#he’s gazed at the Forbidden Fruit and feared biting into it

[lunaamatista]

I will make a longer post about this at some point but: if your theories about why Aziraphale has done bad and abusive things and has been having fun in la la land while ignoring all the horrors around him don’t include the fact that Crowley never told him how he’d been treated in Heaven, Crowley never told him he was at risk of being erased from the Book of Life, Crowley never told him what had he saw in Heaven’s Confidential Files, etc.

I simply won’t take you seriously.

[kanekisfavoritegf]

PERFECT LOVER: The Life of Nanami Kento the 35 Year Old Virgin

MINORS & BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT YOU WILL GET BLOCKED

SYNOPSIS: Kento Nanami, a 35-year-old introvert with a tendency to avoid social interactions, has made a conscious decision to steer clear of romantic entanglements. However, everything changes when he meets a new colleague at his birthday party, (Satoru's Idea). From the moment they meet, he is mesmerized, finding himself increasingly unable to resist her magnetic presence. Like taking a bite of forbidden fruit, he becomes ensnared by the allure, delving into a realm of infatuation and finding himself unable to break free. As he delves deeper into this newfound connection, Nanami begins to realize that he craves more than just a fleeting experience and yearns for more than just a fleeting taste of what she embodies.

Table of Contents

WORD COUNT: 2.3K

CHAPTER FIVE:

Your hands trembled as you fixed your dress. It was a plain black one that fell just above your knees, tight enough to hug your figure. Shiny black pumps complemented your outfit. 

You would have worn better had Kento not insisted on taking you on a date right after work that Friday. But you did your best with the little you had, the fanciest, most “seductive” work dress in your closet. The one that showed off the most cleavage. 

You were in the company bathroom, touching up your makeup before Kento whisked you away to whatever he had planned. Geto and Yuki had already left, and somehow, very conveniently, both you and Nanami had been given Gojo’s workload for that day to finish, making the two of you work overtime as the rest of the office emptied. 

Before you left the bathroom, you took one more glance at yourself. You looked good, a little fancy for work and underdressed for fine dining, but you were comfortable and felt good. 

Stepping out of the bathroom, you walked past Kento’s desk, each step deliberate and prolonged. Making sure that the slit in the back shows off the lining of the back of your stockings as you pass. As you passed him, you swished your hair slightly, giving Kento only a whiff of your shampoo. You didn’t turn to look if his eyes were on you. You already knew they were. You could feel it as you turned to sit at your desk and finally locked eyes with him as you sat down slowly. Something flashed within his eyes, a small fire igniting between you, but it was gone as fast as it came. When Kento turned back to face his computer, a slight smirk was now on his face.

It was not long until the both of you were done; Kento finished a minute before you and now stood leaning at your desk, watching you pack your things hurriedly as you tried not to drop any of your belongings under his intense gaze.

He was doing it on purpose, his intense gaze making you want to kick him a little. You thought you could handle his watching you until he leaned in closer, taking a strand of one of your curls and smelling it, his actions amplifying the tension in the room.

You dropped all of your pens and got to your feet, cheeks hot with embarrassment.

“Hey!”

“Hey,” Kento echoed back, smiling like an idiot. He thought this was funny, but it only irritated you more.

“Stop staring at me.”

“Why would I do that?” He asked, taking a step closer to you. You stepped back, almost tripping on your desk, had it not been for the blonde grabbing you by your waist.

“Kento Nanami!” You slapped his chest, dropping to your knees and picking up the pens.

“Y/N, you are doing an excellent job packing up.”

“I thought you wanted to take me on a date.”

“Oh, I do, but someone gave me a boner, and I fear I may not be able to leave the office without shame.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. ‘Oh’.” Kento looked down, watching as you reached for the last pen that had rolled down further than the rest of the ones that had fallen, taking notice of the arch in your back and the way your hair fell to frame your face, “I think I quite like you on your knees.”

It's safe to say you hit your head on the desk.

“Are you sure you are a virgin, Kento? Because all of this dirty talk is giving me major whiplash.��

“This is what you call dirty talk?” He held his hand out to you, helping you to your feet but not letting you go. “I was simply being honest; I am sorry.”

Oh god, if this wasn’t his dirty talk, you could only imagine what he would say to you if under you, or on top of you or–

You snapped yourself out of your thoughts before your panties could dampen any more.

“Shall we go?”

“Yes, we should.” 

As the two of you walked through the streets, the street lamps lit Kento’s hand, drawing you in close. No words were spoken between the two of you, and it reminded you of the first walk you took with him.

It felt as though you were moving fast but also slow in a way. If Kento were nervous, he wouldn’t let it show. Down the street, you let him lead you to his house.

“You could have bought me dinner before taking me back to your bed, Nanami.” You joked.

Kento smiled; it made the skin at his eyes crease, paired with a soft pink blush on his cheeks and ears, and absolutely took your breath away. You felt your heart jump out of your chest for a moment. He was so beautiful it made your head hurt. He was nervous, and even if he tried to hide, it was smooth flirting and a calm demeanour. Kento was nervous about taking you on a date.

“Instead of taking you to dinner, I thought I would make you some.” A hand reached the back of his neck as he scratched it awkwardly, “Unless you hate the idea! I can snag a table at the restaurant a few miles away?”

“No! No! Dinner would be perfect. At yours, I mean.” You rushed out, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward his building’s entrance.

Kento’s home was exactly like you remember: clean and tidy. As you stepped inside, Kento placed some house shoes in front of you and took your coat from you,

“Come sit,” his hand reached out to you, and you took it, letting Kento lead you into his kitchen and to the island chair, where he made you sit and watch.

“So what’s on the menu, Chef?”

“For your appetizer, you get a Charcuterie board, some pasta and salad for dinner, and maybe some dessert if you have room.”

“I always have room for dessert.”

Kento’s appetizer did not disappoint; taking a cheese cube and some grapes into your mouth, you fought a moan of pleasure from the taste.

“How long did this all take for you to make?” you asked Kento as he worked on cutting the tomatoes and basil. The pasta he had made from scratch was boiling in a large pot. 

“Well, I can not take credit for the Charcuterie board; I dropped the first one I made and ran to buy one from the store,” he said, ears red but his head down, avoiding eye contact as he chopped away. But all the other ingredients and preparing for the dinner aren’t new to me.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, I often cook for myself. Even as a kid, I have always loved food, and cooking is a great outlet.” 

How are you so perfect?

“I don’t think I am perfect, but I will take this compliment anyway, especially if it’s from you.” 

You would have died of embarrassment had the wine Kento offered you not been so good and strong. One and a half glasses was all it took for a buzz to hit you. Pushing the rest of your glass away, you focused on the passive way Kento’s body moved. It was almost like a dance; the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to above his elbow, but it was tight enough that you could also see how his muscles moved and flexed underneath the sweater. It was as if he was trying to slut himself out to you through the power of cooking. 

