#Yes I did make plush reference sheets for them all.

[loupy-mongoose]

Is Eirwen also a werewolf?

Yup!

She's based on a Lupe Neopet my bro or I got from McDonalds as kids.

I'm repurposing it into a wolf~ (Also I only recently learned that the fabrics on the side of it's mouth is a little mustache, not teeth. I grew up believing it had Poochyena fangs. XD)

[atinylittlepain]

Me Too

college!steve harrington x f!oc

part of the girl boy series

18+ references to smut, idiots in love, emotional constipation, strep throat, lovey doveys in general

...............................................

“Hmm.”

“Hmm?”

“That’s kind of interesting, don’t you think?” 

“The colors are nice.”

“Nice.” 

“What? They are. And hey, Robin told me to tell you to stop putting your name down on every silent auction sheet. She said people are noticing that one Andy Broder is trying to sweep the whole show.” 

“Oh please, Steve, I can’t help it. The sad student artists look at me with their sad student artist eyes and I feel bad if I don’t put my name down, sue me for having a heart.”

“Can you afford to have a heart?” She scoffs, a little tug back when he tries to take the wine glass out of her hand, though she relents, her smile simpering while he finishes off the last sip. 

“I’m only getting things started. Ten dollars, tops. I doubt I’ll win any of the pieces.” He’s hoping she’s right, because he’s not sure how they’ll get even one of the pottery sets she bid on back to her place if she does win. Sets of plates and bowls and goblets, because apparently this semester’s pottery class was really, really into making goblets. Robin has a set of two bowls and two goblets up for auction. Steve put down twenty dollars on it, to which Robin scoffed and told him you don’t count, you’re family. 

“I guess we’ll see if your logic works.” Maybe he’s being a little much, his hand curling around the plush of her waist, wrapped up in a dark knit dress that’s scattering his mind just a little, pulling her into his side and soft murmuring want another glass? And her humming no, long walk home and all, her palm smoothing out beneath his sternum, warm brown nail polish that he watched her put on in a curl on her couch. Maybe a little much when he tips his chin to press a kiss just beneath her ear, warm rasp of did I tell you how good you look? She sighs, laughs a little, how very male gaze of you, baby, but thank you, and that thank you is soft, slight, a secret that makes his heart feather and fret against his ribs for a breath. 

He gets to be a little much now, because they’re official now, a thing now. Had the conversation last weekend and he nearly pulled his hair out working up the nerve to tell her yes, old fashioned, yes, he wants that old fashioned thing with her, wants to be hers, and wants her to be his. And her eyes had widened, a slight blanching, before he realized that he was making it sound like the ring and the dress and the suit thing, quick back pedal, not quite that, at least not yet. But he left the not yet part out. And she had smiled, softened, collected his wrists in her hands to stop him from tugging at his hair, her thumbs stroking the quick jump of pulse beneath his skin. Yes, she told him, she had been wanting the same thing too, with him. So yeah, he gets to be a little much, his palm lingering on the hilt of her spine as they walk around the gallery, both of them tucking into the other. And when she ends up winning three of the bowl, plate, goblet sets she bid on for a grand total of thirty dollars, they take turns hauling the recycled moving box full of ceramics, switching off at every block and laughing at themselves, breaths puffing out like curled smoke in the cold night air. 

“Eddie wouldn’t want a goblet, would he?”

“Actually, considering he takes his diet coke in a coffee mug, I think he’d probably be into it.”

“Great, he can have three of them.” They leave the box next to her front door, shrugging out of coats and shoes, intent on sleep after a late night that really shouldn’t have been a late night for either of them. Finals, the end of the semester, and it’s certainly feeling like it. He doesn’t mind though, all but setting up permanent shop with her in her apartment. Has a few hangers in her closet, and a drawer in her dresser, and Sylvia doesn’t even pay him any mind these days, padding right past him up to the box and sniffing a bit disinterestedly at a bowl. 

No classes for the last week, just prep for exams and deadlines. They’ve spent the majority of their time in a quiet comfort on her couch studying and working on their respective coursework, only breaking for light touches and meals and the occasional walk amongst melting and refreezing snow. 

All this time with her is making him a little giddy, a little greedy, already feeling an anticipatory ache for when he leaves on Friday with Eddie and Robin to drive back to Hawkins for the holidays. He had thought about it, he had, but he’d firmly decided it’d be too much to ask. Only just a thing, only just official, and he didn’t want to overstep, come on too strong, too bold. Learned that somewhere along the way, and he can’t remember whose bed he was warming when he did. 

So he’ll go back to Hawkins, and Andy will go back to Boston, but not for another week because the less time I spend there, the better. He can understand that. 

“What do you have tomorrow?” 

“Oral exam for my global inequality class, and a paper to turn in for mental health policy. You?”

“Business policy and strategy paper, and a calc exam.” 

“Hmm, better you than me, babe.” Steam starting to rise and fog in her bathroom and both of them stripped down to threadbare underwear, not trying to impress each other any more. She presses a quick kiss to the round of his shoulder and murmurs something that sounds like almost done into his skin. And he feels pathetic, pitiful over the fact that almost done makes his heart pinch and pull into a sort of nauseous swoop. It’s ridiculous, he knows, only a few weeks, he knows that too. But still, but still, he doesn’t want to be almost done. 

Moving over and around each other in the bathroom, skin still damp from their shower, that oatmeal and chamomile soap she uses flooding his senses, and it feels like the most natural thing, like it has been like this all along. He lets his palm run up and down the track of her spine, feeling the notches through the thin fabric of her t-shirt while she sits up in bed, proofing her paper one final time, printed, with red pen poised. She won’t find anything to fix, he knows, worked hard on it all of yesterday and then they both trudged to the library to type up their respective work and print it out. And when she has decided that she is content with her work, she gets up and tucks it into a folder that she tucks into her bag. He watches the plush shake of her thighs, one-track mind and he’ll admit it, his hands finding bare skin when she comes back to bed, back to him. Curling close under the covers and maybe, maybe, he holds her a little closer, tucks his face into the stitching of her throat and breathes, and breathes to keep himself from saying words that wouldn’t be fair to say right now, not when he’s leaving tomorrow night. 

They both sleep hard and late, and he’s pretty sure she meant to be up earlier, little snit, little snap when he wakes her up, her shoulders hiking up to her ears and she’s already out of bed and out of his hands before he can say anything. And he’s not sure what this is, a cool prickle of worry simmering and slipping up his spine as they both move through getting dressed, distant and silent and her hardly looking at him, and he doesn’t know what happened in the last twelve hours for her to change so much. Stress, he tells himself, she’s stressed, and frankly so is he, and they’re both tired, and they’re both running late, and that must be it. 

“Are you gonna be around this afternoon?” She asks it light as air as she’s wrapping a scarf around her throat, more business associate than anything else and it almost makes him laugh.

“I, well, yeah, unless you don’t want me to be? But I’m leaving tonight, so.” The so feels lame even as he says it, maybe even a bit bitchy, her brows pulling together and then smoothing out all over again, unreadable.

“Okay, I know. So I’ll see you later then?” And there’s little room for an answer, already out the door, and ushering him out too, and he feels like he’s going to throw up even as his body does all the necessary things, down the stairs and out the door and it’s too late to say anything other than mmhmm because she’s already walking in the other direction to her exam that’s on that side of campus, away from his exam on this side of campus. 

No, not how it went yesterday. Yesterday, he had almost been late to his accounting exam because they just couldn’t quite seem to let go of each other, slipping and skidding over icy sidewalks all wrapped up and laughing and whispering little luck to each other between kisses. Not like today, not how it went today. And maybe, he thinks, maybe this is just that thing that seems to happen to him every time. Maybe this is the getting tired of him. Maybe this is the leaving. 

He sits for his exam, turns in his paper, goes back to his apartment to pack a bag for home, and he’s grateful that neither Robin nor Eddie are around so that they can’t clock the strange fugue state he’s sifting through. But he still returns to her apartment, that want to feel whatever this wound is ache a little more. And plainly, he still wants to see her.

There’s no answer when he knocks on her door, calls out her name, her real name, and it feels weird in his mouth because these days she’s honey, sometimes baby, but always honey. And it feels weird too, using the key she gave him for the first time, but there’s an admitted pang of worry flickering in his chest because she should definitely be back by now. 

He’s greeted with the curl of her back, tucked into herself on the couch and perfectly unmoving. She still has her coat on and he’s never seen her like this before. He kneels down next to the couch, rests his palm on her shoulder and runs a soft track down to her elbow and back up again. And this time it is honey, quiet and almost cracking with how he whispers it, though she stirs, makes a noise that he thinks sounds a little like Sylvia, mmm? 

She turns to look at him, eyes held in dark shadows, a little red, a little weepy, and he has to resist the urge to brush the back of his hand over her forehead because he’s pretty sure he knows what this is, pretty sure he’d find a little too much heat beneath her skin. 

“I thought you’d already left.” And yeah, definitely what this is, her voice somehow dissolving and splitting into a gravelly rasp since this morning. She winces a little with the sound. 

“You really think I’d leave without coming to see you first?” 

“I don’t know, I was a dick to you this morning.”

“Yeah, you kinda were.” She sits up, and he has to resist the urge to help her, his hands settling instead on her knees, and there’s a guilty tuck to her chin, the fan of her lashes dropped down to her cheeks. His thumbs rub circles into her joints, something soothing, coaxing.

“I’m sorry, Steve, I was being stupid.” Her coat has shrugged down to hook around her elbows, a little pitiful, her palm curling at her throat like she could feel the ache through her skin.

“You’re sick.”

“Well that’s a little uncalled for, I think.”

“No, I mean like, you’re not feeling well, are you?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I’m just tired, need to sleep exams off for a few days.” Her eyes close when he cups her cheek in his palm, little lean into the touch while his fingers creep up to her temple, and his suspicions are confirmed, a thick wash of heat.

“Have you taken anything?” 

“I took some advil when I got home.” 

“Did it help?” She shrugs, a little, while he’s already made a decision. He asks if he can use her phone, really quick, honey, and she shrugs again, already slipping back in between asleep and awake with her head tipped back on the couch cushion. He calls his apartment and Eddie picks up, tells him that he and Robin are going to have to leave without him because he’s needed here. Eddie makes a joke about Lord and Lady Harrington throwing a fit and Steve sighs, not really caring about that. He’ll deal with them when he has to. And then he’s back in front of the couch and coaxing Andy up despite her quiet protests because he’s pretty sure they need to go to Urgent Care. And they go to Urgent Care, and she’s apologizing the whole time and asking doesn’t he need to go? No, he says, not going anywhere. 

Strep throat, and he’s not surprised, and they catch another cab to stop at the pharmacy for her antibiotics. She keeps saying that she doesn’t want him to catch it before he goes home and he has to laugh because honey, if you have it I definitely have it, just a matter of time before I go down. And by the time they get back to her apartment, she seems to have accepted that he’s staying with a sort of sheepish acquiescence, lets him boss her around a little into a shower and then into bed, meds taken with a glass of water and her socked feet slipping against his ankles. She says sorry again into his chest, quiet and small, and he asks her what she’s saying sorry for. 

“You should be with your family.”

“Nah, I like being here better.”

“Even though I sound like I have smoker’s lung?” 

“It’s kinda hot, actually.” 

“Sure, okay.” The slightest laugh that’s more like a caught breath, and then a long enough span of silence for him to think that she’s fallen asleep, but then.

“I really am sorry about this morning.”

“You weren’t feeling well.” 

“I mean, yeah, but, I guess I thought it’d be easier.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re gonna think this sounds dumb.”

“Not with that sexy smoker’s lung rasp I’m not.” Trying to lighten it, lift it, but she scoffs, Steve, serious, not kidding, her eyes unwavering, mouth tucked in the slightest frown, washed thin and pale in the slants of moonlight. 

“You weren’t even gone yet, and I was already missing you, and I felt insane for it.” He’s silent, a thick heat curling in his chest and blooming up and up and up, only feeling a little like an asshole when she says his name like a question, her hand curling in the fabric of his t-shirt. He has to clear his throat before he speaks. 

“It’s the same for me too.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, except I wasn’t a dick about it.” Not serious, and she knows it, nose scrunched and a roll of her eyes. 

“You can make it up to me by taking me to Urgent Care in about two days when I start sounding like you.” 

“Yeah, I can do that.” 

“You should sleep, honey.”

“So should you.” She tucks back into his chest, easy, and he just hopes she can’t hear the catch and jolt of his heartbeat, because it’s the same for her as it is for him.

They don’t leave her apartment for three days, and when they finally do, it is, as he predicted, so that they can take him to the Urgent Care for the exact same thing she had. And by the time he’s halfway finished with his round of antibiotics and she’s done with hers, and they’re both starting to feel like actual real people again, it’s December 24th, and it’s become very clear that neither one of them is going home for the holidays. 

He calls his mom, and his voice is still hoarse enough that she’s only mildly disappointed he won’t be home to make his requisite appearance at the family Christmas party. Meanwhile, Andy can hardly hold in a laugh at oh Steven, it’s not one of those, you know, sexually transmitted things, is it? No, mom, it’s not, yes, mom, merry Christmas. Andy’s conversation with her dad is even shorter, even curter, something about shipping presents, and her sisters asking questions. The youngest of five, she told him, more afterthought than anything else. And when they’ve both hung up there’s a giddy realization of their shared freedom, smiling at each other in her kitchen, crowded around the receiver hooked next to her fridge. 

“Are we bad people for doing that?” Trying to be cute in his lean against the fridge, taking the phone out of her hand and hanging it back up on the wall, but he can’t quite fight off the urge to cough first, tucking his face into his elbow before looking at her again, smiling small.

“We’re sick, honey. Our hands are tied, nothing we can do.” 

“Right, uh-huh. In that case, what do you want to do for dinner, my darling invalid?” 

And so there is no tree, and there are no presents, and there is no family this Christmas. They order takeout from a Chinese place a few blocks away, hot and sour soup and fried rice and crab rangoons that Steve offers one of to Sylvia, curled up on the arm of the couch where they have their holiday meal. She sniffs it, holds it briefly between her teeth, then spits it out on the carpet, though she seems to thank him for his consideration with a slow twine between his legs when he gets up to throw it away.

They don’t get out of bed until the middle of the afternoon on Christmas day, Andy coaxing both of them into a shower, and then into real clothes, and they leave her apartment as the sun is starting to set, catch the train going toward Navy Pier, and brave the cold to walk around beneath the blossoming lights display. Both a good and bad idea, they return with a kicked-up cough shared between them, rattling lungs, rattling ribs, warmed up and smoothed out with tea and buttered toast for dinner. They go back to bed full and content, and sleep off what remains of their sickness. 

The rest of that liminal time before the new year is spent simply, sweetly. They do a deep clean of everything, haul all their laundry down to her complex’s basement, him in a pair of her sweats and his own t-shirt, and her in an old flannel and a pair of his basketball shorts that are only just a little obscene because they’re too tight, you and your slutty waist are trying to kill me, nonsense, no sense. Afterward, when there’s a stack of fresh and folded clothes on her newly made bed, and the apartment smells like lemon and cold air from the window they left cracked, she kisses him again, and again, and again, in the kitchen until they’re both slumping down onto the checkerboard linoleum, sweet want, sweet melt, left panting and giggling in the aftermath. 

And when New Year’s Eve arrives, neither of them make it to midnight, dead to the world in a tangle on her couch, both of them still a little snotty, a little sleep-worn. He wakes up early in the first morning of 1991 with a stiff neck and pins and needles in his foot where he’s pretty sure Sylvia is sleeping. Andy, still asleep, with her leg slung over his and her shoulder tucked in beneath his, and he decides now would be the perfect time to try those words out. So he does, words that have only been offered to Robin, or Eddie when he’s really drunk, for many years. He whispers them like he’s getting away with something, and she doesn’t even stir, and he’s grateful for that as heat blooms and buoys in his chest.

The next time, he’ll say those words a little louder. He’s pretty sure she’ll say them back.

[jj-stay]

Random thought but leeknow x fem reader. So um leeknow is his kittens " cat butler" ( taken from his nickname of cat butler from stays ) . Ok the hard part. It can go 2 ways : smut of fluff. ( Kitten is the nickname a lot of creators say that Minho would give his s/o so yea )

1 smut- reader does a cat/kitten cosplay and leeknow acts as their butler and will give them anything they want ( do whatever the fuck you want if you go with this one I honestly don't have much to say for it )

2 fluff - his " kitten " is sick so he is thier personal butler or cat butler ( get the joke 🤣 ) and he makes her food and takes care of her and all that fluffy shit

Ily and have a good day

sure thing. i decided to do both sort've. hope you like it.

request ?: yes

Word count: 2,942

Pairing: lee know x stya {stay/reader}

Genre: smut

Rating:18+

Warnings: look there's a lot I can't get it all, kitty, vaginal penetration with no prep, spanking, Dom!Minho, eating out, pregnancyn leeknow being a softie after.

☪️ Master List ☪️

cat butler

It has been a very long time since minho had a break to relax, now after the tour, the group is now taking a break to visit family and friends. minho had come back from his parents house to be met with the beautiful sight that is his girlfriend dressed in a gold and white cat outfit.

the sight of the flimsy cloth that is practically sheer, who is he kidding it was sheer, so sheer he could see that you weren't wearing any underwear, the two white pieces of fabric tied to you by a golden waistband, barely covering your ass and pretty little cunt at all,even if it ran all the way to the floor.

as you walked over to him, he still hadn't registered you were walking over to him yet, but he was taking a step back with ever step you took completely subconsciously with is mouth still hung open in awe,to be completely honest nothing has registered in his head since he walked into your shared room and saw you on your bed.

as you slinked your way over to him smirking, with the white fabric sliding softly over your skin, all he could think of was your soft skin, your soft lips, your plush ass, your thick thighs, your curves the way your hips moved with each step, the way your thighs jiggled with each time your feet hit the floor, how your lips would feel pressed against his, his hands on your hips, body to body, and how his hands would trace the curve of your spine.

soon his back hit the wall and as it did he snapped out of it he realized what was happening, but he still refused to touch you, in fear that it was all fake because you looked too desirable, tempting, enchanting,so winsome, so... so... so siren to be real, the sound of the metal golden petals on the chain that hung around your waist made a rhythm he never wanted to forget, his eyes followed every smooth swing of your hip and watch and gulped at the recoil bounce with every sharp stop.

the flimsy bra was so thin that he could see everything like it wasn't there in the first place, the delicate sheet of white cloth around your shoulder and the beautiful furry cat ears made him feel as though he was in the presence of a goddess and god {pun intended} did he want to worship you. the golden leaf that hung lost in the crevice of your bosom just barely peeking out caught his eye, and how he wished he could take it's place, he was lost in thought again he didn't even realize you were EXACTLY in front of him. until you saw what he was admiring so whole heartily, and so you pressed your boobs between your arms as you clasp your hand together and shook your chest, causing the golden leave chain, that was connected to the poor excuse of a bra, to jingle, waking him from his trance and he hesitantly avert his eyes from your body to your face to see the darling but tempting look on your face, the make up on your face was not helping the goddess allegations.

{not face claim or specific body type, just reference for the make up and outfit}

when his eyes met yours, you asked "don't you like it, you won't even touch me much less kiss me, do i look that bad in this?" you asked with an obviously exaggerated pout, that didn't look any less cute because of it, to which he immediately responded with a delicate kiss on the lips, "of course not, you just look so unreal i was afraid id wake up from such an amazing dream, but..." he said as he rested his right hand on your waist sliding id down into the gully that is the base of your spine and pulling you close before continuing, "it's clear that this ain't fake ."

"then kiss me please." you requested which he quickly complied with, a little too gentle for your liking. "anything for you my love, whatever you ask i'll give it to you no question asked." "oh, what are you my little cat butler? well you're already dressed for it." you said as you bit your lip looking at his outfit. {this but black on black}

"if that's what you want, then so be it." he said smirking down at your body now pressed flush against his.

you rest your hands on his hips and hum as you slide them up his torso over his chest and around his neck, "well in that case will the cat butler do something for me?" you asked looking at him, "of course my lil kitten, anything." he answered almost instantly.

"then could you please fuck me like your rag doll, treat me like your whore, rough me up real nice , dick me down so good that i can't say anything but your name." you begged "what?!" he exclaimed

"I'm not made of sugar, honey", you replied, as you pressed your leg between his legs, and he was almost done for. "come one my cat butler, don't you want to do what makes me happy? well what makes me happy is you fucking into my holes and make me yours, make me an object for you to claim, to fucking own, make me yours ~"

"are you sure you want that my love?" he asked looking you in the eyes.

"would you just shut up and fuck me?." you countered, desperate to rid the ache in your pussy, just begging to be stuffed. minho was aroused by your statement, letting his hand slip further down to your ass as he said "if that's what you want my little kitten..." he grabbed the back of your thighs and pulled up off the ground and wrapped your legs around his waist with the whit cloth falling between your legs, much to his dismay, you gasped at how easily he seemed to be able to lift, you.

his hand gripped your thigh tightly as he finished his previous statement "then so be it." minho didn't know what happened but he was suddenly overtaken with the need to fuck her to he point she would not be able to walk the day after. he kissed her so lightly and looked at her little pout, "aww my poor kitty, are you sad i kissed you so soft?" he cooed at you in a husky voice, you nodded softly. "oh,~i wouldn't want to mess up your beautiful makeup~" he practically whispered just a breath away from your lips, you leaned in to kiss him, but was cut short when you were pressed into the wall by minho, with a smirk on his face, he leaned back using his left hand to fully shut the door, not wanting his cats to interrupt, his right hand traveling up your thigh to your waist gripping it tightly and watching your beautiful your thickness be kneaded beneath his touch and watch as what was left spill between his fingers, before averting his eyes to your eye then your lips, as his left hand went and grabbed your chin, then your other eye, rubbing his thumb over your lips and off the side of your lip smudging your lipstick and god did you look gorgeous. "oh, no your makeup is smudged, looks like i wont have to worry about that any more.~" he said as he began to lean in kissing your neck right below your jaw trailing lower as he undid his shirt, ripping it off and leaning back to use it to remove your lip stick, cause he honestly does not want to taste it, he wants to taste you.

throwing his shirt off to the side as he kissed you roughly supporting you by your waist and carrying you over to the bed, setting you down and crawling over you, pulling away from the kiss he looked down at you and hummed, "well which cat doesn't have a proper tail."he smiled down at you.

he got up and went over to your box of toys, that you are admit-ably embarrassed of, and grabbed the white furry cat tail butt plug, before walking back over to you and telling you to get on all fours. you rolled over and crawled closer to the center of the bed setting the thin white fabric between your legs, you looked into the mirror that replaced your headboard,to see him unzipping his pants and pulling them down along with his boxers, his dick hard and in need of touch, he climbed up onto the bed and and kneeled behind you admiring how amazing you looked, how enticing your are.

he unclasped the bottom of the outfit gently and pulled it off saying "we better not ruin this, we are definitely gonna use this again." after taking it off he threw it off to the side hearing it hit the floor as he began rubbing the but plug against your aching pussy covering it in your Delicious juice before pressing it against you tight ring of muscle, looking at you in the mirror, he plunged the plug into you making you moan at the sensation. he pulled the plug partially out of you before pushing it back into you at a nice and slow speed. you felt so good, to the point that you felt so dejected when he stopped pumping the toy in and out of you. you opened your eyes and looked at him through the mirror, glaring at him, "you can't just do that, you have to let me cum for you." you said finishing with a pout.

"oh, do i now?, i have to let you come, you're such a needy little kitty that you're trying to tell me what to do?" he said bringing a nice sharp slap on your ass before grabbing your waist and slowly raising his left hand up to your "bra" and unclasping it before slapping your ass again "i think you need to be thought a lesson" slapping your ass again before continuing "my little kitty~~" in a deep husky voice next to your ear being sure to tease you by letting his cock rub between your folds, to both of your satisfaction. pulling away from you teasingly slow.

" now lay on your back, love" and you hesitated before you felt a sharp slap your ass you moaned and lay on your back. feeling him spread your legs and licked his lips, you closed your eye to ground yourself but lost all control, when you felt a slap on your pussy. you arched your back up off the mattress and moan his name, begging for more, and he gave exactly as you wanted, he circled your clit realy and he began to bury his head between your legs, planting kisses on your pretty little cunt lapping up your juices and soon he was pussy drunk, he wanted nothing more that to give you what you wanted, and that was to be claimed as his. he sped up his thumb as he slipped his tongue into you, you moaned his name and he rewarded you with absolutely devouring you causing you to let out a series of cries all were nothing but his name, an only his name. pretty soon you found yourself on the edge of your climax coil tightening in your stomach as you gasped "minho, mi-min, i-i,i, aaahhhhh~" you moaned and came on his tongue and he lapped it all up before diving back into you. you moaned feeling the wave of over-stimulation settling in and having a boyfriend so skilled with his tongue you soon at your peek again almost crying barely warning him before you came on his tongue once more but he dived in again grinding his dick into the mattress god did it feel amazing eating you out hearing your please for him to slow down the moans of his name rivaling those please for a break , the squeeze of your thighs around his head, as he brought you to the third snapping of the coil in your stomach, the ecstasy of the next to sofficating feeling of your plush thighs threatening to cut his air supply as he revel in your taste.

pulling away from your cunt leaving needy kisses behind on it. he looked up at you and trailed kisses all the way up to your neck from your aching pussy to your lips into a sweat kiss. thinking he's done tormenting you you relax a bit, until you felt him bottoms out into you you screamed into the kiss eyes rolling back from the pleasure and pain you had never been fuck like this before he always stretched you out nice and good, and god did it feel go to just have him plunge into you , you had been hoping he'd give you time to adjust cuz you just dont think your strong enough to face the pounding of his huge cock without prep or adjusting, but of course minho had other plans pulling out of the kiss and almost completely out of you he thrust-ed back in you creamed his name with each trust of his hips unable to adjust just yet but god did it feel good and just as you almost gotten used to his size he speed s up and you moaned loudly calling him "daddy. please give me more i need you to fuck me until i can't walk" god did you sound like a cat in heat and he didn't mind at all speeing up even faster grabbed your left leg and tossed it over his shoulder fucking deep into you and god h wasn't even pushing completely into you he was only giving you a taste, he then took your other leg over his shoulder reaching impossibly deep into you and as he started feel ing the shape of the butt plug rub against hid cock he pushed deep into you fully causing your eyes to roll and boy was that a sight he wanted tp see it again he began going as fast and deep as he could and squirted so hard on him it felt so good the pride that filled him as tears pricked your eyes and he grabbed your chin, still absolutely ruing your tiny little cut, making you look at him "try your best to look at me " he said before he pushed deep into you tip of his dick pressed against your g spot as he came in you, you moaned feeling his hot liquid pill into you, he continued thrusting your eyes rolled as you came toes curling tongue almost sticking out and tears streaming down your cheek, good did you look pretty looking so fucked out soon he was hard again "come on babygirl could you give me one more give one more" he says as he helps you get on all four again. you nodded at him through the mirror before seeing how you looked you were barely fully here, eyeliner and mascara streaming down your face, but you wanted to give him all you could despite being full of his cum already,

(time skip)

and that is exactly what you did he came inside you a couple more times, at one point he was so pussy drunk that he grabbed your hair and forced you to look at your selves as he fuck you.

but now the next day after it all you have no regrets. you were awake just too tired to open your eyes, nut you know one thing for sure you were now cuddle up to him the same man fucking till you cried, was now holding you close massaging your back and kissing the top of your head. you opened your eyes and looked at him in the dull light of the room and saw him smiling at you, "i made you breakfast and set a warm bath for you, come on." he said as he got up and out of bed lifting you bridal style and carrying you to the bathroom to be met with sweetest thing in the entire world, he set you down into the bath took off the towel around his waist and got in behind you making you lean into his chest as he massaged your hair with your favorite shampoo.

you got emotional over all the love you were experiencing, and you turned as much as you could tears in your eyes, "thank you so much , i just love soo much." yo said kissing him. as you pulled back he grabbed your hips to pick you up turn you around and set you on his lap. "baby what's wrong why are you crying" he asked. "I'm just really feeling your love and couldn't help but feel emotional, but now I'm crying for getting so emotional so easily and i don't know why." you replied.

he hugged you close and smiled brightly as he looked at your face and said, "baby, i think you're pregnant" smile till on your face.

you smiled at him, knowing that you were both gonna have to wait to get tested to be sure. after all the time you've spent together and loving each other if you were actually pregnant you knew you'd be fine.

(time skip)

you were pregnant that day and throughout the entire pregnancy he was like a little cat butler, just for you.

@ultimatestayandminoronce 

[swtki]

Dancing Days - Edward Cullen x Reader Smut

Anonymous said: 19&24 on edward smut? love ur writing!

A/N: Thank you so much :) also I’m so happy everyone is h*rny for Eddy. I decided I want to explore more period times with Edward, changing his persona in a certain decade, but still ultimately being in the same universe as cannon. This will play into the readers character a tad bit.

WARNINGS: 18+ CONTENT, SWEARING, S*X, VAMPIRES, ORAL SEX (MALE RECIEVING), VIRGIN! EDWARD, NON VIRGIN READER, GENDER NEUTURAL READER, MENTIONS OF WAR AND DEATH. 

19: “Fuck me like you want people to know”.

24. “Thing is, I’m a virgin”. 

_______________________________________

I brushed my hair into its usual part, making sure I looked flawless. The year was 1976, I was a senior in Highschool. It was a wonderful time to be a teenager, no longer afraid that my friends would die in Vietnam. Even in my dinky little Washington town, the culture was becoming our own. 

The Led Zeppelin record playing on my record player stopped suddenly, alerting me that I was no longer alone in my room. I turned, my expression soft as I saw my boyfriend, Edward.

“Whats up with you and this album? Everytime I come in, its always House of Th Holy on repeat.” I rolled my eyes, lifted the record in question off of the tray, and put it back snuggly in its case. 

“I can’t help it, Ed. Robert just speaks to me. I’m sure you’re like that with Louis Armstrong.” I waved my hand, walking back to my mirror to finish getting ready. 

“Maybe, but the music you listen to it’s...” Edward paused for a moment, sitting on my bed. “It’s suggestive, Y/N.” I turned to him, my eyebrow raised.

“Suggestive? What’s that supposed to mean?” I placed my hands on my hips, and waited for him to explain.

“Well, for one that one song says ‘Sipping booze’, I quite think that is blatant alcohol reference.” I looked at him, dumbfounded. Then, I started to laugh, and I walked over to him. Instinctually, he pushed his head into my chest, enjoying the comfort it brought him. 

“I love you, but god are we from two different Mars.” He chuckled, sending a rumble through my chest.

At school, I was an average kid. Fair grades, many friends, many ex friends. When Edward was paired up with me in math, I got through his cold, stone skin. At first, he was annoyed when I would fuck off, leaving him to do the work himself. Understandable, and once I realized how rude I was, I stopped. I talked to him, prodded him truthfully. I would ask him once we started dating if he had noticed me previously, because I had never noticed him. 

“Yes, I noticed that you were the only one who didn’t acknowledge me. Ironic I guess.” 

A year into our relationship, I would never let him go unnoticed. We walked the halls, hand in hand. Our outlooks were so different when it came to life. He was modest, I was free spirited. Edward was different from my boyfriends previously, I didn’t want to fuck things up, and I refused to even risk it. 

School went slowly that day, possibly because my head was focused on what I would ask Edward, my boyfriend of one year, about sex. About us and sex. 

I hadn’t told him that I wasn’t a virgin, I was worried he would only want a virgin girl, after all they can never look at you disappointed and say “I’ve had better.” A definite plus. Many a nights I tried to imagine him, moaning completely under my control. I wanted him, but I didn’t know if he wanted me. Surely in 50 years he had found a good fuck. I worried that he would be into someone else, forever tied to a vampiress. 

The end of the school day couldn’t have come sooner, my anxiety rising as I got into Edwards car, starting a long silent car ride. I tried to keep my mind off of it, an attempt to avoid the conversation until we were at my house. I kept my mind busy with the lush scenery outside of the passenger side window. 

