’s his achievements in the architecture graduate program. You hear things, though. Things that make you shamefully green with envy, envious of sin. 

As soon as he finds proper footing in the storage room, he goes to the closet, immediately finding his backup clothes. They’re plain white button-downs, awkward long shirts with no shape or definition to them. They belong to the church, and no one ever uses them because they’re stiff and itchy. Yet Jungkook wears them like it’s tailored, and you have to look away when he quickly knots the bottom half of the shirt, fashioning it into a tasteful double knot in order to cinch his lean waist.

“Pretty sure it was just you that saw me,” Jungkook says dismissively, “so it’s fine.” 

This bristles you the wrong way, and you put down the catering covers you were supposed to return to the storage room. You smooth out your Sunday dress, this shade of Boring Beige looking particularly pale in the morning sun. “How do you know I won’t tell?” you turn your nose up. 

“Because I know,” he doesn’t even look at you, focusing on rolling the sleeves of his shirt. You weaken when you see the black shadowing across his forearm. That’s new, then again you haven’t seen him since last Christmas.   

“Know what?” 

“That you have a crush on me,” Jungkook says into the air like it’s common knowledge, adjusting the leather jacket on top of his outfit so the white-startched collar pops on top, “I mean, it’s hard for anyone not to know. You’ve been into me since youth group, Bunny.”  

You hold your breath, counting to ten as you close the door behind you. A vision of you playing “Duck Duck Goose” as a five year old plays in your head, where you’d pick a bushy, big-eyed Jeon Jungkook each time, hopping over to him to pat his fluffy head so he’d chase you around. 

It’s old news, your puppy love for Jungkook. How could you not like him? He's clever and sweet with his mother and always told the best stories in youth group meetings.  Everyone thought your affections were so sweet, and while that attention weaned over time, your feelings have only increased the more self-aware you’ve become. 

With a mind as open and honest is yours, it’s hard to ignore how well Jungkook has grown. What has also grown is your curiosities since the two of you have moved onto university. Jungkook goes to the university uptown, a far drive which only forces him attend masses during the holidays. You attended the local community college, wrapping up a bachelors in some vague major that you’re not attached to. You’re currently looking around for some graduate schools, but unfortunately you’ve been so wrapped up doing duties for Pastor Nina that you haven’t been able to look around properly. 

Jungkook’s probably living a fun life, with the way he’s grown rough and loose, you resent him. 

When you turn back around, Jungkook’s right in front of you, trapping you between his body and the door.  

“Don’t be embarrassed, Bunny,” you furrow your brows, nearly growing cross-eyed when he leans in. “I think your crush is cute.” 

You’re not sure what he thinks of you. Sure, he considered everyone a friend when you two were in youth group, but that was youth group. Premeditated, parents forcing other children to do the same things with each other for years upon years in the hope they’ll practice together forever and ever. Jungkook did not want that, evident from the way he dipped his duties as soon as he got into university. 

You hate how easy he dips back into it though, calling you Bunny and making you feel like a little girl all over again. Bunny, because you’d hop around to him whenever he was in sight. Bunny, because Jungkook had been fondly compared to the wide-eyed, diamond-toothed creature. It was cute when you were five. Now, it’s just discomfiting. 

“Don’t call me that,” you bite, “and I don’t like you anymore.” 

“Sure you don’t,” he rolls his eyes, and you flinch when Jungkook’s hand rests on the curve of your waist, fingers slotting themselves between the pleats of your skirt. “That’s why you’re not moving away when I’m about to put my hand under your skirt. Because you don’t like me.” 

You press yourself further into the door, your skin hot and vibrating. So warm, you feel like you could melt through the door and escape from Jungkook’s gaze. Sure, the young ladies in the congregation talk. Maybe you’ve heard a story or two about Jungkook being seedy, a result of being repressed after years and years of stiff routines and expectations thrust upon him. You could care less about Jungkook’s sexual appetite, until this appetite has reached you. 

“Mm, you’re pretty,” Jungkook’s eyes roam your form, the daisy white blouse doing nothing to barricade Jungkook’s sudden interest in you, “you’ve never been touched like this, have you?” 

“I’ve touched myself like this,” you hiss in defense, and it’s more out of anger than in pleasure. You don’t need a man to comfort you, but Jungkook’s eyes sparkle in mirth at the new information. 

“That’s really sexy,” Jungkook slips down, roams his fingers down to your ankles and plays with the silver buckles of your Mary Janes. You shiver when his hands trail up up up to your knees, the swell of your thighs, and catch right under the elastic seam that holds your secrets together, “but I’ll have you know, it’s different when you have someone hold your pleasure in their hands.” 

You’re in the storage room of your church, fifteen minutes before the Christmas mass, with Jeon Jungkook’s head between your legs. Your skirt is long, and Jungkook doesn’t bother to ride it up your waist. 

It feels more forbidden that way, Jungkook hiding under the fabric of your skirt to get to your honeyed center, sneaking his way in with rough hands and soft touches.

“J-Jungkook,” you whimper, pressing your full spine against the wooden door, “we shouldn’t. N-not like this.”

What is wrong with you? Is it sheer curiosity? Do you just want to know what it finally, finally feels like? You should be pushing him away. There’s red lights flashing back and forth in your brain like sirens. Yet, do you really want to turn away the attention you’ve been aching for years? 

You imagined your first time to be relatively special. The bare minimum, a bed, a talk, and a partner you’re mutually committed to. None of those things are met. Now you understand why all the young women in church whisper about sex like this. It’s a spur of the moment, it’s an unbridled pleasure you don’t want to stop, no matter how forbidden and sinful the act is.  

“How else then?” you feel his deep voice straight through your panties, his lips whispering between the pink cotton like he’s sinking liquid heat into your skin. “I can’t sink my fingers into your sweet cunt during the candle lighting. Or when we open presents with the family after. That would be inappropriate.” 

Your replies come out in breaths, puffs of air that conceal the moans you so badly want to let out as Jungkook pokes and rubs at you. He does nothing beyond the cotton fabric, only slides two fingers up and down your slit as he gathers the arousal between his digits. 

“So wet already, that’s so sexy,” he’s kissing your core, and you sigh fretfully at the pleasure that feels so close yet so far away. 

“P-please, Jungkook…” 

“Please what?” Jungkook teases, fingers slipping back and forth between the elastic of your underwear, “please stop? Please touch me? Please fuck me?” 

The church bell answers that, and Jungkook’s nose knocks right into your bud at the sudden intrusion. You yelp at the jarring stimulation, pulling him from under your skirts as the loud noise echoes in the room. Both of you wince at the pain, the moment interjected. 

“You first,” Jungkook casually opens the door for you, as if he didn’t have you ten seconds away from begging him to make you come. 

You don’t even look at him as you dash away, not bothering to take the elevator in favor of running off the heat. Two minutes before the procession. The church is packed to the brim, only the back seats left. Your family probably gave up on waiting for you up in the front. As you sit down in the corner, you’re momentarily distracted by the beauty of a decorated church on Christmas. Even though you’re part of the decorating committee and commanded most of the design, seeing the stained glass lit up with fairy lights and the poinsettia plants blooming burgundy on the altar, you’re impressed. 

“There’s a draft here, you must be cold.” Jungkook talks to you so politely, a perfect picture of a gentleman as he drapes his leather jacket over your lap. He speaks as if it’s a pleasant surprise, a childhood friend he hasn’t seen in nearly a year. 

You can’t tell him to move when people are watching and Jungkook is seconds from interrupting the procession, so you reluctantly scoot over so he can sit next to you. His scent overwhelms you even more now that you’ll have to sit next to him for a whole hour, lavender and vanilla overtaking your pew. 

The jacket is heavy and heady on your lap, and you force yourself to stare straight ahead. Jungkook cannot weaken you like this, not anymore. 

Thirty minutes later, his fingers are hovering at the start of the homily, caressing your thighs under the jacket with his big hands. A draft? Please. You clamp your thighs together, knocking your knees and hoping they’d lock together for the rest of the mass. Jungkook’s a master key, easily parting his way as if your muscles are pure jelly. You turn your head sharply, glaring at him with all the fire in the world. 

“Careful,” Jungkook mouths, eyes flickering to the symbol atop the podium, “he’s watching.” 

His fingers finally brush the damp blush cotton of your panties, and you shudder. 

[carletes]

Let’s talk about roaring 20s au then. Do you have like outfit inspirations or sth?

Yes yes yes. Carlos has a lot more of the conventional 1920s structured suits with the low waists, immaculately tailored to his body. Shoulders? BROAD. Hair? SLIGHTLY SLICKED BACK BUT NOT IN A SLIMY WAY, the waves still escape as God intended. Suspenders and harness? YES YES YEP. A little bit of Cillian Murphy from Peaky Blinders. Now please imagine Carlos smoking a cigarette while he reads a book and reads poetry to an utterly disinterested Caco.

Lando, on the other hand, plays with the suit game a little. His suits tend to be more fitted to his bodies; the pants are cut just above his ankles, and the legs taper. His waistcoats are almost corseted, so they're actually cinched at the back. As a result, even though his suit jacket is looser in the style of the 20s, when he moves, you can see his waist to its full, slender effect. He wears his hair finger-waved, decorated with subtle little pearls. In fact, that's sort of his signature; little pearls around his neck at night, pinned to his lapel, as cuff-links, etc. He also wears a little bit of make up! Very subtle but surprisingly dramatic; smoked out eyes, sooty-mascara, rouge to round his cheeks, rouge on his lips to exaggerate his cupid's bow, eyebrows a little longer at the tail to contribute to that doe-eyed look. Just that extra bit of femininity, subverting the burden of androgyny on women in the 20s.

[pinespittinink]

Find The Word Tag

@baroquesse tagged me in my favorite game on here~~ thank you so much! These are all from The Great Glavenisean Theater

🎭 TAKE 🎭

It does not take me long to find Magnolia Boulevard, counting street signs as I step among the bustling nighttime crowd. The sky peeking between the spires and skyscrapers is streaked with peach and rosy lavender, dusk descending to darkness crowned by diamond night and dazzling light. A horn blares from the busying street as I turn a corner, the sight of the Glavenisean Theater seated at the end of Magnolia Boulevard meeting me like a golden throne, a more opulent seat than any giant king or lord of men could ask for.

🎭 TEAR 🎭

The musicians are moving about in the pit, flipping their sheet music and gathering their instruments as they slip through a side door beneath the stage. I tear my gaze away from them to look up the great height of the curtains, towering like velvet skyscrapers laden with tassels and gold thread. For a moment, my heart beats in my mouth, and I crane my neck further, staring up at the ceiling and blinking at the opulently dark painted garden there.

🎭 THANK 🎭

“Seonghwa,” the chorus girl says, wiggling out through the crowd. She is clad in a tulle dress, cream skirts flouncing out from her tiny waist as pearls bud at her ears and around her small ivory neck. “The Hortenzie canapés are here, and the little cakes from Buona Tarta. Are you coming inside?”

