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[thestonestudiosculpture]

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[itwasntimethatdidit40]

How could you love somebody like me?

Pairing: f!reader x Javier Peña Words count: 3032 Rating: + 18, NSFW, MDNI. Summary: Javi is under protection and has asked you to join him in the hotel room where he is confined. When you discover his secrets and lies, however, that room will become too small. Too small for both of you. Tags/warnings: POV second person, no use of y/n, angst, Javi is still a DEA agent but it's a modern setting so the man has a smartphone. Reader is described having female genitalia and breasts, no other description of her is given, she doesn't blush and her hair is not described. Mention of alcohol, mention of cheating, Javi is a cheater, no happy ending, we will go through the man's phone (you're not supposed to do that but I never said my reader could do no wrong, right?), use of pet names (gatita which means kitten in Spanish, baby, darling), smut, angry sex, unprotected p in v (do better irl), cream pie, of course a little nipple play ‘cause it’s still my fic, toxic relationship, self doubt, mention of Steve, a huge pile of lies, Javi is bad at feelings, some reader’s thoughts marked in italics. I think it's all, let me know if I forgot something and I'll add it right away. A/N: Written for @jolapeno 's "Dear-uary" challenge. This was my prompt, I struggled a little bit at first but I ended up having a blast writing this ❤︎ Heavily inspired by this song (from which the fic also takes its title), I heard it randomly on Spotify one day and I thought "wait, this is perfect for Javi!" and I ended up being obsessed with two more songs by the same artist. LOL Many thanks to: - @aurorawritestoescape , my beta, for her help and advice, she will probably dream of elephants because of me tonight hahaha Kate I own you a big one, thanks baby so much, I love you ❤️ - The person who basically pulled this out of my brain and supported me throughout the process, my precious, my peanut @joelmillerisapunk. 🥰 Love you so much it's ridiculous🥹 - @milla-frenchy for letting me blather about this thing some days ago. Love you, bb ❤︎ English is not my first language, every single mistake is still on me, I deeply apologize if you find any.

Edited - because I forgot to change the most important detail, of course. I’m not myself if I’m not doing a mess. Yay. It’s okay now.

“Why the hell am I here? Was I the only available hole this week?”

“No,” he whispers. 

“So what?” 

Javier came back and found you in the middle of the room.

You were brandishing his phone like a sword in the air, the banner of everything that was wrong.

His face went pale when he saw you like that. 

Eyes wide open. 

Mouth agape. 

He tried to say something but you immediately hit him with a vomit of words.

“I know what you’re doing,” you hiss under your breath, feeling your eyes sting.

Javier is a marble statue in front of you, his lips pressed together, his absent eyes not even looking at you, staring at a spot behind your shoulders, his arms abandoned along his sides. 

He seems anchored to the ground. 

His last words to you still burn on your skin like a fire you cannot extinguish.

A heavy silence between you fills the air of the room and makes it unbreathable. 

“Fuck, Javier, talk to me,” you whisper angrily.

You clutch his phone in your hands, so tightly that your knuckles are white from exertion, as if you were clinging to it to keep yourself from falling off a cliff. 

“You knew I was no good,” he says sternly.

You have been in this room for two days. 

Officially, Javier has to stay here because henchmen of one of the new drug lords in town are set on taking him out. 

Unofficially, he has you infiltrating the room. 

Typical Javier, spending his time under protection fucking someone. 

You foolishly almost believed it was romantic, until this morning. 

“So you’re trying to say that it’s my fault? Is that what you want to say? It’s my fault that as soon as I turn my back you go and stick your cock in someone else's pussy?” You don’t even have the strength to scream right now. Your voice comes out rancorous but low, hoarse, like a blown growl. 

Oh, you’re not going to accept being lectured by him, fuck no.

“No, I’m just saying -” he tries to explain and you glare at him, making the words die in his mouth.  

"What?" 

“Fuck, I'll never change,” he shrugs as if it were a truism that only you can't grasp.

His eyes shift to the ground, dull and absent.

“You don't change because you are convinced that you can't,” you admonish him, feeling anger rising from your chest. 

"That's not true," he murmurs, keeping his gaze on the crimson and gold carpet that lies at your feet.

“Yes, it is,” you insist, ”and you seem to like to think of yourself as an incurable asshole.”

He still fails to see the real problem, the elephant in the room that lives and thrives among you. 

"Then you tell me, if you think you know me so well,” he asks with defiance. 

“You bet I fucking know you,” you lash out. “You think you're so mysterious and complicated?! Well,  news flash, I've seen plenty like you. You’re just another man. You're not even that, you're a child. A child who's afraid of his own shadow when it comes to relationships.”

“Don’t fucking analyze me,” he hisses, finally setting his eyes back on you. 

Raven, angry and fearful. He knows you can read him like an open book and this unleashes an awareness upon him that crushes him to the ground.

You bitterly laugh, “Truth hurts, huh? I know something about it”. 

The wrinkle between his eyebrows deepens, his nostrils flare, and his mouth tightens into a line so thin you think he’s about to burst. He stays quiet instead, eyes back on the damask carpet decoration. 

_____________

“Yes, Steve, I'm fine. That jerk won't find me here, and anyway it's full of police outside the door.” 

A pause and a sigh. 

”No, no one followed her, they don't know who she is.”

You stood behind the half-closed bathroom door listening. 

You smiled. 

His voice sounded softer when he talked about you. You lulled yourself into that feeling. 

Until you heard something else. 

A booming laugh. 

Water ran in the shower, tiny droplets coated the wall as the mirror fogged up.

“Whatever. Of course I'm still screwing around. At least, I was doing it before that asshole started chasing me,” his voice suddenly lowered so you took a chance and opened the door a little more. You wanted to make sure you heard right. 

Your hand trembled against the doorknob, you grabbed your wrist to hold it steady. 

“You idiot,” he scoffed. “Yeah, we'll be in touch.”

Suspicion. The black wing of a crow that had been wrapped around your heart for a long time.

But then why did it hurt so much? 

You allowed yourself to hide it in a part of your brain where you never looked-that was a mistake. Making the hunch barely a firefly when it was supposed to be a bright neon sign.

He always places the phone with its screen down when you go out to dinner, softly smiling at it when he checks it after a few vibrations, telling you “it’s Steve” when you ask. 

But you know that crooked smile. 

He dodges when you ask him about his day "oh work, you know, just work." 

He tells you he is with Steve but you hear female voices in the background. 

Every time you try to confront him it always ends the same way, him telling you, “you’re paranoid, there’s no one else, just you, baby. You’re the only one I want.”

And then he fucks your doubts into oblivion.

You heard the thud of the phone on the blankets. And then Javier calling you. 

You swallowed the gall rising from the walls of your stomach and just smiled when he joined you in the bathroom and suggested that you shower together.

You wanted some proof before you charged him. 

If there was anything you had learned from being with him, it was that hard evidence was the key. So you played cool. 

He fucked you against the shower wall and you moaned into his neck. 

He licked your pussy like a man starved and you just bit your lips until you felt iron on your tongue.

He kissed you with that liar's mouth, and you let him.

And you fell asleep beside him, on the unmade bed of your uncertainties. 

This morning someone from outside called him into the hallway to report the latest movements of the guy who was looking for him. 

His phone was on the bedside table.

It was like a magnet, pulling your hand to it.

You were almost sure you knew his unlock code ‘cause you had watched the movements of his finger many times. 

You tried twice without success. 

The third time you let out a long sigh, visualized in your mind the movement one more time and unlocked it. 

You were in. 

Your heart was beating wildly in your chest as your fingers swiped and clicked on the screen. 

And there they were.

Dozens and dozens of messages and pics exchanged with 4 different women.

You scrolled through one of the chats with a certain Maria, who regularly sent him pictures of her tits and her legs spread wide, her pussy in the shot.

There was sexting, arranged dates, same promises he gave to you, things you never asked for but he kept repeating like a broken record. Even the same pet name. Gatita. 

Blood simmered in your veins, a jolt in your heart, throat dry. 

Your finger furiously scrolled through the chat, finding tons of messages he had sent her while he was with you.

You switched to another one and you found pretty much the same. And yet another, message after message containing flirting and explicit sex.  

“Oh Javi, you keep getting better and better with that cock of yours”

“My pussy needs you, darling, can you come over?”

“I can’t stop thinking about your huge cock dripping on me”

And the more you scrolled, the more a question formed in your brain, rumbling through your temples like a deafening drum. 

Was he ever sincere with you?

________

When he looks up at you again, you see it. A veil of fragility in the dense blackness of his gaze.

He looks almost helpless. “I know you tried,” he admits, ”You tried harder than anyone else.”

“Apparently it was no use,” you chastise him.

He doesn’t reply. 

Instead he comes closer and closer. 

You pull back, responding to his every step forward with a backward one. 

“Please,” he whispers. 

“No.” 

“Don't do that.”

“You have no right to tell me what to do,” you bark.

”I know...” 

“Fuck off, Javier, leave me alone.”

You pull back until you hit the wall behind you. 

Javier approaches, bending slightly to reach your mouth, his mustache brushes against your cupid’s bow and you don't even have the strength to turn your face away anymore. 

When your lips collide you let it happen. 

It’s like when you drink too much Tequila. 

It burns on your tongue, leaving you almost anesthetized as soon as you down it, and then an aromatic taste wafts into your mouth; it is lysergic, unusual, unmistakable.

You love it, so you keep doing it.

Javier is the same. 

He's sharp, stiff at the edges, burns like fire, but he has an aura that you won’t mistake for anything and he hypnotizes you. He’s not like anyone else, despite what you told him. There is an underlying despair in him, a cry dying in his throat, “How can you love someone like me?” 

He says it only with his eyes but you hear it clearly.

He is a time bomb that explodes in your heart every time he touches you. So you keep doing it.

“Fuck,” you whisper against his lips. 

“Yeah…I know. I’m not worthy.”

And yet, you’re still here.

You let him peel off your every layer of clothing, to leave you naked and vulnerable in front of him. 

You do nothing when he undresses too. Hastily taking off his shirt, fumbling with the button of his jeans, nervous hands and short breaths.

It is like some mind fuck game, intoxicating, dangerous, capable of leaving permanent marks.

He lowers his jeans just enough to free his cock, no boxers. Always ready.

His hands run over your hips and you groan. 

His tongue slides over your neck, his eyes closed, his breath heavy and warm on your skin. 

He makes you cry, but you don't say no.

His lips latch onto your nipple and adrenaline rushes through your veins up into your head, hitting hard like a jackhammer.

You don’t pull back anymore, you push your tit into his mouth so eagerly you feel his teeth closing on your bud and you whine in pleasure. 

His growing erection leaks against your center. You are trapped. Not so much because you are between him and the wall but because you no longer know how to get him out of your head. 

Right now it doesn't matter how much it hurts. 

He slides his hands down your thighs and you know what he wants, without needing to speak. You wrap your legs around his waist. He kneels on the bed with you still clinging to him, you lie back on the soft blankets that smell of you both, arch your back and press against his cock. You folds splayed and dripping for him.

His fingers go up your rib cage, stop under your breasts and grasp there, he draws you back to him and your mouths collide again.

You let his tongue enter. You let the fleeting pleasure of this instant take over all the no's you know you have to say.

There’s no right kind of love here, this room is drowned in angry sex.

Angry at how you can never say no to him, angry at how he makes you feel, angry because you know that no one has ever fucked you the way he did, invading your body with a pleasure so addictive that it makes you sick. Angry because maybe he's right, he can't change. 

You break the kiss and bite on his shoulder, a small act of revenge that really does no harm compared to your bleeding heart. 

Your hands grasp on the golden skin of his back, leaving marks with your nails digging into it, your miserable attempt to leave marks on him in return.

You moan convulsively under his touch, your mouth wide open against his, your tongue desperately seeking him out. 

His hands tighten on your ass, lifting you slightly, his cock slides over your wet opening, a guttural sound comes out of the back of your throat without you being able to hold it back. 

You want him inside you. 

You need him inside you.

And it’s wrong, and desperate. It’s masochistic.

You don’t even care for his jeans’s zip scraping your skin.

The thin line between pain and pleasure is so blurred now.

It’s a pathetic shit show of need and urgency. 

You’d walk away from any other guy but Javier is the person you can never have just for yourself and at the same time he is the only one you want. 

He is the knife and the wound at the same time.  

When he asks “Whose pussy is this?” in his deep groaning voice that fucks directly with your brain, you can only reply “yours.”

Digging your nails deeper, biting more, wailing louder but just pleading with him.

You take his shaft in your hand and rub it against you in blind desperation, wetting it with your juices. 

He groans into your ears while his hand reaches for your nipple and his big strong arm holds you close.

You are sitting on his thighs, your legs crossed behind his back.

His fingers pinch your nipple as you don't stop stroking his big throbbing cock.

Just put it in there. You think. I just need to feel your flesh against mine, inside me, claiming me like the rag doll that I am now. 

Stupid bitch trying to have you when you’re damaged like a shattered glass, when you can bring nothing than heat to my body and freezing ice to my heart. 

“Fuck me,” you groan. 

He pushes against your core, entering you with one deep thrust.

Your pussy is weeping so much it doesn’t even hurt.

You clench on him with all the strength you have, chocking his cock with your walls.

“Fuck,” he growls. “You’re gripping me so hard, baby. There’s nothing you want more than this, huh? Me fucking you raw?” 

“Shut up,” you hiss. 

He starts moving, pumping into you as his hand reaches for your clit, brushing it in circles.

You whine, clinging onto his back, your face hidden in the crook of his neck.

You can’t look him in the eye, you can’t face your own shameful reflection in his pupils, you can’t think of anything else than this pleasure firing your body, your limbs, your mind.

Your pussy never gets the memo when it comes to him. She just clenches, and cries and asks for more.

At the verge of your brink, when you’re so utterly overwhelmed you could swear, you’re about to jump out of your skin, you hear it.

It’s the softest whisper on your skin, so low you barely catch the words, “I love you” 

You cry a single tear that slides down the column of his neck, it could be mistaken for a bead of sweat so easily and Javier doesn’t notice it. But it’s there. You’re crying again.

You come, weeping.

Grasping to him like your last shred of hope.

But there’s no hope anymore.

You know you can’t go on like that.

You cried before. You argued before. It’s all useless.

A devastating orgasm shoots through you, leaving you without defense.

It’s the last thing you want but you need to get it over with. 

You lie on the bed, feeling his last twitches inside you, his cum dripping onto your walls, his cock pressing against that spot that belongs only to him.

He lies down on you, gently crushing you with his weight, his sweaty skin against yours, the smell of your orgasm filling your nostrils.

You’re hopeless and breathless. 

He's still inside you, like he doesn't want to leave. 

You know you have to. 

Eventually he shifts, lying on the other side of the bed muttering, “god, you really are something else.” He takes the pack of cigarettes from the nightstand and lights one, taking a long drag.

“I'm not enough,” you want to scream looking at him through the cloud of smoke enveloping him. “Or maybe you're not, for me.”

When he is about to fall asleep, you get up. You pick up your clothes off the floor and put them on silently.

“Where are you going, gatita?” he grunts. 

Does he think he has solved it? Does he think you will forgive him as you did the other times? 

You don’t reply.

"You only ever tell me the truth when you think I won't hear it,” you type on your phone and send it to him, before coming out of the door without turning your back.

You leave him there, wondering, lost as he makes you feel.

There will be two broken hearts. 

You know he loves you and you love him.

He is convinced that he doesn’t deserve you and pushes you away every time you get close to his soul. 

He knows that you see him clearly; that scares him.

You are tired of fighting for the both of you.

You push the elevator button under the gaze of an unsuspecting policeman who urges, “Where are you going, miss?”

“I'm leaving.”

“Do you need someone to accompany you?” 

“No, thank you.”

“Someone could follow you,” he counters.

“No one knows me, you don't have to worry.”

You wait for the elevator, still hoping to see his ruffled raven hair poking out the door, his voice calling to you, his hand tightening on your wrist. 

None of this happens.

The only ones who will follow you are your ghosts.

Tag list: @baronessvonglitter , @almostempty , @probablyreadinsmut , @thundermartini , @gothcsz , @cas-readsandwrites , @harriedandharassed

Archive tag: @pedrostories

If you want to be added or removed just let me know! Thank you very much for reading❤︎

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Hogwarts AU [pt. 3]

The third time is... rather different.

Tim is standing still and prim in his new dress robes between both his parents, the shining and glittering ballroom full of soft chatter, music, and clanking glasses right behind him.

Daniel is standing in front of him, his back straight and his hair styled and gelled to the point where it looks like a beret on his head. He is wearing all white, pristine and perfect, and Mr. Masters, who is standing on his right, is dressed in a similar fashion. The man looks like a marble statue, if Tim is being honest, what with his pale skin, silvery hair and light blue, almost colorless eyes.

Tim hadn't paid attention to it before - to be fair, it's not like he had a chance to see Daniel up close until today - but the boy is also very pale. Not a hint of blush on his cheeks, no freckles or birthmarks that he can see. If Tim hadn't seen him move, he would have been certain he was looking at a porcelain doll, not a human being.

The other person accompanying them is a woman with short, cut just below her ears, ginger hair. And, unlike both Daniel and Mr. Masters, she is not as colorless, wearing a dress in light, shimmering blue, with a high laced collar and tight sleeves. She is smiling pleasantly at Mother as she greets her, keeping her hand on Daniel's shoulder, and, overall, looks a lot more alive than anyone Tim has so far met or seen tonight.

Which is nice. Tim didn't think that when people heard the name 'Winter Ball', they were meant to take it literally and show up acting like frozen sculptures.

The ginger-haired lady curtsies with a smile, and both Mr. Masters and Daniel nod before going past them and entering the ballroom of Drake manor. Tim glances over his shoulder - Daniel kept looking at him as if they've never met before, and Tim is not sure what to think of it - but the boy keeps walking after his chaperones without as much as acknowledging him.

It's only when Tim starts turning his head back that he sees the other boy shoot him a tiny grin over his shoulder.

Tim might not be an expert in body language or socializing, but even he knows that grin means nothing good for the guests at the Ball. Especially given Daniel's previous records. Tim bites back a smile of his own.

