#crushed glass sconce

[lovercraft]

Basement in Calgary Inspiration for a mid-sized contemporary underground carpeted basement remodel with beige walls

[markruffalove]

Contemporary Basement - Basement Mid-sized modern idea for a carpeted basement with beige walls and a ribbon fireplace

[severeavenuefestival]

Contemporary Basement Calgary Mid-sized modern idea for a carpeted basement with beige walls and a ribbon fireplace

[mary1in]

Contemporary Basement in Calgary

Inspiration for a mid-sized contemporary underground carpeted basement remodel with beige walls

[rh-photo]

Underground - Contemporary Basement a large, modern image of a carpeted basement in the underground with beige walls and a ribbon fireplace.

[luveline]

Hi Jade!! 💛💛 Omg obsessed with soulmate prince Steve au 🥰. Every au you write is perfection Can I request a scenario in which prince Steve actually witnesses someone say something to her about how she’s not good enough for the prince and how he’d react to that/ reassure her?

prince!steve au ♡ fem, 1.2k

Your palatial bedroom is a gem to the eye. You've a huge window from which gauzy orange light seeps, the golden hour of your twentieth day coming to an end. Soon, night will be upon you, and with the night comes Prince Steven. Or, as he prefers, Steve.  

He spends the days battling his overbearing mother and her team of 'professional shitheads' as the wedding fast approaches, advocating for you where you can't. You may be his soul mate, but your lack of royal blood means you've no choice in any of their plans. You hadn't been allowed to choose your dress, your vows, or even your jewellery. 

Well, originally. "It's your wedding," Steve had said, giving your hand a reassuring hold, "not just mine, and definitely not theirs. You'll be allowed to wear, and say, and do whatever you want. I'm lucky you agreed to marry me at all." 

You don't regret agreeing to marry him, but it wasn't what you pictured. He didn't propose, and you aren't in love. Your soul marks assure you that one day you will be. The volume of their light and how restless they become around the other evidences a mutual attraction if nothing else, and the rosy hue they take when you touch spares nothing. 

A mutual crush doesn't normally mean you'd marry someone, though. But it isn't exactly unheard of in your culture either. Soul mates are soul mates —it's on the tin. 

Why wait to get married when you know you'll fall in love for life? 

Maybe because that love is extremely daunting, a little voice says at the back of your head. Because Steve is still a stranger. 

An acquaintance might be more accurate. If he continues to be so dramatically nice you might skip friendship altogether, your stomach a heat at the memory of his hand on your chin and the subtle warmth of his gaze as he laid your doubts to rest. You worried to him that you couldn't be a Princess, and while he hadn't shared the sentiment, others do. 

You leave the haven of your room in hopes of a glass of juice and a tonic for your headache (all you've done for days is grind your teeth), and become turned around looking for the kitchens 

"She is so boringly normal. I thought the Prince would have a special soul mate, is that stupid? I thought she'd be gorgeous, or smart, or talented at something, like piano." The servant hits her racket against the rug with a laugh. "She's just one of us. Lucky bitch." 

Which isn't the worst of it. Not truly offensive. You're nothing special, and if you didn't know it already, finding your soulmate cemented it. 

This bit hurts, though. "She's surprisingly ugly, I thought," says the other servant. "Imagine when they project their engagement photos in the central city. That is not a face you want to see in sixteen k." 

Your head bumps into the alcove wall with surprise as a throat clears. The servants look up in tandem, to your horror, seeing you standing in the shade like a creeper, but they see straight past you. You follow their gaze. 

"That's not fair or appropriate, is it?" Steve asks, in his strange princely tone. "The future princess is just as beautiful as you ladies, but she has a much nicer attitude, yeah?" 

Steve puts his hand on your shoulder and walks you away. You feel like you're in trouble, being marched by the class warden to the principal's office.

He stops you in the cool stone walkway that leads from the garden. You can smell the kitchen you'd been looking for, the buttery smell of capers and brewing edelweiss tea on the breeze. The night dawns, sconces with teal and lime light painting his skin baby blue. 

"Sorry I didn't sanction them. I think that the anxiety that I'm gonna tell on them does more than the actual–" Steve stops short. "Hey, are you crying?" 

You're not crying, but you may be a little sniffly. You turn your head away from him and he pulls it right back, his lips parted in shock. 

"You don't believe them," he says incredulously.

The stress in your life these last few weeks has been akin to a tightrope walker, and the insults (the embarrassment, knowing he heard) are a strong wobble. 

"Sorry," you say, your lips barely parted. You try to look away from him but his hand is steadfast on your cheek. 

It's so odd to be treated with tenderness by someone you don't really know. His soul mark burns a muted pinky-red at the pulse of his wrist. It's genuine affection, even if you feel like you don't deserve it. 

"I'm sorry," he says. "Maybe I should go back and have them do domestic duties for the week."

"No, I'm being stupid. They don't have to think I'm pretty–" 

"Well, they should, but that's not really what happened… Why are you down here? I was looking for you." 

"You were?" you ask. 

"I usually am. I tried to get out of fencing but they wouldn't let me leave," he explains, his hand moving up your face in little grabs, almost as though he's checking you over for injury. Eyes held, Steve smiles at you encouragingly. "Why were you down here?" 

"To get something to drink," you say. 

"And you didn't want to ask one of the ten people waiting desperately for you to need something?" he asks with a laugh, dropping his hand from your face. The phantom of it remains, heat in the shape of his fingers pressed into your cheek.

"It feels weird." 

"You can call for me instead and I could get you a drink. Just until you know where the kitchen is. Or I can make you a map." 

"A map," you say, biting back a smile. 

"Is that funny?" 

"No…" 

Steve curls a hand behind your shoulder. "We're not gonna get along," he says, his tone suggesting wildly otherwise. "I can tell. Let's get you that drink, okay?" 

"Okay. Sorry for, um, getting all emotional on you." 

"'In good times and bad,'" he says. Your heart doesn't leap, it springs from your chest. He's a prince, and he's beautiful, and now he's throwing wedding vows at you like it's nothing? 

You smile at your shoes all the way to the kitchens, where Steve ushers you in front of him to go first, and says in your ear, "For the record, I'm personally super excited to see you on the holo screens, but I don't think it's gonna compare to the real thing." He directs you by the waist gently, a twin of the way he'd held you in your engagement photos. Deft hand nestled against the fat of your hip, blue silk of your ceremonial kissing your thighs. You'd felt really pretty, if only because he touched you without hesitation. "You are the farthest thing from ugly I've ever seen." 

[bieachella]

Wants and Needs | dbf! joel miller x reader (pt. 1)

summary: your family and friends are at a cabin celebrating your parents anniversary and u and joel get comfy together 🥰

rating: 15+ they’re just flirting here

warnings: (for the entire fic) age difference (reader is highschool graduate so take that as it is, joel is in his 40s) f!reader, dirty talk, fingering, oral sex (both receiving), pet names, praise, slow burn?? kinda idk, dbf!joel, alcohol use, fluff, unprotected p in v sex, breeding, this will be filthy trust me

a/n: ive never written fanfic in my life but dbf joel is plaguing my brain so buckle up

“Still open?” Joel jokes as he slides his empty whiskey glass toward you. You had been playing bartender behind the small, wooden bar in the center of your parent's get-away cabin.

It had been your parents’ 15th wedding anniversary, which called for inviting family, extended family, and close friends, all to the large, chateau-like cabin your parents rented on occasion.

You smile at Joel and take his glass, nodding your head. "Always open," you reply. Joel chuckles and leans back in his chair, surveying the room.

It's a cozy space, with a large stone fireplace dominating one wall and comfortable seating arranged in small groupings around the room. Soft lighting from wall sconces and table lamps gives the space a warm glow, and the scent of pine needles and woodsmoke wafts in from the crackling fire.

You turn your attention back to the bar, starting to refill Joel's glass with a generous pour of whiskey. As you work, you can't help but notice Joel’s skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat despite the cool air conditioning of the bar. It sent a warm feeling to the pit of your stomach, and you brushed it off as a passing thought. You fixed your eyes on the liquid pouring out of the spout, and he couldn't help but smile at your efforts to make his drink neat and precise.

“Thanks, sweetheart.” You felt your cheeks flush at the pet name as you slid the glass back over to him.

Joel took a sip of his drink, letting out a content sigh as the alcohol warmed him from the inside. He turned to you with a small smile playing at the corner of his lips.

God, he made you feel like your lungs would collapse at any moment. You suddenly realized you had been staring at him for what would soon look like not innocent.

You quickly averted your gaze and cleared your throat, trying to hide your embarrassment. “So, um, you having fun?” you asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from your momentary lapse in composure.

It didn’t go unnoticed by Joel.

“Are you having fun?” he repeated with a playful smirk. Again, you couldn’t help but feel your cheeks heat up at his teasing tone.

You took a deep breath, trying to compose yourself before responding. “I am, actually,” you said, smiling back at him.

Joel nodded with a half-joking, impressed look on his face. You giggled a little and you gazed around the room, trying to find something else to talk about. You decided to stay quiet, looking at all your drunk relatives you didn’t recognize but had supposedly known you since you were little.

“Why don’t you get back out there with your kind, Joel,” jerking your head towards the group of people.

Joel chuckled at your comment and shook his head. “Nah, I’m good right here sweetheart. Plus, wouldn’t want’cha to get lonely.”

You felt that pit in your stomach again, getting butterflies at the thought of Joel not wanting to leave you alone.

You tried to play it cool, but your heart was racing. You had been crushing on Joel for as long as you can remember, but you never thought he felt the same way. It was understandable, considering he was your dads closest friend. Revealing any romantic involvement between his best friend and his only daughter, something he took immense pride in, would shatter him.

“Well I’m glad you’re comfortable here,” you said, trying to act nonchalant. “But my feet are killing me,” you added, wiping the bar down before stepping out from behind it and heading towards the couch. “Join me?” you asked, flashing him a toothy grin

Joel smiled back at you, his eyes twinkling. "You got it, babe" he said, following you over to the couch.

As you both settled down, you couldn't help but feel the warmth radiating from his body. You tried to keep your distance, not wanting to give away how much you wanted to be close to him. But it was hard, especially when he leaned back against the couch and stretched his arms out, accidentally brushing against your shoulder.

You felt your heart skip a beat as Joel's touch sent shivers down your spine. You tried to play it cool, but your cheeks were turning pink as you leaned slightly closer to him. Joel seemed to notice and he shifted slightly, his arm now resting on the back of the couch behind you.

You sat with your knees pressed up against your chest, stealing glances at Joel every now and then. He was so handsome, his dark hair, sprinkled with grey at the sides, and his salt and pepper beard, and his dark eyes, and the way he listened so intensely when you spoke to him, you couldn't help but feel a sense of ease around him that you hadn’t felt with anyone else.

[monstersinthecosmos]

okay I think we should take inventory of what we learned about Marius's house.

In fact, the impression was one of comfortable messiness.

(i think the tiktok kids started calling ADHD clutter clustering or something LMAO marius de romanus cluster girlie i guess. thanks i hate it)

Here's some stuff that Marius had on his island!!!!!!!

stone benches

a lighted oil lamp on a stand

a pair of heavy wooden doors

a sarcophagus with a plain lid, cleanly fashioned out of diorite

The lid plated in iron and contained

a golden mask, its features carefully molded, attached to a hood made up of layered plates of hammered gold.

a pair of leather gloves covered completely in tinier more delicate gold plates like scales.

a large folded blanket of the softest red wool with one side sewn with larger gold plates

Magnificent Grecian urns on pedestals in the corridors

great bronze statues from the Orient

exquisite plants at every window and terrace open to the sky.

Gorgeous rugs from India, Persia, China c

giant stuffed beasts mounted in lifelike attitudes-

--the brown bear,

--the lion,

--the tiger,

--even the elephant standing in his own immense chamber,

--lizards as big as dragons,

--birds of prey clutching dried branches made to look like the limbs of real trees.

brilliantly colored murals covering every surface from floor to ceiling

a dark vibrant painting of the sunburnt Arabian desert complete with an exquisitely detailed caravan of camels and turbaned merchants moving over the sand

a jungle warming with delicately rendered tropical blossoms, vines, carefully drawn leaves

creatures everywhere in the texture of the jungle-

--insects,

--birds,

--worms in the soil-

too many monkeys in the jungle,

too many bugs crawling on the leaves.

thousands of tiny insects in one painting of a summer sky.

a large gallery walled on either side by painted men and women staring at me

Figures from all ages these were-

--bedouins,

--Egyptians,

--Greeks and Romans,

--knights in armor,

--peasants

--kings

--queens.

--Renaissance people in doublets and leggings,

--the Sun King with his massive mane of curls,

--people of our own age.

droplets of water clinging to a cape,

the cut on the side of a face,

the spider half-crushed beneath a polished leather boot.

a library, blazing with light.

Walls and walls of books and

rolled manuscripts,

giant glistening world globes in their wooden cradles,

busts of the ancient Greek gods and goddesses,

great sprawling maps.

Newspapers in all languages lay in stacks on tables.

Fossils,

mummified hands,

exotic shells.

bouquets of dried flowers,

figurines and fragments of old sculpture,

alabaster jars covered with Egyptian hieroglyphs.

comfortable chairs with footstools,

candelabra or oil lamps.

a forest of cages.

birds of all sizes and colors

monkeys

baboons,

Potted plants crowded against the cages-

--ferns and

--banana trees,

--cabbage roses,

--moonflower,

--jasmine,

--other sweetly fragrant nighttime vines.

purple and white orchids,

waxed flowers that trapped insects in their maw,

little trees groaning with peaches and lemons and pears.

a hall of sculptures equal to any gallery in the Vatican museum.

adjoining chambers full of paintings,

Oriental furnishings,

mechanical toys.

fine rosewood paneling with framed mirrors rising to the ceiling.

painted chests,

upholstered chairs,

dark and lush landscapes,

porcelain clocks.

A small collection of books in the glass-doored bookcases,

a newspaper of recent date lying on a small table beside a brocaded winged chair.

the stone terrace. where banks of white lilies and red roses gave off their powerful perfume.

a pair of winged chairs that faced each other

a dozen or so candelabra and sconces on the paneled walls.

brocade cushions

[beansidhebumbling]

I

Wrapped together, in a wine-fuelled haze on the chaise longue they paint a charming picture, one Feyre might hang on a wall in place of her.

It would be precious if it wasn’t killing her.

It would be sweet if the ribbon of wire wrapped to her ribs didn’t cut into bone until she felt like screaming.

It would be romantic if it wasn’t them.

***

The one where Azriel and Nesta exclude Cassian from the equation.

Her hand is on his thigh.

Her hand is stroking his thigh to be precise.

Manicured fingers trace patterns into his leathers, running over the muscle, drawing swirling loops and arches. Maybe she’s writing her name Nesta muses. In shining eyes and heads tossed back in the unrestrained laughter of joy she sees the warmth they share and…they are beautiful.

She, spun of gold and merlot and freesia, is frustratingly beautiful with her hands on him.

Not that Mor is alone in her display of affection.

Cassian’s wing, lit a warm red from the sconces behind it, curves around the Morrigan, encasing her. Her mother told her of men like him. She recalls it now, dry hands braiding her hair as she sat staring herself down in the vanity, her reflection a little too sharp even as her face still clung to the soft roundness of childhood, the rhythmic plaiting and her mama’s lulling voice drawing Nesta into sleep as she warned of those who, like magpies, would chase shiny things. Easy to marry, easy to lose. Men who did not hold onto gold long enough to weigh it.

Wings and pointed ears and ageless eternities did not hide their essence. Men are only men after all, her mother’s words held true.

How like him to chase someone who does not want him.

And the Morrigan, gilded and flawless, velvet clinging to lush curves makes Nesta heart break, like looking at Cassian makes her ribs hurt. In a world so unfamiliar, the night alive and clinging to the edges of the room, shadows kissing the hems of her woollen skirt, in a land she is not meant for, Mor is familiar. A female adept at playing with the attention of others, who wields her beauty like a knife. In a ballroom long ago, on dancefloors she’d never see again, Nesta had done the same. She knew the intoxicating urge to hold onto those you did not did not desire... simply because you could.

Wrapped together, in a wine-fuelled haze on the chaise lounge they paint a charming picture- one Feyre might hang on a wall in place of her.

It would be precious if it wasn’t killing her.

It would be sweet if the ribbon of wire, wrapped to her ribs, didn’t cut into bone until she felt like screaming.

It would be romantic if it wasn’t them.

*

The Inner Circle are merry tonight, loud enough to compete with the buzzing in her ears, the thumping pain behind her eyes. She misses the question from the only one who has, thus far, remained as silent as she.

‘…hurt you?’

Wrapped in shadows, the edges of his silhouette hazy, a figment of her imagination if it weren’t for the way his glass filled and emptied with merlot throughout the night. He sits across from her, the only two still at the dining table, its mahogany surface bearing the aftermath of dinner, china marred with the remnants of a feast, silverware thrown atop haphazardly. There is still enough food left on those plates to feed them twice over. The spoon that lies beside her teacup is ornate and delicately engraved. They wear their wealth casually here. She did once too, though those memories of brocade and jewels are sketched lightly now, masked by the fog of time. They pale next to the vivid recollection of eating worms from the wet earth, of the endless gnawing hunger that could not be filled.

Did Feyre ever wake at night to the feel of their slimy forms still wriggling in her mouth, their segmented peach bodies crushing between molars?