“We’ll be in soon, thank you, Yeseul,” Seonghwa replies, and the girl beams at him as though she’s swallowed the sun. Ribbons drape down from her hair as she spins away, and Seonghwa heaves an exhilarated sort of sigh, cinching Travis with an arm around his waist.

🎭 TIE 🎭

A kind of delirium wrinkles over me as the party balloons, my tie and topmost buttons loosening amid the steamy heat. I don’t know what time it is, how late into the evening the hours have stretched. Seonghwa and Travis reappear among the spilled shots, a bouquet dripping in Seonghwa’s arms that I’m sure has been lifted from an empty vase somewhere.

🎭 TREE 🎭

I take a drink from my glass, the alcohol bubbling and searing a little down my throat. Another child rushes past me, and I follow their tracks to the woman I spied earlier at the door. Her chestnut hair is buoyed up into an elegant pouf on her head, stray strands flouncing down around her face, still wearing an exasperated expression as she corralls the children around her, a group of four that must be no more than six or seven years old.

“Sam,” the woman says, tugging on the arm of a girl, “Samantha. Don’t go running off, you all have work to do.”

“I know, I know, Amanda. The house is empty, we can go!”

“Can I have a candy?” one of the smaller ones asks, a fistful of the woman’s dress in their hand.

“When you’re done,” the woman says, rubbing a hand at the back of the girl’s curls, her tone stern still. “Where is Winnie?”

“She was in the house,” Sam says, tugging against Amanda’s grip like a doll. “She’s probably under the seats already.”

“Fine, fine,” Amanda says, relinquishing her hold. “Go on, gather up the programs. Make sure Winnie doesn’t fall asleep again. She’s impossible to find in that place after hours.”

The children disperse from her like birds taking flight from a tree, darting together around the legs of the adults and out of sight. I watch Amanda palm at her collar, the look of a tired chaperone worn over her, before she too disappears through a back door, skirting a group of chorus girls still in their finale ribbons and tulle, only their slippers shed to stockinged feet.

💕💕💕 I’m tagging: @bebewrites @laufire-writes @mr-writes @memento-morri-writes @equusgirl-writes @italiangothicwriteblr and @thewriteflame

📝📝📝 your words are: blood, veins, fingers, hand, & breath

[wordsnwhiskey]

As It Should Be | Chapter 2: All Hell Breaks Loose

Summary: Alright y’all the smut is here. After making your escape from the gala, you, Whiskey and Frankie are left with a new dilemma: you’ve all been exposed to whatever amorous agent was released at the gala, and Frankie’s ability to focus on flying is running thin. Fantasies are fulfilled, but new concerns arise.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Sex Pollen, dub con (a given with sex pollen but it’s all good), bondage, MMF, P in V, unprotected sex (wrap it up y’all), oral (M & F receiving), mild injury due to improper usage of a lasso, mentions of prior drug use, a smattering of spanking (I think a grand total of 2). If I’m missing anything, let me know.

A/N: Here we are at some smut, courtesy of a sex pollen-esque device. I HC that Frankie is a total switch in this verse. There’s a touch of angst towards the end. Also, it’s worth noting that in this verse, while Frankie was engaged, he does not have a kid. Special shout out and thanks to my friend E, now going by Agent Capri Sun and my amazing esposa, @danniburgh​ for the beta and encouragement! ~5.9k WC

Chapter 1: Reunions & Things Past  [AO3]

Whiskey is beyond impressed with Frankie and the fact that they’re still in the air. His gaze flickered down to Frankie’s lap where Whiskey could clearly see his cock straining against the slacks he wore. Your moan pulls Whiskey’s attention away from Frankie. Looking over, he sees you trying to paw your dress off. Hanging his head for a moment, Frankie opens his eyes and exhales.

“Get her off the headset, I can’t--  fuck!”

You moan again and Frankie’s hips buck involuntarily.

“¡Mierda! Get her off the fucking headset. C-can’t concentrate, just wanna…”

He shook his head, trying to clear his mind of the thought of sinking into you. This prompted Whiskey to move quickly, needing to get you out of Frankie’s ears if they wanted to land safely. You felt Jack’s large, warm hands grip your arms, and you whimpered at the way they seemed to burn through you. He gently pulled the headset from your head and set it down to the side.

“Jack… Please, it’s so hot. Need you to-“

Whiskey shudders at your words and the feel of your skin under his touch.

“No sweetheart, we gotta wait. Hang in there, darlin’.”

By the time they finally touch down, Frankie’s breath is beyond ragged, he looks over his shoulder at you grinding into your hand and playing with your tits, a low growl bubbling up from his chest.

“Go! Take her inside. I gotta cover up the helo!”

Whiskey nodded, picking you up and carrying you into the safehouse while you clutched at him, kissing and nibbling at his neck. You whimper when he turns to leave. Your body is on fire, the overwhelming desire --no, overwhelming need-- to have Jack everywhere, most importantly, inside you, is raging and wreaking havoc.

“Shhh, sweetheart, I know it hurts. I’ll be right back. Gotta go check on your pilot first, baby.”

Images of both Frankie and Jack come to mind. Feeling their mouths hot yet soothing on your skin, sliding through your folds, and their cocks driving inside of you, pushing you to new heights of pleasure. You moaned out Frankie’s name and Jack chuckled. He had an inkling as to what came to your mind, having coaxed you into spilling your fantasies while he was buried deep inside of you.

Outside, Frankie was stumbling, trying to get a camouflaged tarp over the helicopter to hopefully prevent any drones from noticing the aircraft. Whiskey hurried over to Frankie, taking one side of the tarp and running it to the front, cinching it down near the nose of the helicopter. He heard Frankie let out a loud groan, watching as the man sank to his knees, the final remnants of his resolve crumbling at Whiskey’s feet. The Statesmen agent was once again reminded just how tightly Frankie had been clinging to his sanity, pushing his pain and bodily needs aside until his job was done. Whiskey’s own thoughts were pushed aside, however, when Frankie started to frantically paw at his belt and slacks. He whined while he palmed himself, completely uncaring, on his knees, outside, seeking some sort of relief, only a few feet away from Whiskey.

“Hey, Flyboy!”

Jack shouted, trying to break Frankie’s concentration for a moment, only to be met with dark, hazy, lust-blown eyes and another whine.

“Well shit, if that ain’t one of the hottest things I ever did--“

Whiskey cut himself off, grunting as he readjusted himself and hauled Frankie up by one arm.

“C’mon, gotta get you inside, Flyboy.”

“Y’gotta tie -mmmmfuck- me up… Don-don’t wanna ta-take ad-whine- advan--“

Whiskey swore. Frankie’s small whimpers were making him want to shove the pilot to the ground and take him right there. His hold on Frankie’s arm tightened to a bruising grip, and he nodded in agreement. Despite the fact that you had voiced your fantasies, Jack didn’t want you to do anything that you hadn’t explicitly stated you wanted.

The sight that greeted them stopped them cold. Your dress had been tossed to the floor, and your fingers were plunging inside your cunt, desperately seeking your release. Frankie’s body stiffened, standing up straight. He took a step towards you before Whiskey tugged him back, putting him in an open chair. Very aware of the more than dull ache of his erection and your delicious moans, Jack worked quickly, hastily tying Frankie’s wrists to the legs of the chair with his lasso before turning back to you. The hungry look in his eyes prompted you to moan for Whiskey, a predatory smile split his face and Frankie whimpered in response to your moan.

“Lo siento, hermosa. El te va ayudar.” [I’m sorry, beautiful. He’s going to help you.]

Frankie’s words came out strangled, hips bucking and hands struggling at Whiskey’s lasso keeping him bound.

“I’m here, baby, Jack’s here, shhhh.”

A cry leaves your lips when you finally feel Jack’s mouth latch onto one of your nipples, his moustache tickling the turgid skin damp from his tongue, and rough, calloused fingers tweaked your other nipple. Teeth grazed your clavicle, breasts, tummy, hips and thighs, each nip soothed by his sinful tongue.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, baby girl. You want my tongue in that sweet cunt?”

Frankie’s cry of frustration eclipses your own cry of pleasure. Whiskey’s tongue finally delves between your folds, lapping at your slick. Tied down to the chair, Frankie can do little more than buck helplessly and watch as you tug Whiskey’s hair, your nonsensical pleading only increasing, breaking into keening moans when his thick fingers finally dip inside your soaked cunt. Whiskey’s moans echo your own, loving the small pin pricks of pain as you tugged his hair, egging him on and begging for more.

Your sharp gasp cuts through the wet noises Whiskey encourages from you as teeth graze your clit. Crying out for him, your fingers twist and grip him tighter, holding him to you, his fingers pumping in and out in a way that has your chest heaving, desperate for air. Your voice catches in your throat when he curls his fingers inside of you, his lips wrapped around your bundle of nerves. You swear for a moment you’re blinded when you finally reach the high your body had been aching for since escaping the gala. Jack’s fingers and tongue are the only things keeping you grounded to this plane, gently stroking you through the pleasure cascading through your body, his tongue greedy for your taste. Your orgasm is searing in its intensity, yet for a brief glorious moment, there is relief from the burning stoked deep inside of you by the amorous agent.

Jack’s hum of approval sends a shudder up your spine. You whimper when he slides two fingers back inside, a smirk playing at his lips after he savors your taste. Standing, he gathers more of your cum on his fingers and steps over to Frankie. Frankie’s mouth opens without question, a pained moan sounding around Whiskey’s fingers, tongue twisting and sucking fervently. Curiously, Whiskey pushes his fingers further into Frankie’s mouth, breath catching when the pilot’s eyes roll back a little. Another low moan rumbles from Whiskey’s chest in response.

“Well, shit, Flyboy.”

Frankie looks exquisitely debauched, belt hanging undone, slacks unbuttoned and askew giving you a view of his straining boxer briefs stained darker by a growing wet patch. The way his arms were tied behind his back pulled his shirt tight across his broad chest, exposing a bit of his stomach and a sparse trail of hair that dipped below the waistband of his underwear. His jaw worked greedily around Jack’s fingers. Yes, he looked exquisitely debauched. You could feel the burning need start to build again at the sight. While yes, you had certainly fantasized being with both Jack and Frankie, you also wanted to see them enjoy each other. Breaking from your fantasies, you slide off of the bed and move over to Whiskey. A smirk teases at your lips while you snake your arms around his waist, undoing his slacks and shoving them and his boxers down. Frankie groaned again, watching intently as you stroked Whiskey’s hard, thick length, a hunger in both yours and Frankie’s eyes at the sight of it. Jack pulled his fingers from Frankie’s mouth, smirking at the whine left behind in their wake, then turned his attention to you and your ministrations.

“Remember what we talked about the other night, Jack?” You purred.

A low, hearty chuckle erupted from him. He nodded permission but gripped your wrist and nuzzled your shoulder before you could move.

“I’m gonna fuck your tight little cunt while you do though, Sugar.”

A shudder ran down your spine at his low, gravelly voice. You moaned at the thought before nodding and turning to Frankie, his chest heaving as he watched the two of you.

“Can I have you, Frankie?”