“So... I know you want to ask me, and I know the answers to what I would ask you.” He said blatantly, putting the car in park outside my front lawn. 

“I don’t wanna talk out here Ed, lets go inside.” I swung my bag onto my shoulder. Thats the thing with Edward, I never have to say anything, just as long as I think it. 

My house was empty, making it easy for Edward to follow me upstairs to my room. I shut my door behind us, then turned to him. Unsure of what to say, I breathed in deeply.

“How long have you known that I wasn’t...you know?” He smiled, sitting on my plush navy sheets. 

“Y/N, I knew before I met you what I was getting into. Your ex had a lot of thoughts about that one night where you guys-” 

“Oh my god okay ew.” A blush rose upon my face, and I saw Edward laugh as he watched my body fill with embarassment. “Well why didn’t you say something?” I asked.

“I figured if it needed to be brought up, it would be. You and I aren’t exactly a physical couple so I didn’t worry too much.” I walked over to my bed, taking a seat next to him.

“I see...I mean it wouldn’t be a big deal for me so if you want to...” I bit my lip at him, his gaze turned to the other direction.

“Thing is, I’m a virgin.” My expression went from a seductive look, to a puzzled one. I wondered if I had heard him correctly. “I’m old school, Y/N. It wasn’t like how it is now when I was human. People didn’t just have sex in highschool, unless they were married because the man was off to war. So, it hasn’t been on the menu for me. You’re the first girl I’ve dated in fifty years, you know. And no, there was no vampiress or anything.” I smiled.

“Well, I don’t wanna scare you or push it or anything. It’s just you know-” 

“You want to touch me, to be touched by me.” his eyes trailed back to mine, looking deep into my soul.

“Yes, I want you, Edward.” I pressed my lips to his, pulling away jut as it got intense. I could feel his disappointment. “I want to...but I can’t let you down. Tomorrow night. I’ll call you and we can talk about everything we want out of it, I’ll give you a fucking fairytale, my love” I chuckled.

I called him that night as I had said I would. We talked about my first time, and everything I liked, followed by what he had seen on video, what he wanted to try, and his fears.

“I don’t want to kill you, darling.” He said.

“Then don’t. I won’t let you.” He laughed at me, enjoying my lack of seriousness.

The next night rolled along with a quick pace. I looked at the clock and saw that it was time for me to start getting ready. 

I made myself look simple, a small bit of makeup and hair product, but otherwise just a tank top and jeans. Sometimes, dating an old fashioned guy was a pain in the ass. Always complaining about suggestive behavior. But other times, my shoulders counted as being half nude.

“You look stunning, as per usual.” Edward said, stepping into my room. He was tense and barely moved. “I don’t know what to do..what usually happens with it if I’m not the one doing everything.”

If he had any blood flow, he would have been blushing right about then.

“We don’t have to do anything you know. We can just lay down and watch a movie if you want to, I just want to make you happy, Edward.” I walked over to him and put a strand of his messy auburn hair behind his ear. Without hesitation, he pressed his forehead to mine.

“I want to, thats the part that’s been eating me away ever since I met you. I want to make you feel good, I just don’t know if I’ll lose it and-“ I cut him off with a kiss.

“Even if you break my pelvis into pieces, I’ll still be happy. I’m always happy when I’m with you.” we both smiled, and suddenly the thick tension that once filled the room vanished. “I’ll take care of you tonight, just as long as you’re doing it for you. I just need to know you’re doing this for you, and you need to be sure you wont roll over afterwards and hate me.” I said, my hand clasped in his marble one.

“I want you, Y/N. I have no doubts that I’ll want you afterwards, too.”

I pushed his head down, level to my own. Our kiss was deep, filled with a years worth of hunger. My hands tugged on his hair, making him whimper. Suddenly, I felt my feet lift off the ground as Edward carried me to my bed. With a soft thump, the plush sheets surrounded my body. It was a contrast of warmth on my back, and Edwards cool body on my top.

His hands were balled into fists, clutching my duvet as if his life depended on it. I pulled away, panting for air.

“Sorry, I forget you need air.” He smirked. I rolled my eyes in response.

“Well, its a shame you don’t. Because I intend on taking your breath away.” we both made small laughs at my remark.

“What now?” He looked at me for guidance.

“Get on your back.” I said.

We switched positions, he was now on the bottom. My legs straddled his torso, I sight he visably enjoyed. I slithered my hands up to his head, cupping his face as I kissed him again. My left hand left its post, reaching down to the buttons on his shirt.

I paused, looking up at him once I got to the last button.

“Does it...work like normal or...” He threw his head back and laughed.

“It doesn’t have spikes, I can assure you its just like a humans. But Emmet did tell me to pull out so...I’m kind of worried about the implications of that but-“ I leaned down to shut him up with a kiss.

His hands were still at his side, resting on the bed. I picked up his wrists, and placed them on the side of my thighs. He squeezed them lightly.

My hands roamed over his bare chest, cool to the touch. I lached my lips onto his neck, causing his back to arch below me. I could feel his excitement beneath me, it gave me a big self esteem boost. His hand reached along my waist, tugging at my shirt. His eyes lit up at the sight of my bare chest. He reached for me but I pulled away to slide down onto my knees.

He looked confused, like I had left him high and dry.

“Sit on the edge.” I said softly, my knees burning slightly due to the rough carpet underneath them.

He rid himself of the unbottoned shirt, slidding over to me once finished. My hands slowly stroked his thighs, he was desperate for some type of touch.

I smiled, tugging on his belt until it came undone. He stayed silent, looking at me like I was the only thing in the world. I unbottoned the trousers, tugging on them. He kicked them off and was left in his breifs.

“Is it okay if I..” I looked up at him and he nodded frantically. I palmed him over his underwear, feeling how hard he had gotten from kissing. My fingers latched onto the waist band, pulling them down to reveal a pale yet pink cock. It wasn’t too big, but deffinitley satisfactory. I ran my finger over the tip, earning a small groan from the vampire. My eyes trailed up to him, so I could see him when I took him in my mouth.

He let out a breathy moan, eyes focused on my mouth. His lips were parted ever so slightly. I bobbed my head, and grotesquely sexual sounds arose from my throat. I felt Edward move a strant of hair out of my face, he looked at me like I was a god.

“Fuck..Y/N if you keep doing that there wont be anything for you, dear” He said in a breathy moan. I pulled back, my mouth feeling sore and tired. “Do you still want to?” He asked, grasping his hands on my waist.

“Yes, I fucking need you.” I threw off my jeans, I would worry about finding them later, I needed him. He layed back down, propping his head up on my pillows. Our lips collided in another kiss as I leveled myself with him.

“Are you sure?” I ask him, stroking his hard member.

“I’m sure.” He pecked my lips again as I got ontop of his lean figure. I spat in my hand, lubing up my needy hole.

“How do you want me to do this? I mean like slow? What do-“ He said with genuine worry.

“Fuck me like you want people to know” I whispered, “ Fuck me like you want the entire neighborhood to know that I’m yours and yours only.”

“I can make that happen, love.” He flipped me over, now being back to where we first started. He lined up his cock with my hole, running it around the tight area. I put my fingers in his hair, making a slight tug as he pushed into my body.

Pleasure filled my body as he filled me up, his cock stretched my insides in the right ways. Without pausing, he started to push his hips into mine, making sure not to hurt me.

He reached down to suck on my neck, adding to the pornagraphic moans in the room. My hands travled to his back, scratching my nails down the cold stone like skin. His moans echoed in my ear.

“Y/N, I can’t be on top I’m going to crush you” I laughed at him, tapping his side so he fell onto the bed. I swung my legs over him, sitting on his perfect cock.

“Perfect, fucking amazing.” He said as I steady myself onto him. His face was in a euphoric expression, the most relaxed I had ever seen him.

I began to rock my hips, sliding him in and out of me. His hands grabbed onto my hips, guiding me. Everything was a euphoric experience. My gut filled with that wonderful sensation.

“Edward I’m gonna cum, oh my god” I moaned out, picking up my pace.

Suddenly, the world went still. My eyes went black and I saw stars as my orgasm washed over me. My moans echoed in the room as my body twitched. A few thrusts up into my body and Edward pulled out of me, rubbing his cum out onto his hand.

I layed there panting while he sped to the bathroom, and came back with a clean cloth, wiping down my body. He put the cloth down, pulling up his underwear and handing me mine. I slipped the fabric on, slipping under the covers.

“Get in here, I wanna kiss you”

He laughed, obeying and slipping beside me. Our lips reunited in a soft clash.

“I love you so much, dear.”

[wwilloww]

sh. | ot7 | chapter five

PAIRING ot7 x reader

RATING Explicit.

GENRE smut. fluff. angst. nonidol au. wildnerness au. roommates au. friends to lovers.

SUMMARY Six months of quarantine have kept you apart. Somehow the distance sparks something new in each of you: questions, unfinished conversations, threads once chased now left cold. So when your roommate invites you to come with him to a mysterious house in the mountains with your friends, how could you even think of saying no?

WC 8k

WARNINGS AND TAGS protected sex. friends with benefits relationship. dirty talk. power play dynamics. angst. semi-public nudity. mentions of open relationship. sexting. reckoning with feelings. talk of alcohol use. 

AN: One million bazillion thanks to the best beta and geologist out there, @hesperantha. Everyday I think to myself, how the fuck would this series exist without this magical lady? And every day I am thankful for her beautiful existence. 

Also, if you haven’t seen /the trailer, you might wanna check it out. Just because I had a lot of fun making it and it was super fun to visualize the characters and their tiny little world. 

Going forward, you can read with they/them pronouns by navigating to the series m.list and reading from there. 

That said, LETS JUMP IN!

← || series m.list || →

©️ wwilloww do not repost, translate, or use my stories without my permission.  

chapter five

January 2020

What is left when you’re not sure where to turn?

You know there’s Yoongi. Dependable, familiar, predictable Yoongi. Predictable in the sense that you know, unabashedly, that no matter what, you can always count on him to draw a short term — but important — curtain over whatever notion, anxiety, or complication that happens to be singing in your mind that day. Erase it, temporarily, with those long fingers, gliding over your skin in expert patterns, drawing you and your pleasure exactly where he wants it to be.

And predictable in the sense that you know you will be perfectly and endlessly satisfied at the end of the night, no matter what.

See, Yoongi doesn’t mess around. He doesn’t tease you. Doesn’t draw you out and dangle you over your own pleasure. He gives it to you. Over and over and over and over again. Extends his palm and pulls as many orgasms from you as you can physically muster and then lets you collapse in his arms. Dependable, see? Dependable, always.

Once you’re settled in his lap, Yoongi lets you grind on him for a bit as he undresses you expertly, long fingers slipping under the fabric of your clothes before tugging them off gracefully and tossing them across the room. This, this he did love to do. Loved to scatter your clothes around and then watch you from the bed as you tried to piece some semblance of an outfit back together after he fucked you senseless.

“Don’t throw my bra behind the furniture again,” you murmur as you kiss down his neck. “I know you thought it was a great tactic to get me to rearrange your room the last time — but I’m not moving a hundred pound dresser to get my very expensive bra back again.”

He chuckles. Murmurs, “As you wish.” And then throws your bra someplace you can’t see.

Now that you’re topless, he lets his long fingers skate up the skin of your back, tracing the flesh of your hips and with such delicacy it almost tickles. That is, delicate until his hand weaves itself up your neck. His grip tightens at the root of your hair, tugging your head back in a swift motion and exposing your neck to him.

“How do you want me to fuck you tonight?” His voice is deep and it raises goosebumps on your skin. He lets his teeth trace a line up the sensitive skin of your neck until he reaches your ear and bites down hard.

“Fuck,” you breathe as a shiver runs through your body. Yoongi always took particular care to curate a library of knowledge about your ticks, turn ons, and vices. And then he played them out for you in an expertly coordinated hand.

“Yes, that’s in the cards. But tell me specifically how you want it.”

Behind him, the large bedroom is equipped with enough musical equipment to run a fully functioning studio. Instruments hang on the walls and a large black bed rests in the center of the room. The dark tones of the wood and sheets make the otherwise sparse room feel warm and dark. Compared to the shabby little apartment that you share with Namjoon, this is luxury. Your gaze rests on the large wall of glass that looks out over the city.

“The window,” you say.

He grins.

The glass is cold against your bare skin when he presses you to it. The difference in temperature between the fired heat of your skin and the iced window slices right through you, makes you gasp as his hands run over your body, taking you in as you are: bare and ready for him.

You watch as he strips off his clothes, gracefully and swiftly. First the shirt, then his pants. It’s no surprise to you that he’s not wearing any undergarments at all. Delight lights in his eye when he notices how greedily you watch him.

“Do you want me to—” He begins to lean down, but you stop him and pull him up.

“Just fuck me.”

He turns you around in one movement, your hands flying up to stop the impact, your chest — and your nipples — pressing to the glass. The sensation overwhelms you as he slides two fingers between your folds, collecting the slickness that has gathered there.

“You’re already so wet for me.”

A smile spreads across your face as you hear the condom packet rip and he slots his cock against your cunt, coating himself in your arousal.

“Don’t tease me,” you say, a hint of a whine slipping into your voice.

“Don’t worry. I have no patience for that tonight.” And he pushes in. “How’s that?” he says, the lilting tease in his tone cutting sharp against your ear as his dick sinks into you, inch by delightful inch.  

It feels like you have to catch your breath to speak. “Is it always this good?”

“Baby, if it isn’t, you should ask for a refund.” He punctuates the last word of his sentence with a harsh thrust that rams your chest up against the glass.

“Fuck—” you hiss.

Memory whitens like it’s been covered in a blanket of snow as he begins a punishing pace, hips rutting up into you before drawing almost all the way back, tip barely inside of you before thrusting back into you, all the way to the hilt. Sensation overtakes thought. The slicing coldness of the glass against your nipples paints a stark contrast to the softness of lips pressed to yours, softness of a hand cupping your cheek—

You should be thinking of anything but that.

And it’s easy to do, in this moment. To focus on Yoongi, his commanding presence, the way he plays your body like one of the carefully polished instruments that hangs on his wall.

You cry out when he hits a particularly soft spot within you, and he pauses his movements, drinking in the sound of you.

“God, you sound so fucking good.”

He pulls out of you, turns you around, and pushes your back against the glass.

“Hop up,” he says, and you frown in confusion before realizing what he’s referring to. You wrap your arms around his neck and with a jump, wrap your legs around his waist.

“Fuck—” With a grunt of effort, he holds you up while slotting himself against your folds and pushing inside again.

The most you can do in this position is tilt your pelvis and grind down on him — while holding onto dear life — and you do, rotating it against his waist, drawing the most delicious sounds from his lips. Your hips begin to move in tandem, each pushing closer to the pleasure that you both so desperately desire.

This is better. This is worse.

See, the two of you have fallen into patterns in your hookups. Rules, even, although no one but you thought of them as such. But the habit — and therefore the lines — were clear to you:

You didn’t kiss. You didn’t confess your love. Hookups only, and breakfast together the morning after. Usually he takes you from behind, because, as he once commented to you, “the ass cheeks are the eyes of the heart.” Which to you, made no sense at all, but you still obliged him. Plus, at the end of the day it was all a little more impersonal that way, anyways. Easier to separate from the rest of your relationship.

But looking into his face, pressed so close — there’s something there. A warmth. An understanding. Too much.  

Your head falls to his shoulder and his grip tightens on your thighs as he fucks up into you. Several heavy breaths before you bite gently at the sensitive skin of his neck and he hisses.

“You’re too sensitive,” you chide, although the teasing lilt of your tone is broken up by him fucking into your body — and you both know you love the way he lets you know he likes things done.

“And you’re too shy,” he cuts back. “Why don’t you look at me when I fuck you?” It’s posed as a question but you know it’s a command.

Slowly, you draw your head back and look at him. His eyes are deep and dark, his hair tousled and face lined with pleasure.

“That’s a good little pet,” he whispers. It falls too softly.

It makes you want to kiss him. All you want to do is —

You press your lips to his. Just a peck — the smallest, lightest of pecks.

But the plush of his lips, the way they part so slightly when your lips meet... it leaves you wanting more. So you kiss him again, pressing yourself to him, chasing the feeling of his softness.

He responds, opening his mouth to yours, his tongue darting out to meet yours. His pace doesn’t falter as he continues to fuck up into you. His lips move against yours, fierce, needy, demanding. And it’s then that your stomach drops. It’s as if the winter chill that lays just beyond the door at your back slices through your veins.

You pull back.

“No,” he says, and pulls you back to him. “Stop running.” He brings your face close enough to yours but doesn’t kiss you, just waits.

And you meet him in the middle, kissing him again, afraid of losing the warmth you sparked between you. He groans against you as your hips swivel around his cock, and bites down on your lip.

“Fuck,” you hiss.

With one arm wrapped around his shoulders, you let your other hand press against the nape of his neck, nails digging in just the way you know he likes it. You both have always been in rhythm, in tune with one another, but now with him kissing you — something new sparks between you. Something new, something terrifyingly warm.

When you pull back he smiles.

“Shit,” you whisper, your eyes widening. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Yoongi says, an edge in his voice, his hips still circling against yours as he presses your back to the window. “You have nothing to apologize for.

“I shouldn’t have—”

“Shh... stop. It’s okay. It was good.” He punctuates his meaning with a thrust, a small groan slipping from his throat. You want to swallow the sound of his pleasure whole, but still. You let the guilt in your chest rise to your throat.

“No, no, it’s not,” you say, though the coil that’s winding tighter and tighter in your belly makes it difficult to speak. You take a shuddering breath in as he hits your g-spot, your eyes fluttering closed.

“Yes. It is,” he grunts, and you can tell he’s close too. “You fuck better when you kiss. You feel it. You get into it.” Your brow purses at his words. “Now be good for me, forget it, and cum on this cock.”

You nod.

“Tell me what you’re going to do.”

“I’ll forget it, be good for you, and cum on your cock.”

“Good,” he smiles.

Each thrust brings you a step closer. He kisses you, again waiting for you to meet his lips, and together you move like dancing partners closer and closer to the edge.

You cum, clenching around his cock and crying his name into his mouth.

The two of you breathe heavily, foreheads resting together for a moment that stretches long enough for you to call it a distance.

“Fuck—” Yoongi says, pulling out of you and smiling gently as he lets you down. “I’ve never heard you come like that before.”

Heat rises to your cheeks.

“Hold on, let me get you a towel or something,” Yoongi says, pressing his thumb to your forehead and wiping away a bead of sweat. You watch as he shuffles about his room, looking for anything to give you. “One second, I think there’s clean ones in the dryer.”

He wanders out of the room wearing absolutely nothing at all.

When you turn back to the outside world, the glass is fogged and the world feels a million miles away. The tension that rises up in your chest feels like a wrought iron ball and you need out, out, now.

There’s a fuzzy blanket on the dresser next to you and you snatch it, wrap yourself up tightly and push open the glass door to the tiny balcony. With a held breath, you step out. The cold concrete sends a chill through your body as you step out. Blue washes through you, shocking the pleasure-numbed nerves in your body back to life.

When you suck in a deep breath of snow-cold air, it feels as if clarity settles into you. You take a second, but shuddering, breath as you realize with a lucid sharp pain the reality of your situation.

Yoongi didn’t erase tonight from your mind. Sex didn’t remove Hobi’s kiss from your lips. An orgasm didn’t ease the unnamable want in your chest. If anything, it all just burns a little brighter.

This thing with Yoongi — it’s not supposed to be a distraction for you, or a means to make you feel something else. It’s supposed to be its own thing, a compartmentalized friends with benefits situation that has always been clear and defined between the two of you. But as soon as you showed up on his door with an ulterior motive other than sex, it became something else. As soon as you kissed him, you made it something else.

Fuck.

Around you, fat flurries drift down from the dark sky. They melt as they land on your bare skin. There’s no escaping this thing inside you. But the intensity of the cold seems like it keeps you here, grounded, in Yoongi’s home and facing actuality. As if any form of warmth would leave you wandering into the sickly sweet honeytrap of the what if’s that already threaten on the edge of your mind.

“Come to bed,” Yoongi calls from inside. When you don’t, he comes out onto the tiny balcony and wraps himself around you from behind, his head notching on your shoulder. “Christ, you’re freezing.”

“It feels good,” you say, nuzzing your body back against his.

“I know I didn’t work you up that much that you need to stand in the snow to cool down. Come to bed.”

Still wrapped around you, he waddles you inside, earning a giggle from you as you tumble into bed and he slams the door closed with a bit of a shiver.

“Here,” he says softly, wrapping you in a blanket before settling beside you.

He’s close. Wildly close. His breath brushes softly against your face as you look at each other. You take in the flushed pink of his face, the way his hair is tousled into a gorgeous mess from the effort of your intimacy.

You could kiss him again, you think and a shock runs through your body at the thought. Christ, his cock’s been inside you a million times and yet you balk at the thought of kissing him, of pulling him right where you want him, where he fits so perfectly, where he feels so warm —

“What are you thinking?” Yoongi says softly.

“What are you thinking?” you cut back, just a little too quickly.

Yoongi chuckles. “I’m thinking that you keep yourself so tightly together.”

You smile tightly. “I don’t know what that means.”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

You bite down on your lip.

“You’re thinking so loud I can almost hear it,” Yoongi says. “Just tell me. You know there’s nothing you could say that would upset me.” When you don’t say anything, he continues. “For god’s sake, I’ve seen your asshole. It doesn’t get much more personal than that.”

“Fine,” you say.

“Fine,” he grins.

“Maybe we should…” You trail off and bite the inside of your cheek.

Yoongi rolls onto his side, propping his head up with one hand.

“Maybe we should…?” He prompts. “Join a sex dungeon?”

You laugh, the thought of going to one with Yoongi is one that sends a thrill through you. “That sounds like a wonderful idea, but that’s not what I was going to say.”

“What were you going to say?”

You take a deep breath. “That maybe we should… stop. This.”

He doesn’t ask what you mean. He knows. “That, my dear, sounds like quite the antithesis to going to a sex dungeon with me.”

You laugh. “I can’t believe you’re making jokes when I am friends with benefits breaking up with you.”

“What? Were you expecting me to be angry?”

“I mean I expected a little bit of a fight. Or at least… I don’t know. Questions.”

“Do you want questions?”

You look at him.

“I don’t know.”

���Okay. Well. Why are you ending things.”

You flop onto your back. Look at the ceiling. The way the lights of the city reflect paley onto the white surface. They look like ghosts.

“I don’t really know.”

He pulls you to him, rolling you onto your side and tangling your hands together. “Okay.”

And then the two of you just lie there, staring at the ceiling in silence, the weight of your decision, of this ending, settling over you with a concrete taste. There’s something uncomfortable in this kind of silence. But it’s not him, it’s not an awkwardness, or the building of tension or resentment. None of that lies between you. It’s the fact that within the silence the answers rise up in you, and you find the words spilling from your mouth.

“I don’t want it to be complicated, Yoongi.”

He waits a moment before responding. “Is it complicated?”

“Well.” You sigh. “No. Not with us. Us is easy. I feel like I can tell you what I need or what I want and I trust you to be able to either give me that or set a boundary.”

Yoongi hums. “I feel the same. So then if it’s not us...?”

“I made a mistake tonight. Crossed a line I shouldn’t have crossed.”

His brow furrows. “Not with me you didn’t. I don’t underst—”

“Not you. It’s me. It’s — it’s always me. I don’t want things to spin out of control. And I feel like they’re about to.”

Yoongi is silent for a long moment.

“I don’t want you to feel that way.” He pulls you closer to him, his grip tightening on your hip. “Really.” You stare down at your intertwined hands. “Look at me.” He waits until you do, summoning an inner strength you didn’t know you needed to look at your friend. “There’s a part of me that wonders how much of this is you punishing yourself for something that you don’t have any reason to be punishing yourself for.”

You can’t help the nervous laugh that shoots from your chest.

“What!? Are you laughing at me!?”

“No, no,” you shake your head. “Just… I don’t know what it is, but if anyone were to look right through me and see everything that’s going on, it’s you.”

He smiles softly.

“Do you want to stay tonight?”

Do you want your friend to wrap himself around you? Pull you in tight to his warm chest? Remind you of the summer that lies on the other side of this long, long winter?

“No,” you say slowly. “I think I need some space. To… process.”

He nods. “Well, as my newest friends with benefits ex, I agree, you should probably leave. You know. So it doesn’t get awkward.” He grins.

“Yeesh, you’re so quick to kick me out.”

“I know. I guess I just need some space. You know. To process, too. Grieve.”  He paints a fake frown on his face and does a dramatic rendition of a very gross sniffle.

You giggle.

“Yeah, yeah, sure.”

Together you get out of bed, Yoongi — for once — rifling through his room in search of your clothes. With every piece of clothing you put on, you feel like you take another step backwards. Away from Yoongi, away from the vulnerability in you that feels like it tears open everytime he looks at you. His comfort. Each new piece of fabric is another wall resurrected. But when you go to hook your bra behind your back, he steps behind you, taking the straps from your hands and gently hooking the clips together.

“Here.”

When he’s done, his fingers linger on your skin just a moment too long.

“Thanks,” you say softly, turning back to him.

His eyes are still blown wide, his hair perfectly disastrous. There’s something so deadly soft about him. He looks just as he did when you marched into his bedroom earlier in the night. And yet, on the other side of this night, you feel like a totally different person. As if the stranger inside of you has finally stepped forward and introduced herself.

You turn away hastily, heading to the living room. He follows and pulls your jacket from the couch and helps you into it.

Shoes on, jacket on, you’re all ready to walk out the door. And still you linger. Yoongi glances at his watch.

“Well, I’d say six hours is a proper mourning period. Breakfast tomorrow?”

“How about brunch? I’m not getting up at 9am for eggs.”

“Oh and I’m the one who needs space huh?” He smiles softly. “11am. You’ll get up at 11am and I’ll buy you a breakup brunch.”

“Yeah,” you smile up at him. Even as you taste the edge of fear — of anxiety — on your tongue, there is still a kind of undeniable warmth that blossoms in your chest every single time you look at him.

You broaden your smile. Push it down.

There’s one last thing.

“And—”

But he already knows what you’re asking. He steps forward, taking your head between his hands and pressing a kiss to your forehead. The shock that runs through you is quick and cold.

“I know,” he says. “This’ll still be our little secret.”

When he steps back, there’s something soft in his gaze — too soft, you can’t help but think. Tenderness, surrounded by acceptance and strength. All the things that make Yoongi, well, Yoongi. And yet it feels like too much to handle. Too much to be looked at, to be seen, to be understood when you can barely wrap your mind around what’s going on.

“Sleep well, buttercup.”

Different taxi, different driver, different route.

“Home,” you tell the woman at the wheel when you give her your address, her over-bleached and curly hair forming a kind of halo around her in the seat.

“You got it,” she says smacking her gum and throwing you a wayward smile.

As the car pulls away from the curb and picks up speed, you feel a kind of numbness wash over you.

It was the right decision to end things with Yoongi, you remind yourself, even as you feel a kind of twinge in your chest. You haven’t lost a friend. In fact, you’ve probably preserved your friendship. Saved it from wandering into the brambly bushes of complication and ultimate destruction. Even if it means the loss of killer sex.

You phone dings, and you instinctively brush a hand over your body to make sure you left with all the clothes you arrived in.

When you look at your phone, it’s not who you imagine. It’s not what you imagine.

tae: I forgot how loud you are when you orgasm.

You choke, hand snapping up quickly to cover your mouth.

“You alright, hun?” the driver asks.

“Yeah, yeah, just fine,” you say, but your voice is strained. You immediately type out your response.

you: fuck. i’m so sorry. you: it won’t happen again.

Your heart is pounding in your chest, embarrassment and confusion tightening around your throat. How much more can you really take tonight? Hobi, then Yoongi — now this? You tap your foot as you wait for the response, which takes just a minute to pop up on your phone.

tae: oh… well that’s too bad. I actually didn’t mind it all that much.

Oh.

Oh.

Before you know what you’re doing, you’re typing out your response — and turning down the brightness as if it will hide the loudness of your message from the world.

you: is that right?

tae: i said it didn’t i? ive always been a man of my word. brings me back to the old days, in a way.

you: oh?

tae: you know…

you: do i?

tae: you do.

you: it’s been a while. why don’t you remind me?

tae: you’re playing coy tonight. two very loud orgasms and you’re still not done playing?

you: i’d send that shrugging emoji but i can’t find it you: what can i say? I can be needy

tae: should i remind you tae: when we used to park behind the grocery store tae: there was never anyone around but you’d still get so shy and embarrassed tae: and try to cum without a sound tae: but i didn’t hear a single note of shame or restraint tonight tae: shamelessness looks good on you tae: **sounds good on you

you: you were always quite shameless yourself

tae: it gets me far in life

You blink down at your phone, not really sure what to say. Taehyung’s hearty banter is something you’re used to. Even after all these years, your quick back and forth was still twinged with the smallest teasing edge of sexual interest. But you had always kept it within strict boundaries, never returning to your previous relationship, never suggesting—  

tae: but my question is how far will it get me with you?

Your breath freezes in your throat. Never suggesting that you return to anything of the past.

tae: jk tae: unless…?

Taehyung’s sexually laced messages have your head spinning round and round on its pedestal. It’s not as if you had never thought about it, never considered it. But there was a line there, was there not? A line you shouldn’t cross, shouldn’t even think of crossing, no matter how you wanted to. With a deep breath, you respond.

you: i don’t know if we should be having this conversation right now?

tae: why? because you’re my ex? or because of Jin?

Before you can even manage to type out the long list of reasons why you shouldn’t be dipping your toes into the perilous waters of sexting your very happily taken ex, the screen is lighting up again.

tae: if it’s the latter, don’t worry. he’s here too. tae: he says to tell u you’re hot   tae: which is news to me tae: not that you’re not hot, but that he thinks that tae: and he says hes “sorry he missed the show earlier”

you: tbh that was NOT the response i was expecting to get.

tae: we’re very open about these things. he’s quite… encouraging actually

As if this is the opening, you walk through it.

you: in what way?

tae: he likes visibility in a specific way. he likes to watch. likes to be watched and… the attention, especially when its directed at me, especially when he knows that at the end of the day i’m crawling back into his bed

Your heart races in your chest.

tae: sorry, maybe that’s tmi.

you: don’t apologize. i don’t mind tmi

tae: then i won’t apologize.

you: good.

tae: good 😂 tae: you know, i liked it.

you: sorry, liked what?

tae: hearing it tae: hearing you cum

you: did you?

tae: more than i expected

you: more than you should?

tae: that’s not what i said

you: well, like i mentioned, it won’t happen again

tae: why not? You finally get me to admit i didn’t mind it and now you’re telling me i won’t get more? :(

You chew on your bottom lip before responding.

you: it’s complicated.

tae: an orgasm is never complicated.

you: …

tae: but you know what is complicated? tae: feelings. tae: you’re having feelings. tae: oh my god you’re in love with yoongi

you: i am nOT in love with yoongi you: surprisingly it has very little to do with yoongi

Even as you send the text, you know that’s not entirely true.

tae: okay, then what’s going on??? pls don’t play cryptic with me, it’s too late for that shit

you: i don’t even know what’s going on.

tae: oh. tae: so we’re talking big boy emotions

you: i don’t have *emotions*

tae: you’re a fucking liar

you: hey you: language

tae: alright then let me rephrase it tae: what are you so afraid of will happen if you let yourself feel?

Your heart catches in your throat. Oh.

“We’re here,” the taxi driver says, and your head snaps up from the light of your phone to see your apartment complex towering high and familiar above you.

“Oh!” You blink yourself from your reverie and hand the woman the cash for the ride. “Keep the change.”

“Thanks,” she says, twisting around to look at you as you skootch across the backseat. “Hey—” You pause, looking at her. The orange glow of the streetlights rings like a halo around her head. “You take care of yourself, alright?”

“Alright,” you smile and nod.

A haze settles around your body as you climb out of the taxi. The hard edge of soberness and the sharpness of the winter air mixes and shocks life back into you as his question rings around your head. What are you so afraid of will happen if you let yourself feel?