It is the boom of Cassian’s laugh that jerks her back to the present. She has no idea how long it’s been but Azriel’s eyes, dark and deep are locked on her still. He is attentive. Always passing her dishes, finding her a seat, respectful of her silence at these pantomimes. A gentleman her mother might have said, if this were a different life, if he bore a different form.  

‘Excuse me?’

She asks, voice hoarse from disuse. It’s been over a day since she’s spoken, trading in nods, shrugs, and the sharp tilt of her head, face set just so, to keep conversation at bay.

‘Doesn’t it hurt you?’

His voice, so soft she barely catches the words. His face, what she can see of it is the same. Shadows seep down his brow, like extensions of the curly fringe that masks his forehead.

‘Doesn’t what hurt me?’

The Shadowsinger says nothing, merely turning slightly in his chair to nod at the pair still ensconced in the far corner of the room.

Nesta intakes a breath, a sharp reflexive whoosh of air. That seems to be answer enough for him.

His face contorts with disgust. She’s never seen Azriel so expressive. Always cloaked in his shadows or the mask of apathy he seems to favour, he has remained largely unreadable to her. Until now. She reckons even Amren, still not fluent in the language of expression, could decipher his distress. The tendrils of darkness around him move agitatedly, a churning mess of darkness.

‘Your mate does you great disservice.’

He mutters.

Her ribs ache again. Body rebelling against mind. How familiar.

‘He is not mine.’

The words are choked out of her, and yet the male, usually tactful, continues with another cut, like he cannot help himself from spilling that which he can no longer contain.

‘He is not hers.’

The words are hot and his mouth is open to continue when she interrupts him, needing someone else to be bleeding at the table too.

‘She is not yours either.’

*

Her barb stops Azriel short. The silence sits between them. A third outcast at the table. And it too bleeds until each second stretches like a band, the tension thick between them.

Even in their bubble where time stands still, she can see movement and joy surrounding them. A deck of cards has emerged and Feyre is howling with laughter as she slaps her hand, a full house she reckons, down on the carpet in triumph. How foolish to play against her sister. Whip-smart and cunning and the best liar she knows.

When have the Inner Circle ever been wise?

And so, they sit like two wraiths as the clocks stop around them until Azriel reaches for his wine and time snaps back into its rhythm. He swirls the glass by the stem and while examining its contents, declares with a forced lightness,

‘Cassian has always been careless. Always taking from me. Books, wing lotion, knives, …. females.’

Any semblance of civility his voice had held vanishes as he drawls,

‘Forgetful too you know? Very little of what he takes ever makes its way back to me.’

He gulps down wine. It’s the most he’s ever spoken to her alone, outside of weather and war and other such trivialities she thinks drily.

‘Do you truly believe a female can be taken?’

Nesta snarks. Her pulse quickens slightly as Azriel lets the question hang, echoing between them, before raising an eyebrow, the left corner of his mouth pulling into a lobsided smirk.

‘No.. I mean...’

She huffs.

‘Don’t be obtuse Azriel. If we are assigning characteristics I believe that one is Cassian’s.’

The smirk widens into a wicked grin and the Shadowsinger laughs, a sonorous chuckle from deep in his chest that escapes despite himself, even as he covers his mouth to contain it.

‘Oh that wasn’t very nice.’

The words are mocking and delighted and far too cheerful.

He is striking as his eyes glow and his shadows dance. Too pretty to be trusted. As quickly as his mirth arrives it departs however and he sobers himself before answering,

‘You misunderstand me and that is my fault. My words were ill-considered. I am slow to move, in love and outside it. Cassian is quick to jump in and out of emotion. When he.. takes someone I have been yearning for, been courting at my own glacial pace, they rarely turn back to me once he is done with them.’

‘Are there not enough fae in Prythian for you both?’

His eyes darken as his gaze drops to his glass once more.

‘You would think and yet..’

He gestures behind him flippantly.

Nesta snorts.

‘Mother burn me. Men are the same everywhere.’

‘I am no man.’

His immediate contest, confessed bemusedly, is hardly a compelling defence .

‘You’re a man in every way that counts if you truly believe your pissing contest with Cassian has any sway on the Morrigan’s heart.’

Understanding dawns on his face but his expression only darkens as he snarls,

‘I’ll survive Mor’s rejection. Even your sister could read the writing on that wall. He betrayed me.’

Nesta leans back in her seat, eyebrows arched. What a shame Azriel is not hers. He seems, like her, to have the bad habit of clinging too hard to those he cares for. Maybe he’d relish the marks she’d leave on him. Visions of his sculpted chest branded with her scratches don’t disrupt her quick retort,

‘You’re quite nasty when you’re hurt.’

Azriel cocks an eyebrow at her. The message delivered clearly. Nesta would be familiar with that particular flaw it says.

Too familiar.

The shattered pieces of the Archeron sisterhood prod at her throat, making it hard to swallow.

Familiar enough to guess at what Azriel might be searching for. She reaches for his hand and lays her own upon it, ignoring how he flinches at the contact initially, before grasping at it like a lifeline, the gentle warmth of his scarred palm melting something within her, the pad of his index resting on her pulse taking stock of the uptick of her unsteady heart.

Despite the rumours it has been a long time since she has been touched at all. She revels in the quiet exhilaration of skin on skin, in the comfort they both find in the spaces between words.

She whispers breathily,

‘I’m sorry he hurt you. You deserve better, you know?’

Azriel sighs, a heavy push of air emptying his lungs of life and face of the anger it contained mere seconds ago, until all that remains is something that could be hurt, that could be heartbreak. Cassian is very careless indeed she realises.

‘So do you.’

*

Azriel glances back at his circle, not one of whom noted his absence, his engagement with the harpy of Velaris. He has always been like this Nesta contemplates, circling the periphery, clinging, like his shadows, to the edge of a gathering. She had always assumed that to be a choice, now she questions whether, like her, there is simply no space for him elsewhere.

His jaw is clenched on turning back to her, the remnants of a baleful glare not quite dissipated as he leans towards her, movement calculatedly slow. His plump lower lip drops slightly in surprise as she leans in, her torso pressing against her dinner plate, surely staining her only good dress. Will the sauce from the stew seep like blood into the cotton, an extension of the contusion that has surely formed by her ribs?

She can just about see the dark swirls of tiny shadows that circle his pupils, as the table that has always seemed too narrow is suddenly irritatingly wide. The unbidden need to be close enough to count the thick lashes that frame his eyes, to have the shadows that are stroking her collarbone plait into her hair is urgent and unrelenting.

 Her heart pounds in her ears and all she can focus on is the choppy meter of his breath as he murmurs,

‘How about we get out of here?’

His plea is addressed to her lips, eyes affixed on them, following the dart of her tongue as she whets them.  In the shadows she has found someone made of the same mettle. In the shadows she has found something new.

The tug at her ribs is easy to ignore when the cool kiss of his shadows trace the neckline of her dress.

‘Take me.’

[snazzy-suit]

Luigi: Liaison of Ghosts Chapter 5.10 - Hey! Creatures! Leave Them Kids Alone!

MP - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5.1 -5.2 - 5.3 - 5.4 - 5.5 - 5.6 - 5.7 - 5.8 - 5.9 - (5.10) - 6 - 7.1 - 7.2 - 7.3 - 7.4 - 7.5 - 8

Part 10 of 10

[Prefer to read on ao3? Click here]

In which Luigi leads, E. Gadd does machines, Gooigi is cool but rude, and Pepper is a party dude.

______________________________

The icy blue flames illuminating the room flutter aimlessly in their sconces. They flicker once, twice, and as one, they extinguish. If not for the glow of the magic circle and the ghost hunting duo’s flashlights, all would have been plunged into darkness. A cacophony of collapsing bodies resonates through the darkened expanse. The eerie screeching and hissing of the undead are replaced by the clatter of hollow bone and crumbling rot, followed swiftly by deafening silence. It is still—quiet, but for the distant drip of moisture and heaving breaths of the two sole mortal occupants.

Then, almost as quickly as they went out, the sconces re-ignite, but in the comforting warm hues of a natural flame. The freezing, paranormal chill blanketing the dungeon recedes. Warmth is not left in its wake, merely the cool dampness typical of a subterranean world. The crushing presence of a dark entity’s miasma dissipates like fog in the morning sun. It is lighter, this new atmosphere, but it is not clean.

Dane sinks to his knees, staring wide-eyed at the magic circle and its contents as the glow begins to fade. The Doogan giggles, a touch hysterical. “Stars above… that actually worked.”

Luigi and Gooigi share a look before dashing over to the kid. Dane waves languidly at them with a tired smile. “Ha-ha, wow. Merlich? More like Merloser, am I right fellas?” His arm flops to his side, the motion abrupt yet boneless. “…Good Grambi that was awful. I am so sorry.”

Luigi doesn’t refute this. He takes a knee by the kid, carefully avoiding the magic circle. “Dane, how are you feeling?”

The kid’s brows knit together in consideration. “Everything tastes purple for some reason and I’m kinda tired. Why?”

“Uh…” Gooigi warbles. “Maybe because you just performed sealing magic? On a very powerful ghost?”

“…is that a big deal or…?”

Luigi’s forehead meets his palm. “It’s highly advanced magic—one that normally requires a lot of discipline to execute without consequence—and yet you pulled it off with a hastily drawn magic circle and…” Luigi pauses, turning to look at the small object inside the circle. “Wait, what did you use as the vessel?”

Dane reaches forward and gingerly takes the small object from the magic circle. He holds it up proudly for the plumber to examine. Luigi is dismayed by what he sees.

It’s the kid’s pepper shaker.

“See, Luigi?” Dane says, “I told you pepper protects you from demons.”

Luigi can’t muster up the energy to correct the boy. Instead, he carefully accepts the pepper shaker, noting that the container appears to be made up of thick plastic. He takes some comfort in knowing that a careless fumble wouldn’t spell disaster, not like if the vessel had been glass or ceramic. Would opening the lid free the ghost, though? Stars, he hopes not.

“This… shouldn’t have worked,” Luigi mutters.

“If anyone else had made the attempt, it likely wouldn’t have.”

The group turns as one to the intruding party. The Koopa Vitiate is hovering a short distance away. Behind them lie piles upon piles of bones. Many of the skeletons are positioned as if they had collapsed mid-step. Not a spark of light shows in any of their darkened eye sockets. 1

Dane ducks behind Luigi with a startled yelp. Luigi slowly gets to his feet, eyeing the Dry Horde’s remains warily before looking back at the Vitiate. “What do you mean?” he asks.

“The child was the one to summon my former master. As such, they held power over him.”

Luigi inhales sharply. “The contract…”

Dane dares to peek out from his hiding spot. “Contract?”

“When you summon a spectral entity, they become bound to you by magic—a contract of sorts. You have power over them, meaning your will supersedes their own.”

The Doogan pointedly looks around the dreary dungeon. “Well, that creep clearly found a loophole, because I can promise you, I didn’t want any of this.”

“Powerful entities can resist the contract’s magic, to a point,” the knight supplies. “But if they are weakened enough…”

“Oh.” Dane frowns. “Is that why he wanted to kill me so badly?”

“No. You were never seen as a threat; just another energy source to drain—” the ghost sweeps a hand behind them, “—and another body to add to his collection.”

Dane stares at the mass of collapsed bones in horror. “Wait. Are you saying they’re—?”

“Over a millenia's worth of Merlich’s victims.”

The kid shakily runs a hand along his head, knocking his cap askew. “Good Grambi. I was almost one of them.”

“You would have been,” the ghost states bluntly, “if not for that wretch’s interest in the human.”

Luigi tenses as all eyes turn to him.

“Why do you always seem to attract the megalomaniacs?”

Luigi sighs heavily. “Must be my charming personality,” he grumbles. He looks at the Dark Koopa. “Thank you, for all your help. I hate to think how things would have turned out if you had not intervened.”

The Vitiate shakes their head. “Your gratitude is unnecessary. My motivations were not altruistic.” They gesture to Dane. “My contract to the boy superseded the one I had with my former master, allowing me to defy him for the first time in decades. The presence of you and your partner only complicated matters, even if it did eventually turn the tide in my favor.”

“Ouch. My ego.”

“If anyone is deserving of your gratitude,” the ghost continues, “it’s the chaos spirit. I wouldn’t have been able to return to the wizard’s domain without them.”

Dane stares at the ghost uncomprehendingly, but Luigi and Gooigi are already turning their focus to the Polterpup. Pepper is chewing on his hind leg, seemingly oblivious to the conversation.

“Okay,” Luigi sighs, “that’s the… I don’t know, fourth or fifth time I’ve heard someone call him that.” He looks back at the knight. “What in Stars’ name is a ‘chaos spirit’?”

“A spirit with chaotic traits.”

Luigi waits for them to elaborate. When they don’t, he narrows his eyes, annoyed. Was the ghost intentionally being obtuse? “Yeah, I think I could glean that from the name. Could you expound on that?”

The knight glances at the spirit in question. “I am not educated in that subject matter.”

Luigi frowns. He has a feeling the knight isn’t being entirely honest but decides not to press further (he can always ask the professor later if they know anything). The knight’s wording, however, takes him down a different train of thought. Speaking of uneducated…

“Dane… where did you get the idea for using sealing magic, again?”

The Doogan perks up, seemingly unbothered by the non sequitur. “Oh! I got it from Pepper.” He reaches over and pulls the Polterpup into what is likely meant to be a hug but looks more like a headlock. Pepper grunts mildly in displeasure, half-heartedly trying to wiggle free. “Smart, spooky puppy.”

Luigi and his partner exchange a bemused glance. “How, though? Did… did he… tell you or…?”

“Uh… not with words, no.” Dane releases Pepper—the latter chuffing as they give themselves a good shake—and picks up the spell book. “Shortly after you guys ran off to fight the wizard, Pepper came up to me and dropped the book in my lap. It was open to this page.” Dane points to the page in question. “I didn’t really pay it any mind at first, but he kept pawing at the book, and then he stuck his little snoot in my jacket pocket and pulled out the pepper shaker. I thought he was trying to be funny or something.

“That’s when I took a closer look at the pages. I didn’t really understand the writing, but there were some super helpful drawings that helped fill in the blanks.” Dane holds up the book so they can see the illustrations. “I figured you and your dog did stuff like this all the time, so I trusted him and gave it a shot.”

Luigi looks at Pepper. The Polterpup is now gnawing on his front left paw (does he have fleas? Can spirits get fleas??). He looks every bit the cute and clueless canine that Luigi knows and loves, but after tonight, the plumber finds himself questioning everything he knows about his ghostly companion.

‘I told you pepper protects you from demons.’

And as Luigi regards the Polterpup, he finds that there is more truth to that statement than any of them realize. Luigi leans down, and with the tiniest hint of hesitation, reaches out with his free hand to scritch behind what approximates the canine’s ears. “Thank you, Pepper,” he says softly.

Pepper leans into Luigi’s hand with a happy whine.

“Um…” Gooigi warbles, garnering his partner’s attention. “Not to cut this sweet moment short, but can we leave now? I kinda hate it here.”

Dane snorts in agreement as Luigi straightens with a sigh. There’s still a lot he doesn’t understand, but he’s starting to accept he won’t be finding the answers tonight. It’s time they left this dreary dungeon behind. “Sure, let’s go home.” He looks at the spell book, brows furrowing. “Though I don’t know where to begin looking for the right spell to take us there.”

“Does it have an index?”

“You needn’t waste time searching,” the knight interjects, “I know of the magic you seek and where it resides in the book…”

Luigi eyes the ghost warily. “…I’m sensing a ‘but’.”

“Hm. Perhaps you are more perceptive than I give you credit for.” The Dark Koopa raises a hand when Luigi’s eyes narrow marginally. “Be at ease. I will help you return to your dwelling. All I ask is that you sever my contract with the child first.”

Gooigi shrugs. “That seems fair.”

“And,” the ghost continues, pointing to the pepper shaker in Luigi’s hand, “you leave that with me.”

“…come again?”

“That wretch has been the bane of my existence for the past six centuries,” the Vitiate growls. “I will not risk them breaking free because of the carelessness of a nescient mortal. My strength is not in the arcane arts, but I know enough to keep them contained and hidden away.”

Luigi’s eyes trail down to the unconventional vessel. He had considered handing it over to Merlon to safeguard. The wizard was powerful and trustworthy, but he also lived in a highly populated area. If Merlich somehow breaches containment, it will not end well.

“Okay,” Luigi says at last, “it’s a deal.”

Gooigi double takes. “Are you sure that’s wise? Shouldn’t we give the vessel to the professor?”

Luigi stares at his partner blankly.

“…Stars above, you’re right; that’s a terrible idea.” He waves Luigi on. “Forget I said anything.”

Without another word, Luigi walks over to the Dark Koopa and carefully hands them the vessel. The ghost accepts it with equal care.

The ghost nods imperceptibly. “Very good,” They hold out their free hand toward Dane. “Now, let us sever the contract.”

Dane nervously hugs the spell book to his chest. “Um… that isn’t literal, is it? You don’t need to sever, like, an arm from my body or something, right?”

Luigi and the Vitiate give Dane a strange look. “Good Grambi, kid,” Luigi says, “Why would I agree to something that would hurt you?”

“I didn’t think you’d do it on purpose! Maybe you didn’t know that’s what it means to sever a contract!”

“I’ve witnessed plenty of contract terminations. I know what they entail.”