This is dangerous. He is dangerous, and you don’t even think he is fully aware of how badly you are attracted to him.

"Hey, Y/N." Nanami called you out of your horny daze with a deep voice, "Could you light the fireplace? It is pretty easy, but if you struggle, call me over."

You nodded, wanting to feel useful as Kento still worked on dinner. The kitchen soon filled with a wonderful aroma. The smell followed you all the way into his living room, leaving you undeniably hungry.

Turning on the fireplace turned out to be more challenging than you thought. On the lower corner of the fireplace, a golden square was bolted to its side, with symbols instructing how to light it. It was not complicated; in fact, it looked relatively easy. Yet, as you twisted the gas with the key, it continued to click without lighting. After your third attempt and failure, you called for Kento. 

"I admit defeat. It's not working," you said, your hands in the air, a dramatic pout on your face.

"You called at a good time. Everything is on a low simmer for another fifteen minutes, and then we can eat." 

You shuffled out of the way and watched as Kento twisted it quickly, lighting the fire instantly. "Show off." You muttered under your breath, not quite enough to go unnoticed by Kento.

"Is this how you talk to the man working tirelessly to make you dinner?" Kento asked plainly, sitting beside you on the soft of his cream rug.

"I don't know what you are talking about." You leaned into him, your faces inches from each other. Kento took a shaky breath, and you took this time to admire his face. I truly admire everything about it. Under the fire's glow, he looked even more handsome than usual. His hair was a little messy, unlike his regularly slicked-back style, with a few strands falling right above his eyebrow. 

He looked nervous, but it wasn't his face that gave it away. Per usual, he held no frown or smile, just a plain blank stare. His quickening of breath, his fluttering eyes, and the small gulp of saliva making his Adam's apple bob catch your attention.

So lost in your gawking, you had yet to realize just how much you had leaned into him and how much he leaned into you. 

“Y/N.” He rasped at you, watching as the dancing fire’s glow reflected onto your skin.

“Kento.” You said, your voice wavering in confidence as you did. 

“Can I kiss you, please?” You nodded silently, eyes focused on his and his eyes on your lips.

“You have to say it,” His hands now cupped your face delicately, “You have to say it out loud, Y/N. Can I kiss you?”

“Yes. Please.” You whispered, just like Kento. Your hands reached out for his face, too, but rather than stay still, you let your finger ghost over his lips, pulling on them slightly before pushing your lips against him. The hand that once cupped your face found the back of your head and pushed you deeper into him, and his other grabbed onto your waist, keeping you from leaving him. You fought off the urge to whine as the hand that held onto your waist squeezed you harder, and you pressed your tongue to his lips, begging for entry, something that he promptly gave. Your bodies moved and shuffled the longer you kissed, and you couldn’t take the throbbing between your legs any more. Slipping yourself on top of his lap earned you a deep and guttural moan from Kento. Your dress rolled up with you as your legs spread to make space for his body. 

The hand on your waist raised to your ribcage, his thumb pressing into your skin as he rubbed rhythmically. You whined into him as you felt the growing tent in his pants graze your clothed cunt. You could not help but push yourself into him while whispering. 

“Oh God, you are big.”

Kento’s eyes fluttered shut at your words. His grasp grew stronger at your ribcage and back of your neck as if it were some lifeline. 

“Oh Fuck. Oh, Christ. Don’t do that, I’ll come.” You only moaned into his mouth as a response, feeling Kento’s body shudder as you pressed down against his dick. Kento let out a string of breathy moans against the skin of your neck, keeping his head there as he collected himself through shaky breaths.

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” He repeated in the deep of your neck, still lost in his post-orgasm haze.

Up and down, you watched his chest rise and fall; it should be illegal to look this good after cumming during a twenty-five-second makeout.

“Feew” 

“What?” You asked, pulling away so Kento could raise his head.

“Food? I should go check on it.”

“Oh! Yeah, no, you totally should.” 

You awkwardly crawled off of him as his grip loosened, trying not to stare at the wet patch on his pants or the bulge that was still ever so apparent. You don’t know why you were acting like this. If anything, you should be confident. And yet here you are, acting like a preteen receiving their first kiss.

Kento returned a minute and a half later, wearing sweatpants and a loose shirt. Another shirt is still in hand for you.

“Why would you?”

“You have my cum on your dress.” He said plainly. Following the line of his gaze, your eyes came to see the spot where his cum had dribbled through. Your eyes wide, you got your feet, snatching the shirt from his hand and rushing to the bathroom.

Preview...

“I thought you said you wanted me to make you cum?”

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CHAPTER SIX: UPLOADED

[meo-eiru]

Micah is like a potter, he coaxed life from the earth, shaping it as a potter shapes clay, and in return, the garden flourished. A paradise, it was— a glimpse of Eden.

He knelt in the soil, hands deep in the black earth, when he heard the soft crunch of footsteps on the gravel path. Slowly, he rose, wiping his hands on his cassock before turning. And there she was.

Sister Y/N, the newest novice.

The Mother Superior had introduced them formally last week, a brief exchange of pleasantries— a mere formality. She, like so many others, had barely registered in his mind at the time. Another novice, another soul seeking redemption to the Lord.

Unspoiled, and faithful. Her face was soft, framed by the simple habit, her eyes wide and too trusting. Micah had smiled, a smile crafted with the care of a sculptor.

Before he knew it— he wanted to ruin that pure expression to something deliciously defiled.

How sweet indeed, terribly sweet.

Y/N approached him, that same sweetness clung to her like the dew that glistened on the petals at dawn.

“Father Micah,” she says. How she looks at him, it was quite adorable to say the least. The way she seemed to hang on his every word— completely unaware of his unholy thoughts… adorable.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

He turned to her, hands still cradling a delicate white rose, its petals soft like a cloud. “Ah, how thoughtful of you to offer your assistance, fufufu,” he cooed. His fingers brushed the rose almost reverently. "But I fear there is not much to be done in this garden. The flowers here have already been watered and primmed."

“I see…” Y/N looked visibly disappointed, a pout formed on her lips. As she began to turn and move away, she felt a warm hand gently close around her own.

"Before you go, I have something for you."

Grasping the slender stem of the white rose, Micah plucked it carefully. The flower in his hand appeared to match her— pure and delicate in its simplicity.

"I cannot let you leave empty handed, Sister," he extended the rose to her, its pale petals glowing in the light. "Here, a small token of my appreciation for your kind offer."

Her expression brightened like the sun on a clear day. “T-Thank you!”