Your breath feels strained as you climb the echoing stairs to your home. The sound of the key fitting into the lock rings with a harsh click, but it brings you back into your body, to the little marks where Yoongi’s hands dug into you, to the confusion that rattles around your mind, and finally, and most devastatingly, the warmth that has sunk deep and inextricably into your heart.

The apartment is dark when you enter.

“Namjoon?” you call out.

No one answers. You don’t bother to flick on the lights as you feel your way blindly through the darkness, hand brushing against the soft fabric of your sofa, the bumpy texture of the wall, and finally the cold knob of your door. Instead of pushing the door open though, you lean against it, taking what feels like the first full breath of the night.

You look at the screen of your phone, Tae’s question, his voice, spiraling around your head. With a shaky breath you respond, fingers flying across the blue light of the screen.

you: something feels off. I don’t… i don’t want to mess anything up. I feel like the only way to keep things in order is to keep myself out of it all.

tae: can i call you?

you: yeah. Joon’s not home.

You finally press into your room. All that silver light from the city reflects off of the white flakes that flutter softly down from the sky. It spills onto your bed like a pool of molten silver, waiting, chilled and cold for you. You flop down onto it, your breath coming out in a long huff.

When your phone rings, there’s a second of hesitation before you hit the answer button.

“Hello?” your voice is shakier than you expected.

“One second.”

You hear the rustling sound of Tae getting out of bed and the door shutting.

“If I can hear you orgasming, Yoongi sure as hell can hear a phone call,” Tae whispers, a slight chuckle to his voice. “Unless you’re just always unreasonably loud.” You can imagine the sly smile that plays across his lips right now. Another door opened and shut and he sighs. “There. Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” you say. “I…”

You trail off. You don’t know what to say. Don’t know what there is to say.

He says your name softly into the phone, the syllables forming such a familiar shape on his tongue. “Are you okay?”

“I...I don’t think so. I don’t feel great.”

“You’re home? Safe?”

“Yeah. I’m home.” You look around your room. Art on the walls, your little desk the messiest place in the room, stacked high with papers and photos and plants.

“Good.” Taehyung takes a long breath. “So. Tell me what’s going on.”

You want to. But your voice freezes in your throat and you can feel the way your silence falls around him.

After breaking up at nineteen, you and Taehyung had always remained friends. The truth was that even though you loved each other, you were so caught up in the physicality of it all that the rest of your relationship — and your relationships outside of that — began to deteriorate. No more sex, you both had decided. And at the time, that meant no more romance. There weren’t lingering feelings of resentment, but you did know — because you both talked about it — that you were both plagued with the lingering question of what if. What if…. But the answer was simple. You both needed more than what the other could offer.

Best friend turned lover turned best friend. If the lingering sexual tension was the only consequence of that, you could handle that. And if you were honest with yourself, you enjoyed it, in a safe, flattering kind of way.

But the reality was that the consequence of your relationship wasn’t limited to just a couple of sex dreams here and there or comments about your former sex life thrown about as jokes. The truth was that there was a permafrost of cautiousness that sat like a layer of ice beneath all of your interactions; one that only thawed away after midnight or a second drink.

Right now, the clock on the wall reads: 3:12am.

“You don’t have to tell me—”

“No — I want to.” You shake your head. “I should… I should talk to someone about this.” You take a deep breath as the sharp images of tonight’s events spiral around your mind. When you speak, it comes out a whisper. “I kissed Hobi tonight.”

“Oh. Shit.”

“Or he kissed me. I don’t really — don’t really understand what happened, we were just standing there and had both had some drinks and suddenly it was happening and I should have kept everything within the normal boundaries, I shouldn’t have done it, shouldn’t have overstepped our friendship, but we kissed and I…” Your voice trails off.

“And you liked it,” Taehyung finishes for you.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “I did.”

“And it scared you.”

“Yeah.”

“And then you both ran away from it.”

“Yeah.”

“And your way of running away from it was to go fuck Yoongi again, huh.”

“Goddamnit, Tae,” you huff, annoyed by how right he is.

Taehyung chuckles. “Babe, I’ve known you way too long for me to not pick up on these kinds of things. These kinds of patterns.”

“Patterns?”

Taehyung sighs through the phone. “I love you, dude, but… yeah. Yeah. It’s a pattern.”

As you let his words sink into you, you realize. It is a pattern.

“Can I be honest with you?” he asks. “Do you really want to know what’s going on here?”

You laugh softly, even as fear nibbles at your heart. There’s a part of you that wants to turn into blindness. That wants to shield your heart from the reality of the situation. From the reality of yourself.

But there’s also something about facing into the truth — clear and cold like the night waiting just beyond your window. You want the shock of truth through your body, glaring and sharpened like ice. Because at the end of the day, you’ve had enough of this numbed ignorance.

“Yeah. Go for it.”  

“This might be out of the blue. And you might not want to hear it. I could be totally off—”

“Tae, it’s okay. I want to hear it.”

He takes a deep breath. “But maybe… just maybe, it’s time to think about the way you push people away.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you whisper, although the reality of what he’s saying is already dawning on you, even if it’s at a glacial pace.

“How you let people in just long enough, just far enough, to let them see something authentic of you. But you don’t really let them take any real stake in your life.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“And that’s okay!” He adds quickly. “At least, it has been okay. We do what we need to do to keep ourselves safe, but… I think you’re past that all now.” You take a shuddering breath and he pauses. “That place in your life where you need to keep the walls and the rules so strict for fear of falling. You’re not there anymore, babe. Maybe it’s time to start looking at the wall that you’ve built and considering letting yourself tear it apart.” And then, so softly you think his voice might be made of something as delicate as a flower petal: “You know, maybe it’s time to think about how you want to start letting love in again. Because you deserve it.”

It’s not until you brush your hand against your cheeks that you realize they’re wet. You look down at your fingertips, glistening with fallen tears, shining silver in the snowlight.

“Fuck, Tae.”

Taehyung lets loose a light, but pained, chuckle.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You sniffle. “Goddamn it.”

Silence settles between the two of you. Tears slip silently down your face as you hold the phone to your ear. You can hear him breathing softly on the other end, but Taehyung doesn’t say anything. It’s as if he knows you need a minute to process.

His words slide right under your skin. Directed straight at the thing that has felt so heavy in your chest all night now, it’s as if the whole thing has been broken open within you. Suddenly, you can see it all.

The past years, this game of cat and mouse with your own vulnerability. This façade of carefully curated openness and faux vulnerability. All of the things that you kept as reminders of your freeness, your unlocked heart — the hookups, the fast and furious romances that ended in nothing but silence, the friendships you kept so carefully defined — were actually all just markers of the opposite:

A deep and abiding fear that if you let someone love you, a fear that if you let them close enough to really, truly see you, they might see something they won’t like.

Better to keep things clearly organized. Clearly marked and known and understood. That way you’d know exactly when things were spinning out of control and when someone was just about to get too close.

“You know, there are so many ways to love,” Taehyung says. “It doesn’t just have to be in that one way of fucking and falling in love and then a big white marriage, tada! the end. And, uh, it’s okay to want love. It’s really, really okay, actually. In whatever weird way love shows up for you, even if it’s not the traditional way. It’s even more okay to let yourself have that love, even if you don’t know what it is — don’t know what to call it.”

When your breath comes out shaky and ridden with tears, you can hear a soft oh echo through the phone.

“Hey,” Taehyung says with all the love in the world laced so delicately through his voice. “It’s okay. It might not feel like that right now. But opening up again — if, you know, if that’s what you want — that’s something you can do. It can be done.”

“I-I do, Tae. I don’t want this anymore. I don’t want to keep fighting this.”

It’s as if you can hear his smile through the receiver.

“That makes me really happy to hear,” he says.

“Where do I even begin?” It comes out a whisper, your voice cracked from the tears that have begun to slow. You’re half afraid to even hear the answer. Half afraid to walk down the path riddled with your greatest fear.

“I think you begin by going to sleep. And in the morning I’ll call you. And I’ll keep calling you. And we’ll work through this together. You know, this isn’t something that you have to do alone.”

You’re silent.

“You’re in bed?” crackles through the phone.

“Yeah?”

“Go put on some pjs and go to sleep. You don’t have to do this all in one night.”

You nod, wiping the rest of the tears from your face and sniffling. “Yeah.”

“Alright. I love you to the moon and back, no matter what. You know that. Right?”

You close your eyes. For a second you imagine accepting that it’s true. It fills your chest with a new kind of warmth. One you want to sink into.

“Yes,” you say. “I love you too, Tae.”

“Get some rest then. Goodnight.”

“G’night.”

The dial tone clicks and the room falls into complete silence. Only the sound of your breath breaks through, too loud and uncomfortable amidst the darkness. But still, you climb out of bed, dump some water on a towel and wipe at your face, and change into the largest t-shirt you can find in your drawer.

Tonight, you dream the first dream of many in a line that will haunt you — and spark you back to life. It’s Yoongi, his body pushing you up against the ice cold glass, his hands in your hair, his lips whispering, over and over and over again: Is it complicated?

In the morning, you lay awake, just feeling the way your breath falls heavily in your chest. You text Yoongi to tell him you can’t meet up. You look outside.

The world is covered in a blanket of snow. Unrecognizable. Beautiful. Washed clean.

Something hopeful flutters in your chest.

When you look down, your hands are clutching the collar of your sleep shirt. With a deep breath, you wrap your arms around your torso in a hug.

“I don’t really know how to do anything else other than this,” you admit to Tae one day over the phone, flourishing a hand you know he can’t see to emphasize the point you know he already understands.

“Well. I don’t know how much of it is really choosing to be different. Instead, maybe you ought to try looking at it like an undoing. Whenever you match up against that impulse to run, think about sitting with it. Feeling it. And then choosing to move in another direction. Yeah,” he says, and you can tell he’s nodding on the other end of the phone. “An undoing.”

What does this kind of undoing look like? you wonder.

When the world comes to a screeching halt around you, you don’t expect to find your answer. The reality of the pandemic and quarantine — the emptiness of it, the long, drawn out days that feel long and drawn out when you’re in them but that then seem to blend together into one long, monotonous, anxiety riddled day and leave you wondering and wishing for the end — it’s hard. It’s hard in that quiet way that’s easy to ignore and push off, and hard in the way that there’s a big ache in your chest every time you go to sleep, one that crawls straight into your throat and sits there until the morning. It’s hard, and you learn to live with it. It’s hard, but somehow it brings you what you need. When distance seems to be the defining feature of your life, you don’t expect to find clarity. But you do. As you sink into the new routine of quarantine and pandemic life, and as life begins in a new rhythm with new rules and new realities — slowly and wildly new and sometimes horrific — it becomes clear to you.

What does this kind of undoing look like?

It looks a lot like feeling the emptiness in your home when Namjoon is away. Silence louder, space smaller. You find yourself reflected back to yourself, as if you are staring in a mirror.

It looks a lot like distraction. Emotional exhaustion turning into physical. You do distract — and it’s good — with a new drama or a new hobby. Exercising in your room until your cheeks are flushed. Cooking something new and delicious every night. Or sometimes just letting the small rectangle of light in your hand absorb you until the lingering discomfort is numbed, until you’re ready to fall asleep.

It looks like listening to your thoughts, really, truly listening, for the first time. Hearing the stories that you’ve built up in your head over the ears and how deeply they’ve sunk into your reality. It looks like noticing them, and wanting them to change. It looks like standing in the empty hallway of your apartment, feeling it all, and deciding to do something about it.

It looks like weird-ass sex dreams. Once dreamless nights are repopulated with strange and specific sexual fantasies featuring none other than your seven gorgeous friends in various states of undress and revelry.

It looks like letting people in again. Laughing on the phone until tears well up in your eyes. Building up the courage to tell Jimin about your vivid, even pornographic dreams. Writing letters when facetime just doesn’t do it anymore. Telling your friends just how much they mean to you, even when that voice warns you that you ought to keep your feelings held tight to your chest.

It looks like falling asleep one night, the traffic of the city now quieted by reduced travel, and the silence offering you a new kind of truth:

Love can be without limitation.

Love can be without limitation. It is allowed to flow from you without doubt or embarrassment. It is allowed to exist in the world — and in you — without needing to be reciprocated or validated. And you are allowed to ask for it. To demand it from life, even if, at times, it feels like the only place it pours forth from is from that great gaping space in your chest.  

The phone rings a couple of times before it’s cut off in the middle of a digital brrng. You’re ready to hear the familiar buzz of a robotic voice reading: the caller you are trying to reach is not available—

But instead, the deep, heady voice you’re so familiar with comes over the speaker.

“Hello?”

“Hoseok?” His name feels foreign on your tongue. After all this time, pushing it away, pushing him away, welcoming his name back into your body feels almost like a fresh rain, washing away the dust on your skin.

“The one and only,” he chuckles. “What’s up?”

A ball of emotion wells up in your throat and the phone line hangs in silence as you try to glue together what you want to say, what you had practiced to say, what you should say. But it feels as if it’s all disappeared. 

“I thought—”

“Did I mess up?” he blurts.

You blink in confusion. “What? No, I—”

“That night, I had so much to drink, I’m worried that… I messed up, that— ”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Hoseok.”

You can hear the breath release from his lungs and shudder through the phone. “Oh.” It’s silent for a moment. “Oh. Okay.”

“I just…” You close your eyes. Take a deep breath. “I just miss you.”

“I miss you like there’s an ocean between us,” he says, laughter mixed with sincerity threading through his voice.

“It feels like there’s ocean between us,” you sigh.

“I know,” he says, too quickly for him to realize the meaning behind your words. “But I promise this will all be over soon, babe. How long can something like this really last? In no time it’ll all be done with and I’ll be right back beside you. Right?”

You smile. “Right.”

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[newtie-patootie-bootie]

Masquerade (Prologue)

Summary: This is your third season and your aspirations on finding love are dwindling but news on Lady Whistledown’s society pages say that there is to be a foreign royal in attendance to the season. Could this royal dignitary be the one you’ve been waiting for, or could there be a mysterious stranger lurking in the shadows, waiting to pluck your heart for his?

Disclaimer: I do not own Bridgerton nor The Mandalorian- all rights go to the owners and creators of their separate stories.

Warnings: None just yet, enjoy my writing as I lead up to the story!!

|| Please do not repost or plagiarise my work ||

| Chapter 1 |

“Dearest, have you read the newest Lady Whistledown?” Your mother burst into the drawing room with a flurry of her skirts, clutching the article in her fist as you, your brother and your father took in her frazzled form. 

Her eyes were alight with excitement and she was nearly vibrating with delight, “no, Mama. I haven’t.” You answered her, eyebrows pulling together gently and she barrelled forward, slapping the scandal sheet in your hand. 

You abandoned your needlepoint on your lap and opened the reports gingerly, perusing the freshly printed words with increasing distress:

‘In related news to this year’s promising season, my dearest reader- my sources say that a discreet candidate was called on by the Queen herself!

In a show of good faith and generosity to the newly signed trade agreements between the Crown and the elusive, yet breathtaking realm of Mandalore; it seems that this mysterious suitor has touched foot on our verdant lands in search of one of this season’s blossomed flowers to pluck for his own. 

I have heard that this particular aspirant is eager to secure an acceptable match, perhaps with the season’s named Incomparable? 

Or, perhaps there will be a sweet winter blossom that bloomed so richly as she was presented to Her Majesty, the Queen for her third season. Could the magnificent daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Wintere snatch such a lucrative title from Miss Daphne Bridgerton?

I so do adore a good rivalry between two influential families and as such, I would like to express my most exuberant notions of good fortunes to each family and may the best woman win.

This intrepid author would also like to disclose that there should be a number of severe competitors at the Danbury Ball this evening- and even worse, bloodthirsty mama’s charging forward with energetic hopes to secure the prospects of such an exceptional suitor.

After all, it is not everyday you are offered the chance to become a Queen.’

“She has named our dearest daughter a ‘winter blossom’, no doubt in reference to our family crest, darling!” Thomas’ eyebrows lifted at the high praise and yes, it was true. The family crest consisted of blooming hellebores and a snowy owl taking flight. “She also named our daughter to be a worthy adversary of the season’s Incomparable, Daphne Bridgerton!” Elaine gushed, taking a seat beside her husband and her skirts pooled with the air trapped but she seemed nonplussed as did Thomas who watched her with an adoring smile. “Isn’t that wonderful, darling?” 

“I’d consider that a high honour indeed!” Thomas boasted proudly, raising his teacup to you and a sigh left your lips, ever world-weary. 

“Looks more like a wilted weed to me.” Your brother teased and earned a reproachful stare from your parents, Ryder shrugged off the blistering glare from your mother before turning back to his book. 

“Mama,” you implored, the paper crinkling in your tight grip, “do not put any stock into Whistledown’s scribblings- she has a tendency to exaggerate and her words incite challenge when there is no need for it.” You scoffed, tossing the offending scrap on the plush cushion beside you, “she has surely just made Daphne and I targets for the 200 other girls for the entire season!” 

Ryder stood from his place across the room and moved closer, snatching the crinkled sheet from the pillow and plopped himself down, taking in its contents for himself, “Cressida Cowper is going to eat you alive, dearest sister.”

“Please do not remind me of Cressida Cowper, do I not appear distressed enough for you to cease your mistimed jibes, brother?” Your tone heightened, echoing somewhat in the drawing room.

Ryder’s smirk softened into a worried frown and took your hand in his in a soothing fashion, soft thumb massaging the space between your knuckles, “apologies, sweet sister. I only wished to make light of your situation for your own piece of mind.” 

Sighing, you whispered your own apology at your sudden snap and you hummed softly in thought before a mischievous grin curled against your lips, “if anyone should feel concerned about Cressida Cowper’s intentions, I would think you to be more perturbed than I, older brother. The heir to the Duke of Wintere, a monumental promise of success to any willing debutante, I’m certain.” Ryder shuddered at the thought of the ill-mannered girl setting gladiatorial eyes on him and the notion of the high prospects he would bring to the mart. Immediately abandoning your hand, he burrowed himself deeper into the seat beside you and flicked the sheet out dramatically.

It was an indiscreet attempt to occupy his mind elsewhere as he kept his eyes firmly on the black print, yet he took not one word of the information in.

“Darling, this is good.” Your mother’s voice gently eased you from you and your brother’s banter as she reached forward and took your hand in hers, “this means that suitors will now take notice of you, and if this king hears word of your beauty in Whistledown’s musings, then I believe we should all be thankful to the woman, do you not agree?”

Your fingers curled around hers but your eyes remained downcast at your half-sewn needlepoint and you sighed softly, “I don’t see the need for such articles to be published. There will be enough dramatics to satisfy the weak-minded all season.” 

“Your mother and I only want what is best for you, little owlet.” Your eyes raised to meet Thomas’, his gaze warm, tone loving as he levelled you with an adoring smile, “if it eases your mind, I have come across some news of this new ruler during my time at the club. I have heard he is just and fair. An honourable gentleman if somewhat mysterious as Lady Whistledown reports. You have nothing to lose by dazzling him with your grace and charm- but you have everything to gain if you succeed in wooing him. You have no need for tricks or deception to win the attention of any suitor, for you are perfect just the way you are.” Tears blurred your vision, threatening to slip down your cheeks. Your frown turned into a watery smile as your father placed his warm, large hand over you and your mothers, “and I shall be there to protect you and only agree to a match deserving of a jewel such as yourself.” 

You sniffled back the forming tears before smiling warmly, “thank you, Papa.” 

“There is no need for gratitude, dearest. This is a father’s duty; one I aim to fulfill to the highest regard-” Your father’s words were cut short as one of the servants walked into the drawing room.

“Your dresses have arrived, Your Grace, my Lady.”

“Ooh!” Elaine shot up from her seat, clapping in excitement before grabbing your hand and hauling you upstairs to your room, “we must find the perfect gown for tonight’s fete!” 

Your sputtering and half formed protests carried down the hallway as Thomas opened the newspaper that had been sitting untouched in his lap, chuckling indulgently, “ever the child, your mother.” 

Ryder shook his head in amusement, a smile curling his lips.

"Have you read the newest Whistledown? Foreign royalty searching for a suitable bride? I suspect this season will turn out to be exemplary.” 

"I heard that this King's treasury is one to rival the Crown itself."

"I heard he has a son, yet there is no mother that has come forward to claim the child. A most scandalous affair, indeed!"

"I heard that their land is rich in minerals. Some type of iron that is nigh indestructible! I'd wager it'd fetch a high price."

"Daphne Bridgerton locked in a violent competition with the Duke and Duchess of Wintere’s daughter? How delicious."

"I have never heard of this Mandalore, is it near Scotland?"

You were barely able to contain your ire for the gossiping hounds polluting the air of the ballroom. 

Your jaw ticked imperceptibly and you fought the urge to roll your eyes so hard you would be able to see the back of your head.

Their whispers were anything but that as you walked past each intrusive mama and daughter as they revelled in the rumors etched in the latest scandal sheet authored by Lady Whistledown, containing information of a supposed king attending the ball. 

Your eyes scanned the ballroom and made contact with the youngest Featherington- carving a path for her, her rounded figure swathed in a bright, eye-catching yellow gown that suited her complexion and figure little, yellow beads and jewels glittering in the lights overhead.

You caught her eye and her shy demeanor slipped somewhat as she smiled, excited to see a familiar face and you curled your arm through hers and locked them together, “why have I not seen you on the dance floor, Miss Featherington?” You asked and Penelope sighed. 

“I am just admiring the view, Lady Dalton,” you raise one brow at the title and her tiny frown curled into an indulgent smile as she corrected herself and called you by your given name, “you seem to have taken the room by storm when you joined the dance floor, every bachelor here has his eyes on you and Daphne tonight. I would think many of the suitors here are bursting at the seams for your hand- and it is your third season as well.” 

“No doubt to Lady Whistledown’s meddling, I’d wager. I have already entertained enough male suitors tonight. I shall take my leave of them for the time being,” your tone changed to a slight whine which served to incite Penelope’s rich giggles, “have you taken your turn about the room?” 

“I’m afraid I am not as carefully provided for as you, my Lady. Father has decided to forego these events and my mama is not quite so attuned to my aspirations to ensure a well-rounded tour.” 

“Well, then, allow me, Miss Featherington.” You hummed politely, smiling brilliantly at the shy girl who returned the gesture just as brightly and you led the way about the hall. Nodding your head politely to every suitor that greeted you, you curled closer to Penelope, “I see your mother is surveying the hall with Lady Cowper and Lady Edgecomb.” Penelope’s world-weary exhale betrayed her true thoughts and you ran a soothing line along the back of her hand with your thumb, “the determination of rumormongers is indeed boundless, are they not? Perhaps, we shall next be blessed with the sight of them suspended from the rafters with ear trumpets to survey even the most meagre pieces of gossip.” Penelope giggled, covering her mouth with her hand daintily as she did so, bowing her head. 

“Ah,” Anthony Bridgerton exclaimed, his arm encircled with Daphne’s as they stepped in front of you, “Miss Featherington, Lady Dalton.” 

“Penelope,” Daphne spoke your names warmly, her bright smile widening as she curtseyed perfectly.

“Lord Bridgerton, Daphne.” You and Penelope greeted in unison, curtseying elegantly though you felt your arm tense as Penelope teetered on her feet in an attempt to keep her balance. You rose rather quickly to save her any embarrassment, “how fares the hunt, Daphne? Many of the most eligible suitors have presented themselves at this fete, don’t you agree?”

“Oh yes, my Lady.” Anthony spoke over his sister, answering for her. “Quite a well-rounded affair. Why, I can count every worthy bachelor on each finger of my left hand.” Daphne stared at her brother, aghast but your tinkling laughter could not be hidden with a well-placed hand over your mouth.

“I could only hope that you could spare a finger for my own brother, my Lord? Is he not worthy of your high praise? I would hate to inform my father of this scandalous news!” You teased slyly, a sparkle of mischief in your eyes as Anthony chuckled.

“Of course, my lady. Ryder Dalton, heir to the title Duke of Wintere is honest and true. A man worthy of the title he will one day inherit.” You bowed your head gracefully at the praise.

“Did you read the latest entry of Lady Whistledown’s scandal sheet?” Daphne asked, head inclined slightly in question and your lip curled in irritation, earlier humor forgotten.

“Unfortunately, dearest Daphne. What does this author hope to accomplish by sowing dissension among peers? It is only going to be harder for us if we are to be locked in this invented rivalry until the season ends. Not to mention that all other 200 fine young women will see us as common adversaries to quarrel for a desirable bachelor.” You shook your head and sighed wistfully.

“Perhaps, Lady Whistledown’s sources were incorrect in their counsel. I have yet to see a comely King from a foreign land in our midst.” Daphne teased and you chuckled, nodding as you looked about the room but gazed over no fanfare nor buzzing enthusiasm.

“Nor a royal guard. What do you think, Penelope?” You hummed and the young woman beside you almost wiggled with excitement to be counted.

“I believe that Lady Whistledown is breeding a development early in the season to incite challenge.” You voiced a wordless agreement and Penelope continued, her fingers still clinging to yours, “Her Majesty is one to be enthralled and I would think that the public invitation to this monarch of Mandalore is an attempt to bring about said excitement.” Penelope’s curls bounced around her rounded face as she spoke and you took her words in with great thought. 

“A compelling view, if I ever heard!” Anthony complimented and Penelope bowed at Anthony’s flattery, “if you ladies will excuse us, we still must take our view of the room.” 

“Ah, we shall keep you no longer! Happy hunting, my Lord. Good luck, Daphne.” You sympathised genuinely and Daphne huffed in agreement as her brother pulled her away. “That was excellent, Penelope. Sharp wit, indeed!” 

Your words were met with sweet giggles from your friend as you continued your turn about the room, dance cards dangling delicately from your gloved wrists in and quizzed Penelope on the memory of her miniatures, impressed with her skill to point out each suitor with ease.

Once Penelope tired of walking, she took her rest by the edge of the dance floor and you bid her luck before striding to the refreshments table in search of a beverage to quench your thirst.

Your eyes remained locked on the small glasses of lemonade, unbothered with taking care in your surroundings- you were shocked to feel someone knock into you rather forcefully. You stumbled, unable to right yourself and you could feel your traitorous feet tangle around each other. 

Time seemed to slow to a complete stop, though your mind ran freely and aware. A frisson of fear crackled down your spine at the premature embarrassment of the predicament you were just about to drop yourself in just as you felt strong hands slip against your back, righting you almost as quickly as your legs betrayed you. 

“Oh, goodness, please do excuse my-” your apology trailed off into stunned silence as you took in the unfamiliar man you could call your savior. This stranger that had his arms around you in a most improper fashion and you know you should untangle yourself from his touch immediately but the heat of his large, ungloved hands bled into the exquisite material of your gown, through your corset and seared directly into the flesh of your arched back.

His clothing was much the same of every suitor attending, nothing unique or flamboyant to stand out amongst the countless other candidates. The slight crinkles in his suit brought an air of indifference- as if he cared little for the state of his dress. What persuaded you to fully take in his form, was his sun kissed, bronze skin that shone deep in the synthetic light of the chandelier accompanied by the ornate lights mounted on the wall; so striking and different from the many men that boasted pale complexions and youth.

You could see the ruggedness in the etchings in his skin, the lines that betrayed his advanced age compared to the others in attendance. The hair atop his head was rich and dark with slight streaks of gray, airy soft curls that adorned his head like a crown, wild and untamed. The same dark hair that graced his head, also carved around his jawline and upper lip, small patches of hair scarce in some places- so unlike the pronounced fashions in high society and you found yourself preferring the unkemptness. His eyes were a harsh change from the softness of his hair, striking and bold. They glittered like dark gems in the gentle lights as he perused your features, intelligent yet curious as he took you in with a cool countenance and thick brows pulled together in an expression of concern.

A prominent nose curved down with a hooked slope, rather large but it suited him and you fought the urge to caress the curved bridge with your fingertip. Pink lips parted, thin but pillowy as the tip of a red tongue slipped between to hydrate the slightly chapped flesh. 

It set him apart from the rest, a beauty you so desperately wished to explore.

Just as you studied this unfamiliar man, he also took your form in. 

His gaze was not leering like many of the bachelors loitering about the room- nor a lecherous grin curved those sinfully soft lips as he drank in your appearance with ease, noting every detail and micro expression with rapid ease and forced himself to cease the ever growing notion to tighten his arms around you, drag you closer to his chest when he felt the way your body curled into his touch, seeking the warmth he provided on a subconscious level. 

Clearing his throat softly, he righted you on your feet and took a step back, bowing at the waist and a soft curl slipped in front of his handsome features, concealing his left eye, “forgive my impropriety, my Lady,” his voice was deep, rasped and foreign and those same lips curled around each word with an elegance none of the men here could hope to match, “my intentions were pure, I assure you. I did not mean-” 

“-t-the apologies are mine, my Lord. I did not see you.” You cut off his apology, your usual confidence abandoning you and curtseyed softly before you both straightened in tandem, “please accept my most sincere apologies.” 

“Only if you accept mine, my Lady, as I was the one to knock you.” This man raised his eyes to meet yours, a small smile playing on his lips at your stunned expression. 

Realising how unladylike you seemed, you quickly smoothed your expression into a serene smile and bowed your head gently, “well then, I accept your apology, my Lord.” 

“And now, I shall receive yours.” He bowed once again, though his eyes never once strayed from yours, his hand coming to brush back the curl that slipped in front of his face, freeing his eye from the obstacle. “Quite an affair, is it not?”

You turned to look upon the room and the dozens of bodies packed in the lavish ball and the bodies moving in rhythmic synchronisation as they flounced around the dancefloor, skirts billowing and waistcoats whipping. “Yes, my Lord. It is certainly a promising fete.” You ripped your gaze from the dancers and you looked back to the mysterious suitor that you know for a fact his profile has never graced your miniatures. “I do not believe I have had the pleasure, my Lord.” You introduced yourself and he bowed his head in a nod to your status. 

“Din Djarin, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my Lady.”

You did not miss the way he left out his title, not many men did. It was refreshing to meet someone unbothered by status and titles. You smiled brilliantly and for a moment, he had trouble remembering how to breathe. 

How did people do this?

“What brings you to London, Lord Djarin? I do not believe I have seen you here.” You certainly couldn’t recall seeing those mesmerizing, yet prominent features etched in your miniatures.

“I’m in town for business, mostly- but I thought I would attempt to join the fray of finding a beautiful woman to make my bride.” Din’s eyes found yours when his lips curved out the word ‘beautiful’. You could feel your cheeks heat and quickly brought the tiny glass to your lips and took a long draught- almost emptying the glass entirely. It was unseemly on your part but you couldn’t find it within yourself to care, you needed to soothe your drying throat and tame the butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

“And what better place to be than a cotillion for ambitious debutants who are searching for the perfect match?” Betraying your inner emotions, you struck up kind conversation, performing an air of confidence and strengthened your resolve. A wide smile stretched his lips, revealing perfect, straight teeth and the act of a simple smile brightened his features. Your heart slammed against your ribcage in response, your steely courage cracking in half with little to no effort.

He took a sip of his own lemonade just as a pair of gossiping mama’s walked past you both, talking loud enough for you to overhear their conversation with minimal exertion- if any, “and where, pray tell, is this so-called king?"

"Perhaps, Whistledown's sources were wrong. You can never trust a scandal sheet these days, I wouldn't be surprised if he turned out to be a charlatan." 

You swallowed the sigh you desperately craved to release and inwardly shook yourself free from the coils of irritation that started to constrict around you before turning your attention back to the mysterious lord, only to notice his eyes were following the rumormongers and you helped yourself to a portioned sip of lemonade in an endeavor to quell the heat burning within you. A certain dark fire heated his gaze, stoking a reaction in you. Something deep and primal you had never experienced before and you suppressed a shudder at the ferocity clearly displayed in those deep, dark eyes.

“What are your thoughts on this foreign monarch, my Lord?” You barely managed to choke out, Din’s eyes snapped back to you as your question hung in the air and you swallowed subtly as his piercing gaze burned through yours.