Good. This party can definitely use some elephant trunks, in his opinion.

~~~

Roughly an hour later, when Tim had long lost sight of the whole Masters family in the glittering crowd, and, to be honest, kind of forgot to anticipate whatever Daniel was going to do, the boy shows up in front of him again.

He appears from what seems to be thin air, out of breath but with his robes still perfectly white - Tim suspects some sort of spell - and cuts right in between Stephanie and Tim, grabbing the latter's wrist.

"Dance with me," he breathes out urgently, and Tim blinks. Daniel's fingers are cold as ice on his skin.

"What?" He asks, baffled, and Stephanie makes a loud, undignified snort, not bothering to cover her mouth. Daniel shoots her a quick surprised look, like he didn't even see her until she made a sound, but she just shakes her head and makes a tiny step away.

"I don't dance," she says, an innocent smile on her lips, and that's a lie, Tim knows she can dance, she did that not ten minutes ago. She just wants Tim to suffer, the blond traitor in an embroidered dress.

"Good, because I didn't invite you," Daniel smirks, tilting his head to the side, and it should sound like an insult, but somehow doesn't. Stephanie grins back. Tim has an awfully damning feeling like the two of them would get along like a house on fire, given half a chance. And he doesn't like that idea.

Merlin, when he wished for the ball to be a little bit more fun than it is, he didn't mean this. Not that he intends on stopping either of them, but he is pretty sure they are not allowed to join efforts because that will end with the ballroom in ruins. And Tim likes his house in one piece, thanks.

It's also quite irritating how the two of them can just exchange ten words with each other and become friends.

Tim twists his hand in Daniel's grip and grabs him, all but dragging the boy away from Stephanie and to the brightly lit dancefloor. He wanted to dance? Tim can dance, no problem. He bets he can dance ten times better than Daniel, he's had so many lessons.

The boy makes a short, surprised sound at the sudden movement, but then follows suit without a word. His hand is still cold. Maybe one of them should wear gloves.

"Why did you want to dance?" Tim asks, as they get to the edge of the crowd, where the glitter of jewels and the flurry of robes are making a complicated picture of waltz. Why did you ask me, Tim wants to ask, actually, but he is not sure he wants an answer.

Daniel pulls him back by their still joined hands, making Tim turn around, and puts his other hand on Tim's waist, like it's the most natural thing ever. Dancing, right. Tim puts his own hand on Daniel's shoulder and steps closer.

"Sam would actually murder me if I asked her, and I don't know anyone else," the boy explains with a careless shrug, tilting his head to the side and listening to the music. Tim sees his lips move but hears no words - counting the steps, no doubt.

"You don't even know my name," Tim rolls his eyes, and maybe he is a little petty, but he doesn't need to count steps. He just pulls Daniel into the dance, careful enough not to bump into anyone else. The boy follows his lead easily enough, even though he seems a lot more concentrated on where he puts his feet than Tim is. So, he is better at dancing. Nice to know.

"I do, you're Tim," Daniel tells him a few minutes later, when both of them are fairly confident they are not going to trip over each other's feet. Although Tim almost does anyway - he didn't expect that.

On the other hand, it's probably Samantha who told him. Mrs. Manson brought her over to Drake estate a few times but made sure not to invite Tim to Manson's. Probably in order to avoid the same daring escape to happen twice.

"And you're Daniel, but we were never introduced," he counters, "You're not supposed to know."

"That's a stupid rule," Daniel huffs and loses his footing slightly, stepping on Tim's toe, "Oh, sorry. And it's Danny, not Daniel. I hate 'Daniel'."

Tim rolls his eyes and is a little proud that it doesn't cause a single pause in his steps.

But then, there's a crackle up in the air above them, like a firework that went off too close to the ground, and that causes Tim to startle and almost trip over Danie- Danny. The boy's grip on his waist tightens as he keeps Tim from falling, and when Tim looks back up at him, Danny is grinning, wide and excited, and happy.

Just like he did back when they first met. Well, when Tim first saw him.

Which is kind of making Tim's stomach feel weird, but also can only mean one thing.

Tim looks up.

The chandeliers in the ballroom are all giant and lit with a thousand candles, and the patterns of countless mirrors on the ceiling and walls only make the lights seem endless. Not a starry sky, but a myriad of tiny suns thrown all over the high ceilings.

Another crackle follows the first one, and Tim sees a dozen of tiny explosions go off from the chandelier, shooting in all directions and turning into bursts of white, sparkling stardust that slowly fades in the air.

"Pretty, right?" Danny asks quietly as more and more little stars are born high above the crowd, filling the air with shimmering lights. Tim suddenly realizes that they've stopped dancing - and everyone else did, too - and his mouth is hanging open, because this is the prettiest thing he's ever seen, and he didn't expect Danny to do something beautiful. He expected a prank, a joke, something ridiculous like the elephant trunks or the escape on a broom, but this-

This is magic.

Tim can't look away, he doesn't want to look away, but he still tears his gaze from the ceiling and looks at Danny.

"How did you do it?" He asks, quiet enough so no one would hear them over all the fireworks. The boy shrugs nonchalantly, but his eyes hold the reflection of all the sparkling stars above them.

"If I tell you, it won't be that fun," he says, smiling.

Tim doesn't ask again, instead looking back up to the ceiling full of exploding sparks.

It's the best party he's ever seen.

—☆—☆—☆—

Visuals that I might have spent too much time looking for:

And Tim's obligatory post-party drawings:

[Picrew]

Also, for the ambiance reasons, listen to the 'Once Upon a December' cover by Céline Lavigne.

—☆—☆—☆—

More random info on the characters:

Stephanie Brown is related to Lavender Brown, they are distant cousins, with Steph being a few years older. Her father is currently in Azkaban, and due to this fact, Steph and her mother are not often welcome in most social circles. They have a somewhat tense relationship with the rest of Brown family, but they are not ostracized, just generally frowned upon. Steph doesn't care much, though, you can break walls with her self-esteem. Her mother was a Hufflepuff, and she wants to be one as well.

Jack stayed home with Dani because she is too young to go through a whole ball without getting bored and stirring up some trouble. Danny was allowed to go under the condition that he won't ruin the evening, and he didn't! He made it better for all he knows! Malicious compliance, his favorite tool to use.

Later that evening the guests kept giving Jack and Janet Drake their compliments for the fireworks, and they both gladly accepted them, all while wondering who the fuck did that.

Neither Tim nor Vlad or Maddie, who knew who's at fault, said anything, although Maddie did ask Danny to never do that again without giving prior warning.

[<- part 2 | part 4 ->]

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Kalim Al-Asim - Platinum Jacket Vignette

"Happy 100th Anniversary"

­­­­[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Kalim: Woah! I've seen this artist's work before. I think we have a bunch of their stuff on the walls back home.

Kalim: So, the Land of Dawning's National Museum of Art's gottem on display too, huh. Hehe, that's pretty neat!

Vil: Oh, this… I think this is a painting of the moment when the beloved princess and the impoverished, yet kindhearted young man were set to be married.

Kalim: Yeah, that's right! The guy on the left is the sultan, and…

Kalim: Just so the princess could marry who she wanted, he went and changed the law for her.

Vil: Oh, hello, Kalim. I wasn't expecting you to know the particular details of the tale.

Kalim: The attendants back home would read me books with their stories. I really like the ones that have happy endings!

Kalim: Oh yeah, and did you know? The sultan here loved to collect miniature models.

Kalim: In his room, he had carriages large enough even a kid could ride in it, and statues of horses with wings…

Kalim: He even had a model of the royal palace! Apparently he'd always be playing with it.

Vil: Mhmm. Quite the childish hobby for a country's ruler to have.

Kalim: Oh, is playing with models childish? I'm always playing with mine whenever I go back home.

Kalim: Once, I mentioned to my dad I was curious what our home looked like from above, y'see.

Kalim: So then, he went and made a miniature model of our whole estate and a special room to put it in.

Vil: He made something like that just because you asked one thing… I suppose I shouldn't expect anything less from the Asim family.

Vil: But if it had its own room… How big was this model, anyway?

Kalim: Uhhh… I think at first, it was about the size of a magic carpet.

Kalim: Back then, it was just the estate buildings, but before I knew it, the land had been tacked on as well.

Kalim: And every time we added to the house, the model got an addition too, so it just got bigger and bigger.

Kalim: Whenever we'd buy new furniture, the stuff in my room, or my siblings' rooms would move around and change, too…

Kalim: There was always some kind of change whenever I looked into it. Sometimes I really couldn't tell what changed, though. Ahahah!

Vil: Even your furniture is a part of the model? Well, isn't that ridiculously elaborate…

Kalim: Yeah! That model is super awesome! The small clocks and furniture actually function, and…

Kalim: The roof and the walls of the model are made of the same stuff as our actual home, so it looks just like it.

Kalim: Water'll actually come out of the marble fountains, and even the trees and lawn are apparently made of real moss.

Kalim: Anyway, since it's a perfect replica of my real home, it really lets me feel like I'm a giant!

Kalim: Oh yeah. And on the ceiling of the room with the model, there are monitors and sprinklers…

Kalim: So night can turn into day, or it can rain or whatever.

Kalim: If the switch next to the model is pressed while in nighttime mode, the whole model lights up and it's so pretty!

Kalim: Also, we'd get miniature elephants and camels on parade…

Vil: Enough already! You've already convinced me just how special your personal miniature model is!

­­­­[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Vil: This is a painting of the Lord of the Underworld and his men.

Vil: From what I hear, the Lord of the Underworld's subordinates had the power to change their form and voice at well, and even could take on the appearance of children.

Kalim: Woah～ They must've been amazing. Oh, that reminds me, I once turned myself into an adult, y'know.

Vil: You turned yourself into an adult…? Do you mean you disguised yourself as one?

Kalim: Yeah! When I was little, my family and I went to go see a play and there was this one scene where a ruler dressed up like one of his servants.

Kalim: I wanted to try the dame thing, so that night after the play, I put my plan into action.

Kalim: Like, if I were to wear the household attendant's clothes and wear shoes with bigger soles, I'd look just like an adult, right?

Kalim: And then I even put on a huge hat and covered my face with sunglasses, too.

Vil: You really seem proud of yourself… And you're saying no one realized it was you?

Kalim: YEAH, IT WAS A PERFECT DISGUISE!

Kalim: They didn't even call my name, just said stuff like, "Perhaps it is time for bed, my young, esteemed colleague?"

Vil: They absolutely knew. No one in their right mind would tell their colleague to go rest in the middle of their duties.

Kalim: Eh? …YOU'RE SO RIGHT!! You're amazing, Vil. I never even realized before you said that just now.

Kalim: But then, how did they even figure out it was me?

Vil: I wouldn't call what you did a disguise or anything. All you did was wear your attendants' clothing.

Vil: Your behavior and speech were the same as usual, weren't they? Then there was nothing disguised. It was no different than you changing between your school or dorm uniforms.

Kalim: So if they figured it out 'cause of my behavior…? So then, I shouldn't've talked like I normally do, right?

Vil: Yes. Think back to the mannerisms of the attendants in your estate and how they treat you.

Kalim: Their mannerisms… Hmm…

Kalim: Oh, I think I got it! So I should've tried to speak more polite-like!

Vil: I wasn't really talking about something as minor as that, but… Well, I suppose that's a step in the right direction.

Vil: If you are going to disguise yourself as another person, you cannot just mimic them. You must completely change your mannerisms, speech, everything.

Kalim: I got it. Thanks for the advice!

Kalim: I know what I have to fix now, so… I gotta try again as soon as I can!

Vil: You're going to try again…? Here? And who exactly are you planning to disguise yourself as?

Kalim: Obviously, one of my family's attendants! This time for sure, it'll be the best disguise ever!

Vil: I think dressing up as an Asim family attendant would just be too conspicuous… But I do look forward to seeing how you pull it off.

­­­­[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Kalim: Woah! Look, Vil! There's a painting of a tea party.

Vil: According to legend, this tea party was ridiculously strange…

Kalim: It's super cool, don'tcha think! This is one of my favorite displays.

Kalim: It had teapots whistling along to songs, and plates that could be eaten after being doused in tea…

Kalim: On top of that, there was a cake that would fly up into fireworks as soon as its candles were lit!

Kalim: And their large table was just completely covered in all those tableware and foodstuffs! Awesome, right!?

Vil: …You look at that tea party and genuinely think it 'awesome'? It looks as though we have completely different tastes.

Kalim: Oh, you don't think so, Vil?

Vil: Mhm. That's because I like enjoying a quiet teatime.

Kalim: They say that the girl in the tale didn't even have time to drink her tea, so it sounded pretty fun to me.

Kalim: If I ever get to attend a tea party that's this chaotic, I'd totally be down!

Kalim: Ooh, or, should I throw a tea party myself? We can act out this specific scene.

Kalim: I bet it'd be fun to sing along with my dormmates as the teapots jammed.

Kalim: Oh yeah! Don'tcha think everyone'll be surprised if the teapots also danced and leaped around with the rest of us?

Vil: Yes, I'm sure they would be.

Kalim: Yeah, I can't just try to imitate the legends. It should be an even grander extravaganza!

Kalim: I'll have to prep a lot of edible plates… And a buncha different teas they can use to dip the dishes in…

Kalim: What's left… Oh right, the cake!

Kalim: I should make it a much larger cake than what the girl in the tale got.

Kalim: That way there'd be even bigger fireworks, and it'll get everyone real excited!

Vil: I can absolutely picture your dormmates running around so loudly.

Kalim: Right!? After that… Hmmm. Vil, you got any good ideas?

Vil: You shouldn't ask me, but instead ask your dormmates for their opinion.

Kalim: Yeah! Of course, I'll definitely check with them.

Kalim: But, I want to invite you too, Vil. So tell me, what kind of party do you want it to be?

Vil: [sighs] …I just told you. I would rather enjoy a quiet teatime.

Vil: Thank you for the invite, but I'll have to decline. Bye, now.

Kalim: Okay…  Then you definitely gotta come to the next party I throw!

Kalim: All right, which painting should I check out next? Ooh! Is that…?

Kalim: Yeah, just as I thought! It's artwork that shows the young man marching in a parade on an elephant's back!

Kalim: There were 75 golden camels, 53 peacocks, and a bunch of other animals and dancers following him...

Kalim: Looks like he was trying to entertain the whole country on the way to visit the princess.

Kalim: He went through all that effort just to make everyone happy… There's no doubt about it.

Kalim: This guy is definitely an awesomely good guy. I'm a real good judge of character, after all!

Requested by @starshiningsirius.

[whencyclopedia]

Theodosian Walls

The Theodosian Walls are the fortifications of Constantinople, capital of the Byzantine Empire, which were first built during the reign of Theodosius II (408-450 CE). Sometimes known as the Theodosian Long Walls, they built upon and extended earlier fortifications so that the city became impregnable to enemy sieges for 800 years. The fortifications were the largest and strongest ever built in either the ancient or medieval worlds. Resisting attacks and earthquakes over the centuries, the walls were particularly tested by Bulgar and Arab forces who sometimes laid siege to the city for years at a time. Sections of the walls can still be seen today in modern Istanbul and are the city's most impressive surviving monuments from Late Antiquity.

Making the City Safe

Although the city had benefitted from previous emperors building fortifications, especially Constantine I when he moved his capital from Rome to the east, it is Emperor Theodosius II who is most associated with Constantinople's famous city walls. It was, though, Theodosius I (r. 379-395 CE) who began the project of improving the capital's defences by building the Golden Gate of Constantinople in November 391 CE. The massive gate was over 12 metres high, had three arches, and a tower either side. It was entirely built of marble and decorated with statues and was topped with a sculpture of a chariot pulled by four elephants. The Golden Gate probably marked the start of triumphal processions which ended in the Hippodrome. Two decades later, Theodosius II was alarmed at the recent fall of Rome to the Goths in 410 CE and set about building a massive line of triple fortification walls to ensure Constantinople never followed the same fate. The man credited with supervising their construction is Theodosius' Praetorian Prefect Anthemius. The walls extended across the peninsula from the shores of the Sea of Marmara to the Golden Horn, eventually being fully completed in 439 CE and stretching some 6.5 kilometres. They expanded the enclosed area of the city by 5 square kilometres.

Continue reading...

[achyutapriya]

𝐉𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐭 𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐢 𝐓𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞

⭑･ﾟﾟ･*:༅｡.｡༅:*ﾟ:*:✼✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑

The Jagat shiromani temple ( Jewel on the head of Lord Vishnu) also known as Meerabai temple located in Amer, Rajasthan. Constructed between 1599 and 1608 is believed to house the idol of Shree Krishna which Meerabai herself worshipped. The idol of Krishna was saved by the rulers of Amer from the Mughal invaders in Mewar and was brought back here.

The garbagriha of the temple houses the idol of Lord Vishnu in white marble, and the idols of Shree Krishna and Meerabai. It is believed that it is the only temple where Krishna and Meerabai are worshipped together.

Built on top of a small hill, one of the most striking features of the temple are it's beautiful 'Torans' (ornamental archways which are usually found in Jain temples). In the canopy adjacent to the temple is a beautifully chiselled statue of Garuda, Lord Vishnu's carrier. The walls and the ceilings of the temple are carved with elephants, horses and scenes from various religious scriptures. One of the entrances of the temple is through the stairways of the Amer fort leading to the temple courtyard.

⭑･ﾟﾟ･*:༅｡.｡༅:*ﾟ:*:✼✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑

[ichorai]

hell, yeah ; roman roy ; part four (m).

pairing ; roman roy x f!reader

synopsis ; pain was an old friend for the both of you.

words ; 18.0k

themes ; fluff, angst, drama, slowburn, smut, childhood friends to lovers

warnings / includes ; depictions of mental and physical abuse, mentions of death, unprotected penetrative sex, a lot of sexual/suicidal jokes and general foul language, tons of business talk, talks of nazis/fascism/conservatism, really morally grey shit, roman’s implied demisexuality, kendall & reader's popsicle war, mencken himself is a warning

series masterlist. main masterlist.

A conservative political fundraiser weekend was the last place on earth you wanted to be, but hell—Logan wanted you there, so who were you to say no to the boss? Besides, hubs like this were always good to sniff out who would be the most dangerous people on the red spectrum.

The hall was decked out in lavish decorations—chandeliers and golden ornaments and marble statues every which way you looked. It was full to the brim with mingling politicians of all kinds: the kinds being old white men, or…

Hm. Seemed like it was practically all old white men other than a handful of women wandering around. White women, of course.

You and Shiv locked eyes for a moment. Though the two of you shared many common political interests, at least much more than the rest of the family, you often found yourself on the opposite ends of agreement. But today, in a sea of men with confederate flags for dicks, the two of you found solace in one another. 

“You can smell the panic,” she told you. “Berlin Bunker vibes.”

“They’re scrambling,” you replied. “Nobody was expecting this. Maybe they should’ve.”

Beside you, Roman cuffed your shoulder. “Ooh—the libtard and the soc-commie. How does it feel to be spelunking in the elephant’s asshole?”

“Calling me a communist isn’t the insult you think it is,” you told Roman, rolling your eyes.

“Mmh. I’m sure they would’ve loved you in the 1930s.”

Shiv crossed her arms. “We’re just corporate observers.”

“The weekend isn’t over yet—we’ll get our white cis-male stank all over you,” Roman commented snidely.

It was then that Greg came up to the group, expression muddled with confusion. “Hey, guys, some guy with an undercut just called me a ‘soy boy’. What, uhm, I don’t really know what that means? What is this, actually? Like what’s everyone here for?”

“It’s just a nice political conference of like-minded donors and intellectuals,” Roman told his cousin.

“I wouldn’t call them intellectuals, exactly,” you said with a frown. You were pretty sure half of these men owned podcasts talking about how toxic masculinity is fake, and the other half were so old they didn’t know how to turn the brightness up on their own phone. 

“We’re picking the next president,” Tom piped up, which made Shiv arch a brow.

“That’s not… that’s not really how it works.”

Roman shrugged. “No, sure, but… it kinda is.”

“Is that—is that constitutional?” Greg queried, looking around worriedly, suddenly wondering if he was participating in yet another illegal activity.

“Welcome to the one percent, Greg,” you told him with a sigh. “Where you don’t have to worry about the constitution anymore.”

Roman pinched your cheek. “Awh, look at you, embracing the right-wing traditions! I love that for you.”

Wrinkling your nose, you swatted his hand away. “Six months till election day and still no candidate. Surprised everyone hasn’t unanimously agreed on putting the vice prez up on a pedestal.”

“Steady old plow horse, huh?” Roman said, directing his gaze to the old vice president, Dave Boyer. “He licks his lips too much. Like a—like a cartoon bear when there’s a picnic hamper nearby.”

You laughed at that, and Roman shot you a grin. 

“I’m going to go take a tour. Check out the fresh meat,” he told you, and you nodded. 

“I’ll be near the entrance if you need me.”

With that, he set off to mingle, hands shoved into his pockets to stop him from his habitual itching and scratching.

“Who are you thinking?” Shiv leaned forward to ask.

“Boyer. Seems the most obvious, easiest choice,” you replied, meeting her scrutinizing stare.

“Are you saying that because he is the easiest choice, or because he’d be the easiest to win against?” she asked with a sharp smile.

There was a momentary pause. “Why, who do you think they should put up?”

“I say we go blue.”

Your mouth fell open as you struggled to find the words to respond with. “Shiv, that just—that’d never work.”

“Why not?”

“You realize ATN is fucking—it’s fueled by everything right-wing! For us to suddenly bat for dems would bring nothing but angry conservatives and we’d lose a fuck-ton of shareholder money.” You shook your head. “Look, Shiv, I don’t like them as much as you do. But forcing your dad to swing blue is just a terrible idea.”

Her features hardened. “The least we could do is try. Right?”

Before you could respond, Roman came hurrying back, phone clutched tightly in his hand. He shoved the screen up against his sister’s face. “Did you know about this, you withholding bitch?”

“Uh, what?” 

“You know Glyn, the, uh, the Brexit pervert?” Roman said, gesturing to the tall British chap with a large nose. “Yeah, he just sent this to me—apparently our mother is marrying Peter Munion.”

Both you and Shiv doubled with surprise. “What?” she asked. “Who’s Peter Onion?”

“I don’t fucking know. I wonder if that first-born fucker knew,” Roman said. 

“I mean, if you guys didn’t know, I’m sure Connor wouldn’t have known, either,” you ventured, glancing over at the eldest sibling chattering to two other politicians about abolishing taxes.

Snorting, Roman replied, “No, the other first-born fucker. Kenny Dick.”

“Ah. Right.”

“Call him.” Shiv nudged her brother.

With a hum, Rome whipped his phone out and called his brother, putting it on speaker phone for the two of you to hear.

“Yeah, what?” Kendall’s voice came through on the second ring.

“Hey. Just wanted you to know that new dad just dropped.”

There was a brief crackle of silence. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Mummy’s getting married, you dingus.”

“Did you know?” Shiv leaned forward to query.

Roman snickered. “Of course he didn’t know, Ken bores the shit out of mom.”

You remembered one Christmas when you were children, the family was exchanging gifts—Kendall had set down a little red box in front of Caroline so she could open it. Something hand-made? You’d always wondered. The wrapping was shoddy. It was forgotten and pushed off to the side in favor of prettier, more expensive-looking presents. You were pretty sure Caroline hadn’t even seen the gift. Or maybe she did. Maybe she just didn’t care to open it. Nonetheless, Kendall, thirteen years of age, didn’t try to give it to her again. That night, when the servants were tossing away all the stray wrappings and ribbons, you caught sight of the crumpled red box chucked into a black garbage bag. You didn’t dwell on it, because Roman had heckled you away soon after to ‘watch’ Shiv play with her new dollhouse.

“What are you even talking about?” Kendall asked. He sounded angry. “You mean, she’s marrying Rory?”

“Uh, no. She took the view ‘Fuck Rory��,” Shiv said, glib.

Sneering, Kendall abruptly changed the subject. “Hey, Shiv, is it true you’re at the hate-fest? Burning books and measuring skulls down in Virginia?” 

“Yeah,” Shiv deadpanned. “What are you doing with your weekend? Planning to send us all to jail? Your favorite past-time?”

Before it could escalate into a full-on argument, Roman pulled the phone close to him and said, “Alright, just wanted to let you know that Mummy still doesn’t love you. Bye, Ken!”

With that, he hung up.

“Do you think your mom is going to invite me to her wedding?” you asked, wrinkling your nose at the prospect of going all the way across the ocean when you had so much work piled up. “And would she be offended if I didn’t come?”