“Fuuuck me, yes hermosa [beautiful], por favor.”

Frankie’s hips sought your touch, your fingers burning him as they connected with his skin. You tugged on his slacks and boxer briefs. Without needing to be asked, Frankie planted his feet to give himself the leverage to lift his hips and provide just enough room for you to drag his bottoms down to his ankles. He hastily kicked them and his shoes off.

Frankie moaned. His cock finally sprung free, the dull thud of it smacking against his belly making you lick your lips. He’d always been modest, usually not one to rise to the dick measuring contests Benny and Pope would instigate, but you’d known there was something more than just his charm that made the ladies at the base giggle about him, and boy, was there. His thick cock twitched and leaked under your gaze.

“Wow, Frankie…”

Frankie’s gaze was dark and needy. He would have preened more at your words had he not been so desperate to feel you. A sharp slap to your rear pulled you from your ogling. With a yelp, you turn to Whiskey, wondering why he could be jealous all of a sudden, only to find glowing mischief and lust in his dark eyes.

“Well, don’t keep the poor man waiting, sweetheart. Have some mercy and show him how good your pretty little mouth feels.”

You push back into Whiskey’s hips, grinding into him as you bend over, bracing yourself on Frankie’s thighs, moaning when he lets out a sob of relief as the heat of your mouth envelops the head of his cock.

“Ohhhh shit, shit, Halcón-“

Frankie keens your callsign, drawn out in a mixture of pleasure and pain. Looking up as you bob up and down, you can see him straining against Jack’s lasso, his upper body bending forward as much as he can, desperate to touch you, to be closer to you. You run a hand over his bare thigh, marveling at the way the muscles tremble beneath your touch while your tongue swirls around him. Another sharp slap on your ass makes you pause and look over your shoulder.

“Christ, Sugar, I said have some mercy on him, not tease him to death.”

Whiskey’s hands were at your hips, kneading gently as you took more of Frankie in your mouth, establishing a rhythm that had him bucking up into you. Jack took the opportunity to push into you, thick cock splitting you open and pushing you forward, making Frankie’s cock inch deeper down your throat.

“Damn, baby girl, look at you taking us so well. Does he feel as good down your throat as you thought he would?”

“Fuck!”

Frankie cries out when you moan around him, watching wild-eyed as Whiskey leans forward, pinning you down on Frankie’s cock. Whiskey cups your throat, squeezing slightly to feel the bound and desperate man’s cock moving in and out.

“Oh, fu- I’m- ¡mierda! Baby, I’m gonna-“

Frankie’s body tenses, muscles coiling in anticipation, his arms and wrists tugging, thrashing at his restraints. His hips giving one final thrust as he pitches forward. Whiskey moans, feeling Frankie pulsing down your throat, waiting until you’ve swallowed everything Frankie has to offer before he pulls back to let you gasp for air.

“Fuck, hermosa, that was… amazing.”

Frankie wanted so badly to touch you, the thick emotion in his voice vibrating throughout your body. Not able to restrain himself any longer, Whiskey adjusts his grip on your hips and begins thrusting into you in earnest.

“We ain’t done yet, Sugar.”

Each word is punctuated by a thrust as Jack builds a steady but brutal pace. Your arms were tired from bracing yourself, but Whiskey seemed to understand and held you to him with an arm around your waist. His other hand, however, buried itself in your hair and tugged sharply, forcing your gaze to meet Frankie’s. You clench at the sight, his normally soft brown eyes glittered just as darkly as Jack’s. Frankie ducked his head to kiss you, moaning into your mouth while he claimed you with a hunger born of years of wanting to feel your lips against his.

“You want your pilot in your cunt next, baby girl? Gonna cum in you, sweetheart, then you can ride him. Let him feel how wet and tight this gorgeous goddamn cunt is.”

Frankie let out a low grunt, as if the air had been punched from his chest. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he’d actually be able to feel you around him. The pained grunt from Frankie and the feeling of your tight walls fluttering around him were all it took to send Whiskey over the edge. Whiskey gritted his teeth as you clenched around him, cumming hard around his cock.

“Fuck, baby, that’s it!“

His hand disentangled from your hair to find purchase on your shoulder, giving him the leverage he craved while he fucked you through his orgasm.

You would have collapsed onto Frankie if it weren’t for Whiskey’s arm keeping you upright. His deep, hard thrusts gave way to shallow, gentle ones as he came down from his high. Gently, Whiskey rubbed your hip with his thumb then pulled you against his chest, nuzzling and kissing your shoulder.

“You ok, Sugar? Hmmm? You got more in you?”

You hum and nod, steadying yourself against Jack. He slipped out of you with a groan, hands still at your waist. Having not been as exposed as you or Frankie, the unbearable fire from the amorous agent had died down and Whiskey’s head was much clearer. The same could not be said, however, for Frankie, his lust-hazed gaze sending a shiver down your spine.

Stepping forward from Whiskey, you straddled Frankie’s thighs, fingers quickly working to undo the rest of the buttons on his shirt, giving you access to his toned, golden chest. The muscles in his stomach trembled under your inquisitive fingers as you pushed the fabric away from him until it hung, bunched up at his biceps. Drawing your bottom lip between your teeth, you look up at him and adjust so you can slide down his girthy length. Nothing could have prepared him for the sheer ecstasy he felt as you took him in.

“Mierda, amo- fuck you’re so- mmmm, so wet, feel so good, baby.”

Whiskey walked around behind Frankie while you began to bounce up and down on his cock. The pilot was straining against the lasso in earnest, now that he was finally inside you, he had to touch you. He moaned in surprise, feeling the tension of his restraints disappear as Whiskey released him. A wave of guilt crested over Whiskey when he saw how raw Frankie’s wrists were. The pilot seemed not to notice, though, as he quickly tore his shirt the rest of the way off. Whiskey’s attention was brought from his wrists back to you by the feral growl Frankie let out at finally being able to grip your hips and truly leverage his thrusts into you.

“Frankie!”

His name rips the breath from your lungs and you see stars with each Earth-shattering thrust, clinging to him while he fucks you like his life depends on it.

“Yeah? Estoy- Mmm, I’m right here. ¿Que quieres? Dime.” [What do you want? Tell me.]

You wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, breath hitching and cunt clenching at his rough cadence. You had never heard his voice or seen him like this before, uninhibited and wholly surrendered to the give and take of pleasure. A gasp fell from your lips when Frankie’s mouth latched onto one of your breasts.

“Our girl’s wanted this, to have the both of us, for a long time, Frankie.”

Frankie moaned, then shuddered at the way Whiskey’s mustache ticked the sensitive skin underneath his ear. His words ‘our girl’ echoing in his mind.

“Tell me how good our girl feels, Flyboy.”

Whiskey smirked as Frankie moaned, teeth grazing the pilot’s neck while you watched and clung to Frankie’s shoulders, arousal pooling at how responsive he was to Jack’s teasing.

“S-so fuck- so good, Whiskey. A goddamn dream, always wanted to- always wanted to do this.”

Frankie brought a hand from your hip to the juncture between you two, his thick, calloused thumb finding your nearly oversensitive clit and rubbing quick circles in time with his thrusts. An almost overwhelming wave of pleasure starts to build even higher in your abdomen. You were lost to the pleasure surrounding and filling you, lost to the feeling of Frankie’s thick cock thrusting into you, his fingers working in time with his pace and Jack’s husky encouragement in Frankie’s ear.

He’s so close, and knows you are too from your gasp as he holds you down and grinds into you roughly. Then, all at once, your second orgasm bubbles over and crashes down on you with a cry and Frankie’s name on your lips. He does his best to work you through it, but he can barely hold on with the way your walls are fluttering around him, squeezing and coaxing him higher and higher.

“Mmmmm- Así mero, amor [that’s it, love]. Fuck you feel- you feel so good. Mierda, ¿donde? [Shit, where?] Where can I?”

“Inside Frankie, cum inside me, please!”

A growl erupted from Frankie, his large hands holding your hips in a bruising grip and his head thrown back in pleasure. He was the vision of oncoming ecstasy.

“C’mon, fill her up, Flyboy.”

Before Frankie could retort, he felt the other man’s teeth sink into the crook of his neck. A coarse grunt of pain and pleasure rumbled deep within Frankie’s chest, jaw open yet tense as he pumped rope after rope of his cum deep inside you. A small whimper broke Frankie’s silence as Whiskey’s tongue soothed the angry bite mark on his skin. While he enjoyed Jack’s soothing ministrations, Frankie lavished his attention on you.

“You were so good, cariño.”

His lips ghosted over your breasts.

“Que linda.”

A kiss on your clavicle.

“Hermosa.”

His strong hands traveled up your spine and Whiskey watched, entranced by the reverence of Frankie’s actions.

“Querida.”

His hot tongue left a languid, rapidly-cooling trail from your sternum to the base of your throat. Your soft moan filled the air between you and Frankie, gentle fingers intertwining in his hair and tugging. A smirk plays across your lips at his moan. Frankie pauses, regarding you for a moment with a raised eyebrow and smirk of his own.

“¿Quieres más amor? Hmm, ¿estás segura? Whiskey?”

Frankie turns to face Jack, wanting reassurance that this was still ok. Smiling, Whiskey pulls Frankie in for a kiss, one of his hands gripping Frankie’s soft curls while you brace yourself against Frankie’s chest and roll your hips gently. Your and Whiskey’s eyes meet, and you nod, smiling.

“Now, how could we say no to that, Flyboy?”

Yours and Frankie’s moans echoed together, and Frankie began to grind into you again. A dull ache emanates from your thighs. You’re not sure if Frankie sensed it or if you had let out a whimper, but you feel one of Frankie’s hands press in between your shoulder blades, pulling your body into him to relieve some of the pressure. He adjusted the hand on your back slightly to curl over your shoulder for leverage and began thrusting into you with a new intensity and ferocity. You squeak in surprise and bury your face in the crook of his neck, opposite of where Jack had left his mark, each thrust pushing a soft cry from your lips. Whiskey held Frankie’s hair firmly in his grasp, tugging and eliciting gorgeous little moans of pleasure and pain from his mouth.

You were beyond oversensitive, each thrust grinding your clit against Frankie’s coarse curls, leaving you shuddering and so very close. Whiskey could tell both of you were almost there, needing just an extra nudge and knowing just what you needed to get there. You weren’t even aware of Jack moving, all that existed in the world to you was the sweet drag of Frankie’s cock inside you, his strong grip, the rough catch of his beard against your cheek, and the way your breath tickled the nape of his neck. Both of your slick bodies tensed, breath quickening. Whiskey’s hand on your shoulder brought your attention to him.

“Look at you, so damn gorgeous. You wanna cum, don’t you baby?”

His hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing gently.

“Don’t you?”

Whiskey hummed, watching intently as your eyes fluttered close, and you gave a desperate little nod.

“That’s it, be our good girl and soak his cock one more time.”

His sinful voice carried those words straight to your core, and you clenched down on Frankie, the coil inside you snapping as you gushed all over Frankie’s cock with a muffled cry.