She reached for it, her smile shy as she accepted the gift. But as her fingers closed around the stem, she winced— so slight, a brief flicker of pain— her finger slipped, catching on one of the rose’s hidden thorns. A single drop of blood welled up from the wound. It was a small thing, a mere prick.

Small tears welled up in her eyes— it set delightful shivers into his spine. He watched, transfixed, as the crimson bead slid down her finger, falling onto the white petals below.

The rose drank in the blood greedily, the purity of its petals stained with red.

Ah, it appears the thorns have claimed their offering. A small price to pay for such a lovely color, his thoughts coo at her, patronizingly.

He reached out without warning, his long, slender fingers encircling her wrist in a firm grip. Y/N's eyes widened in surprise at his sudden grasp. Startled, her gaze met his closed eyes, confused.

"Let me see,” Micah says, there honeyed sweetness in his words. "Such beautiful hands are not meant to bleed.”

Unless he wills it so.

Micah gently brought her finger to his lips, his tongue darting out to taste the blood— sweet as the forbidden fruit. He understood why Eve took the bite of the apple.

He then brought the digit between his own, using his free hand to gently squeeze, coaxing more blood to the surface. He brought his lips to her again, licking the remaining blood away. A tiny gasp escaped her lips, and her cheeks flushed slightly. He could feel her pulse quicken under his fingertips.

She was sweet as he had thought.

"F-Father!”

"Is something wrong?" Micah continued to hold her wrist, feigning innocence.

"It's just that..." Y/N began, stumbling over her words as her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of scarlet.

“Hmmm?”

"N-No, it's nothing..."she replied, her cheeks growing even more flushed.

As he continued to keep hold of her slender wrist, his other hand gently moved to cup her chin, holding her gaze steadfast.

"You seem awfully flushed," he said, his thumb brushing over her rosy cheek. "Are you unwell perchance?"

“No— I-I'm fine,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

"But your face is so red," Micah noted with a slight tilt of his head. "Let me check your temperature.

His hand moved to her forehead, his touch gentle yet firm. He allowed it to linger there longer than necessary.

She closed her eyes as his fingers brushed her forehead, the sensation of his touch sending a shiver down her spine. A shaky breath escaped her lips, and his gaze fixated on them.

"Sister Y/N!"

The voice, coming from further along the garden path, called out. Y/N's attention was instantly snapped away much to his dismay as she recognized the voice of one of her fellow novices calling out to her.

With a small gasp, she swiftly turned, breaking eye contact with Father Micah. "I-I have to go!"

Micah easily masked his irritation with a small smile. He watched as she turned towards the voice of her calling out for her.

"You best run along then. Duty calls, it seems."

She looked at him, and for a moment, he thought he saw something flicker in her gaze— doubt, perhaps. But then it was gone, and she was smiling again that made his blood burn.

He watched her go, his smile still firmly in place. He could wait. He would wait.

He knew he could not rush this. Like the flowers he so carefully tended, he needed to nurture her fall, to ensure it was as inevitable as it was irreversible.

The devil was in the details, and he was very good at details.

GOD THIS WAS SO GOOD

You did such an amazing job writing Micah I loved it so much I need a continuation!!!

[ink-and-dagger]

Inky I love that you got into ghost, they are one of my favourite bands! Copia do be caked up an exuberant amount, all that rigatoni did wonders for him😂 if you are taking requests for Copia could we get a short thing/one shot about grabbing his ass 😂 and what he would do about that

Grabbing Copia’s cakes sure would be a treat, but how about I do you one better? 😈🍑

This is my first Ghost fic - so any feedback is welcomed and appreciated! Big big love to @sweatandwoe for beta-ing and to @iseutz for checking my Italian 🇮🇹🖤

Forbidden Fruit

Copia x Reader || Papa Emeritus iv x Reader || Established Relationship || SFW but Mature || Public Ass Grabbing || Public Ass Nibbling || Fluff & Humour || Inappropriate use of Library ladders || Wc: 1.7K

It's a pleasant surprise to stumble upon the newly ordained Papa Emeritus IV browsing through the library stacks. Even more pleasant that he happens to be halfway up a rolling ladder, and wearing one of his sinfully tight suits. What better opportunity to give Copia's cakes the attention they deserve?

No snakes needed to convince you to take a bite out of this apple 🍎 😈

Some insist that change is a good thing.

Others abhor it. Fear it.

Most would argue that the merit of any change is entirely dependent on the circumstances surrounding it, and the perspective of those it affects. That it has the potential to bring with it both good and bad simultaneously.

When Copia had inherited the mantle of Papa Emeritus, much had changed within the Ministry, and those residing within its walls were left reeling in the wake of its war-path. The abrupt disappearance of his papal predecessors. A shuffle of order within the ranks of the Clergy. The new Ghouls slinking through the marbled halls of the Church, and the explosive success of the public Rituals.

Whilst your Siblings of Sin have spent the last few months coming to terms with these biggest of changes, you yourself have been contemplating the smallest.

Mourning the loss of freckles over alabaster skin. Lamenting the disappearance of finely kept facial hair that used to brush so sweetly against your lips, cheeks, thighs… Adjusting the cup of your palms to fit the slant of a new, strong jawline. 

Oh but these little losses were worth it for the look on Copia’s face the very first time he had donned his Papa paints and lain eyes on his own reflection. Priceless – to witness the awed emotion in his gaze. To watch a small sprout of new confidence appear, tentative and tender as a spring bud. How that little seedling had bloomed and flourished over the following weeks and months, watered to fruition as the man you so adore had finally – finally – begun to realise his own brilliant potential.

However, some things remain as eternal as a subterranean river; revealing itself through cuts in the rock, and through hidden, bubbling springs. Papa Emeritus he may be, but your Copia threads through him still. A precious vein of ore that can never be extracted. And for that you thank the Dark One.

No amount of authority will ever drive out the innate awkwardness that makes him so endearing. No amount of surgical reconstruction can ever change the two-tone gaze that contains such gentle warmth and kindness. 

And no amount of wardrobe changes could ever diminish the sinful majesty of Copia’s ass.

It’s a sight you drink in greedily as you round one of the many towering stacks within the Ministry’s library to find the man himself, standing atop the rungs of one of the rolling ladders, browsing through the upper shelves. You lean against the bookcase, taking a moment to rake your gaze over the sinful swell of his backside – clad in the dark, wickedly skin-tight trousers of one of his more casual Papa suits. 

He's completely lost within his own little world – not an uncommon occurrence – and so it takes a low, appreciative whistle, (drawn from you by the way his glutes tighten and shift as he stretches for another book), for him to become aware of your presence.

His mute greeting to you is warm; a silent smile that creases the corners of his kohl-ringed eyes and pulls at the edge of his painted lips. There’s mirth there too, seeing as you make absolutely no attempt to hide exactly what part of him you’ve been admiring so openly.