“Oh, she’s definitely inviting you. You know how she is. Needs everyone who knows of her existence to see how rich and pompous she is. She’d have a grudge against you if you didn’t come,” Roman told you.

You frowned, and Roman laughed.

“We can be each other’s date. It’ll be fun. Don’t worry about it.” He rubbed your shoulder, and began leading you off to the bar to get some drinks. 

“Your mother would love that. Us, being each other’s dates? She’d gloat in our faces that she’s known all along,” you mused with a grin, before leaning against the counter and asking the bartender for your preferred drink.

“Or she’d be too self-absorbed to notice. And it’s okay for her to be that way because it’s her own wedding.” Pulling a sour face, Roman shook his head. “Blegh. I can’t believe she’s actually marrying someone named Bunion.”

You laughed softly. “Munion.”

“Whatever.”

Before either of you could say anything else, a figure approached the bar, standing just beside Roman.

“Hey guys,” said Mencken. “What’s up?”

Both you and Roman turned your heads to him. He shot you a glance, noting the unimpressed raised eyebrow.

“Oh, okay. Yeah, it’s the—it’s the ghost pepper. The spicy new flavor, Mencken.” Rome gave the taller man a onceover, drawing a long sip from his glass.

Mencken’s keen eyes darted from Rome to you, and back to Roman, scrutinizing. Burning. You couldn’t quite gauge what he was thinking, but knowing all the hot bullshit he liked to spew on the internet, you were sure it’d be nothing good.

Him as president? That’d be like putting a mask on Hitler and crowning him King of the nation.

“So what’s your deal? Most people here want to fuck me or kill me.” Mencken asked, leaning against the bar. “I’m hoping it’s the former.”

You weren’t quite sure if that was directed to you or Roman, but you were disgusted, either way. 

Roman clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth. “Ooh, wow. I always found it hard to care about politics, so… I trust in Y/N to have enough opinions for the both of us.”

He gave you a fond pat on the shoulder and you spared your friend a stiff smile.

“Right, Y/N. It’s nice to meet you,” Mencken said, sticking his hand out. 

Staring down at his extended palm, you took a second to consider flat out ignoring him. But, not wanting to cause a scene, you shook it firmly, nodding curtly. “Likewise,” you lied.

When you pulled away, you made the conscious choice to discreetly wipe your palm onto your pants.

“I’ve heard a lot about you. The both of you, actually.”

“Oh, really?” you deadpanned, straightfaced.

“Tabloids never shut up.”

“They hardly ever do.”

Mencken crossed his arms. “To be honest, I always thought you two were just a PR stunt. You know the vibes… look away from all the sexual harassment, because the prince and princess of Waystar are being all snuggly at a charity event! But now that I’m looking at you in person…”

His words struck a nerve within you. A muscle in your jaw twitched. 

Roman laughed, nervous. “We aren’t—we aren’t, like, a thing. I mean we—we kind of are, but we’re also not really—”

The older man whistled sharply, lifting a hand to stop him, as if he were a dog. “No need to explain to me. I’ve been down that road many, many times.”

“Roman and I are close,” you told him, voice steely. “The details are none of your, or the public’s concern.”

The way Mencken smiled was wolfish. Greedy, almost. 

“Alright, here’s my party trick,” he said to the two of you. “Tell me who your enemy is, and I’ll tell you who you are.”

A part of you wanted to laugh. Where did he get that from, an alpha male, raw meat-eating youtuber’s podcast?

Roman sucked in a breath, amused. “Oh-kay. Let’s put a pin in that one.” He took another sip. “I’ve seen your poll numbers. You’re dark-horsin’ shit. Are people buying your whole… thing?”

Facism. That’s what Roman was alluding to. This man was a fucking fascist. The two of you were entertaining a fascist! You couldn’t believe what you’ve come to. 

Mencken chuckled. “They better buy it. Or I’ll send them to the Gulag.”

“Jesus Christ,” you hissed, wrinkling your nose. 

“No, no, no. Not work camps. Just—summer camps. It’ll be like summer camps,” Mencken said. 

“Summer camps but with beatings, right?” Roman asked, unsure if the man beside him was joking or not.

“No, no. Shh—no beatings.”

Mencken winked. He fucking winked! To your surprise, Roman laughed, genuine and chesty. 

“Wow. Tough crowd, huh?” Mencken said, meeting your unamused eyes. “You always struck me as the quiet little country mouse. No wonder you’re sticking to the big-gun citymen.”

“Well, I’m sorry if I don’t find labor camps all that funny,” you remarked, drumming your fingers along the countertop. 

“I’m just kidding. We’re joking around.” He elbowed Roman’s arm. “Is she always this uptight?”

You had to admit that it stung just a bit when Roman tipped his head back and laughed. “It’s what I like most about her. Ain’t that right, schnookums?”

You sniffed in disdain, shrugging off his hand when he placed it on your shoulder. You weren’t a huge fan of how… warm Roman was to him. It felt vile, and it felt wrong. 

Tilting his head, Mencken smacked his lips together and started up, “So, uh… do you guys know yet? Who takes over?”

Roman stopped sipping his drink and set it down. “What’s that?”

“When they send the old battletoad off to the hoosegow.” His eyes glinted. “Your dad, Logan. Admiral Grope Boat.”

“Yeah, no, he’s not… that’s actually not happening,” said Roman. He scratched at the back of his head. 

Mencken cackled at that. “Hah, yeah, that’s right. Stick to the line. That’s good.”

The two of them smiled at each other.

A sudden pit of nausea started curling within your stomach. 

Boyer and Salgado approached the bar, striking up a conversation with Mencken, effectively roping his attention away from the two of you. You downed your drink and leaned against Roman with a mild hum.

“I really thought this event would be more interesting,” you admitted.

Shoulders shaking with his chuckling, Roman asked you, “What, did you think there’d be a gun-slinging showdown? Old western-style?”

“Well, yeah. What else do conservatives do?”

The two of you snickered under your breath. 

It was then that Shiv came to stand by you, ordering a drink for herself. “Hey. What’ve you guys sniffed out?”

You offered her half a shrug, glancing over at Mencken. With a lowered voice, you said, “A lot of rotten apples in the orchard.”

The siblings both hummed at that—Shiv in agreement, Roman in amusement. 

“Look at us, playing nice,” you overheard Salgado tell Mencken. To your credit, they weren’t quite using their inside voices. “People might think we liked each other.”

“Hey, I’m a conservative! I like tradition,” Mencken protested. “I doff my cap to vice president Boyer’s years of loyal service.”

“Thank you. I believe you used to call me Martin Van Boring.”

Mencken grinned. “Hey, come on! No, I still call you that.”

Nodding, Boyer shifted to speak to everyone else gathered around the bar. “Listen, Mencken and I may differ in some areas, but, uh, we both agree that this is the party of the working class now.”

Shiv pulled an incredulous face, scoffing loud. 

“What? You don’t agree, Shiv?” Boyer asked. “All the richest counties in America are blue. The Democrats and tech hold all the wealth.”

“Oh, yes, because everyone here is scrounging through their couches for loose change,” you snidely commented, coolly meeting Boyer’s gaze. 

The old man licked at his lips, gesturing vaguely with his hands. “Come now, I’m talking about the general public. We don’t count.”

Why not?

“I just think some of us get so high off of owning the libs, we forget to talk policy,” said Salgado.

Mencken snorted. “Yeah, Rick loves to talk policy! What he does is he memorizes a National Review issue from 2012 and then recites it back to you. Cool policy, bro.”

This made Salgado frown. “Mmh, Jeryd hates to talk policy because it would mean, you know, having one.”

Roman whistled sarcastically. “Sick burn, brosef!”

“Oh, no, no. We’re kidding. We are!” Mencken insisted. He smiled at you and Roman. “We like each other. I listen to his speeches every night. Yeah. They help me drop off.”

Out of the three politicians, you had to admit that Salgado was the most appealing. Sure, he was a pushover and really only concerned about his public image rather than what he was promoting, but it was better than Mencken the fascist and Boyer the conservative lip-licker. 

“Maybe it’s boring talking about populist solutions for working families,” said Salgado.

“Rick, come on! You jerked off to Reagan’s headshot for thirty years, and now you’re Tom Joad?” Mencken jeered.

Rolling her eyes, Shiv told you, “God, this shit is so fucking boring.”

Overhearing, Mencken gave the woman a onceover. “What’s that?”

“Hm?” Shiv met his gaze. “No, I’ve just—I’ve seen your thing quite a lot.”

Mencken uncrossed his arms and then crossed them again. He was frowning, brows knitting together—evidently he didn’t quite like being tested.

“And what’s that? What’s my thing?”

“Youtube provocateur bullshit,” Shiv told him with a bitter laugh. “Aristo-populism. ‘Rape is natural, it’s all red pill, baby.’ I’m just—I’m just so fucking over it.”

“Have you read Plato?” asked Mencken. 

Oh, God. Was he really pulling the philosophical literature superiority card? Was he being serious?

“Yeah,” Shiv said in a mocking voice. “Remind me, what happens?”

“Oh, read Plato! Read Plato!” Mencken told her, his manner condescending.

“Don’t want to!” Shiv exclaimed. “I don’t fucking want to!”

Salgado cut in, “See, he doesn’t actually want to have a conversation. He just wants to yell loud enough to get on ATN.”

“Nah! Fuck ATN,” Mencken said. The room fell silent, and all eyes were on him. For a moment, he looked at you and Roman, the two of you watching him with muted interest. You wondered if he was seeking both of your approvals. “No, really, ATN is treated as a bulwark, but it’s dead. It’s basically a pudding cup at 5 PM in the nursing home. It’s status quo bedtime stories to maximize shareholder value.”

Though you didn’t want to agree with any of Mencken’s sentiments, you had to admit that his take on ATN was a valid one. ATN was hardly a reliable source, with its heavy right-wing influences. To you, it was merely a station to feed into the delusions of the older conservative generation. At the thought, you looked over your shoulder to Logan, seated on a table not too far from the bar. You only saw his back, but you wondered if he was listening in.

“Honestly, it doesn’t speak to me,” Mencken continued on. “Doesn’t speak to the people I talk to.”

“And who is it you talk to?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Mencken stared at you for a moment before answering, “People who want to see the truth. See the natural order of things.”

“Natural order. Wow,” you whispered under your breath. With that, you ordered another drink. You couldn’t listen to all this bullshit sober. 

Mencken nodded. “Logan Roy was an icon. But, you know… he’s no longer relevant.”

“Do you recognize this fucker?” Roman asked, shoving the phone in Shiv’s face.

“Nope,” she said.

You peered over his shoulder to see the wedding invitation on his screen, zoomed into his mother’s fiance’s face. 

“Fucking jelly-boned, low-T, pip-pip cheerio fucker,” Roman muttered as he shut the phone off and slid it back into his suit jacket’s pocket.

You pressed the button on the elevator to go up. Logan had called all of you up to the royal suite to discuss options for the next red presidential candidate—something you weren’t at all looking forward to. “He doesn’t look all that bad. Do you think your dad knows?”

The doors slid open and the three of you filed in.

Roman tilted his head. “No. But we have to stop the wedding, right?” 

Both you and Shiv exchanged incredulous looks. 

“Stop obsessing over Mom’s new husband,” Shiv told her brother. “Just get over it. Who cares?”

Narrowing his eyes, Roman asked, “Get over it? It just fucking happened. My mother’s marrying some dickhead, crooked-toothed turnip man.”

“His teeth looked quite nice in the picture, actually—” you began, before falling silent at Roman’s loud groan.

“What’s wrong is how little you care about it, you frozen bitch,” Roman commented off-handedly, making Shiv roll her eyes.

“Oh, poor Rome! His dreams of porking Mom are slipping through his little lubed-up fingers!” she leered, snickering a little.

A frown crossed your features. “It’s okay to care about it, Shiv. I mean… it’s your mom.”

“Something she often forgets,” she murmured, and that marked the end of the conversation.

The elevator rolled to a halt, the doors opening once more to a grand hall. The door to the suite was all the way down, and the three of you made your way there in contemplative silence. Logan was inside to greet you, along with Tom, Hugo, Connor, and Greg (who was awkwardly lingering by the curtained windows). 

“There’s a lot of chat flying around. A lot of flapping,” your godfather said once everyone had settled in. “We need one voice on this, or we could fall apart and hand it to the fuck-fuck donkey gang.”

Donkey gang, obviously meaning the democrats. You spared Shiv a look—she was seated away from her husband, frowning down at her hands.

“So… who do we like?” Logan asked.

Shiv cleared her throat and said, “Shouldn’t we kick it around for a bit? Feels like it’s poised, so if you and Petkus come together, and the other donors follow, it just—”

“Exactly,” Logan deadpanned. “We’re picking. We haven’t got all night.”

Occupying one of the long sofas all on his own, Connor put forth, “I like Connor Roy.”

The room lapsed into silence for a few seconds. Roman smiled, amused.

Calling back to the short conversation you had with Shiv earlier, she said, “Honestly, Dad, I think you go Dems.”

Immediately, the two brothers in the room reacted with incredulity.

“Wow,” Connor scoffed.

“Jesus Christ! What, are we all going to hold hands and sing kumbaya next?” Roman exclaimed. Then, he sat up straighter. “Uhm, I… I kinda like Mencken? But—I know he’s kind of shitty, so if it’s now, I guess I’d say Boyer. But can I also just say that I don’t like Boyer?”

Though you were not at all happy that Roman was leaning for Mencken, you had to agree that Boyer was a safe choice. You crossed your arms. “Hard pass to Mencken. I say we go Boyer. Vice is nice, no?”

Shiv sighed loudly.

“What? What’s with the fucking attitude?” Roman asked.

The redhead held her hands out. “Okay, look, no disrespect, but Boyer was yesterday’s papers. The Dems will run on change and blow him away.”

“Ooh, Mrs. Politics,” crooned Roman. “How many big races did you win as a consultant? Four? Three? Did you win two? One?” He held up his middle finger.

She scowled. “Roman, Boyer is not a winner, and we know that.”

“Okay, then, should we talk to Mencken?” he asked. “See if we can deal?”

Vehement, Shiv said, “Uh, can I just say something? Mmh, no. Mencken is an integralist, nativist fuckhead. He’s toxic! He’s fucking—he’s ‘medicare for all, abortions for none.’ And his idea of diplomacy is shooting roe deer with Viktor Orban and then starting the trade war with China! Look, I know that there’s the carnival bark, and there’s the fucking show, but he’s outside the American political tradition. I think we have a responsibility as Waystar—”

She was cut off when Roman began humming the national anthem.

“Fuck you, Roman!” she spat out.

You put a hand on his arm, and he stopped humming. “I know my opinion here means little to nothing, but… I don’t like Mencken. He’s radical, and he’s dangerous. I’m not saying we swing blue, either. I’m saying we stay safe with Boyer. Our position right now is… precarious. It’s the best option we have.”

Logan studied you, and nodded twice. He was never one for safe options, though. You knew that full and well.

Both Roman and Shiv burst into an argument then, lobbing insults back and forth at each other. Tom stared blankly at the ground, looking even more exhausted than he usually did.

“Stop being a dirty little pixie whispering swastikas into Dad’s ear!” Shiv ground out.

“Boom! There you go again! So fucking route one!” Roman exclaimed. 

The scowl on her face deepened. “I’m not saying it’s going to be the full Third Reich, but I am genuinely concerned that we could slide into a fucking Russian Berlusconied Brazilian fuckpile!”

Raising his brows, Roman shot back, “You have a trophy husband and several fur coats. I think you’re gonna be fine.”

“Tom,” Logan said, seemingly unaffected by the harsh bickering. “Who do you like?”

“Me? I, uh… I think Shiv talks a lot of sense. I also jibe with Salgado.”

Blowing out a breath, Roman said, “You jibe with him? Pretty sure that’s racist, Tom.”

“Salgado is another safe alternative,” you said. “Just not… not Mencken.”

This made Roman nudge his elbow into you. “I thought you were all about giving people chances! Mencken, he’s… you and him have a lot of beliefs in common, actually!”

“Oh? And what’s that?” 

“You’re, uh, both against free-market capitalism! That counts for something, right? Why don’t you just give him a chance?” 

You pinched the space between your brows. “Rome—”

Before you had a chance to finish, Roman was addressing Logan. “Dad, I know you came to the market to get a nice milk cow, but we found ourselves a fucking T-rex, okay? He’s box-office. The guy is fucking diesel. I mean, he’s good on camera. He’s fun! He’ll fight. Viewers will eat out of his hand. No downside.”

“Uh, right, no downside. Let’s just invade Poland, Dad!” Shiv scoffed. “His chief of staff broke a kid’s jaw at a rally!”

“If we don’t come to an accommodation, we get outflanked and we lose the ATN dollar machine when we need cash to fight Tech. Right? Shiv wants her way, I want my way, Connor wants his way, so that’s even.”

Vehemently, Shiv protested, “It’s not fucking even! My opinion counts for more!”

Everyone looked to her, miffed. She sounded more like a child than anything. 

“No, it does! It just fucking does! I know this! People hate Mencken. They fucking hate that guy!” Shiv lowered her voice, as if just realizing that she was yelling a notch too loud. “You have to look at the climate.”

 From the windows, Greg raised a hand. “Do I—do I get a vote?”

“Oh, sure, buddy. You get to vote at the election with all the other folks,” Roman told his cousin, humorously.

“Yeah, well, I just thought I’d get a… bigger vote in here?”

Ignoring him, Hugo said, “Boyer is likely to be flexible over the DOJ.”

“Not if he doesn’t win,” Shiv said. “Which… he won’t.”

“Isn’t that what you want?” you sighed. “You’re blue, Shiv.”

“My personal politics and the company’s values are on opposite ends of the spectrum,” she clarified. “I have to put the company before myself.”

“Okay, we’re hearing rumors that the case is weakening,” Hugo said. “No one big is likely to do jail time. With the notable exception of Tom, of course. Sorry, Tom.”

Visibly, Tom’s shoulders seemed to stiffen, but he nodded nonetheless. “No, please, Hugo… understood.”

Shiv turned to address her father again. “If you don’t go blue, Dad, then at least we have to be backing Salgado.”

This made Connor audibly groan. “Ugh. Señor Dickless. Captain of the Tampa Bay Cuckaneers.”

“Look, I don’t like him. He’s a neocon pretending to be a paleocon, but he at least talks base!” Shiv said. 

Roman clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Wow. I think you’re so brave for picking the brown man. I think that we should get you a medal! A special medal for white women who like brown men.”

“Wow, okay. You’re just being racist! You’re being racist now!” Shiv said, swinging her incredulous gaze from you to her father.

In a mocking tone, Roman said, “Oh, yeah, I’m a good girl! I pretend to care about people because nobody ever cares about me!”

“Hm. Roman, do you have anything you wanna tell Dad? A message from Mom, maybe?”

He recoiled, frowning. “Uh, yeah, wow. Fuck you! Thanks, I do.” Roman looked to his dad, and he could feel the familiar fear creeping up and seizing his ribcage. It helped that you’d shifted your hand to lay over his, but only barely. “Mom’s getting remarried.”

Logan nodded, contemplative. “Hm. To Bertie Woofter?”

“Ooh, no. To Peter. Peter, uh, Peter Munson.”

“Munion,” you whispered.

“Peter Munion,” Roman corrected. 

Anger clouded over Logan’s eyes. “You’re fucking kidding. The seat sniffer? Christ. He’s been hanging around for forty-some years!”

“Yeah, and, well, she’d love it if you came to their big Tuscan wedding.”

“Ooh, La-di-da,” Logan said, sucking in a deep breath. “And they sent you as their messenger boy?”

He laughed and laughed. Roman shrugged.

“Okay,” the old man finally said. “Back to it, then. Who are we picking?”

“I guess there are other names,” Hugo offered. Connor coughed pointedly into his fist, but nobody paid him any mind.

Firm, Logan said, “We have to be united on this. It’s a disaster if we splinter.”

“Salgado has great narrative,” Shiv said.

Scowling, Roman spat out, “Quit butt-huffing Salgado! We all supported your little DC lemonade stand, but this is the real fucking world. This actually matters.”

Lip curled, Shiv replied, voice dripping with venom, “Roman, you just love the boot because you like to be kicked by it.”

Clearly hurt, Roman sucked in a deep breath and picked a piece of lint off his pants.

Connor coughed again, and Logan finally asked him what was on his mind.

“Nothing,” the eldest son said. “No, it’s nothing.”

As if to entertain a ludicrous notion, Logan smiled. “What about Connor?”

“I do believe that idea has good promise,” Connor exclaimed. “I do!”

“I could see it,” Logan said. It was strange seeing him smile in such a way. You couldn’t quite decipher its genuinity. “Kids?”

With a slight snicker, Roman raised his brows. “Uhm… sure, I don’t know.” After a pause, he straightened and asked in a more serious tone, “Wait, but, like—really?”

“It feels very…” You winced, sending Connor an apologetic look. “Very nepo baby? Very rigged.”

Roman shrugged. “They’re all fucking weirdos, anyway. Why not?”

“I mean, he’s a good-looking kid,” Logan said. “He’s smart… in his own way. Fucking Joe Kennedy did it for his boys, no? So let’s get him in there with a smile and a shoeshine and get Ron and everyone behind him.”

No way the matter was settled. Shiv crossed her arms, eyes darting every which way in an incredulous manner. 

“I would fight so fuckin’ hard for this family, Pop,” Connor told his dad, warmth spilling over his features. 

Logan casted his gaze over to his daughter. “Siobhan. As a political consultant… what do you think?”

“Well, no huge name ID, but the family name will be a factor and… uh, he’s got no track record.”

“Nothing to beat me with,” Connor emphasized with a charming grin. “I’m a clean skin!”

They yammered on some more, and Roman rubbed his knuckles along his hairline, seeming stressed. He pulled out his phone and shot out a few texts really quickly, thumbs flying across the keyboard.

Finally, once he put the device away, Roman shook his head. “Okay, but, are we being serious about this? We’re talking about trying to make Connor president?”

All the warmth drained from Connor’s face, replaced by a marring frown. “It’s a big tent, Roman. Why don’t you just come in?”

“Sure. Right. I might just call the guy who waxes my balls, he would be a great president, don’t you think?” Roman retorted.

Shiv interjected once more. “If we’re talking about this seriously, I really think we need to take a look at Salgado. Can I bring him up here without being fucking shot?”

Connor rolled his eyes and Roman groaned.

Finally, Logan’s eyes landed on you.

“You’re for Boyer, Y/N?”

You sat up straighter. “I think he’s safe. Most conservatives like safe. Or, at least, the illusion of safety. Boyer can give them that.”

There was a second of a pause, before Logan nodded. “Hugo. Call Boyer.”

“Well, if Shiv gets to bring up soggy Salgado then I wanna see if we can tame Mencken, okay?” Roman asked just as Hugo handed Logan the phone. In a quieter voice, Roman leaned forward to whisper to just you, “I arranged a meeting with him tonight. Come with?”

You reared back, eyes narrowing. “What? No, Roman.”

“Please? Just… you don’t even have to say anything. Just hear him out. What if he’s not all that bad?”

You blew out a steely breath. Meeting with a fascist was certainly not something you ever thought you’d agree to do. 

Begrudging, you muttered, “Fine. But please, Roman, don’t be serious about him. I’m begging you.”

Roman gave you a half-shrug, which didn’t quell any worries you had one bit. “We’ll just see how the dice rolls.”

When Boyer finally picked up the phone, the two of you lapsed into silence, listening in on the conversation. His voice was groggy, as if he’d just been woken up. He didn’t sound too happy at Logan’s request to come to the room.

“Oh… and my fridge is empty, Dave. I don’t suppose you could bring me a Coke?” Logan said. You raised a brow in surprise whilst Roman smiled down at his lap. It was a power play—a reminder to Boyer that he ate out of Logan’s palms.

“Did you mean to call room service?” the vice’s voice crackled through.

“If you don’t have a Coke, is there something else? Could you, perhaps, fire the deputy attorney general?”

“Fire the deputy attorney general?” Boyer parroted, twinged with disbelief. 

Logan smiled, laughing. “I’m kidding. Come on over. Have a chat. If it’s convenient, of course.”

Five minutes later, Boyer was at the suite’s door. You had no time to listen to his talk with Logan, because Roman was already up and pulling you out the door. He spared no explanation to Shiv, who watched the two of you leave with suspicious eyes. 

You took the elevator a floor down, where Mencken’s room was. 

Roman was the one that knocked, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet anxiously. 

“Come in!” you faintly heard Mencken’s voice say. Both you and Roman exchanged looks, yours warning and his pleading, in a sense.

He wanted so badly for your approval.

The two of you stepped in, met with an empty hotel room. It took you another moment to realize that the bathroom door was ajar, Mencken standing in front of the mirror with just a towel hanging over his hips, shaving foam shadowing over his chin and jaw. He was dragging a razor through the white foam, a smile to his lips upon seeing the both of you.

“Hey, guys. Glad to see you again.”

Roman smiled back, leaning against the bathroom’s door frame while you lingered behind him.

“So… I—we just wanted to chit-chat a little bit. That was funny earlier, by the way. You tripping the light fantastic on Grandpappy’s nutsack.”

Mencken hummed. “When I called your dad bullshit? Did that bump?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve never seen that before. That was fucking hardcore,” Roman commented. “Y/N isn’t a fan of ATN either, as it turns out.”

For a moment, you sent Roman a half-hearted glare. He’d said that you wouldn’t have to say anything.

“Ooh. Waystar’s princess, not liking Waystar? How meaty.” Mencken tilted his head back to shave the nooks and crannies that were harder to maneuver around. “Good for you, though. The thing is… this monkey don’t dance.”

Roman laughed, pointing at him. “This monkey right here? The monkey shaving in a hotel bathroom?”

“That’s right.” Finally, Mencken rinsed off the last bits of foam from his face, wiping off the excess dampness with a towel. There wasn’t a single nick on his face—you thought of the many times you’ve watched Roman shaved, when he always somehow managed to garner a dozen or so tiny cuts along his jaw. Mencken turned to face the two of you. 

“Listen, I did want to talk to you about something. Fuck it, I’ll just come right out and say it.” Roman eased into the bathroom, leaning against the wall opposite Mencken, tugging you in as well. It was a strange feeling—you’d never had a meeting in a bathroom before. Wrinkling his nose, Roman said, “Fascists are kind of cool… but not really. So, is that, like, gonna be a problem? Will it be a thing?”