“F-fuck y-yeah, baby, such a good girl. You feel so good, so tight. Look at you, fucking soaking me.”

A few more thrusts and Frankie follows you, pumping another load inside you with a grunt and broken off curse. Whiskey removes his hand from your throat and gently strokes your hair, while Frankie alternates between planting soft kisses on your shoulder and nuzzling your neck. Both murmur praises in your ear. Once his breath evens out, Frankie nuzzles you again. The fire that had held both you and Frankie captive had finally died down leaving exhaustion in its wake.

“Halcón, put your arms around me.”

You’re just on the cusp of consciousness, your body well worn out from the day’s activities, but you manage to follow instructions and cling to Frankie as he stands up, strong arms holding you to him. He smiles down at you, kissing your forehead as he places you down in the middle of the bed. Whiskey appears silently with a warm washcloth, gently wiping your tender folds clean despite your soft, protesting moans.

“Shhhh, we’ve got you, amor. We’re going to take care of you.” Frankie murmurs.

You’re asleep almost as soon as Whiskey is done, Frankie taking your soft snores as his cue to get dressed again. He slid his boxer briefs and slacks on, hissing slightly as the fabric brushed against his wrists.

“Hey Flyboy, now, don’t think I forgot about you. C’mere.”

A similarly half-clothed Whiskey patted the spot on the bed next to him, a med kit in his other hand.

“What do you mean?”

“Come here and let me see your wrists, Flyboy.”

Frankie glanced down at his wrists and tucked them behind him. He suddenly felt a warmth threatening his cheeks at what Whiskey was offering: an entirely different kind of intimacy that he hadn’t been anticipating.

“Oh, y-you don’t need to, Whiskey, I-I’ve had worse, much worse. I mean I was in Delta Force, I got shot, y’know.”

Whiskey’s gaze burned into Frankie and raised an eyebrow at him.

“It wasn’t a question, Catfish. This wasn’t war, and I know better than to not dress a rope properly to keep from shredding your wrists. Besides, what kind of gentleman would I be to not offer any sort of aftercare?”

There was an edge to Whiskey’s voice that left no room for argument, and Frankie relented despite the latter half of the statement sending a blush to his cheeks. He gingerly took a seat next to him and offered his left hand to Whiskey, who took it in his own, gently applying ointment to the pinched and raw skin. Frankie winced, then shuddered, unable to hide the hitch in his breath. Whiskey smirked.

“Yeah? I thought so, Flyboy.”

Frankie bit his lip and ducked his head, as if he and Whiskey hadn’t just shared you, as if not long ago he hadn’t fallen to his knees in front of the other man, so overwhelmed with the need to relieve himself he had whined while palming his cock. He cleared his throat, fidgeting, then started to get up to grab his phone that lay discarded on the floor.

“And just where do you think you’re going?”

Whiskey’s hand was lightning fast, catching Frankie’s arm and keeping him from going any farther.

“We’re not done yet. Give me your other hand, Catfish.”

Frankie let out a sigh, reluctantly sitting back down and offering his right hand. The Statesmen agent sucked in a sharp breath. Frankie’s right wrist was considerably worse. A pang of guilt speared Whiskey in his gut.

“I’m gonna have to clean this out and bandage it up.”

Frankie nodded, a tense groan that tapered into a whine forcing its way from his mouth as Whiskey flushed the torn skin.

“Easy, Catfish, I thought you said you’ve had worse?”

Whiskey chuckled lightly, and Frankie just grunted a response while his wrist was wrapped. Once he was done, Frankie smiled and ducked his head, his left hand going to the back of his neck in a self-reassuring gesture. When his eyes were drawn to Frankie’s shoulders, he saw his bite mark remained, and Whiskey fought the primal urge to mark him again.

“Thank you… I-I need to check in with Pope. Let him know we’re good.”

He snatched his phone up from the ground, sighing and rocking back on his heels. He had several missed texts.

Pope: Gas?

Pope: Avoided and clear

Pope: Status report?

Pope: Fish?

Frankie: Took the helo. Safe now with Halcón & co.

Pope: Jesus Cat, took you long enough.

Frankie: Got hit by the gas...all clear now. I’ll call tomorrow.

Pope: Copy

Frankie shoved his phone back in his pocket and let out a sigh. Noticing Whiskey’s yawn, he gestured for him to lay down.

“I told Pope I’d call him tomorrow. I’ll take first watch, you get some sleep. I’ll wake you up in 6 hours.”

“Hey now, just hold on a minute--“

“Don’t worry about it, Whiskey, I’ve got too much adrenaline going through me still.”

Whiskey frowned then nodded, turning off the lights and crawling into bed next to you. It wasn’t long before Frankie could hear even breathing and soft snores from both you and Jack. He let out a long sigh, scrubbing his face with his left hand.

Some fucking day it had been.

The moonlight greeted him as he stared out the window. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought he’d run into you at the gala... or at all, really. It had been four years since he had last seen you, and he had been an absolute mess. Not that anyone would have expected Tom’s funeral to be a joyous affair, but he had just been getting off of (and beginning another) bender. He could barely find it in him to not be absolutely high out of his mind as they lowered Tom’s casket into the ground. He had provided cover fire for Tom back in Colombia and fired into the crowd of villagers too. It could have just as easily been him finding a permanent resting place six feet under.

As you took in his appearance after the funeral, the tears in your eyes speared him to his core. Your sad, knowing smile had shattered him when you squeezed his arm and said goodbye. It was worse than getting home from Colombia to find his fiancée gone. Worse than finding Tom dead and bleeding on the rocks in the Andes.

Some insane part of him almost told you how he felt about you when you were in town for the funeral. He thanked whatever shred of common sense he had that he didn’t tell you. He was an addict, and you were a year into your new job. You didn’t need, didn’t deserve to even have him consider putting you through his shit.

A lot had changed since then, namely, he’d gotten clean and had his pilot’s license reinstated. He hated flying tourists. It bored the hell out of him, but with his record, most people weren’t willing to give him a second look. At least picking up jobs for Pope gave him a taste of the real flying that he missed. Frankie let out another sigh, then swore. He had only taken the one day off, and who knew when he’d actually be able to go home after this fiasco. There was definitely more going on than anyone had anticipated. Groaning, he pulled out his personal phone to text his boss.

Frankie: Hey Kevin, I need a few more days. I ended up coming down with something.

He let out an exhale as he pressed send. It wasn’t too far from the truth, at least. To his surprise, his phone buzzed barely a moment later.

Kevin: Are you fucking serious Morales? First you barely give notice and now the night before you’re calling out?

Frankie: I know, I’m sorry I just want to make sure I’m not contagious.

Kevin: This is your last shot Morales, you piss hot or if I can’t find someone to cover for you then you’re done.

Frankie hung his head, pinching the bridge of his nose before he responded.

Frankie: Copy

He looked over at where you were on the bed, just barely making out the outline of you cuddled up against Whiskey in the moonlight. A pang of regret tore through him. He should have gotten his shit together sooner. At least you seemed happy now. He knew that what had happened tonight was a one-time thing, at most, your fantasy fulfilled. A fantasy of his had very much been fulfilled as well. Closing his eyes, he could still taste you, feel the ghost of your touch, and hear the echo of the sounds you had made. Groaning, Frankie checked his watch. Another four hours to go. Four hours for him to torture himself with what-ifs and what could have been, four hours of thinking about the way his chest tightened every time you breathed his name.

Fuck.

Jack woke with a start, a foreign hand on his shoulder. His hand automatically reached for and whipped out the revolver under his pillow. The muzzle connected with soft flesh, and the other person grunted in surprise.

“Whoa, tranquilo [calm/easy]… It’s me, Frankie.”

Jack let out a breath and sat up, lowering his gun and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Apologies, Flyboy.”

Frankie grunted again and yawned.

“ ‘S 04:00, she’s been through the ringer… Didn’t want t’wake her up.”

Whiskey nodded and looked Frankie over in the early morning light, noting how exhaustion slurred his words. He looked like shit. Standing, Whiskey tugged on his white undershirt from the night before.

“I jus’ need…”

Frankie flopped down in the spot Whiskey had been occupying seconds earlier.

“Cinco…horas…”

The man was asleep practically the second his head hit the pillow, maybe even before. Whiskey smiled at the way Frankie instinctively wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close. Whiskey carded his fingers through his hair then moved to the window, dialing Ginger as he went.

“Whiskey?! Are you and Bourbon… ok? We lost track of you both, but we determined an amorous agent was used at the gala. Has it worn off?”

“Yeah, Flyboy got us out and he took first watch afterwards… Anyways, we’re at a Statesmen safehouse. Bourbon is still sleeping. We got here by helicopter, can you clear us to land at the New York office later today?”

There was a pause and Jack could hear Ginger typing.

“Wait, who’s ‘Flyboy’?”

Whiskey glanced over at the bed, not wanting to disturb you or Frankie.

“Frankie Morales. He was part of the private security detail at the gala last night. He served with Bourbon and is a pilot, probably the most self-disciplined pilot I’ve seen, that’s for damn sure. Somehow he flew us out of there after a canister landed at his feet.”

Ginger blinked in surprise. Preliminary intel from the gala had shown attendees and the rest of the private security detail completely incapacitated in a matter of minutes.

“Their unit was no joke, Whiskey, but it’s amazing he flew and landed in the state he was in. What does he know about Statesmen, given that you’re holed up in one of our safehouses?”

Whiskey let out a sigh. He had wondered as well, thinking back to how Frankie had asked them for coordinates to their safehouse.

“I don’t know, I don’t think he knew before the gala. He definitely didn’t buy Bourbon’s cover that she was my executive assistant. I reckon it’s like you said, their unit was no joke. He’s smart and he knows Bourbon. Frankie’s on the up and up though, Ginger.”

Ginger let out a reluctant sigh, letting the silence hang in the air for a moment before she continued.

“Ok, you should talk to him about it before you come back, but we trust your judgement, Whiskey. I’d rather have been able to put you all under medical observation after what you went through, but all I can say is you three need rest, and a lot of it.”

“Don’t I know it, Ginger. Flyboy had a canister go off just about on top of him, and Bourbon wasn’t far from him. I lucked out and didn’t get it that bad. He said he only needed five hours, but the poor boy could barely stand when he woke me up this morning.”

“I’ll let Champ know you’ll debrief this afternoon.”

“14:00 should be fine. Could you also get a hold of Santiago, callsign “Pope”? He’s another friend of Bourbon and Flyboy, co-owns the private security company that was attached to the gala last night. He should be there for the debrief.”

“Consider it done, Whiskey.”

“Thanks, Ginger.”

He ended the call, turning and taking a moment to watch you and Frankie. It was obvious there were feelings between you two, and he wondered why you had never acted on them. You certainly hadn’t been shy with him once you both finally decided to jump headfirst into a relationship together. The times that you had mentioned Frankie, Jack noticed your eyes had been tinged with sadness. Whatever it was, they would get to the bottom of it together. While this was far from how they had discussed reaching out to Frankie, it had happened, and he could only hope that morning wouldn’t be too awkward or snuff things out before they had a chance to get started.