“Okay, well, what if they attack me afterwards?”

“I find you moderately irritating, child,” the dark entity rasps, “but I have no desire to harm you.”

“You threw an axe at my head!”

“I also buried one in your shoulder, and yet, you haven’t a scratch to show for it.”

“I—!” The Doogan blinks. “Don’t remember that.”

Luigi winces at the memory. “You were being possessed at the time,” he supplies.

The Vitiate nods. “You were never my target, child. I was after the vile creature pulling at your strings from within. My weapons operate on intent—they only harm what I want them to.”

“…Oh.” Dane looks down at the book and back to the ghost. “That’s cool. And convenient!”

“It sure is,” Gooigi says, patting the teen’s shoulder. He moves to join Luigi, turning to the kid and walking backward as he goes. “Now, let’s give the nice ghost a magic pink slip so we can leave.”

Dane hesitantly follows, moving so they are standing in front of the Vitiate. The ghost wordlessly holds out their free hand. Dane looks from the hand to Luigi, questioningly.

“Take their hand,” Luigi tells him, “and hold it firmly.”

Dane does as instructed. He shivers at the dark entity’s cold grip. “N-now what?”

“Slowly pull back until their hand slips from yours. Keep your arm extended.”

The Doogan and the ghost mirror the action. The moment their hands separate, a thin, glowing thread appears in their respective grip, held taut between them. Dane looks at the paranormal tether with wide eyes.

“Now,” Luigi continues, “let the thread go slack for a moment, and then quickly pull back as hard as you can until it breaks.”

Dane and the Dark Koopa once again mirror Luigi’s instructions. The glowing thread snaps cleanly between them. The teenager watches in awe as the thread fades from the visible spectrum.

“All done,” Gooigi says cheerfully.

Dane looks at the ectomorph in surprise. “Wait, that’s it?”

“Yep.”

The Doogan blinks owlishly. “Oh. I thought I’d have to recite an incantation.” He frowns. “Maybe perform some kind of complex ritual.”

Luigi shrugs. “Those are some ways to do it, but mutually severing a contract is much easier.”

“Huh. Neat.” Dane turns back to the ghost, looking somewhat sheepish. “Hey, uh, sorry again for all the trouble tonight. We all good?”

“Your heedless summoning inevitably led to my freedom. This more than atones for the tribulations you wrought.”

“…cool?”

The kid stumbles with a yelp as an unseen force pulls the spell book from its tucked position beneath his arm. The old tome comes to a stop in front of the ghost and opens. With a flick of the knight’s wrist, the old pages rapidly turn before settling just as quickly. Another wave of the hand, and the book abruptly turns and is thrust back into Dane’s arms.

“The spell and corresponding magic circle you need to return home is on the left page.” The knight turns and sweeps a hand toward the floor. Some of the debris from their fight with the wizard is swept aside, clearing a section of the floor just large enough to accommodate an appropriately sized magic circle. “Now, depart with haste. I have an army’s worth of remains to lay to rest.”

“Uh… you got any chalk we can use or…?”

“No.”

“Fantastic,” Dane grumbles, already scanning the ground for another makeshift drawing utensil. Gooigi joins the hunt, but just as Luigi offers his assistance, the Vitiate grabs him by the shoulder.

“A word, human?” Dane and Gooigi pause to look at the two curiously. “In private,” the ghost adds.

Luigi nods, warily following the Vitiate out of earshot. “Is there something I can help you with?”

The Vitiate whirls around, silencing Luigi with the intensity of their piercing red gaze. “What are you?” they hiss.

“…a plumber?”

The Dark Koopa lurches toward Luigi with a snarl. Luigi takes a startled step back, but otherwise holds his ground. Clearly, that had been the wrong answer.

“Do not play games with me, ‘human’,” the Dark Koopa growls. “Why do you continue to hide in this mortal form?”

Luigi gapes at the knight, utterly bewildered. “What in Stars’ name are you talking about?”

“Your energy betrays you. It has changed drastically since I last saw you in the child’s domain.” The knight looms closer. “You are no mere mortal.”

“I’m pretty sure I have a few bruised ribs that beg to differ,” Luigi retorts. “Would this have anything to do with me being a Star Child? Your former master seemed really thrilled about it.”

The knight shakes their head. “I’ve met other Star Children in the past, and their energy was not like yours.”

Luigi pinches his brow against an oncoming headache. “And what, pray tell, is my energy like?”

“A spirit.”

Luigi’s heart stutters in his chest. He looks up at the Vitiate, wide-eyed. The dark entity regards him curiously.

“…you truly don’t know, do you?”

“Wha—no!” Luigi sputters. “How would I?!”

The Dark Koopa folds their arms over their chest. “What did Merlich do to you before I arrived?”

“Aside from trying to monologue me to death? Palm-reading.” Luigi lifts the hand in question, casually inspecting it. He frowns. “Then he… forced eye-contact. It was like he was looking through me.”

“The eyes are the window into the soul.”

“So I’ve heard,” Luigi mumbles. “He apparently found something he wanted—some kind of energy—and… tried to take it.” Luigi decides to omit the wizard’s claim that the energy wasn’t even his to begin with.

The Dark Koopa hums thoughtfully. “I see…”

“That makes one of us. Mind sharing with the rest of the class?”

“It’s purely conjecture, but it stands to reason that the energy I’m sensing now and the energy Merlich attempted to siphon from you are one and the same. That wretch’s meddling must have stoked this energy from its dormancy.”

Luigi looks down at his hands, as if expecting to see this unknown energy. He chuckles briefly with a hint of hysteria. “Oh, that’s just wonderful.”

“Hardly,” the Vitiate retorts, unaware or uncaring of his sarcasm, “this kind of power is inevitably going to draw the wrong kind of attention, especially as it grows stronger. If you were truly a spirit, there would be little cause for concern—specters don’t usually attack stronger specters—but because you’re mortal…”

“…I’m seen as an easy target,” Luigi finishes.

“Indeed. Until you can fully utilize this power, you are at great risk.” The knight pauses, looking contemplative. “In the meantime, I leave you with this:”

There is a flash of orange light, and Luigi looks up in time for the entity to strike him in the chest with their armored palm. Luigi stumbles back a couple steps with a yelp. He regains his footing as an unknown rune glows fleetingly before him and winks out of existence. Luigi affixes the dark entity with a glare.

“Good Grambi, what was that for?!”

“Your protection.” The Vitiate replies, unapologetic. “I lack the skillset to help seal your energy, but I can disguise it—create a red herring, if you will.” They point at Luigi. “I have placed a powerful ward on your person. Spectral entities that detect it will arrive at the infinitely more logical conclusion that the ward is the source of the spirit energy, not you.” 2

Luigi blinks. “Oh. That’s… actually really helpful, thank you.”

The Dark Koopa dips their head marginally in acknowledgement. “It is but a temporary solution. The ward should last a few lunar cycles. Ideally, you will have found a way to rein in your energy by then.” The Vitiate looks past him and Luigi follows their gaze. They are looking at Pepper. The Polterpup is watching Dane and Gooigi as the two work to draw the magic circle. “You are fortunate to have that one’s favor. Keep them close; you’ll need their protection now more than ever.”

The cold buzz of energy indicative of a ghost’s presence suddenly vanishes from Luigi’s side. He turns and finds the knight is gone. Luigi frowns. Why do ghosts always insist on being so dramatic?

With a sigh, Luigi walks back to his group. Gooigi stands upon his approach and tosses him the shard of rock they’d been using to help draw the magic circle. Luigi catches it with a slight fumble.

“Where’d the Knight in Rusted Armor go?”

Luigi shrugs tiredly. “I’m not sure. They made a cryptic remark and left when I wasn’t looking.”

“Ah. So, the usual?”

“Yeah, the usual.”

Dane looks up from the spell book. “That’s normal for you guys?”

Luigi nods. “When a ghost makes their exit, it’s either quiet and mysterious, or with an angry howl—usually accompanied by a declaration of vengeance.”

“There’s no in-between. Well, unless they’re willfully crossing over to the other side, but that’s a whole different matter.”

“…huh. Who knew ghosts could be such big—”

“Careful,” Luigi interjects, “just because you can’t see a ghost, doesn’t necessarily mean they aren’t around. They could still be observing us.”

Dane winces, casting a wary eye about the eerie room. “Good to know…”

The Doogan returns to replicating the magic circle shown in the spell book. Luigi takes over for Gooigi (drawing isn’t the easiest thing to do when your hands have the consistency of gelatin), and a few short minutes later, the magic circle is complete. Luigi double checks their work, and when he is satisfied that everything matches the drawing in the book, he calls everyone to stand in the circle. He blanches when the Polterpup trots up to him with a yellowed femur in their mouth. At some point, the spirit had wandered off and claimed a treat from the fallen horde. 3

“Pepper, no; put that back,” Luigi says tiredly. “We have bones at home.”

The Polterpup whines but acquiesces. With a huff and a toss of their head, the bone goes soaring back into the sizable pile of skeletal remains. Luigi shakes their head and turns to Dane. He holds out his hand for the spell book.

“I’ll take it from here,” he says.

Dane smiles wearily and passes him the book without protest. “Please do.”

For the first time that night, Luigi holds the old tome with a quiet heart and mind. There is no sense of urgency, no anger, nor dread. He merely regards the magic text with the caution and respect it is due. Luigi takes a composing breath. He thinks of the dusty attic where tonight’s tribulations began, and he begins to read. 4

______________________________

Professor E. Gadd is getting anxious.

Anxious, as in eager anticipation. Not anxious, as in worried, because the professor is not worried. Luigi has faced greater threats in the past—a slumber party crashed by angry ghosts is child’s play. Sure, these were stronger than your average ghosts. Yes, Vitiates are highly malevolent. And, okay, E. Gadd will admit that the children’s accounts were a touch concerning, but it was fine! Kids exaggerate when they’re scared. Luigi had just requested him to bring Gooigi as a precaution. Between the two of them, this hullabaloo will be taken care of in no time.

The professor glances at his watch—it’s a few minutes past the witching hour. What is taking the lad so long?

E. Gadd resists the urge to worriedly impatiently pace the yard. He settles on tapping his foot as a compromise. With a quiet huff, he folds his arms over his chest and casts his gaze over his anxious company. Luigi hadn’t talked to E. Gadd very long, but the old man learned enough to conclude that his Toad Assistants would be needed. Two are currently walking the perimeter of the sizeable home with a dark light and ectoplasm radar. After what appeared to be a Snifit Vitiate blasted through one of the walls and disappeared into the night, E. Gadd thought it wise to set up a patrol around the property. If the dark entity returned, or another tried to escape, there wasn’t much any of them could do about it, but at least now they wouldn’t be caught by surprise (though nothing could have prepared them for when a shrieking Duplighost with an axe in its back barreled out the front door and ran into the woods).

Two more assistants stand at the professor’s right, each shouldering a myriad of cleaning supplies. They very nearly left when they saw the damage to the outer wall, but the professor assuaged them with a promise to call in more help after Luigi finishes clearing out the house. Another Toad is currently on the phone with the owners of the property—who just so happened to be the parents of the remaining trapped youth. E. Gadd’s hearing isn’t the best these days, but even he can pick up the frantic voices on the other end of the line. Impressive, given that the Toad doesn’t have them on speaker phone.

E. Gadd silently thanks Luigi for banning him from interacting with mortal clients (even if he still disagrees with the plumber’s claim that he has “poor people skills”).

The professor looks over at his final Toad assistant. They are dealing with the slightly less enviable position of handling mortal clients in-person. Shortly after E. Gadd had arrived with his assistants, the one currently on the phone had taken it upon themself to notify the parents of the terrified youths (much to their horror). All but the missing Doogan’s parents have since arrived, and by the looks on some of the teenagers’ faces, they'd almost rather be dealing with angry ghosts (E. Gadd can’t blame them).

Presently, the parents are taking turns comforting/scolding their children and grilling the ever-patient Toad left to their mercy. The adults had at one point attempted to rope E. Gadd into the interrogation, but after the man strategically launched into a jargon-filled lecture about the paranormal, they quickly backed off. Despite what Luigi seems to think, E. Gadd can tell when no one wants to hear an old man ramble thank you very much.

A sharp beeping tone startles E. Gadd from his musings. He scrambles to retrieve the device making the sound, his pulse skyrocketing upon recognizing the alert—Luigi’s signal was back in range! E. Gadd quickly taps the notification on the screen of the glossy black pad. A radar fills the screen, and towards the top, a green dot representing the tracker on Luigi’s phone (it’s not creepy, it’s security!) appears. E. Gadd grins. Whatever spectral magic tomfoolery had blocked the signal has finally lifted. The lad had done it!

“Professor?” One of the Toads calls, “What is it? Have you heard from Luigi?”

Without looking up, E. Gadd lifts a finger in a silent gesture to wait. He can feel dozens of eyes on him as he brings up the video calling app and attempts to contact Luigi. It rings once, twice, three times. Half-way through the fourth, Luigi’s face appears on the screen.

“Luigi, my boy!” E. Gadd exclaims, “It’s so good to—” He squints, adjusting his glasses as he scrutinizes Luigi’s appearance. The lad looks tired and a little worse for wear. But also, “Why are you all wet?”

“I tripped and fell head-first into a toilet,” he replies dryly, “What do you think?”

E. Gadd frowns at the distant gurgling laughter that undoubtedly belongs to Gooigi. “Don’t you get smart with me, sonny-boy. I was getting wor—” he coughs, “—ready to call your brother in for back-up because you were taking too long.”

Luigi’s brows knit together in confusion. “What do you mean? It’s only been—” he looks up, presumably checking the time on the screen. His eyes widen. “…over three hours?”

“In a house this size, it should have only taken half that time,” the professor huffs. “Either these were some really tough ghosts, or I need to whip you back into shape!”

Luigi grimaces, avoiding eye contact. “Things got… a little complicated. It’s a long story.”

E. Gadd grumbles at the vague explanation. He’ll get the details later, for sure, but for now, the professor accepts the dismissal. “Hm. Well, I suppose all that matters is that you got the job done.” He leans in marginally. “…you did take care of all of the ghosts, right?”

Luigi closes his eyes, looking almost serene. “This house,” he whispers in a nasally voice, “is clean.”

Stars above, the lad is in worse shape than E. Gadd thought. “And the young feller? Are they alright?”

“After some therapy, maybe. But yeah, Dane’s still in one piece.” Luigi turns the camera so it is facing the kid in question. Like Luigi, they are also a little worse for wear, but at the very least they don’t look like they just crawled out of a dunk tank.

Dane stares back at the professor with wide eyes. “Whoa…” He looks up from the display, presumably at Luigi. “Is that the stationary wizard you mentioned earlier?”

E. Gadd squawks indignantly. More gurgling laughter bubbles through the speaker, overlapped with a weary sigh.

The video suddenly jolts, and now Gooigi is taking up the frame. “I’m okay, too,” he chirps, “Thanks for asking.” A chipper bark from the off-screen Polterpup seems to mirror the sentiment (how barking can sound sarcastic, E. Gadd can’t say).

“I was making my way down the list!” E. Gadd splutters. “Besides, I knew you’d be fine. Luigi’s the danger-prone one between the two of you.”

“Remind me not to use you as a reference if I make a career change,” Luigi grumbles.

“I make no promises. Now, you four get your keesters out here post-haste! There’s a lawn full of worrywarts waiting for you.”

The camera turns back to Luigi. He seems surprised. “You’re still on-site?”

“You betcha! I thought it would be a good opportunity to test the Virtual Boo’s successor—the Scree-U!”

One of the Toads on his right does a spit-take. They are drinking a blue liquid that looks suspiciously like the chemical used to clean windows. “The what?”

“Professor,” Luigi groans, “We can’t use that name. I told you this multiple times.”

“And I still don’t understand why not.”

“Because it sounds too much like…” Luigi gesticulates vaguely. “You know.”

“No. I don’t.”

Luigi sighs. “It’s not marketable. Just trust me on this.”

“You said the same thing about the last name I suggested,” E. Gadd huffs, “The Wii-Boo.”

“Huh, that one sounds okay,” the spit-taking Toad muses. “What’s wrong with Wii-Boo?”

E. Gadd waves a hand toward his assistant, giving Luigi a pointed look. The Doogan gasps from off-screen.

“Oh…” The teen says quietly. He sounds like he’s trying not to laugh. “I get it.”

Luigi gives the professor a pointed look of his own. E. Gadd scoffs. 5

“Listen,” Luigi says, “We can workshop names later. In the meantime, professor, why don’t you look up?”

E. Gadd frowns. “Look up what?”

Luigi rolls his eyes. The camera flips, and suddenly E. Gadd is no longer seeing his young protégé, but himself, looking down at the Scree-U. The professor snaps his head up with a start. Luigi, Gooigi, Pepper, and Dane are all standing on the front porch. Luigi puts his phone away and offers E. Gadd a little wave.

“Hey, professor.”

The remaining occupants on the lawn take notice of the new arrivals. With varying cheers and exclamations, the group of teenagers rush to greet their freshly rescued friend. Dane hops off the porch to meet them. The parents follow at a more subdued pace, watching in weary relief as their children pull the Doogan into a crushing embrace. Luigi and his partners quietly skirt around the group, not wanting to interrupt the little reunion. E. Gadd fumbles to put away the Scree-U and jogs over to meet them halfway.

“Glad you could finally join us,” E. Gadd says, huffing slightly from the brief exertion. “Though you could have warned this old man that you were leaving the house.”