It unnerved you when Mencken sighed, stepping closer to the both of you. So close, in fact, that you could smell the shaving cream he’d used. Your brows furrowed in distaste and fixed your stare on the tile down below your feet.

“Seriously? Me? I just… I don’t have a lot of boundaries.” 

Evidently, you wanted to snap. But you kept quiet.

“St. Augustine, Thomas Aquinas, Schumacher. I’ll borrow from anyone. To restrict me to that label is just… it’s not right, is it? You know, if Franco or H or Travis Bickle had a good pitch, fuck it!”

This made you tear your gaze away from the ground, meeting Mencken’s stare head-on. He was much closer that you realized, and that made you all the more uncomfortable. 

“H?” you finally croaked. “As in—?”

He spared you a wolfish smile. “I’m a fully-fledged, small-dicked Democrat.”

“I don’t think you are,” you challenged. 

This made him tilt his head and bark out a laugh. “Which one? Small-dicked or a Democrat? Because I can tell you now that neither of those are true, sweetheart.” Your unamused countenance seemed to only fuel him further. “A well-regulated election is a transmission frequency for God’s grace, really.”

“Holy shit,” Roman whistled. “You really are a Christian, aren’t you?”

“Well, no, no, my only thing is like—who’s the stakeholder, right? I’ve been tending my little garden for a hundred years, and then forty new guys show up in the back of a truck, playing their boombox. When it’s put to a vote, they decide to, uh, give my farm to themselves. I mean, it’s ridiculous, right? Maybe we should be putting in before we get to take out.”

There was so much to pick apart with his ideology. So many flaws, so many weak-links. But you didn’t say anything.

Instead, Roman asked, “Okay, well, who gets to join?” 

“People trust people who look like them. That’s just a scientific fact. They will give more tax dollars to help them,” Mencken said. “And I know you look nothing like me, ma’am, so I’ll just say it plain and clear. I don’t trust you, and you don’t trust me. But that’s just part of the thrill, no?”

You recoiled back into Roman. “What the fuck are you talking about? What thrill? Can you just—back up a bit? You’re all up in my fucking personal space.” 

Your scowl loosened just a tad when Mencken raised his hands and took a step back. He snorted. “Sorry. Don’t cancel me. Or do. I don’t think it matters much, right?”

He was right, but you didn’t say it.

“I like this country,” Mencken admitted. “I do. I like the people in it.”

“Not all the people, though, right?” you carefully asked.

“Of course, not. And don’t get all high and mighty on me. You can’t say you like all the people in it, now can you?” You opened your mouth to say something, but he cut you off. “We aren’t too different, you and I. Roman… I see why he’s taken a liking to you. You have some sense about you.”

You gave Roman a questioning glance, wondering what on earth he’d said to Mencken through text.

You clenched your jaw. “I’m not here for you,” you finally breathed out. “You can’t sway me, Mencken.”

“Oh, we’ll see about that, sweetheart.”

Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, Roman finally intervened before you could get too heated, “In terms of, you know, this thing we have… there’s a thing here, right?” 

“Mhm.”

“I get it. You’re fucking 6G and we’re Betamax, but you need us, I think. Our news, our viewers, those fucking almost-deads. That’s a big slice of pie,” Roman explained. 

“Well, if I’m the nominee… are any of them really going to vote against me?” he asked.

Half a shrug lifting one of his shoulders, Rome said, “No, but… it’s going to be a fucking shitshow going into the convention. I think you could really use our push.”

You weren’t happy about any of this. But Logan had already called Boyer. The deal was done, right? You’d walk back up to the suite, and the next red-wing electee would be picked. This was all… for nothing.

Right?

Mencken nodded. “And I think you could use my push.”

“Maybe,” Roman admitted.

“Where are you in all this?” Mencken asked Roman, curiously. “What’s the little forgotten Prince doing?”

Roman made a nervous, whooshing sound. “I’m, uh, you know. I’m creeping on the come-up.”

“Oh, yeah?” Mencken glanced at you, as if to decipher whether or not he was telling the truth. You betrayed nothing, looking back down at the tiles.

“I’ve got some ideas for ATN. Sluice out the fucking porridge and add some sriracha. Poach some of those TikTok psychos, you know? E-girls with fucking guns and Juul pods. Give me some straight-shot blacks and latinos. That’ll get a few generations turning heads. No more of this fucking… pillows and bedpans. We’re strictly bone broth and dick pills. Deep state conspiracy hour but with, like, a fucking wink, you know? It’ll be funny.” Roman clapped his hands together. “The whole show is kinda set up for the star. President Jeryd Mencken.”

Your face soured.

“I like that,” Mencken said, stroking his freshly-shaved jaw. “I like that a lot.”

“Well, I don’t. Good fucking luck, Roman.” With that, you straightened your shoulders and marched out of the bathroom, needing to get away from the two of them. You needed air. More importantly, you needed to get up to the suite and ask if they’d settled for Boyer.

The two men stood in the bathroom, silent for a few moments.

“I think she likes me.” Mencken smirked.

Roman scratched at the back of his head. He was really hoping you’d see the better side of Mencken, like he did. He just hoped that you weren’t too angry with him. You hardly ever got mad, but when you did, it always felt like the end of the world to him.

“Right… can you, uh… come up and say hello or something to him? My dad?” Roman glanced at the door. “Oh, and bring a can of Coke with you.”

Logan chose Mencken.

That night, you crawled into the cold hotel bed and cried. You felt so… so trapped in a life that you didn’t want to live. You briefly wondered what would happen to you if you quit your job entirely, but you pushed the thought away almost as quickly as it came. It wasn’t something you liked to entertain.

Half an hour later, you could hear your door opening. 

Right. You’d forgotten that Roman had asked for another set of the key card to your room. You quietly wiped your tears away, grateful that it was too dark for him to see.

He slipped in behind you, sliding his arms over your waist and pressing his nose into the back of your neck. 

“Are you mad at me?” he asked.

You chose not to reply, pretending to be asleep.

“It’ll be good,” he said, eventually. “He’ll be good. I promise. His dick is big enough for the both of us.”

You shifted your foot just a bit, but that was enough for Roman to know that you were awake.

“Stop ignoring me.”

“I don’t want you here,” you murmured.

There was a shuffle behind you. Roman cleared his throat. It was so unbearably tense.

“If it’s Mencken you’re worried about—”

“I don’t want you here,” you repeated, a warbling edge to your voice. “I love you, Roman. Please leave.”

He went stiff. One second, then two, then three. 

“I love you, too,” he finally said. It was said with no joking tone, no playful quips, no inappropriate remarks. It wasn’t often that Roman told you that he loved you, at least compared to the number of times you’d say it to him. Maybe it was because he never knew if you meant I love you, or I’m in love with you.

And with that, he slowly slipped his hands off of you, and got back onto his feet. He made a show of leaving the key card on the nightstand, before making his way out of your hotel room.

He shut the door behind him, standing in front for a minute. A part of him wanted you to open up and beg him to come back. An even more delusional part of him expected you to do so.

Instead, Roman could hear your muffled sobs ricochet from behind the door. Something within him seized up. He turned on his heel and left.

Kendall had invited you to his birthday party, to your surprise. After all that transpired between the two of you, you hardly expected to be wanted at his party. Though, from what you heard, it was hardly a personal affair.

It didn’t seem like your kind of event, honestly, and you hardly had a reason to go. You loved Kendall, but you could tell him that any other day of the year, when he wasn’t surrounded by fucking vagina-entrances, childhood treehouse replicas, and miniature Wu-Tang dancers. Though, Kendall told you to keep that last bit on the down low. The dancers were meant to be a surprise.

But you weren’t at all planning on going. 

That was, until Logan decided otherwise for you.

There was a problem with GoJo, and Logan was pissed that Matsson hadn’t shown up. Something about blatant disrespect, he’d said. 

“He’s going to this fucking party, isn’t he?” Logan had barked. “Huh? Where is he? Getting his nails done? Asshole whitened?”

Roman squinted at his dad. “I think we just have to court him a little, is the thing—”

“Bah. No. It’s bad fucking juju to start like this,” Logan snippily said.

You quirked a brow, knowing Logan was never one to be superstitious. 

Shiv and Roman both tried to broach more options, but Logan shut them all down. “The deal makes sense. It’s a great deal. But he won’t make the deal because he’s being an arrogant prick.”

“Fine. Yeah, sure, Matsson’s an asshole. But should we really burn our only parachute because of that?” Shiv stressed.

Logan leaned back in his seat, regarding his daughter. “It’s just smart business, Shiv. I don’t want to pay over the odds. And eventually, the market will make him make the deal.”

You shook your head. “The market has plenty of better hands to deal him.”

“Someone can make a better offer, and we’d be screwed,” Roman agreed. 

“Dad, we have a scale issue. Our streaming platform is for shit, and we have nothing that looks like growth,” Shiv added on. “This gets us consequently into streaming, into sports betting—social media! We have a little window. Miss this, and we end up being pilot fish nibbling leftovers from Bezos’ fucking teeth. Dad, please. If you don’t want to talk to Matsson, fine. But let me.”

“Let us,” Roman interjected. “We can all do it. He’s gonna be at the party, right? We’ll go.”

“You’re going?” Logan asked, raising an eyebrow at Shiv.

Her eyes darted from her father to her brother. “Mhm.”

Heaving out a breath, Logan nodded. “Y/N, you go with them. Don’t go in too strong. This is a black box, and I don’t want to overpay.”

You wondered if Logan wanted you there to help broker the deal, or if he wanted you there to make sure Roman and Shiv didn’t start clawing at each other’s throats.

Shiv nodded, muttering something under her breath, and darted out of Logan’s office to make some preparations. That just left you and Roman standing in front of Logan. The air between the two of you was still tense since the whole Mencken debacle.

You were about to step out as well, before Logan said, “Since you two are going, might as well give him this in person.”

He slid over an envelope. The three of you, along with Gerri, had discussed its contents: an offer for Kendall to cash out of the company for good. Roman glanced at you, and you used your head to gesture for him to take it. 

“You think he’ll like it?” Roman asked his dad, who offered him half a smile and a shrug.

When he turned to look at you, the glass door was ajar and the spot where you were standing a moment ago was vacant.

Roman’s palms were sweaty. This was about the fifth time he’d wiped them down the front of his suit’s pants, hoping they’d just air out on their own by the time he got to your door.

They didn’t, but Roman found himself shrugging it off. You’d seen much worse than sweaty palms when it came to him.

It was an hour before the party was supposed to start—more so if he wanted to be fashionably late, didn’t want to seem too desperate—and he rang the bell.

It’d only been a few days since the two of you properly spoke, but Roman missed you. He found his nights staring at your number, thumb hovering over the call button. He’d sent about a dozen texts since then, but none of them were replied to. Sure, the two of you had gotten into fights every now and then but they never lasted long. 

And Roman was determined to get you to stop ignoring him.

When the door swung open, you peeked through, not at all ready yet for the party. Roman snickered upon seeing your eyeshadow only done on one eye, curlers in your hair.

“Looking hot, fuck-face,” he whistled. To his relief, your features softened, and you stepped to the side to let him amble in. Even in your current disheveled state, you knew he was telling the truth.

In truth, you’d missed him more than you could ever admit. It took a great deal of self-restraint not to reply to his strings of texts, especially once you were given time to cool off after what had transpired in the hotel bathroom. He was your Achilles’ heel, in a way.

“What do you want?” you asked, not even bothering to face him as you shut the door and made your way further into your home, standing in front of your mirror vanity to resume doing your makeup. 

Roman watched your reflection in a near somber manner. “Well, I was just thinking, since we’re going to Kendall’s little birthday bash, we could go togeth—”

“No,” you found yourself saying without a second thought. “I can go myself.”

With a sigh, Roman stepped forward, leaning against your vanity so he could look at you instead of your reflection. “I just want to talk. This—whatever’s going on between us—it fucking sucks. I miss you.”

For a second, you let your eyes meet his. You didn’t say anything, simply carrying on with drawing your eyeliner. 

“You’re not gonna say you miss me, too?”

“Of course I missed you, Rome.” There was a sort of bitterness to your words. “That doesn’t make me any less mad at you.”

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I went down the Mencken road. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you. But, cross my heart and hope to die, I genuinely believe he can help us. And, like, what’s the worst he can do? Just because he becomes president doesn’t mean he can do fuck all. I’m just with him because we’d all benefit from him helping out the company.” He scratched the back of his head whilst giving you, as he would so eloquently put it, fucky eyes. 

There was a long stretch of pregnant silence. You’d finally put down the eyeliner, shifting to stand directly in front of him, your chest brushing against his. 

“What can I do?” he whispered. He couldn’t help it—his eyes were fixed on your lips, parted and glossed. “What can I do to make it up to you?”

You smelled so damn good too—Roman felt like he was going delirious. He chalked it up to not being around you for a long while. That was probably why. His hands reached out to rest over your hips. 

“Not much you can do now. What’s done is done. Your dad settled on Mencken—there’s no changing his mind.” You tilted your head, so close now that your nose was brushing against his. He briefly wondered if you could feel the way his heart was slamming imprints against his ribs. 

You were just a hair’s breadth away from kissing him. You were so fucking close—

Until you pulled away with a smug little grin, far enough so that his hands fell away from you, going right back to fixing up your makeup. “I can look past Mencken for now. Mostly because I can’t see someone like him actually winning the election. But I’m absolutely not saying that I’m with you on this. I’m just saying we can put aside our… differences. If he just so happens to win, I’m counting on you to have your hand up his ass, and my hand would be up yours. So we’re good, for now.” 

“You fucking tease,” he grumbled, chuckling slightly. “What was that about your hand up my ass?”

“Awh,” you said in a mocking tone, one of your feet kicking up to knock against his shin. “Did you manage to get a hard on without me even touching you?”

Roman rolled his eyes. “Fuck off. And no.”

He was lying. He definitely had an erection, and the both of you knew it.

“Did you want me to kiss you?” you asked abruptly, starting to pull out the curlers in your hair.

His mouth went slack. His mind was moving too fast for him to formulate any coherent sentences. Instead, he laughed a bit, before it tapered away awkwardly.

“Yeah?” he finally replied, more of a question than anything.

“You don’t sound sure.”

“I’m sure,” he haughtily replied.

“Okay,” you said, though you didn’t look convinced. Another roller came out. 

“Don’t believe me?” Roman placed his hands over your hips once more, and yanked you close. “I’ll kiss you right here, right now.”

A brilliant smile danced across your features. “That a promise, Romey?”

With that, Roman leaned forward and slotted his lips over yours. It was tentative and soft and—surprisingly sticky. Your lip gloss, he registered a second later, tasted like strawberries and honey. A content hum slipped from you and you wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him back with just as much vigor. Your nose slanted against his, foreheads knocking together. 

You were the one to pull away first, laughing lightly at his hooded eyes and the way he chased after your lips. A second bout of laughter overtook you when you saw the glossy, tinted smudges across his mouth. 

Shoulders still shaking, you pulled out a makeup wipe and handed it over to him, silently gesturing to his lips. 

“The color doesn’t suit you,” you rasped, though you kissed his cheek to leave a faint mark there, as well. “That’s a first for us, you know?”

“What?”

“Kissing.”

Roman looked at you strangely as he wiped away the remnants of your gloss. “We’ve kissed millions of times. Mostly you, because you’re obsessed with me.”

“Yeah, but… not like that. Mouth to mouth. It was always a line I didn’t wanna cross, you know?”

He toyed with a brush laying on your vanity. “Why not?” he asked, his voice sounding a bit more unsure. “You afraid I’m gonna give you cooties?”

“Well, because we’re…” You paused, gesturing between the two of you. “We’re friends. With occasional benefits, I guess. I didn’t know if you were okay with it.”

Lifting a shoulder, Roman offered you a smile. Friends didn’t sit quite right with him. Not anymore, at least. “Well now you know. You can kiss me all you want.”

You huffed in amusement, before pulling out the rest of the rollers in your hair. All you had left to do was put on your outfit, and you were good to go. You wondered if Kendall would be happy seeing his siblings at his party, when you knew for a fact that he hadn’t invited them.

“I’m gonna go change. You want me to help you out with that?” You looked down at his tented pants with a raised brow. “No blow jobs, though. Don’t wanna ruin my makeup.”

This time, Roman was the one that laughed, loud and chesty. He sucked on his teeth, as if debating his options. 

“How much time do we have?” he asked.

You glanced over at a small clock hanging on the opposite side of the room. “We’ve got forty-five minutes, maybe? If we wanna get there before Matsson gets bored and leaves.”

Roman clapped his hands together. “Great! More than enough time.” 

The two of you ended up fooling around for a bit longer than you’d anticipated—he’d humped your ass with you bent over your couch, then finished by jacking off onto your back. You were grateful that you hadn’t yet changed into your outfit for the party, having stayed in a comfortable white shirt that you shucked off and threw into the laundry bin.

To your surprise, he seemed earnest enough to want to try fingering you, and you shyly told him to go for it if he wanted. A permanent flush fixed over your cheeks as you gently guided him to do what felt best. His thumb over your clit, his fingers sheathed deep in your cunt. He was good at it, mostly because he was clinging onto your every plea like it was gospel. You came with a drawn-out moan and your teeth sinking into his shoulder. 

You managed to squeeze in just one more handjob for him since he somehow got hard again while fingering you, whispering filthy nothings into his ear as he whined, eyes rolled into the back of his head. To your curious delight, you’d found that Roman really liked being called a good boy.

Only after all that did you manage to change into a semi-formal dress, touching up on your makeup since a lot of your lipstick had smudged onto Roman. In turn, Roman headed to the bathroom to wash up a bit, comb back his hair, some strands had come loose during your little excursions, and straightened out his suit.

“You ready?” you asked, peeking into the bathroom. The two of you were a bit later than you would’ve liked. “I want to make a stop at the corner store before the party.”

“What for?” he asked, curious.

“Last minute birthday gift,” you replied, hopping slightly as you strapped on your shoes. “Let’s go, Rome. You look hot, I promise.”

He smiled at your reflection, and took your outstretched hand. 

Upon arriving at the large venue, the woman in front asked to take everybody’s coats and phones. To which, Roman told her, “Yeah, fuck off, I’m not doing that,” and walked right past her. 

You gave her an apologetic smile, shedding your coat and handed it to her. “Sorry, I can’t hand you my phone. Company policy.”

With that, you jogged to catch up to Roman, chatting with Connor, who had also chosen to cling on tightly to his coat. Beneath it, you saw that one of his arms was in a sling.

“Oh, Con, what happened?” you asked, waving hello to Willa.

“Nothing, nothing. Just ranch stuff,” the older man replied, nonchalant.

Roman snorted. “What, a horse didn’t want you to fuck it?”

“He had a fall,” Willa said, and Connor immediately protested.

“You make it sound like I’m ninety years old. No, Maxim and I just got some polling results. We shared a Cognac, and then I slipped doing a little Irish jig.”

“Oh, okay. Ranch stuff. Got it,” quipped Roman. 

You stopped in front of a tunnel-like entrance, the walls lined with soft pink. 

 “This feels disgustingly Kendall,” Shiv said, and the two of you laughed as you strolled in. “So… where’s Tabs, Rome? She busy?”

Arching a brow, you looked to Roman. You knew that his relationship with her had fizzled out, especially after the… corpse sex debacle.

“Yup,” Roman said, clearly not comfortable discussing it with her.

She grinned, snickering. “Again? Did you kill her?”

“We’re actually—we’re not really seeing each other anymore. She was just a bit boring. That’s all I’m saying,” Roman said. His eyes darted to you, and you offered him half a smile.

“Mmh, yeah. Because you find sexual intimacy boring, don’t you?” Shiv pressed, which made both you and Roman frown.

“As if you’re the catch,” Roman snapped back. “You’re more fucked up than me, you know! Seems like Y/N and I are nicer to each other than you are to your own husband.”

Shiv looked between the two of you, expression immediately souring. “You’re so fucking annoying,” she muttered, before turning to mutter something to Tom.

By the end of the pink tunnel, a woman dressed in a cartoonish nurse uniform greeted the group. “You’ve just been born into the world of Kendall Roy!” she announced.

“Oh, Jesus,” Shiv huffed.

Roman turned back to look at the pink tunnel. “Oh. So if we’ve just been born, then that must be mom’s…?” He shifted his weight back and forth by the exit. “You’re telling me I’m repeatedly entering my mom’s vagina right now?”

You snorted in amusement, nudging Shiv. “These your mom jokes just keep getting better.”

She hummed. “Cold and inhospitable. It seems to check out.”

“This is my mom’s cooch, just so you know,” Roman told the nurse. “And you’re implying that it’s massive, so, uh, might wanna get Kendall to see if you can tighten my mother’s vagina.”

The group shuffled off, leaving the poor nurse to gather her wits and greet the next few guests approaching. 

“Where’s Matsson, you think?” Shiv asked.

“Probably standing in a corner somewhere, monitoring his biometrics from his watch,” Roman scoffed. 

“Don’t you think we should find Kendall before trying to find Matsson?” you queried, looking around the crowded room in hopes of finding Kendall somewhere amidst the dancing throng. “I mean… it is his birthday party, after all.”

Nodding, Roman said, “Yeah, good thinking. Let’s just get it out of the way.”

Shiv managed to track down one of Kendall’s assistants, asking her where he’d be. She pointed up the stairs, where the VIP section was. Thanking her, the three of you made your way up the stairs whilst the rest of the group stayed down to mingle. 

The second floor was a bit less packed, but there were still dozens upon dozens of famous figures mingling about. It wasn’t hard to find Kendall amongst them, sticking out like a sore thumb with a birthday crown perched on his head, laughing with his girlfriend, Naomi Pierce, by his side. 

His eyes met his siblings’, and he scrambled to take the crown off, dropping it onto the nearest waiter’s tray. 

“Woah, woah, woah. Wait a second. Who let you guys in? This is friends only!” he exclaimed. 

Shiv made a pitying noise. “Awh. Shouldn’t it be empty, then?”

Roman cackled. “She beat me by one second.”

“Happy birthday, old man,” Shiv said, giving her older brother a sharp smile.

“Just to say, I’m only here because I heard there was going to be a five-dimensional catastrophe, and I want to watch you crash and burn,” Roman told him.

Features mellowing, Kendall stepped forward and spread his arms out wide to give Roman a hug, which he reciprocated with no complaint.

 However, he did have to squeeze in, “Man, it even feels like you’re old. You sure you’re only forty? You look like shit.”

Despite his harsh words, Kendall pulled away with a genuine smile. He was happy that his siblings were here, even if he hadn’t invited them.

He hugged you next, and you reached up to kiss his cheek with a smile. “Hey, Kenny D. Happy birthday—I brought you a little present.” You reached into the cheap plastic bag from the corner store, brandishing a strawberry popsicle, still in its wrapper. “It’s probably a bit melted but if you popped it into the freezer for ten minutes or so, it should be good as new. Sorry it’s not much.”

Kendall’s expression seemed to soften, recalling how the two of you would always argue over the last remaining strawberry popsicle during the summers you were still little children. When you would grab it from the freezer before he could, he’d tug on your pigtails and call you mean as you denied ever taking them, and you’d hide the wrappers in Rome’s room so he’d never know it was you. But he could always tell from the sticky red on the corners of your mouth and your sugar-highs that seemed to last for a little too long. 

“No, this is…” He took the popsicle from you, staring down at the wrapper. “This is perfect. Thank you. I really appreciate it, I do.”

You nodded, pointedly watching as he pocketed the popsicle. “No problem. I promise not to take this one from you.”

Kendall laughed, then looked to his brother and sister. “Really? No card? I’m disappointed.”

“Sorry, I couldn’t find one that said both ‘happy birthday’ and ‘get well soon’,” Shiv crooned. The smile on Kendall’s face faltered.

“Well, I’m glad you guys came. It says a lot,” he finally said.

“It was a ten minute drive,” Shiv deadpanned. 

A part of you wondered why Shiv was being particularly brutal today, especially on Kendall’s birthday. Nonetheless, the two of them awkwardly hugged, Shiv patting her brother’s back a few times.

Connor and Willa ascended the stairs a few seconds later, waving hello. They greeted the birthday boy with hugs, and the smile returned back to Kendall’s face, though it wasn’t quite the same as before.

“So, what do you guys think? Sick party, right?” Kendall asked, arms spread.

Squinting, Roman glanced back downstairs. “It’s cool, but, uh, did you ask for Mummy’s permission to use her, uh… squatch?”