It’s a throwback to how your relationship with Copia had first begun, after all. When the good Cardinal had caught you neglecting your studies in favour of peeking over the top of your book to ogle his crimson clad backside.

“Is there something I can help you with, Sister?” He’d spoken softly so as not to disturb the other scholars dotted throughout the library, “Perhaps I can recommend some new reading material to, ah, hold your attention a little better, hm?”

And despite the dedicated academic within him – firm and sedate as an oak tree – there had also been a playful twinkle to his gaze that had given you the confidence to shoot your shot.

“My apologies, Cardinal. I was just admiring what’s on offer at the bakery today,” you’d smirked, matching his low volume but drizzling your tone in honey, “The cakes here always look so delicious… I just can’t help but stare.”

You remember how furiously your heart had hammered in your throat as he’d stared silently into your eyes, holding your gaze for several fraught seconds that had felt like minutes. His expression entirely unreadable…

Until his moustache had quirked upwards; a fleeting smirk that fumbled the rhythm of your pulse and sent heat crawling up your neck. Because that’s another thing about Copia. Awkward and introverted as he is, he wields a hidden, inner dominance that can lash out whip-quick.

“Well, mia tortina… you will let me know if there is anything you wish to taste, sì?”

And how could you have refused an offer like that?

“Seems even a big promotion can’t tear you away from your sanctuary for very long,” you tease, fingertips brushing along cracked leather spines as you take a few steps deeper into the stacks towards your partner, “Nice to see you in here though… feels right.”

“Sì, I miss it,” the sighed statement is weighted with sad longing. He’s just as overworked now as as he had been as a Cardinal, thanks to Sister Imperator’s merciless governance. But at least back then he had the small mercy of being able to disappear between the labyrinthine stacks and leather-bound tomes of his beloved library. No such luxury is afforded him now, with all eyes on the newest Papa Emeritus.

“I wish I could spend more time… Allora, I am only looking for a particular book for Mass tonight. There is a passage I am keen to share.”

“Can I help?”

“Grazie mille, but I am certain it is here somewhere,” he declines with a small, polite tilt of his head, before turning his attention back to the row of spines he was in the midst of examining.

You smile to yourself. Soft-spoken manners and dedicated focus – two more of Copia’s qualities that haven’t changed in the least.

His schedule is so demanding these days, often taking him away from the Ministry for weeks at a time, and so any stolen moment together is precious. Your presence doesn’t appear to be disrupting his work, and so you sidle closer, coming to a stop at the foot of the ladder he’s standing on. 

Perfectly eye level with his devilish derrière. 

Your private smile sharpens.

A quick glance to your left and right confirms that you’re alone, and so you alight your hands on his calves, smoothing your palms slowly up the tightly toned length of his legs.

A vague hum sounds from above – an acknowledgement of your touch despite being wholly occupied with his books. Not that his distraction bothers you; this is more for your own enjoyment than his.

You reach the swell of his backside and take a moment to cup his perfect cheeks, the heels of your hands fitting nicely in the dip where thighs meet buttock, lifting their softly sculpted weight.

Another preoccupied hum floats down the ladder rungs as you proceed with your indulgent massage; squeezing and kneading his gorgeous tush to your heart’s content. Enjoying the way your fingers sink into his muscled flesh. Relishing the body heat that warms your palms even through the barrier of his (downright evil ) trousers. Lust, gluttony, and sloth all in one fell swoop. Won’t He be pleased.

Your eyes glaze over, entranced by the doughy squash of Copia’s buttocks yielding beneath your ministrations. So pliant . Supple but strong; toned. Flawlessly formed. A perfect peach that’s good enough to—

“Aíta!”

Copia’s high-pitched yelp shatters the peaceful silence within the stacks, and he lurches forward, flattening himself against the ladder and white-knuckling the stiles.

"Mi attaccano!” He peers down over his shoulder at you in shocked, wide-eyed offence, “Mordicchio. You bite your Papa?!”

You grin up at him, smoothing your palms over his ass once more, taking extra care to swipe your thumb affectionately over the spot you just pinched between your teeth, “You ever see a piece of fruit so plump and juicy that you just can’t help yourself?”

“Fruit? No. Tortellini? Sì.”

“Tortellini then,” you chuckle, leaning forward to nuzzle the un-bitten buttock, like a gardener touching a vine fresh tomato to their nose, appreciating it’s savoury plumpness—

“Ach-hah!—Mi amore,” he huffs an exasperated laugh, jerking reflexively out of range of your teeth, “Dolce tortina. It is hard for me to focus on my search with you nibbling on my ass.”

This time instead of soothing the sting of your bite with your thumb, you do so with a brush of your lips over dark fabric. Your hands slide to his hips, steadying him as you worship his backside with slow-pressed kisses between your words. 

“Doesn’t the church preach that we should give into our sinful temptations?”

“Sì, yes, it does,” he concedes, warm mirth colouring his tone. Your chin is captured between the warm leather pinch of a gloved thumb and forefinger, and tilted gently upwards, “But you forget, mordicchio, that the church also teaches us to listen to our Papa.” 

A flash of mischief streaks across his mismatched eyes – snow and pine – and he swipes his thumb over the plush of your lower lip, pausing in the centre to drag it downwards a touch, “There will be time for biting later.”

You grin, slow and wide, making a point of grazing your teeth against his gloved thumb with your obedient reply, “Sì, Papa.”

“Brava ragazza,” Copia praises softly, releasing your chin to stroke a single knuckle down your cheek. The tender display sends the warmth in your stomach rising instead to fill your chest. 

With a small smile, he returns to his search of the upper shelves.

You may have agreed to cease your biting, but he didn’t protest to any of your earlier tushie attentions.

And so you pillow your cheek against his. Sinking into the warm cushion of his buttock and winding your arms around the front of his thighs to hug yourself flush against the backs of his legs. Your eyes flutter closed, and a small smile plays on your lips at the gloved fingers which reach briefly down to stroke the top of your head.

Same as they always have.

We’ve all thought about biting those buns okay let’s be honest with ourselves here 🍑

[bandedbulbussnarfblat]

Hi!

9 from that pick a number prompt ☺️

finally, I have it finished here on ao3 or under the cut

Louis wanting to meet in Maceió isn’t much of a surprise.  It’s been a few months since the book has been released, and it’s doing better than anticipated.  His agent is talking about a movie deal; he wants Regé-Jean Page to play Louis and Marsai Martin for Claudia.  Daniel told him to lower his ambitions.  

They are walking along the coast of the moonlit beach, Louis’ private beach.  It leads back to the large cottage up the hill, where Louis currently lived.  Brazil suits Louis, he seems happy here.  