Luigi quirks a brow. “Could you not tell from the background in the video that we were moving?”

The professor crosses his arms, looking unimpressed. “You mean like how you were able to tell that I was outside on someone’s lawn and not in my lab?”

“…he’s got you there,” Gooigi signs.

“That I do. And you, Luigi,” E. Gadd says, waggling a finger in the plumber’s face, “got a lot of explaining to do! Just what happened in there, hm?”

Luigi’s shoulders droop with a sigh. “Professor, I’m soaking wet, I smell like burnt calamari dipped in chlorine, and I’m tired. Can the debrief wait until after I’ve showered and gotten some sleep?”

E. Gadd frowns. He doesn’t like the idea of putting things off—recounting is best done when things are still fresh, after all—but the lad does look (and smell) rather awful. Perhaps he can give Luigi a break, just this once.

“…fine,” he acquiesces, “But you’re leaving the Poltergust with me, and I want you over at my lab first thing when you wake up, understood?”

“Yeah, no problem,” Luigi says, already shrugging off the Poltergust. He sets it on the grass by the professor and pauses a moment, as if deliberating, and then holds out an old spell book (presumably the one that started this mess). “Can I leave this with you as well? It’s only temporary; I’ll take it to Merlon after our meet-up at your lab.”

“Hm… I don’t see why not.” E. Gadd accepts the book with a light shrug. He could always scan the pages into The Witch’s database in the meantime. With his free hand, he shoos Luigi away. “Now go on home and get yourself cleaned up. I’ll wrap things up here.”

Luigi hesitates. He looks to Gooigi—a silent conversation seeming to pass between them (E. Gadd was always equal parts fascinated and annoyed when the duo communicated that way).

“I’ll tell him my side of the story up through the Clubba fight,” Gooigi signs to his partner, “You can take care of the rest.”

Luigi offers the ectomorph an appreciative nod before bidding him and the professor both goodbye. Pepper trots dutifully after the lad. Luigi pauses by their mortal clients to wish them well, and is quickly swarmed by the grateful youths, much to E. Gadd’s amusement.

The professor sets the spell book down by the Poltergust and claps his hands to get the Toads’ attention. “Alright, quit yer gawping! The house is clear and we’ve got work to do. Damage assessment and clean-up teams, hop to it!”

A scramble of squeaky shoes meets the professor’s ears as his assistants rush past him. When the last spotted head disappears through the front door, E. Gadd turns and strolls to the mailbox at the property’s edge. He stops next to it and claps sharply once more. “Construction team!”

Half a dozen spirits wearing yellow hardhats suddenly appear on the visible spectrum. The closest one to the professor—a Goob with oversized headgear—waves an arm wildly in the air like a student trying to get their teacher’s attention. “Present!” they yell loudly.

E. Gadd hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “I need a few of you to help the Toads with clean-up. The rest of you are on stand-by for repairs.”

The Goob offers him a mock salute. “You got it, boss!” They turn and wave to the rest of their team. A Hammer, a Boo, and another Goob split from the group and make their way to the house.

E. Gadd watches the trio as they give the large gathering of mortals a wide berth (rather considerate of them, given what the children have been through). The Boo suddenly slows, and turns toward the crowd, a befuddled look on their face. E. Gadd follows their gaze; they’re looking at Luigi. The man is talking to some of the parents, but E. Gadd (and the Boo, for that matter) are too far away to hear the conversation. Luigi makes a slow, deliberate gesture, and then with a flick of his wrist, a business card appears in his hand. With another flick, the singular card turns into several splayed out in a fan. Luigi’s audience ‘Ooo’ and clap lightly in amusement.

E. Gadd looks back to the Boo. They are squinting at Luigi, like he’s a puzzle they can’t quite work out. Yes, E. Gadd finds his protégé’s affinity for card tricks vexing at times (and it’s why he’s vowed never to play cards with the man), but he doesn’t see what the hubbub is about. Why would sleight of hand catch a Boo’s attention? Boos can literally turn things invisible—much more impressive, in the professor’s opinion. After a moment, the Boo bobs in their equivalent of a shrug—seemingly drawing the same conclusion—and follows their companions into the house.

Hmm… odd, but Boos are odd entities, so it checks out. There’s nothing to worry about.

Nothing at all.

______________________________

It’s nearly sunrise by the time Luigi flops into bed. He had merely sighed, resigned, when he noticed the blue greys of the lightening sky as he went to draw his bedroom curtains closed. It isn’t the first time Luigi went to sleep at dawn, and it certainly won’t be the last.

A freshly bathed Pepper (much to the pup’s chagrin) is curled up at the foot of the bed, content, just as they had been mere hours ago. Luigi—also freshly bathed—is back in his spot. If not for the bone-deep exhaustion and scattering of fresh bruises, he could be convinced that he’d been home all night; that nothing had happened.

That nothing had changed. 6

Luigi frowns marginally. He eases himself up and holds out a hand, palm-up. He calls upon his Thunderhand technique and it responds in kind. Tiny arcs of electricity dance between his fingers with a blue-white glow. He snuffs it out with a clench of his fist.

Luigi glances around the room, as if checking for a potential audience. No one else is here—he knows this—but after tonight, he’s feeling unusually on-edge. All the shadows feel a little bit darker, the walls, a little closer.

He takes a deep breath and returns his gaze to his hand. He unclenches it and stares at his palm, brow furrowing as he tries to recall how he accessed that… other power. It hadn’t been a conscious action. It had felt… different—strange. Not completely unnatural, but not second nature, either; not like the Thunderhand.

Luigi thinks about the three instances when the phlox-hued energy sprung forth. All Luigi remembers is the fear, no, the anger that he had felt when he first used it. The second time might have been in response to an adrenaline spike as he pulled away from the revenants. The third time, he had been desperate. His options for neutralizing the ghost had been so severely limited, that he had fully intended to utilize the Thunderhand, even at his own risk. That was when the strange energy made itself known—like it was… for lack of a better word, volunteering.

Luigi continues to study his hand as he replays those moments once more. Not so much as a spark appears in his palm. Whatever this energy is, it doesn’t seem to be very forthcoming outside instances of stress. Perhaps emotions play a part as well? The thought is troublesome. Luigi isn’t an expert in the arcane, but he has learned enough to know that fueling one’s magic with emotions is ill-advised. Negative emotions, in particular, can lead to corruption.

A quiet boof pulls Luigi from his thoughts. He looks up to find Pepper watching him, their tail wagging with slow uncertainty. Luigi offers the spectral canine what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “I’m okay, Pepper,” he says. “I just got a lot on my mind, is all.”

The Polterpup being one of them, but considering other events, the enigma that is Pepper is quite a bit further down on the list of concerns.

Pepper stares back at Luigi, almost appraisingly. Their gently wagging tail suddenly picks up speed as they turn their focus to something over the plumber’s shoulder. Luigi’s heartrate skyrockets, and he only just keeps from whirling around in panic. He follows Pepper’s gaze at a perfectly reasonable level of urgency. The object of Pepper’s attention happens to be Luigi’s nightstand—specifically, one of the drawers.

Luigi rolls his eyes good naturedly. “Oh, alright. I suppose I did imply I’d give you one when we got back…”

Luigi leans over and pulls out a drawer. He reaches inside and feigns to dig through its contents, as if struggling to find what he is looking for. The bed is practically shaking with Pepper’s joyous anticipation. With an exaggerated cry of triumph, Luigi draws back with his prize: a large femur (one that didn’t once belong to a sapient being). He offers it to the Polterpup.

“Here you go, buddy,” he says, “You’ve more than earned it.”

Pepper whole-heartedly agrees. With a happy bark, they snatch up the bone and drag it back to their corner of the bed. Luigi fondly shakes his head as the spectral canine begins to gnaw on their treat with vigor.

Luigi turns back to the nightstand and pushes the drawer closed. As he pulls back, his eyes land on the book he had been reading a handful of hours ago. It rests innocently on the nightstand right where he had left it. He distantly notes the bookmark poking out from its pages. The page marker advertises that Luigi isn’t even a third of the way through the modest novel—he started reading it weeks ago. His painfully slow progress would typically annoy him (though it has long since become his new norm), but after tonight, Luigi finds himself oddly uncaring. He silently reaches over the neglected novel and turns off the lamp, bathing the room in darkness.

Curling up with a good book was the furthest thing from his mind.

______________________________

And it's over! After five long years, we finally get closure. Thank you to everyone who's stuck around to see this to the end. Whether you've been here from the start or just arrived, you're all awesome! This is the first long-fic I've ever completed and it's a great feeling (even if it was never meant to be this lengthy lmao) .

...but this is only the beginning. Four years ago (I still can't believe it's been that long), I got an ask that inadvertently predicted a sub-plot to this series before I had even established the groundwork. This story is the very groundwork I alluded to. Our boy Luigi has got a strange new power and needs to get a handle on it. What shenanigans is he bound for? Only time will tell~

Next week I will post story extras in a separate entry, so keep a look out! After that, I'll be working on the next installment. If all goes accordingly, we'll get to see how Luigi and King Boo first established this strange little truce of theirs.

Until then!

__

1. So much for the vengeful, undead army. Looks like Merlich had been bluffing after all (but is it really that big of a shocker that he is a lying liar who lies?). In an earlier version of this chapter's outline, I was going to keep the Dry Horde kicking, only they wouldn't have been hostile towards Luigi and company now that Merbitch wasn't around to control them. I eventually came to the conclusion that letting the Horde "die" and move on would be a kinder fate.

-

2. This well-meaning gesture may end up causing Luigi as much trouble as it saves him. King Boo certainly won't be happy to find this magic equivalent of a "Do Not Touch" sign on his arch-nemesis lol 

-

3. This scene was also in the earlier draft where the horde "lives", but instead of just a femur, Pepper is dragging along a very distressed Dry Bones. It made for a funnier image and is something I lament losing in the final work.

-

4. In the original draft, Luigi lets Dane perform the spell, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized how irresponsible this would be (especially with how much emphasis I've placed on the volatility of teleportation magic). I ended up liking this version a lot more anyway. After all the tip-toeing around the spell book, Luigi is finally able to handle it without being plagued by horrible unease. It's good for our boy to have some positive interactions with magical texts.

-

5. A joke isn't funny if you have to explain it blah blah blah whatever. In case it's not clear, "Scree-U" kinda sounds like "screw you" when said fast enough, and "Wii-Boo" kinda sounds like "weeaboo" (that one's more of a stretch but idc lol). ...oh god I just thought of a Boo character named WeeaBoo HELP 

-

6. Someone once asked me what was Luigi's most impactful job, and while I didn't have a definitive answer, I had replied that this sleepover fiasco was certainly high on the list. Now, all this time later, we finally see why. 

[costhursdays]

With the group finally making it to Vallaki and in turn, the Blue Water Inn, everyone but Cash took a moment to observe the sight before them before sitting down. At the bar was an attractive older woman who had an air of command to her, to the right was a couple of gentlemen who were being anything but to the waitress, in the center of the room were two people watching a leggy blond half elf tell a story about the time he met a half orc woman who could bite through iron chains, and to the left of those were two dour looking gentlemen keeping an eye on two small children who were darting around the establishment like they owned the place. The barkeeper introduced herself as Danika, one of the owners of the establishment, and if any of the group would like a glass of wine. Everyone present save for Chiaroscuro and Alexir took Danika up on her offer, and as they were most sitting down with their glasses of Red Dragon Crush, Cash made the sconce and candelabra lights flicker with Thaumaturgy as he entered the room. He was chastised a bit by Danika, and while he assuaged her fears that the lights would stay on, the group all started to wade out and find their own sort of niche seats, Kenshi and Ireena at the bar, Nick at the table with the half elf, and Chiaroscuro and Alexir at a large table. Cash, after getting a glass of wine for himself, sauntered over to the two men harassing the waitress.

Nick talking with the three at the table learned that the Half Elf was a Bard named Rictavio, who was staying at the inn on an extended stay, the gentleman to his side was Vasili von Holtz, and the woman was a strong blacksmith named Mira who was originally from Krezk but had been in Vallaki studying under excellent tutelage of Arasek, a tradesman in town. Rictavio had an air for the dramatic, and while talking with Nick, looked out the window as he saw the already bleak sky darken, and rushed out with a wolf steak and two apples in hand. While this happened, Cash chatted with the two men, to find they were Nikolai and Karl Wachter, two noblemen who were anything but. They were already drunk and had been making passes at the waitstaff all night, and Cash managed to impress him with his musical talents enough for a free drink or two.

Dinner was Wolf Steak for the grand majority of the group and Borscht for Chiaroscuro, with Kenshi eating two steaks practically rare. Asking Danika for any information she might have as a barkeep, she hemmed and hawed over the new festival coming up in town, how it was a silly thing as they were just cleaning up from last festival. She also spoke of a few things from the other towns, one being the news from the town of Barovia that there was a serial killer afoot, a person known as the Ripper who had been rumored nearly 20 miles over. She also spoke on Krezk, how it had been unusually silent as of late, but Krezk was also quite insular so it could be nothing.

Chiaroscuro made idle conversation with Alexir, wondering to how his background went, and Alexir explained how shifters are and commented on how Strahd was the cause of his whole family's death. Kenshi sat and listened with rapt attention, soon after looking up as Rictavio returned, steakless and apple shorn, out of breath with a cut on his cheek that had not been there prior.

Cash asked about the Wachter brother's past, and they rather curtly told of their mother, Fiona Wachter, how she was a noble woman in town, and how they're out of the house because she constantly had her book club coming and going and they were sick of it. Chiaroscuro asked Danika if she knew anything of the area discussing the tower he had been told of for his fortune, but she questioned which tower, as there was one that was to the west of the town that had been there for as long as she could remember, and then there was the new one that sprung up a little while ago to the east, nigh on fully formed and looking indescribable upon viewing it over the horizon.

Looking him up and down, Cash was easily able to determine that Rictavio was a bard here, and he questioned the cut upon his cheek. He explained it was probably from rushing over here, as he had been visiting his friend the poor, destitute toy maker. Chiaroscuro and Nick looked intrigued at the thought of a toy maker, but Rictavio commented that the items that Blinksy made were rather... questionable. One of the children practically popped out of nowhere and showed Kenshi one of the toys he had from Blinksy, a bat taxidermy that had been fashioned into a marionette with strings. Kenshi was delighted at the sight, happily taking the toy for himself when offered it.

Nick asked where Vasili, the sad, quiet man sitting and drinking with Mira and Rictavio, was from, and he explained he was from Vallaki but traveled a lot lately due to his brother being locked away for accidentally killing Vasili's betrothed. Nick didn't fully trust this story, but nothing seemed amiss from Vasili's words, and they didn't know the history of the country, or town for that matter.

The Wachter Brothers had made a bet saying if Cash could impress them, they'd pay for their stay in the inn tonight, and Cash delivered with a rightfully impressive display of his Bard skills, leaving the room astonished and Rictavio incredibly impressed.

“Well, the lot you see before you. A mixture of fur and horn.

We came her from far about upon some foggy morn.

The doctor standing there behind me. Lacking beside manner and tact?

Has claws as sharp as his wits and is always primed for the attack.

The fellow there with chest bare and with ears that twitch and thwip?

Why had I not seen it myself I would hardly believe it but he slayed a bloodsucker with a whip.

And this one besides me, with eyes blocked by glass?

A blade of magic, thrown about, can easily kick ones ass.

Over there, with many eyes, staring the whole group down?

Why he's got magic of such power and flame that it is of some great renown.

And me? Why there's nothing to say. Merely some lad from Waterdeep.

Though, I hate to brag. My own magic can put a few down for a permanent sleep.” (Credit to @lonestarcelt)

Not long after Rictavio, Vasili, and the two Wachter brothers started to head to their own places for the night, Cash following the brothers as the rest of the group took two rooms for themselves. Nick and Ireena in one small room together, and Chiaroscuro, Kenshi, and Alexir took another, with a spare bed in there for Cash. Thankfully he had that bed, as when he approached the Wachterhaus, he was rebuffed at the door by one of the butlers that Lady Wachter employs. The butler, looking down to Cash, gave him the suggestion that he choose better companions than the young masters of the house, and sent him home. Cash memorized the directions to the manor on his way back to the Inn.

Upon everyone finally settling down for bed, Chiaroscuro left a bit more of the preserved sheep's intestines out next to his lamp, and Nick helped a drunken Ireena into her bed, and began to write in their journal. A restful night was necessary after the day they've had.

[autumnalwalker]

Find The Word Tag

Thank you for the tag, @cljordan-imperium.

My assigned words are: excuse, tactic, bubble, vertical, & ribbon.

Passing the tag to @fearofahumanplanet, @dontjudgemeimawriter, @ceph-the-ghost-writer, and @writingpotato07. As well as the usual open tag for anyone else who may wish to join in.

Your words shall be: sweet, grow, enough, curiosity, & form

Excuse: Empty Names, in-progress side story

The Rogue had one particular item in the castle they were looking for.  They had always heard of cake, and had often even gotten as close as smelling its sweet aroma from a bakery’s window, but they had never had it themself.  But by all accounts it was a treat, this “cake,” and surely the Princess’s nameday cake must be the finest of them all.  And besides, they’d been looking for an excuse to break into the castle for some time.  They would have done so eventually, just to see if they could, but if there was cake to be had, all the sweeter.