Thank you for reading! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! If you’d like to be added to the taglist just shoot me a message!

Taglist:  @danniburgh, @pascalslittlebrat, @yespolkadotkitty, @mothandpidgeon, @mouthymandalorian​, @phoenixhalliwell​, @itsme-aj467, @kesskirata ​, @rosiefridayrogersunday-reads, @driedgreentomatoes ​ ​, @pintsizemama, @neganwifey25-blog

[caught-in-the-filter]

Smutty CS notion: sweet duckling Princess Emma stumbles on Dark Hook and is too intrigued for her own good...there are some things she just won’t tell Queen Snow 😉

Chasing a Shadow (Chasing a High) - Chapter 1

A/N:Thank you so much for the prompt @karlyfr13s! There is never enough Dark Hook Duckling. 😏 I hope you like it! 😘❤️ Huge thank you to @veryverynotgoodwrites for beta-ing and being awesome. ❤️ And thank you to everyone on the CSMM Discord for all your support! ❤️

Rated: E; Words (Ch1): 3856; AO3 tumblr.: Ch1, Ch2

——

Emma knew how to handle herself. As the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, who’d since become the ruling queen and king, she’d been well-trained in several ways by which to defend herself and protect the citizens of their kingdom. She could use a bow and arrow, was very skilled with a sword, and knew how to travel amongst others undetected. Whenever she’d asked to venture into the town, her parents were usually agreeable to it.

They didn’t know, however, about the dark figure in whom she’d taken an interest on her last few visits. Curiosity bubbled inside her while she watched him from afar as he swiftly moved through the crowd, the hood of his cloak concealing his face as he rounded a corner and vanished from her sight.

It became a little game she played with herself—finding him, trying to catch a glimpse of the man beneath the shadows, almost copying his swagger as she followed him. She wanted to know where he disappeared to every day as the sun set.

Her desire for answers made her bolder than she’d ever been, determination fueling her next moves.

Emma tracked the mysterious figure to a seedy street a few towns over, sparsely lined with lamps which mostly remained unlit as the day gave way to nightfall, and she found herself squinting in the darkness as she lost sight of the man again.

“A bit far from home, aren’t we, lass?”

Emma jumped at the sound of the sultry voice and turned to face its source. Her eyes widened as she got a good look at the cloaked man for the first time. Dark wisps of hair covered his forehead, and matching scruff decorated his chin, with equally dark kohl setting off his deep blue eyes and making them look that much more wild. An intriguing scar had long since healed on his cheek, and despite it, she couldn’t explain the sudden ache she felt as she scanned his features. He was rather attractive, she had to admit, save for the threat of the sharp metal hook whose tip he held at her throat as he backed her to a wall, the sudden contact of cold stone taking her by surprise. (In all honesty, though, that intrigued her too, the moonlight dancing across its surface as it sent a chill of some sort coursing through her.)

“What is it, love?” he sneered. “Are you here to make a deal or to try to kill me?” He glanced down at her scabbard and loosened it with his hand, shoving it to the ground with a clatter. “Either way, you’re in so far over your head.”

“Please,” Emma croaked, her throat suddenly dry, though from what she wasn’t quite sure. It wasn’t exactly fear, she knew that much. “Neither. I just—”

“Ahh,” he gave her a devilish grin, “or perhaps you’re after something else entirely.” His hand snuck beneath her bodice and seared her skin as he slid it up her side. “Does the thought of the big, bad Dark One turn you on?” He leaned the curve of his hook against the wall over her shoulder and hovered his face just above where it had been, inhaling sharply along her neck and humming against the shell of her ear, making her legs tremble beneath her as they suddenly grew weak. “Ohh, you don’t know what you’ve just gotten yourself into, then,” he growled, “Princess.”

The Dark One?!

“W-wait—” she pleaded because she knew she should. Panted, really. He already had her breathless as his mouth explored what little skin was left exposed by her modest outfit, while his hand found her laces and worked to reveal more of it to him. “I didn’t know….” She’d heard stories of the Dark One that had made her blood run cold, and she knew the danger he presented.

But the man in front of her didn’t quite fit the description that had been passed along in fairy tales, and all she felt now was heat, pooling low in her belly and blossoming on her cheeks and curling her toes.

“You know who I am?” she questioned, not that her identity was exactly a secret, but she thought she’d done well to evade his observation, though she guessed her current circumstances proved otherwise.

“Aye. Why do you think I led you all this way?” he asked, rucking up her skirts as his fingers brushed the back of her knee, encouraging her to lock her leg behind him as he lifted it and caressed her thigh. “I couldn’t very well take you in the middle of your own town for everyone you know to witness.” His eyebrow raised as he added cheekily, “Unless, of course, you’d like that too.”

“I wouldn’t,” she replied quickly, unamused by his soft chuckle.

“But you’d like me to take you here?” he teased, not waiting for an answer. She gasped into his mouth as he slanted it against hers, his tongue inviting itself between her lips and she found it not unwelcome as it drew forth a moan from deep within her in tandem with his thigh as he nudged her legs further apart and nestled it between them. Without a second thought, she rocked her hips, seeking a friction she didn’t know she needed until each pass both soothed and spurred the throbbing she felt in her core.

“Tell me what you desire, Princess,” he coaxed, breath hot over her lips. “I know you’ve been following me for some time. Tell me what you’ve come to crave, and I shall make it happen.”

“And what would I owe in return?” Emma knew any interaction with the Dark One would have unintended consequences.

“For you, love, I’d make an exception. Consider it my patronage to the crown,” he said with a flourishing bow while keeping his thigh pressed between hers. The timbre of his voice dropped much lower as he pressed his forehead to hers and purred, “With or without magic, you’ll come with no price, I assure you.”

Emma knew it was a bad idea, tried to convince herself to push him away, but her hands and hormones betrayed her mind as she pulled him closer, one hand anchored in his hair while the other splayed against his back and travelled lower to grip his ass with a confident playfulness neither of them had expected. She felt the hard bulge rubbing her thigh through his trousers as she continued to ride his leg and cursed without realizing what she was saying.

“My, what a crude vocabulary for a princess,” the Dark One commented, slowly sliding his hand toward the apex of her thighs. “Beneath the yards of intricate fabric, you’re still just a needy little wench, aren’t you?” He sent a jolt along her spine as his fingers passed through her folds and eased between them, working her more gently than his reputation would’ve led her to expect. “You put on airs of piety, in your castle with your guard and your formal address, but your slickness reveals the truth of your primal desire.” He pressed them deeper inside her, adding another and curling them towards himself, and she arched into his touch with a whimper and another string of curses when he continued to repeat the motion. “That’s it, darling. Fuck yourself with my hand. Show me just how desperate you are for me.”

Emma furrowed her brow at his words, unsure of when he’d stilled his hand and let her take over the pace. Her rhythm faltered, and she canted her hips in protest as he removed his hand from her core, only to watch in stunned amazement as he licked her arousal from his fingers one by one, his talented tongue determined to catch every drop.

“Your taste is exquisite, Princess,” he said. “It’s no wonder you stay locked away at most times. If they only knew what they were missing, you’d never be without a caller begging for even the smallest sample of your irresistible sweetness.”

Emma stuttered over unintelligible syllables, biting back words she hadn’t expected to want to say, a vulgar question nagging to be spoken that she wouldn’t dare to voice.

“Yes, love?” The Dark One pressed his chest flush against her, staring into her eyes, his mouth a hair’s breadth away from hers.

“I, umm—” Emma hesitated. The Dark One simply smiled, waiting.

“You’re a bit of an open book, Princess,” he said. “I can read your thoughts, but to get what you want, I need you to say it.”

Not one to back down from a challenge, Emma worked up the courage to ask, “Would—would you like to taste it directly?”

He raised his eyebrow and hummed his assent, his voice a low rumble in his chest as he prodded, “Is that what you would like, love?”

“Y-yes.”

“Then tell me.”

“I want your mouth on me, Dark One,” she pleaded. “I want to feel your tongue inside me.”

“Mmmm, with pleasure,” he growled as he sank to his knees in front of her and ducked beneath her skirts.

The sinful cry that left her lips echoed down the empty street as he made contact with her wet and aching flesh, and Emma was sure someone would hear it and the equally loud moans that followed. Her legs wanted to cave beneath her, instinctively pulling together and pressing tightly around his cheeks as he devoured her, the brush of his scruff burning her skin in the best way. He chuckled without pausing his ministrations and held her thighs apart with the palm of his hand warming one and the flat of his hook cooling the other. She squirmed at the conflicting temperatures, or more likely at the way he licked and sucked in the space between them.

“Still with me, Princess?” he mumbled into her core, muffled by the layers of fabric cinched at her waist that shrouded him. Bracing herself with her arms against the wall, her fingertips dug into the gaps between the stones as he scraped his teeth against her clit and nipped at her sensitive flesh, his tongue plunging inside her as he drank in her arousal.

“Mmhmm,” she sighed unconvincingly, rolling her hips as she chased her high. A building tension overwhelmed her as the Dark One nosed at the swollen bundle of nerves while his tongue relentlessly found a spot that his fingers had only teased. “Oh gods,” she panted, her knuckles turning white as she heavily relied on the wall to keep her upright, losing the support of his hand and hook as they met his mouth in the middle to bring her to the edge.

“You flatter me,” he muttered, the joke lost on her as her head spun dizzily and fell back against the stone, her eyes fluttering closed while her hips bucked into his encouraging grunts as she came hard on his tongue.

The Dark One did well to catch as much of it as he could, opening his mouth beneath her as he thrust his fingers inside her with purpose and let her release pour into it, licking along her folds and sucking on her clit until she at last relaxed into the wall behind her. He lifted her skirts and stood before her once more, looking absolutely wrecked and feral, his chin glistening with her wetness below swollen lips, his hair mussed from static and sweat, his pupils blown wide with a greater hunger they’d yet to sate.

“I so wanted to make you wait for it,” he growled, chest heaving, “to make you wait for your release until I had you on my cock, but you were just too tempting, my dear. I had to taste all of you.”

Emma’s hands reached up to attempt to tame the haphazard locks atop his head but only served to add to the chaos as she clenched fistfuls of it instead when his lips collided with her own. She melted at the heady taste of herself on him and welcomed his full perusal of her mouth. The Dark One moaned eagerly as his tongue teased hers as it had her core, and Emma boldly took his bottom lip between her teeth as she pulled back for just a moment before she rose on her toes to meet him again.

“That’s it, Princess,” he said as they breathed together. “Take what you want.” He nosed along her jaw, nipping at the path until he bit her earlobe. His hook caught on her neckline and he tugged it down, down until he freed her breasts. The cool night air rushed across her newly exposed skin, teasing her nipples until he harshly palmed one breast and thumbed at the stiffening peak as he asked, “What do you want?”

“I want—” she could barely breathe, let alone think enough to speak. But then, she really didn’t need to think at all, only feel, to feel something more and then keep feeling it until she crashed all over again. “I want your cock, Dark One. Give me your cock.”