He’s just telling him so, albeit with a lot more snark, when his phone rings.  He picks it up with a sigh.  “I’m telling you, Alfred Enoch isn’t gonna bite.  You gotta cast an unknown.  Find someone who can bring the character to life.”  

Louis looks amused by the whole thing.  

“Look, I gotta go, I'm with a friend.  No, not a lady friend, you nosy prick.”

Louis arches an eyebrow.  “Is there a lady friend?”

Daniel hates that, it overlaps in his head and he can’t make sense of it.  “Not now,” he says to Louis, “...yeah, I’ll call you back.”

Daniel considers throwing his phone into the ocean.  

“You didn’t answer the question, Daniel.”

Daniel huffs and crosses his arms over his chest.  “It’s not what it sounds like.”

His pace slows and he eventually comes to a stop.  He sits down and lets the water lap over his feet.  Louis sits down next to him, toes buried in the sand.  “It’s Armand.  He’s been…following me.  At first I thought he was gonna kill me, but honestly I think he’s just lonely since you dumped him.”  

Louis looks at him carefully.  “Armand is following you?”

“I mean, mostly,” Daniel says.  

He might have gotten Armand’s cell number from Louis once upon a time, as a safety precaution.  But he called him before this visit and said “We both know you’re gonna follow behind me in your fancy private jet; so why not cut the cost and ride together?”  

Armand had been stunned into silence for a brief moment, then, miraculously he laughed.  He’d told Daniel the time and place to meet.  Naturally, he had already booked them both hotel rooms.  Adjacent to each other, but no connection between them.  Of course, Armand booked him a luxury room with a view and a balcony overlooking the sea.  It is heavenly.

What was Daniel supposed to do, walk away from paradise?  There’s probably a metaphor somewhere in there about forbidden fruit and temptation, but Daniel doesn’t want to think about it.  

Louis catches all that, from the look on his face.  “ Ah , that’s how it is.”

“What?” Daniel says, confused.  

“You and Armand.”

Daniel is literally stunned speechless.  “Me and Armand?”

Louis smiles and shakes his head.  “You don’t even see it.  Thought you were supposed to be some big shot reporter, and you can’t see what’s staring you in the face.”

“What, that he has some weird fixation on me?  That’s all because of you, buddy.”

Louis laughs, and it crinkles his nose.  “What does Armand do when he finds you?”

“Bitch and moan, mostly,” Daniel says easily.  

“He says, without a trace of fear,” Louis says.  Daniel lets the gravity of the words sink in.  

He’s not afraid of Armand.  Not anymore.  He isn’t sure when it happened, but somewhere along the way his fear had become anger, anger had become irritation. Irritation had become annoyance, had become something close to endearment.  

“Ok, so what?”

“Oh my god,” Louis cups his face, “Daniel, you’re in love with him.”

Daniel pushes Louis’ hands off.  “It’s not like that; I’m just used to him, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh.”

Daniel leans back on his hands and sets a sharp gaze on Louis.  “You seem surprisingly chill for a guy who thinks his only friend wants to rawdog his ex.”

“Is that how you think it would go?” Louis says.  “He’d eat you alive.  Maybe literally.”

“Psh,” Daniel fishes his cigarettes out of his pocket and lights up.  “That guy is wound so tight; he needs somebody to shatter him.  Might help him loosen up a bit.”

“Good luck at the job,” Louis says, and gives a little salute.  It occurs to Daniel that Louis has been sipping nothing but tourists on cocktails and is probably a little drunk.  

“I never applied for the job,” Daniel says.  “Armand isn’t my problem.”

“Oh, he is one hundred percent your problem,” Louis says.  “Or did you not pick up that when he falls, he falls hard?  To an extreme.”

Louis’ jaw clenches a little at the end, but he shakes it off.  “Don’t worry, Daniel; Armand is terrified of rejection.  You’ll have to make the first move.”

“Easy enough; I won’t do anything,” Daniel says.  He rises to his feet.  Armand is probably in his hotel room by now.  If he gets bored he starts snooping.  

Louis rises beside him.  They walk in silence back to the cottage.  Daniel sees Louis to his door, and for a moment, there’s a beat between them.  It fades as quickly as it was born.  In another time, another place they coulda’ woulda’ been.  Still, Louis catches his hand before Daniel can walk away.  “Danny?”

“Yeah?”

“You have my blessing.  For Armand.  He’s…you’ll be good for him.”

“Yeah? He’ll be terrible for me,” Daniel says, but he’s already becoming a little resigned to the idea.  Not of a romance per-see, but of having Armand around for the indefinite future.  

The funny thing is; he doesn’t entirely hate the idea.  Louis' face turns smug next to him.  "Shut up, Louis.  It'll never happen."

"Famous last words."

[ulabewriting]

Olja Agregor.

he/they.

TW : quite a bit of cursing, (mystical jerk)! ! !

• is supposed to grant you a wish but… declined every single one so far.

• “Soooo… I grant you one fucking wish, with absolutely no limits and the whole ass opportunity to go wild, and THIS is what you wanna wish for ? Yeah no. Think harder.”

• grinning and smirking 24/7. either that or staring into your soul like you’re the weirdest, most confusing creature ever. (quite ironic. eh.)

• his green skin shines in the moonlight. Frankly, when he’s just sitting on your windowsill, shutting his mouth for once, and the moon lights up his skin, making it seem so glittery; it’s one of the most gorgeous scene you’ve ever witnessed.

• 5’10 with a terrible posture.

• gremlin type of mf looking ethereal, somehow. The gap moe is insane–

• likes fruit. any fruit. He loves raspberries. He’ll pout and mumble a little “thanks” if you ever bring him some.

• has his own demonic(i guess-) grimoire to cast powerful, forbidden spells but fucking HATES reading. Never read the whole thing and never once used it.

• will lose his shit if you ever try to touch it, tho.

• “Get your disgusting little human hands away, DUMBASS, are you out of your GODDAMN MIND????”

• jealous bean. Not the kind to be over the top, but if you ever get home later than usual unannounced, he’ll definitely be pouting, floating away, arms crossed, his back facing you.

• “fuckin’ human, think they can just leave me alone like that”

• playful goblin jerk.

• “you were hanging out with WHO?? No wonder you can’t formulate one coherent wish for the life of you; you’re polluting your brain by befriending stupid idiots like that”

• “uh ? No, you’re a dumbass too. You’re definitely a dumbass, you’re just… You’re… alright. I guess.”

• suddenly blushing and avoiding your gaze.

• “no, i’m not fuckin blushing?? No, I’m not– Just– Just fuckin look away, shut your stupid mouth– i’ll send you to hell if you don’t shut it, you fuckin–”

• a tsundere. Obviously.