Tactic: Empty Names, Chapter 2

The necromancer wastes no words as he charges the wizard.  As he runs, his other arm shreds its sleeve as it bulks up and grows talons over its fingers.  A morbid parody of dance ensues back and forth across the stage.  The necromancer rains down crushing blows and Ashan casually deflects them with shields that flicker in and out of existence.  More spikes erupt from below and Ashan gracefully sidesteps.  The necromancer’s face twists in rage and Ashan’s remains placid.

Eventually, the necromancer grows frustrated with this game and changes tactics.  He extends the tendril of his right arm once more, sending it plunging toward the one audience member still seated.  Ashan makes a slashing motion with the wand followed by an upward flick and a wall of what looks like glass rises to cut the stage off from the rest of the room.  The tendril crumples on itself as it slams into the newmade wall.  

Bubble: Empty Names, Chapter 4

The labyrinthian halls of Bridgewood Manor are dimly lit at night by flickering blue-white flames bereft of both smoke and heat; tamed into regularly-spaced sconces and trained to ignite when approached and extinguish when left behind.  The result is a system delightful in its needless complexity, like so many of Carnette’s creations.  The lighting used to be brighter and more even but, like so many of Carnette’s creations, Sullivan still hasn’t figured out how to maintain it properly without her.

This is how he spends his nights, in lieu of sleep, in a bubble of light drifting through dark corridors.  Or at least, how he spends his nights when he’s at home and not out diving headfirst into whatever hedonistic pit he can find.  Some nights these walks have a purpose.  Mapping architecture that no longer shifts at its mistress’s command.  Identifying the hidden passages she never got around to showing him.  Finding ways into rooms she left locked.  Other nights the walking is an act of meditation.  Step after step, focusing on the void outside the bubble of light, and clearing his mind.  It’s not sleep, but it’s close enough.

Vertical: The Archivist's Journal, Day 60

Initially, I stuck to the shallows, some primal fear keeping me from swimming out over spaces where I couldn’t see the bottom.  Eventually I worked up the proper mix of curiosity and courage though.  Mostly by not looking down until I was out over the center.  Once I did, it was equal parts unsettling and awe-inspiring.  Spiraling down below me, swimming in great layered circles were schools of fish in greater quantity and variety of species than I would have imagined in an isolated body of water like this.  Long plants lined the not quite vertical walls the slope had turned into, waving like streamers in the flow of the prevailing upward current.  And yet still, situated near directly over the center with the sun not long past its noontime zenith I could not make out a bottom.  Surely it must stretch down below sea level at a bare minimum.

Ribbon: The Archivist's Journal, Day 55

After that exchange we continued to sit on the porch and watch the mists until the sun began to go down.  We actually saw another distant giant, although this one was different from the last one I’d seen in everything but scale and sluggish pace.  This one was serpentine in form and drifted through the air.  Dozens of long, thin appendages trailed down behind it, writhing as the giant twisted its way through the sky.  Or at least, I interpreted them as trailing ribbons.  To Maiko’s eyes they were spindly legs connecting the creature to the ground.  Hard to truly say one way or the other, obscured as it was.

[honorhearted]

Why not leave this life behind?

Fantine's words haunted Benjamin long into the night, shrouding him like a cloak of darkness. Why not leave, he wondered? He was doing this for a friend, yes, but was he truly serving any real purpose here in France?

No, he realized. He could never leave. The ghosts of his failures -- of his men and friends -- clung to him like tendrils of seaweed, pulling him down, down, down into the briny depths of his despair. So much so that Benjamin awoke from his futile sleep with a sharp gasp of breath, jerking upright onto his elbows and drawing air into his lungs with several short, shallow pants.

It's not real, he reassured himself. None of this is real...

But it was. God, it was! He had failed his friends, and he had failed his men, and now some of them were lost to him in mind, if not spirit; the guilt was always exceptionally crushing to him in the dark of night.

Realizing that his bedding had tangled around his legs, Benjamin frantically kicked himself free and half-rolled, half-fell out of bed, his weight catching against his palms before he shakily stumbled to his feet. Out, out, he needed to get out!

Practically ripping the door off its hinges, Benjamin barreled out into the hallway, his bare feet padding briskly across the cool hardwood flooring. His path was illuminated by a few candles in sconces, and just as he reached the end of the corridor, he gave a soft cry once he thudded into a familiar figure.

"Fantine," he choked, hating how weak and strangled his voice sounded. Head swirling with the dizzying, nauseating blend of his past versus the present, he swallowed back bile and exhaled. "Are you lost?"

She looked waifish and small -- far more-so than usual -- and holding his hands aloft, if only to prove his intent of no harm, he awkwardly gestured and said, "I was just...taking a walk."

Clearly, neither of them were just enjoying the hallway. There was a strange pallor to Fantine's face, and taking a step back, if only to give her proper room to breathe, Benjamin asked, "I could call for someone, if you'd like? To fetch you a glass of water, milk, or rum?"

"More like a warning parents use for their daughters. An example of what not to do." There was no equivalent for their sons; the worst they could do was marry beneath their station— it was more noble to leave women like herself behind and uphold the family name and reputation. Of course, it was always the woman's fault.

It scared her, to think about learning to read. How much of what she had paid to be read to her was accurate, or did the scrivener take her for a fool, too? She still had the letters from the Thénardiers. Curiosity would make her wish to read them herself, regardless of whether or not it was a good idea. "Why not leave this life behind?" she asked, puzzled by what appeared to be the man's dislike of spying. "Return to teaching— it clearly makes you happier than whatever this charade does."

His brushing off of her apology was expected, but she would leave it for now. Emotions were high despite the weariness making eyelids heavy. "I think whatever book you suggest will work. After all, I can't say I'm particularly knowledgeable about enjoyable reads."

Fantine allowed herself to burrow further down into the blankets, her head resting against pillows she was sure must be duck feathers or similar. Her arms pulled Cosette into her, her nose buried against the girl's hair as if trying to memorise her scent should they be parted again. "Thank you. Not just for that, but her. Goodnight, Monsieur."

_________________________________________

Of course, she wished for nothing more than to greet a climbing sun at dawn, but despite luxury comforts, Fantine woke with a jolt. Any benefits of her bath had been undone in sweat; she fought blankets off skin as the few, remaining feeling of fingers around wrists lingered from her dreams.

Cosette remained sleeping, thankfully unaware of her mother's night terrors. She has thought, foolishly so, that once she had left that life then it would no longer have any power over her.

Instead, she remained statuesque, her breath shallow as if waiting for a man to take her unaware.

Eventually, she managed to move frozen limbs. With a kiss to Cosette's forehead, Fantine allowed bare feet to find the floor. It was her only comfort; the only tether to this world and not succumbing to the horrors of the subconscious. And so she walked, out of her bedroom and along silent corridors. She had realised too late that doing such would be a mistake— she wasn't sure she'd find her way back to the correct room, but at least for now she could concentrate on the ground beneath her feet.

[bathroomrenovationscairns]

Tips for Designing a New Bathroom

A fresh new bathroom can bring a welcome boost to your home’s value. Whether you’re updating a family bath or converting an ensuite, a few key design decisions will help you create the bathroom of your dreams.

Start by gathering ideas from interior magazines and websites. Store them in a folder on your phone or tablet so that they’re handy when you make your final decisions.

Layout

Bathrooms are one of the most important rooms in a home for resale value and getting them right is an essential part of home design. The first step is to consider what you want your bathroom to look like and make sure you have a clear idea of the layout.

If there are existing plumbing pipes that cannot be moved, a good designer can help to find smart ways of working around them. They might use a wall-mounted sink that can be mounted to the wall or create a corner shower enclosure with a window on a side of the room.

Another way to maximize space is to incorporate a generous private space for the toilet, as illustrated here by this simple layout. The use of a pocket door here saves space that would otherwise be wasted on the swing of a conventional door.

Lighting

A bathroom is more than a functional space; it’s also a chance to evoke your style. Having the right lighting scheme can transform a room from utilitarian to a cozy retreat.

A good lighting plan uses a combination of ambient, accent, and task lights to illuminate the entire bathroom. Ambient lights are usually found in ceiling-mounted fixtures and can be used to make the room feel bigger or brighter.

For bathrooms with showers and tubs, use recessed wet location lighting to provide safe, bright light for tasks. Accent lighting can be anything from a light shining on a piece of artwork to a wash of LEDs under vanities that highlight beautifully textured tile.

Pretty bathroom wall sconces, positioned on either side of a mirror, create a shadow-free, flattering light for applying makeup or shaving. Layers of lighting on dimmer switches give you the flexibility to switch between the bright light needed for cleaning and softer levels for creating a mood.

Materials

The materials you choose to use in your new bathroom will have a huge impact on the space’s style. Your design preferences will heavily influence what you pick, so take the time to think long and hard about your vision. When you meet with your custom home contractor, bring along inspiration images to help both parties get on the same page.

Wall materials should be moisture resistant to prevent things like mold, mildew and rot. Typically, tile is the best choice for walls because it’s decorative, easy to clean and comes in a variety of shape, size and color options.

For countertops, crushed glass is gaining popularity. Encased in clear acrylic or embedded in concrete, the material creates a unique look that’s sure to impress.

Finishes

The fixtures that you select—from faucets to tubs and showers—are what set the tone for your bathroom. Choose from a range of colors and finishes, including brushed nickel, chrome, bronze, oil-rubbed, or hammered.

Sink materials can include vitreous china, enamel, glass or concrete; tubs can be made of acrylic, fiberglass or cast iron; and showers are usually constructed of tempered glass, tile or stone. These elements can be used to elevate your bathroom from functional to luxurious.

Mixing metal finishes is a popular trend that works well in many styles. Whether you prefer chrome for its brightness, nickel for its cool silver look or hammered for its rough texture, it’s important to choose a finish that’s durable and easy to clean. This is especially true for the shower/tub, where water and moisture can easily stain the surface.

Accessories

When it comes to finishing a bathroom design, accessories can add both function and personality. Choose a stylish bath set that includes a toothbrush holder, soap dispenser and tray. These pieces can be coordinated in a single material or color to create a consistent look.

Consider also adding a storage basket or bin under the sink, which can hold extra toilet paper rolls, hot hair tools and guest toiletries. Woven baskets, such as those made from natural palm leaf or jute, offer a simple, organic touch and are available in various sizes.

Finally, add a decorative accent like a ceramic trinket tray or framed piece of artwork to the wall. But be careful when selecting art for bathrooms, as these spaces are usually smaller and require a more delicate approach to decorating.

source https://bathroomrenovationscairns.wordpress.com/2023/07/02/tips-for-designing-a-new-bathroom/

[decordreamscom]

Luca Nichetto designed the new Venetian boutique Barovier & toso. It is located on the most famous street of fashion and luxury shopping, Calle Larga XXII Marzo, a few steps from Piazza San Marco. In this small space, Niketto made an impressive installation - bright green Murano glass flowers are visible from a block away. The boutique has become a precious showcase where the historical heritage of one of the oldest factories in the world, founded in 1295, is cleverly played up. In contrast to the multi-storey Palazzo Barovier & Toso, created in Murano a few years ago, the emphasis here is on a compact display installation, rather than interior decoration. The Flower&Flutter composition looks like a spring meadow - standard chandelier parts, which craftsmen have been making in Murano workshops for centuries, have been attached to metal rods. This approach aimed to change the point of view, to turn elements that are usually overhead so that they can be examined in detail. The color was chosen from the existing palette of the factory - the main requirement was its versatility and brightness. Luca Nichetto talks about the choice of materials: “The architecture of the boutique is based on the repetition of the beamed ceiling motif typical of Venice. All niches where vases and sconces were placed are arranged as a continuation of these beams, but only on the walls. These arches give a sense of depth. Travertine was used to emphasize the historical significance of the factory. The combination of materials is a harmonious combination of Venetian terrazzo, finished in soft colors on one side and modern smoothed concrete on the other side. “Our installation is a metaphor for the art of glasswork and the brand's corporate identity. Our goal was to convey that, like plants growing from soil, glass objects sprout from fertile quartz soil - in this case, we used a layer of crushed glass. At the top, we added glass butterflies and other decorative elements to celebrate the intricate craftsmanship of traditional Venetian chandeliers. The monochrome palette emphasizes the materiality of the glass. The boutique is conceived as a jewel,” Nichetto says.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

twelve hours, m | jjk | ... and now

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: You have twelve hours to make Jeon Jungkook fall in love with you. He's about to get married. You're the entertainment at his bachelor party - a burlesque dancer. Long ago, he used to be the class representative and you used to be the class delinquent. Nothing has changed and, yet, everything has.

this is part ii | click here for part i | total wc: 23k

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; this story contains parental child abuse and graphic violence, including the reader becoming physically scarred and having panic attacks; rich, this bachelor party is on a fuckin' YACHT, the best man is LOADED; JK and reader interacted in high school; angst and fluff and feels; cheating; this is mostly smut XD; (in part i) high school smut + intense adult smut (fem reader, striptease, semi-public sex at school, nipple play (he's a bit obsessed with them), dry humping, m-masturbation, handjob, cumming on tits (and diamonds), cum-eating, mirror kink, spitting, tit fucking, m-receiving oral, scratching / biting / marking, penetrative sex, doggy); shifts back and forth between Jungkook’s POV and your POV

non-idol!AU; film director!Jungkook x wealthy, burlesque dancer!reader — ft best man, art trader!Kim Taehyung; dancer's bodyguard!Kim Namjoon and bodyguard!Kim Seokjin

> eyebrow pierced, tattooed, and long black-haired JK (with undercut) in a black suit because that's what we need in this life > look for TXT's 'you and me and the sky at 5:53' :)

--

time left: 06:49

No.

Don’t leave me.

It was the same then as it was now.

Jungkook reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her back to him. Her eyes widened, pivoting quickly on her toe, snapping her heel down and cutting the turn short, black skirt flaring out. The swift glimpse of her legs in the high slit, the gentle bounce of her breasts in the slinky fabric. Her manicured hair bounced, dyed blue-black and giving her skin a surreal quality.

He held on.

Please don’t disappear.

“What?”

Her brows knitted together. She didn’t pull her arm away, but she was steadfast in her posture, not letting him push her around. Not that he ever could.

“He asked me to escort you back,” Jungkook found himself saying. “If not for your sake, then for his peace of mind. I don’t want to be a liar.”

Her features softened.

His fingers around her arm, touching that soft skin once more.

I care. I care a lot.

Jungkook realized that, in a way, he had never moved past those classrooms, those touches, those kisses, those moments.

“You can let go now.”

She said it patiently. Always patient with him despite his overzealous and sometimes clumsy antics, putting up with it even when she didn’t have to. He looked into those eyes and found those walls were falling away, little by little. Winged liner, red lipstick, it didn’t matter, it was the same expression, defiant eyes and hint of a scowl on those lips. Ready to fight, but not him.

She was always a fighter and the opponent was always life itself.

“I don’t want to let go.”

He didn’t expect himself to say the truth, but he did.

She smirked, reaching up, her fingers covering his tattoos for a moment, placing them on the back of his hand. This warmth. This feeling. It was not the same as the rest, and he knew that now.

“Hm, well, you must realize this looks a bit awkward. You wouldn’t want to give anyone the wrong impression, would you?”

Wouldn't want someone to see you talking to me, right?

“You will let me escort you?” he insisted.

She pried his hand from her arm and lowered it, turning the other way.

“You are welcome to do as you like. I won’t stop you, golden boy.”

-

time left: 06:41

He followed you, surrounded by moonlight reflecting off water.

It streamed through the windows, lighting the red carpeted hall along with the dim sconces. You found yourself stepping in each lighted square, avoiding the thin dark beams of the windows, a little game for yourself, like how children avoided the cracks in the concrete sidewalks, except you were on a lavish yacht wearing Louboutins with a handsome man in step behind you.

It was quiet and yet it wasn’t. Small sounds, footsteps, distant muffles of talking through the walls, the faint sound of bass as you walked away from the party, the sound of the ocean ever present, your own breathing.

Jungkook’s breathing.

Familiar.

Once yours.

You looked to your right, to the window, seeing his reflection. His profile, hands in his pockets, tattooed arm standing out against the black background of his clothes, dressed formally but always a bit sheepish about it, as if he wasn’t sure if it looked good on him, but it always did, even the school uniform. He still had the youthfulness about him, even as a man.

Your eyes found his and he was watching your face in the glass of the window.

You stopped abruptly, pivoting on one heel to face him.

Impulse.

Your younger self would have bristled, glaring, accusing the eyes and snapping, what are you looking at?

Jungkook started, realizing you had noticed, and tripped, his black hair suddenly disturbed and tumbling over his eyes as he struggled to catch himself, hands flying out of his pockets.

You caught one, lacing your fingers with his, and gripped tightly, yanking up.

He righted himself, gasping. Looking up, bent over and long legs awkward, somewhat like a fawn trying to get on its legs for the first time. Those big brown eyes, parted pink lips. Familiar.

Your joined hands fell exactly where the window beam was, shrouded in shadow.

“Something on your mind?” you chuckled, shaking your head.

He straightened. You loosened your grip on his hand, but he held on. You frowned slightly, raising your brows.

He swallowed hard.

“Can I hold your hand? Please.”

Back then, you would hold his hand, hiding behind corners and dashing past, holding your breath, light steps, leaping from shadow to shadow, bodies close, breath mixing. Showing him all the secrets of the school that you had found while wandering, a fun little game with a reward at the end, school uniform being shed, skin to skin, his body against yours, his heartbeat in time with yours, his lips on yours.