“Good girl,” he purred into her ear as he unlaced his trousers and lifted her skirts in the crook of his hook. His hand departed from her breast only long enough to align himself with her entrance and press inside with one steady roll of his hips as his teeth sank into her shoulder.

Emma cried out at the pleasurable pain of his bite and the stretch of his cock, clutching at his back for any sort of hold, finding purchase in the material of his cloak.

The Dark One’s fingers returned to their task of kneading her flesh as his tongue worked to soothe the purpling spot onto which his mouth had latched, and he began to move inside her with deep thrusts that left her almost empty before filling her completely each time.

“Gods, you’re so fucking tight, Princess,” he praised. “Tight and wet and fucking perfect. All for me.”

The small, encouraging sounds she made with every slide echoed the muted slap of his balls against her wet skin, the Dark One’s hungry moans finding their own sort of syncopated rhythm as he kissed along her collarbone and licked at the hollow of her throat before meeting her mouth again.

“Oh, how I’d love to taste every inch of you,” the Dark One groaned against her lips, “to watch your body quiver as I run my tongue all over your skin.” He dipped his head to trail his breath down her chest and suck at her nipple before releasing it with a soft pop. “But alas, we’ve not the time nor is it the place, and there’s a much more pressing matter for us both.”

Emma felt that tension building inside herself again as he devoured her mouth once more, massaged her breasts relentlessly, and slammed into her aching core. His words affected her more than she thought they could, and she writhed against the wall as she moved with him in an effort to bring them both to completion. She could tell he felt it too as the cords in his neck tensed and the force of his hips increased.

“Where do you want it, love?” he asked, his voice little more than a whisper this time as the words caught in his throat.

“Ins—inside me,” she choked between whimpers. “I want to feel it inside me, Dark One. Please come inside me.”

“Fuck, Princess, you are a naughty minx.” His thrusts grew rougher, more frantic as he began to lose the last of his resolve. “As you wish, my darling.”

While she thought he was already as impossibly deep as he could go, the Dark One adjusted his angle so that his legs would give him a stronger foundation as he pistoned his hips with abandon. The change sent her reeling, and she struggled to hold on as the corners of her vision blurred from his merciless snaps.

“Are you with me, Princess?” He breathed.

“Mmhmm,” Emma answered as before, though she knew it wasn’t quite true. Her mind travelled to the edge of another blissful plane, and her body was kept from physically falling only by his pinning hers to the wall.

“No, I mean, are you with me, love?” the Dark One clarified. “I’m so fucking close, sweetheart. Are you with me?”

“Y-yes.”

“Good.” His hand slid its way up to her throat, taking a loose but firm hold. This time Emma did feel just a touch of fear, wondering how far the darkness would go to get him where he wanted to be, but it soon turned to further desire as the Dark One only tightened his grip enough to make her gasp as she relaxed in a mildly lightheaded haze. “Come for me, Princess. Come right on my cock as I fill you with my seed, you naughty thing.”

It did something to her, the way he continually mixed formalities with such vulgarity in equally sultry tones and with an eloquence that made her wonder for a brief moment why there would be any other way to speak when his speech alone could make her feel so good.

Emma’s legs began to quake beneath her when he passed the curve of his hook over her clit in deliberate circles and reminded her that she didn’t have to rely on just his voice to find her release, for which she was most grateful.

The Dark One stifled their moans of pleasure with a passionate kiss, plunging his tongue as deep as his cock as his hips stuttered and stilled and he spilled himself inside her. Their chests heaved as they rested their foreheads together and panted over each other’s lips, attempting to catch their breaths and waiting for their limbs to feel solidified again before daring to move.

“That was wonderful, darling. And I’ll be expecting some… other reciprocation with this pretty little mouth of yours next time,” the Dark One smirked. With a snap of his fingers, he righted himself, leaving her already missing the feel of his cock as his trousers laced themselves.

“Next time? I thought you said I’d come at no price,” she teased, wrapping her fingers around his hook and running them back and forth along the curve.

“That I did. And I didn’t lie, you’ve nothing to repay me.” He took the time to manually fix her bodice, every brush of his fingers lighting little fires across her skin, his effort with the ties as hot as the rest of their prior interactions. “But you withheld the truth from me of just how good of a fuck you are, Princess. You can’t honestly say this was a one-time thing.”

Emma hummed and placed her other hand on his chest as she challenged, “And what if I do?”

“Then I’d hope you’d kindly get on your knees for me right now, and I would assure you that whatever ungodly hour you arrive home will have been worth it.”

Emma’s gaze flicked from his eyes to his mouth and back as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.

“As tempting as that sounds,” she said with a smile, genuinely interested in finding out how he tastes and curious to see just how weak she could make the all-powerful Dark One in the process. But she knew she shouldn’t have gone this far to begin with, and fearing the consequences of further pursuit of whatever this was with him, she responded, “I need to get back before my extended absence is noticed, unless you want to deal with the army of guards my parents would send after you if they somehow found out you’ve ‘ruined’ me.”

“‘Ruined’ you?” His eyebrow raised as he scoffed, “Oh love, your innocence was clearly gone long before tonight. We both know you knew what you were after when you followed me here, and you certainly knew what you were doing when you got it.” His voice became darker, almost threatening when he added, “And I can handle the guards.”

“We might know that, but they sure as hell don’t, and I intend to keep it that way.” Emma sighed. “And I know you can handle them, that’s what I’m afraid of. It’s not for your sake but for theirs.” That earned a sarcastically begrudging eye roll from him.

Emma ducked and slipped away from him, picking up her scabbard as she did, and he spun on his heel as he watched her slowly step backward, beyond his reach.

“Goodbye, Dark One,” she said.

“I’m not unwilling to fight for what I want. Don’t think I’m letting you go this easily.”

“I would despair if you did.” Emma took another backward step before turning and taking off in the direction of her castle.

“Goodbye, Princess,” the Dark One called after her, or thought he called, his voice softer than he’d realized or intended as he watched her leave and got lost in the thought of his release still inside her.

It was all Emma could think about too, knowing it was driving him just as mad and grinning to herself at the fact that she could get to him. She could feel the way it dripped down her thighs as she moved. She could feel the way it dried sticky on her skin as she allowed it to remain there longer than she probably should have.

And she could feel it later as she further explored herself when she finally reunited with her bed and imagined what else he might do to her if given the chance, and what she could do to him, the scent of his pleasure mixing with that of her own arousal as they blended on her desperate fingers, which would have to suffice until she could find him again. She bit back moans and struggled to refrain from calling out his infamous moniker as her head fell back with the fresh memory of his mouth on her neck and the promise that she would feel it everywhere else.

Oh yes. Yes.

Yes, she would absolutely have to see him again, somewhere that would allow them a bit more freedom, the potential danger of granting that to him only adding to the thrill of it all.

Recalling his request, she brought her wet fingers to her lips and tested herself to see what she could handle, learning how much could fit and how deeply and for how long before she’d need a break. Just the hint of him on them encouraged her to try more, deeper, longer, as her other hand matched the pace inside her core and her thumb flicked at her clit.

She’d find an excuse for why she’d need to clean her own sheets tomorrow.

As Emma at last relaxed into the mattress, she drifted into dreams of what might be in store for the two of them. There are some things she would never tell her parents, and fucking the Dark One again and again would just have to be one of them.

——

Tag list ❤️: @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @hollyethecurious @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @jonesfandomfanatic @jrob64 @klynn-stormz @kmomof4 @qualitycoffeethings @stahlop @teamhook @the-darkdragonfly @thejollyroger-writer @tiganasummertree @xsajx @wefoundloveunderthelight @zaharadessert

[saphirered]

Was wondering if I could request a Dorian x Rogue Reader where the reader’s never really taken part in any sort of pageant event before and needs some guidance from the party’s resident performer? Love your writing by the way! Have a great day!

Thank you and I hope you like this one too. Have a nice day! 😘

Everyone’s picking out outfits, talking about the pageant and having fun doing so. Orym and Fy’ra have gotten out of participating in the pageant but you weren’t as lucky. Wether it’s because Opal is very convincing, you’re easily tempted, the prospects of a shiny crown or Dorian’s persuasion, you don’t know. Might just be all of the above but you’re apparently in now and will be participating and find yourself playing the part of dress up doll for Opal who’s put you in a grand total of twenty-seven outfits varying from big voluminous dresses to nice suits, some of which including some impractical but pretty armour.

Awkwardly you leave the dressing room. This dress she’s put you in is so poofy you can’t even lower your arms to your sides as the sheer volume of tule keeps them at an angle. You’re pretty sure you look about as comfortable as you feel. The only good part about this humongous ballgown is there’s loads of places to hide weapons and stuff you could possibly lift from people’s pockets among the yards upon yards of fabric. Opal is fawning over you, pulling at the fabric flouncing it up to adjust the layers. Dorian notices your feelings about this twenty-eighth outfit and steps in to save you from the pageant expert.

“Maybe not this one? It doesn’t really do much for their figure, wouldn’t you agree?” Opal taps her lips at Dorian’s suggestion. The genasi has a point. The majority of your features get lost in the garment and no amount of accessorising can fix that. She scrunches her brow and nods. You let out a breath of relief hoping to be done with this. Not like you mind shopping but dressing up in this many outfits is exhausting and you can’t wait to be done. Why can’t you just pick a random one off the rack and call it a day? Lesson of the day; never go pageant shopping with a pageant girl. You’ll be at this for hours.

“Yeah. Too much volume. Maybe we should go back to something more formfitting. I think I saw a couple of outfits that would work much better.” Opal’s words make your breath hitch and you keep in a groan at the mention of more things to try on as the girl scurries off to find the things she saw and you’re left with Dorian. Turning to him as you finish staring after Opal and praying to the gods these new outfits she’s looking for would just spontaneously combust before they made their way back to you, you grab the genasi by the cloak, both hands clutching on tightly.

“Save me, Dorian. Please have mercy and save me from this hell.” You beg. Dorian presses his lips together tightly as to not let the laughter escape. He’ll have to admit it’s very funny to see you so completely and utterly out of your element but he also feels for you.

“I reckon we have about ten minutes before Opal returns. Only way to stop her is finds something you like and suits you well. Blow her away with whatever you find. As long as you look as uncomfortable as you feel, She’ll keep coming with the outfits.” Dorian’s right nothing will satisfy Opal as much as you feeling as comfortable and pretty as they know you are, regardless of you admitting it or not. The problem is, you don’t even know where to start looking. This shop, it’s all just a needle in a haystack for you.

“You have to help me find something and quickly! I don’t think I can take another hoop skirt or waistcoat. I might just faint.” Dorian clasps your hands over his and releases your grasp on his cloak. He offers you a confident smile that somewhat eases your fears of the intimidating woman on fashion spree. Dorian pulls you along to the racks, using one hand to browse while holding yours tightly clasped in the other giving it a soft squeeze whenever you look over your shoulder and around to find Opal and her growing heap of clothes.