• bares his teeth like a dog when he’s pissed off.

• will swear up and down he hates your guts… but he gets worried out of his mind when you’re coming home late, fears you’re mad at him when you get silent, casts spells to make you warm when you’re cold, cleans your room while you’re away “just cuz he’s bored”, his eyes go wide in panic when you cry while watching a movie, always gives you a bite of his fruit, even when you say you don’t want any, is bitching on your “friends” when he feels they did you wrong, will get snappy if you tell him you’re seeing them again, stares at you when you sleep; not long enough to be a creep, just enough to make sure you’re real and still breathing…. . . .

• loves when you’re annoyed and actually snap back at him.

• “oh ?” he quirks his eyebrow, smirking devilishly, openly daring you to keep going. You’ve never seen him look this interested. This jerk–

• secretly cares about you. (he thinks he’s discreet enough and you have no idea but… oh well.)

• weirdly supportive. “C’mon. I know it’s hard waking up every day to study but you’re strong, you gotta do it, you’ll survive it, little troll.” / “Yeah, I think that’s about right. Hey, you’re not as stupid as you look, human!”

• talks big about himself all the time.

• “hey human, did I ever tell you about this one time I, ALONE, fought like THREE evil spirits, definitely by myself, and sent them back to the void? like, ALONE. I’m a fuckin legend, kid.”

• but surprisingly bad with compliments. Like, you’ll mention how cool you think his big witch-like hat is and here he goes, pouting again, furrowing his brows, mumbling little “thanks, yeah, whatever” while a darker shade covers his cheeks.

• twisted inferiority complex masked with a false superiority complex.

• gets sentimental every once in a blue moon. You get home and he’s all quiet, staring at nothing. When he seems to register that you’re here, he looks at you. Like, really looks at you. His yellow eyes dive into your soul and seem to admire your whole existence.

• “It’s actually… nice, being here with you.”

• insanely protective. Oh my god– don’t you DARE going out without a coat or skipping breakfast, “your weak human system needs it”.

• hums the same tune all the time. You’ve asked multiple times what it was but he never really answered. His voice is warm and comforting. You bet he sings like an angel. (he does :] )

• loves cats! especially black cats. (“mf felines as dark as my soul”, he said.)

• sometimes you joke around about summoning another creature to have some company and his face goes dark in annoyance. “I don’t need another dickhead circling around my human all day.”

• likes to flick your forehead when you’re not paying attention to him.

• please pay attention to him. He desperately needs it, for some reason. He’ll definitely tease you for doing so. “What ? Becoming my biggest fan already ? Can’t get enough of me, uh ?” but will pout if you don’t.

• can seem very…. explosive, but never really gets angry. Nothing more than a tough exterior, honestly.

• wraps his tail around your wrist to pull you close to him. He’s too proud to openly ask for cuddles but… you know that’s his signal.

• LOVES cuddles. He’ll just never admit it. ;)

• his symbol is a flower : lily of the valley. Sometimes he just makes one appear in his palm and stares at it in silence, like he’s dimensions away from here. You’re not exactly sure what his link to it is.

• whenever he starts pestering about something, just take off his huge hat and slide your fingers in his hair and he’ll instantly melt– not remembering what he was even saying, closing his eyes and humming in pleasure, pressing his head harder against your hand.

• likes to bite. Even though he has the longest, pointiest, most terrifying fangs you’ve ever seen, he somehow manages to never really hurt you. You know… just enough to mark.

• once, he annoyed you so much, you threw your pillow in his face, hitting him straight in the nose and causing his hat to fall on the ground. It’s his personal mission to make you do it again one day.

• likes to rate your outfits just when you’re about to walk out the door. “Hm mh, ok, yeah, you’re definitely serving today, that’s a 10 for sure.”

• follows you around your house like some kind of lost puppy. Gets hella defensive when you point it out.

• “Me ? Your fuckin’ pet? Do I need to remind you I’m from the deepest pit of hell, you dookie head??”

• rolls his eyes as hard as he can whenever you ask for a new wish.

• But what IF…. the only reason he refuses to grant you a wish is… because he knows once he does; meaning his mission is accomplished, he’ll disappear again. And so, what IFFFFFF…. he just doesn’t want to leave your side so he won’t grant you no fucking wish to remain with you forever– I’m just saying WHAT IFFFFF———

[eggcatsreads]

February Wrap-Up

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Favorite Read of the Month:

Solita by Vivien Rainn (GR review)

It’s only through facing the past and her buried fears can Sadie find salvation as she upturns the Hacienda’s twisted roots, roots born from the faith and fire of the conquistas, the Spaniards who came from distant shores, bringing with them not only their God, but also their demons.

THE gothic romance. This book changed my perspective on romance books. I've thought about this book regularly since I read it.

"In my time," he continues, voice low, "sanctity was measured by suffering. Those saints that abstained from the pleasures of life, fasted to starvation, mortified their flesh, drank the blood of the wounded - it was only they who saw the eyes of God, it was only through their agony that they were touched by true divinity, enraptured by their own faith."

"I...I'm not a saint, Silas." Her eyes meet his in a gaze that's wrapped up in the promise for everything she's always denied herself. The promise of temptation for the taste of that forbidden fruit, a single bite all it takes for irreversible expulsion, for an eternal fall from grace.

"I never said you were."

The warmth of his breath is so close to her own, heat mingling, pulses flush close. "Then what are you saying?"

"That I am," he answers. "I found God. And I'm looking into her eyes."

HELLO???? THIS QUOTE HAS IRREVOCABLY CHANGED HOW I READ ROMANCE BOOKS. THIS IS THE STANDARD.

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

Rest of Books Read Under the Cut:

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐

The Undertakers by Nicole Glover (sequel)

The second book in the Murder & Magic series of historical fantasy novels featuring Hetty Rhodes and her husband, Benjy, magic practitioners and detectives living in post–Civil War Philadelphia.

Godkiller by Hannah Kaner

Kissen’s family were killed by zealots of a fire god - now, she makes a living killing gods. That is until she finds a god she cannot kill: Skedi, a god of white lies, who bound himself to a young noble, and are on the run from assassins.

The Book of Living Secrets by Madeline Roux (GR review)

Best friends Adelle and Connie love of a little-known gothic romance novel called Moira. When they find a way to enter the book, suddenly everything isn't how they remember.

The Devil and the Dark Water by Stuart Turton (GR review)

It's 1634 and Samuel Pipps, the world's greatest detective, is being transported to be executed for a crime he may, or may not, have committed. Out at sea things begin happening. A twice-dead leper stalks the decks. Strange symbols appear on the sails. Livestock is slaughtered. And then three passengers are marked for death, including Samuel.