“My thoughts?” He rasped, shifting on his feet in a show of subtle anxiousness. His earlier fire dissipating and awkward trepidation took the forefront.

“What do you make of the rumors surrounding the arrival of a ruler of a distant land coming to London to participate in the season?” You tilted your head in innocent curiosity, “surely, you have heard of this mysterious King hailing from his distant realm?”

“Rumor articles and gossip do not interest me, but yes, I am familiar with the topic you wish to discuss.” His smile twisted his lips into a forced stretch- barely passing for genuine and you weren’t sure as to why he seemed so uncomfortable when just moments earlier he was quite at ease conversing with you.

“And what do you make of his scarcity when his arrival was rumored to be a most certain guarantee? I should think the King would be thankful for not attending. Overbearing mothers and their equally simpering daughters have proven to be nuisances at the best of times.”

“Is that so?” Din looked at you, surprise colouring his pleasing features at your unfiltered response, “are you not disappointed that you may not meet this ruler and further your prospects on the mart?” His hand gestured subtly at his side, the barely touched lemonade sloshing dangerously close to the rim, “it would be a high honour to catch the eye of a king, now would it not?”

You chuckled, ducking your head for a moment, reflecting on your answer before opening your lips, “as silly as it may sound, I wish to marry for love.” You raised your hand, noncommittal waving it about, “I realise it will never happen, you do not endure two seasons with silly notions of love intact. I must maintain a status beholden of my title and secure a proper, advantageous match. But I can operate under the illusion of hope, can I not?” Din’s eyes cast down in thought, your words were soft, spoken quietly as if you were afraid another may overhear- whether by accident or on purpose, he could not say.

But the sincerity in your eyes could not be overlooked, the innocent yearning for a future that could very well be out of your reach sparkled against the hues of your irises. 

“Perhaps your aspirations will be met, my Lady.” Din smiled kindly and you hummed in thought, but your brilliant smile was dim. Working up his courage, he set the small glass of his barely touched lemonade on the refreshment table and vaguely gestured to the dancefloor, anxiousness twisting his features almost comically, “w-would you care to dance?”

His hand was large, rough with thick fingers. They were working hands, familiar with hard labour and you shivered imperceptibly at the thought of those hands running down the expanse of your naked flesh. 

You took a few steps forward, maintaining a respectable distance for propriety’s sake. With a smooth movement, you gently leant around him- his eyes never left yours as you placed your glass on the refreshment table beside his.

A gentle scent curled into your nose, blessing your senses with the subtle hints of sweet spices, oak and . . . a touch of gunpowder.

A heady, peculiar scent and it suited its wearer perfectly.

You slid your gloved hand into his, fingers slipping against his palm. The gossamer material caught on the rough skin of his palm and his lips upturned into a grin. “It would be my pleasure, Lord Djarin.” He grinned and you helped him by pointing to the card around your wrist and he made a soft ‘oh’ sound before taking hold of it and let go of your hand to grip the tiny pencil- thick fingers swallowing the dainty stationary and you smiled as he filled the Canon Galop Quadrille with his name in sharp, messy strokes.

“Shall we?” He let the card and pencil drop as his fingers snaked up your wrist slowly, feeling every dip and hollow before clasping your hand gently and leading you to the dance floor. “I must confess, I’m not accustomed to dancing all that much. I pray you forgive me if I fumble.”

You chuckled softly as you joined the other couples on the dancefloor and took your places. You smiled at Din who shuffled in place subtly, waves of anxiety pouring out of him, “I will not judge you, Lord Djarin. You have my most sincere promise and if you have any issues with the steps, I shall guide you. Do not worry.” He looked at you, your soothing tone calming the raging storm of distress inside him and he reciprocated with a smile of his own. 

The music began to play as you curtseyed to the other couples and took your place in front of Din, your hand slipping into his and a strong muscular arm wrapped around your back, large hand splayed across the expanse of your skin and you suppressed another shudder at the addicting heat he emitted. With a gentle nod, the tempo in the set increased and you began to skip about the room with practiced ease.

You gently tilted in a different direction, silently alluding to the next movement and he carried you effortlessly through the throngs of couples, winding around the dancefloor perfectly.

Giggles erupted from your throat, this particular dance always brought out the child within you and Din smiled at the sound, finding that he wished to hear it more often. “I dare say, my Lord, that you move quite well for not being accustomed to this particular dance.”

“I’m rather accustomed to a life outdoors, perhaps it has aided me well.” Din murmured, tightening his hold against your back.

You twisted and twirled around the dancefloor, weaving around bodies and as you separated to complete the next act of the dance, your eyes never left his and the mysterious man seemed more than content to hold your gaze and then you were back in each other’s arms.

“Perhaps, we could discuss the matter of dancing etiquette further, at a more. . private venue?” You asked quietly, alluding for him to call on your home. 

Before he could open his mouth to reply, a loud thump hit the ground and the music paused abruptly and you both stopped, all the guests' gazes swivelled to the ballroom doors as they were thrust open violently.

Gasps and shrieks rippled across the room as two armoured warriors marched forward, spears in hand and their features concealed by unusual helmets, stark colours streaked across the material in a wash of deep reds, browns, yellows and teals along with similarly handprints. A dark- completely opaque visor stretched across their helmets before spanning down, splintering the armour in half.

The curve of their coloured breastplates indicated their feminine physiques, pieces of vibrant painted plates clung to the thick, almost tribal clothing they wore beneath- sharp hues of red and brown adorned their bodies, hems tied tight with pieces of dark leather around their wrists and calves. Fur lined the capes around their shoulders as the thick material flowed to their booted feet, the leather scuffed and worn- creased from years of dedication and physical labor. 

Yet your eyes remained trained on the pure silver spears they held at the sides, pointed ends lifted straight in the air as they slammed the butts of the weapons down against the polished floors in tandem. 

A loud metallic ringing filled the ballroom and harsh bootfalls began to echo. 

Din stiffened in your arms before gently extricating you from his hold, the both of you turning to face the open entrance.

You swallowed harshly as a hulking figure took the space of the doorway, silver armour gleamed in the lights above, clearly displaying the pure gold accents weaved through the chest plate and accompanying pieces- dark clothes thick and concealing any form of skin to be shown, brown gloves worn, flaxen tips stark against the deep colours.

Just like his guards, he was not unarmed. But unlike carrying a spear of his own- you did not miss the pure obsidian claymore sheathed around his back. The hilt was brilliant against the darkness of the blade- made up of what seemed to be the same material that adorned his body. 

His helmet was simple- unlike the tribal colourings of his people, his was silver- notes of gold bled through the seams of the visor, framing it with its simplistic beauty and fur lined his shoulders, gold chain clinking against the silver metal and the crimson cape billowed behind him as he continued with his heavy gait. 

“Is it him? Surely not!”

“I expected a fanfare- yet this is not what I had imagined.”

“Do they dress like this in Mandalore? Will I have to?!”

“Look at them, so primal!”

“Why do they carry weapons? So uncivilised.” 

Whispers filled the hall as the foreign stranger stopped, his helmet scanning the room.

“The twenty-fourth monarch of our sovereign land,” The guards called, demanding silence from all in attendance, “The First of Clan Mudhorn and sole ruler of Manda’yaim. We present our king, the Manda’lor.” Their fists beat against their breastplates as they turned and faced their leader and bent their knee to the floor, heads bowed in respect. “This is the Way.”

The dark visor continued to survey the hall until it stopped-

-directly onto you.

Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes caught your reflection staring back at you from across the room, you could no longer feel Din’s presence beside you. A quiet, rasping voice rang true from beneath the ornate silver helm, so familiar and yet completely unplaceable.

“This is the Way.”

[george-mackay-macfine]

Let's play a game

A/N - Who remembers the snippet I posted ages ago with the bad boy / good girl. Well, I finally did something with it.

Please enjoy, Chapter one.

The warmth of the sun was the first thing I felt when I woke up, coating me in a blanket of warmth. It was too much warmth, and I was rapidly becoming uncomfortably hot. The second was the throbbing in my head, undoubtedly brought on by all the alcohol I had consumed the night before. And the third was the heavyweight of an arm across my torso. Who did the arm belong to? Well, to be honest, I wasn’t quite sure.

“Shit,” I whispered, cautiously turning on the plush bed, careful to not startle the owner of the arm that lay all too casually around my waist. “Shit, shit.” I moved the arm carefully off my waist, putting it beside its owner.

The owner of the arm was none other than Jude Hastings, the boy I’d known since I was eight, and the boy who’d mercilessly teased me throughout school and somewhat into our adult lives.

People, primarily our parents, often called it teasing— a bit of harmless flirting between an adolescent boy and a dorky adolescent girl, so they said. I, on the other hand, referred to it as warfare.

Which would lead to a lifelong war between Jude Hastings and me.

“Fuck,” I stood from the bed and looked down at what was covering my body… It wasn’t much. All I had on was what I’m assuming was Hastings’ button-down shirt, and that was it. No bra, no pants… And I had no clue where my underwear had gotten to. “Pull yourself together, Darcy,” I whispered to myself. “Just find your shit and get out.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, taking five deep breaths. My mother always told me it was a way to destress, but guess what, mom, I am still stressed. “Okay. Pull it together.” I had seven things I had to find in this apartment, and hopefully, it was all contained to this one room. Anything I couldn’t uncover would just have to be left as a sacrifice to the apartment demon.

My pants and top were the easiest to find, laying at the end of the bed a dead giveaway of where Hastings and I had ended our night standing, or at least standing for the most part. I vaguely recall him pulling me off the bed just to bend me over the desk he had pushed against the wall… I guess that counts as sort of standing.

“Jacket…” I crept around the room, trying to find where my favourite corduroy jacket had landed in the thralls of passion I had shared with the still sleeping demon. “Gotcha,” I pulled on the sleeve bringing it out from behind the chair that sat pushed into the corner. Another memory of Hastings and I making out on the very chair flashed through my mind bringing a blush hot enough to make the top of my ears burn. “Shoes, bra and underwear,” I sat on the floor, pulling my jacket over my arms looking around for a sign of any of the missing clothing. I quickly spotted my bra hanging over the bedpost at the top end of the bed. “Ahha.” I pushed up from the floor and padded across the carpet, keeping a keen eye on Hastings to make sure he didn’t suddenly wake up and catch me in the shameful morning after clothes collection. If I was lucky, I’d leave with all my belongings and whatever scraps of dignity I had left. “Four down, three left.” I scooped the bra off the bedpost and shoved it in my pocket. Watching Hastings, I dropped to my knees and looked underneath the bed in hopes of finding at least one of the remaining items, if not all of them. “Shoes.” I gripped the heel on one of my boots and pulled it towards me, half an item down… The second boot was more brutal to get to. I had to crawl at least halfway under the bed to reach it, somehow it had landed so far underneath the bed last night, but at least now I had shoes to wear for my solemn journey home.

Was underwear really that necessary for a journey home? Could I just leave without them? And my purse, I mean, I’m sure any decent human being with any dignity would give it back to someone who’d left it at their house. Still, then again, this was Jude Alexander Hastings we were talking about. He wasn’t known to me for being a decent human being. Besides, cancelling all my credit cards and getting a new I.D sounded a lot more appealing than risking Hastings waking up with me still inside his apartment with minimal clothing.

“Fuck it.” I army crawled backwards out from under the bed, careful not to get any carpet burns on any delicate parts. Trust me, one time of having sex on some carpet, and you know the pain well enough to not do it again. Once I emerged from the pits of the bed, I took a final look around, trying to find the elusive underwear or purse. “Note to self, cancel the credit card.” I stood up and walked to the pile of items I’d begun to form at the end of the bed: pants, top, bra, shoes and jacket. Five out of seven ain’t bad in the grand scheme of things. I mean, was it my favourite purse? Yes, and were they my favourite pair of lucky underwear? Yes. Could I buy more to avoid any further interactions with Jude Hastings? Fuck yes.

“Missing something?” The husky voice that haunted my alcohol-soaked brain startled me into dropping my pants to the floor. I spun on the ball of my feet and looked at him, lazily lying in his bed. The sheet hanging from his waist was the demon man himself. Since when did he have abs? - No, not the point, Darcy.

“Two things actually,” I felt the rush of heat blossoming on my cheeks as I finally allowed myself to look over his bare chest.

“Would these be one of them?” His hand rose, hooked around his pointer finger was my black lace thong, the one I’d been crawling around this whole fucking room looking for. Bastard. “They sure look like yours.” He held the up higher, squinting with one eye.

“If they’re not mine, perhaps they’re yours,” I smirked in self-satisfaction as the smirk on his face faltered. One Edwards.

“Well, if you’re sure they’re not yours.” He bunched them up, leaning over to his bedside table. “I think I’ll keep them then.”

“Wait.” I yelped, springing onto the bed. “Give them to me,” I reached for them. Holding my hand out, waiting for the lace scrap to be returned to me. “I need them to get home.”

“No, I don’t think so.” He dropped them into his bedside table. “You said they were mine.” One Hastings.

“God, I hate you,” My eyes turned to slits as the smirk came back to his face more prominent than the one I’d managed to make him lose moments ago. He shut the drawer and returned to his previous position, his whisky coloured eyes running over my form.

“Not what you were saying last night.”

“Was that before the double shots of tequila? Or was it before the fishbowl margarita?” I moved back, standing at the end of the bed, pulling my pants up over my hips. Usually, I’d feel self-conscious dressing and undressing in front of someone I’d just had sex with. Still, by this point in our lives, Hastings had already made numerous comments about how ‘plump’ I was, as he liked to call it. I didn’t have time to dwell on the idea that I gave him a front-row pass to see how correct his childish name-calling was. “Or maybe it was before the game of beer pong?”

“Yeah,” He dropped his head and laughed. “It started about there.”

“Hastings, you know as well as I do that I don’t remember a thing about last night, right?”

“Would you like me to give you a play-by-play?” I unbuttoned his shirt with nimble fingers. For once, my skill of unbuttoning button-downs came in use.

“No, thanks. I think I can surmise what’s happened from the lack of underwear.” And the memories of him pushing me up against his front door helped with the overall picture.

“It was your idea,” I stole a look at the bedside table where the same old alarm clock I was sure he’d had since middle school sat. Nine-thirty. Shit. Fuck. Shit.

“Was it now?” I didn’t really have time to hear how this interaction was my fault, but I was curious. Even if I was supposed to be meeting my parents for brunch in half an hour, and by the looks of it, I was going to have to suffer through without underwear.

“Oh yeah.” He fell back onto the bed. “The boys and I were at the bar, and you came up to me… You know I was expecting to have another verbal sparring match with you, one I’d ultimately win.”

“Doubtful,”

“When you began to flirt with me.” I could hear the smirk in his voice even with my back facing him.

“Is that so.” I sat on the edge of the bed and picked up one of my boots, unzipping the side.

“Oh yeah,” I heard the shuffle of sheets on the bed behind me and then felt the warmth of his chest pressing onto my covered back, heat radiating from where his skin touched me. “Never expected this from you, Edwards.” He moved my hair to the side, his fingers leaving goosebumps on my neck as he trailed a fingertip along the skin. “Really, I never did.” His lips touched the skin now, ghosting the same pattern his fingertips had traced.

“Alright,” I stood up, balancing on one foot as I tried to shove my foot into the boot. “I don’t know what this.” I wiggled a finger between our bodies. “Is, but last night was all there was. There will be no encore, M’kay.” I knelt down, zipping up the boot before shoving my foot into the second.

“If you’re sure you can live without one.” He moved back to the top of the bed, leaning back on one arm, watching me scamper to make myself presentable. “You know you’re still wearing my shirt.”

“Thank you, Captain obvious.”

“I’d like it back. It’s one of my favourites.”

“And those.” I jutted a finger at the bedside table where my underwear remained captive. “Were my favourite pair of underwear.” I smiled sweetly at him. “So we’ll call it even,” I brushed my hair with my fingers, trying to make some sort of progress with it so it didn’t look like I’d just been to pound town… which apparently from the ache in my legs I had been.

“You know that’s not helping,”

“What isn’t.”

“Trying to make yourself look like you haven’t just had one of the best nights of your life.”

“Bold of you to assume that,”

“Not an assumption. You told me so much yourself last night.”

Fucking Hastings. That’s it, fuck it. I was getting my underwear back. Even if it meant a small game of seduction.

“Look, Jude.” I let my voice drop into a whisper as I walked towards where he lay comfortably. I flung my legs over his body, straddling his waist. I couldn’t help but internally melt when his hands clinging to my waist, pressing me down onto him. I’m human. What can I say? The thin sheet gave everything away, and I had to admit, Hastings was packing more than I thought. Self-satisfaction flowed through me as I saw his eyes widen slightly, his pupils dilating as his fingers moving in circles on my waist. “I want you to know something about last night.” His eyes locked with mine as my right hand held onto his chin, keeping our eyes locked, my left going to the bedside table quietly pulling it open.

“Yeah?” His Adam’s apple bopped as he swallowed.

“Last night was,” I moved his head, so he was looking away from the drawer as my hand began to search for the fabric. “Was something that I…” My fingertips grazed the lace. BINGO! “I’m going to pretend doesn’t exist.”

“Oh really?” His hand quickly left my hip and grabbed around my waist. “Because I’m going to remember every little detail.” The lace slipped from between my fingertips as he flipped us. “Especially every time I open this draw.” I heard the draw slam shut and all hopes I had of leaving with my underwear gone.

“Get off me.” His right hand pulled my leg up and wrapped it around his waist. Oh god… he was good.

“Oh no, you started this.” He laughed, his chest pressing into mine with each exhaled laugh. “I’m just finishing it.”

“I need you to get off me so I can leave Hastings.”

“I dunno, I’m quite comfortable.” His hand pushed the fabric of his shirt up, revealing a tiny slither of my skin. “I like how you look in my bed, a forbidden fruit who doesn’t belong.” I let out a snort. If this was his attempt at flirting, he had a lot of work to do. “But here you are,”

“You are right. I certainly don’t look like the type of girl you’d waste your time on, so how about you let me up, and we pretend this didn’t happen.”

“No, I don’t think I like that idea,” His voice came out in a soft whisper.

“Why?”

“I was always told girls like you,” I felt a rush of enjoyment as his eyes ran over my body, a rush I didn’t want to feel. “The good girls who their parents think their perfect when really they’re the worst of the worst are the best,” It was beginning to be a struggle to concentrate as his fingertips brushed the hair away from my forehead. “And from what I’ve been told, you’re the best of them… So I want to find out myself.”

“Oh really?”

“Really. Why did you come up to me last night?” Why did I go up to him last night because I was lonely? Because I was sick of April talking about her fiancé? Because as much as I don’t want to admit it, verbally sparring with Hastings was a highlight.

“I heard that the reformed bad boys are the best,” His finger dragged along my jawline. “And I heard you’re one of the best.” I countered with a smirk.

“Oh really?” He mimicked.

“You tell me,” His fingertip tapped against my lips. Impulsively I nipped on the tip.

“Let’s play a game.”

“I’m listening.”

“The game to end all of our little games for good… No more practice jokes, no more telling my parents I got some random girl pregnant.” He chuckled.

“Then you can’t egg my car anymore or let down my tyres.”

“Fine.” He conceded. “Then let’s sweet talk,” His lips went to my neck, placing sweet kisses along the skin. “Let’s play fight, talk twenty-four-seven,”

“I’m no good at sweet-talking, and I don’t think I could stand talking to your for so long.” My voice came out breathy as my senses zero’d in on the feeling of his lips.

“Let’s wish each other good morning, and good night every day… We’ll take walks together.”

“I’d prefer a ride on your motorbike.” He let out a chuckle, the skin under his lips practically vibrating from the motion.

“I’ll give you a nickname,” His lips were on my jaw now, my hands we on his back, nails digging into the skin, I’m sure leaving moon-shaped indents. “Let’s hang out with each other’s friends.”

“Your friends are dicks.” His lips dropped close to mine, a chaste kiss being left on the right side.

“We’ll go on dates, talk all night on the phone… I’ll hold you, kiss you.” His lips moved to the other side. “We’ll make love, bang, fuck whatever you want to call it.”

“I’m waiting for the game part, Hastings. Right now, it sounds like you just want me to be your girlfriend. I mean, I know last night was good, but really this good?”

“The game is, Whoever falls in love first, loses.” He finally pulled away, his right hand still rubbing circles on my hip bone.

“Doesn’t seem like much of a game.”

“Then why do you seem so scared?”

Was this asshole serious? I was never scared, especially not when it came to challenging him, beating him.

“I’m not.”

“Then what do you say?”

“So you want to pretend we’re a thing to all of our friends, all of our family, just to make one of us fall in love with the other first for what? Bragging rights and heartbreak?”

“Tell me something.” His lips hovered inches from mine. I could feel the warmth of his breath, and how the hell did he not have morning breath? “How good would it feel to know you conned me into loving you, then breaking my heart,”

He had a point. After all the years of heartache and teasing he’d caused me, it would be fun to break his heart into a million tiny shattered pieces.

“What would we tell everyone?” His body moved against mine as he shrugged.

“That we’ve reconnected or connected whatever you want to say.”

“You really want to do this?” My brow raised in suspicion.

“Make you fall in love with me.” I nodded my head. “Oh hell yeah,”

“Fine.” I smirked. “Let’s play a game.”

[baronesscmd]

@anubis-005 has graciously allowed me to continue writing her sinfully delightful Nene’s Inferno Au, so I bring you the next installment. I hope you enjoy, and thank you. And go check out all her artwork; its absolutely amazing and deserves all the love!

AH! DISCLAIMER! CONTAINS SCENES OF SEXUAL INNUENDO/REFERENCES/SITUATIONS!

 He dropped himself to the ground, pulling her flush against him. One hand curled around her arm as the other caught her chin, bringing her gaze directly to the smoldering golden stare that was attempting to burn her alive. 

Nene's face flushed as he leaned in, tongue flicking over the sharp fangs in his mouth as he tipped his head so the heat of his words brushed against her lips. 

"You won't be needing those clothes."

**

“EXCUSE ME?!!”

Nene felt her pulse stutter and pick up double-time as the demon leaned closer, claws pricking at the soft curve of her cheeks as her whole body burned from his implications. She tried to push away, tried to get as much space between her and the demon before her; he wasn’t having it. The hand on her arm slid around her waist, pinning her tight against his chest as he smirked. 

“Oh yes, my sweet little Angel; that uniform just has to go.”

She felt those claws curl into her sash and tug, and before she could even make a sound, before she could try and push herself away; he moved. His hand slid from her waist to cup her bottom and squeeze, and she shrieked as he hauled her up and over his shoulder. 

He spun on his heel, whistling as he headed deeper into the maze as she tried to get loose. Nene beat her fists against his back and kicked her legs, trying to ignore the sharp curve of his shoulder as it pressed into her belly.

Harder to ignore was the hand hooked around her knees, and the thumb that was making tiny circles against her thigh. Worse than that though, was the hand still on her butt. She struggled harder, flushing as he patted the soft curve of her cheeks. 

 "PUT ME DOWN! AND DONT TOUCH ME!"

Nene let out a sound somewhere between a whimper and a scream as the demon chucked, pinching her as he nipped at her hip through the fabric of her dress.

"My my, aren't you a feisty one! You'll be great fun. I can already tell. But you have to behave, my Angel, or your new Master will punish you.

"And while I can guarantee you will not enjoy it, I shall have a delightful time."

She continued to struggle against him until the band around her finger began to burn. She yelped and folded, her chin bouncing into his back as she curled her hands together. 

It hurt, more than anything she had ever experienced. Like something was trying to claw at her soul, to tear her open and lay her bare. She watched through her tears as the demon's tail looped around her wrists, and as suddenly as the pain had come on, it vanished.

"Ah, fun little bit about that Bond, my Angel." 

She stiffened in his grasp as he drew a claw down her thigh before his fingers crept back up to pinch her.

"You cannot disobey me."

Cold stole through Nene's limbs and she went still and silent. The demon laughed, the echo of it reverberating through her own chest in a hollow imitation of joy. The tail squeezed her wrists, and she swallowed back her tears. 

Beneath them, the grassy maze gave way to cobblestones, and she planted her hands against the small of his back as he spun around. 

"Welcome to your new home, Angel."

Nene lifted her head, biting back a gasp at the palace before her; she had not expected something so elegant of a design in Hell. It rose from a tangle of wild roses like a crouching beast, sweeping up into the skyline like nothing she had seen. 

In Heaven, the buildings had been white, and gold and silver-toned. It had felt like walking through a dream, with open shutters and friendly hellos as she passed. This was quite the opposite. 

This was a nightmare of brick, wood, bone, and glass. Shadows hung from the twisted black iron of the balconies like discarded clothes, the stained glass depicting demons in different throes of lust. 

Ivy twisted it's way up the cracks of the black stones, twisting around marble statues carved in obscene positions. She averted her eyes as they passed a set of skeletons, entwined together, forever frozen in the moment of completion. 

And the arch of the grand doorway, before the demon carrying her turned on his heel to march her under it, was carved in stark white bone with the twisted limbs and slack faces of those who had given in to the Sin of Lust.

The inside was as hauntingly beautiful as the exterior, with dark walls and black marble floors. Golden lamps spilled light in fleeting puddles, and Nene saw more than one alcove with the entwined forms of sated bodies. 

He hauled her through the dining hall, whispers rising as the few demons who happened to be awake caught sight of them. Painted mouths disappeared behind razor-tipped nails as she knew they began to gossip, and more than one pair of hungry, hooded eyes raked over her form, leaving her feeling filthy. 

Nene tried to remember the twists and turns he took so she could attempt an escape, but when they passed the same low table with a couple half-concealed beneath it again, she knew he had purposely misled her.

Each path was more confusing than the last, some with high, vaulted ceilings that the light could not illuminate, and others with low curving beams that pulled the shadows close enough to touch. 

And the paintings! Nene could look nowhere and find a patch of wall that was not hung with obscenities. Even what she assumed were flowers, painted in soft brush strokes, resembled a part of her own anatomy that the demon's hand was much too close to.

He took them down a long hallway, the doors at the beginning doing little to conceal the moans and cries of the pleasure-seekers within. She flushed and tried to raise her hands to cover her ears to block out the sounds, but the tail held her fast. 

They turned again, and this hallway was silent but for the echo of his footsteps. His hand stroked from the curve of her waist to the back of her knee before he kicked a door open. 

Nene watched with increasing panic as the heavy wooden doors fell shut behind them, lock sliding into place as her heart sank. She was trapped, completely and utterly. 

She had no time to admire the room, richly decorated in swathes of black and red satin as the demon fisted his hand in the back of her dress and dumped her onto a bed.

It took her a second, as she was consumed by tangled scarlet silk and plush pillows as dark as a raven's wing, that she was not in just any bedroom, tumbled onto a sinfully soft bed. 

Nene was sprawled across the sheets in the bed that belonged to the Lord of Lust, locked in this den of depravity and debauchery. 

She watched with horror as he set a knee to the bed and dragged her closer, pinning her beneath his lithe form as she tried to get away, even though she knew it was useless. His mouth nipped at her throat, tongue sliding up her skin before he sucked a bruise into the tender flesh as he groaned. 

"You taste like innocence and divinity. And I am going to enjoy corrupting you."

He shoved her knees apart and settled against her, and before he could side his hand from her waist to her breast or between her legs, Nene threw her arms against his chest with a cry. 

She wasn't sure who was more surprised as he was tossed back, his black eyes lightening to amber as they both watched the pale gold band form around his tail. She scrambled from beneath him, not getting far before he hooked his hand around her chubby ankle. 

He didn’t draw her back to him, which she found odd, but he seemed more preoccupied with the sharp flicks he made to try and fling the ring off. The swing of it was rather hypnotic, and Nene gasped as his claws bit into her skin as he yanked her down the bed. 

She drew her knees up as he loomed over her, and she watched as his eyes flickered rapidly over her face, as if there was something hidden in her own gaze that would explain what had happened. His mouth split into a wicked smile and he hauled her up, locking one arm around her as she thrashed in his hold as he snapped his fingers. 

Seconds later, three scantily clad demonesses hurried through the door, all wearing the same outfit of a black and white maids uniform, and dipped into deep curtsies. Nene paled as he shoved her forward; the tallest demoness, who had ripped the front of her blouse so that her very generous bust could be seen through the heart shape, caught her by the arm before she could hit the floor. 

“Dress our little Angel in her new uniform; she’ll be joining you in your duties starting today.”

Nene whipped her head around as another of the demoness’ hurried away, the ruffles of her dress barely touching the top of her thighs. He couldn’t really mean to put her in something so revealing, but the sly smile as their eyes met showed that he absolutely did. 

She shrieked as the demons pulled at her uniform, trying to bat their hands away to no avail. The taller one unsnapped the buttons on her collar as the other pulled her sash free, and she could do nothing as the third came back with her arms full of fabric. 

They stripped her quickly and efficiently, though their touch lingered on her skin like a burn. She clung to her thin shift as they tried to pull it off, even as they knocked her off balance to remove her sandals. They couldn’t take her shift, she’d be naked; no one had ever seen her naked. The demoness caught her hands in a bruising grip and bunched the fabric in her free hand.

“Let her keep it.”

They all froze, turning to the Demon Lord reclining on his bed. His grin was as filthy as it was seductive, and Nene tried to draw her hands down to cover herself as his eyes raked over her, his tail flicking lazily against his thigh. She may as well have been completely bare before him with the way his gaze smoldered. 

“Yes, M’Lord.”

She didn’t struggle as they pulled the fabric over her head and harshly tugged her braids free of the collar, didn’t comment as they shoved her into the neat black shoes, muffled a gasp as they tied the bow of her apron with enough force to nearly drive the air from her lungs.

The demons hurried out as he snapped his fingers, one poking back in briefly to drop a mop, broom, and bucket inside the door with a cruel grin before it closed behind her. Nene kept her eyes shut as he crossed the room and curled his hands around her hips. 

There was nothing she could do as he twisted her from side to side and then turned her, trailing his claws across her belly as he pressed his face into her hair. She could feel the curve of his smile against the shell of her ear before he pulled away.

“You might as well look, my little Angel. You’ll be seeing yourself in it for the foreseeable future. Unless you’d like to clean in the nude.”

Nene snapped her eyes open as heat flooded her cheeks, and was surprised to find herself in a uniform that, while still inappropriate, covered much more than she was expecting. The puffed black sleeves left her arms bare, and the dark ruffles of her skirt at least came to her knees. It was actually cute, with the frilled overskirt and pink and white heart over her chest. 

“By the grace of providence we had one in your size.”

She glared at him as he chuckled as he floated behind her, magicing the bucket, mop, and broom into her hands. Providence, as if; more like limitless lechery, she thought as he adjusted her headband. She truly was stuck here, this wasn’t just an elaborate nightmare. 

Nene jumped with a scream as his hand smacked her bottom, cleaning supplies flying as he caught her up in his arms. That damned tail wound around her leg as if it had a mind of its own as he pinned her hands to his chest so he could twirl the ring around her finger. 

“And, my little Angel; a few more things.”

He bent her nearly backward as he slid his knee between her own, the tension in her spine the only thing keeping her from sprawling back over the bed. The ring on her finger seemed to burn with the same intensity as the one tapping against her thigh.

“You will be my personal attendant; you will wake me, bring me meals if I do not dine in the hall. When I do dine in the hall, you shall serve me. Ah ah, I’m not finished,” his finger pressed against her lips to silence her protests, “You will help me bathe, and dress, and cater to any of my whims.”

His hand slid down her back to cup her bottom and bring her hips flush to his. The hard lines of his body settled against the soft curves of her own with a familiarity that made her flush. 

“And I shall allow you to keep your innocence; for now.”

The press of him to the intimate place between her thighs made her whimper and tremble, and he only smirked. 

“Also, you shall address me as “My Lord” or “Master” when you speak to me; is that clear, my Angel?”

Nene dipped her head and mumbled as he shifted against her, his tail tightening around her thigh like a demonic garter. 

“I didn’t hear you, Angel.”

She lifted her head, meeting those blazing eyes with her own as she curled her nails into his chest and watched him wince. 