“So we’ve eliminated any big skirts and traditional suits. How do you feel about something fitted and flowy?” Dorian brushes his fingers over the shoulder of a smocked shirt. You stare down at the poofy mess you’re still stuck in like a butterfly in a net.

“Uhhh, as far away from any ballgowns as we can get please. I don’t mind a bit of a cinch.” You say as Dorian picks up something akin to a corset with set in with decorative chainmail pieces. He holds it up to your body, purses his lips and puts it back not the rack. Not really your style. You need something fierce and practical, something that shows off your features just right but won’t be wearing you and will still make you feel comfortable in your own skin.

Then he spots it. This will look perfect on you. A dark navy blue fitted top with a deep v-neck nearly down to the bellybutton, and fitted sleeves. The matching leather pants also are fitted and somewhat resemble what you normally wear, though these are much less weathered. Over this all goes a very long trained chiffon robe rhinestoned like the night’s sky held together by an ornate silver clasp at the waist. When Dorian pulls it from the rack and holds it up to you you don’t know wether to fear or feel relieved at the look he gives you. Before you know it you’re being rushed back to the dressing room. Dorian helps you out of the monstrosity of the gown you’re in and leaves you to change into the new outfit as he distracts Opal long enough before she can return with the pile she’s gathered.

You never doubted Dorian to have style but this takes it to a whole new level. This is perfect. It fits in all the right places and whatever he said about it showing when you feel uncomfortable in a garment, it’s true as when you see yourself in the mirror that fully disappears and instead you feel confident. It may not have any protective properties like your usual armour does but it sure feels like you could take on the world right now. You’re badass, beautiful and confident.

When you step out of the dressing room you can already see Dorian mid argument with Opal who wanted to barge in, arms filled with clothes of all kind and the shop assistant being with whatever she couldn’t carry, huffing and puffing under the weight of it all. Their attention turns to you. Dorian’s attention turns to you and he doesn’t know how but you take his breath away. You look absolutely stunning. You look like a deity from the stars themselves, the energy you radiate does you justice and if he ever even had an ounce of doubt (he never did) it only shows your natural beauty more than ever.

“Oh. My. Gods.” Opal exclaims as she drops all the fabric in her arms rushing over to you, inspecting your new outfit, gushing about how it fits and how you should style your hair, maybe do some makeup to match the ‘star-effect’ of the robe for cohesion. You can’t even keep up anymore but let her ramble on. She tells the assistant you’d found your outfit and the assistant exasperatedly begins picking up the pile she dropped to put back on the racks. No more fittings for you. Opal’s satisfied and you’re safe. You offer Dorian a look of gratitude and he winks back, not daring to interrupt the fashion tyrant dressed in pink.

——————

Backstage before your turns in the pageant you get a moment alone with Dorian as the two of you watch the other candidates. You’re panicking as Dorian pulls up your hair, adding a comb to keep it in place and add some flare. You have no idea where he got it nor dare you ask right now, just thankful he’s been doing what he can to ease your nerves. This is not your thing. Prancing around like some trick pony is not your thing. You stick to the shadows, at most mingle with society using honeyed words to get what you need or want but this is a whole new world and you feel as if your skills are useless in this environment.

“You’re going to be okay. All you have to do is answer the question. It doesn’t take much more than a charming answer to persuade the judges. No different than persuading a shopkeeper to give you a better deal.” Dorian adjusts the comb before removing his hands and taking a step back to inspect his work. He taps your shoulder and has you turn around. It doesn't take a genius to see you’re nervous and the jitters are clear through your bouncing leg as you sit staring up at him, panic in your eyes and breathing hitching high in your chest visible through your partially exposed collarbones.

“Yeah but getting a better price on potions doesn’t have a crowd a few hundred large to witness it. What if I say something wrong? What if they don’t like me?” Dorian kneels in front of you, stroking your cheek and hand on your shoulder.

“Deep breath.” You do as you feel his thumb run across your cheek, the gesture alone calms your nerves a little bit and pulls you back to this world. You nod to signal you’re good.

“This is no different that the real world. If you say something wrong, own it. Make them think it’s intentional. There’s very few things you could say that you couldn’t own or turn into something funny.” Dorian assures you. You place a hand over his on your cheek and press a kiss to his wrist as a thank you as he continues.

“As for them not liking you, I don’t see how the couldn’t instantly be mesmerised. You are gorgeous, intelligent, resourceful. If they don’t eat you up and admire you for who you are they don’t deserve you.” The next candidate is called to the stage and both of you know you’ll be up soon. You’re glad Dorian’s pep talk is working and you can feel the affection from him. If only he knew how much it means to you to have him here. Then again, you’ve told him plenty of times how amazing he is.

“Why are they walking all weirdly getting on stage?” You raise an eyebrow as the next candidate places one foot directly in front of the other, walking on their tiptoes more than their full feet.

“Watch the hips.” You do as Dorian says and you can see their hips swaying as they walk adding just a little bit more flare to that strut. You have to say, it kinda looks good. Maybe you should give it a try?

“Could you, I don’t know teach me? I know how to sway hips but this, this goes beyond me.” You gesture to the candidate stopping at Ruby to answer the question. Dorian looks a little taken aback but rises to his feet pulling you with him. He never thought he’d ever be teaching anyone how to walk the walk and is pretty sure he’ll get some weird looks from the others but he doesn’t really care if it makes you happy and more confident about this whole pageant. He puts his hands on your hips as you stand facing each other but keeps a bit of a distance between he two of you so you can still take the steps as you would on your own.

“Okay, so first things first. You want to keep your steps on the same line. See it like walking on a narrow ledge or a tightrope. You want to stick to balancing on your toes and keep a bounce in your knees. Don’t lock them too much. Light on your feet.” Dorian guides you forward as he steps backwards with you guiding you along, tapping whatever hip is swaying next. Your movement is a bit rigid at first but before you know it you’re doing it and Dorian steps away to let you strut without his help. You’re a natural. He gives pointers as you turn but you have the walk down in no time.

Then your name is called. The panic returns for a second but is overshadowed by your newfound confidence. You look the part, you got the act down so act the part too. Confidently you strut down to Dorian, give him a seductive look as you stroke his cheek following his jawline. He’s gotta say, he likes this look on you but can see the glee break through your seduction.

“What would I have done without my handsome hero in blue?” You smile and give him a kiss.

“Still be stuck in that dressing room with Opal probably? You look stunning. Go show them exactly what you’re made of.” Dorian encourages you, a hue of purple spreading lightly across his cheeks as he watches for any witnesses to your moment. Holding on to his cheek as long as you can stepping backwards you offer him one last wink and blowing him a kiss before you turn and strut onto the stage ready to play. Who knew pageants could be fun after all.

[torisaysyeet]

Introducing my takes on a portion of the DSMP cast! Most of these characters I picked because I thought they were the "main" cast members, but I have recently figured out my first intuition was wrong lmao anyway some design notes below the cut!

Dream

No armor shown here, but he typically wears his full netherite set

Average build

Green hoodie, leather gauntlets, dark gray/green pants, leather boots, Smile mask

6'3"

BadBoyHalo

Uncorrupted form

His face is so dark it's often hard to see the detail between his hair, horns, and head

Some white freckling along his face and shoulders (not shown)

Slightly wider build

"Fanged" mouth shape

Dark red and off-black cloak, pants, and shirt with a light gray collar, gray and dark red boots

9'6"

Tommy

Slightly lankier so he wears baggy clothes to bulk out his form

Almost always needs some sort of a band-aid because he's reckless and a little shit

Has some scarring (not shown) from the different ways he's lost his canon lives

Red and white t-shirt, white undershirt, tan cargo pants, black and white tennis shoes

6'3"

Wilber

Tall and slim

Has a large scar across his chest (not shown) from the loss of his final canon life

Red beanie, yellow sweater/jumper, gray undershirt, torn black pants, gray shoes

6'5"

Ranboo

The best boy!! My favorite :D

Enderman heritage gives him a strange figure; very slim, thin waist, long arms and hands/fingers, and long Unguligrade legs

Slight scarring under his eyes and on his collar bone (not shown) from crying

Long, thin whip tail with a thick tuft of hair at the end

"Fanged" mouth shape with visible lines from the corners of the mouth to the back of the jaw (likely from his Enderman heritage, with their ability to unhinge their jaw in anger)

Plain black suit, white undershirt, red tie, crown

8'5"

George

Literally just a dude. George's design was the 2nd easiest one out of all of them.

Average build

Cyan/Blue shirt with a red outlined white box, white glasses/shades, blue jeans, black shoes

5'8" (George's IRL height)

Sapnap

T-shirt over a hoodie is the best combination

Average build

Off-white headband, black hoodie, white t-shirt with a flame design, black pants, checkered black and white shoes

5'8" (Sapnap's IRL height)

Tubbo

Half-ram with partially furred Unguligrade legs and hooves

Brown hair, though not accurate to his skin design

Scarred from the firework that took his second canon life

Slim build

Mid-tone green button-up shirt, rolled denim capris

5'4" (Tubbo's IRL height)

Fundy

Anthropomorphized Fox with Digitigrade legs

Average/slim build

Black eyes, but of course very shiny

Black hat with gold accents, black jacket with gold-lined sleeves and four-color blocks on the zipper area, white undershirt, black pants

6'2" (Fundy's IRL height)

Schlatt

Part Ram with human legs

Outwardly twisted horns (The round ones are just too regular for someone like Schlatt) and floppy ears (to make sure Tubbo, Puffy, and Schlatt all had different ear styles/shapes)

Muscular build

Plain black suit, off-white undershirt, red tie, dark brown/off-black business shoes

6'3" (Schlatt's IRL height)

Skeppy

(Off the books, I've already committed to the idea that Skeppy can transform into a 2 foot tall form. I'm sad that this isn't canon because it'd be so fun to play around with.)