You shrugged and turned back around, his hand tightly around yours.

-

time left: 06:35

Jungkook held her hand.

In an instant, he looked down, staring at their joined hands.

This was different.

And then he saw them.

Scars, all over the back of her hand. He could feel the scar tissue on her palms too, lines on her fingers even though she was holding him loosely. He had memorized every centimeter of her beautiful hands from back then, and these lines were not here before. These were not scars from living life. These had been cuts, healed now, unseen from far away and even up close. Perhaps they had been filled in with tattoo ink in a color to match her skin tone so they were less noticeable.

No one would know unless they were holding her hand or looking for it.

Without knowing it, Jungkook clutched her hand tighter, a sudden ache in his chest.

He had found bruises on her sometimes.

I fell down the stairs. It's nothing.

He had found welts.

Stupid fight with some dumbass.

He had found a criss-cross pattern of cuts on her leg.

I tried to jump over a fence and fucked up.

He glanced at her other hand loosely by her side. The same. He could even see her palm and there were many, many lines, all over her palm, healed cuts. Drugs? But he knew it wasn’t. Not because he had a romanticized idea of who she would be in his head, but because that was the nice answer.

That was the reasonable answer.

“Oh!”

“Excuse me, miss.”

His eyes flickered upward to see a young woman in a short midnight blue dress pausing, looking from her to him, cheeks flushed, not being subtle about it. The glittery fabric picked up the moonlight, accenting her curves and long legs. Pretty.

But not sensual.

Not immaculate.

Not teasing and sculptural.

The grip on his hand tightened so much that he inhaled sharply, fingers nearly crushed by her hold.

“Have a nice evening,” the woman in black purred, edge of ice indicating the stranger to move along, or, more accurately, fuck right off.

Jungkook knew he shouldn’t, and yet.

His heart skipped two beats as she dragged him along.

He had no problem looking away from the other woman and fixate on the back of that neatly pinned, blue-black hair, graceful shoulders, corseted waist, swaying hips.

And her hand in his, not letting go.

-

time left: 06:22

“This is it.”

You turned to see Jungkook looking around, mouth open, gawking at the entrance of the intricately carved wooden door. It was one of the grander, first-class rooms. The red doors were much farther apart and the sconces here were glided with glass-blown lampshades, casting swirls of orange across the white walls, dimmed now from the late night.

“It was nice to see you again.”

It was, even with the bitter taste in your mouth that seemed to linger.

His eyes came back to you, dark brown and clear, focused on only your face, long black strands framing his cheeks, the small mole underneath his lower lip trembling.

“I hope you have your happiness now, Jungkook.”

You did.

You felt a strange, unmovable pressure on your chest. The time wasn’t up yet. You could still try. You could keep your hold on his hand and drag him into the room and hold him close to you, skin to skin, lips on his, and show him all you’ve learned. You could. You could see it in those eyes. He would follow you now, maybe because of the alcohol, maybe for old times sake, maybe out of impulse and bad choices.

You let go.

You let go, because you didn’t want to be a bad choice.

Not to him, Jeon Jungkook.

“You were my small happiness, back then,” you said softly, feeling yourself smile.

It was better not to have regrets. At the time, even you didn’t know how important he had been. The thought of being withdrawn from that school and not being able to see him again made you fight back for once, and it ended in the very thing you didn’t want. It fucked up your hands, it fucked up your life, but somehow you found yourself here now, in expensive clothes on an expensive boat with expensive tastes, able to make a choice between selfishness or selflessness.

Maybe you hadn’t changed much after all, since you found yourself choosing the latter.

You turned away and pulled your hand out of his.

Or would have, if Jungkook hadn’t grasped your hand tighter, yanking you back and shoving you against the door of your suite. Your hand automatically raised to push him back, but he put his whole weight on your body, sandwiching you between the door and himself, making you gasp, trapped between dead timber and muscular hardness.

Now his face was in your face, breathing hard, dark brown orbs shaking and shining with wetness.

You froze, lips parting.

“You were my happiness too.”

He was panting, warm exhale on your lips.

“Not a small happiness. The happiness.”

He squeezed your hand like you were going to disappear.

“I didn’t know then, but I do now,” Jungkook shuddered, towering over you even in your heels. He stared into your eyes. “Your smile.”

You blinked slowly, confused.

“Your smile. I’ve never seen it reach your eyes.”

Heart racing, suddenly breathless.

“Except when you thought I couldn’t see, like when my back was turned or my face was turned away from you,” he whispered, leaning his forehead against yours, long black hair curtaining your faces, sending you back to the shadows. “I saw it though, in reflections. In windows. In mirrors. In those beakers in the science room.”

Was that so? Had that been you? You made it a point not to smile back then, because there had been nothing to smile about. But maybe… maybe when eyes weren’t on you, maybe when you yourself didn’t notice, but, somehow, Jungkook had noticed.

You realized that your introspection had diverted your attention from him, so you made eye contact again, airless at his closeness. Your eyes and his, lost in sweet dreams.

“I want to kiss you.”

He tilted his head and hesitated.

“I want to kiss you all the time,” he said to your lips.

His expression was clouded with shame. It was ugly. It made his handsome features ugly and you didn’t like that. You wanted to make it go away. You closed more distance, fingers pressing down on the back of his hand, your other hand raising and resting on his hip, lashes lowering.

“Then kiss me,” you said to his lips.

-

time left: 06:13

Jungkook kissed her.

From then and now, it was the same.

Euphoria.

But this time, it wasn’t clumsy with colliding teeth and too much tongue that did nothing, sloppy with no purpose. This time, his lips were soft at first and so were hers, breathing in each other’s scent. She smelled warm and musky, like blackberry and evergreens, expensive and lush, but somehow still her, still that girl from back then, comforting and intense, sometimes with the hint of metallic blood, but that never bothered him. Her hand on his hip, stroking it under the layers of fabric, making him shiver, caressing the back of his hand with her fingertips, delicate sigh in his mouth.

The faintest flicker of tongue on the edge of her upper lip, swiping down into his open mouth.

He moaned, feeling the strong wet muscle thrust into his lips, coaxing his tongue, teasing, pressing her body to his, breasts against his chest, their deep open necklines exchanging heat in the air between their skin but not quite touching, and he found himself letting go of her hand, reaching up to grab her breasts.

Her fingers closed around his wrists, forcing him to stop.

He gasped in her mouth, eyes opening.

“They’re not stress balls, Jungkook,” she snickered.

He was breathing hard, ribcage shuddering, heartbeat thundering in his ears, getting louder as he realized her red lipstick was a little messed up, feeling the stickiness on his own lips.

“You need to slow down. You can’t just grope me out in the open.”

His impatience spoke for him.

“Why not?”

His voice was low, octave deepened from lust.

Her lips curved into an amused smirk. “Oh? You have changed. You used to be so worried about someone seeing us. If anything, you should be more worried now, considering your beloved.”

“She’s not my beloved.”

She was still holding his wrists, but her head tilted, watching his eyes carefully. He sucked in a shuddering breath, feeling the guilt.

“We… we thought it would be a good idea. Because our friends told us we look nice together. It would help her career. I wouldn’t have to invest too much into it.”

He felt ashamed, but he didn’t look away because he didn’t want her to think he was lying.

“I never found a smile like yours. I accepted that I never would.”

Her eyes darkened.

“It’s dangerous, Jungkook. Ill-advised.”

He smiled and he didn’t know if it reached his eyes because his vision was blurry.

But he knew it wasn’t a lie.

“You always were. I should have chased you to the ends of the earth, even if you were only a ghost.”

He lifted his hands, hers with his, and cupped her face, running his fingertips over her cheeks, smooth and soft skin, transported back to that moment in the abandoned literature club room, her face cast in an orange glow, actually swirls from glass-blown sconces, but the past and present connected, turning it into rays from the setting sun that lit up her features, and he said what he had said then, because it was the truth.

“You’re really pretty.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“You are.”

He leaned forward and kissed the side of her lips gently.

She chuckled.

“You really are something, Jeon Jungkook.”

Her hands let go and she reached into the deep neckline of her dress, plucking something from the corset. His eyes widened as she pulled out the key card from between her breasts, smirk dancing on her lips. She winked at him.

“A lady has many hiding places.”

She flicked her wrist and inserted it into the door, unlocking it without looking.

The door opened and they stepped into her room.

-

time left: 06:02

“Hnnnnnnngh…”

“Dude can snore.”

“Help me turn him to his side. Don’t want him to vomit in his mouth and asphyxiate,” Kim Namjoon grunted, helped by Kim Seokjin, jerking Kim Taehyung’s body to the side. They backed up and Taehyung immediately flopped to his back, snoring away.

Seokjin thinned his mouth into a line. “Seriously?”

“Ah, here, let’s roll up the towels and use them to prop him up.”

“He’s not as cute as she is.”

“Well, she also doesn’t get piss drunk... ever.”

“Still a better cuddle buddy. Comes with built-in pillows.”

Namjoon blinked at Seokjin and shook his head, letting the odd comment slide. They managed to jam the bath towels next to Taehyung and force him to lay on his side, placing a pillow in his arms that he immediately hugged, squeezing it tightly. The snoring lessened as well.

“Guess we should go back,” Namjoon sighed, rubbing the back of his short hair.

Seokjin scoffed. “No, we shouldn’t. They’re probably all over each other as we speak.”

Namjoon frowned, raised an eyebrow at the other man. “Really? I don’t know. She seemed very hesitant about it. She said she didn’t love him.”

Seokjin snorted, somehow still elegant with his handsome face. “You really believe that?”

“That’s what she said.”

Seokjin rolled his eyes. “That’s what everybody says when they don’t want to admit they’re in love with someone.”

“That’s also what people say when they are, factually, not in love with someone.”

The black-haired man raised his hands and held up his index fingers, wriggling them in the air and bending them ninety-degrees, squiggling them around each other and poking the tips together repeatedly. Namjoon blinked at him.

“What are you doing?”

Seokjin rolled his eyes as if it was despairingly obvious what he was doing. “A visual representation of what they’re doing right now.”

Namjoon contorted his face in confusion, raising an eyebrow.

“… Becoming worms…?”

Seokjin groaned. “Having sex, Namjoon.”

“… How is that…?”

-

time left: 05:53

The door to his dreams unsealed and they tumbled inside.

The orange glow of the hallway lights spilled into the room, bleeding into the cool glow that came from the open windows, curtains pulled back to reveal the shimmering sea and bright moon, a contrast of artificial dusk and true nightfall. She pulled him in by his belt, hooking two fingers under the leather, step by sweeping step, grace that made him breathless, orange and silver and shadow, all mixing together, and then the door closed and then the sea and the moon replaced the sunset dreams.

It was a heavy thunk, closing with finality.

The room had many ornate mirrors in it to make the room seem bigger. The had gold vintage frames of different shapes and sizes, reflecting the contents of the room, the large bed and red silk sheets, the black leather chairs and black marble table bolted down to the floor, the matching marble vanity laid out with several black leather cosmetic bags, all zipped up neatly. The had small details on them – red zippers, silver locks, the designer logo engraved into the leather. The suitcases leaning against the wall matched the cosmetic bags, three of them, one larger than the first two.

Jungkook breathed her name, raising his hand, fingers spread.

Her fingertips touched his, halting him.

“Let me do it.”

He spied his expression in one of the mirrors.

The silver moonlight lit up his face and his eyes, reflecting the lust and trust in them.

He looked back to her and nodded.

“Okay.”

Glamour. Fantasy. Descent.

That was the only way he could describe the way she moved, glamour in the way her hand slowly retreated from his, a steady wave and sweep, clearly deliberate. Even in smeared lipstick, the small smirk was present on those lips, stepping around him with a swing of her hips and gentle clicks of her black patent leather heels, the slinky fabric flowing with her actions and also clinging to her body at the same time, using the arc of her stride to spread open the high slit. Letting him watch. He almost turned to follow but she placed a few fingers on his arm, purring softly.

“Don’t move.”

Fantasy, the way she slipped behind him like a shadow, and then Jungkook had to look up into the mirrors, catching glimpses of her behind him. There was no music, but she moved as if there was. If anything, the sound of the waves seemed to form its own music, and he was suddenly more aware of it, the splashes against the hull of the boat mixing with the bass of his heartbeat and the wispiness of her breath, stepping up behind him, body heat making him gasp, looking into a mirror to his left, a window illuminating his right, her hands slipping between the space of his ribs and upper arms, fingers spread like wings, warm exhale on his neck.

No words.

Just a simple kiss to the base of his head and her lips murmuring his name on his skin.

Descent.

One by one, teasing the buttons apart, her fingers ghosting the exposed skin, his heart racing as he watched those hands, peeling apart the button placket, unwrapping him like a decadent sweet. He watched his own expression framed by long curls of black, his teeth sinking into his lower lip, small mole below quivering, seeing more and more of his chest being exposed, somewhat self-conscious, but there was something spellbinding about only being able to see her hands and forearms, pointed black nails decorated with crystals that caught the light, undoing all the buttons until she reached his pants.

“I can–”

“Shh. Don’t let your impatience prevent you from enjoying your own striptease.”

His cheeks heated a little and he lowered his hands, breath hiking as she firmly gripped the bottom of his shirt and pulled it out. Jungkook took a step back, his back hitting her chest, and gasped again, feeling the softness, but she adjusted her position so her body wasn’t touching his anymore, chiding him playfully.

“Never had someone take off your clothes, Jungkook?” she chuckled against his neck, making his hairs stand on end.

“Ah, well…”

He watched those deft fingers undo the last two buttons. Then they spread apart his black shirt, reaching in, fingertips spreading out over his abs and pecs, tracing the contours of his muscles, switching between her nails and the pads of her fingertips, prickling and dainty. He couldn’t sure her face, but he saw his, and only now registered his own moans, so absorbed by her sensual movement and her touch that he didn’t even realize the embarrassing sounds falling from his lips.

“Not… since you…”

She snickered. “Seriously? What fool wouldn’t want to tear the clothes off this lovely body?”

He could feel and see his flush in the mirror. He looked away quickly, down to her hands exploring his body. “Well, I just… figured it’s easier if I do it. No one has ever been like you.”

“Hmm.”

His hands raised. He traced her knuckles, causing her to pause, caressing small circles on his sternum.

“You want to tear the clothes off my body?” he breathed, not daring to see his own reflection and know his reaction to whatever her answer was.

“I do.”

He placed his left hand on hers, heart beating faster and faster.

“Not tonight though.”

He pulled her palm away from his racing heart, not wanting her to know her effect on him, letting it linger beside his ribcage.

“Tonight, I will show you all I’ve learned, because I was always a better student than you, class representative.”

He found himself laughing a little, suddenly sheepish. “Yeah. Your name was always in the top five percent. I was pretty bad at school. I don’t know why everyone voted for–oooh…”

Her fingers touched his nipples, rubbing delicately, sending strange shivers all over him, shallowing his breath, making him look up and see his dark nipples being teased by expert hands. Her nails nicked them lightly and he whined in his throat, feeling them harden against her fingertips, surprised at the arousal from the simple touch, something he never paid attention to or cared about. His hair was covering part of his face.

Jungkook reached up and pushed his hair back, pressing his chest into those hands.

Saw one of her eyes behind his head, sharp and sultry with winged liner, twinkling as she watched him.

“I voted for you because I thought it would be funny since you weren’t even trying.”

He didn’t really have a response for that, too busy looking at his own face and body, shivering as she tweaked his nipples and pushed them in slow circles, his arms descending to lower the shadows, letting them suspend by his sides.

She shifted beside him and half of her lips appeared, on the toes of her heels, whispering close to his ear, seductive and dark.

“You were good-looking then, and you’re even more handsome now, Jungkook.”

The sound of the ocean, the silver moonlight shining off her blue-black hair giving her skin a surreal quality, almost doll-like, the mirror reflecting his expression, desire and anticipation.

She removed her hands and grabbed the collar of his shirt, yanking it down.

He inhaled sharply and her face disappeared.

Dress shirt stripped from his body and flung away, the crisp black fabric flaring out, a shadow cast aside.

Jungkook spun around.

-

Does this man know the meaning of calm the fuck down?

You rolled your eyes inwardly as you witnessed Jungkook turn around, facing you again even though you told him not to the move. He had always been like this, overzealous, but he didn’t seem as clumsy as before, although…

He grabbed your tits.

Hah.

He blinked rapidly, surprised. “Huh?”

You shook your head and knocked his hands away, sighing. “Pasties, Jungkook. To cover my nipples.”

You reached into your dress and scooped your breasts out, trapping them between the v-neckline. His eyes bulged slightly when he saw the smooth black satin circles flush to the apex of your breasts. They fit perfectly, seamless so they were unseen even under the slinky fabric of the black gown.

“W-Whoa…”

“What? I’m a burlesque dancer. Of course, I have fancy nipple covers. This is basic wardrobe.”

He tilted his head. “I’ve never seen any like these. They look like they’re part of your body.”

You tutted. “Obviously, they aren’t. You know I have nipples.”

And you reached up and peeled them off, flinging them aside carelessly.

Jungkook gasped, staring at your nipples with wide eyes.

“Don’t act like you haven’t seen nipples,” you scowled. “You better not be a virgin with how hot you’ve become.”

His hands shot up and you grabbed his wrists again, forcing them back down.

Jungkook whined, eyes shifting back up to you, begging to touch them.