“Yes, Master.”

He dipped his head, mouth a breath from hers as he pressed their bodies closer together. Heat flooded her at every point they met, and she let her eyes flicker down to his lips worriedly.

“Good girl.”

And then he was gone. 

Nene sank onto the edge of the bed as he swept his hand out and the cleaning supplies disappeared with the spilled water. He pulled open the door of his room and gestured into the hall.

“Come along, unless you wish for me to take you now.”

She shot up from the bed and hurried to the entrance, shuttering as he laid his hand on the small of her back to guide her. 

“You have much to see before you help me tonight, and I don’t tolerate tardiness.”

Nene felt despair sink into her soul as he led her back down those twisting halls. There were more demons now, peeking from doorways and corners as they headed to the servants quarters. Eyes followed her every step, and the whispers hung in the air like a death sentence. 

The Lord of Lust had an Angel for a plaything, and wouldn’t he have fun with her? 

Her master’s hand slid lower as his tail lashed against her with every step, and she bit back her tears. This was her own fault, she had gotten herself into this mess. And she would have to be the one to get herself out. There would be no Divine Intervention to save her; the Angels did not listen to the cries that rose from Hell. 

If Nene wanted to escape, she’d have to do it herself.

And @anubis-005 Thank you SOOO much for this again! It is, as always, an honor and pleasure to work with you!!! <3 :3

[monokyokyo]

Hellish Delights | Woosan

Pairing: Sub!San, Top Wooyoung,

Warning: Overstimulation, Demon San, handjob, San refers to himself in third-person, slight pet play

Realistically, most would be afraid to start a relationship with a demon. Let alone be near one. Yet it was never something that turned Wooyoung away. San was sweet and one of the most caring people he had ever met. Though he had his moments of less than favourable tendencies, Wooyoung didn’t care. He adored his boyfriend, demon or otherwise.

For the most part, San was rather soft. He would never do anything to hurt Wooyoung and if he did do anything that may irritate him remotely, he would break out in a fit of apologies.

So it isn’t much of a surprise that Wooyoung’s often the one praying for some sort of attention. Of course, San was always willing to cuddle, but that wasn’t what Wooyoung wanted. He craved intimacy, to be touched and loved by his boyfriend. Yet San was always too afraid to do anything like that.

Though, that didn’t mean San didn’t have needs as well.

It was late in the day, around half past four, and Wooyoung was sitting at the desk in his room. He would sit in San’s but he had been acting clingy and knew he wouldn’t get much homework done if he stayed in there. The teen twirled his cherry lollipop in his mouth, pondering over the set of math equations in front of him. “Useless things…” He thought to himself, bitterly clutching his pen in his right hand while glaring at the paper.

The boy was too busy grumbling under his breath to notice his door slowly slide open. However, his attention was quickly driven away when he felt a pair of arms snake around his neck. Wooyoung’s surprise melted into delight when he realised who it was. “Sannie~” He whined playfully. “I told you I had a lot of homework to get done.”

“I know,” The demon replied, stretching the syllables of his words in a somewhat whiny tone. “But I missed you.”

“It’s only been twenty minutes,” Chuckled Wooyoung. “You couldn’t have missed me that much.”

“You’d be surprised,” Was the demon’s low response. His tone alone managed to send shivers down the younger males spine. Wooyoung knew all too well what he wanted.

“San, I’m busy.” He heard the demon hum, hands roaming his chest while his face lay just beside Wooyoung’s. He swore he would’ve melted right then and there from his touch. His hands felt so warm and his scent was just so intoxicating. He wanted nothing more than to let San do as he pleased with him. However, he was determined to stay firm in his stance. “No.” He stated simply, the single word startling San.

“No?” He repeated in disbelief. “But…”

“No, San. I’ve got homework to do. Maybe later, okay?” Now normally, that would be the end of it. San would leave the room, albeit a little moody, and Wooyoung would get on with things. Today though, the demon wasn’t in his usual mood.

He crouched to his knees and rested his head on the human’s thigh. “Wooyoungie~” The younger rose his brow at the way he whined, looking up at him with his big eyes. His heart churned at such a sight and he would be insane to deny him now.

So, Wooyoung sighed, gently taking the demon’s face into his hand and stroking his soft cheek. “So needy today~ What do you want, Sannie?”

“You, I want you, Woo.” That surprised the younger. Though he supposed he shouldn’t be so shocked based on the state the demon had slipped into. It’s just that usually, San was on top. Seems today may be the exception. Yet something about that made him smirk.

“Alright then Sannie, I’ll treat you well. Don’t worry. Strip for me.” San understood exactly what he meant and slipped out of his shirt. He kept his eyes on Wooyoung, eyeing his every movement while they undid their clothes. The demon would never get tired of seeing his boyfriend’s perfect curves of his plump ass, always begging to be grabbed.

That would have to wait for later though, as San had sat himself on the bed, awaiting Wooyoung’s next move.

What started as a gentle peck on the lips gradually fell into a messy battle for dominance that the demon easily won. San pushed his tongue past the soft barriers of Wooyoung’s mouth, savouring the sweet taste of cherry from his sugary treat. The blonde couldn’t help but moan into the kiss, soon whining when his lover trailed to his neck. “Mm, Sannie~”

“You like that baby?” He chuckled against the younger’s skin when a light gasp left him. The sound alone made Wooyoung grow flushed.

“I thought I was supposed to take care of you. What happened?” The almost pout San received made him laugh once again. With a shrug, he shifted to spread his legs, Wooyoung quickly catching on.

The blonde licked his lips at the sight of his member, sprung up proud, nearly salivating at it. “All for me~”

“Woo~ Hurry up! I don’t wanna w- hng!” The warm feeling of Wooyoung’s mouth engulfing his length zipped his lips within seconds, becoming weak the moment they made contact. “Oh fuck Wooyoung…”

The younger’s tongue slid across the base of his dick, eliciting a moan of euphoria from his boyfriend. San’s hand found its way into Wooyoung’s blonde locks, gripping them with every suck. He found himself wincing at how hard he would pull but didn’t have it in him to care. Not when he knew he was making his lover feel this good.

Fuck, he's so sensitive.

Wooyoung could feel the demon’s member twitch in his mouth yet continued to suck, regardless of how much he gagged. Even still, he didn’t want to see San cum just yet.

“Ah~ W-Wooyoung…”

Wooyoung detached with a light pop, plush lips glistening with the precum dripping from San’s tip. The smile on his face was innocent despite this, as he tilted his head to the side in an almost taunting manner. “What’s wrong Sannie? Want me to stop?”

The way the demon shook his head made Wooyoung smirk. It was entertaining how much power he held over someone who could destroy the city if he so desired. Yet here he was, panting and pleading for this human’s every touch.

It was delightful.

Kisses peppered San’s waistband, each lustful touch causing him to arch his back as he whined for more. These simple prods had him withering with impatience but more apparently, neediness.

He felt the way Wooyoung pinched folds of his skin between his teeth, sucking and licking every spot to leave a beautiful bruise for tomorrow.

San's cock, neglected and begging for touch, thrived on every action, sending shivers of pleasure down the demon's spine. He needed more.

“Wooyoungie~ Please~”

“Please what, Sannie?” Wooyoung replied, head now resting on the mattress. His sudden distance seemed to make San stressed, fearing he may be left like this - hot and unsatisfied.

“I need more~”

A thoughtful hum came from the younger. San tensed when he finally felt a hand wrap around his girth. The strokes were slow, painfully slow. "My Sannie is so needy, isn't he?" San nodded once more, whispering under his breath for Wooyoung to go faster.

He didn't. In fact, he went even slower, stopping almost entirely until he got an answer. "Y-Yes! I'm needy!"

Finally, Wooyoung giggled. He kept moving his hand up and down his boyfriend's length while he travelled to his neck. San couldn't help but moan from the vast amount of pleasure as he was jerked and as more hickeys were plastered on his body.

"Sannie is so sensitive too, isn't he?"

"Yes, S-S…" he bit his bottom lip, refusing to submit entirely. Yet this refusal made Wooyoung halt all action.

San hated being teased. He didn't like having to wait to get what he wanted and it took every ounce of restraint he had to keep himself from taking over Wooyoung's mind and making him continue.

Yet the pure look of apathy he received, caused something to shift in him. It was clear Wooyoung knew he wouldn't last. When the demon began to sniff, light tears of frustration running down his cheeks, the blonde smirked.

"So greedy. Sannie is so desperate for me, isn't he?"

"Yes!" He finally wailed. "Sannie is greedy! Sannie wants Wooyoungie to touch him so badly!" Those words alone were enough to have Wooyoung smash their lips together, barely giving him a moment to breathe.

San gasped at the way his cock was pulled, jerked at a speed that made him whimper. "Wooyoungie~" he moaned, earning nothing but another smirk from the younger.

"Does Sannie like this? Does he like it when I handle him this way?" The demon could only groan in response, fist clenching around the fabrics of the sheets to distract himself from the immense pleasure. "Cutie~ Sannie has so much power but is so weak for me."

"P-Please let Sannie cum! Please please please!"

"What a mess you're making," he softly scolded, ignoring the demon's request. Such a thing made San quiver. He pleaded for Wooyoung to let him cum but the other refused to acknowledge it.

All that pressure came piling over when the demon released in Wooyoung's hand. And though San sighed with relief, his boyfriend was less than pleased. "Did I say you could cum?"

"N-No but…"

"But nothing. That was very bad Sannie." The demon looked down, as if he were a puppy being scolded by his owner. Even with his adorable expression, Wooyoung didn't let up, despite how much he wanted to shower the older in kisses and praise. “Now I have to punish you.”

If San wasn’t whimpering before, he certainly was now. Wooyoung crawled over him, leaning over the taller and grinning at his lost expression. He hovered his rear just over the demon’s length, lining it perfectly. “W-Woo…”

“Shhh, relax puppy.” Sinking onto his member, Wooyoung hissed under his breath. Perhaps he should’ve prepped first. The pain would fade soon enough. He started slow, bouncing only slightly which still elicited light moans from the older, who felt Wooyoung clench around him.

However, Wooyoung slowed down when San pressed his face against his bare chest, hearing him sniffle. “What’s wrong, Sannie?”

“N-Not ready. Please go slow…” Wooyoung had to remind himself that this was meant to be a punishment. Yet San’s light cries made him soft.

“Okay Sannie, I’ll let you adjust first.” After all, it was the first time he had ever ridden the demon before. Even with their close contact, San craved more. His lips parted, insinuating their desire for attention. Attention Wooyoung gratefully gave him. Tongue pushing the plush barriers and snaking into the wet cavern of his lover’s mouth. San sighed into the kiss, hands moving towards Wooyoung’s waist. Knowing he was happily distracted, the blonde resumed his movements.

He broke their kiss to gasp, eyes clamping shut from pleasure. “Oh Sannie~” He groaned out. Instinctively, the demon’s hand travelled to Wooyoung’s ass, gripping and kneading the soft flesh to his content. Yet he was stopped when his arms were pushed back. “Punishment, remember?” The blonde rasped out. “No touching.”

“Wooyoungie~”

This time, he wouldn’t go soft. “No touching,” He repeated, tone much more commanding this time. “And don’t cum until I say so.”

Begrudgingly, San did what he was told. Keeping his hands to the side while Wooyoung bounced on his cock. The demon mewled beneath him, fueling the human to go faster. And though he moaned and groaned with every move, it couldn’t compare to the weak pants of San, who kept as still as possible.

He wanted to touch Wooyoung. He wanted to kiss him. He wanted to hold him and smother him with affection. Wooyoung could see his restraint clearly, as the demon’s eyes brightened with their usual purple colour. So he made sure to praise him, just to make sure he wouldn’t become too frustrated.

“What a good boy you are Sannie, listening so well.”

“I-Is Sannie doing good?” Peeped the demon, interrupted by his own strained breaths.

“So good, baby.”

“Can Sannie get a kiss? Please!”

“Not yet,” A part of Wooyoung felt like being a brat. He knew he shouldn’t keep edging him on like this but he just couldn’t help it. He adored how submissive San would become for him. He relished in the idea that he had power over a demon. The thought alone had him aroused beyond belief.

It wasn’t long, however, before Wooyoung was reminded who had the real power here. Wooyoung gasped when a hand engulfed his neck, snatching him lower. He winced at the way San’s eyes glowed violently, his grip becoming tighter by the second.

The way he gagged had the demon grinning until he brought their lips together. Though Wooyoung was too shocked to even consider kissing back, their contact seemed to relax San enough to where he let go of his neck.

“No more teasing,” He whispered.

Wooyoung nodded at him, hand slowly tracing his disturbed neck, as it began to sting ever so slightly. He looked to his boyfriend, expecting him to take control and slowly attempted to move. Yet San kept his hips firm, much to Wooyoung’s bewilderment. “Please don’t stop,” He pleaded in a small voice. The kind Wooyoung knew he only used when he was a sub.

“You scared me for a moment, puppy.” Said the blonde with a weak chuckle.

“Sannie is sorry, Sannie is sorry! Sannie didn’t mean it! Please forgive him!”

Ultimately, Wooyoung cooed at his weak and adorable state, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead. “It’s alright Sannie,” He said softly. San giggled when he received yet another kiss. However, his smile fell at what Wooyoung said next. “But Sannie doesn’t get to cum again.”

“W-What?”

“You heard me. On your knees.” San obeyed and turned around, perky ass awaiting whatever Wooyoung had in store. He could hear the sound of a bottle of lube opening, where he kept it, San didn’t know; following the cold substance dripping onto his rear. Wooyoung chuckled at the way he flinched while he coated his fingers.

Even though he wiggled in discomfort, San soon adjusted to the way Woo’s fingers moved in and out of him, bringing forth a cry of thrill from him. He scissored his digits, stretching San to where he thought he was yet. The demon, however, was feeling impatient.

“T-That’s enough. Need something bigger~” Wooyoung slowly removed his fingers, carefully replacing them with his member a moment later, per his boyfriend’s request. San withered at the new area of length intruding on his hole, with Wooyoung grunting above, murmuring about how tight he was.

The cold, slick feeling of the lube allowed him the room to shift and after a few seconds for them to both adjust, San permitted for the blonde to move. With great care, his hips began to rock forward, eliciting whines from the demon within seconds.

“Woo~” He moaned. “Faster.” The younger grinned and picked up his pace almost immediately. Each time, he nearly drew out and railed into him at a quicker speed, smirking at the way San cried out in pleasure. His head fell, body jolting at every movement while his eyes fogged with tears.

“Aww~ Poor baby. Sannie just couldn’t wait, could he?” Muttered Wooyoung from above, voice both taunting and sympathetic for the demon. Though it was mostly meant to jeer to the older, as Wooyoung groaned at the building shame in his posture.

“N-No, Sannie couldn’t wait,” Whimpered the older. "Sannie is needy for Wooyoungie." His deep moans and whiny pants were music to Wooyoung’s ears, the only incentive he needed to go faster. “Mmph Wooyoung!”

This time, he laughed. “Your little hole takes me so well puppy~ So good for me.”

San’s pants grew uneven, moans becoming higher by the second.

“Aw baby, what’s wrong?” San didn’t respond. The demon kept his head down, biting his bottom lip to hide the exasperated breaths escaping them. Wooyoung could see his legs quiver and it didn’t take long for him to realise why. “Sannie wants to cum again, doesn’t he?”

San nodded eagerly, tears of frustration running down his cheeks from being just a few seconds from release. He didn’t want another punishment and waited with weary patience. “Go ahead then, Sannie. Cum for me.” The demon did as he was instructed, a loud moan escaping him as a copious amount of slick dripped from his tip to his leg.

He sighed with satisfaction, yet winced when he realised that Wooyoung was still going. “Cumming twice for me, hmm?” He snickered. San could practically hear his smirk. “So greedy, I haven’t even cum once today. Will Sannie be good and wait for me?”

The demon's dissatisfaction was shut with a single shush and allowed Wooyoung to pound into him with no questions asked. His painful overstimulation was either unnoticed or completely ignored as the dom only moaned in satisfaction. "Fuck Sannie, you keep clenching."

Back and forth, his body rocked with every hit from behind, like a rag doll being tossed by its owner. The thought tempted Wooyoung to go just a little longer, even if he knew the poor demon's prostate had been abused. He was a crying mess and it was beautiful. “So weak for me.”

“Wooyoungie, i-it hurts…”

“Just a bit longer Sannie...Oh fuck, fuck San!” Wooyoung filled him to the brim and San whined at the unfamiliar feeling.

Wooyoung made sure he was alright before carefully pulling out. The older fell against the bed with a ginormous sigh, with his boyfriend sliding next to him soon after. San cuddled up to him, wrapping his arms around his torso and pecking his lips. “My poor ass,” He whined.

“I’m sorry San, was I too much?”

“Never.” Wooyoung giggled at that, gently stroking the demon’s hair. “You should top more often. That was fun!”

“If you can go one round without choking me, then we’ll see.”

San nodded at him, smiling brightly as he snuggled closer. “I love you, Wooyoungie.”

“I love you more, Sannie.”

[onceuponadisembo]

Chapters: 1/5 Fandom: 王室教師ハイネ | Oushitsu Kyoushi Haine | The Royal Tutor (Anime) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Viktor von Granzreich & Heine Wittgenstein, Viktor von Granzreich/Heine Wittgenstein Characters: Viktor von Granzreich, Heine Wittgenstein Additional Tags: Drinking, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Bad Humor, Happy Ending, Excessive Hand-Holding, anime movie canon, Staying Up Too Late, viktor just wants to spend more time teasing heine for his height, unamused heine, heine's anime past, a little bit shippy, Queerplatonic Relationships

Summary: 

Viktor invites Heine to his study for wine, makes as many bad jokes as he can, and then asks to dance with him. Set after the ball that happens at the end of the anime movie.

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

I'm only up to Volume 9 of the manga right now and I don't know Heine's past, so although the manga will have some influence on some parts of the story, this fic is set in the canon of the anime, and will include references to Heine's and Viktor's past based on what was shown in the anime.

I'm also putting together a (very short, somewhat shippy) playlist for this fic so if you're into that sort of thing, here it is.

FFN link.

Read the first part under the cut

In the king's study, the bottle of Niedergranzreich white wine glittered in the lamplight.

There had been drinks at the ball. The usual wine and beer, which Heine had politely declined, but there was also something from Romano – a honeyed concoction with sharp-smelling spices and an even sharper burn as it slipped down his throat. When Viktor proposed a toast with the king of Romano, Heine had found himself with a glass in hand. He was then handed another at more than a few points in the evening – and at least one of them by Viktor himself. Heine did not quite remember how many cries of Prost! to the two kingdoms there had been, and now he sat, still in his evening suit, at his usual spot by the desk, swirling yet another glass with Viktor and feeling the wine more than usual.

It was already getting late.

He was not worried; tomorrow was his rest day. But there are no breaks for a king – although this one did not seem to notice the time at all. Heine had been surprised when Viktor invited him here tonight, thinking that perhaps the king wanted a report so soon after the princes' assignment had been completed. He had been equally surprised when he saw the bottle.

"More wine?" he chided. "Are you sure?"

Viktor was already pouring the first glass. "You can always have something else if you won't join me," he had said, a mischievous gleam in his eye. "I'll send for it. Milk would be much more… age appropriate. Or what do you think?"

Heine harrumphed and took a glass.

It seemed that they were here for no reason at all. Tomorrow – or the day after – they would talk about how the princes had done, and what that could mean for the future of the Granzreich and Romano kingdoms. And although they were no longer young, nor as free with their time as they had been way back then, Heine did not mind indulging the king. Viktor may request the strangest things, but it was never without sound reason. There is always a first time for everything, though, because Heine was now starting to suspect that Viktor, too, had had more than a few at the ball.

-:-

"Eins dropped by, you know," said Viktor not long after they had clinked their glasses. "After the song."

"Oh?" said Heine, pausing as he lifted his glass. "I did not see him."

Chin in hand, Viktor hummed a sigh. "He didn't stay long. You know how children are when they grow up."

They sat in silence for a while. They had both grown up a long time ago, and far too quickly. There was still so much more to be done.

Viktor drained his glass and straightened up with a toss of his head, as if the silence were a blanket he was trying to shrug from his shoulders. "Well!" he chirped, refilling his glass. "I am glad that my sons are growing so well under your care. Shall I…?" He gestured the bottle towards Heine.

The tutor glanced into his glass. "Thank you, but I am barely halfway through."

"Take your time." Viktor settled back in his chair. "Speaking of my sons, I am already in talks with King Romano to arrange a visit to his kingdom. It is my hope that we can continue to strengthen our relationship as allies."

"And mine as well," murmured Heine. It could not be easy, as a young prince of Romano, to shoulder the high expectations of one's position while growing into one's own person. He thought of Prince Ivan, the eldest twin, who could never do enough in his father's eyes as well as his own; and of Prince Eugene, overlooked in favour of his brother and who, like his brother, expressed a disdain for "forever benchwarmer princes" at the start of their visit. The fact that the younger prince had done so even though, if all were to go according to plan, he himself would not be expected to ascend the throne, could explain why Prince Eugene had not seemed to see the point in trying for anything. The Granzreich princes could prove to be a good influence on the Romanos, if only they could spend some more time together.

A chuckle from Viktor interrupted Heine's thoughts. "What is funny?" he asked the king, his sombre musings quickly dissipating.

"I was just wondering if you also taught the princes to dance at the ball."

"Goodness, no."

"Ah. I thought so. Teaching them to sing would have been enough of a handful."

"Yes, but I cannot tell you how much I came to wish that I had blocked out a few hours, at least, to revise the basics together with them. I did not anticipate how insistent they would be." Heine took a fortifying drink from his glass. "Do you know how terrifying it is to be led around the floor by partners who do not quite know what they are doing? I was even lifted once. I was in the air."

Viktor chuckled even more. "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. I did love seeing all of you getting along so well."

"You were watching us?"

"I was watching you."

What a strange way of putting it. Heine was not sure he had heard Viktor correctly. Perhaps he should ask him repeat that, to check that he had not misheard him.

He sipped some more wine and held out his glass. "Could you top me up, please?"

-:-

"There's something I want to show you," said Viktor as he led Heine over to the lounge area. On the low table sat a strange shape, which Heine thought he recognised when Viktor removed the sheet that lay over it.

"My word," murmured Heine, venturing closer to inspect the instrument and the brassy sheen of its parts. "Is this… a phonograph?"

"Do you like it?" smiled Viktor, barely containing his delight. "It was a gift. Go on, give it a try."

"What does it play?"

"Wind it up and see for yourself."

Soon the hazy melody of a waltz undulated about the room and Heine watched Viktor hum along, fingers dancing in time to the music.

"What a tremendous invention," said Heine when the song neared its end. "It seems as if I were right in front of the orchestra."

"Yes, and listen to this." Viktor stopped the machine and switched out the cylinder. When it started up again, it sang out in a long, yearning trill.

Heine put down his wine. "This song!"

"Yes?" said Viktor, a twinkle in his eye.

The melody was haunting and the libretto solemn – far too serious to have been fully-appreciated the first time Heine had heard it. Perched next to Viktor, in oversized borrowed clothes, Heine had been certain they would be spotted among the crowded back seats. Once the show was over and he could finally relax, they spent the evening falling over each other as they butchered the most dramatic of the songs, missing the high notes and substituting their own lyrics.

"Why Viktor, had I not known any better, I would have thought that you had impeccable taste."

Viktor laughed – the same laugh from the alleyway behind the Wienner state opera house nearly thirty years ago.

-:-

Back at the desk, they talked of important things.

The latest in the national opera:

"No, don't tell me. I haven't seen it yet."

The moral discrepancies in classic childhood fables:

"I can't explain that to you, Viktor, I did not write it."

Whether or not it was possible to brew wine from carrots and bell peppers:

"I find it highly worrisome that a child would know so much about winemaking."

The bottle of wine slowly emptied out.

-:-

"And another thing," said Viktor who, at some point in the night, had ended up sprawled out next to Heine. They were down to the last few glasses, and Heine was propping himself up against the cushioned arm of the settee, trying hard to maintain a slight semblance of propriety.

"Why are we always drinking this?" Viktor squinted at his glass of wine, holding it up to the light. "It's the same wine every time ever since God knows when, always wine white- I mean white wine- from Niedergrr- Niederglan-zish."

Heine nearly slipped off the arm. Goodness gracious. Where was this coming from?

"But isn't it… isn't this your favourite?" he faltered, his head foggy. "You don't like it?"

Viktor made a sound that resembled both a hiccough and a splutter. Or perhaps it was a laugh. Heine could not tell at this point. "I do like it, but people get tired of favourites, Herr Professor. Even Lich… Leonhard. Would hesitate at the idea of eating sacher torte for every meal.

"I wouldn't be so sure," muttered Heine. Then, struggling with the plush upholstery, he pulled himself into a slightly less crooked sitting position. "But Viktor, you are being unfair. You were the one who brought this wine. And it was supposed to be my turn."

"Oh, don't worry about that. It's a special occasion."

"You must let me bring the next one." Heine racked his brains for all the good wines he had ever tried or heard of, but the memories seemed to have left him for the moment. "We could try… red wine?"

"Hmm?" Viktor tilted his head.

"From… Obergranzreich?"

"Interesting proposal," said Viktor, "considering their viticulture is not what it used to be."

"Hintergranzreich, then."

Viktor snorted. "You are making things up."

"And you were making a fuss over something that could have been so easily resolved," retorted Heine. "Why didn't you tell me sooner? If I had known, I would have looked around town and found something new, or checked with the chefs for recommendations – anything, if only you had asked."

Viktor leaned back to look at the tutor and smiled fondly. "That's just like you. I know I can always rely on you. You're a good friend, Heine."

Heine took a sip from his glass. "Though you tend to ask for the most reckless things," he said.

That was when Viktor asked him to dance.

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It's been almost exactly one year since I first watched The Royal Tutor, and I'm super excited to get this out. I already have the rest of this written out, but because it’s such a pain to upload fics to Tumblr, I’ll be uploading the rest of the chapters to AO3, and I’ll be putting just the link on Tumblr. I really want to make sure I check each chapter thoroughly, so I might take a few days to upload the next one. In the meantime - comments are appreciated and I'll love you forever.

[ikevamp-shrine]

Hey! I'm so happy you're doing this because I absolutely love your work. ❤️ Would it be possible to get M, V & W for Ikevam Isaac? Please and thank you ☺️ 💛

Aww, thank you hun for the complement and for saying please and thank you (you would be surprised at the amount of people who don’t lol)- Enjoy. 

(I'm just realizing I did Leonardo’s wild card (W) one wrong so I’ll be fixing that soon.)

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

The father of science is known for being fickle when it comes human interaction, so hot and heavy approaches and reactions tend to turn him off. What does intrigues him though- in both a sexual and romantic stand point- is mental stimulation. He knows calculations, physics, concepts, and theories- not emotions, so when you are able to hold your own or at least follow along in his ramblings his tends to slowly gain a quirk to his lips. A gentle blush spreads across his cheeks as his hands begin to move in time with his words. He believes those few who are dependable and indulge in his passions as well are, well… incredibly sexy.

“This gear turns the plate, right?”

Isaac nodded once at your question, his soft tuffs of hair tickling your cheek as he leaned over your shoulder to help push down the gear you were referring to. A proud blush painted a pale pink color stained his skin while his candied white teeth shone brightly under the light, his lips parting to form a shy smile.

“Yes exactly,” he paused, glancing into your eyes only a hair away from his own, “the light refracts off the plate to create,” his words began to slow when his gaze shifted to your plush lips, “a symphony of… colors.” The heat in his cherry blossom colored orbs stole the air from your lungs.

Isaac had frozen in his stance as if he was just realizing the proximity between you and him. His long fingers tightened around the back of the chair causing thread like strands of your hair to wisp across his knuckles. You could feel his warm breath caressing your lips as he struggled to whisper, “the devil claim me.”

Isaac’s digits shifted through your hair, a moan slithering on his tongue at the taste of you. Gasping at the sudden tight grip on your upper thigh; Isaac used your opened mouth to his advantage by entangling his wet tongue with yours causing sloppy, wet noises to penetrate the air. He groaned- selfishly gulping in oxygen, and hissed, “need you… now.”

V = Volume (how loud are they, what sounds they make, etc.)

Isaac’s embarrassed, shy personality follows him to the bed sheets- well, the majority of the time that is. Caresses and grasps pull whimpers and sobs from his lips; gasps and pants bubble up from his throat, a hiss of overstimulation following in their wake. He speaks a language of the body and its movements. Rolls of his hips and clenched fists display his words without the wisps of air ever leaving his vocal cords. When he does decide to voice his thoughts his words, if not always, are choked, strangled, and full of ecstasy as the pleasure from your fingers slither through his veins like the blood coursing through your own.

But that all can change at a moment notice if his lust pushes him to the brink of destruction.

“Please,” Isaac choked out, his pink eyes staring at you pleadingly until a roll of your hips sent his colored orbs rolling into the back of his skull, his swollen lips taking more abuse from his elongated fangs. His staining member twitched under the tight grip of your fingers as you flicked your wrist slowly over and over again in a torturous pace; your other hand palming his balls.

“What do you want Isaac?” You hummed, sweat trickling down your chest to drip on his thighs wrapped around your hips, “be a good boy and tell me.”

“I… ah- can’t,” Isaac paused his strangled words to arch his back sharply, your fingers tracing over the curve in astonishment, a moan penetrating the heated surrounding like a bullet, “…slipping.”

“Take it.”

The snapping of leather cuffs chaining his hands above his head to the bed post was the last thing you heard before you were bent over the sheets, your ass high in the air, wrist bound by Isaac’s fingers far in front of you; the strings of the strap on you were wearing straining against the flesh of your waist and thighs.

Isaac rubbed his cock against your entrance, barely pushing the tip in leaving you clawing and bucking against the bed. His hot breath spread over your shoulder as he leaned over your shivering form to ghost his fangs over the curve of your neck.

“I warned you,” he growled, his throat burning with need, your scream slicing through the room as his fangs pierced your flesh.

W = Wild Card (get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

He had always dreamed what it would be like sharing a lover with the pureblood vampire he looked up to so much. Isaac just never had the gall to ask for- what he saw as- that momentous of a favor. So, when he opened his door one night, exhaustion deeply rooted in his bones, he never would have imagined what he stumbled upon.

There you were- seated between Leonardo’s legs; his fingers spreading you wide, chin resting against the love bitten curve of your shoulder.

Your legs were lain over Leonardo’s bare thighs as the two of you sat on his bed- Isaac’s bed- a beautiful blush staining your cheeks just like the one then spreading across Isaac’s.

Leonardo chuckled that deep reverberating baritone, murmuring, “I hope you don’t mind we warmed up for you,” his tongue darted out to lick a thin strip of your ear sending a shiver down your spine.

Isaac’s eyes widened, his lips sputtering as he dropped the apple from Arthur in his hand to the ground. Dipping a long finger into your core, Leonardo curled his digit inside your wet, warm walls and continued, “you want this right?”

Isaac swallowed thickly at Leonardo’s finger dripping with your essence now held towards the physicist in invitation to suck his flesh. His legs wobbled with each careful step he took towards his bed; knees hitting the floor in front of your heat as Leonardo slowly spread the clear liquid over Isaac’s parted lips.

SHOTS MATERLISTS

MASTERLIST

ABCs SMUT MASTERLIST

[jovialyouthmusic]

Silver Service

Both Madeleine and Lucretia get closer to the truth, and Liam and Olivia fear for their future.

Word Count 3522

A/N Warnings - implied smut, and discussion of attempted murder.

18 Revelations

‘So it’s positive’ Sophia said, referring to Olivia’s pregnancy test. Bastien frowned and put his fingers to his lips before speaking loudly.

‘Yes, the reception for the fashion show was very good’ he replied. He beckoned her over to the desk in their suite, where he had his laptop set up while he organised security rotas remotely with Lewis, who had gone on to Krona. He and Sophia would be following the day after, along with the King’s security detail. He tapped away on the screen and turned it toward her.