Kendall shook his head a bit, seeming puzzled. “What, from, like, a copyright perspective?”

“Well, it’s just, you know—call me old-fashioned, but I think you should ask before constructing a giant replica of someone’s vagina,” Roman off-handedly said.

“I’d definitely want to be informed before someone decides to make an artistic rendition of my privates,” you chimed in agreement.

“Duly noted,” Roman said in a faux British accent, and the two of you giggled under your breath like schoolgirls.

Kendall, miffed, nodded a few times. “Yeah, okay. Yeah. I can—I can send mom an email. But, relax, will you? Yes, Roman, you can take it home with you.”

Roman pumped a fist into the air at that, and you both burst into another round of giddy laughter.

Rolling her eyes, Shiv said, “Okay, so, tell us. Who else is here?”

Kendall made a show of looking around at the dozens of famous celebrities loitering around the VIP section. “Who isn’t?”

“Your dad,” Roman said.

“Your mom,” Shiv told him.

“Your wife,” Connor added.

“Your kids?” you put forth, more as a question than anything. 

“Any real friends,” Roman chimed again.

With a smile, Shiv said, “I mean, business folks, sure. Stewy? Honestly, we could do with building some bridges. So, uh, Lawrence Yee? He here? Lukas Matsson?”

There it was. She name-dropped the golden goose.

“Yeah, yeah. They’re all here, somewhere,” Kendall assured, gesturing around vaguely. “I have something to show you guys, actually. Come on.”

The siblings and you followed him down a winding hallway, which gave way to black-out curtains, and past that, it seemed to be an art gallery of sorts.

“Hey, Dad wanted me to give this to you,” Roman said, handing Kendall the envelope. You eyed it warily, wondering how Kendall would react to the offer.

“What is it?” the older brother queried, shaking it lightly, as if expecting something inside to rattle.

A dismissive sort of smile fell over Roman’s face. “It’s, uh, an iTunes gift card and a couple of your baby teeth. It’s nice. We hope you like it.”

Kendall looked at you, silently asking for confirmation. You nodded, hesitant, but that seemed to satisfy him enough—he pocketed the envelope to open up for later. 

“Okay, guys, let me show you some shit. C’mon.” He beckoned everyone into the art gallery, before spewing into a long tangent about all the people he had to collaborate with in order for things to work out.

Instead of paintings and sculptures, which you’d typically see hung up in galleries, there were newspaper articles and headlines plastered over the walls. 

The Cincinnati Standard: Waystar Chairman, Kendall Roy Elected President of World Federation!

Boston Daily Express: Wife of Tom Wambsgans Arrested In Sweep of City Street-Walkers!

The Correspondent: Connor Roy Elected President [of shitting his bag]!

The NY Globe: Failed Youngest Roy Sibling Dies in Tragic Jerk-Off Accident!

Both you and Roman stopped to stand in front of his article. You shot him an amused glance. “Who were you jerking off to, do you think?”

“Don’t worry, fuck-face, there’s a lot of Roman to go around,” he said, leaning closer to read the smaller text.

Your grin grew wider, gesturing to the paper. “Not for long, according to this.”

“It’s not a bad way to go.” Roman bumped his shoulder into yours. “Yours is going to happen any day now, I can just feel it.” 

Your brows raised, and you turned around, surprised to see your own article plastered large and tall right beside Connor’s.

New York Journalist: Disgraced CEO’s Goddaughter Kicked Out of Company—Adopted Into Communist Parties!

“Wow,” you breathed out. It wasn’t all that bad, really. 

“You like it?” Kendall asked the two of you.

“You’ve got people in here picturing me jerking off, so who’s the real winner?” Roman sneered. 

Shaking your head, you told Kendall, “I can’t even imagine why you’d have an entire room dedicated to this at your birthday party.”

“It’s—it’s unique. An extrapolation into the near future,” he said. “People dig it.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” Roman replied, clapping his shoulder, before wandering off to read the other articles.

Connor threw a large fit about his article, unhappy with the way he was being portrayed as an unserious candidate.

“You did actually shit your bag, though,” Roman said. Kendall guffawed and the two brothers began laughing together, at Connor’s expense.

His scowl deepened. “Yeah, you know why? Because I took you two fucking assholes on a camping trip because Dad couldn’t be bothered! That’s why! I ate some bad fucking fish! This is bullshit, Kendall!” He yelled that last sentence, to which Kendall quickly reassured him that he’d have it taken down.

You remembered Roman telling you about the camping trip, the both of you only barely teenagers. It was harder then, being friends with them—boys were particularly mean at that age.

You remembered asking if you could come along. Kendall told you that it was a boys trip. Only boys were allowed, and you most certainly weren’t a boy. 

You remembered Roman asking if you could somehow fit into the cooler so he could sneak you on the trip. Even now, you weren't quite sure if he was just joking or if he was being serious. Nonetheless, you pushed him away and told him to have fun sleeping on rocks and eating stale jerky that tasted like dirt. When you sniffled, Connor put a hand on your shoulder and told you that there’d be many more camping trips in the future. To your knowledge, they never went again. 

“Alright, guys, I gotta circulate. Lots of people to talk to. We can check in later, yeah?” Kendall rubbed his hands together. You briefly realized that this was the first time you’d seen him genuinely happy in a long time.

“Yeah, yeah, you go on ahead,” Shiv said, urging him on.

“It’s a great night. I’m happy you guys are here. Fucking… best birthday ever.”

With that, Kendall hurried off. You and Roman exchanged glances, mirrors of pity and guilt.

Half an hour of asking around later, Shiv managed to snag down Matsson’s location in this never-ending venue of birthday bash.

“Don’t fuck this,” Shiv warned Roman, to which he rolled his eyes and gestured for her to lead the way.

The three of you traversed up a couple more flights of winding staircases, turning left into a massive hall, where a giant replica of a treehouse was erected, leading into what looked like another secret passageway. You narrowed your eyes, seeming to recognize the little carvings on the wood by the base of the tree. Younger Kendall often went into the yard whenever he was angry, whittling away his frustrations onto the bark. You and Roman used to play pretend that they were ancient runes when he wasn’t around to hear you.

“I think a forty year old man who rebuilt his childhood treehouse should immediately go on the sex offender registry,” Roman snidely commented, eyeing the massive structure. 

Two burly guards blocked the entry way.

“We’re with Kendall,” you said as you tried to sidestep them, but one thrust his arm out in front of you.

“Do you have a rainbow band?” he gruffed.

Roman guffawed. “Yes. I’m a walking fucking rainbow band.”

It was then that Kendall’s head emerged from behind the guards, eyebrows raised.

“Hey, guys. You done downstairs?”

“Mhm. These guys aren’t letting us in. Ain’t that crazy?” Roman asked pointedly. “Do you mind if we took a gander around your mental disorder?”

Kendall laughed, though it sounded forced. “Hah. Yeah, good one. That’s funny, Rome.”

“So are you gonna let us in, or what?” Shiv butted in, clearly impatient.

“That’s, uh…” Kendall smiled, almost apologetic, almost triumphant. “That’s not possible.”

You tilted your head, wondering if Kendall somehow found out that the three of you were after Matsson. “Not possible? Why’s that?”

“You hiding something from us in there, Ken?” Roman jeered. “Nude selfies you don’t feel comfortable with showing? The angsty romantic poetry you wrote when you were seventeen?”

A frown flickered across his face. “Well, okay, the thing is—the treehouse is for cool people, and you guys… you guys aren’t cool. Sorry, Y/N. You know, I would’ve given you a band if they weren’t here with you.”

“I’m flattered,” you said in a flat tone.

“Wow. The coolest grown man’s treehouse I’ve seen in quite a while,” Shiv snippily retorted, which made Roman snicker.

Holding his hands out in a placating manner, Kendall told the three of you, “Okay, no, seriously guys. Sorry, but, like… all jokes aside, there’s actually a real issue here, and I need to be discreet, because there’s a lot of celebrities around, and if you guys were in the treehouse, it would be kinda—kinda wouldn’t feel like the treehouse, y’know?”

Shiv scoffed.

“You’re a nazi lover,” Kendall deadpanned, pointing at his sister. He jutted his finger to Roman, then you. “And you’re a nazi lover. And you’re heavily affiliated with them. Me, on the other hand, I’m a defender of liberal democracy.” 

“Lovely. You afraid of getting canceled on Twitter, Kendall?” you asked, crossing your arms. You let the words spew out without really thinking over them. “Or are you scared to show all your ad-sponsored, money-grubbing buddies up there who kicked you to the ground and spat on your corpse? It’s not a good look, is it?”

Appearing crestfallen for a moment, Kendall shook his head. “You’re being—stop. I didn’t expect you to stoop down to their level, Y/N.”

“Jesus, are you going to let us in or not?” Roman huffed.

“What, to see Matsson?” Kendall finally asked.

There it was. He knew.

“That’s why you’re here. You’re trying to push a deal,” he muttered. 

“Who fucking gives a shit?” Roman asked. “What’s the difference to you? I just want to talk to him.”

Shiv nodded. “You know what’ll happen if we do talk to him? Either we strike out with nothing, or we succeed, Waystar benefits, and your net worth goes up by several hundred million dollars.”

“You’re welcome,” retorted Roman.

“Okay, yeah, but I have to weigh that against the consideration that no losers allowed,” Kendall said, shrugging.

“God, you’re such a fucking child.” You rolled your eyes, the two other siblings following suit.

Trying to step up again, Roman said, “I’m going in. This is fucking stupid.”

Kendall grabbed at his brother’s shoulder, pulling him back, and turning him around to face away from the treehouse.

“Oh, my God. Did you see that? I just got moved.” 

Roman tried again, and the two got into a catty, near indiscernible argument. Kendall pushed, and Roman stepped back, before leaning in again. 

“You really gonna get so worked up over a treehouse?” Kendall hissed. “That’s fucking lame, man.” 

Finally, Roman stepped away, his shoulder bumping into yours. “Fuck. Wow.”

“Don’t let these guys in. This is my treehouse, and they shouldn’t be here,” Kendall warned the guards, before slipping between them, making his way back into his treehouse. “Oh, and, thanks for the offer, guys. Great headfuck from Dad. Really fucking cool of you.”

You thought the buyout would be good for him. A naive part of you had even thought that he’d simply accept it with no complaint. Lord knew it was more than enough money to sustain him several lifetimes.

“Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable,” Roman groaned. “Now what?”

Curious, Shiv looked over at the two of you. “What was Ken talking about? What offer?”

You and Roman exchanged looks. “That was nothing,” Roman dismissively replied, shrugging. “It was just a little move to ease him out of the holding company.”

“What? And—you two didn’t think to tell me?” she just about snarled, brows drawing together.

“It’s just an offer, Shiv. You would’ve found out eventually,” you sighed, rubbing the spot between your brows, the beginnings of a headache starting to fight through. 

“Whose name was on the paper?” she asked, head tilted.

“Mine,” Roman sighed. “It’s just a name, though. It’s nothing.”

“Okay, so why wasn’t I the name if it was fucking nothing?” she demanded. “Historically, who owns the fucking company has been of some interest. It’s not nothing.”

Tired of the conversation, Roman told her, “We handled it. You wanna figure out the financing, or something? It’s all there.”

A muscle in her jaw twitched. “Yeah, that’s fucking great. You guys are so adorable. Fuck you. Fuck this.” 

She stormed off, heels clanging loudly against the staircases’ steps.

A few seconds of silence lapsed by before you reached out to take Roman’s arm. “You ready to go steal some rainbow bands?”

He used his free hand to cup your face and tug you closer, landing a loud, obnoxious kiss onto your cheek. 

“I fucking love us,” he hummed.

The two of you began to walk around, eyeing all the guests who happened to have bracelets on. 

“I do, too, Rome. I do, too.”

Eventually, the two of you managed to snag down a handsy couple who looked much too busy sucking off each others’ faces to care about their stupid rainbow bands. They handed it to you two with no question and you thanked them with a smile whilst Roman snidely told them to use protection. He was one to talk, really.

The guards also gave the two of you a lot of trouble, but after a bit of charm from your end and a bit of light threatening from Roman’s end, the two of you were finally in the damned treehouse.

“I’m scared we’re going to see detailed exhibits of Kendall’s sex life up there,” you uneasily said. 

“Nah, I think I just saw Anne Hathaway passing by. No way Kendall would embarrass himself like that around this crowd,” Roman snorted. After a second, he tacked on, “But I wouldn’t put it past him.”

Almost at once, your eyes landed on Matsson, huddled up in a dingy corner and playing a shoddy tapping game on his phone. He looked next to miserable, utterly bored out of his mind.

“Bingo,” you whispered, nudging Roman with a grin. 

Once the two of you approached him, his eyes didn’t even bother lifting from his screen. But his brows raised in acknowledgement upon hearing Roman’s voice.

“There you are, fucking hiding from us. You little sneak, you. Like a human VPN.” Roman took the seat adjacent to him, and you sat across from the two. “How you doing?”

A disgruntled noise fell from Matsson’s lips. “Eh. I’m alright. I’m just, uh… you know. You fill in the blanks.”

Your lips downturned slightly. You hadn’t spoken to Matsson personally before, but the two of you had gone to the same conferences before in the past—you were never overly fond of his character. Lazy, erratic, a pure dick-jerker. But you knew he was integral to hold up the company, so you swallowed any and all complaints you had about him.

“I hear you. Yeah. Fucking life, right?” Roman drawled in response, attempting and failing to mimic Matsson’s nonchalance.

“I just wanna find a good pussy and get out, you know?” Lukas muttered. For a brief moment, he looked away from his phone, to you. “You down?” he asked.

Rearing back in surprise, you briefly wondered if he was high on something. He probably was.

A nervous laugh slipped out of you, and you gave Roman a wide side-glare. “I’m not here to get laid.”

“Hm. Pity.” There was lust in his gaze, and you felt a wave of nausea roll over you.

To diffuse the tension, Roman quipped in a high voice, “Yeah, well—pussy’s great. Mhm. You see my mom’s at the front, there?”

Matsson snickered lowly. “Yeah. You seen my mom’s? It’s not… it’s not great.”

Roman laughed, and you begrudgingly cracked a smile at that, too.

“Wow. Yeah, sure, I’m not gonna delve too deep into that one.” Roman leaned forward. “Question—my old man got a little bit grumpy this morning, but you weren’t trying to humiliate him, right? I mean, fucking everyone says we’re the last big legacy content library, and you’re the last fucking super app streaming platform. We fit, obviously. Right?”

Finally, Matsson put his phone down to regard the two of you. He pulled a contemplative frown.

“People say we fit, yeah.”

You eyed Matsson warily, partially worried that he’d get bored of the two of you and go back to his phone. “You help prop us up, and we’ll turn GoJo into a gold mine. A tooth for a tooth.”

With guarded interest, Matsson sat up just a bit straighter. Instead of replying to you, he faced Roman and said, “She’s a bit… how do you get anything done with her around?”

An embarrassed, frustrated sort of flush heated your skin. It was beyond demeaning that he spoke to Roman as if you couldn’t hear everything he was saying. Was it because you were a woman? Because Matsson so clearly saw you as a piece of ass and nothing more?

Though Roman sent you an apologetic, slightly confused glance, he said, “Well, I don’t, really. But, uh, what are you thinking?”

Half of a shrug. “I mean, that’s great and everything, but I do have one small concern.”

“Yeah? And what’s that?” Roman asked.

“When will your father die?”

Roman’s brows flew up in shock. “When will… when will my father die?” he parroted, blinking himself out of his stupor. “Uh…”

The blonde man gestured vaguely towards him. “Like, I don’t wanna be rude, but—what kind of shape is he in? Are we talking less than a year or is it more like five years? ‘Cause if it’s five, that’s… that’s a long time. It would be better sooner, wouldn’t it?”

Roman broke out into a fit of laughter. A nervous habit, you knew.

“No, yeah, I’m laughing here, but, like—that is my dad, so, you know. Go easy there, tiger.”

Though you were well aware that Matsson clearly had a hard time speaking to you without getting a raging boner, you felt it important to voice, “Is Logan’s position on top a problem for you? For this deal?”

The corner of his lips twitched up when he spared you a look. “No, it’s just that I don’t like the idea of a man hanging over me. It’s not my world, media. Not my thing. But Logan’s death, it would… it would clear space.”

Clear space. How airily he threw about the term. A quick peek at Roman told you that he was just as uncomfortable as you were. He scratched the back of his head rather aggressively.

“Uh, I mean, we’re all obviously… hugely looking forward to my father dying,” Roman started, tapering off into a hum of forced laughter. “But, hear me out, there’d be another shape to this. How about you never ever have to speak to him? You could work out of Austin, Geneva, London, Stockholm, wherever. Totally separate corporate identities. And StarGo, we burn, obviously.”

This seemed to please Matsson immensely. It was no secret how shitty Waystar’s streaming platform was.

“Yes, yes. Please. Burn the codes and fucking acid bath those servers.”

Roman cracked a smile. “We can do that. We could do that together. I mean, GoJo, full bore. Our library, our firepower, our relationships for content. And, like, good shit. Not, like, gay moms and wheelchair kids liberal crap. Actual, popular, shit.”

A frown crossed your expression briefly. You never liked it when Roman got political. Nonetheless, you could see now that Lukas was listening intently to what the two of you had to offer. 

“You won’t have to communicate with Logan whatsoever. None of your decisions would be intercepted by him—it’d be filtered through Roman, if need be. And, you know, if it’s beneficial for you, it’d be beneficial for us,” you told him firmly whilst maintaining eye contact. You wanted him to know that you were more than capable of holding your own. 

It didn’t last long, however, because Matsson rolled his head back and blew out a sigh. “I hope you know that StarGo truly is a piece of shit.”

“It’s a huge piece of shit, yeah,” Roman agreed.

“I like to open it just to see how long it takes for the landing page to load,” Lukas said, lazily smiling. A quick glance in your direction, and he slapped at his knees. “Hey, Roman, you wanna go and take a piss on the app?”

A second’s pause. “What, like, literally?”

“Yeah.” Lukas got up to his feet.

Roman hastily stood as well, sending you an apprehensive look. “Yeah, okay, uh—” before he could finish, Matsson was already striding away. 

God. You already couldn’t stand that man.

“Go,” you told Roman. “He thinks I’m distracting. I know. I’ll be around. You just go land a meeting with him, okay? Keep him interested.”

“Okay. Yeah. Are you—? Yeah, okay. You’re great, y’know? So fucking great.” Roman squeezed your shoulder once, before he shoved his hands into his pockets and jogged after Matsson, who was already halfway to the men’s bathroom.

A heavy pit sank to the bottom of your stomach. Everybody was dancing around you, the music pounding so loudly you could feel the base vibrating the ground. There was a distinct sting to the very top of your nose—a telltale sign that you were upset, even though you were doing your very best to push it down. It was times like these you hated being a woman working in an industry made for and surrounded by men.

With pursed lips, you got up to leave the treehouse, feeling incredibly out of place in there.

And so you wove through the crowds, until you saw Kendall walking down a hall with Naomi, his shoulders tensed.

“Hey, Kendall?” you called out, quickening your pace to catch up with him.

“What do you want?” he asked, bitter. “You wanna ask for a condom so you can go fuck Matsson in my treehouse? Sorry, I don’t have one.”

He did—he always kept one in his wallet, but you didn’t need to know that.

“Yeah, no, Roman’s doing that already.” You fiddled with your hands and his eyes softened just a tad, drawing his own conclusions that you didn’t care to spell out. “Hey, uh, sorry, this is a really douche-y thing of me to ask, but… could I have the strawberry popsicle back?”

Dumbfounded, Kendall fixed you with an incredulous stare. “What?”

You cleared your throat nervously, feeling your nose begin to sting more. You weren’t quite sure if those were tears pricking your eyes, or if you were just tired. “I’ll get you another one, I promise.” 

The wrapper was still sticking out of his pocket. Melted, you knew for a fact, but you didn’t care. You wanted it, and you wanted it now.

“What? But this—this is my gift. You said you wouldn’t take this one.”

You were being an asshole. You knew it, and he knew it. “Kendall, just—just fucking give it over. It’s a popsicle! I can get you a million others after this.”

Then, you tried to reach for it, but Kendall sidestepped away from you, bumping into Naomi. 

“Yeah, but this one’s mine. You gave it to me. What is with you?” 

Your lip warbled as you inhaled sharply. “Please? I just—I really need it right now.”

There was a momentary pause as Kendall looked down at the wrapper sticking out of his pocket. In all honesty, he’d forgotten it was even there until you brought it up.

“No,” he finally said. “There’s refreshments and desserts all over this fucking place. You don’t need it.”

You bit down on the inside of your cheek. “Fuck you,” you eventually mustered, tears welling up over your waterline.

A large part of Kendall felt guilty, but he consciously took a step back away from you. “I have to go. My kids gave me a present. Rabbit wrapping. I gotta find it.”

“Eat a dick, Kendall.”

With that, he left.

You harshly wiped away any lingering dampness that spilled over your cheeks and hurried away. As you rushed to get to the bar, you caught sight of Shiv wildly dancing in the middle of the crowd, feet bare and hair tousled. 

It wasn’t long before Tom came to join you, seemingly in a glum mood himself. He was saying something about Greg and his new fixation on Kendall’s assistant, but you weren’t quite listening, merely nodding along at regular intervals.

About half an hour later, Roman finally appeared, grinning so wide it was a wonder his face didn’t split in two. By then, Shiv had joined you and Tom by the bar, breathless and cherry-cheeked.

“You okay?” Roman preened. “Onlookers reported you having some sort of breakdown. People were anxious that you might have swallowed your tongue.”

A frown crossed her lips. “I was dancing.”

“Hm. I heard it looked like a cry for help. That right, Y/N?” Roman casted a look in your direction, noting your glum atmosphere. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Before you could reply, Shiv shook her head. “Fuck you. Did you speak to Matsson?”

“I’m trying to console my friend here, Siobhan—”

“Did you speak to him?” she gritted out again, completely disregarding his initial rebuttal. 

Rolling his eyes, Roman leaned against the bar, his arm brushing yours. “Yup. I spoke to him.”

“And?”

“Don’t worry about it, Shivvy. I’ll handle it,” he snidely remarked. His arm pressed firmer up against yours. In a lowered voice, he asked, “You sure you’re good? You look all—mopey dopey over here.”

You didn’t quite know how to explain to him that you and Kendall had gotten into a tiff over a stupid popsicle, and you were sick of being reduced to the pretty woman men couldn’t take seriously. Even if you had vocalized all that, a large part of you doubted that Roman would understand any of it. He’d look at you all guilty and puppy-eyed, one of the few ways he tried to convey sympathy, and you’d kiss his cheek and tell him it was fine. That was usually how things went between the two of you, anyway.

“No, seriously, Roman,” Shiv just about growled. 

“I’m being serious,” he shot back, clearly growing agitated that Shiv just wouldn’t buzz off. And also because you weren’t talking to him, and the two of you knew well how terribly he coped with that. “I’ll talk to Dad and see if he wants to loop you in, okay?”

The aggravation written plainly over her features seemed to deepen. “Just fucking tell me! This is important, and I might need to finesse.”

“Oh, you need to finesse? That’s so kind of you to offer! But, uh, how would you finesse something that’s already done, exactly? By ruining it?” Roman jeered, crossing his arms. “Yeah, y’know what, I handled Matsson. I understand him. I’m not sure you do.”

You simply watched Shiv’s face cave in with unbridled frustration. In a way, you understood exactly how she was feeling. Though, you supposed you were more folded in than she was, given Roman’s trust in you.

“You know what, if you wanna show off to somebody, maybe show off to someone who gives a shit. Look—even Y/N doesn’t wanna hear about it!”

The two siblings looked at you, and you lifted a shoulder in a shrug.

“If you landed it, that’s all I care to know,” you gently told Roman.

A nod, and a hum. “It’s all good. Matsson peed on my phone, but we got it. And listen, Shiv, you’re having a very bad day, I know that. What with hearing that you have to continue sharing an apartment with the old meat wardrobe, but, you know—try to keep your wig on.”

There was a certain fire to Shiv’s eyes, darting between the two of you angrily. “I’m the one in a functioning relationship. You guys are fucked up emotionally and using each other as crutches to feel better about yourselves.”

Now that… that struck a nerve. She was right, you knew it, but you never liked facing your and Roman’s codependency head-on. It was an uncomfortable truth that the two of you were quite comfortable not dwelling on.

“Oh, really?” Roman retorted. “I thought you were thinking about all the dick you were gonna ride while he was behind bars? Hm?”

“Oh, my fucking God,” Shiv hissed in incredulous disbelief. “You know what? Nobody likes talking about me fucking guys as much as you do. Why is that? Is that because you’re the COO who can’t fuck?”

This seemed to stun Roman into silence. His eyes flickered over to your silent form, staring down at your half-empty drink. Shiv caught the way he looked over at you, a cruel scoff hitching in her throat.

“Huh. Can’t even get it up for Y/N?”

A deep breath in, and Roman was quick to push the argument back onto Shiv. “Did you think Tom was going to go to jail?”

“No. I’m happy he’s not going.”

“Oh, I’m sure you are! You look really happy. Fucking rainbows and sunshine plastered all over you. Did you think he was, though? Just a smidge? Maybe Dad would go to jail, too? Oh, and maybe I’d go, too! And because Kendall’s all fucked up in the head, you’d… oh, you’d be able to sit on your little throne. It’d be all about you. You thought it was ladies’ night and they were playing your song, but guess what? You were wrong! All the men got together in the man club and we decided, sweetheart, everything’s fine, so just—”