You stiffened slightly. What kind of reaction was that?

“They’re so big,” he whispered huskily, visibly shuddering, shaking with the craving to touch them. “I remember they were soft. And…” His breathing hitched, trembling in your hands. “I remember they tasted so good. Amazing. No one has ever tasted as good as you.”

His eyes flickered back down, biting his lip. He tried to break free, but you held. A single glance exchanged and you let go, realizing he was going to do something other than attack them. Instead, he collected the straps of your dress and pulled them back up, slowly, moaning as the slinky black fabric skimmed over your breasts, your prominent nipples sticking out, hardening from the light friction.

“Fuck, that’s so fucking sexy.”

Well, maybe he did have some appreciation for the visual after all.

“You see why I need the pasties.”

He pulled the straps up, whimpering as he watched your nipples strain against your dress, lifting your breasts in the confines of the fabric and lowering them, lifting, lowering, repeating the gesture.

You raised an eyebrow.

“Jungkook… are you bouncing my tits on purpose?”

His dark brown orbs darted to you. Guilty.

“Um… y-you won’t let me touch them…”

You weren’t sure whether to sigh or to laugh. You just shook your head, backing up out of his grasp. His hands were still outstretched, lips forming a small pout. You almost regretted it, but his expression quickly changed as you casually flicked down the straps, freeing your breasts again, dropping his hands and linking them together under his waist, waiting, now invested in what you had in store.

Oh.

He chewed on his lip and gave you an expectant look.

A flutter in your chest.

The side of your lips curved upward, tongue sliding out to graze the edge of your upper lip before disappearing.

You reached back, leisurely undoing the fastenings of the corset, sweeping your legs so the high slit flared apart, turning around, letting him witness the slow undress. Every action was deliberate, the wide arc of your leg moving the skirt aside to prevent you from tripping as you turned without using your hands, the wide stance of your feet to relieve pressure on your heels and to prevent the dress from sliding down too soon, and even the position of your fingers, poised so you could run a nail down your spine as two of them pinched the hook-and-eye and separated them, traveling down to the top of your ass. Every movement was thought out, details that made up the bigger picture, constructing your ultimate goal.

A sensual striptease.

You caught his reaction in a mirror to your right.

His sparkling brown eyes were wide, jaw dropped.

A lot of people had seen you take off your clothes, but no one made you feel as satisfied as Jeon Jungkook, then in his school uniform and now shirtless in his slacks, hands twisting in front of his crotch.

Then you saw your face.

You were smiling.

You really did smile when you thought he wasn’t looking.

Another glimpse at his face and you found him staring at you, silver moonlight glinting off his eyebrow piercing and flooding into his eyes, bringing out the stars within.

You released your hand and your dress tumbled to the ground.

He sucked in a shuddering breath, your name drifting from his lips.

“H… Holy shit…”

You did have an amazing waist-to-ass ratio.

Proper corset training and specific hit workouts to perfect your craft contributed. You couldn’t simply be pretty. You had to be strong and flexible to do the stunts and to walk in your red bottoms for the entire performance. Christian Louboutin didn’t make his shoes to be comfy. He made heels to make feet look enticing and sexy.

The price to pay for glamour and vanity.

It did give you some powerful calves though.

You lifted one shoe, flashing that blazingly red sole of your heel, balancing on one leg for a second.

This was to prevent you from getting tangled on your now fallen dress. You tightened your core, shifting your weight, knowing it would give Jungkook an irresistible view of your plump derriere in your high French-cut black satin panties, the particular style adding illusion to the already stark proportion.

In short, your ass looked fucking fabulous.

You stepped out of your dress, one leg, then the other, taking care not to step on it, adding a little flourish of your hands to create those body lines, ever the performer. You glanced at the mirror and was pleased to find Jungkook hadn’t moved, although his hands were now firmly open, palms down on his crotch, whimpering in his throat.

“Soon,” you promised, and you would keep it.

He nodded, swallowing hard.

You turned your fingers inward, hooking each index finger on the sides of your panties, rocking your hips slowly, lowering your lashes, following the beat of the sea, tugging down the right side a few centimeters and then the left, listening to his breathing and controlling yours. You bent over slowly at the hips, sticking your ass out, listening to his low moan as your glistening slit was revealed, sliding your undergarments down your thighs and calves, placing them carefully onto the floor.

You gradually straightened, breathing out, keeping it as one smooth motion.

You stepped out of your panties.

Now you were clad in only your black patent Louboutins and black diamond choker.

This time, you found your reflection in the mirror to delicately correct your smeared red lipstick with your fingertips. Good enough. You nodded at your reflection. The corners of your mouth curved upwards.

You turned to face him, showing Jungkook your smile.

-

This smile was real.

The smile she only showed when she was with him. He didn’t know if that was a valid thought or not, but he liked to think so. Besides, no smile meant as much as this one. That he was sure of, because he had been chasing this smile for all these years before finally accepting that he would never find another one like it. It was too precious to belong to anyone else.

His smile.

If his dick wasn’t trying to rip open his pants, Jungkook might have cried seeing it for the first time.

He couldn’t speak, too afraid he was going to lose it right then and there.

She walked towards him.

No, walk wasn’t the correct word. Strode, strut, glided, fuck, he didn’t know, she just moved as fluidly as a shadow and water combined, silver moonlight glistening off her skin and her diamonds, and he knew he would never love the mere act of walking more than when he watched her move.

She stilled.

He stopped breathing.

Her foot raised, toes tracing the inside of the heel, raising the pointed toe, balancing it on the stiletto, and she flicked it backward, causing it to tumble and somersault backward, falling to its side.

Fuck.

She thought of everything.

She balanced on tiptoe and did the same to the other shoe, discarding it with a swift tick.

He made a less-than-elegant noise of her name mixed with a needy whine.

“P… Please…”

Jungkook was quite sure he was a hair’s breath away from ripping off his pants to get some relief.

She finally made her way to stand in front of him. Smile so close now, emphasized by painted lips.

Her hands closed over his, peeling them away from his crotch, holding them loosely. She leaned forward, placing a delicate kiss on his lips. Deep, meaningful, nothing flashy. Drew back, still smiling.

This smile.

He wanted to protect it forever.

“I should have told you that I love you, but I didn’t know it then,” he whispered.

She chuckled.

“I know now.”

She was lowering herself as he spoke, tilting her head at him, inviting him to continue. Getting to her knees, positioning her feet right under her ass, neat and orderly. His hands dropped, leaving hers on his belt, undoing the buckle, her gaze still on him. Looking up at him with amusement, diamonds glittering on her throat, perky tits and nipples, thighs on display, kneeling in front of his crotch.

“I love you.”

Jungkook meant it, every syllable.

He never meant it more in her life.

“I know.”

What?

She casually undid his belt and slid the closure open, unzipping his slacks.

“Wait… what?” he sputtered, blinking rapidly.

“I know you love me,” she repeated calmly.

Jungkook had time for a single blink before his pants were yanked down to his knees. He started, almost falling over, but her hands came up behind his legs and gripped them, keeping him upright.

“Careful,” she purred, stroking the backs of his thighs.

He jerked his head down, hardly able to breathe, shock blossoming as she leaned forward, hot breath warming his black boxer briefs. Eyes on his face, pink tongue extending.

“O-Oh, fuuuck…”

She planted her tongue over his hardness and soaked it with saliva, wetting the fabric and tracing the outline, molding his underwear to his length, sending him into gasping shivers, heat from her tongue and then her lips closing, blowing a cool stream over it, hot and cold, sensation and deprivation, too much and not enough, placing kisses all over and he flinched with every one, savoring the feeling, the touch that was familiar and unfamiliar, everything he wanted.

“W-Wait… that’s dirty…”

“Not as dirty as the things I want to do to you.”

Not as dirty as the things I want to do to you.

Pants racking his torso, looking down, and it was the same but different, her lips kissing up his abs, his chest, back to his face, holding him to her, lipstick smeared and now on his skin. Open mouth to elegantly parted lips, gasping as she collected her breasts and pressed her nipples to his chest, squashing the softness to his pecs.

“Spit on my cleavage,” she breathed.

“W-What?”

She raised an eyebrow, knowing that he heard her perfectly well, squeezing her breasts together and rubbing them on his chest, sending the electric sensation of her large nipples dragging across his heartbeat, rolling her shoulders to the beat of the sea, bathed in silver moonlight.

“Spit on my tits, Jungkook.”

“I… c-couldn’t… do that to you…” he moaned, pitch hiking with pleasure.

She didn’t chide him to cover his mouth this time, instead smirking wider, licking her teeth. “Sure, you can. Do it, golden boy. Spit on me.”

She hooked a leg over his hip and grinded her crotch to his wet one, causing him to whine, knowing his cock was so close to her pussy but not yet skin to skin, the soaked fabric barrier driving him insane, his hands coming up to grip her waist and press her down on him, staring into her eyes, inhale shaky and erratic.

She smiled, teasing, sculptural, his.

“You trust me?”

Jungkook was drunk on something he didn’t understand and it was love.

“Yeah…”

He leaned forward, capturing her lips, an intense, burning kiss. She smiled into his kiss, and he knew she was aware of his nervousness, but she remained patient as she always was, pressing back daintily, taking his breath away. He broke apart, trembling.

She nodded, telling him it was okay.

He collected saliva at the tip of his tongue and looked down, spitting into her cleavage.

It shot out of his mouth, splattering over the swell of her breasts and onto his own chest. His ears burned, self-conscious at the dirty act, but she moaned deliciously, backing up, his saliva dripping down and stuck to the inside curve of her breasts. He had a moment to appreciate the image, the most beautiful woman in the world with her diamond choker and his spit on her tits glistening in the moonlight reflected by the sea.

“Wow.”

That was all he could say as the image burned into his memory.

She smirked, falling to her knees, tugging his black boxer briefs down his thighs, his stiff cock popping out, bobbing in the air at the suddenness of its release, and then trapped once more, except this time not in drenched fabric but in her soft, saliva-covered breasts – or his saliva, depending on how he thought about it – but he couldn’t think about it, abrupt pleasure shooting up his spine, throwing his head back in a moan, eyes darting everywhere, surrounded by mirrors, reflections of his face, his long black hair a wild mess, his facial features consumed by wanton lust, his throbbing cock jammed between her breasts and her body sliding up and down, her large nipples rubbing against his crotch and thighs, oh, fuck, the sensation insane, soft and rough and wet, her perfectly pinned hair leaving only the curls at the ends bouncing from her effort.

She spit down his length, adding to the lubrication and her name burst out of his mouth in an erratic groan.

“F-Fuck…!”

She pushed his cock up, almost uncomfortable, but then her mouth closed around the tip, tongue swirling, and he was lost again, ecstasy as she switched to blowing him, pressing her breasts to his thighs, smearing the saliva on them too, covering his cock in red lipstick, soaking every centimeter with saliva, running her tongue over the veins and the head, his hands clenching into fists, close, so close, and then she popped her mouth off, leaving him near tears and in whines.

“P-Please, let me cum, please…”

“I want you to cum on my necklace,” she panted, planting his cock in her cleavage again, lacing her fingers over it, pressing the head down into the slick skin, shock of her words and the escalating pleasure, his chin lowering and staring down at glittering black diamonds and the engorged tip of his length popping in and out of her breasts.

“You want me to… cum on your necklace…?” he echoed hollowly, in utter disbelief.

“Fuck yes, I do,” she grinned, tip of her tongue flickering at the edge of her lips. “Cum on my diamonds, Jungkook.”

Well, fuck.

This was the worst surreal and hottest moment of his life.

He clenched his jaw and thrust his hips into her chest, adding to the stimulation, chasing it, seeing her grin grow, devilish and devious, squeezing him tighter, faster, faster, faster, his hands and his body shaking, gripped by pleasure and her hold, panting her name over and over, his prayer, his drug, his lifeline, trying to hold out, the line inside him pulled taut, thinner and thinner, snapping.

“F-Fuck, I’m gonna cum!”

His hips jolted and he forced them upward, her head tipping back as the thick red tip popped out, twitching and splattering thick streams of white, painting the black diamonds with his white orgasm, clinging to the jewels and her collarbones, dripping down, covering her with his strong and masculine scent. She lifted her body, trapping his jolting cock in her breasts, and he moaned helplessly, rutting against her skin, sparks of pleasure shooting through his veins, uncontrollable flinching and shuddering as more dribbled out, milked out by the tightness.

“Oooooooh, f-fuck… fuck, I’m s-so sorry…” he gasped out, wincing at the mess he made.

“Ah, shut up, Jungkook.”

In awe, he watched her back up slightly, strings of his orgasm all over her breasts, chest, and diamonds.

She smiled and dipped her fingers in it, coating them with his cum and bringing them to her smeared red lips, licking them off one by one, pink tongue slipping between her elegant digits, moaning as she drank up his taste.

Eyes on his, drunk on him.

-

time left: --:--

Kim Namjoon leaned against Kim Seokjin’s shoulder, listening to the other man’s deep breathing.

They were sitting on the plush green couch in Kim Taehyung’s room.

The night was quiet, nothing but the sound of the waves coming through the open window, a light breeze as Namjoon watched the moon reflect off the ocean. Seokjin had already fallen asleep, head resting against the back of the sofa, tired from the day’s events and needing the rest. Namjoon felt the drowsiness beginning to weigh on him too, using Seokjin’s wide shoulder as his headrest. He had opened the window to prevent the room from getting too stuffy.

It would have been more comfortable to be in that giant bed with the one he was paid to protect, but he hoped she was in good hands now.

He smiled to himself, watching the silver moonlight dance off the choppy waters.

His mind went back to those moments, moments when he had to hold her shoulders and remind her of who and where she was, moments when he sat and waited as she clenched her teeth and a skilled medical tattoo artist filled in those white scars all over her hands, moments of when she finally sat him and Seokjin down and told them why she sometimes woke up at night, screaming and crying, yelling the names of past demons.

She had told them she was sorry, sorry for being weak, sorry for not taking responsibility.

Seokjin had scoffed, smacking her lightly on the head. “Are you an idiot? You have been through enough. Stop it with that nonsense. It’s part of our job, so let us do our job.”

After that, Namjoon would make it a point to check up on her at night, reaching over to soothe her brow as she slept, relaxing her face with gentle touches. He wanted to be there in case she woke up from a nightmare, and it became a habit, until Seokjin too elbowed himself in the bed, muttering that she always got the best digs anyway, so why shouldn’t he? He was handsome enough, after all.

They only accompanied her to events or appearances.

It bothered Namjoon to think that sometimes she was alone in her own home, waking up screaming and crying, and that he couldn’t be there.

He wondered what would come of this.

Jeon Jungkook.

Did he know that if he broke her heart that two ‘big-scary-dudes-with-massive-shoulders’ were going to find his ass and rearrange it?

Hm.

Namjoon closed his eyes, letting the night take him under its wing.

-

time left: error

The black diamond choker was on the vanity, covered in Jungkook’s cum.

Both of your clothes were on the floor, shoes, pants, dress, undergarments, strewn all over, a mess, along with a now cold, wet, white bath towel that smelled like semen and saliva. It had what was left of your red lipstick on it.

One of the designer cosmetic bags was open.

There were condoms scattered on the bed now, thrown over the red silk sheets.

Jungkook was holding your hands, palms up, tenderly kissing them.

It felt strange, his soft lips on your scars.

Most people didn’t realize it. It wasn’t something they looked for or thought to think twice about, because to them, your hands had always been like that. It would be rude to comment or mention it even if they had noticed.

But Jungkook had known your hands before they became like this.

“It’s why I stopped going to school.”

He kissed the pads of your fingertips, looking at you with those dark brown orbs.

“Did something bad happen?”

You smiled, somewhere between sad and apologetic.

“I wanted to make sure that I could still see you, but unfortunately I ended up doing the exact opposite.”

He squeezed your hands tightly, giving you his own smile. “Still, you came back to me.”

You chuckled ruefully. “Not with the best intentions.”

The silver moonlight highlighted all your favorite features, the cupid’s bow of his lips, the tiny mole underneath, the wrinkle of his nose with his smile, the stars in his eyes.

“You’ve always been dangerous and ill-advised for me, but I always liked that about you.”

You arched a brow. “Hm, you were a shitty class representative, huh?”

Jungkook shrugged. “You weren’t really a class delinquent either.”

You shook your head, pulling your hands out of his. “Look at you. What kind of class presentative gets all these tattoos?” you teased, dancing your fingers up his right forearm and elbow, tracing the outlines of the script and graphics, following the swirls of the clouds and flower petals with your nails, listening to his shallow breath at your touch. “And an eyebrow piercing? Are you trying to tell everyone you’re one of the cool kids now?”

His lips twisted into a small frown. “Am I cool?”

You shrugged. “Every time I hear about the cool kids in our grade, it’s just about how they got knocked up too early or how they dropped out of university, so you tell me.”

“I haven’t gotten knocked up.”

You gave him a look, bordering on impatience.

“Wait, I mean–”

You raised a hand and planted it on his chest, pushing him down on the bed.

“Enough. Stop talking, please.”