Must be careful of eavesdroppers. he had typed Maid cleaning in bedroom. Sophia nodded, but she sat on the edge of the desk.

‘You know, you really did an excellent job modelling’ she said huskily ‘I’d like to see your technique again. It really impressed me how fast you could change. Perhaps if you did it again, more slowly, I could do a little critique’ She made a gesture toward the bedroom with her head, and Bastien frowned for a moment before catching on.

‘I’m not planning on making it a career’ he said loudly ‘But I’m always looking to improve my performance – in all areas’

‘Well, let’s take this to the bedroom then’ she purred, pitching her voice toward the adjoining door. At that, the maid appeared suddenly, her face flushed. Sophia jumped away from Bastien, feigning surprise.

‘I forgot the sheets’ the maid said, flustered ‘I’ll come back later’ and scurried out, head down.

‘Well done’ Bastien said ‘That got rid of her – now I’d better do a sweep to see if she’s planted anything.’ He strode into the room and scanned it, first visually, then skimming his fingertips along walls and under ledges. He reached into his pocket for a small gadget with a button and a dial, and stood looking at it for a while. Finally he turned to Sophia.

‘It’s okay, no listening devices that I can detect. I think she was just eavesdropping.’ He paused by a drawer at the dressing table and opened it. ‘Maybe she was going through these as well’ he speculated.

‘She was acting rather suspiciously’ Sophia affirmed ‘She couldn’t leave fast enough when we said we’d move into the bedroom.’ Bastien looked thoughtful

‘What did you do with the receipt from the chemist?’ he asked. Although every noble house kept stock of various supplies from chemists and pharmacists for general use, he thought it better that she get something for Olivia off premises so it couldn’t be traced. She looked around for her purse, which rested on the dressing table.

‘Stop’ Bastien said ‘Think when you last had it – is it in the same place? Do you think it’s been tampered with?’ Sophia hummed in thought

‘Hmm, I thought I’d left it on the back of the chair’ she said. Bastien cursed under his breath

‘I’m sorry Sophia, I should have told you to dispose of it discretely – preferably not here at the Manor’ She huffed.

‘I wasn’t expecting anyone to go through my handbag’ she retorted. Bastien sighed

‘I forget you don’t have the training’ he said ‘She had time to look through it – let me see’ She took the receipt out of the bag and gave it to him. He groaned

‘That’s pretty specific’ He said heavily ‘She’ll know exactly what you bought if she saw it. I wonder if anyone’s asking her to do this, or if she’s just naturally nosy’

‘She’d think the test was for me, surely’ Sophia said. Bastien shook his head

‘Staff at these places are used to their clients being crafty’ he said ‘Gossip spreads like wildfire, and it’s known I’ve – well’ he paused and reached out to her apologetically. ‘I’ve been as discrete as I can over the years with my romantic involvements, but it may be known that I’ve had a vasectomy – many of the unmarried Guards do’ Sophia sucked in her breath. He rubbed her arm consolingly as she dropped her head. ‘You know I’m just with you now, don’t you?’ he said gently ‘I never encourage anyone else – ever’ She drew a shaky breath and nodded.

‘I know’ she said ‘I just don’t like being reminded’ He stood back and started to unfasten his tie, gazing at her as he did so.

‘Now then, Missy’ he said ‘I believe you wanted to see me undress?’ Sophia perked up and sat on the edge of the bed, biting her lip.

‘Any time, agápe mou’ she purred.

------

Madeleine sat back in the plush seat of the limo. Her mother snored softly, head lolling on the headrest as they made their way back to Krona. Penelope’s maid had told Madeleine about the purchasing of a pregnancy test, and revealed that Olivia had not been eating at breakfast, but she wanted to be methodical and eliminate the other ladies at Applewood. It couldn’t be Sophia – everyone knew her lover had never gotten anyone pregnant. Either he was firing blanks naturally or was sterilised – though the thought occurred to her that he was just the person who could probably hide something like an unwanted pregnancy. Lady Hana wasn’t seeing anyone, and Madeleine had always had the idea that she preferred women – or would, once she’d admitted it to herself. Drake was too savvy to get anyone pregnant – he’d bedded many of the ladies of the court and a lot of staff too and couldn’t afford any ‘accidents’ so it wasn’t likely to be Riley. Kiara struck her as a very conscientious young woman, sexually active, and most likely on birth control as pregnancy would certainly put a stop to her career ambitions.

The most likely candidate was Olivia then – and she must be sleeping with Liam. He certainly wasn’t stupid or reckless enough to get anyone accidentally pregnant. Had they got some sort of arrangement? When she had them staying at Karlingford she’d soon find out, she told herself.

------

‘Excuse me’ Olivia’s aide, Ruby, addressed the major domo at Karlingford, who looked up from his clipboard with an air of irritation.

‘I’m very busy, is it important?’ he snapped.

‘It most certainly is’ Ruby gave as good as she got. This snooty soft lowlander wasn’t going to get the better of a mountain dwelling Lythican. ‘Lady Olivia is not pleased with her quarters’ Harold sighed in annoyance.

‘Lady Madeleine allocated the rooms personally, and has given Lady Olivia the second best suite available. May I ask what is wrong with that?’

‘It may be your idea of luxury, but as you know, we Lythicans care nothing for soft beds and gilded ornaments. The placement is not to her liking. Lady Olivia has important business with the King and needs to be close by so he can call on her services at short notice’

‘It’s too late to change anything now’ Harold sniffed ‘Guests have been arriving all morning and it’s simply too difficult to make any alterations to the arrangements’

‘Would you like to explain that to Lady Olivia herself?’ Ruby asked ‘or perhaps the King might make a request in person when he discovers how inconvenient your allocation is’ Harold swallowed.

‘I’ll take another look at the schematic’ he said unsteadily ‘Karlingford is of course honoured to have the new King under our care, and Lord Godfrey has always been a gracious host’

‘Lady Olivia will be eager to hear from you. She’ll be in the King’s suite for now’ Ruby asserted, and went back to report to her boss.

------

Despite Madeleine’s efforts, the polo match was lacklustre. The weather was overcast and drizzly – not so wet to have to cancel, but enough to make both riders and horses cold and miserable. The stands were half full and spectators huddled in their waterproof coats under umbrellas. The donations were generous enough for the renovation of the main library, but only just managed to scrape past what they had hoped to raise. The afternoon tea served at Karlingford didn’t fare much better as gusts of wind threatened to blow the marquees away and all the bright summer outfits that folk usually wore to such events were discarded for warmer duller clothes.

The Duke was in a foul temper, and the King claimed he had to leave early to return to the Palace before carrying on to Lord Delacour’s residence in the Cormery Isles and the nobles’ golf tournament. Lady Olivia also left not long after.

However, Madeleine did discover that Olivia did indeed skip breakfast each day and was not seen before midday for the few days she was there. She couldn’t get much more information, as the rooms she had set up to eavesdrop on her were reallocated to Lord Delacour when Olivia demanded closer quarters to Liam, and she had her own maid brought over from Lythikos, refusing entry to any of Madeleine’s staff. Lord Neville was only too pleased to be staying in such a grand suite and was insufferably smug for his entire visit.

That fact actually played into her hands, as it meant Lord Neville was only too eager to help her in her efforts to spy on the Nevrakis heir. Sadly she heard not long after that Olivia would not be going to the Cormery Isles, but would be in Lythikos personally assisting in arranging the early winter sports events. She suspected that she and Liam would be spending some time together, but had no way of knowing for sure.

One thing Madeleine could do while she was at her father’s manor was to try and get more information out of her mother. Although she was notorious for bedding younger men, she didn’t do so when her husband was around. She would have spent her evenings with Regina, but the Queen Mother was spending hers with Lord Domvalier. Lord Godfrey spent as much time as he could with the King, and when he wasn’t available, would instead pay a visit to the Beaumonts or Delacoeurs or other worthy noble families.

That left Madeleine and Adelaide in each others’ company one night, and patiently she plied her mother with champagne and let her ramble on about whatever subject she cared to talk about. First of all she bemoaned the fact that Maxwell Beaumont was under her roof and she couldn’t lay a finger on him, then got rather maudlin and complained that Bastien now had a partner and had eyes for no-one else.

‘That man is dynamite in the bedroom’ she sighed ‘Maddy, you need a good man to keep you happy. Are you still a virgin?’ When she didn’t answer, she waved her hand dismissively ‘I can’t believe Leo didn’t at least sample what he could have had’ Madeleine gritted her teeth.

‘Mother, that’s really not appropriate’ she said ‘I might ask you what happened when you disappeared last month.’ Adelaide rolled her eyes and dropped her head back.

‘Okay sweetie, I know when I’m beaten. You’ve got a pretty low opinion of me already, what could it hurt?’ She sat forward in her chair to pour more champagne, but didn’t drink any. She looked at her hands, turning her wedding ring round and round on her finger.

‘I’m listening. I can’t promise not to judge, but I’ll try’

‘I – well, I went to Monaco to meet someone. He likes to play games with – you know being dominant. I’ll spare you those details’ Madeleine’s blood ran cold as she listened ‘He – he tried to kill me, like I said. ‘He…’ She closed her eyes and tears squeezed out ‘He injected me with heroin and left me to die.’ Madeleine couldn’t speak – she was filled with rage against the perpetrator. Whatever her mother was – drunk, lush, cougar – she didn’t deserve to die. It was a while before her mother spoke again, so she handed her a tissue and sat next to her on the couch. She both wanted and didn’t want to know more. Why? Who? Her mind span.

‘If – if it wasn’t for the young man I’d met on the plane going to Monaco, I wouldn’t be here now’ she sobbed ‘He found me and called an ambulance’

‘Who was he?’ Madeleine asked in a strangled tone.

‘He said he’d followed me deliberately – that both Bastien and the King knew where I was going’ she went on ‘They asked if I’d press charges, that he was working with Anton Severus and the Sons of the Earth. I said I wouldn’t, because then you’d find out – and your father – and – and everyone’ She broke into fresh sobs and Madeleine sat trembling with horror and anger, unable to leave her mother’s side. Her hand hovered over her shoulder but didn’t land.

‘In the end I didn’t have to say anything, they caught up with them later. Bastien wouldn’t tell me the details, he wouldn’t even see me, he passed it over to Lewis’

‘This is outrageous’ Madeleine spat ‘How could they let them get away with this? There must be some way of getting retribution without the news getting out’

‘Please Maddy, don’t meddle with things’ Adelaide pleaded ‘I’ve learned my lesson, I won’t fall for something like that again’ Madeleine glowered – she couldn’t see how her mother could keep that promise. She knew who she had to talk to next, and it couldn’t wait.

-------

Bastien cursed as his phone pinged. Sophia lay beside him, fast asleep, and he too had been out for the count. He looked blearily at the screen, blinking at the bright light. Lewis, now on duty for the night shift, informed him that Lady Madeleine wanted to speak with him urgently and she was waiting in her study. He passed his hand over his face and swung his legs out onto the floor. He’d been expecting this though not at such a late hour, and went over the details of her mother’s situation in his head, rehearsing how much he could tell her daughter without compromising security.

Had he been anywhere else, he would have told her to go to his office, but she was on home ground. The only thing he could do to keep the upper hand was to get dressed as if for work, and take his time over it.

‘Mmmm’ Sophia murmured, stirring at his movements ‘What is it, Bas?’

‘Go back to sleep theá mou’ he said gently ‘It’s work – nothing for you to worry about though, a minor matter that I have to see to’ She muttered again, unintelligibly, and was snoring gently before he’d finished getting dressed. He took his time making his way to meet Madeleine, and presented himself with a calm demeanour.

‘Mr Lykel, you took your time’ the so called Ice Queen was uncharacteristically agitated.

‘What can I do for you, your Grace?’ he asked coolly.

‘It has come to my attention that you had some knowledge of an attempt to kill my mother’ she said, voice shaking a little. ‘I demand you tell me what you know, and bring the guilty party to justice’

‘This is a delicate matter, your Grace’ he replied ‘May I sit?’ She nodded in irritation, and also sat behind her desk, but she wrung her hands together as he went on

‘May I ask why you think this is the case, Lady Madeleine?’ he asked

‘She told me’ she said shortly ‘Why haven’t you dealt with this matter already?’

‘I can assure you that the matter is in hand, but it may cause repercussions if it got out into the public domain’

‘I don’t care if everyone knows it, or just you and me. I demand you deal with it in a satisfactory manner’ Bastien sighed

‘Exactly what did Lady Adelaide tell you?’ he asked

‘Enough’ she said, enraged ‘She also told me that a certain Mr Nazario was involved. Who is he?’

‘I can only reiterate that all this is extremely sensitive information and ties in with the security of Crown and State. His Majesty is aware of the situation, and I can assure you that your mother’s assailant will answer for his crime’

‘Mr Lykel, I’m sure you can appreciate that I was at one point close to being Queen of Cordonia, and the King has chosen no-one else’ she said persistently ‘I caution you that in the future you may regret any refusal to assist me’

‘I suggest that you take up the matter with his Majesty’ Bastien said, stony faced.

‘How convenient that he’s not here right now’ she said in a low tone.

‘Then you may have to wait until you see him in person. I cannot break his confidence’ Madeleine practically growled as she went on

‘Mr Lykel, if I am ever in a position to be your superior, your employment will be terminated and I will hire people who will be more co-operative.’

‘If you were my superior I would tell you what you needed to know and serve you appropriately. Unfortunately, I plan to retire from the Guard shortly, so that will not be an issue’ he said, omitting to tell her that he would also be part of Liam’s reformed Council. ‘Will that be all?’ He asked ‘It’s very late and I’m officially off duty’ Madeleine glowered at him.

‘You may leave’ she spat ‘but this isn’t the end of the matter’

------

Olivia decided to visit Lucretia on her way back to Lythikos. She had been moved from a maximum security facility and was under house arrest in a cottage in the grounds of the Palace. The King’s guard had swept the Palace for explosives and listening devices, but had only come across equipment that the previous King had installed to keep tabs on his guests, some of which were known to them and others that were not. Bastien was not one hundred per cent happy with the security of the Palace just yet, but Liam’s quarters had passed muster, as had all the other accommodation suites in both the main part of the Palace and the staff wing. Places like the ballroom, library and other common areas were still being checked and were off limits to all but the Guard and Army personnel.

Lucretia still refused to talk to anyone about her role in the assassination at the coronation. She was free to move around the cottage as much as she wished, but had a security detail if she ventured outside. She was known to take walks every day before lunch, so Olivia had the Palace cook prepare some Lythican cookies as a gift, and went to visit her in the afternoon when she might be taking tea.  Her aunt was waiting in her lounge, and rose to greet her.

‘You’re looking pale’ she remarked ‘Life in the lowlands doesn’t suit you’

‘If it makes you any happier, I’ll be going there tomorrow to organise the arrangements for the Royal Charity tour’

‘Oh, that’ Lucretia said ‘Constantine’s spawn is trying to curry favour with his subjects’

‘You really shouldn’t call him that’ Olivia flushed with anger ‘He’s nothing like his father’

‘Then he won’t hold on to power for long. If nothing else, his Father knew how to do that at least. Sadly it meants house Severus has had a hard fight to regain their rightful position. How is your husband?’

‘I wouldn’t know’ Olivia said shortly, and put the box of cookies on the table. ‘If you’d like to make tea, I brought Knophlinken.’ For a split second, Lucretia’s pupils darkened. Olivia knew she loved them, as she often had them made when she was a child. They were hard, strongly spiced and barely sweet at all. Her aunt opened the box and inhaled the scent.

‘Almost’ she said shortly ‘Too much cinnamon – but I suppose you can only get the real thing from Lythikos. I’m guessing they were made in the Palace’

‘Indeed’ replied Olivia ‘Liam had some spices sent from the Lodge’

‘Well I suppose they will do’ She rang a little bell for the maid she was allowed to employ and ordered her to make tea for them both.

‘So you refuse to visit your husband’ Lucretia went on ‘I must admit he’s not the man he should be. If he was, I wouldn’t have had to step in and accelerate his ascension to the throne. Sadly he was too slow or too stupid to take advantage of things. That, and Mr Lykel was lucky to spot the assassin I hired before he dispatched the King and Prince.’

‘I think you’ll find that was skill, and not luck’ Olivia said coolly. The maid came in with a tray of tea things. In Lythikos, it was served with hot spiced milk and never with sugar. Olivia found that the aroma of the spices turned her delicate stomach as her aunt went to pour it, and she dry heaved. Her aunt stared at her, narrowing her eyes, and Olivia’s blood ran cold.

‘Are the spices not to your taste my dear?’ she asked archly ‘Or could it be that you’re going to bear a child – the spawn of the Rys dynasty?’

@emceesynonymroll @sirbeepsalot @cora-nova @stopforamoment @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria

@drakesensworld @katedrakeohd @pedudley @indiacater @texaskitten30

@be-still-my-aching-heart @hopefulmoonobject @dcbbw @classylady1234 @ladyangel70

@rainbowsinthestorm @nomadics-stuff @gardeningourmet @furiousherringoperatortoad @kimmiedoo5

@bascmve01  @ibldw-main @addictedtodrakefanfic @trappedinfandoms @princess-geek

[ditch-witches]

A Man Like You (Dean-Charles Chapman Smut)

requested: yes/no (send us some requests!)

pairing: '20s!Dean-Charles Chapman x reader

warnings: smut, swearing, Gatsby references, ‘20s AU 

word count: 1,959

a/n: Comment "grab that ass" if you enjoyed. Ryan took her sweet ass time writing this one, so we finished this during a salsa lesson where they only played "I Just Can't Stop" by Usher.

You had always heard about the lavish parties thrown by the mysterious Mr. Chapman. His parties rivaled those of Gatsby and were attended by some of the wealthiest, most celebrated figures. You felt out of place as if you didn't belong. Your dress was less than impressive compared to the hundreds of extravagantly dressed men and women, drinking copious amounts of champagne. Yet, here you were standing in the foyer of his imposing estate. The sound of the lively jazz band rang through the estate, as you wandered from one elaborate room to another, drifting from conversation to conversation.

Hours pass, and you find yourself tired, and a bit overwhelmed from all the socialization that night. However, you realize you have yet to have met the elusive host. You meandered through throngs of partygoers, occasionally stopping to ask where you could find the man of the hour, but no one seemed to know. No longer determined to discover his identity, you sink into a plush armchair in the midst of a heated literary discussion. That's when you notice a stunningly handsome man admiring you from afar. His appealing expression brought a small smile to your face as you looked away coyly. Your eyes drifted back to his, which were still glued to you. A smirk played on his lips, as he scanned you from head to toe; you couldn't help but blush. Your eyebrow perked at him and he slightly raised his glittering glass in your direction. You bit your lip and turned back to the people around you, attempting to blend back into the conversation about Mr. Twain.

Seconds later, the man began making his way over to you, grabbing another glass from a waiter passing by. You fiddled with the hem of your dress, as butterflies began to flutter in your stomach. Your once-prominent courage seemed to sink away from you as his daring eyes grew closer to you. He leaned against the broad back of your chair, listening to one of the men in the group discuss how much of genius Twain was. You pursed your lips, sitting up in the chair, but sharing the same edge as the man. He slyly handed you the other glass and you gingerly took a sip.

"Tom, when you say genius, I hope that you've been comparing it to something more its caliber. In consideration of Edith Wharton, Twain is trivial." A corner of your mouth quipped into a smirk at the cool remark made by the man at your side.

The man, seemingly Tom, furrowed his brows and fought to roll his eyes. "Nice party, Dean," he nodded.

You could hear the cocky smile in Dean's voice above you. "It's fun, isn't it?" Enjoying the spectacle before you, you take the opportunity to send Tom a derisive look. "If I remember correctly, you threw a party last week, didn't you, Tom?" His hand was close enough to you that you felt his fingers brush against your exposed shoulder. "Were any of you there? I seemed to have missed the invite?" You bit back a snicker, as everyone else exchanged puzzled glances.

"Well, at least I attended my party. Where the hell is this Chapman fellow?" Tom responded rather defensively, which seemed to betray his stern face.

"Probably fucking your mother or did you take care of her yourself?" Dean jeered. You took another sip of your drink to hide the smile playing upon your lips. A man approached your group, whispering closely to a woman across from you, bringing a rather disappointed frown to her face. Dean took this opportunity to lean closer to your ear. "Would you like to see more of the house?" You sat back to peer up at him with a furrowed brow and he winked, holding his hand out for you. You mildly looked around the group and shrugged, letting him pull you from the plush armchair you were perched upon.

You were all but wrapped around his arm as he led you through a vast archway and around a few corners, pointing out discoloring in some of the gold accents. After passing through a few hallways reality hit. "We shouldn't be doing this."

Dean chuckled, turning to you slightly as you walked. "And why not?"

You gestured around you like it was obvious. "We're guests. What if Mr. Chapman found out we were just wandering around in his house?"

"I really don't believe he would mind," he answered with a small smirk.

You stopped walking, keeping him glued to your side. "And how would you know? No one's met him." You attempted to keep the rather childish wonder out of your voice but Dean's demeanor had suggested he had been keeping the host's secret for long enough.

"Love, I am Mr. Chapman."

"And you live here..." you paused, narrowing your eyes in a rather leering manner, "by yourself?"

He gave you a slight shrug. "I mean..."

"How could a woman refuse such a man like you?" You dramatically taunted and he rolled his eyes playfully.

Next thing you know, you two were a tangled mess of wandering touches and searing lips pressing against sensitive pressure points. He fisted your embellished skirt in his hands, pulling you closer to his body as he kicked the door shut. One of his hands reached out to rest against the wood so he wasn't throwing your back against the door while you fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, as his lips trailed a roadmap from your jaw to your collarbone, leaving marks as he moved. You felt his smile behind each one as your breath became slightly uneven in the heat of the moment. His hands traveled down your hips to the back of your thighs, squeezing abruptly as he brought himself to his knees. You let out a slight moan and he chuckled. "We're just getting started, love." You tugged your hands through his dark hair, leaning fully against the wooden door as he kissed your inner thigh, allowing his teeth to graze against your skin, eliciting a moan to fall from your slightly parted lips. He gripped onto the hem of your dress, standing once again to slip your dress over your head. "No slip? Dirty girl," he leered.

"Shut up," you snapped, pushing him further into the room. He slipped his suit jacket off of his established shoulders, taking his shirt with it, giving you a cheeky, little smile. You had him right where you wanted him. You moved closer to him, pressing your lips against his and backing the two of you towards the bed before the backs of his knees hit the bed frame, sending the two of you onto the bed. You straddled his waist, your fingers dancing to unbutton his pants as he propped himself up on his elbows to watch you.

"You look good on top," he quirked, his cocky grin coming into view.

You bit back a chuckle, making eye contact with him. "Oh, so am I doing all the work then?" He chuckled rather darkly and pushed his knee up so you fell against him again, but he wrapped his arm around you and pulled you beneath him.

"I never said I wanted you on top." You're breath hitched in your chest as he placed open-mouthed kisses down your body, stopping just below your navel. Dean's blue eyes flashed up to yours as if to allude to his dirty thoughts of what he was planning to do next. Your look matched his as he wrapped one of his arms around your leg, moving to bury his face between your legs. "Where were we?" He asked, raising an eyebrow in your direction before placing his lips against the small bruise on your inner thigh he had created earlier. You let out an uneven breath as his mouth then pressed against your abdomen, dangerously close to the hem of your underwear. His breath was hot against your already wet core as his lips connected to your clothed center, sucking lightly, before his tongue darted out and into you. Keeping your underwear between the two of you was a power play that you were growing to hate and he quickened his pace.

You arched your back slightly, biting back a low moan. "Shhh," he mumbled against you, the vibration of his voice sending shockwaves through your core. He pushed aside your underwear and slipped a finger inside of you, his mouth against you once more. You could feel him smiling as you ran your hand through your hair and your thighs tightened around his head.

"Dean..." you moaned. He broke away from you. He hooked a finger into the waistband of your underwear, sliding them down your legs, and tossing them aside, moving from between your legs to press against you again. You brought his lips to yours again, throwing as much passion behind the act as you could. His hand moved to caress your breast, while the other pulled you up against him to work at unfastening your bra. You buried your face in his shoulder, biting at his collarbone. "I want you inside me," you groaned, tugging at his pants. At this point, Dean finally made eye contact with you, the lust blown look in his eyes sent goosebumps spreading across your skin. Once he had shed the last remnants of his clothing, you could help but admire Dean in all his glory, and it was evident he was doing the same to you.

He took his moment to rub the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip with an almost prideful look in his eye. You brought your knee up to rest against his side. He kissed you briefly then his lips settled against your jaw and your chest. Your body shivered with anticipation as he positioned himself, pushing one of your legs up to rest on his thigh. You gripped onto his upper arms as he finally buried himself inside of you. His hands tightened into the mix of sheets and pillows surrounding your head as he began to snap his hips against yours. His jaw set in concentration with every movement he made. Your arms snaked around his torso, sliding down to grab his ass. Dean let out a breathy chuckle, quickening his pace at your action and leaning down to nip at the skin on your neck.

You dug your nails into his back, dragging them down slowly, eliciting a low moan from him. You felt the desire building up inside you with each of his determined strokes. His head tilted back in ecstasy, as you both came closer to the edge. "Fuck, you feel so good," he moaned into your ear as your walls clenched around him. His thrusts became less rhythmic as he picked up his pace. You wrap a leg around his hip driving him deeper into you, somehow finally finding just the right angle. The pleasure that seemed like a dull ache before intensified rapidly, causing a wave of bliss to wash over you. Seeing you ride out your orgasm, pushed Dean further over the edge, causing him to pull out. He reached down to jerk himself off, your hand catching his wrist. His eyes met yours as you began finishing him yourself. "Fuck," he moaned as you tugged on his cock. He closed his eyes as he finally reached his climax.

Dean collapsed next to you, taking you in his arms moments later. As your breathing evened, you were finally able to collect your thoughts. "Don't get too cocky, but that might've been the best sex I've ever had."

Dean let out a laugh, a sultry look in his eye. "You up for round two?"

[smolbeandrabbles]

Mine - Killian x Reader (Spies In Disguise)

Well. Here is your introduction to this babe-!

GIF Credit: X

Mine / Blank Space / Feel Somethin’ / Glitter Makes People Happy / Fresh Start Fever /  The Scientist

Author’s Note: Sooooo... I’m using Tristan/Killian interchangeably throughout the series, as I wrote the majority of this part before I watched the movie and really had many more thoughts on him, for now he’s referred to simply as Killian. I have waaaaay too many plot points to work through with this man. So, here we are!

Part 1 of a 5 part movie prequel series. So, there’s quite a lot of set up. As usual, bear with me! Note: Just because I sometimes like talking about my OCs/Readers - this reader was originally created in 2014 - I’ve already used most of her aesthetics elsewhere but... it’s nice to get to use the parts of her I scrapped here. The joys of Killian being cybernetic, I guess!

Disclaimer: I own no characters or plot lines from Spies in Disguise / Lyrics not mine. / Some of this is Ben Mendelsohn in promo interviews’ fault...!

Premise: After a particularly rough interrogation encounter, Killian takes you to safety in order to recuperate... 

Words: 3282

Warnings: N/A. There aren’t any spoilers for Spies... in here, but to be on the safe side, proceed with caution!

_______

I was a flight risk, with a fear of fallin' Wondering why we bother with love, if it never lasts I say, "Can you believe it?" As we're lyin' on the couch The moment, I can see it, Yes, yes, I can see it now Do you remember, we were sittin', there by the water? You put your arm around me for the first time You made a rebel of a careless man's careful daughter You are the best thing, that's ever been mine Flash forward, and we're takin' on the world together And there's a drawer of my things at your place You learn my secrets and you figure out why I'm guarded You say we'll never make my parents' mistakes Do you remember all the city lights on the water? You saw me start to believe, for the first time You made a rebel of a careless man's careful daughter You are the best thing, that's ever been mine

You said, "I'll never leave you alone" You said, "I remember how we felt, sitting by the water. And every time I look at you, it's like the first time. I fell in love with a careless man's careful daughter. She is the best thing that's ever been mine."

---

* System Failure * -> Reboot Required --> Recalibration in progress ---> Reboot whole system? -----> Full system reset in operation -> Standby... 5...4...3...2... Rebooting.

 You opened your eyes slowly, everything hurt. But it was a strange pain that seemed to dull with every second of regained consciousness. Everything was too bright and you grumbled to yourself and shielded your eyes - burying your head into whatever you were lying on. But with your body complaining at you, it was impossible to lie here and fall back to sleep - and even more impossible for a slight feeling of unease to not creep over you.

You hadn't fallen asleep here. In fact you couldn't even remember falling asleep... And the scratchiness of whatever you covered you wasn't sheets. Your eyes opened again and you realised from the polished grey flooring you weren't in a bedroom either. You sat up - grasping immediately for the jacket falling from your shoulders - to keep that warmth around you.

You slipped off the plush couch, drawing it around you, stretching your legs out. they still complained at you, but you were all but ignoring them now.  The simple black dress you were wearing came to barely above your knees - had you even been wearing that? - why was your memory so fuzzy? You took a deep breath - and that helped nothing. Your heart suddenly leaping out of your chest at something so familiar to you; the scent of his cologne. You would have scanned the room for a clue of some kind - shoes? Heels maybe? This was a suit jacket after all...  Dinner? That's what the attire said. But it wasn't what the scenery said. You kept walking towards the bright white reflecting through the window.

 You found yourself staring at a seemingly endless mountain range - pure white snow covered nearly everything. The window seemed to also stretch for infinity, even in its many panels - curved around this side of the house. You stared hard at the breath-taking view for a minute. How gorgeous the blue of the sky was today… You pulled that jacket around you tighter still, looking to the stone below you carved smooth in order to build this base up here. The helicopter stationed on its pad let you know he was probably still home. But as you drew your gaze up, along with your smile, you noticed something else. And had to drop your grasp on the jacket - it lay itself over your shoulders, as if it was just as unwilling to let go of you - and you gasped, examining your wrists. They were faint, but both of them held ligature marks. You stretched them out in front of you. That looked bad - that looked very bad... You rubbed them, as if hoping that would also bring the memory back - but nothing. Holding them close to your chest you bit your lip, hard, and looked out to the mountains again. There was nothing you loved more than being here. But this time was different. And it was the first time you'd ever been fearful.

 The footsteps echoed down the hallway, but you didn't turn until you heard them descend the steps into the living area. Step, step, step. Now you knew there should have been two more - so the pause made you turn. Killian was leaning against the wall, looking you over curiously. He was wearing your favourite deep blue shirt, and the jacket to go with his suit was clearly still around your shoulders. "You're awake. I thought it would take more out of you than that. I'm surprised..." You turned away from the window fully then, "...I can't..." "Remember anything?" He stepped forward, two steps and then across the room in slow strides. Somewhere in the back of your mind you knew you should be scared of this man. That it was something you'd been told often... Or... At least recently; it was just about reachable in your memory. But you weren't. And you knew that you never had been by the smile you felt developing on your face. "I'm sorry..." His voice was soft, "I'm working on that... It's not as easy as I wish it were." "What happened?" "Lance Sterling happened, as ever. It took me about 4 days to locate you - I'm sorry. You kinda got yourself out..." He indicated to your wrists. "But it took a lot out of you, so I brought you back here to recuperate." "Killian..." You breathed, remembering the name, and looked back to the window, "...I'm sorry." You knew it was probably a lot of trouble and time he didn’t have to even pick you up – and if they had found a way to track you, this sanctuary was no longer safe. "Woah..." His footfall now put him directly in front of you - and his fingers touching your skin shocked you, making you step away from him with wide eyes. Killian dropped his hands; "I'm sorry... That's an effect of your recalibration." He tilted his head frowning; “…But you don’t need to be.” Sorry; he meant. Somehow you knew the right thing to do was say "What have you done to me this time?" "I told you - I'm not messing with your tech. But sometimes you're reckless and you drain your human body. Just because your legs can carry you forever doesn't mean they should." You couldn't really remember him telling you that, but you took his hand back in yours - senses running on overdrive, you could feel every ridge in his fingertips; "All you need is rest, Y/N... And you'll be fine. I was just coming to check on you... It'll be the chip..." He indicated to the couch again, "Please sit."