A cord within you snapped.

“Roman,” you sternly barked out. “Shut the fuck up. We get it.”

“Don’t talk for me,” Shiv haughtily told you, before fixing her brother with a fiery glare. “He’s just using you as a messenger boy, but as usual, you’re too fucking dumb to see it.”

“Right. Mhm. It’s difficult for you, I know. It’s hard to have to do the dance for Dad because you just suck at dancing,” Roman sneered. 

“You’re a piece of shit,” said Shiv. 

Clearly on a roll, Roman just kept talking: “It turns out he loves it when I do the Daddy dance, but I guess that’s because he loves me.” He was feeding himself lies. Logan didn’t even have to do it anymore—Roman was desperate enough to believe it. “He loves fucking me, and he just doesn’t want to fuck you anymore.”

“What are you even talking about? You’re so fucking gross!” Shiv just about yelled.

The two fell into more bickering, but it faltered away when Kendall showed up out of nowhere. You glanced at his pocket—the popsicle wrapper was gone.

“Oh, shit. Look who it is! It’s birthday boy!” Roman greeted in a condescending manner. 

Kendall looked upset—far more upset than when you’d confronted him about the popsicle.

“Neither of you should be here,” Kendall gruffly said. “You shouldn’t be at my fucking party.”

“Oh, God, you’re right. Someone call the cops. Intruders have breached the masturbatorium!” Laughing, Roman took your drink and finished what was left of it. You stared down at the empty glass with pursed lips.

Finally, you looked up at Kendall. “You find the rabbit wrapping?” you quietly asked him. 

He didn’t answer your question. Instead, he stared at you for a moment before slowly saying, “I threw away the popsicle. Melted.”

That hurt a lot more than you would admit it did. “Oh,” was all you said.

Roman looked back and forth between the two of you, wondering what on earth he’d missed while he was up watching Matsson piss on his phone.

“You guys are full of shit,” Kendall said. “You came here to fuck me behind my back. You’re ghouls, and you’re disgusting.”

“Sorry. Whoops,” Roman replied, though he didn’t sound sorry at all.

Then, Kendall turned to call a few security guards lining the walls. “Can we get them out?”

“It’s a little late for that, buddy. I already spoke to Matsson. He hates you, by the way—laughs at you constantly,” Roman harshly quipped. 

Shiv shook her head. “Just stop, Roman.”

“What? Go easy on the birthday boy?”

Stone-faced, Kendall stepped closer to his siblings. “Did you come here to see me at all? You didn’t, did you?”

Shiv spared him a sharp, unapologetic smile. “Well, we haven’t been getting along that great recently, so what do you think? You surprised?”

A mutter and a shake of his head. “GoJo was my idea,” Kendall said. “You stole my idea.”

Raising his brows, Roman jeered, “What are you, fucking six? Dude, you lost. No big deal, no need to cry about it.” 

“None of it would matter if you bought out, Kendall,” you said, only barely loud enough for him to hear. “You don’t have to keep biting the hand that’s feeding you. The cage is open.”

A crackling silence. Kendall looked pained, for a second.

“You’re just a stuck-up cunt that can’t bear to see me win,” Roman said, deciding he wanted to have the final blow.

Kendall sized up to him, getting up close to his face. “You’re not a real person,” he said. “You know that? You’re not fucking real.”

Unflinching, Roman stared up at his brother. “Come on. Why don’t you hit me, maybe?”

“Rome—” you began, but he made a protesting noise.

“Come on, shitty Jesus! You know you want to. Just fucking hit me. Do it!”

Kendall watched his brother, eyes empty. Or full of despair. It was the same either way. With that, he stepped away and began to walk off.

“Ugh, look, I’m sorry, okay? Happy birthday—” Roman strode up to him and placed a hand on his back.

Accident or not, Roman pushed, and Kendall fell. He laughed, then apologized, then laughed again. Connor was there, all of a sudden, telling them to lay off each other.

All this time, you hadn’t moved a muscle. Maybe you were still mad about the popsicle. Maybe it was Matsson. Maybe it was the dysfunctional fucking family you were stuck in between.

Kendall forcefully yelled at Connor to take his coat off, and stormed off. Shiv left a few minutes later, mumbling out how much of an asshole they all were. 

“I want to leave, Roman,” you told him, and his giggling subsided, finally.

“Oh, yeah—fuck, yeah. We did what we came here for. Let’s go.”

Down the stairs, out the vagina (or was it in?), and back into the real world. Roman was saying something, but your ears were buzzing with the aftershocks of the loud music.

You hadn’t even registered Roman telling the driver to fuck off, that he wanted to walk you home. Chivalry wasn’t dead, after all. 

Once inside your house, you tugged your shoes off with a sigh and shed your clothes as soon as you stepped into your room. You just wanted to go to sleep.

Roman peeled off his suit jacket, before sitting down at the edge of your bed. “Hey, I have a proposition for you.”

At first, you genuinely believed that whatever he wanted to say was business-related. But upon looking at him, his dilated pupils, his mussed hair, his spread legs—his proposition was very obviously far from professional intent. 

It was a distraction. A good one, one that you were more than willing to take. You clambered onto the bed, straddled his thighs and leaned over him, your nose brushing his.

“Yeah, Romeo?”

“Let’s have sex. Like, actual peen in vageen type of situation.”

You weren’t drunk, but you were tired, and yet you found yourself nodding with hooded eyes. 

“You sure?” you whispered, low and raspy, as if you’d swallowed a handful of gravel. 

High-pitched, he affirmed with, “Uh-huh.”

You brushed your lips over his, only barely there. Roman jerked forward to kiss you properly, but you leaned back. “Say it, Roman.”

He swallowed, throat bobbing. “I’m sure.”

With the green light, the two of you began to peel away the few remaining articles of clothing you had on, your mouths slanted hotly against one another as you ground over his growing erection. It wasn’t exactly a kiss—more like the two of you were just breathing each other in, sighs and pants and whimpers all.

His hands seemed unsure what to do. Clenching at the bedsheets, grazing over your side, groping at your bare breasts, pressed up against him. His mouth fell away from yours with a particularly loud whine, sinking lower to dig his teeth into your shoulder. You smelled like honey, but you didn’t taste like it. Saltier, more human. A breathless curse fell from his lips, muffled into your skin.

“Inside,” he pleaded. “Fuck, I need—please turn around—can I?”

It was hard to think straight when you could feel his dick twitching, the tip continuously brushing against your clit, sending electrifying jolts throughout your whole body. You hummed, rolling your hips over his one last time, before crawling off his lap towards the center of the bed, your back facing him. A part of you wondered if there was a reason why Roman wanted to fuck you in a less intimate position for your first time together. The other, more lust-addled part of you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Roman’s hands slipped over your waist, and he sank his throbbing cock into your slickened cunt with a pitching groan, tapering off into a whine. 

“So fucking good, Rome,” you cried out once he began unevenly thrusting, pawing at your hips as he grew more desperate—close to his release even though he’d barely even begun.

The sex itself was—it was quick, to say the least. It was clumsy, as well—but he managed to reach over and rub tight circles over your clit, which elicited a choked cry from you. At one point, you swore you felt his lips on your back, but you couldn’t be certain.

When he came, fucking spurts of hot spend into you, you shuddered violently as your orgasm crashed not two seconds later, gasping into your sheets. He thrusted into you a few more times—he liked the overstimulation, your rumbling moans, the way his cum began to trickle down your thigh.

And, finally, he eased himself out, wincing as he sank into the spot beside you. 

He panicked, just a little bit, when you pulled yourself away, getting onto your feet. 

Noticing his jerky demeanor, you offered him a soft expression. “Bathroom,” you said as a form of explanation.

That made Roman relax a bit. 

When you returned, you’d pulled on a comfortable white shirt, before slipping beneath the covers. The two of you laid together, staring at the ceiling, staring at each other, staring at your hands—intertwining together on top of the blanket.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked out, after ages of silence.

Your eyes darted up to meet his, molten brown downcast with shame. 

“For what?”

A click of his tongue, a roll of his eyes. “For—for the shitty fucking sex.”

You barked out a laugh, and Roman appeared mildly offended. 

“It was great, Ro. I actually came, which is more than what I can say for most people I’ve been with. Kudos to you,” you said, grinning cheekily.

“Really? It wasn’t too—was I—?”

“Roman. It was good,” you reassured, shifting closer so that you could press your nose to his cheek. “What do you want me to say? That I saw stars? My throat hurts from how much I screamed your name?”

This seemed to crack Roman’s insecure exterior, and he guffawed lightly. “You bitch. Fuck you.”

“Fuck you, too.” Another moment of silence. You let go of his hand, watching him carefully. “Roman?”

“Mmh?”

“Did you fuck me to prove a point? Because of what… what Shiv said?”

The air crackled with uncertainty. Roman squinted at nothing in particular. 

Eventually, Roman crooned, “You know I’ve been wanting to stick my dick in you ever since we hit our first fucking round of puberty. You know that, right? That means we were little baby teenagers and I was fucking—fantasizing about dicking you down when I should’ve been doing my homework.” 

It felt like a weight lifted off your chest—a weight you hadn’t even known was there. “Ew, Roman. You’re gross.”

He groaned loudly, dramatically tossing an arm up to cover his eyes. “Don’t say that. I’ll get hard again.”

[ganeshmoorti]

Get Marble Temple for Home as per Vastu

Incorporating a marble temple for home can transform the energy of your living space, providing a place for spiritual connection and harmony. According to the principles of Vastu Shastra, placing a marble temple in the right location is crucial for attracting peace, prosperity, and well-being. Vastu Shastra is an ancient Indian architectural science that emphasizes the importance of aligning one's living environment with natural forces for a harmonious life. In this article, we’ll explore why a marble temple is ideal for your home and how to choose the right design with the help of a trusted marble murti manufacturer.

The Significance of a Marble Temple in Vastu

A home temple is not just a decorative feature; it’s a sacred space where you can meditate, pray, and find solace. A marble temple for home, in particular, is highly recommended due to its aesthetic appeal and the spiritual significance of marble itself. Marble, known for its purity and durability, is believed to enhance positive energies. The serene white color of marble also adds to the peaceful ambiance of the home, making it a perfect material for temples.

According to Vastu Shastra, marble is a natural stone that brings calmness and purity into any space. A marble temple is often associated with the divine presence, making it an ideal choice for home altars. Not only does it look elegant, but it also retains its energy-enhancing properties for a long time.

Why Choose a Marble Temple for Your Home?

When it comes to setting up a temple in your house, marble is considered the best material for various reasons:

Aesthetic Appeal: Marble is known for its smooth texture and timeless beauty. A marble temple for home adds a touch of sophistication to your interiors, blending spirituality with style.

Durability: Marble is a robust material that can withstand time without losing its charm. It’s resistant to wear and tear, which means your temple will continue to look pristine for years.

Positive Energy: Vastu experts recommend marble temples because they attract positive vibrations. The cool and calming nature of marble helps in creating an environment of peace and tranquility in the home.

Spiritual Symbolism: Marble has been used for centuries in spiritual and religious structures around the world. Its association with purity and divinity makes it the ideal material for home temples.

Customization: Working with a reliable marble murti manufacturer ensures you get a temple that suits your space and preferences. Marble is easy to sculpt, allowing artisans to create intricate designs that cater to individual tastes.

How to Place a Marble Temple as per Vastu

Now that you understand the benefits of having a marble temple for home, the next step is to ensure its correct placement. According to Vastu Shastra, the direction and placement of the temple play a vital role in channeling positive energy. Here are some Vastu tips for setting up your marble temple:

Direction: The temple should ideally be placed in the northeast corner of your home, also known as the Ishaan corner. This is the most auspicious direction for temples as it attracts positive energy from the universe. If the northeast corner is not available, the east or north directions are also acceptable.

Height: The temple should be elevated, never placed directly on the floor. You can use a marble or wooden platform to raise it. This symbolizes respect for the divine and ensures that the sacred space is kept above everyday activities.

Cleanliness: Keep the area around the temple clean and clutter-free. A cluttered temple area can block the flow of positive energy, according to Vastu.

Lighting: Ensure proper lighting in and around the temple. Natural light is preferred, but you can also use a diya (lamp) or soft ambient lighting to keep the area illuminated.

Adding Marble Murti and Statues

A marble murti manufacturer can help you choose the right deity statues for your home temple. Marble murtis (statues) of gods and goddesses are not only beautiful but also align well with the Vastu principles. These murtis, crafted from pure marble, are believed to invite divine blessings and foster a peaceful environment at home.

Additionally, you can enhance the temple space with a marble elephant statue. In Vastu, elephants symbolize strength, protection, and wisdom. Placing a marble elephant statue near the entrance or inside your temple can further boost positive energy and protection for your home. Elephants are considered auspicious in Vastu Shastra, and a marble elephant statue adds a touch of grandeur and spiritual significance.

Conclusion

A marble temple for home is more than just a decorative piece; it's a spiritual focal point that enhances the energy of your living space. Whether you're setting up a temple for daily prayers or as a space for meditation, choosing marble ensures longevity, elegance, and positive energy. By following Vastu guidelines, you can maximize the benefits of your home temple, ensuring peace, prosperity, and happiness for your family. Don't forget to work with a trusted marble murti manufacturer to get the best-quality marble deities and statues, including a marble elephant statue to bring in auspicious vibes.

A marble temple in your home can truly transform your living environment into a peaceful sanctuary, aligned with the forces of nature and divinity.

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #41] Locked Doors

warnings: jungkook is literally so cayewwwt, shower sex, creampie <3, talks of a 'label', avoidance of said 'label', THE JILYMPICS!!! fun time with friends!!! wahooo!! i forgot how much I luv these chapters, shameless flirting!! lots of inspo from run bts :) so nice! so fun! until the red witch returns.... mwhahahahaha

wc: 11.5K

bd total wc: 540k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

"Go on. Admit it. You hate the turtles."

"Gguk," you say flatly, giving him a look that just screams 'really?'

"We're right by the sea," he reminds you, as if you ever forgot. Nods towards the door of the house you're currently inside - the same one you're sleeping in - and reciprocates your look. "Go on out there and tell the sea creatures you're a heartless wench who doesn't care for them."

Rolling your eyes, the smirk on your lips is well hidden. The salt air has dried your skin out, and the lines by your eyes as you smile feel a little tighter than usual - but Jeongguk is just the same, dark hair crisping as it dries off.

You'd all been playing a game of chicken down by the shore, seeing who could run away from the largest waves, when Nabi and Jimin had declared that everybody needed to go inside.

"We're setting up for this afternoon's activity," Jimin had explained. "No sneak peeks."

And thus you'd all been banished to your bedrooms.

At the time, still a little too close to the sea, Jeongguk had been protesting the demand when the largest wave of the entire game came crashing in. Had knocked out his knees from behind - and thus, he's now dripping wet in the communal area of the house you're staying in.

The dark material of his shirt drapes over his strong torso like he's made of marble; a statue comparable to those of Ancient Greece. He really is just something else. You've never known a man like him.

And yet it's those big brown puppy dog eyes that get your tummy doing silly little somersaults.

When you were a kid, and you didn't understand how the body worked, and still thought your lungs were balloons inside ribs, you used to think that little miniature men were responsible for all bodily functions ever. 

If anyone were to ask, you'd probably describe it as a game of lemmings going on inside you. The men were teeny tiny. Always wore hard hats. Had little radios that connected to a man in the brain who sat at a desk and watched everything happen.

Retrospectively, even with limited knowledge of science, you're not sure how child-you ever thought that was possible. How could tiny men fill up your tear ducts whenever you cried? Surely you'd feel them? And where would they get the tiny plastic jugs from? Logic evaded you, clearly.

Still, you can picture your band of tiny men, in rust-coloured boiler suits and yellow hard hats using your stomach as a circus tent, now. They'd trapeze from side to side. Maybe there'd even be a tiny elephant in there, doing tricks with a ball.

You push the silly thoughts of silly tiny men out of your head - only to be confronted with an equally silly man in front of you. Sexy, yes, but silly.

"You can go tell them for me," you insist, just playfully as he had suggested the thing you're arguing against. "You're already wet. Makes sense."

"No, what makes sense is us getting a shower together-"

"Oh my God," you laugh. He's determined. You'll give him that much. "Give it a rest you needy little prick."

"So you DO hate the turtles," he shakes his head. Scoffs. Looks terribly disappointed in you. All you wanna do is kiss his stupid, pretty - no, you remind yourself. Pull it together. "And here I was thinking you were a good person, B. More fool me."

It's just that his feigned disappointment is kinda cute; all pouty and pensive. There's something about a whiney Jeongguk that really does make you a little weak at the knees - but you're creating a little distance.

Or at least, you're trying to.

Quite literally - you're standing by the foot of the stairs, while he's over by the sofa. Are far too aware that if you were any closer, you'd just say fuck it. Would get him undressed right there and then, and probably get far dirtier than you are now. Would earn that shower he's so desperate to have with you.

Every single time he's touched you throughout the day, no matter how minimal, you've found yourself wanting to hold his hand. Every smile shared, you've wished was a kiss, and every laugh exchanged has made your heart swell .

You're in trouble, and you damn well know it.

"Look," you sigh, trying to be the sensible one because apparently he's incapable. "If you join me, that easily turns it into, what? Thirty? Forty minutes? But if I'm alone, I'm done in ten."

"I can be quick," he promises without hesitation, and then pretends to be a little offended. "Hold on a second - I'm not doing this for my gain. I'm just thinking about the turtles. Don't even wanna do anything with you like that. Gross. Get your mind outta the gutter, B."

"Oh, so you just wanna be naked together, huh?" You smile, knowing he's full of absolute horse shit.

"Yeah?" He says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Just normal bestie things."

You know he's joking, but there's a wilting sadness that comes with the prospect of Jeongguk still believing this; still thinking of you as he always has done.

Memories of how Jeongguk used to speak of Hayun ring in your ears like the clattering of metal alarm clocks that never seem to cease.

She stayed the same. I'm the one whose feelings changed. My hurt is on me.

History is repeating itself, just with Jeongguk playing a different role. He's stayed the same, this time. It's your feelings that have, stupidly, changed.

He's made for it, you think. Made to be adored. Made to make the girlies swoon. Made for you to feel far too fondly about.

You've an awareness of how this all will play out, thanks to Jeongguk's own history. Know that you've got limited time to indulge in him.

So, for better or for worse, indulge in him, you shall.

"You'll catch a cold if you stay in those clothes," you eventually concede, finally relenting.

The space between you is closed, you desire to keep a safe distance evaporating in the murky April air.

Toying with the hem of his shirt, you look up at him through your lashes. Hope you look as sultry as you feel.

It's so stupid. You shouldn't care so much. It's just Jeongguk.

But that's exactly the problem.

It's Jeongguk .

Oh, God, it's Jeongguk and that pretty smile, and those sweet little teeth. It's Jeongguk and the angled tip of his nose and the narrowing of his eyes as he looks down at you; no longer a doe but a dragon. It's Jeongguk, and the scent of his aftershave and warmth of his skin that always makes you feel so at home.

It's Jeongguk. Has been since that very first Dionysus night when he asked you what you liked, and all you could think about was him. Superficial, dumb shit. His tattoos, his lip ring - but also his kindness. His astute determination to make sure people who needed water got water, and how willing he was to find you a drink you liked.

You've been withholding evidence, it would seem. The crime? How Jeon Jeongguk stole your heart in an elaborate heist, so intricate you didn't even realise it was happening.

The alarm bells are ringing, now though. You're without a heart, and yet you've never felt more alive.

His dark eyes are downcast towards you; sin written all those pretty features you like so much.

"So take them off," he husks, leaning down to nudge his nose against yours. The proximity of your lips makes it hard to resist him. "Get me naked, B."

And so you simply don't resist.

You press your lips up against his, and sink into his touch; how he pulls your waist closer into his chest, how broad his shoulders are beneath your elbows as your arms link behind his head, how softly he envelops your lips with his own.

It's soft. Gentle. A kiss to declare how much you've missed him, even if it's less than twelve hours since the last time you were caught up in such an embrace.

Sometimes in life, kisses linger far longer in your soul than they do on your body.

They become your first thought when you think of fairy tales, and the people you share them with are forever immortalised as something far greater than who they actually are.

One day, when leaves have fallen and rebloomed a dozen times over, you won't be able to feel these kisses anymore - but you'll feel something . An ever-present ghost that you can never rid yourself of. Doesn't matter how many kisses come afterwards; none will ever compare.

You don't realise it yet, but this is your forever kiss.

It's the one that will stain you red in the colour of Jeon Jeongguk's affection for you. Even if one day he forgets how delicately he touched you, how feathery light his lips were and how serene your smile was, you won't. It'll replay in your mind, and whenever you realise you're thinking about it again, you'll press your lips together, as if that's any substitute.

Other lovers will no doubt kiss you later in life. Come the time, it'll be nice. Welcome, even. But it'll never be the same.

This realisation will come far too late, and it will be devastating.

Will stop you from believing in the concept of love all over again. Will make you resent your younger self for embarking on these bad decisions with a boy you were never supposed to fall for.

Jeon Jeongguk is forever, but he's also not for you.

But you're young, and you're dumb, and bad decisions just taste so good when they're on the tip of his tongue.

"About that shower?" he mumbles into your lips.

"Shut up," you mumble right back.

Yet not even two minutes later, you're in the same position, water running, clothes stripped, bathroom door locked.

"I stand corrected," he husks, lips trailing down your neck.

"Hmm?"

"About the turtles," he smirks. Pulls away to look at you, and brushes strands of sopping wet hair off your face. Holds your jaw and he presses a dainty kiss against your lips. "You do love the turtles."

Turtles? Meh. You're indifferent.

Jeongguk? Yeah... That's the kicker.

"Shut up," you whine into his lips as they press down once more. His hands roam all over your body, reacquainting themselves with the way you feel; wet, warm, and his to hold.

There's an unbridled familiarity to the way Jeongguk touches you, certain permissions never asked because they're always a given yes. He turns you around, but leans over your shoulder to make sure he can still kiss you.

Cock hard, he taps the outer side of your thigh. Instinctively, you raise up to your tiptoes. Seem to just understand what he wants; what he needs. Squeezing at your ass, Jungook lets himself rub up against you. Feels so nice, the way you use one another for nothing more than a little selfish, mindless indulgence. There's no expectation of reciprocation, and yet it's always a given.

"Keep your legs together," he husks against your shoulder, a hand on your waist and he grips the base of his cock. Presses the tip just beneath the curve of your ass where your legs meet; a teeny tiny triangle of space just beneath your pussy his to fill. Lets out a laboured breath as he pushes into the tight space. His lips kiss the curve of your neck, and he's quiet, when he begs, "Can I fuck you like this? Please?"

You don't verbalise a response. Just nod. Push your ass back a little, forearms and palms flat against the tiles, creating a barrier for your head to lean upon.

It's not really fucking. At least, you're not getting fucked - but the friction of his cock as it slides in the snug space your body accommodates for him is so nice. So simple and yet so good.

Waist being held by one of his large hands, the other comes to rest at the base of your neck. Water still pitter-patters around you, wetting your skin, making your hair stick to your body. The way your pussy leaks for him as the tip of his cock brushes up against your clit provides him with a far better lube than the water he'd been relying on.

"Fuck, B," he grunts as his hips thrust into a rhythm akin to the beat of your heart. "This body..." he squeezes your waist. " Your body. Fuck. Feels so fucking good."