The Song of the Sandman by J.F. Dubeau (GR review) (sequel)

After a terrible mass shooting at Cicero’s Circus, the evil presence responsible for the carnage is taken in by a doomsday cult lying in wait for such an opportunity.

The Cadaver King and the Country Dentist by Radley Balko

For nearly two decades, medical examiner Dr. Steven Hayne performed the vast majority of Mississippi's autopsies, while his friend Dr. Michael West, a local dentist, pitched himself as a forensic jack-of-all-trades. Together they became the go-to experts for prosecutors and helped put countless Mississippians in prison. But then some of those convictions began to fall apart.

Hell's Half-Acre by Susan Jonusas

In 1873 the people of Labette County, Kansas discovered the remains of countless bodies, and below the cabin was a cellar stained with blood. The cabin's family, the Benders, were nowhere to be found, sparking a frenzy that continued for decades.

Seductive Poison by Deborah Layton

In this haunting and riveting firsthand account, a survivor of Jim Jones's Peoples Temple opens up the shadowy world of cults and shows how anyone can fall under their spell.

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

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐

Born to be Hanged by Keith Thomson

The year is 1680, in the heart of the Golden Age of Piracy, and more than three hundred daring, hardened pirates gather on a remote Caribbean island. The plan: to wreak havoc on the Pacific coastline, raiding cities, mines, and merchant ships.

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

Books read so far this year: 21

How I rate books.

[noirflms]

DO YOU FEAR — gojo satoru

you make him ponder, you make him wonder. and it is you who make him fear.

do you fear anything, satoru?

gojo satoru still remembers the way these words had rolled of your tongue like sweet nectar. you had asked this with eyes flaming with curiosity, he could see you were pondering if the strongest you know of feared anything. your voice still rings in the back of his mind, it is raw, honeyed, it brings him to the ground, sets him in reality.

no, i don’t fear anything. i am the strongest after all.

and he had answered then, without a thought, no second glances over it or anything, unhesitating, he spoke as soon as he had conjured the answer in his mind. he remembers the way your lips had broken into a smile, it was somber yet soft, warm and gentle.

he wondered what could have been if he had kissed those lips someday. how soft they could have possibly been and did they taste sweet? because you always had this scent so sweet lingering on you; your lips must taste the same then.

“what are you thinking about, mr. gojo?” your voice again. it ground him, it shackles him back to reality. he turns to face you, blindfold discarded in the comfort of his office, icy eyes taking you in. the face of yours that is cascaded with the golden glow of the sun, it dawns on you — and the image burns within his vision.

“nothing.” satoru answers. you were breathtaking in any way possible. you were divine. you were everything he wished was his. you were all that he has ever yearned for.

you are a sweet fruit he wishes to bite into, until the sweet and saccharine juices have dripped and settled onto his tongue, until he has finally washed his hunger, he wishes to feast on this fruit. but you were of the forbidden one, only the fortunate could have you — and he was not so fortunate.

and as unfortunate he was, his students were to. shibuyu had turned into a nightmare, blood and deaths painted those walls, there was no way out. gojo watches, he has fought a war before, and he had fought well, but it is only this time his heart races not is excitement but in fear.

fear that consists of many things, he fears of lives, young and dead, he fears of souls that he has stayed long with — he fears of losing you.

“don’t you die on me, satoru.” you had said. still the most warmest smile plastered onto your face, it irked him for it never faded, it always stayed. even when geto died, even when riko died and even when all that he had took time to build was crumbling, yet he doesn’t hate you, for you were smiling at him, pulling him out of the dark, helping him climb out of the trenches of despair.

and so he smiled the same, warm and big hands caressing your face, “i won’t even dream about it.” gojo answered, and your gaze softens and you too wonder if you kissed his lips would they be as sweet as the delicious and sugary delicacies he eats and you too wonder if his lips truly as so sickly sweet.

his touch stays as he doesn’t let go, but it falters hesitantly. he gives you one last smile before he walks again into war, all you could see of him, was the back that has carried many, the back of the strongest sorcerer that is. you would have laughed in high-school but now as he walks with a head held high, you truly believe he might just be the strongest.

you love her, satoru.

he truly does. he loves you. gojo truly adores you, his heart belongs to you. even in a crowded room, his eyes would always look for you. he would always wait for you. and as he returns from the bindings of the prison, he doesn’t return to warm arms, even if he looks for them, he is breathless and he fears.

“where is she?” he chokes. tears. the strongest did not cry but he still has a heart, enough to hold someone dear and shed a few tears. gojo stares at shoko, she to has been lost, she has seen death and murder, she had cured and she had let souls rest in peace, but here as she too stands before satoru, she feels her heart squeeze.

“she is . . . breathing.” like a warm prayer shoko ends as soon as she had begun. she let’s him through, she let’s him see. and she sees satoru fear; he feared to face loss again.

and as beautiful as you has always been, you lay in a slumber, your heart still beating, you lay breathing. you looked divine, so ethereal in this deep sleep. satoru hums, hand reaching out to caress your face, you are there, yet not. there still sits that saccharine smile on your face, even if you might be standing before death.

and this time his wonder is proved true, when he cannot take it anymore, and he sets his lips on yours. sweet. you taste sweet. soft lips pressed against his, you are warm, you are gentle, and he aches, yearning for you to awaken.

do you fear anything, satoru?

and it rings again in the mind of his. and maybe this time – only if you could ever hear his answer – his answer might have made you grin your warm smile. for gojo satoru finally had something to fear, even the strongest could have something to fear, a weakness.

so, gojo satoru feared. feared that he might not be able to hold you again. to see you smile again, to hear your melodious laughter echo through the hallways, to fearing that your warms eyes could never stare back into his. to fearing your touch would be forgotten, to fearing that you would but turn memory.

he finally accepts, he let’s it sink in, letting it bite into his flesh and ingrain itself into his mind and soul. gojo satoru finally had something to fear.

i do. i fear losing you.

but only if you could hear what he had to say.

satoru angst is at peak then why should i stay behind ‼️‼️🗣️ and thank you so much for a 700 followers ⭐️⭐️

NOIRFLMS 2024 ! all rights reserved - plagiarism is a crime , do not translate my works without permission.

[zorkaya-moved]

take it out on me .  i don’t mind if we fight if you make me bleed .

@suiyuun

He does not mind the pain, the poison, the beastly nature of the winter's beauty. He reaches out his gloved hand to stroke her cheek as if she were a pretty flower with that sly and smug smile, knowing full well she shan't raise her hand against him but could so easily bite down on his neck like a monster from the depths of the Abyss. She is as dangerous as they say, a beast in the beauty, but he reaches out for her nonetheless. It's attractive, his own poisonous and sharp nature.