 You inexplicably trusted this man - and you did as he asked with no questions. Killian held out his hand and you knew to put your right in his. Watching him press down for a number of seconds something mechanical clicked, and your right arm lit in sparodic places before a tiny compartment opened up. But something in your head was still telling you this was routine.  He had a small device with him, and he plugged it into the compartment. Immediately it beeped. Brain too fuzzy to decipher the numbers you were squinting at; it didn’t take him nearly so long to sigh deeply and chide you; "Your heart rate is elevated... You don't need to be afraid of this..." "I know." But did you? Killian nudged you as further data flashed up; "No you don't... You're running on your chips; your brain is still dormant. And I told you I wasn't going to run you like this." He shook his head, muttering “I knew those idiots would never listen. The tech is too smart for its own good… And they’re too stupid to calibrate it properly.” You thought that was a little ironic considering Killian had just confessed he’d probably done the calibration wrong himself, but thought better to hold your tongue. Besides, all he did was leave you confused; "Meaning what?" He turned his blue eyes back on you, unsure if he should go on. But gave it to you in its simplest terms; "You're sleep walking." "What?" How was that possible? You were conscious, right? Sleep walkers usually had no idea what was going on. You might not remember anything prior to this, but you were aware this was really happening right now. "You won't remember this when you wake up... But you'll remember everything else." So why should he bother explaining it in technical terms you would actually understand, when Killian knew he would just have to do so again later. "Sleep walking?" "I'm talking to a computer. That's creepy isn't it? I told you - They should never have performed the operation..." "But you're glad they did. Or I wouldn't be here. And then where would you be?" That also felt like something you were supposed to say – that he had told you enough times. "Hush..." Killian brushed his hands over your exposed legs, and you gasped, "You feel this?" "Yes." And this time you were aware of your elevated heart beat, and the heat of his palms on your thighs – test or not. "Then your body will be fine. And when you actually wake up, we're talking about that chip. I'm for taking it out of you. For now, you're going back to bed." You looked to the little device again, more than a little scared. What would he do? Force a system shut down?

"Y/N..." You looked back into his eyes, "Whatever your warning system is telling you, you're going to fall asleep naturally. Don't start thinking I'm using this. You're safe." He unplugged it very carefully, every movement slow so you could track it, before he stood - "But you can follow me..." You did as Killian asked, and walked with him up the corridor. But it wasn’t long before he tapped one of the many doors. "Bed. Rest. Now." Then he walked to places unknown. Your eyes followed him for a little while until he was out of sight, and your heart seemed to sink – you missed him already – before you opened the door and found yourself in a bedroom. Again, something about this was so familiar. And you instantly felt tired. You knew the bed was a soft, warm, safe space and smiled. That man was right.

 **

 When you woke again, you wished you hadn't. And everything hurt. For real this time. Sometimes being cybernetic wasn't all it was cracked up to be - and that was the last time you tried to snap handcuffs in an interrogation room to escape.  Killian was who they really wanted, of course, but you were (on occasion) his assistant, and the H.T.U.V would take what they could get... And… well, you were also a lot more than that. So they probably had surveillance footage of the two of you together in many places. You were never trying to actively hide, an easier target than the man you were with. You sat up, head throbbing. And the next thing you heard was a series of beeps. You turned around; "Oh god. Can't you give me 5 minutes?" Your shiny blue metallic assistant drone, KiTT, whined at you sarcastically again. And you wanted to kick it. "Yeah, I'm aware... Where's Killian?" More beeps "Oh. Figures..." He’d probably sent your drone up to check on you; sometimes that proved less helpful than he wanted. You stood and almost immediately stumbled, having to rebalance yourself; "...Sometimes I really hate my parents..." This hadn't been your decision after all. Everything from your waist down - and a major portion of your arms were now cybernetic. To look at you, you were a regular human, but there was nothing regular about what was underneath your skin (synthetic or otherwise). It had been caused by a lab explosion that should have taken your life, more than ten years prior.  This tech would save it, for a price your parents would pay. And here you were. You took your steps slowly up the corridor as the two parts of your body readjusted themselves to Killian's new calibration. You already didn't like it.  And he would, as always, love your complaining. Meeting a man with as much of a knack for robotics as you wasn't coincidence. But he was something else entirely – he was almost too smart to be just the person he was. Sometimes you wondered why he wasn’t a little more legitimate, or why he wasn’t just a scientist himself. You suppose it ran further back than he was prepared to admit to you. And everything was always so shady when he was out here and you were calling him by a different name… He financed things less than legal, and you were pretty sure he made all his money the same way. Still, it always came back to technology and it was where both of you were most at home. When you reached the labs, all was strangely quiet.  KiTT continued to follow you, a nice dull hum that you had grown used to over the years, and were oddly lost without no matter how damn annoying it could be. You didn’t like the thought of Killian down here alone and left to his own devices, but you supposed this was only for your sake. He would rather be out there with his various factions – doing whatever it was they all did on a daily basis. You already knew none of it was good. When Killian dropped you back in civilisation he’d go off and get Lance and co chasing him around again – and you’d go back to the innovation lab you worked at, until he needed you or you saw him again – sometimes just by happenstance. And that’s how life was. You paused every so often at various research stations and abandoned work benches. Killian clearly hadn’t been alone long, and whatever he was working on seemed huge. Nightly news reels were calling, you could feel that.

 You eventually found him, sitting staring at research. By now your assistant had flown over to another part of the lab, to continue the work Killian had put him on before sending him to check on you. “What have you got KiTT doing for you?” “Nothing you wouldn’t have him do...” You glanced suspiciously from your other half over to KiTT, welding pieces together “He’s not YOUR assistance drone.” Killian kept his blue eyes on his monitor for a moment, “You’re the one who won’t tell me who built him.” “I built him!” You took immediate offence to that, and folded your arms. “Yeah But you said it yourself, he was a kit.” Which Killian always assumed was where his name came from “I modified him a little...” You continued to watch, concerned as KiTT carefully drew out and inserted vials of vibrant liquid into whatever he was building. Killian sighed, knowing that look well “If you don’t want me to use him, I’ll stop. But then either you have to get more involved - and you want to be the neutral one - or I need the name.” “I get worried he’s gonna get hurt!” That was a No, then. “I sent him to look after you.” “So you didn’t have to deal with the sarcasm any longer?” Killian gave a shrug, that accompanied his smile, hitting a few keystrokes - “He doesn’t sass me.” “Yeah I bet-! Too scared!” “Am I scary?” Right now no. But he damn well could be – you’d seen the outcomes of this line of work. “Intimidating. Up there at the lofty heights of... 6...?” “Classified!” You scoffed “As if your height is classified.” “Definitely is.” You squinted at his monitor, now more interested in whether that would tell you what your drone was doing; "What are we stealing today?" He chuckled; "No. I'm just researching." "Yeah, what to steal next." You leant against his desk, eying him; "Do you ever stop?" "Do you?" He turned to you slowly, fixing you with blue eyes that could easily see right through you. Sometimes he made you feel guilty even when you had nothing to hide. You held your hand’s up defensively, knowing he was immediately talking about the interrogation; "I didn't say anything!" "No. I know that." "Going through my memory bank now-!?" Your eyes narrowed in suspicion. If Killian had access to the chip, he could do whatever he wished. "I would never do something like that. I just know you. How are you feeling?" At least you knew him well enough to know that was true, and you appreciated his concern. "...I... Guess I've felt better..." "Well. Yeah, your calibration went wrong - my mistake." "Sorry!?" Killian wasn’t usually one for making mistakes, let alone admitting to them when he did. "I need to take that chip out of the base of your brain, I think." You scoffed, "And kill me? That's the reason all this works!" You presented yourself to him. "I know..." He held his hand out for yours, attention now all on you, voice low, "But I don't like what it's doing to you. I can make a better one." "Ehhh... Should I trust you?" You allowed Killian to pull you to him, and wound your arms around his shoulders. It was really a rhetorical question, if he wasn’t tuning up your robotics you were doing it yourself. "If it's the only thing you do." "Complex operation?" Though you knew the answer before he gave it. "Majorly." He gave a shrug; "I just want that thing out." His fingertips ran up your back, halting at the top of your neck; if he pressed down hard enough he could feel the offending object under your skin. You knew Killian wouldn’t say something like that without reason – you doubted even this man would risk your life, you traced your hand up to meet his, fingers lacing together; "...What happened?" "Well, it can wake you up without you being conscious - that's the stuff of nightmares. And that knowledge alone should be enough to convince you!" You opened your mouth; "Do...I want-" "No." He pulled you onto his lap and tucked your hair back, "I'm going to need to repress it. Your entire system rebooted and took you with it. Not good - probably my fault. But it's not doing it again..." He indicated to his other screen, upon which displayed a schematic of your robotic and synthetic material - "I'm going to put in a fail safe." Killian always explained everything he did to you in great detail, and only tuned you up if you agreed to it.

You narrowed your eyes, sitting back against his chest; "I thought you took the last one off…?" "Yeah... I did. Because that one was holding you back. Whoever made this for you decided to give it one basic function." Killian also only messed with anything if it was going to perform better than what was already there. "Which is?" "To function." You could have finished that for him. They taught you how to use it. The basics. But let me show you how to employ it. The potential of what you have should be realised, Y/N! You weren't sure it wasn't for his own ends. But one thing was for sure, until he showed otherwise, you'd trust Killian and his judgements. "Do it." You weren’t even sure you wanted to hear the what or why – you trusted him implicitly, whatever he would do for you would be for the best. You almost slipped from his grip; thinking the conversation was over – before he pulled you back, hands taking yours; "Hold on. I have to test it all first, I'm not just putting that chip in you..." You turned back to him, "Oh! And here you had me all excited!" “It’ll be finished in a few days. I don’t want to put you through a complete system overhaul twice in one week.” You folded your arms with a smirk; “This is just a ploy to keep me here all to yourself, Killian, isn’t it?” He rolled his eyes, question left unanswered, "Now hush for a minute and tell me which diamond you like best?" You made yourself more comfortable in his arms and studied the screen; "So you are stealing diamonds." "Yes. We're stealing diamonds..." He kissed your hair gently, making you absentmindedly smile and nestle further into him; "Now pick one!"

---

Hit me up - he’s not going anywhere! This is only fic 1/? (All Five parts of this are also started. FYI 😊😉)

Note 2: I had a plot point to do with the drones that I kinda had to kill due to the movie... - but I wanted her to have one as an assistant, so. Here’s KiTT. I’m keeping him.

Who do I even tag?! Are we all interested in animated bois voiced by Ben Mendelsohn fics?  @xxstar-bluesxx​ - Thank you for your patience! 💜💙😊 @3134045126​ - my girl 😉 Just you wait-!

@dennismitchell @happyskywhale @wltz-bby #MendoTagSquad.

[jojosbizarreadventur]

Time’s Crusade: Chapter 05

also available on AO3 (under emih)

This chapter: They weren’t supposed to be eating breakfast at a table right across from you.

Summary: Yesterday in 2011, your husband Noriaki and close friend Jotaro were both murdered together just months before your university graduations. The day before yesterday, you discovered that your nerve-wracking IUI procedure was successful. Two months before that day, said close friend made a proposition to the both of you due to your husband’s recently-discovered infertility.

Today in 1988, you’re over 20 years into the past of an alternate universe, suddenly tasked with trailing after different versions of your late husband and close friend as they travel with unfamiliar faces to Egypt, determined to confront the man you now work for.

And in the following days, you discover how easy it was for your sentiments to change.

——

05

Singapore Dreaming

November 29 to December 2, 1988 || Singapore

Under normal circumstances, you’d enjoy a flight to this location.

In fact, Singapore was on a list of possible honeymoon destinations that you and your husband made months ago. Though it did not end up being the final choice, you both shelved the idea of flying there at a later date. Now, the idea of you two being a full-fledged married couple traveling the world together when possible made your heart simultaneously flutter and hurt a little— if such a feeling even existed to a normal person.

But that isn’t your main focus right now. Currently, your main focus is to serve Lord Dio… which is why this flight to Singapore is giving you mixed feelings.

Singapore wasn’t anywhere close to Egypt, obviously, but the soonest flight from Japan was there and you made the decision to travel. Similar to Tokyo, Singapore was a different place compared to what you knew in the present as well. There’s no telling if the events leading up to 2011 would be same as it was in the universe that you left—

You buried your face into the plush bed sheets of the queen-sized bed. There’s suddenly an onset of pain that swims around in your head— your forehead, to be exact— and the mere thought of it makes it throb even more. Your clenched fist bangs against the bed, creating muffled thud after thud.

These spells of pain have been happening since you boarded the plane an hour before midnight in Japan, and by then was it too late to have any sort of pain medication on you to ease the intermittent headaches.

But what were you thinking about when it happened the first time? Your thoughts muddled into a cloudy mess that you couldn’t remember anymore, and your already-poor memory didn’t do you any favors. Obviously, you were on the plane, and it was mostly the early hours of the morning. The seat you got was beside a window. Did you open it or not? You hadn’t a clue. What were you thinking about?

…probably about your forehead and how you wanted the pain to stop. That seemed like a reasonable assumption, though you’d be mildly surprised if that wasn’t the case after all.

Pushing yourself up from the bed with a groan, you brought a hand to your forehead as your other arm supported your upper body. The pangs of pain were a lot duller than they were a minute ago, but you felt that any major movement would result in its comeback. You slowly crawled off the bed on all fours, relieved to be able to feel your feet hit the lavender-hued carpet.

You were staying at the Grand Hyatt, about twenty minutes from the coast. The larger capacity of tourists and locals in the lobby reminded you that it was the holiday season, but you managed to snag a room on the eighth floor without a prior reservation. Going on last-minute trips out of Tokyo and quickly booking a room was a topic that you joked about with your husband in the past, and it now felt… off… to do something of the sort without him.

You ran a hand through your hair.

This was an obligation set by Lord Dio, though, so you had a reason. How could you refuse, anyway?

November 27, 1988 || Cairo, Egypt

The butler Telence had already left your side by the time you reached the tall archway to the dining hall. You arrived without company, which was apparently ideal for Lord Dio’s expectations this evening. And, as promised by Telence, he did not have much care for your garb and merely gestured for you to sit at the far end of the long table. He himself sat at the other end.

By then, it was completely silent. Maybe if you’d listen closely, you’d be able to hear every slow, calm breath Lord Dio took through his nostrils.

After situating yourself, you felt your leg bouncing under the table. You didn’t know why you were so nervous all of a sudden— maybe it was being in your boss’s presence? Since the early morning, there wasn’t much need for you to be near Lord Dio anymore, except the first time you had met him. Arguably, that meeting was necessary in order for you to awaken/receive your Stand— did the Arrow personally give you a Stand, or did the inflicted injury cause a Stand to awaken from within? You still had no idea, to be honest.

Nevertheless, this current meeting with Lord Dio could travel in two directions.

Maybe you unintentionally wronged him or someone else, and you were going to be punished for it. Either you’d get… you don’t know, a solid no or stop and a slap on the wrist, or you’d be added onto the top of his hit list for whatever you did. And then he’d… start going down said hit list.

Or… he wanted you to complete a task for him. Between your colleagues, there always seems to be tasks that they were assigned to do— whether it may be simply around the mansion or somewhere out of the country. Now that you were here in Lord Dio’s mansion, you were subject to that expectation as well. That wasn’t too bothersome for you, considering how you pledged to help him in any form earlier. Also, the context leading up to that promise was irrelevant, you find. It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been serving him, or… why, but all you care about is ensuring that he sees you in a good light.

“If you seek to please me and to gain a strong sense of self, then there is something of the utmost importance that you will have to do for me, Dio.”

His words echoed off the stone walls, and its resonating timbre could be fully heard by you despite your far distance. Only now was your heartbeat starting to slow down back to a reasonable tempo. There wasn’t any need to be nervous; you were definitely here for a task.

“There is a man that has been after me for many years— a shrewd one at that, so I ask that you do not underestimate him, even if he physically appears to teeter on the side of senility. Joseph Joestar has been rather persistent to trail after me, and he is not intending to stop anytime soon. He will be accompanied by others to find me.”

There’s that name again: Joestar.

You’ve heard it thrown around between Lord Dio and Piper earlier today, though you didn’t dwell on it too much. This morning, however, didn’t Lord Dio mention the woman with the Joestar child? He was referring to you, wasn’t he? You’re not going to question how he knew you were expecting, because it’s Lord Dio— maybe he has ways to tell as a divine being and all. But why… Joestar?

…Jotaro’s last name wasn’t Joestar last time you checked, so what… what gives?

Maybe you were going to find out in the midst of doing the task, you don’t know. Not minding your confusion any longer, you continue to listen to Lord Dio with an intent expression.

“As we have discovered that your Stand ability and circumstances are quite… special, the task you are assigned to reflects that. You will go after Joestar and his group from Tokyo, as they are all currently located there.”

“How long will this take… Lord Dio?”

Admittedly, the sound of his name being uttered from your mouth was something he found pleasing to the ears. Then again, he felt such emotions when he heard anyone refer to him in that manner, even if a title was a title. Whatever measures he took to ensure peace of mind for his subjects and, ultimately, himself was a better testament of his power rather than a simple mention of his lordship.

“However long it happens to take,” he answers with much ease. “Perhaps that may take less than a day— if they perish en route— or several weeks if they are all too hard-headed to die. Regardless of the length of their journey, you must stand your ground all throughout. This is especially true if one or all encounters you personally. You, and everyone else you serve with, are partially crucial to my survival. After all, the remainder of my livelihood is also dependent on my own actions.”

You nodded in agreement. Points were being made here; it was impossible to ignore.

“I will have Vanilla Ice drive you to the International Airport. Once you arrive in Japan, either he or D’Arby— the butler— will inform you,” he informed before smirking— an action you can’t really see from the other side, “I will be able to find you for either of them, so no need to worry about your location.”

Again, another nod from you. You don’t question how they’ll tell you, or how Lord Dio would manage to find your whereabouts in the first place. In fact, there seems to be some tacit agreement to not question his words at all.

With his elbows on the armrests, Dio’s fingers intertwined with one another as he stared you down. “You must not take what I ask of you lightly. After all, you want vengeance for the death of your husband, do you not?”

There’s barely any time that you take to comprehend his words, as you say with haste, “My priority is to serve you, Lord Dio.”

As of right now, that was the truth.

Due to your distance, it’s hard for you to tell how he emotes afterwards, but you’re sure that he’s not anywhere disapproving of your answer.

There’s a pleasant throbbing in your forehead. Yes, Noriaki was dead— you still didn’t figure out how he died, and whether you’d find out or not was beyond you— but… Lord Dio is here. Right in front of you… at least three meters away. There were more pressing matters than your dead husband. And what’s done is done; you couldn’t have prevented it. You weren’t even in the damn apartment that day, much less Tokyo. And even if you made the effort to return as quickly as possible, it would’ve been too late.

Too late.

Now, just… ever-so-slightly… that pleasant throbbing went away, and your eyebrows knitted together from distress. You sharply inhaled.

But that feeling was quickly suppressed, and no longer were you feeling anything remotely related to grief or mourning. Maybe an outsider would describe you like your suit Stand or even the walls and floors of this mansion: cold. But you’d deny that. No, no, surely serving Lord Dio would represent you in a better light. You were… considerate.

That sounded apt, yes.

Suddenly, the slam of double doors. You could tell based on the simultaneous, thunderous bangs against the stone walls.

Muffled click after clicks resonated from the corridor. Shuffle after shuffle seemed to race after the click-click-clicks.

And to top it all off, yelling had erupted. It was Telence… and someone else whose voice you didn’t recognize. Frankly, he sounded rather wimpy.

“Nukesaku! What other possible reason could you be in the quarters of—!”

“—D’Arby, Kenny G ordered me to clean the guest rooms— I… I wasn't aware that she was staying here…”

“Step away from her bed, her belongings, and if she reports anything gone then you will suffer the same fate. You must know that I and the others take offenses like this  very  seriously…”

She?

Her?

Was there another woman— besides Enya— staying in the mansion right now?

Your gaze returned to the corridor where you had heard the myriad of noises. Funnily enough, you just remembered entering the dining hall from that aisle, since the double doors to your room were there—

…you dumbass.

Seriously— it was your room they’re talking about. By the way, who the hell got into your room… and what the fuck did they find, if anything?!

Stiffening in the upholstered chair, you knew the intrusion in your room did not sit well with you. Just how much did the wimpy-sounding person see? Did he take note of your backpack sitting on the desk? Did he happen to unzip it to peek at its contents, or even steal them? Even though the mansion was the property of the divine man sitting before you, every other inhabitant (besides Telence) wasn't seen as fully trustworthy by you yet. You definitely didn’t find this person— who you didn’t even know— reliable enough to go near your room and your possessions.

Lord Dio’s brows creased ever-so-slightly.

From where you sat, he almost seemed to look more disapproving this time— a clear contrast to his expressions earlier.

“Forgive me, it appears that my efforts in spring cleaning are… less than satisfactory.”

You nodded, oblivious to his… underplaying. “Hm… well, next month, I was supposed to do ōsōji— if you don’t know, it’s this little end-of-the-year ritual we do in Japan to clean our surroundings of anything unwanted or useless, kind of like spring cleaning—”

“—yes, I’ll be ridding my mansion of him by the end of winter.”

…oh.

So that’s not what he meant.

Sending your wishes anyway, you say, “You enjoy that, then.”

A low hum of approval from him resonated, like every other sound emitted from both of your mouths.

“Currently, you have not failed to make my nights,” he wryly compliments, acknowledging your relatively short stay in the mansion. “Safe travels.”

You’ll try to heed that.

November 29, 1988

You studied the poster-sized map of Singapore whilst sitting on the carpet, legs crossed. This was a time where you really wished that your phone could connect to the Internet, having taken for granted the usage of the Maps app. Regardless, with the cracked screen (you hadn’t bothered to care until now) and the lack of charger, you decided to preserve the one possession that even remotely survived mid-travel.

Some places were circled with red markers provided by housekeeping. With the help of these ‘old’ travel brochures, you were able to figure out what to do to pass the time. Later on today, you planned to visit another travel agency to take another connecting flight to who knows where— hopefully Egypt this time, for God’s sake. You couldn’t just miss another day… and probably still have those dumb episodes of pain rushing through your head.

While you didn’t have anything to ease your headaches, you had a fair amount of prenatal vitamins on you… which may or may not help you. The two bottles— one you purchased at the convenience store and one that Tomoko had given you three nights ago in 2011— both unexpectedly opened and spilled inside your previous backpack when you first arrived, and you didn’t think it’d be rational to eat folic acid mixed with broken computer parts and mechanical pencils. Fortunately, the fertility clinic in Tokyo here had provided you with one new, slightly larger bottle, along with a list of instructions.

While shifting to rest your elbows on your knees, the map was left beside you on the floor. Your head lolled to face the sliding glass door in front of you, which led to the provided balcony. Being situated rather high up in the hotel, issues such as traffic commotion didn’t bother you. You briefly wondered what the sight of the roads below would look like at nighttime, with the lights shining and all.

When your head turned to the side, you noticed the television set placed beside the office desk and chair. The map of Singapore was left on the floor as you jumped up and sauntered over to it. Kneeling down in front of the set, you had to fiddle with its controls for a bit. Televisions from your childhood no longer had dials— buttons, instead— so attempting to set this up was quickly proving to be a pain in the ass. After a few moments of staring at the set and turning the controls, you managed to turn it on to a random channel.

“Fucking TV,” you grumbled under your breath as you leaned back to stare at its… low-definition picture.

…it would’ve been revolutionary for someone genuinely from 1988, but as someone who was almost spoiled by large flat-screens in 2011, it can seem pretty primitive—

Your face scrunched up at the sudden pang of pain that came back.

Anyway, the frank but informative tone of voice from the man on television indicated that this was the news channel. The broadcast was in English, but you gently massaged your temples with both hands as you continued to watch with mild interest.

“…In the early hours of the morning near the coast of the Lamma Island in Hong Kong, an airplane owned by Japan Airlines that was en route to Cairo, Egypt crashed,” the reporter said with a stern look. Slowly, your intrigued expression turned into a horrified one as he continued to speak. “Seventeen of the passengers were Singaporean citizens, who all managed to survive in this horrific incident. Both the pilot and copilot were left incapacitated— a rare case, here—”

You purse your lips, body completely frozen on the carpet.

Abruptly turning down the dial for the volume, you sat in silence as your eyes awkwardly averted away from the television screen. Aerial photos of the plane in the water along with rescue crew heading towards them appeared.

Some morbid sense of relief washed over you.

This was… really unsettling. And to think that you could’ve been  on  that plane— you were cursing yourself all through the night for not getting that flight from Tokyo to Cairo, and yet…

On the other hand, this was still a terrible incident. Even if you were on that flight, what could you have done? You barely took a laptop apart from memory yesterday; what made you think you could fix a fucking airplane?

Glancing back at the television screen, it was (silently) announced that besides the pilot and copilot themselves, only one passenger— an old man— had died. Mysteriously enough, what he suffered didn’t really line up with the effects of the plane crash itself, as the flight attendants and other passengers survived with only minor injuries. There’s speculation that foul play was a factor in this event, as both pilots suffered the same fate as the old man. According to one of the flight attendants interviewed, she mentioned that a passenger with previous flying experience stepped up to man the plane in order to ‘land’ it as safely as possible… which to that passenger was crashing it near the coast of an island.

You couldn’t really blame that person; after all, as long as the largest number of people came out safely, that’s all that matters, right?

Still, the very thought that you could’ve been on that flight, and… and see what exactly transpired before the emergency landing near Hong Kong. Most likely would you have survived, but you’d be pushed back even further on your task. Or hell, maybe there would’ve been flights from Hong Kong to Egypt— and you’re not there for that! Oh, what a shame, what a terrible, terrible, fucking shame to experience this… you could’ve gotten to Egypt sooner!

All of this anguish was ready to bring out another headache.

“What the hell,” you breathed aloud.

Distress was written all over your face, which would quickly become the norm.

November 30, 1988

Here’s one thing you’re confident about: there’s nothing inherently wrong with what you’re wearing.

You were perfectly comfortable with your outfit right now, even if the style of boots and coat were drastically different from what you’ve been seeing on other women your age in 1988-Singapore. The angular shoulder pads velcroed into coats and jackets, sweater dresses over pants, leg warmers… needless to say, you were relieved that the only fashion trends that got revived years later were the ones that didn’t make you look like a walking highlighter with froufrou.

Displayed at your family home back in Iwami-chō were various photos of you and your family, many of them clearly dated by their clothing and hairstyles. Though most of those photos were not taken in Japan and, in fact, had only been part of your luggage when immigrating, the styles your family had once partaken in was ubiquitous here. You swear you’ve seen each of the locals’ outfits worn by particular family members in photos that you could remember off the top of your head.

And now, it was time to emulate that.

What was added to your map of circled prospective destinations was a nearby shopping center, where you planned to buy new clothing. Its architecture was of little concern to you— yes, it’s… older-looking… to you, which wasn’t a big deal at all. What was a bigger deal was not sticking out like a sore thumb in the crowd of tourists and Singaporean locals, no matter how comfortable you were with what you had on already. If anything, it sounded better to keep a low profile and not make anyone suspect otherwise with you. You were out to find some old guy named Joseph Joestar and his group; you didn’t have time for distractions.

Once you arrive there by public transport, you take the time to buy maternity clothing. Not much of it, of course.

…alright, sure. You’re not showing at all yet and won’t be for a long while, but it’s best to be prepared, right?

The ‘vintage’ overalls that you purchased weren’t terribly loose— save for the abdominal area, obviously— so you could grow into them while you’re on the road for however long. Its versatility in this decade saves a lot of luggage space and time, anyway. Instead of wasting time deciding what to wear, you could spend more time figuring out what Joestar is doing or where he and his group are traveling next. After all, you’re not really sure how long this expedition’s going to take. Lord Dio himself hadn’t even given an estimate.

Emulating the Aqua Net-sprayed hairstyles and the ‘bling’ of… everything was also out of the question, so it was necessary to resort to more subtle styles. Speaking of Aqua Net, it also became a challenge to stop your coughing fits from the wafting, invading clouds of the hairspray every time you passed an open salon. Damn those purple cans.

To prepare for potentially long travel by foot, you swapped your current shoes for a pair of black Doc Martens boots— these had just started getting back into style in 2011-Tokyo, so the plain but cyclical fashion piece mildly surprised you. Adding the overalls, you probably just looked like the bastard of an economic depression-era railroad worker and 1960s counterculture. Subsequently, your old clothes and boots were donated without much question (why bin perfectly fine clothing, after all). One of your hands resorted to absentmindedly massaging a temple on your head.

You continued to sight-see around Singapore as you painfully broke the Docs in.

These sons of bitches didn’t hinder you from visiting a hawker center some minutes away, even when you ate away the local cuisine in such a voracious manner. Why the hell were you eating like you haven’t eaten in weeks? Was any of this food even good for you, in your physical state of being? Were there any foods not allowed for you to consume during this time of precious vulnerability, where the currently tiny but growing bundle of cells rests upon your hands? Even while not expecting, was it really a good idea to eat everything in one go?

The list of safe and unsafe foods were in a jumble in your mind as you continued to consume and consume, but eventually slowed down when the lingering smell of cigarette smoke floated towards you, infiltrating your nostrils and violating your peace. Setting down the piece of food with your disposable chopsticks, you resist the urge to gag. You’re hoping no one around you misinterpreted the action being directed towards the food itself.

Smoking was still a normal practice in Japan and in other parts of Asia, with designated areas at workplaces, restaurants, bars, and the like. Unfortunately for yours and everyone else’s lungs, it was something that had to be reluctantly accepted despite the modern movements to ban it. However, considering that this was the 1988, where there were less but still people practically smoking for all three meals a day, it wasn’t sitting right with you.

You sighed, albeit briefly. Gotta resist that secondhand smoke, you know. And clearly were these perfect conditions for someone who’s expectant.

Out of everything you’ve experienced— ahem, not getting to Egypt on time— it was smoking that was now pushing your buttons. You were ready to claim the title of most useless servant, in fully-fleshed feelings of self-hatred.

A pang of guilt started to consume you, more than the combination of cigarette smoke and food drunkenness.

December 1, 1988

To dispel your anger from not getting a flight to Egypt yet again, you went down to the connected pool area afterwards. Beforehand, you did take another trip to the same shopping center as yesterday, purely to buy undergarments/socks and swimwear. Of all styles, it had to be a bikini, as you voluntarily stayed away from tighter-fitting or more restrictive garments as a precautionary measure. It seemed silly— everything did, really.

There weren’t many people at the pool at this time of day anymore, so you were able to relax without rude eyes or anything funny coming your way. A pair of sunglasses would’ve been a nice addition to your purchase, but the sun was starting to set to a warm, rich blend of red, orange, and yellow and would soon darken to the night sky, faintly speckled with stars like glittering dust.

Anyway, you almost fell asleep on the lounge chair.

Yes,  this was all important; you needed something to lower your stress that wasn’t anywhere related to alcohol. No— as you would find out weeks later— the bikini would never be used again. But you’ll get to that.

December 2, 1988

Now has it been a whole week since Noriaki died. And Jotaro.

November 25 seemed like a millennium ago with everything happening.

Deep down, there had to be an explanation why, but you couldn’t articulate it. It felt as if there was something invading your psyche, but simultaneously you couldn’t reject it either. The intrusion was just… present. And yet you cooperated with it. Maybe it shouldn’t even be called an invader or variations thereof. It was slowly combining with you, and surely it would be for the better, would it not?

You still felt a little numb, though. These feelings were all shoved down when you visited the closest travel agency office again— the only place you went out for on this day.

On the other hand, the hotel room just seemed… really appealing.

December 3, 1988

It’s the fourth day you’ve been here in Singapore.

No amount of sightseeing or traversing by foot (you were determined to save the rest of your money and still needed to break the boots in) could cheer you up and pull you out of this pit of… lost hopes and dreams, apparently.