For reasons you can't quite decipher, you downplay his compliments. Tease a little, and say, "I'm sure you say that to all the girls."

Jeongguk knows you're joking. Is familiar with the turn of phrase. Has heard you use it before.

But he's not an idiot.

Well, no, often he is an idiot - but when it comes to his sensitivity of you, and specifically your relationship with shower sex, he knows better than to joke along with you. There are scars left by Seokjin and even though they're pale in comparison to how raw they were when you first showered with Jeongguk, he knows how hard you've worked to heal.

And so he slows. Keeps himself snug in the warmth of you, but stays still. Presses a delicate kiss to your neck. Shakes his head. Finds your lips. Is delicate once more as he kisses you tenderly.

"No one makes me feel like you do," he promises against your lips.

Hands slinking around you, he pulls you in for a hug. Arms tight, he needs you to know that his words are true. 

Jeongguk is smooth as he manoeuvres you around to face him once more. Back pressed to the tiles, steam billowing around the room, his hands cup your jaw, positioning you perfectly for your lips to meet his - and when they do, it's clear that the way you orbit one another is reaching the point of no return.

It's only a matter of time until you crash. Collide. Combust.

Still, he's in total control. Your body kind of just becomes his; eyes wide whenever he pulls away, begging for him to return.

And he will - but first, he needs to be honest. Needs you to hear his truth, 'cause he's scared of the consequences that could occur due to an absence of it.

"I love it here," he starts, then realises he's too vague. Doesn't care that his cock is embarrassingly hard, or that he can't quite get a read behind your sparkly eyes. He looks down briefly, only for a moment or so. Shakes his head. Raises his head to meet your gaze. "Not here," he corrects. Continues, "I mean - here, yeah, right now - but not here specifically. I just... When I'm with you like this, the rest of it all just sorta disappears. Shit with the bank, with life..."

His lips find yours, pressing down tightly to match the closing of his eyes. In his head, the voices berate him. Tell him to stop being a fucking baby. To man up. To say what he really thinks.

But Jeon Jeongguk is, for the first time in a very long time, scared in your presence.

Scared he could fuck it. Scared he could say the wrong thing. Scared he could say the right thing, and fuck it up regardless.

"You help me forget," he whispers in between his needy, nonsensical physical affirmations of how much he enjoys being with you.

Life is good, though, you think. He shouldn't need to forget it.

And so you ask.

"What's there to forget, huh?" You say softly, lips brushing against his, noses nudging in that delicate way they so often do.

It's a good question.

Suddenly, Jeongguk doesn't really want to be honest any more. Doesn't want to admit to the part where he forgets you're not together. Where he forgets this started as a means to an end, and that it seems as if the end is drawing near. Where he forgets that you're not his, and he's not yours.

When it's just the two of you, it's so easy to pretend; to cosplay as lovers. Do all the things that lovers do, so that one day, you'll be able to do it easily with someone else.

But Jeongguk has tried.

He felt the rush of butterflies with Jiyeong; that superficial sorta infatuation that flutters around your stomach, but fails to reach your bloodstream. It never impacted his heart. Never made his muscles ache.

Not like you do.

And he knows why - again, he's not a total idiot.

It's 'cause you're friends.

There are layers here, à la Shrek and onions. You're already in his bloodstream. He already cares for you in a way that goes beyond that of a crush.

It just so happens that he wants to bone you, like, twenty-four-seven. Has never been so horny. Thinks he might die, like, once a day. Maybe more. He's not too sure.

The combination of his care and complete lack of self-control?

He knows that it's rare.

Knows that it isn't typical.

Even with Hayun, it wasn't like this.

There was a time when Jeongguk could say he loved her. Completely, and honestly, adored her for a fraction of his lifetime. And yet...

It wasn't like this.

Nudging his nose against yours, he goes against his better judgement.

The thing that you make him forget?

"That it's not as good as this in real life," he whispers. "You make me forget it's never this good. I don't... This shit ain't normal, B."

You're a fallacy; an illusion of what life could be like. A fantasy. That beautiful 'what if' Jeongguk used to think of you as in the shitty lighting of Dionysus, your disco ball eyes twinkling as you'd tease him by the bar.

But your glitter is on your cheeks now, fixed at zero even as rivulets of water trickle down your skin like tears. There's still a sparkle in your eye, but it's just because you're reflecting your star boy back at himself.

"What do you mean?" you ask, certain that you don't actually want the answer.

Jeongguk leans across to the taps. Shuts off the shower.

"Turtles," he says of his actions. Bites on his lip, contemplation lacing his brows together. His ring does the thing. You wish he was still kissing you. "I mean... I just... Well, this is different, isn't it? The thing we've got going on. The friendship. The fucking. It's better."

You shake your head. Know that you've been confused over things recently. Perhaps he is, too.

"It's the lack of romance. All the fun without the expectations. It is different... but it's not better."

"You've had better?" He asks, genuinely curious.

"Well, no," you admit. "But nothing feels the same as being loved."

"Oh, fuck that," he laughs. Know that somewhere in that pretty head of yours, memories of Seokjin are floating around. Is shameless, and most definitely too horny for his own good when he says, "I can fuck you like I love you."

"No, you can't," you laugh, as if the heart that's no longer in your chest isn't being put through a paper shredder. "You can't fake it. You just know when the other person loves you."

Like I love you. So desperately sad. Like he loves you. Like.

"Do you?" He implores.

The question is posed as a generalisation. You take it as such, and ignore the way your brain wonders if it was meant to be slightly more pointed.

Do you know when someone loves you ?

"What I know, Jeongguk, is that you don't need love to have fun."

"And you'd rather that? Fun over love?"

"I'd rather you shut up and fuck me," you tease, because you'll lose your mind if he doesn't stop sending you such conflicting messages. "So yeah, I'll take fun over love."

No, Jeongguk thinks. No, you won't. Not if you're fucking me.

Glancing over to the clock on the back wall, you make a note of the time. "Got twenty minutes, Gguk. We need to get ready - but fun can be fast. Love can't be."

Oh, on the contrary.

Love can be both of those things.

Jeongguk proves it not even four minutes later; your legs wrapped around him, back pressed to tiles, his thumb rubbing gentle circles over your clit as your pussy throbs around his cock.

"God, you're so beautiful," he husks into your mouth, kisses messy, tongue teasing. "So god damn gorgeous when you cum on my cock, aren't you, B?"

And you know it shouldn't, but it makes you laugh. Gets you all giggly. Mutterings of "shut up" are spliced with teeny tiny kisses and reciprocated giggles from Jeongguk. Little sing-songs of "pretty, pretty baby," and "you're so happy when I fuck you - it's so cute, " and the occasional laboured grunt, moan, curse - but always an eternal, endless, ethereal smile on Jeongguk's dreamy lips.

There's no clear, linear pathway that leads you to your bedroom. You know you don't walk, so Jeongguk must have carried you, but it's all such a mess. Him, you. Bodies, connected. Your existences bleed into one another. Too busy sustaining each other to realise that you're still wounded.

The way his cock slides into you when you're finally on your bed, retracting with every strenuous grind of his hips against yours, is nothing short of euphoric. Trapped beneath the weight of his body, you're a prisoner of your own feelings, but he's the one keeping guard. How could you not adore him? How could you want anything other than this? How could this ever be just friends?

Legs spread nice and wide for him, there's an ache in your bones that doesn't even come close to the ache in your chest.

Mindless as he hooks one of your legs over his elbow, Jeongguk's lips are barely kissing yours. Just sharing your oxygen; breathing in your moans.

"I'm there," he husks, and is met with a nod.

"Inside," is all you can manage to say. Wrap the leg that he's not supporting around his back. Hold him close. Get him smirking.

"B-" he whines, knowing he shouldn't - not like he makes any effort to pull away. He's as desperate for this as you are.

"Please."

Jeongguk fucks you until he physically can't. Until you physically can't take it anymore; until you both, emotionally, can't bear it any longer. Finishes inside you, 'cause it's what you want, and he wants to be the one who fulfils your desires.

Body heavy on top of yours, Jeongguk stays buried inside you, the clammy skin you're both sporting makes the shower you shared redundant. He doesn't want to move. Doesn't want to lose this. Lose you.

His lips press a firm kiss beneath the curve of your jaw, his fingers coming to lace with yours. Closer, and closer still.

If he doesn't separate himself from you, he's gonna say something he'll regret. Is already internally fighting against the words forming in his throat that he's refusing to speak. Stupid shit. Declarations. Affirmations. Confessions.

One of your hands strokes down his back, the other still holding on to his hand. It's a simple intimacy. One that you don't fear; but instead, you fear losing.

Jeongguk pulls back a little, to get a read on your face. Steals a kiss, 'cause he just can't help himself, then steals half a dozen more. Says, "You gotta stop seducing me, Byeol."

"Oh, fuck off," you laugh. "This time was all on you."

He shakes his head. Lets his nose nudge up against yours. Is so effortlessly serene. "All on you, Byeol."

Rolling your eyes, you nudge him to encourage his body off of yours. He begrudgingly obliges. Flops onto the empty space beside you.

"Leaving already?" he whines, eyes on your body as you get to your feet. Is shameless, cupping his still-firm cock as if the sight of you alone is enough to get him hard again.

"Need to pee," you say without much thought, reaching over to the chair for a shirt to cover your modesty.

It's hard to pinpoint the specific moment you became this comfortable with Jeongguk. Typically you're discreet about matters such as this - blame Seokjin - but there's no need for subtleties when it comes to Jeongguk.

"Can I come?"

"No?"

"Please."

"Go get dressed," you offer a different suggestion, 'cause why the fuck he'd wanna come with you, you've no idea.

It's not like he wants to actively watch you pee - though he wouldn't be opposed - it's just that he wants you close. The more he thinks about it though, the more he kinda does wanna watch. It's taboo. A little erotic. There's very little that won't get him hard, and when you're added into the mix? Guaranteed boner.

Lost in his thoughts, he lets you go. Trundles downstairs, and cleans himself off in the small sink in the downstairs loo. Runs a little water through his hair to try and rid himself of the cowlick that dried into his hair - but it'll be fruitless without a re-wash.

Giving up, he resigns himself to laughable hair for the rest of the day. Doesn't really mind, 'cause he likes it when he makes his friends laugh.

Hands resting on the basin, Jeongguks rolls his shoulders back. Looks down into the empty porcelain basin and shakes his head. "Pull yourself together, man."

He flicks on the tap again and gathers a little water in his hands to pat on his cheeks. They're flushed with colour, his lips still rosy from the friction of a million kisses against yours. Tongue toying with his lip ring, Jungook just observes himself.

Unrecognisable, is the man in front of him. The perception he has of himself when you're together doesn't align with who he actually is.

There's an innocence to the way Jeongguk sees himself whenever he's with you. He forgets the tattoos. Forgets the muscles. Forgets the lip ring, and the hair. The jawline. Forgets it all.

When he's with you, Jeongguk is the baseline version of himself; a star in its purest form.

"Why are you still naked?" You question with a raised brow, fully dressed, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. He didn't realise how long he'd been contemplating the conundrum of you. "And why is the door wide open?"

You're in yoga pants and - for once - one of your own shirts. It's form-fitting but still a little baggy, a simple wide-V neckline plunging a little too deep for his sanity. Glitter sparkles in the inner corner of your eyes, but it's subtle. Still lovely, he thinks.

"Hm?" He chirps, bathroom door wide open. Expansive eyes large as the glance over to you, it's clear you've caught him mid-thought-tangent.

You glance over your shoulder to the entryway, then back to him. "You're lucky no one came in, you little exhibitionist. Get dressed. It's nearly time."

Jeongguk could get dressed. He will get dressed.

But first he walks to meet you.

Cups your jaw.

Kisses you, 'cause it half feels like he might die if he doesn't.

Hands on his bare waist, you reciprocate his advances despite the surprise. Lean into his touch, as if it's the most natural thing in the world. Figure he's just still riding the post-fuck high. Adore the way it feels to be wanted by him.

"You're too hot," he whines when he finishes kissing you - but keeps his forehead resting against yours. Wants to stay close. "Everyone's gonna want you."

"So?" you laugh, thinking that he's absolutely ridiculous. "They can have me."

"No," he strops in full disagreement. "They can't"

"No?"

"No, B."

"That's very selfish of you," you smile against his lips.

And all he does is nod. It is selfish -but he's always been honest with you about the fact he's terrible at sharing. Simply doesn't want to do it.

There was a brief reality when sharing was his only option. Seojoon, and his stupid long legs and his dumb, perfectly styled hair. A formidable opponent, but one that Jeongguk is glad to no longer have,

It's uncomfortable to think about; a reality in which he'd lose you to another person.

It haunts him; how your silky scrunchies would look around the taps of someone else's sink. Your clothes strewn across the back of a chair he doesn't know. Watermarks left on someone else's tiles thanks to showers had by you. It's the mundane shit that Jeongguk finds he doesn't want to share the most.

And yet when he looks at you like this, he can't bring himself to say it.

Finds it embarrassing, the way his chest aches when he's thinking about your shoes in a pile by doors he's never seen before. The laundry detergent you like on someone else's shelf. Your used dishes in the sink, yet to be done because you're too busy lazing around with a nameless lover. Flecks of glitter on pillowcases that aren't yet dented with the shape of your head.

Not like Jeongguks are.

There are traces of you all around his apartment. You've not visited in a little while, but if you were to go there. this instant, you'd feel right at home.

A spare jacket of yours is hung up by their front door.

It's your half-drunk peach Chilsung in the fridge next to an iced coffee Jimin forgot to drink. The blanket on their sofa is one you brought round for a movie night and left there because Jeongguk kept going on about how soft it was. It's your tits up on the wall, but no one else really knows that except for you and Jeongguk.

It's in his bedroom though, where a sanctuary has truly been formed. A constellation of you is mapped out; glitter, underwear, sticky notes, birds. Polaroid pictures and photobooth strips. Tickets and receipts. Mementoes capturing a fraction of time that Jeongguk hopes to never lose.

"Okay," you encourage him a little further. "Well if I don't want to share you, and you don't want to share me... what do you suggest we do about it?"

This isn't a romantic declaration. It's not some admission of feelings, or anything like that. Is simply just the establishment of a boundary. A hard one, at that.

"Logic would suggest that we don't share," Jeongguk adds, all very unhelpfully.

He's being a wimp.

You want him to be the one to say it. Want him to take the leap of faith.

But the fear prevails. Gets in his head. Tells him not to be stupid.

And so it's up to you to tell him, "I think it makes sense... Yanno? Like, I don't want anything to change. I'm not like, saying we're anything more than friends, but... the hooking up. It should be exclusive, shouldn't it?"

The conversation has been had before - no hooking up with other people while you're actively hooking up - but this is different. Looking for other hook-ups has never been off the cards. Not really. You've had free will. You still do.

You'll just continue to keep on choosing Jeongguk, as long as he keeps choosing you.

He nods. Agrees.

"I think you're right."

"Okay... so...?" You say a little awkwardly. There's no declaration of anything, no confessions, no secrets shared. If anything, you're probably a little more confused than you were before.

"So..." he reciprocates your awkwardness. "Is there, like, a label, now? What is this, B?"

"You tell me," you shrug, shy in the way you want him to say good riddance to his fears. There's no rejection here. He's safe.

Jeongguk closes his eyes. Smiles.

"Well, I'm naked." He looks at you once more. "And I really need to get dressed, so maybe I should do that first."

"Your avoidance is obvious."

"I'm not avoiding anything," he says, hands on your waist as he gets you walking backwards, leading you into his room so he can get changed. You plonk yourself on his bed, flopping back into the duvet. The ceiling of his room is white, and oh-so-awfully plain. Above it is your room; somewhere you'd quite like to be with him once more, but he's too busy rummaging in his bag for clothes to wear.

So taken by your own thoughts, you barely register Jeongguk as taps your knees, body responding to him so naturally that your legs sort of just spread. Let him climb onto the bed with you, now half-dressed, the shirt he's going to wear still in his hand. Pinned down by his body weight, you smile as you welcome his return.

"Hi," you whisper, his lips sinking into yours instead of saying hello back.

Lips soft, he's got no intention of taking this any further than just the simplicity of what it is - even if you do deliberately catch his bottom lip between your teeth and gently tug on it as he pulls away.

Smiling as he sits, ass on his heels, your legs over his thighs, which are far too exposed in the pair of shorts he's wearing, Jeongguk just shrugs. Reaches up to squeeze your tits, just cause he can. Smirks. Says, "I think we're fuck buddies, but like... exclusive fuck buddies."

You're both dancing around what you really are, but it's something at least. Something better than the nothing you've been trying to cosplay as.

"It's too vulgar," you tell him.

"Well, it's what it is," he argues back, still toying with your tits, seemingly distracted, as he says, "Get them out."

"No," you laugh, which makes him pout. You know better. Know that you'll just end up needing another shower again if you get your tits out. "If we're gonna label this shit, we're gonna label it nicely."

"Why?" he teases, sinking down to press against your throat, his grip on your body strong as his hips pulse ever so gently. He knows what he's doing. Idiot. "We're not a spice rack. Who cares about the label?"

"Me," you tell him, without much thought. Had never realised you did care so much. The situation is confusing, though, and at least if you have a little label on it, you can store it away inside your brain and neglect any attention that should go its way, instead of letting it ravage your brain. "I care. I wanna know where I stand with you."

"Well, currently, you're laying down, B," he deadpans.

"Gguk."

"Byeol."

"Stop," you giggle, as his lips continue to press pretty kisses up your throat, tongue licking, breath hot. "Give me an answer."

He whines. "You're so difficult."

You laugh. "So are you!"

Jeongguk pulls back. Hands either side of your head to support himself, the chain around his neck tickles at your chin, much like the look in his eyes tickles at your heart.

"You're my best friend," he tells you. Steals a kiss. "And I've no interest in finding another bestie."

"And?" You press.

"And I've no interest in fucking anyone else," he stresses. "B, we're going round in circles-"

The light-hearted debate is cut short by the loud announcement of Jimin entering the house.

"Where are you fuckers? Gguk, wherever you are, put your cock away," he yells, yet still waltzes right on into Jeongguk's room without a care in the world.

Thankfully, the commotion had caused you both to tear yourself away from one another. Jeongguk is pulling his shirt over his head, while you sit all rather pleasantly by the pillows of the bed.

"Oh thank God," Jimin sighs, hand on heart as he enters the room. Flops down onto the bed, much in the same fashion you had not even 5 minutes earlier. "Thought I was gonna walk in on something."

Jeongguk throws a pair of socks in his face. "Then don't walk in without knocking?"

"Or," Jimin argues. "Alternatively, don't fuck each other."

You go to protest. Classic star-lover-style denial.

It's a funny thing, what a non-label label can do to a boy, though. He might not be on a spice rack, no - but nor are you. And he'd like Jimin not to think of you as if you are.

"Stop thinking about us fucking. If a door is closed, it's none of your business what's going on behind it."

Jimin sucks in a little breath through his pouty lips. "You're getting close. Still not a confession, but I'll take it."

Of course, Jimin knows the truth. He's spoken directly with Jeongguk about it on a number of occasions. The fact you two hook-up is an open secret between him and his housemate. It just frustrates Jimin, 'cause he thinks you're both self-sabotaging by not committing to it. Will scream for days if he has to deal with another Hayun-style trauma for Jeongguk.

"Anyways, chop-chop. We've finished setting up," Jimin beams. Waltzes out of the room, expecting you to follow - which you do. "It's time for the Jilympics!"

When you arrive at the front lawn, the first thing Nabi asks is, "Did he call it the Jilympics again? Dude! This joint effort!"

"It's not my fault my name works better than yours."

Shaking her head, she whispers beneath her breath to you, "Yeah and it won't be my fault when I slip and accidentally push him into the sea later."

"I know it won't be your fault, but can you give me a little prior warning?" You joke back. "So I can make sure I'm watching."

"Deal."

There's been a certain ambiguity to the plans of Nabi and Jimin, who now stand before you all with subtle smiles that they're trying not to let shine.

Gathered on the lawn, they've admittedly been deliberately ambiguous about their activity - but Jimin just can't help himself, and it doesn't take a genius to work out 'Jilympics' combined with their request for you to wear something sporty means that some sort of adventure awaits you.

Standing behind you, Jeongguk uses the obscured view of his body to his advantage. Spends the entire time you're waiting for Jimin and Nabi to start their introduction lightly tapping your ass. Right hand, left hand. One, two. One, two. Pat, pat. Sure, his body is swaying a little bit, but no one is really paying it any notice. Is typical of him. Nothing that'll make them glance twice in his direction.

But why should you care even if they do?

There's an air of excitement that surrounds you both. Keeps you trapped like a steel-bolted bubble. Uncharted territory is being walked across, and Jeongguk is holding your hand every step of the way - metaphorically, that is. Right now he's holding your ass. Just bestie things.

Seoyeon stands to the side of Nabi, while Yoongi mirrors her beside Jimin. They're exchanging confused glances not only with each other, but the entire party. Very little information has actually been given about the afternoon's activity, just that the Bride and Groom must pick teams.

A coin is flipped, and Seoyeon - who chose tails - is disappointed to see heads face up on the top of Jimin's hand.

Without hesitation, Yoongi instantly barks, "Jeongguk!"

"Hey!" Seoyeon whines, and you understand exactly why.

After all, you'd both been present during laser tag. Whichever team Jeongguk is on is guaranteed to win. It's just science.

"Fine," Seoyeon narrows her eyes at her beloved as Jeongguk comes to stand beside him. They greet one another with choruses of dumb, chad-like 'hey bro', 'lets go, bro,' and it only fuels Seoyeon's need to beat them.

And for reasons you can't quite understand, she picks you .

"Oh, I see how it is," Yoongi grins as you join your team captain, giggly and girly in your greeting just to take the piss out of the boys.

You're glad Yoongi can see how it is - 'cause you're really none the wiser. When it comes to sports, you leave something to be desired. It's no secret. You're well aware. So is Jeongguk.

"Namjoon," Yoongi calls next, only serving to strengthen his team. He's got the two strongest players, and Seoyeon really should have gotten Namjoon instead of you.

So it only comes as yet another surprise when she picks Hoseok .

You love him to death but - again - you've seen him play laser tag. No one in their right mind would pick him for a battle of survival. A mood maker? Respite from stress? Dance battle champ? Sure. You'd pick him for all of the above.

But as a contender in the Jilympics?! Surely not.

Even Hoseok is a little confused, glancing over to Taehyung and Danbi, then pointing to himself as if to say, "Me?"

In a shock twist, Yoongi then chooses Danbi - but you know he's smart. Know that he knows she does pole, and is far stronger than she appears.

It leaves Seoyeon with Taehyung to complete her ragtag team, and honestly, you're not holding out much hope for success.

Teams decided, the beans are spilt regarding the events of the afternoon. It's a competition of three games, where agility, determination, and smarts are needed in equal measure.

Still, you don't hold out much hope for your team.

The first game is a 'simple' assault course. A circle track going around the entire lawn, it's littered with furniture - makeshift hurdles, slalom poles, a sprinkler attachment on the end of the garden hose, and so much more. Too much. You wouldn't be surprised if the homeowners gave you an additional charge for property disruption, 'cause there's no way in hell they'll remember to return everything back to its rightful place.

Danbi and Taehyung go first. The most equally yet matched, that's for sure.

You think she'll have the edge - walks dogs for a living, so this will quite literally be like a walk in the park for her.

And it is - until Taehyung proves exactly why agility, determination and smarts are needed in equal measure.

He gets halfway through, just inches behind her, then says '"hey, wait, wait - Babe. Hold on." Acts all concerned. Gets Danbi worried. Pulls her to a stop, checking for the issue - only to be met with a 'Haha! Sucker!"

Taehyung bolts for it. Kocks over a stool to block her track. Passes the finish line, while Danbi is still protesting his underhand tactics.

The independent adjudicators (Nabi and Jimin, just with hi-vis vests on) declare it to be fair game.

Danbi? Well, she declares war .