Small form, wears a diamond-colored cloak with all black underclothes

Average/slim build

Full height: 5'7" (Skeppy's IRL height)

Quackity

Average build

Injury by Technoblade; missing a front tooth, eye removed (damaged beyond repair)

Blue LAFD beanie, blue track jacket, black gloves, black pants, black tennis shoes

5'8"

Niki

Average build

(Off-Skin) brown and blonde hair

Black crop top, camo high-rise shorts, dark gray sweater, black crew-cut socks, black boots

5'5" (Nihachu's IRL height)

Karl Jacobs

The best hoodie (despite being difficult to color)

Slim build

Multicolored hoodie with a green spiral, tri-colored sleeves, and a pink hood, black pants, purple and off-white tennis shoes

5'11"

Technoblade

Piglin/Half Piglin - Semi-Human form; Unguligrade legs, small underbite fangs (all piglins can do this, however they need the knowledge first. Because of (possibly non-canon) meetings with Michael, Michael himself is able to do this at an extreme cost of energy)

Forgot to draw Not wearing his cloak, commonly wears a vest underneath

Crown is a staple, wears it as a mockery to government

Extremely muscular build (partially due to his Piglin heritage

White dress shirt, decorative blue neck ribbon, red vest lined with silver and buckled with gold straps, black pants cinched below the knee

6'3"

Philza

Average/Slim build

Wings in "Cloak" form (Philza does have actual wings, but often uses his clasp to keep them in a cloak form, protecting them from harm when not in use. Cloak form is significantly lighter in color than his actual wings)

Forgot to draw his shoes (I'll own up to it this time) but he wears sandals most of the time

Hardcore Heart gem displaying the fact that he only has a single life in the SMP

Off-black sleeveless shirt, tall fingerless gloves (not shown), Hardcore Gem, green pants cinched below the knee, Cloak form wings, sandals (not shown)

5'11" (Phil's IRL height)

Captain Puffy

Half Sheep with Unguligrade legs, ears, nose, and smaller curled horns

Pirate outfit; Red and gold coat, gray undershirt, off-white non-tight corset, black pants, and leather "boots"

Thick, curly white hair from her Sheep heritage

6'9"

[oikawaplssteponme]

• MASTERLIST

pairing: (prince) Oikawa Toru x (princess) fem! reader

warnings: none

word count: > 2k words

synopsis: A childhood lover, a perfect picture, a thoughtful risk, a dashing spark, a resurfaced fling, a beautiful mystery, and an unlikely charmer. With so many flowers in the garden, which do you pick?

a/n: hello hello! ahh im very excited to share this first part with you all! this one is a bit longer [ most parts won’t be this long ] but that’s because there is important background info since it is the first part :)) i’d love to hear your thoughts and reblogs are also greatly appreciated! enjoy xx

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ: ☾

Confidence is Key

The castle was bustling with people, entering in and out at a fast pace. The chatter bounced off of the walls and high ceilings as orders were being shouted of where to take things and what to do. You stood in the middle of it all, unsure what to do with yourself. The room was spinning, your head was spinning. In just a few hours, music would be playing as people danced the night away. In just a few hours, you would meet a potential husband.

“Your Grace! You should be getting ready! We have things under control down here don’t worry. Go, go!” Sophia, head of castle affairs, shooed you away. She was clearly under an uncomfortable amount of stress.

“Is there anything you’d like me to help with? I don’t have to get ready quite yet,” you explained. Sophia shook her head violently.

“No no not at all Your Highness. You really must go get ready, Anita is awaiting your arrival,” she insisted. You sighed and did as you were told. You walked up the grand staircase and up to your quarters.

You didn’t mind helping, you often did when you could. Nonetheless, your role as princess called you other such duties. Those included getting ready for the ball in a different way.

“Oh there you are! I’ve been searching the whole castle for you!” exclaimed Anita. Anita was your lady-in-waiting. She was also your best friend.

“My apologies, I got caught up in the excitement of everything that was happening downstairs,” you explained. You laid down onto your bed, letting out a frustrated sigh.

“I don’t want to go tonight,” you admitted. Anita sat down next to you.

“The ball is for you after all. It would be quite silly if you didn’t show up to your own event,” she chuckled.

“No more complaints Y/N, you will go to the ball and you will enjoy it,” interrupted your mother. She bursted through the doors of your room, followed by other attendants to help you get ready.

“The ball isn’t even for me. It’s for him.”

“It’s for the both of you my darling. After all, we’re here to find you a husband, not play dress up,” replied your mother. You sat up and crossed your arms.

“Well you didn’t meet father until the fifth ball. Are you expecting me to sort through all of these princes or pick the first one I find?” You groaned. Your mother chuckled.

“I just so happened to meet him at the fifth ball. He could’ve been the first suitor and I still would have fallen in love with him.”

Whenever there was a princess of age, all eligible princes from neighboring kingdoms would come and present themselves in an attempt to win her hand. In this case, your hand was what they wished to win. A ball would take place for each prince, as to welcome them and for the two of you to get to know each other. There would be seven balls taking place.

“What if I go through all seven and don’t like any of them?”

“Then pick the one you dislike the least,” joked your mother, though you knew she was serious.

“Which prince is coming today?” You asked. Your mother smiled.

“He is known as ‘The Great Prince’ soon to be Great King. His kingdom of Aoba Johsai is farthest from ours, hence why his welcome will be first,” she explained. You nodded. You had met the prince once before, but when you were children. He was more of a sweet memory now.

“What is his name again?”

“His name, my dear, is Prince Toru Oikawa.”

~

After your mother had left you, you began to get ready. It was tradition for the welcoming kingdom’s prince or princess to wear the other sides colors, as a sign of respect. You had a beautiful dress made for the event. With silver crystals and white satin, you certainly would be the belle of the ball. You would wear a simple aquamarine diamond necklace to tie your look together.

You sat at your vanity as you applied the finishing touches to your makeup. It was almost time for you to head down to the ball. You could hear people arriving. Royalty, knights, dukes and duchesses, everyone would be here.

Anita cinched you up into your dress, making it a little difficult to breathe.

“I’m gonna be out of breath by the first dance if you go any tighter,” you laughed.

“I’m sorry Your Grace.”

Anita tied up the corset, followed by the actual dress. You went to look at yourself in the mirror. You looked beautiful no doubt.

“The prince would be silly not to fall for you,” smiled Anita. You sighed.

“Him falling isn’t what I’m worried about.”

You could hear the sound of violins from the ballroom as you stood outside of it, greeting everyone who entered. There had to be at least one hundred people inside, if not more.

“Oh Y/N I see him!” whispered your mother. She quickly organized your skirt and made sure your necklace was facing the correct way.

“Big smiles everyone.”

Standing before you were two men. You honestly had no idea which one was the prince.

“Your Majesties, I’m pleased to introduce you to Prince Toru Oikawa of Aoba Johsai,” said the shorter of the two. The prince greeted the king and queen before making his way to you.

“Your Highness...”

He took your hand, kissing the top of it. He certainly had grown up a bit since you had seen him last. His hair brown and fluffy, his eyes dark and hypnotic, his smile bright and flirtatious. He wore a perfectly tailored suit with his royal metals and a teal sash.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace,” you smiled.

“The pleasure is all mine Princess. Perhaps I may treat you to a dance later in the evening?” he smirked. You nodded.

“Until then.”

The two men parted into the depths of the ball.

“Oh he is so handsome Y/N!” your mother gushed.

“Not terrible...”

“Go mingle my dear! Get to know him!” she insisted. You sighed and went out to the floor.

You weren’t big on dancing. In all honesty, you weren’t big on fancy balls. They got old after a while.

“You don’t actually plan to just stand there all night, now do you Princess?”

You looked over your shoulder and standing next to you was Prince Toru.

“Of course not...”

“Did I mention that you look truly gorgeous tonight? My kingdom’s colors seem to suit you,” he smiled.

“Thank you Your Highness.”

“Just Oikawa please. Or Toru if you feel so inclined.”

“Fair enough Oikawa. Then please, it’s just Y/N,” you said.

“Well, I’m not going to pretend that I don’t know what’s going on. Your family planned this ball as for us to fall in love, am I right?”

Your eyes widened a bit and you looked up at Oikawa.

“You aren’t wrong. However I have a feeling it won’t be that simple,” you smirked. Oikawa chuckled.

“Oh Y/N, don’t hold yourself back from fawning over me. It’s okay, every girl where I come from does so.”

“I’m not every other girl Toru.”

Oikawa moved to stand in front of you. His tall figure bowed in front of you.

“Then may I have this dance. Let’s see if you dance better than every other girl.”

You stared at Oikawa’s hand in front of you. You took his hand carefully as he led you to the dance floor.

Oikawa had one hand on your waist as the other hand held yours. The two of you spun around in time with the orchestra’s strings that played.

“Not too bad,” he laughed.

“Well I’d hope not, this isn’t my first ball.”

“It is your first of the seven though, am I correct?”

“Right again Toru.”

“I suppose then that it is my job to make sure I’m your favorite out of the seven. I hope that when you think of me, you think that I’m the best you’ve ever had.”

Oikawa’s words were smooth and sultry. The way he spoke so clearly yet loud enough for only you to hear.

“You’ve got yourself convinced that I’ll be yours. That’s a dangerous game to be playing.”

“Oh Y/N, my dearest, I promise that I don’t feel threatened by those other six. I didn’t even bother to check who I was against, since it won’t be much of a competition.”

“So I’m the game?”

Oikawa’s eyes widened.

“Oh god no, not at all. You’re a crowned jewel, my love. The moment I saw you I knew that you could certainly cause the death of a bachelor.”

Your heart fluttered a bit at the sound of his voice. He was completely wrapped around your finger. Subconsciously, you knew that you were wrapped around his as well.

“You’re confident Toru. That’s an admirable trait.”

“I have to be if I’m going to run my kingdom one day. No one would follow after a weak king.”

“I suppose that’s why they call you the Great Prince, soon to be Great King.”

“You could even call yourself the Great Queen. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

You chuckled.

“It certainly does. Well Toru, answer me this question: why should I pick you?”

Oikawa’s blank expression turned to a cheeky smile. He pulled you closer to him.

“Because, we have history Y/N.”

You had first met the prince when you were just 8 years old. Your family was invited to his kingdom for a banquet. Since you two were close in age, you spent all your time together. You enjoyed the small friendship you had with him. You were young and clueless after all. Oikawa had even said that the two of you should get married, since you were already friends. Your childish mind agreed, not knowing what the future had in store for you. So now here you were, dancing with your childhood love, in a ball made for just you and him.

“I didn’t think you remembered that,” you admitted.

“How could I forget the princess who blessed me with my first kiss?”

The young Oikawa had led you to the gardens. He insisted that if you two were to get married one day, you might as well get used to kissing each other. You agreed and so you kissed him. Your little lips maybe touched for a maximum of a second but still, his pink flushed cheeks were unforgettable.

“Well I’m happy to hear that I made some form of impact on you, Toru.”

“I hope I did the same. I plan to be the best you’ve ever had, remember?”

Before you could reply, the song had stopped and people began to shuffle off of the ballroom floor. Oikawa presented his arm for you to take, which you did happily.

“Excuse me Your Highness, I need to borrow the prince,” said the man who entered with Oikawa earlier. You nodded.

“That’s alright. Well, it was a pleasure Toru,” you said. Oikawa kissed your hand once more.

“Oh the pleasure was all mine Y/N.”

As the night came to an end, the ballroom soon became empty. You stood in the middle of it, alone. For some reason, you thought of Oikawa. How his charm seemed to have melted your coldness towards the situation. He had a certain glow to him, bringing out this warmer side to you.

“Even with the night finished you still look just as beautiful as when it started,” said Oikawa behind you. He stood at the top of the stairs as you stood below on the dance floor. Oikawa joined you, standing in front of you.

“I could say the same about you Toru.”

“I’m about to depart but I wanted to make sure to give you a proper goodbye,” he explained.

“Go ahead,” you said. Oikawa smirked, and slowly leaned in to kiss your cheek.

“I’ll be counting the days until I get to see you again, just as I did when we were kids. Goodnight Y/N.”

“Goodnight Toru.”

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ: ☾

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