Did it seem so soon for you to be down in the dumps? Or was the quickness of it appropriate? Goddamnit, you didn’t know anymore. Since the 29th of November, there had been no flights from Singapore to Egypt, leaving you despondent.

You continued to stay here, however, because you had an odd feeling: it wasn’t right for you to leave so soon. Sure, you could’ve quickly hopped on the next flight to the nearest country to Egypt, but you were restraining yourself for… unknown reasons. It was an unexplained phenomenon; you felt almost cemented to Singapore, to the very hotel room you were staying in. There wasn’t a voice you could hear, or thoughts to ponder over, but there was something telling you to stay exactly where you were.

Which was really fucking annoying.

After practically pleading to the travel agent you were appointed to yesterday, you left without anything resembling a plane ticket yet again. Your daily inquiries caused the agency office to recognize you the second you walked in, to tell you the exact same information, to apologize in the exact same manner. That’s a feat you’re not exactly proud of.

Just when you reached the street the hotel was located at, you stopped in front of a quaint restaurant with handwritten entrance signs in English. One of the tempered glass doors was open to let you fully inhale the aroma of the food being prepared, and you were tempted to go inside out of curiosity. Though, you refrained from doing so, having eaten dinner earlier. However, on the glass windows, a breakfast menu was displayed, which you earnestly studied. Their morning hours were quite early, so ultimately you made the decision to go there the next day.

So… fast-forward to today. There you are, sitting at a table all by yourself, closest to the window, where everyone can see everything. If anyone recognized you— like the travel agents— they’d notice that you’re wearing the exact same outfit again. It wasn’t as oversized as your last one.

A few minutes had already passed by the time your set of complimentary jasmine tea was placed before you, and only a number of minutes more before the tea spills.

——

“Why don’t we check in before we eat breakfast?” Jean Pierre Polnareff inquired with a frown. Slung over his shoulder was the tied, tattered sack filled with his belongings. “I don’t want to be carrying my luggage around all day, you know.”

As if fate intended for the group to meet the Frenchman, he voluntarily joined the group on the 29th of November back in Hong Kong.

Even when subjected to control from Dio’s flesh bud, he did not find it morally right to attack an unsuspecting opponent— even if said opponent, Avdol, had placed a dagger directly in front of him and dryly suggested he end it while he could as he was slowly engulfed by Magician’s Red’s flames in the Tiger Balm Garden.

Essentially, he proved to be a swell addition to the travel group, helping to balance out the collective Stand abilities with Silver Chariot’s speed.

“You mean your garbage?” Joseph retorted, playing off of the Singaporean police officer’s mistake from earlier. It was amusing to witness the event, after all; even Polnareff didn’t find any offence from having his bag mistaken for a pile of trash. “Just kidding, y’know.”

Polnareff sent a jokingly dirty glare in Joseph’s direction before he responded to him.

“But I figured it’d be good for us to actually sit down and have a full meal. Even though we’ve only been on the lifeboat for almost two days and were fortunate to have some rations, you start to miss the little things, like eating on land.”

Jotaro huffed. He shoved his hands in his front pockets, immediately noticing the absence of his cigarettes.

Sure, he would’ve left them out to air-dry after the fight with Dark Blue Moon and its user (imposter) Captain Tennille, but the succeeding fight with the ship/Stand Strength’s user— the… orangutan or whatever that damn monkey was— caused everyone and everything to get soaked. As the Stand disintegrated, the six of them resorted to the lifeboat that they previously used when getting on said ship/Stand. Jotaro’s usual fix for nicotine hasn’t been tended to since he smoked the last one on the boat.

Though, he could go for some real food right now.

“I wouldn’t mind eating first, especially considering our group’s… er, demographics,” Avdol cautiously commented, eyes averting to the preteen girl accompanying them. Likewise, the two teens and the two other adults glanced down at Anne, considering how they all towered over her.

They didn’t intend to shoot down her pride, but as she’s currently under their supervision, it was best to ensure that she at least had the bare minimum: sustenance and shelter. After all, what eleven/twelve/thirteen-year-old (honestly, they had no clue) had the money to continuously have a roof over their head and have their stomach filled while hitchhiking? She, too, joined back in Hong Kong— only after sneaking onto the ship/Stand.

Anne didn’t respond with anything else besides a defeated sigh. Luckily, she didn’t have to be talked into justifying herself when Kakyoin spoke up.

“I’ve heard good things about that place’s food,” he announced, briefly gesturing to the establishment behind the planted palm trees and the shrubs of Carphalea kirondron above the bricked pavement. Apparently, he seemed to recognize the restaurant with the tempered glass doors— one propped open to let the aromas waft out. “We should have breakfast there.”

Joseph peered at the restaurant’s large logo displayed above, noting its proximity to the hotel they were going to check in.

The Grand Hyatt.

“Have you been to Singapore before, Kakyoin?” Avdol asked, seemingly intrigued. “This has always been a location I’ve been meaning to visit, but never had the time to.”

The redhead nodded with a hint of pride rushing through him. “Last year I did, yes. I hadn’t transferred to Jotaro’s school yet, and I was with my parents. We found out about that restaurant right when we were going to head back to the airport, and never had the chance to eat there.”

Avdol hummed in interest before turning to speak to Joseph.

“Cool! Oh, and that also explains why your school uniforms are different colors,” Polnareff suddenly pointed out to Kakyoin, gesturing between his and Jotaro’s gakuran. “I thought you two have always been classmates.”

Realizing that Jotaro wasn’t going to respond (he was leaning against the nearest palm tree with his arms crossed over his broad chest), Kakyoin shook his head. “No. We, ah… we met on Sunday.”

“At juku,” Jotaro clarified bluntly.

Kakyoin further elaborated, “Cram school.”

The taller teen tsked, having forgotten the English translation. He did not, however, forget the second Stand fight he ever had but with his fellow classmate.

Polnareff raised a brow at the absurdity of their circumstance— they hadn’t even known one another for a whole week? And yet… they’re cooperating on a dangerous trip to confront the manipulative, sadistic Stand user Dio? In Egypt, far, far away from their homes? As damn teenagers?

He seems to have disregarded… everything… when he responds, “I see, I see. Back in France, we have something similar called classes prépas…”

Seeing Joseph, Avdol, and Anne head towards the open restaurant prompted the other three to swiftly follow after them, continuing to discuss life back home. It was comforting, to say the least, but none of them would admit that aloud, in all attempts to maintain ‘conventional manliness’— which may or may not include strong emotional control.

——

Inside was cozy-looking, though the morning sun shone throughout the wall of windows. Compared to the surrounding venues, the place seemed to be a relatively new addition to the area, considering its modernity. The hues were pleasing to the eye and not at all of poor taste.

Sitting at the largest table, which was placed across from a smaller round table next to the window, the group of six studied their provided menus and engaged in small talk.

Anne, who sat with her back to the shining sun, was busy observing the whole place when she noticed the lack of occupants at the small table behind her. Oddly enough, there was a tea tray placed there with a cup still steaming.

“Do you think someone’s sitting there?” she suddenly asked out of curiosity, jerking a thumb behind her. Polnareff, who sat on her right, whipped his head over to where she pointed.

He, too, noticed how the tea tray was pulled closer to one of the chairs, but no one was sitting there.

“Don’t mind that,” Polnareff brushed off with furrowed brows. “The person probably just left. Maybe they didn’t like the tea. It’s not a huge deal.”

Joseph blinked at him. “But why would they leave so soon? There aren’t even any plates on their table, meaning they didn’t even eat yet. I highly doubt that a person would have one sip of tea and then leave.”

“Perhaps there was a previously-made appointment that they forgot until today,” Avdol calmly suggested, setting his now-closed menu down. “Polnareff is right, though. That doesn’t seem to be like something that should concern us.”

While Joseph scooted his chair back to make room for his long, muscular legs— bumping into a potted plant in the process— Kakyoin glanced over at Jotaro. For the last few minutes was he just flipping back and forth between the pages of the menu; apparently, he hasn’t made a decision about what to order yet.

“/What are you getting?\” the redhead asked, smoothly switching to Japanese. At the sound of the familiar language, Jotaro immediately averted his eyes from the page on fry-ups to him.

Jotaro shrugged lazily, fixing his cap. “/I don’t know\,” he grumbled.

Kakyoin gestured to the menu in his classmate’s hand. “/Full English breakfasts are pretty tasty.\”

Grunting in response, Jotaro didn’t really sound that interested in having something he’s already tried before (Holly had tried her hand at the dish one weekend morning).

However, what did catch his interest was the person that walked past their table, and his eyes followed to where she headed to— at the smaller table directly across from them, right next to the window with the tea tray. But it wasn’t her specifically that he paid attention to; instead, it was the large black duffle-bag that she strangely carried on her back.

The young woman arrived from the other end of the room, not the entrance. Turning around, Jotaro noticed a little hallway in the back corner. It must’ve led to a restroom. The creak of her chair being pulled from the table ended up catching the rest of their attentions, and Avdol noticed her brows furrow at the loud, briefly rumbling sound against hardwood.

Joseph crossed his arms over his chest, feeling proud of his earlier (correct) assumption. Although, the smirk that was plastered on his face slightly faltered when he noticed the large bag sitting on her left.

Well, Polnareff brought his luggage with him too, so a tourist lugging her own belongings around wasn’t a foreign sight or anything. And if she went to the restroom— Joseph also noticed the hallway in the back— then it was a good idea to not leave her things unattended. The woman overall seemed at peace, softly blowing on her cup of tea before sipping it. There wasn’t any reason to be suspicious of someone who’s simply minding her own business.

That is, until she lightly combs and moves her hair to the side, and Joseph swears he sees metal flash briefly on her fingers.

What?

Is that—?!

The old man nearly slams his gloved hand on the table, but refrains from actually doing so when he sees everyone else staring at him in confusion— waiter included, who abruptly appeared behind him in subtle shock.

Polnareff sighed, briefly apologizing— on Joseph’s behalf— to the waiter before telling him his order. As he ordered (a lot), Joseph fished for the Polaroid photos he had shoved in his front pocket and handed them to Avdol on his right.

“That woman sitting across from us, I swear she— she had metal…” Joseph hissed to the Egyptian man as the waiter suddenly turned to him. “There— check these… yes, sorry, hello, I’ll be getting the…”

Following his abrupt demand, Avdol shuffled through the countless, semi-wrinkled photos of shirtless Dio before he found the obvious outlier of the pile. With this pile of Dio otherwise, it suddenly occurred to Avdol that it looked really strange for him, a man almost 30-years-old, to be holding photos of a semi-nude, obscenely muscular, 121-year-old blond man with his back to the camera, flaunting a star-shaped birthmark that wasn’t his. And one photo of a woman with the metal shoulder. Which, by the way, were all taken by the 68-year-old man beside him, currently wearing a striped sailor shirt that showed off his own burliness.

If it wasn’t already obvious, they were verifiably bizarre.

Kakyoin briefly glanced to his left to find Avdol holding the photo he recognized as the one of the faceless woman, before looking around. He noticed how the diner sitting at the table across from them was now giving her order to another waitress as she held her menu; it must’ve been given to her when they weren’t noticing—

—wait.

His eyes darted back to the Polaroid photo in Avdol’s hand.

Lighting aside, the skintone of the faceless woman’s neck looked eerily identical to that woman’s. And, though they couldn’t see her face in the photo, they could definitely see her hair.

That too was the same color and style.

Could…  

Could it be…?

Avdol, having not noticed Kakyoin’s shock due to his own preoccupation with the photo, merely gives Joseph a harsh nod and returns it before sternly speaking to the waiter with the notepad. Furrowing his brows at Avdol’s wordless response, Joseph grabs a hold of it. Up-and-down, up-and-down do his eyes go, darting from the woman with the duffle-bag to the faceless woman in the photo. He sees her neck too— it looks uncanny to the faceless woman’s, but the hair… it’s— it’s… exactly the—

—how… how could it not be her?!

“Oh my God,” Joseph muttered to himself in pure disbelief.

Polnareff looked over at the old man, who was tightly gripping a Polaroid photo— he could tell just by how taut his arm muscles were. “What? What ‘oh my God’?” he asked quietly, oblivious to his discovery.

Across from Joseph at the table was Jotaro. He had just finished telling his order (in the end, a fry-up) when he noticed the distraught expression on his grandfather’s face. On Joseph’s left was Polnareff, now holding the somewhat-wrinkled Polaroid photo in his hands. His eyes inconspicuously darted from photo, to the woman sitting behind him, back to the photo, back to the woman. Eyes widening, he hisses a response to Joseph, but Jotaro can’t make out what they’re discussing.

Once the waiter left (Anne had gotten her order written down by him), Joseph deeply sighed.

Yet again were they going to get trapped into something unavoidable.

Silently, he holds the Polaroid photo up with two fingers, displaying the vignetted photo to the other occupants of the table. With his head, he gestured to his left, as if he meant look over there, but don’t make it obvious.

The woman was sitting alone with no intention to wait for anyone. Calmly sipping the complimentary hot jasmine tea, she continues to face forward, giving the group a good look at her side profile. To them, she doesn’t seem to notice how they, the six diners across from her, intermittently take the time to look at her.

It was, indeed, the exact same woman.

For God’s sake…!

“Who are you all staring at?” Anne suddenly asked quietly, after peering at the table behind her. She notices how their eyes all continued to be fixated on the woman with the overalls and long-sleeved sweater, holding her teacup with both hands. “…who’s that lady, exactly?”

“It’s nothing for you to worry about, Anne.”

…was it?

For the rest of them, especially?

——

So… hm, how should you put this…

There’s an old, shredded man with widened eyes and gritted teeth who’s staring at you. Oh, and so was everyone else at his table, but they didn’t turn their heads or crane their necks all at once. It was an intermittent process. You didn’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to realize that you captured their attention for… whatever reason.

On the left of the old man was a younger, robust man— though, not as strapping as the old man himself. His hair rose tall and was of a silver hue, and he wore red halved-heart earrings. To the right of the old man was another young, muscular man with scarred cheeks, his black-colored hair styled into Bantu knots and a long ponytail. Actually, compared to the horrified (?) old man, he was younger, but maybe a few years older than you and the silver-haired man, who looked about your age. Beside the man with the tall hair was a really young girl with dark hair, coincidentally dressed in overalls like you were. Why she was at a table with grown men baffled you.

Then, the two men on her left.

“I’m not going to fall for whatever shit she gives us,” you heard the black-haired and apparently-uniformed person hiss. Because his back was to you as he spoke to the redhead, you weren’t able to see his face; however, you could see the threads from his… apparently-ripped black cap. “She definitely knows we’re here. She’s just waiting for the right time to attack us.”

“This is a hotspot, after all,” the redhead with the green uniform responded quietly. He was fixing the sock in his shoe, so he was leaned forward to the floor and you couldn’t see his face either— save for his hair. “There’s a lot of tourists here for the holiday season. She may or may not have mercy for the people who don’t have anything to do with this.”

Hm.

…what?

Were they… were they talking about  you?

She may or may not have mercy for the people who don’t have anything to do with this.

What the actual fuck?

Rather boldly, you set down your half-filled teacup on the table. You practically felt the old man’s eyes avert to you again.

Who did they think you were? Some… some kind of murderer? As if! You were here, minding your own business in Singapore, drinking your tea, acting as a piss-poor servant for the greatest man in this goddamn universe that wasn’t your own to begin with (ow, you thought), having to leave to the restroom and hope that no one spiked said tea—

Just when you decide to take a glance at the table, the red-haired man— teen sits up again and sighs… right before locking eyes with you.

…

You blink.

Rapidly.

Your heart— it’s… it’s pounding against your chest.

The sight before you practically short-circuits your brain.

In fact, you don’t even notice that your teacup had been knocked over, the remaining tea staining the white tablecloth.

At this point, you probably stopped breathing but who gives a fuck right now—

—you remember the earlier visits to your husband’s— then-boyfriend’s— house.

The first time you visited, his mother showed you a photo album of what he perceived to be his most embarrassing moments as a child. From his first swimming lesson, to helping his bespectacled father plant in the quaint garden in the back, to the first (and last) time he cut the voluminous wavy bang of hair that he happened to share with his mother. He was smiling in each photo, yes, but the action seemed to be reluctant like he understood the need for taking photos of someone at a young age but never fully respected it.

“Actually, regarding that last photo of me without my great hair— I started crying right after.”

“Aww, you didn’t like it?”

“I didn’t end up liking it, apparently! It’s really funny now…”

As such, the smiles declined as he aged throughout the album. Even during the times that seemed to be entertaining— such as their first trip to England when he was in middle school— his lips were pressed into a flat line as he and/or his parents stood and posed in front of landmarks and other places of interest. By his high school graduation, which was the subject of the last photo in the album, his expression radiated complete disinterest. Of course, by the time you started dating, he started to look more content and joyful, despite the lack of photo evidence in this house.

Right now, a carbon copy of the subject of your husband’s high school graduation photo sat at the table next to you, expression substantially more negative.

He was absolutely  not  thrilled to be staring at you.

…Noriaki Kakyoin and the male on his right were clad in gakuran— he wearing green, the hatted one wearing an embellished black one. Considering their different-colored uniforms, they probably went to different schools. As to how they even knew one another, maybe they met at cram school, or one of them just moved to the other’s high school.

The one wearing a hat turned his head to follow Noriaki’s line of sight.

Okay.

What the fuck.

You were probably going to have an aneurysm at this point, because that… is clearly teenaged Jotaro Kujo.

While you continued to have a staring contest with Noriaki— not Noriaki, there’s no fucking way it’s him— the same waitress who took your order earlier arrived with the plate. You temporarily broke away from his gaze to say a quick thank you to the waitress, before returning to stare at him again. His hand was tightly clenching a provided tissue, wrinkling it in the process. Strangely, you knew exactly how he was feeling. He knew something was wrong, and desperately felt the need to address the grievance.

Instead of happily consuming the meal in front of you, you awkwardly speak up first in an attempt to diffuse the obvious tension.

“[Uh— heh, sorry],” you briskly apologize to  Not Noriaki, nervously moving a lock of hair behind your ear. Everyone at his table now turned to face you, making you shift in your chair. “[Didn’t mean to… stare you. You, um… you looked a lot like… a friend of mine.]”

He nodded in understanding, but the action seemed hesitant; he was suspicious.

“[A friend? If you don’t mind me asking, what’s his name?]”

His voice was exactly the same, but his tone— it reeked of unfamiliarity, of distance. Frankly, it made you uncomfortable. But this verified that you weren’t communicating with your husband.

…okay, but you’re not really sure why you  didn’t  expect him to ask that. Naturally, he’d get curious about this ‘friend’ of yours. Who was him, technically.

For fuck’s sake.

You blurted the first name you thought of starting with an N, “N— N… Natsuya.”

Oh, good job. Great.

“Natsuya,” Not Noriaki repeated, his face showing absolutely no emotion. “As far as I know, that’s… not a common name where I’m from. You might know that it’s Japanese.”

Shit, he’s right. Within the nearly-seven-years of living in Japan, you’ve probably come across someone with that name only once… in a commercial…? Great— this is just what you needed, to be talking about a fictional man in a commercial that doesn’t even  exist  yet.

That is not the point, though! You might know— gah, you do know! Even he knows that you know!

“I do, but it just so happens that he  isn’t  a common person. His personality is a bit… out there,” you counter cautiously, giving him a small smile.

Your thoughts were in a shambles at the moment; they were a clear antithesis to your tone of voice.

There’s a part of you that doesn’t want to lie because your eyes see your husband and your brain triggers an honesty switch of some sort, but… for heaven’s sake, he’s  not your husband. He’s just someone who… looks exactly like your husband but younger, which isn’t helping your guise, and you’re trying really hard not to have a breakdown in front of him and everyone else at that damn table, because then they’ll really know that something’s up, and…

Halting your own thoughts and taking a deep breath, you flash him another smile. Your eyes avert to Not Jotaro, who was giving you a familiar glare, and your smile falters a bit.

“Oi, Miss,” the silver-haired man suddenly spoke up, allowing you to stop speaking to Not Noriaki and/or Not Jotaro. Whether he was just as suspicious as the two teens or not was beyond you, but it wouldn’t be so farfetched. “So… what are you here in Singapore for? Staying for the holidays, heh?”

“Uh, yeah,” you respond without thinking. “Just needed to… get away and have some time for myself, you know? To de-stress and all.”

“Hm, hm, okay…”

Of course, you either don’t go into specifics, or you flat-out lie in response to the next few questions. You were from your native country, not Japan (Japan wasn’t mentioned once by you). You were in your last year of university, but where you went wasn’t important because… you don’t know, you want to stay humble (or some bullshit like that). You liked animals, so maybe they’d come to the conclusion that you were studying within that field (this wasn’t exactly a lie, but you blatantly used the abstracts from Doppio’s essays that you remembered to justify your liking).

Lying proved to be a little more difficult, but it seemed like they all bought everything that spewed out of your mouth. Well, except Not Jotaro, but you didn't let that concern you too much.

And for the remainder of the time that you were all there,  Not  Noriaki refused to take his eyes off you.

——

Unintentionally, you’re walking at a distance behind them in the hotel lobby.

Coincidentally, they’re going to be staying at the exact same hotel as you.

You didn’t know whether to celebrate or cry, considering how the old, muscular man  was, in-fact, Joseph Joestar. And the five that accompanied him was his group.

This was something you realized back in the restaurant. While you were eating and talking to the silver-haired man (he didn’t tell you his name, which was odd but made sense), you overheard the man with the Bantu knots referred to the old man as Mr. Joestar, prompting you to nearly choke on your food. You mentally cursed, knowing that you could’ve blown everything right there and then.

But… Joestar and his group were here in Singapore. You managed to get in their proximity. Being stuck here for four fucking days was a blessing in disguise, apparently, but you start to wonder what exactly transpired for them to not be in Egypt. If you remembered correctly, Lord Dio (Telence, really) had informed you via fax that they were going to fly to Egypt back in November, on the 28th…

Oh, that’s right. That plane crashed near Lamma Island.

Hm.

Anyway, Not Noriaki was intermittently turning his head left and right, absentmindedly playing with a cherry in his mouth from breakfast. Occasionally, he’d have his tongue stick out a bit to swirl it around back and forth, which was how you found out about it in the first place. Though the rest of the group did not take heed of that vaguely-familiar quirk of his, the little girl that accompanied them donned a mixed expression of fascination and disgust. How he didn’t end up choking or dropping on the floor on accident was a mystery to you.

After parting ways at the restaurant on decent terms, you purposely went the opposite direction so they wouldn’t be suspicious any longer. Once you’d traveled far enough from the restaurant and out of their sight, you quickly turned around and headed back into the direction of the hotel. Now you’re thinking that you walked too quickly, considering how you managed to catch up to them here. Maybe they stopped somewhere en route or something.

You tsked before turning your head at the suddenly-appearing loud music. Through black and orange lightweight headphones, some tall tourist nearby with a curly-haired mullet and dark pants was listening to the Beatles’ Rubber Soul album at a ridiculously high volume.

…or should I say, she once had me?

The fact that you could identify what they were listening to from their cassette Walkman was enough. And for the technological standards that you were accustomed to (goddamn does that sound presumptuous), it must’ve taken a great deal for those early-80s headphones to blare out. Even then— now do people have no decency in public.

As John Lennon’s main vocals and George Harrison’s sitar blared through the man’s headphones, you couldn’t help but keep your focus on him. He wasn’t familiar; you didn’t see him at the restaurant or anything. But there was definitely something… off about him— heh, as if there wasn’t anything off about you. Regardless, his own line of sight wouldn’t leave Joseph Joestar and his group; he seemed to be just as focused on them as you now were with him.

But why?

Did he know them, as well?

Or— you start to wonder…

Were you not the only person assigned to go after Joseph Joestar and his group?

——

--> To Be Continued -->

Up Next: Silver vs. Nitinol.

Link to the Table of Contents

[tonyspep]

and possibly i like the thrill (of under me you quite so new)

~*~and possibly i like the thrill~*~

(of under me you quite so new)

pairing: richard madden/you

summary: it is so quite new a thing/or they've been friends for as long as they can remember, now – over the course of three days – they take the leap and become something more

rating: m

part two of three

[day two]

Eventually – after several glasses of orange juice and an incredibly cold shower – you had returned to the land of the living. Inside the shower, flashes of the night before had danced behind your heavy lids, making your cheeks flame in horror. Yes, you had grabbed and groped your oldest friend, your hands roaming freely and without care, as if he was yours to touch and cling to. Briefly you wondered if you could beg your brother Vijay to cook up some fake family emergency that you needed to go home for immediately, but you knew Richard would see through your flimsy excuse.

Also, Vijay would be no help at all. When it came to Richard his response – despite usually being entirely too over protective of you, as you were the baby – was always the same; ari, for the love of rati fucking shag him already!

Your cheeks flushed from the stray thought and then there's the familiar low rumble of Richard's chuckle, as he knocks on the door asking, “You didn't drown in there did ye?”

“Shut up!” You practically growl as you fling the door open, not realizing you hadn't put on one of the two large fluffy white robes the hotel provided.

“Ariana,” It's your imagination running away from you – clearly – because there's no way he said your name the way you hear it – husky and deep as it floats off his criminally plush lips, like a caress. Briefly, you swear the crystal of his eyes darkens to an intense sapphire and then he's clearing his throat and his eyes are drifting away from you, like he's forcing himself to look at anything but you and your brow furrows because what??????????

“Ana, uh, please,” His voice is strangled, like his throat is so tight he's having to force out each word. “You're...” He drifts off, still not looking at you and motions his hand at your body, making you look down and you realize your naked. You didn't even wrap a towel around yourself, you just opened the door with a flourish ready to attack because he was clearly making fun of your hangover and it wasn't fair that he got to wake up fresh as a daisy while you didn't all because he looked so good (like always) and you couldn't take it any more so you drank and drank, hoping you would forget about how you would always be his oldest mate, his best friend but not what you were so desperate to be.

“I'll, um,” He licks his lips, hand rubbing at the back of his neck nervously before he starts backing out of the bathroom. “Let you, uh, finish up.”

“Oh. My. God.” You mutter helplessly as you wrap yourself in your discarded towel, not caring that it's damp and you're mostly dry now. You cannot believe he just saw you naked.

That you were just standing there in front of him, completely unaware of your nakedness.

Maybe if you told Vijay this, he would help you because you didn't think you could look Richard in the eye.

*

flawless that's all Richard can think after closing the door and sitting on the bed, you're absolutely flawless. As his thoughts of you started to take on a more romantic direction, he always imagined the first time you were bared for him, you'd start off in some lacy thing – either the color of blush or a pale blue (both colors only enhancing the dark tone of your skin) – one strap slipping off your shoulder or your underwear, matching silk that cupped your perfect breasts and arse.

He didn't think his teasing would make you open the suite's bathroom door in a flourish and be standing there without a robe or towel covering you.

All he could see was skin... Smooth and silken, droplets from your shower clinging to your alluring collarbones, one sliding between your perky breasts and down the flat plane of your stomach. Your thighs were plush and inviting and what was between them even more so. Your sheet of inky black velvet hair did the thing it always had, curling at the ends into luscious waves and it was like a bucket of ice water had been dumped on him.

Your hair did that every time you swam, when the two of you took baths together as children, when you were caught in an unpredictable Scottish storm that rolled through without warning, always taking refuge under his umbrella.

He shouldn't be looking at you, his best friend, his oldest mate, like he wanted you. Like he wanted nothing more than to take hold of the tempting curve of your wispy waist and drag you against his body, feeling nothing but your softness.

That was what he wanted, what he was desperate for, but not you.

He was just Dickie and last night you were smashed beyond belief, that's why you glommed onto him and your hands were roaming freely and touching him as if he were yours.

He managed to slip from the room after you realized you were naked, your warm coffee eyes widening in horror and your cheeks flushing bright.

And while he was sure you wanted to do nothing more than forget what just happened, the image of you standing there – the sunlight streaming through the suite's window and into the bathroom, bathing you in a glow – hair curling at the ends, droplets clinging to the most luscious skin he'd ever seen, was something he would never forget.

Even if he was never supposed to see it in the first place.

*

Cannes was gorgeous. Even though your career had taken you all over the world, a new place – somewhere you had never imagined yourself being as a little girl who thought London was the most exotic place in the world – still made your eyes widen as you struggled to take in everything. You felt your cheeks warm as an errant thought drifted through your mind while walking the cobblestone streets along the Rivera, richard really makes it more so.

The awkwardness of the morning was behind both of you and now you were sightseeing before he had to be whisked away for the opening night of the festival.

“Come on, Holly,” There was his voice rich and deep in your ear, the bristles of his beard scratching along your cheek while his hand reached for yours. A shudder rushed through you, something you couldn't stop even if you tried, and your stomach was suddenly filled with butterflies.

“Very funny, George,” You teased back, all too aware of his Breakfast At Tiffany's reference. You were wearing your favorite pair of sunglasses, the ones made famous by Audrey Hepburn in the classic film, your favorite. They were Coach and the most expensive thing you had ever owned for a long time, a gift to yourself after you had gotten hired at Vogue.

You let him pull you in the direction he wanted, the bright glimmer in his crystal eyes too much for you to resist.

“Richard...” His name left your lips in a tremulous gasp while your hand pushing your sunglasses away from your face as you looked at the storefront of Chaumet – what you knew from your years at Vogue to be a very expensive jeweler – and then back at him.

“Don't,” His voice was stern as he shook his head, clearly prepared for your protest. “The last thing I bought you,” He sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “Was a wool blanket from that L.L. Bean catalog you sent me when I asked you what you wanted for your birthday.”

“Because you're a hedonist!” You yelp, remembering the ridiculously expensive navy blue cashmere blanket he had wanted to buy you from Harrod's because you mentioned you had worn out the throw your mother gave you for your tiny flat in Paris just after you had been hired at Vogue. “I didn't need a blanket that cost nearly a thousand pounds! You were being insane! And I love the wool blanket, you did buy,” You stick out your tongue, briefly before your voice goes soft. “It keeps me warm during the brisk winters so I don't have to wear my fuzzy socks to bed any more.”

“I prefer aesthete,” He remarks and you swallow thickly, his eyes darkening to the intense sapphire shade you remember from the morning. “There's nothing wrong with appreciating the finer things this world has to offer,” Your thighs clench underneath you from the heat behind his stare and the rasp of his voice and without protest, because you're not sure your legs actually work (they've become so weak), you let him pull you into the store.

*

He shouldn't... This is something he did for Jenna once upon a time, pull her off the street and into a boutique or jeweler and buy her something to watch those beautiful amber eyes become a glow and high cheekbones flush. This isn't something he should be doing for you, buying you an expensive bauble like you were his and he was yours. But he couldn't resist. Tonight you'd be there with him at the premiere and you deserved something beautiful and shimmering to go with your dress.

“What color is your dress?” He couldn't help but stand directly behind you, this intense need to be close to you, to breathe you in and have your scent – fresh freesia and summer rain – all around him.

“Rosee` as Evie,” The brief giggle tumbling from your lips in reference to his fashion obsessed younger sister made his stomach clench. You sounded nearly breathless and he wondered if he bent, just a hair's breath closer, his lips finding the slant of your neck, if you would make the sound again as he sucked here and there, taking special care of your pulse just to feel lit race beneath his lips. “Would say.”

He hands the clerk his charge card without a thought, despite you telling him – again and again – he doesn't have to do this, that you don't need jewelry, that no one will be looking at you anyway, but he knows you're wrong. The press and photographers won't necessarily know your name and you won't be walking the lengthy carpet like he and Taron and Dexter will, but he'll be looking at you. He knows you don't know that he's seen your dress, but when you were unpacking your suitcases he caught a glimpse.

Pure pink silk with delicate straps and a neckline that dipped dangerously low in his opinion.

He wouldn't be able to look at anyone but you.

And the bracelet that was being boxed up right now was the perfect compliment to your dress.

A dress he knew he would never forget seeing.

a/n: rati is the hindu goddess of love