You crawled over his body, placing your hands by his head, looking down at him. Jungkook stared up at you, long black hair splayed over the pillows. He was definitely a man now, sharp jawline, manicured brows, slight dark circles from long nights, and, as you leaned down, expensive cologne now, still light and clean but with a twist of sharpness and sweet fruit, still with the same warmth. Your lips pressed against his jaw, leaving kisses, sinking your weight onto him, skin to skin, his gasps under you, and now it seemed like you were back in that time, his teenage self and your teenage self, the same eagerness as his arms surrounded you, running his hands down your back, but now he added his nails, making you hum in approval. He did it more, scratching his nails over your spine as you kissed his jaw, his throat, his ear, jingling his earrings with your tongue, whispering against his skin.

“No one has ever been what you are to me.”

You didn’t bother using past tense, because it wasn’t.

You sat down on his thigh, his semi-hard cock twitching against your skin, turned on by your kisses and your tongue toying with his ear.

“You weren’t even very good, you know. You were kinda shit. Too impatient.”

He shuddered, tensing his forearms against your sides.

“I’m b-better now…” he whimpered, turning into a moan as you bit his ear and rubbed your wetness on his thigh, painting it with your juices. You kept it slow, leisurely, with even pressure.

“Still…”

You lifted your head, bringing your fingers inward, slipping them into his hair, pushing it back, caressing his temple with your thumbs.

“I have loved you all this time, Jungkook, even back then when I didn’t know what love was, when I was only chasing a feeling that was different from all the others.”

His eyes widened, stunned by your words.

“Ah, nevertheless, I came back too late.”

“No.”

His hands on your back, holding you tightly to him.

“I want to kiss you all the time,” he whispered, words from long ago, bringing them back. “And I will.”

He raised his forehead and touched yours.

“I know it’s not fair, I know it’s bad, I know it’s terrible, but I’ll be fucked up if you can’t be right here, with me.”

His lips to yours, small kisses and closed eyes, hiding his tears behind his lashes.

“You are the happiness, and if you continue to love me, I will never let you go.”

That’s what Jungkook said, but the sentiment was slightly interrupted by his cock being so hard that it was actually raising your thigh up into the air.

You smiled against his lips, chuckling.

“I guess I’ll bring a towel when you get her cocktail splashed into your face.”

“Maybe two. She has a lot of internet friends.”

“Hm.”

You lifted your head, smirking.

“Well, I can’t say it would be the first relationship I’ve ruined, although those were far more indirect.”

-

Jungkook tried to make the moment romantic, but her naked body was on top of him with her wet pussy rubbing on his thigh and his dick was coming back to life right in the middle of his speech.

Still, he couldn’t really complain, because at the moment he was ripping open a condom, on his knees between her legs, rolling it down, eyes roaming over her body lines, poised and elegant and sexy, her hair flared out on the pillows, still neatly pinned up, some kind of sorcery, but that didn’t surprise Jungkook, for she had always had her spell on him and he was better for it.

“You want missionary?” she teased.

He bit his lip, nodding.

“I want to watch your face.”

Her tongue flickered out on the edge of her upper lip, accenting the high point of her smirk.

“Good, then I can watch yours.”

He positioned himself in front of her, pausing for a second, unsure now, but she simply grinned and reached between her legs, one hand on his length and the other on his hip, digging her nails into his ass and shoving him inside her.

“Oh, fuck!”

She seemed highly amused, but he was gone, sudden tightness and wetness enveloping him, pitching forward and catching himself on his palms, sinking into red silk, the intensity bursting from his core and washing over him, shuddering and gasping as she gripped his ass with both hands and sank him down into her pussy, down, down, drowning in the feeling, diving into the depths of pleasure, fuck, he felt it everywhere, her walls clenching and wrapped around his length, the sensitive head rubbing against the ridges, and the emotions that rushed through him as he looked into her eyes, a little humiliated that it affected him so much, a little shocked at how good it felt even with the condom, and a lot of lust and trust and love, all rolling into one, and she purred his name, smooth and silky and gentle, and he couldn’t help himself, slowly rolling his hips and smacking down hard, burying himself to the base, eyelids fluttering, feeling it radiate over his body.

“Too... hard?” he choked out, trying to be considerate, desperate not to fuck up.

She shook her head, snickering.

“Not even close.”

“How can I–?”

But she didn’t let him finish, tapping the mandala flower tattoo on his right elbow and he raised his arms, at loss for words and breath when she raised her legs to his shoulders and tugged his forearms back down, his hands landing on the bed once more.

Oh no.

This was tighter.

“Fuck me, Jungkook, and make it rough.”

I can’t talk or I will blow my load in two seconds.

He nodded, tensing his jaw, and smacked his crotch down, her thighs smacking against his chest.

Oh, fuck me.

He wished he could sound less desperate and less ruined, but he simply didn’t have the capacity for that any longer, tumbling into a series of wild moans as he built up the pace, wave after wave of pleasure crashing into him, too much sensation, soft thighs, wet tightness squeezing his throbbing length, her hands on his upper arms, holding on tightly, his name falling from her mouth along with her erotic exhale. He loved every sound she made, every single one, her moan, her hiss, her growl, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, that’s it, give it to me, Jungkook, loved the way she looked at him, a mixture of bliss and slyness, loved the sound their bodies made, a harsh rhythmic smack, louder and louder, messing up the sheets, her head tipping back, eyes closing, fuck, yes, gonna cum if you keep going like that, so he did, hard, firm, powerful slaps of skin-to-skin, feeling so good but holding himself back, biting his lip hard and moaning in his throat, not willing to orgasm until he made her do so, at least twice.

Jungkook was being ridiculous, he knew, but he wouldn’t forgive himself if he lost it too soon during his first time inside her.

“Mmm, fuck, Jungkook, fuck!”

A sharp throb and then a cascading effect, brutal massages of his length, and he didn’t even realize it, pausing for a second from the strength of her orgasm, his cock clenched all over and squeezed, shocking pleasure that made his eyes roll back, struggling with every fiber of his being to not explode, edging himself by ceasing his thrust, and then he drew back and rammed back into her, clawing up the sheets to press her further down into the bed, nearly bending her in half, but she didn’t seem to mind, gripping his arms and raising her hips to meet him, deeper now, the head being constricted even tighter by this changed angle, him sucking in a deep inhale, smelling blackberry, evergreen, and sex, the sweet smell of her pussy, reminding him of sitting on the bus on his way home and catching that scent on his hands and clothes, not regretting it, loving her mark on him.

It was better now.

Better because he was actually in her pussy.

And better because her teeth caught the side of her lower lip, a second of lost control, lashes lowering, moan in her mouth, his name, his name, his name leaking from her lips.

“Oh, Jungkook…”

He would never tire of it.

Never.

It burst again, a lewd squelch, and the insides of his thighs were soaked with viscous honey, clinging to his balls, violent throbs around his jerking length and Jungkook was gone, gone, everything accumulating at the peak and shattering down, his deep moan flooding the room, shooting his orgasm into the condom as his quivering cock was clenched all around, unbearable euphoria that he welcomed, letting it consume every nerve and vibrate through him, a feeling he never wanted to end.

He let it swallow him, her ocean, her moonlight, her night, and he promised himself that he would never leave.

-

All in all, Jeon Jungkook hadn’t changed much. That was alright. It was clear that you both had unfinished business in the past that was being hashed out right now.

Through sex, because how else?

He was behind you, both of you kneeling on the bed, his breath on your skin, murmuring your name, wonderment and desire, leaving a trail of kisses on your shoulders and neck.

“You can bite me, you know.”

He nipped at your skin experimentally. You pinched his finger on your upper arm, the little sheepish emoji on his middle right. He squeaked and bit harder. You hummed approvingly, lowering your hand.

“You’re turning me into a crazy person,” Jungkook mumbled to the curve of your neck.

“You were already a crazy person. You just pretend you’re not.”

“That’s not true…”

You gently peeled his right hand from your arm and yanked him forward. He inhaled sharply, hard chest hitting your back as you tugged his arm forward, curving it around you.

“What non-crazy person blacks out the inner part of their elbow and tattoos the bone on the outer part as well?” you accused, rubbing his muscular forearm against your nipples, smirking at his moan, his shiver traveling through your back and to the sparks of pleasure radiating from your breasts at the lovely friction.

“Um…”

That was as far as he gave you as an answer because he had no good answers.

“Mhm.”

His hand curved around your left breast and he ran his fingers over it, tugging at your nipple. You leaned into his touch, sighing softly. Well, maybe you had been a bit harsh. He had changed. Less clumsy now, attaining his own irresistible sensuality that he probably wasn’t even aware of, considering the wavering in his tone.

“You’ve probably had better than me, huh…”

“You would be surprised at the complete inadequacy of the human race when it comes to sex, Jungkook. Most people don’t give two shits about listening to their partner’s wants.”

He pinched your nipple and you moaned, rubbing your ass against his crotch.

“You always do everything I want and even things I didn’t even know I wanted,” he mumbled.

His cock was getting the hint with every rock of your hips, rousing at the soft friction. You listened to his rapid breathing, amused, the amusement turning into fond irritation as you felt his free hand slide between your bodies, tucking his hardening length between your ass cheeks, now slowly and non-discreetly humping you.

Well.

Can’t say you were surprised.

“You’re not that hard to read, Jungkook.”

He was leaking all over the top of your ass, ramming the head into your tailbone, now both hands on your chest, forgetting to answer, too absorbed in touching you, tugging at your nipples in time with his rocking hips, lips back to your neck, biting down and sucking hard, leaving marks. There was power in his hold, passion and desperation, a needy whine vibrating in his throat, faster, harder, pinching your nipples and rubbing the tips, pulling slightly, pleasure from his lips and his hands, your own reaching back and clawing at the small of his back, leaving scratches, yes, please, harder, mark me, make me yours, and you chuckled at his declaration, you were always mine, Jungkook, and he moaned your name in affirmation, licking up your neck, hot shaking breath ghosting your ear.

“Wanna fuck you from behind.”

You sunk your nails into his skin and brought your fingers outward, flicking your wrists to leave sharp lines of lust, his moan in your wake.

“Do it,” you drawled, voice saturated with need.

He pushed you down and your caught yourself with your hands, clutching fistfuls of red silk. You heard the rip of another condom and his groan as he encased his aching length, one hand on your ass, and you spread your legs, his knees fitting between them, the head grazing your wet opening and he slid in with a shudder, filling you up and stretching you out, a little pain that dissipated as he squeezed your ass with two hands, sighing with satisfaction with you.

“I know I said I want to kiss you all the time, and I do,” he panted, stalling.

You smiled, turning your head to look over your shoulder. Jungkook looked back at you and he reached forward, driving deeper into you, making you mewl for him. He plucked the pins from your hair, one by one, undoing the perfection, tossing them aside as he spoke, shrouding your shoulders and face with cool-toned black, surreal and glamorous.

“But I think I’ve decided I also want to fuck you all the time.”

You smirked. “You don’t take much convincing, I must say.”

He eased the last pin from your hair and flicked it aside.

You heard it fall to the floor.

That one wouldn’t be found in the morning.

He grinned. “Maybe I already knew you would be amazing.”

Instead of replying, you leaned forward and then smacked your ass back into his crotch.

Jungkook reeled, hand flying back to your hip, grabbing it tightly as you roughly pushed back into him, his natural response being to thrust forward, compounding the pleasure for you and for him, looking forward again and tipping your head back, letting go, moaning for him, his hardness twitching with your sound, loud and getting louder, bodies tangled, bed creaking, clutching your ass for dear life. You lifted one hand and brought beside your hip and Jungkook gripped your forearm, your body naturally dropping lower, deepening each thrust, and that was it, the uncontrollable need resonating in his deep voice, forcefully pounding you into the mattress, thighs, crotch, balls slapping into your lower half, carnal and wild and visceral, his name and your name mixing together, filling the room with the sight, sound, and smell of sex, so strong, fuck, he was so fucking strong, and so were you, a shock every time your bodies connected, until you were wailing with the ferocity of orgasm, squirming and clutching his forearm as he held yours, clenching around his length, but this time he didn’t stop, fucking you through it, gasping for air.

“Oh fuck, yes, fuck, do it again, cum for me again, fuck, feels so fucking good, feels like you’re choking my cock…”

And he brought it out of you again, your right hand punched into the sheets, your left in his hold, moaning for him, Jungkook, fuck, Jungkook, for him then, him now, him forever, ecstasy and elation, hitting a high you thought didn’t even exist, lust and trust and love, raising your torso and slamming your palm onto the headboard, rattling the whole damn bed.

“Fuck!”

Slamming back onto his cock and squeezing hard, Jungkook gasping at the suddenness of the harsh throbs around his length, jolting inside you and spilling another into the condom, your head whipping to the side, spotting a mirror and there he was, head thrown back, long black hair touching his shoulders, open mouth, eyes rolled back, chest shuddering, your name a shaky moan, holding you tight, his right arm travelling, wrapping around you and lifting you up, and then it was you in the mirror, your body against his, skin to skin, his dark brown orbs shifting down, feeling your eyes on him, and then he was watching your reflections, seeing your joined bodies, panting in unison, both sweaty and spent.

You smiled at him, lit up by moonlight and mirrors.

He smiled back.

And then his hand was on your chin and he turned your head to face him, tilting his head and kissing your smile, seeing it not its reflection but the real thing, no longer only when you thought he wasn’t looking.

-

time left: 00:00

“Oi.”

Jungkook didn’t recognize that voice at all. He concluded must still be dreaming.

A finger podded his temple.

“Oi!”

He started, but the arms encircling him pinned him in place, not letting him and his naked body leave the bed. Softness pressed against his back, bare nipples rubbing against his skin. He froze.

His dick was rock-hard.

A black-haired man in a black suit with a disturbingly handsome face was glaring at him.

“You animals made a fucking mess.”

“Go away, Seokjin.”

Jungkook squeaked, unable to talk because one of the hands holding him was dancing downwards under the covers, wrapping around his impossibly stiff length. He prayed it wouldn’t start moving up and down, but it did. Slowly. Not enough, but still too much, because he didn’t really want to get jacked off first thing in the morning while someone was very clearly assessing whether or not to cause extreme bodily harm to him.

Well, he did want to get jacked off first thing in the morning.

It was the bodily harm he was less enthused about.

The man named Seokjin squinted at him and it took every fiber of Jungkook’s being to not make a goddamn peep as her fingers ghosted the head, smearing slick pre-cum over the slit.

“I want to take a shower.”

“Then go take a shower. I left towels for you,” she mumbled behind Jungkook’s back.

“Namjoon’s in the shower right now.”

“Then order us some breakfast.”

“I sent Taehyung to do that. Also, it’s noon.”

“Couldn’t you order room service?”

Seokjin shrugged and Jungkook realized his shoulders were huge. “He said he had a friend who worked in the kitchen and was going to reserve us a table.”

She raised her head, resting her chin on Jungkook’s right shoulder and pulsing his cock with her right hand under the sheets. “Taehyung has a lot of friends, doesn’t he?”

Seokjin looked at Jungkook pointedly.

“Er… yeah. T-Tons…”

Those brown eyes narrowed, scrutinizing Jungkook suspiciously. “He seems like a dork.”

“I like dorks. That’s why I keep you around.”

Seokjin stuck his tongue out childishly and yelled at the top of his lungs. “Namjoon!”

“I’m done!”

“Finally,” Seokjin grumbled, walking off and yanking the bathroom door open, barging in unceremoniously.

“Gah!”

“Gah!!!”

-

“Oh, fuck, please, d-don’t…”

“It’ll only take me a second.”

You dove under the covers and Jungkook clapped his hands over his mouth, your grip on his twitching length moving fast and tight, rubbing your tongue on the hot head, and you were right, it only took a few seconds, and then Jungkook was hissing through his fingers, now, fuck, now, and your mouth swallowed his cock, not a moment too soon as thick spurts of his orgasm shot into your throat, coating the back of your tongue, savoring his smell and his thighs under your breasts, rubbing your nipples on the muscle.

“N-No, stop, stop,” Jungkook whimpered desperately, grabbing you by the shoulders and yanking you up, your head popping out, smirk on your lips.

You opened your mouth and showed him your tongue covered in his cum.

“Shit, you’re going to be the death of me…”

He hurriedly nudged your chin and you closed it, grinning.

Dangerous.

Ill-advised.

Jungkook grinned back at you helplessly, holding your smiling face in his hands.

---

some time later

“I have two towels.”

“She didn’t throw her drink at me.”

“Damn. I even seduced the bartender a little bit to get those plush cotton ones.”

“She asked if she could keep the ring so she could sell it and give the money to her secret, less good-looking boyfriend so he could buy her a new ring.”

“Oh. Wait, what?”

He shrugged, rubbing the back of his head. “I said sure, because it wasn’t like the love of my life couldn’t afford her own diamonds.”

“Ah, true, true.”

“I might be slandered for a little while on the internet.”

“Nah, you won’t. Maybe for like, six hours. Then everyone’s attention span will be somewhere else. Also, your taste upgraded in their eyes, from social media influencer to burlesque dancer.”

You grinned, raising your hands to create a finger frame of your index fingers and thumbs, enclosing the handsome face of Jeon Jungkook, long black hair, silver brow piercing, dark sculpted eyebrows, big brown eyes, defined jawline, shapely pink lips, mole of his nose and cheek, and finally that perfect mole underneath his lower lip, appearing as he smiled at you, confused at what you were doing.

“Even though we all know you’re just a hopeless sucker for the class delinquent. Tsk tsk.”

His grin grew mischievous, walking over to you as you lowered your hands.

“Well, I was a shit class representative anyway.”

He leaned down to kiss you, smile to smile.

Twelve hours.

Sunset to night.

-

fin.

--

masterpost