When it comes to your turn, you're inevitably against Jeongguk, but don't even bother with any underhand tactics. He's already passing the second obstacle before you've even reached the first.

You're gonna lose anyways, so you may as well have fun with it, you think - and then dart across the middle of the circuit, bypassing all of the obstacles you're supposed to come up against. You're restricted a little by your lack of sports bra, and the fact you're having to hold your tits in place, barely managing to reach the other side of the circle before Jeongguk comes hurtling around the track.

"You fucker!" He shouts with a smile as he pelts towards the finish line - only for you to reach it before he does. With momentum still in his legs, Jeongguk hooks his arm around your waist and drags you with him as he slows to a hot, sticky, sweaty stop. Can't stop laughing. "You're such a cheater."

"Smart," you correct him with a giggle as he finally eases up. "I'm such a smart girlie."

He walks you both a little further back. Keeps you close. Looks down at you with such affection you know he's secretly a little enamoured by your cunning attempt to win. He'd kiss you, if it weren't for your friends.

Back at base, your teams are respectively arguing against one another as to whether or not what you did was 'legal'.

Jimin votes no, Nabi yes.

"First warning," Jimin eventually announces. "Any more funny business from team Bride and we'll have no choice but to give penalties."

The thing is, you all know you're gonna lose anyway - so fuck it. What's the worst that could happen? You'll lose a little harder? Boohoo.

It's actually far fairer between Namjoon and Hoseok. Of course, Namjoon wins, but Hoseok came really fuckin' close. Almost had it. Swears down if he were to do it again, he'd win.

But time is up, and the second game commences: Red light, green light,

The boys all insist on dying the most dramatic of deaths à la Squid Games whenever they're caught out, flailing to the floor, rolling and wailing.

In a last-ditch attempt to make you lose, Jeongguk deliberately gets himself knocked out in the process of tripping you up. It's the only death he doesn't play up, 'cause he's too laughing at you - and then subsequently running away from you when you decide that his in-game death is simply not enough.

Nabi and Jimin are withholding the scores - in all honesty, you think they're probably just gonna pull a winner out of their asses. For the moment, though, it's neck and neck.

"Welcome to the third and final round of the Olympics," Jimin declares, knowing that the task at hand has never and will never be played at any Olympic ceremony, like, ever. "The goal is simple. Dotted around the garden - from the main house right down to the beach are envelopes."

Nabi nods, holding up the small, white envelopes, before continuing. "In the envelopes are tokens. Each token is one point. There are 250 in total across 150 envelopes. Some envelopes have just one token, some have ten."

There's outcry from all of the players - shock and horror at the scope of the hunt.

"Collect the most tokens, and win," Nabi smiles with effervescent charm - only for Jimin to crush the simplicity of such a game to smithereens.

"However," he beams, oh so pleased to ruin it all. "There's a twist! Each team can exchange tokens for stickers throughout the game. Yoongi, you're red. Your team comes to me. Seoyeon, green. You go to Nabi. For every sticker you manage to stick on the rival team, you get plus ten points."

"And," Nabi smiles. "As a token of our goodwill, you'll each start with a sheet of stickers."

The 4x4 sheets are handed out, and you already know exactly who's gonna be covering you in stickers. You don't look over in his direction - but you can feel his gaze on you. It's nice. Welcome.

"They'll just take them off," Taehyung objects, convinced that the other team will need to cheat, as if it isn't full of the strongest players. If any team will be cheating, it's Seoyeon's.

"We're gonna ask that you play fairly," Nabi pleads, knowing there's no real way to stop it from happening. "You're in your twenties. You're not toddlers. Act like it."

"We're about to play a hybrid game of tag and treasure hunt," Jeongguk snorts. Finds the whole thing very amusing, and knows he's probably gonna enjoy the game more than anyone else. "Not toddlers, sureee ."

"You must have been a very advanced toddler, Jeongguk," Seoyeon teases, trash talk now a second language between the teams. You've been making little jabs at one another all afternoon, but it's been in good spirits. All part of the fun.

"I used to play tag against you in elementary school Seoyeon," Yoongi reminds her, coming to the defence of his teammate. "Try not to trip over your own feet."

"Oh that was, like, only three times," she scoffs with a smile, as if her nose doesn't have a slight bump in it still from one particularly bad fall.

Yoongi had gotten into a whole heap of trouble that day. He hadn't even done anything, he was just the first to check on her, so all the teachers thought he had done it - and because she was losing the game, she didn't correct them. Just gave a menacing smirk in Yoongi's direction when her parents came to pick her up. They didn't speak for three weeks afterwards - until Yoongi did accidentally knock someone over in the playground, and Seoyeon took the blame for him instead.

Push and pull; give and take. They've always been like this, even before they realised one day they'd be making vows; for better or for worse.

Gearing up to play, Jimin counts down from ten for extra drama. Adds a certain flair to it. Gets you rolling your eyes, and Jeongguk smirking when he catches you doing so.

As soon as he reaches zero, you're all darting in different directions. You've all seen various envelopes dotted around the place during the earlier activities, so have specific ones in mind.

There's a couple in the hedgerow by the side of the house, and you know that there's a small paved pathway running alongside the house, so after you nab the hedgerow envelopes, you beeline for the side of the house.

Already, you can see an envelope propped on the wheelbarrow. It's yours for the taking.

Or at least it was .

"Oh my GOD," you whine, as Jeongguk swoops in to steal the envelope you had been gunning for. "That was literally mine!"

"You snooze, you lose, B," he smirks - then decides he can use this to his advantage.

The pair of you are down by the side of the house.

No one else will be coming in this direction any time soon. Most of them are down by the water. Jeongguk had only come this way because, well, you were. He's like a lovesick puppy, and the pair of you are fools for not realising it - especially considering that fact it's the main topic of conversation down by the beach.

"It's good, actually that DB is over by the house," Taehyung assures Hoseok, convinced it will be their trump card for winning the game. "Will keep Jeongguk well away from us."

Ignorant to the harmless gossip, Jeongguk offers you a little challenge. He holds the envelope above his head, without even checking to see if it's got a decent amount of tokens, and smirks

"You can have it if you can reach it."

He's looking down at you, smug, eyes narrow. You know he's trying to bait you - and it's fucking working.

On your tippy toes, you hold onto his shoulder for balance and reach up. His spare hand holds your waist to further keep you balanced - or just to get you a little closer. Lowering the envelope Jeongguk keeps it just out of reach, much to your annoyance. Even when you jump a little, he raises it.

"I hate you," you promise him.

"Oh?" He grins. "So we're rivals now, huh? Some Kinda enemies to lovers type shit?"

Rolling your eyes, you lower your tippy toes and step back from him. Cross your arms over your chest.

"Who said anything about lovers?"

It's a valid question, but also one that is easily answered. He can think of a whole host of examples. Settles on the most recent.

"You did," he assures you. "Earlier. After the race. When you were practically undressing me with your eyes in front of all of our friends."

A white, baggy shirt and a pair of black shorts obscure Jeongguk's physique from prying eyes - and looks so fucking good as it does so. He expects you not to drool? Fat fuckin' chance.

Still, you'll not allow him - a man - to see weakness.

"I did no such thing."

"You did," he smirks. Bites down on his lip, and lets the ring do the thing. "Look, I'll cut you a deal, B. Kiss me and I'll give it to you."

"You're evil."

"I am a genius."

"Evil genius," you correct with a smile, and then sigh.

He's a tough bargainer. Even tougher to resist.

"You know, you were right," you eventually admit, getting a little closer. You rest your hand on his hip, and let it gravitate towards the centre of his body. Let it get dangerously close to his cock - and he allows you. Just like he lets you cup his balls, as your hand rubs slowly up and down his bulge. It's so easy to work him up. So easy. "You got me so horny earlier."

"Yeah?"

"Mhhm," you nod, once more on your tippy toes as you press a kiss into the curve of his neck. His skin is warm, despite the chill of the April air. The scent that lingers on his is that of the shower you shared together, and it makes him so hard to resist - but you must. Head in the game.

Before Jeongguk can process the fact he's being swindled, you snatch the envelope from him and dart away from the hidden spot, bolting into the open air of the garden.

Jeongguk can't follow, on account of the fact you've just given him a semi that he needs to rearrange in his underwear, which means victory is yours.

Your yell of ' loser ' echoes back to him, and has him tipping his head back, groaning up at the sky.

"Fuckin' idiot," he berates himself. Should have really seen it coming. You've been competitive as fuck all afternoon, and haven't stuck to the rules a single time.

But Jeongguk isn't the only idiot.

In one hand he'd been holding the envelope. In the other? A collection of his stickers all stuck together. Now, they're on your back. Victory is his - you just don't realise it yet.

You spend the rest of the game avoiding each other. After all, you don't want to neglect the fact you're playing with your friends. It's a bonding experience. Something of which you'll remember for years to come.

The Jilympics? A roaring success. Gold medals all around.

Once it hits the allotted time of one hour, the game is up - and the respective teams sit in little circles on the lawn counting out their tokens. Nabi and Jimin walk around to count the stickers on the players, but keep the tallies to themselves. Want to do a big reveal later.

"Shit," Danbi curses midway through the token count, shaking her hand out instinctively.

Jeongguk glances over. Notices a small bead of blood on her index finger. "Paper cut?"

Nodding, Danbi insists it's no big deal - and it really isn't. Just a small little knick. Will be fixed with a quick swipe of her tongue against it. "No biggie."

Jeongguk nods, but sees the way she continues to study the small wound just to make sure she doesn't get any blood on the papers. It continues to bother her, but she works around it. Papercuts aren't exactly foreign to her. She seems to get them weekly from the receipts she handwrites for her dog-walking business. Still, this one is a little worse than usual. The card used for the tokens is thick.

Tokens tallied, Jeongguk quickly excuses himself while the rest of his group finishes their counting. Knows he could have had more tokens, but had wasted a bunch of time flirting with you instead. Worth it , he smirks to himself, when he thinks of it.

Rummaging around in the kitchen, he swears he saw some plasters in one of the drawers when he was helping you set up for bingo the day before.

"Started the party without me, I see?" A familiar voice sweetly sounds from the entryway. Glancing up from his search, lips ajar, Jeongguk is surprised to be greeted with a familiar face.

"Yun," he stands, straightening himself out. Coughs a little. Clears his throat. "Didn't think you were getting here until tomorrow?"

"Last minute change of plans," she smiles, lips tight, a little sad in her expression - but in such a way Jeongguk knows not to ask for details.

It's a common quality of hers; a refusal to talk about what's upsetting her. Used to put Jeongguk through the wringer whenever she was upset, 'cause he could never quite figure out why. Would go insane just trying. Could never fix her problems for her, because she never shared them.

"Anyways," she holds up some thick card bags, made for carrying bottles. "Where should I put these?"

"Fridge," Jeongguk answers without missing a beat.

She's dressed casually - a pair of relaxed jeans and a small white top, with a cropped grey sweater jacket - hair up, for a change. Her lips aren't red, makeup kept to the bare minimum. Funny, Jeongguk thinks, how much she looks like the Hayun he first knew, when red was only for nights out and not her whole entire personality. It's kinda nice. Bittersweet.

"Of course," she laughs, heading around the island. More than anything, she had been asking permission to enter the space he's in. Knows that there are boundaries in place now, and isn't too sure how to navigate them. Like it or not, this is new to her. She's not gonna get it right every time, but she's not going to make a fool of herself either.

"How was the drive?" Jeongguk asks, preferring small talk over awkward silence. He's still looking for those plaster after all, and doesn't want to go back empty-handed. Especially not now.

"Got the train," she says. "Came straight from Seoul. Grabbed a taxi to the house, so it was no sweat. Pretty easy."

"Really?" Jeongguk chirps in surprise. "You should have called. One of us would have come and picked you up."

He's careful not to say that he would have picked her up - but it's slim pickings. Other than Yoongi, he's the only one who could have.

Hayun laughs, opening the fridge up, unsurprised to see it stocked full of drinks. "You forget I know what you're all like. Didn't really expect any of you to be sober enough."

Jeongguk laughs now, too. She's got a point.

"Anyway," she takes a deep breath, finding space to put her favourite wine away. "I figured you'd still be doing the Olympics. That's today's thing, right? Nabi and Jimins?"

Nodding, Jeongguk finally spots the box of plasters right at the back of the drawer. Is kinda surprised Hayun remembers the running order of the weekend. Is unsurprised that Nabi had spilled the beans to her about the event, even though Jimin had refused to even give Jeongguk a measly hint.

"Just finishing up," he confirms. "Have you seen everyone yet?"

Hayun shakes her head as she folds the wine carriers flat. "Came straight to drop my stuff off. Haven't told Seoyeon I'll be here early. I know she was disappointed with the clash so I wanted to surprise her."

The cynic in Jeongguk thinks it's very typical of Hayun, her desire to be the centre of attention at the forefront of her motivations. The hope in Jeongguk wants to believe it comes from good intentions, just as she says it does. She used to do it for him, sometimes. Would say she was out of town, only to surprise him on a night out. Always used to make his evenings just that little bit more special.

Funny, how things change.

"Well, I won't ruin the surprise," he smiles kindly, closing the drawer before heading to the door. If the rest of the weekend continues like this, he'll be happy. It's painless. A little awkward, granted, and he still doesn't exactly know how to behave around her now that he's not a pining puppy dog, but it's easier than it was. Not everything has to be a fight. The shattered fragments of what they once were can never be fixed, but the sharp edges can be sanded down. Rounded off.

"Hey, Gguk," Hayuns calls awkwardly just as he gets to the door.

He turns to face her. Chirps, as if to say, "Yes?"

Looking a little uncomfortable, it's clear she called after him before her sentences had fully formed in her head. "Look about everything-"

"It's fine," he says. Doesn't want to discuss it. There's really no point. "Things are fine, Yun. Just be nice, alright? The weekend's not about us, or whatever. Just focus on keeping things good for Seoyeon."

She wants to object - to refute the idea that she's the only one who ever plays dirty - but knows better than to do so.

Instead, she nods. "Alright. I'll see you down there."

"See you down there," JunGguk confirms. Knows he definitely could have handled that better, but didn't really want to have to handle it at all. All things considered, it went as well as it ever would have done. Hayun does, at least, seem to be on her best behaviour - and that's something, considering how testing the last couple of months have been.

He manages to push the interaction back out of his mind, but avoids looking in your direction as he returns. You're unfocused on him anyway, caught up in conversation with your team.

Tossing the plasters down onto the mat where his team had been tallying up points, Danbi is surprised to say the least.

"It's fine," she still insists, but takes the plasters regardless. Genuinely appreciates his small act of kindness. "Thank you."

Jeongguk just nods. Doesn't think he needed to be thanked. Was just general human decency, in his eyes. Would have done it for anyone.

It's not until Jeongguk takes his seat that he realises he should give you a heads up. Had been so busy stuck in his own that he failed to remember Hayun's presence affects you, too.

Ripping off a little bit of an envelope, Jeongguk crafts a small paper ball and chucks it at you. Lands just short of your knee. Tries again. Gets it in your lap this time, but you're still busy chatting.

"You really are a toddler, aren't you?" Yoongi grins with a perplexed expression on his face. Doesn't realise what's going on - and won't realise. Not until it's too late. Not until Hayun is walking down from the house, and Seoyeon is excitedly running up to meet her. Engulfing her in a warm hug, Seoyeon is so pleased to see her. Yoongi? Less so.

And you?

Jeongguk can't tell. You're not facing him. Or anyone, really. Your eyes are out towards the sea, watching the waves as they roll and rippled into shore.

This weekend is not about you. This weekend is not about you. This weekend is not about you.

It's about Seoyeon, and Yoongi.

Hayun is one of her oldest friends. Of course, she should be here. If anyone shouldn't, it's you.

Well, no.

It's Hoseok - but you're glad to have him here. Especially when he mutters "Oh, goody . So happy she's here early."

"Shush," you hush him - even if you do agree with his sarcastic jibe. "She looks nice today."

And she really does. You've got the same sweater jacket, you think, just in black. You're not trying to be mean, or bitchy. You're finding positives that can be drawn from the negatives, because you're firm in the belief that we get back what we give out. If there's energy in the air around you, you don't want to be the one making it sour. If clouds are gonna follow you, you'd rather they have silver linings, not storms hidden within.

Glancing over to Jeongguk, you find his wide eyes on yours, top teeth nervously nibbling down on his bottom lip. He tilts his head as if to ask if you're okay. You nod. Offer him a smile. It's really not that deep.

"You?" you mouth back, to which he nods.

It seems that your sanctuary with Jeongguk has been cut short.

You're thankful for the time you had together without her - but her presence just looms over you like an impending lightning strike. Maybe you won't get burned. It's highly likely that you'll avoid it. But there's always a possibility.

With Nabi also with Seoyeon and Hayun, the game is left to play out without the results. Jimin says he'll announce it at drinks this evening. Lets you all disperse. Doesn't fancy trying to battle for attention against Hayun, not when she's already winning.

You and Jeongguk remain exactly where you are, sitting on the grass, a metre or so apart. Facing each other now, neither of you are talking. Just looking. Observing.

Knees to your chest, you're tapping your feet against the floor.

Jeongguk waits for you to finish the pattern of taps, then does the same pattern with his palms on his knees. Sitting cross-legged, he really is the sweetest human you've ever had the pleasure of knowing.

It's all very childish. Neither of you wish to break the silence, but you're both fighting giggles, especially as you up the intensity of the tapping patterns.

Simple pleasures.

The beauty of being in such a large group means that it's easy to avoid those you wish to.

The rest of your afternoon is spent with the people you care the most for. It's a shame to not hang out with Nabi once more, but Hayun being here early is a surefire indication that something went wrong in Seoul. You don't believe that she's here out of the kindness of her own heart.

Perhaps you're overly cynical. Perhaps you're not cynical enough.

Still, as the afternoon carries on, everyone sets about getting changed for the evening ahead. It's just a sit-down meal and drinks tonight - far more dignified than the previous evening - but Seoyeon requested that everyone dresses a little nicer than usual.

"Hey, DB," Yoongi calls over to you as you head down towards the house. "Can you get Jeongguk for me? He's supposed to be helping with the meat."

"Yeah, sure," you nod. He'd gone to get changed a little bit before you specifically for that purpose, knowing he'd want a shower before you hopped in there. It'll be your second of the day, but this time you really will be quick. Just wanna rinse yourself off after all the running around today, especially if you want to feel even half-nice in your evening attire.

The house is quiet as you enter. You'd passed Nabi and Seoyeon on your way down to the house. They'd asked you what you were wearing and you'd replied, honestly, that you didn't know. Jeongguk packed after all. It's sort of a surprise. You just hope there are options.

Sliding the main door shut, you call out to Jeongguk.

"Gguk? Shower or room?" You ask, wanting to know where to locate him - but given that his bedroom is just a step or so away, you reach for the door handle - only for it to be locked. Odd . "Gguk?"

Brows furrowed, you don't care to hide your surprise. He never locks the door. Or at least, rarely. Jimin walked straight on in just a couple of hours earlier.

"Yeah," he says, a little frantically, voice muffled through the door, "Just gimmie a second."

The walls in this place are thin.

You should have realised this on that first evening, when Jimin and Nabi definitely heard everything.

But you're realising it now, as you hear a panicked whisper. Can't make out for the life of you what's being said.

All that's for certain is that he's not alone.

Yet when he opens the door, still shirtless from his shower, hair wet, he pretends as if he is all by himself.

It's written all over his face, though. Guilt. Shame. 

And on his bare chest? His sternum? 

Crimson red rouge. 

Just a tiny smudge. Just enough.

Mouth resting ajar, brows contorted by hurt, the split fraction of time you're caught in turns into slow motion. 

Everything is hard to comprehend - but hardest of all? The one thing you refuse to take in? 

The small grey jacket on his bed. 

That one's a real bitter pill to swallow.

"Oh," you whisper, because what else can you do? Cry? Get angry? Fuck that . "Sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"B-" he tries to interrupt, but whatever he has to say, you don't want to hear it.

Backing away, you shake your head. You, too, have a lockable bedroom door that you very much intend on utilising, now.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," you smile, all rather disconcertingly. You won't give him a reaction. Won't let him see your hurt. 

"No, wait-"

"Yoongi was after you. Something about meat. But I see you're busy, so I'll leave you be."

"B-"

"Later, buddy ."

The door slams shut behind you - and with it shatters the false promises Jeongguk had vowed to you just a few short hours earlier.

note - that's all for today!!! i was behind schedule so didn't get a chance to add more!! apologies <33

[flebur]

The statue of Athena Parthenos located in the Parthenon in Nashville, Tennessee, is a reconstruction by sculptor Alan LeQuire. The original statue of Athena Parthenos was the work of Phidias, it was made in the Chrysepantine technique, the name of which comes from the Greek words gold and elephant. This technique involved covering the wooden structure of the sculpture with ivory plates and gold. Interestingly, Athena was not only a statue, but also a treasury. From 40 to 50 talents of gold were used to make it, i.e. from 1744 to 2180 kilograms. This gold was in the form of plates that could be removed and used in the event of financial difficulties of the city. The statue has not survived to our times. We recreate its appearance based on ancient descriptions, images on medallions and medals, and marble Roman copies.

I doubt whether Phidias carved the serpent in front of the shield. Falsehood.

[archivist-crow]

On this day:

DRINKING DEITIES

On September 22, 1995, statues of the elephant-headed Hindu god Ganesha drank milk offered to them from spoons. Eyewitness Girish Desai spoke of her experience and the experience of those around her. "When we put a spoon of milk up to the lips... the milk disappeared in seconds." Devotees, in vehicles and on foot, toting pots, pans, and buckets of milk to temples, put New Delhi into an intense state of gridlock. The miracle took place during the season of pitr paksh, which had begun in India before dawn the previous day. A white marble statue had sipped with its trunk the milk offering made for ancestral souls. News of the miracle phenomenon spread like wildfire around the globe.

By lunchtime frenzied accounts of Ganesha statues drinking milk were reported from all over the globe, including Canada, the United States, the Middle East, Britain, Europe, and Southeast Asia. Images of Ganesha—Lord of Beginnings and Destroyer of Obstacles—that drank the milk varied from hollow ceramic statues to metal statues and glass-covered paintings. The World Hindu Council announced a miracle was occurring. Dairy sales in New Delhi jumped 30 percent, and one Gateway store in England reported selling over 25,000 pints of milk. One small silver statue of the god absorbed twenty quarts. From a temple in Happy Valley, Hong Kong, came accounts of an astonishing amount of milk consumption by figurines of Brahma, Ganesha, and Krishna. Additional statements came in of the entire Hindu pantheon imbibing all over North India.

Scientists attempted to unravel the phenomenon by offering one statue of the deity milk containing food coloring. The liquid vanished from the spoon and appeared lower in the statue, prompting them to explain the event away by capillary action. This explanation, however, did not say why the worldwide phenomenon abruptly stopped by noon the following day.

Text from: Almanac of the Infamous, the Incredible, and the Ignored by Juanita Rose Violins, published by Weiser Books, 2009

[inlaymarblecraftsstuff]

Marbleinlayelephants

[bhuvneshwarimoortiart]

9 Reasons Why Lord Ganesha is Worshipped First

Lord Ganesh, with a human body and an elephant head, is the God of removal of all barriers. The holiness of the god is reflected in different cultures, inspiring creations. Perhaps, the greatest testament to this is the marble Ganesha statue which most people include in their homes, temples or offices as a sign of fortune and knowledge. However, why is Lord Ganesha given the first place and why do people worship him before any other god? Here are nine points which explain why He is superior.

Read Here: https://sites.google.com/view/bhuvneshwarimoortiart/blog/reasons-why-lord-ganesha-is-worshipped-first