The look in his eyes and his ability to remain a perfect gentleman in the eyes of others, but he is all that and so much more. Humanity prefers to see only a side they are allowed to see or the side they wish to see, but Zarina shows him the side that others would fear or reject. Her eyes of molten gold would look at him with a cold inquiry, analytical in its delivery as she switched her gaze to the futon where they would soon lay down. It's rare for him to be back earlier, but she did not take this as a sign of fortune or misfortune. It was a good time, but their talk brought up some of the ... colder aspects of her, not towards him but towards understanding what to expect the next day.

Why was he so willing to give himself to her? This man of pride and sinister mind, he was a forbidden fruit that would allure others. A handsome man who others wished to be next to, with, or even own. Men or women, it didn't matter. The hungry looks would follow him as they did her; envy and jealousy would become a desert they would both partake in while smiling slyly at showcasing such pathetic emotions. No one learned, but it was the game plan. And now? Ayato spoke like this... He knew what it could take out of her, didn't he? The words of "she's not like other women" wouldn't be wrong in the most sinister ways. For example, she was aggravating, apathetic to others, greedy and selfish while remaining ambitious and determined to accomplish her goals. They didn't need each other, but they wanted each other. After all, who would deny this intoxicating feeling?

"Take it out on you?" She would speak absent-mindedly as if losing interest, but it was more of her thinking without looking at him. Her mind would think of all the ways he could offer to satiate her ever-growing hunger. She could make him scream, she could make him weep, she could make him say her name endlessly through the night. She would not deny that her boredom with the men and women who would flock themselves around the Kamisato heir during the meeting did not bring such a cold reaction. Boredom was never a good sign for her, meaning she would return to her apathetic side, but it did not something that would be taken out on Ayato, no. Absolutely not. He would simply witness what others did not even dream of seeing: the person who reached the depths of the Abyss and made it fear her.

Despite wearing this beautiful kimono that his servants picked for her, her hair was already undone while falling off her shoulders unto her chest and back. Her obi belt had already loosened, letting the whole outfit slowly fall apart, exposing her collarbone and sight of her fair skin and a glimpse of her chest. Yes, she did wish to seduce him tonight, but the end of the meeting certainly sullied her mood. Though, his touch and the way his lips would press a kiss to her knuckles would bring it back. He was a gentleman, but he also was someone who could match her cruelty, her insatiable nature and defrost that frigid heart of hers. His lips... It was so easy for him to catch her attention. It was evident in his smug smile that immediately would appear on his face once her golden eyes returned to him. "You know I would not be aggressive in a fight or a conflict. We both don't have time for such things."

She would give him a small smile, one of calm and collectiveness. However, Ayato would notice a familiar gleam in those golden eyes as she would - instead of leaning against the small table while sitting on her side, move to stand on her knees. Easily she moves closer to the Yashiro Commissioner, reaching her hands out to cup his face and move closer to him. Does he find the scent of mint, pine trees, and winter alluring? Her thumb caressed his cheek as she looked at him, face returning to its black expression as she studied his expression. From his eyes to his nose to his lips to his hair. He was gorgeous, wasn't he? He was as beautiful as the gods themselves and as smart as the most devilish deities that could make gods bend their knees and lose their power. Did this man truly offer himself to her? Of course, she did the same: she was his as long as he had her.

"You're so perverted, Ayato," she then chuckles, letting her knowing smile reappear on her feminine and beautiful face. Was he not having too much fun teasing her like this? Or, well, perhaps he knew of her previous plans in seducing him and wishing to grant him a night to enjoy, relax, and de-stress from this dull and irritating meeting. "Are you turning into a masochist for me? How kind of you. Here I thought I'll be making your night a way to relax and forget about those fools, but you are offering me yourself as if it's me who got the more tired with their endless rubbish."

He is so "kind" to her. It was yet another reason she liked him so much, allured and attracted to him so strongly without a denial. Her kimono would be so easily taken off if he wished. She didn't wear anything beneath just for him tonight, but would he be interested in continuing this? Possibly, haha, she hoped he'd let her remind him why she was so good at making him feel good but she'll also make herself feel just as wonderful.

Her gaze shone as she looked at him, expressing through her expression alone how much she wanted to hold him close and how much she wanted him to do the same. If he accepted the beast that she was, she would be happy to make his wishes and dreams come true. No matter how bloody and risky they might be, no matter how perverted and decadent his desires would be. She'd grant him all to have this gaze be on her and her alone, wanting and desiring. Let her be the only Moon he'll ever think of, the only Moon he'll ever need.

"I'll take it out on you only by overwhelming you with pleasure," her thumb caresses his lower lip while her other hand twirls a lock of his hair 'round her index finger. "I'll make you dizzy and take everything you give me. Now, tell me, what do you desire, Ayato. After all, as beastly as I am, I am your beast, am I not? Say with that pretty mouth of yours if you wish for me to claim you once again?" Her sharp and bright gaze, and golden eyes speak a story of survival and masterful scheming. Her red lips would curl into a self-satisfied smile as she looked at the face of her dearest beloved. They could be the poison for each other, but a poison they will take each night as if addicted. Their closeness, their danger, their wants and desires. Everything will mix into that gorgeous cocktail that'll drive them nuts but who didn't wish to dive deep into the abyss of decadence? "I'll love you violently and I'll love you tenderly; I'll ruin all other people for you just to be the only one you see, remember, yearn for. Is that what you wish? You have no idea how much I wish to do just that."

[the-modern-typewriter]

Ngh, I have to agree with that anon, you're really talented at writing vampires who truly feel dangerous, and not just softies with fang. If you like the idea, do you think you could write something about a Victorian maiden alone in her bedroom, waking up to a vampire scratching at her window, begging her to let him in because he's just so very cold, and he longs for her warm embrace to feel alive again. She doesn't want to at first, because even though he's beautiful, he's also pale with long teeth and nails and a wicked smile. But then she gazes into his eyes, and they draw her in irresistibly. Basically, I'm really curious about how you'd write vampire hypnosis, old school Gothic novel style!

Everyone knew that vampires went for the pretty girls and handsome boys, the lords and ladies of fortune and good breeding with their soft skin like fine-china to serve such lethal meals, tucked away from the world and oblivious to the rules beyond their gilded towers.

So, when the vampire first tapped at her window, she assumed she must be dreaming. She certainly didn't think to scream. Instead, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and stared.

Maybe it was already too late, truly, from the first their eyes met. Even if it was only for a heartbeat. She should have known better. Mostly, though, she simply wanted to know - to bite the forbidden fruit of him, and taste the sweetness of such an otherworldly thing.

He was pale and delicate in the moonlight, like a boy from an old painting. A man. He was not a boy, he was a man, and even as that registered, she felt her heart skitter. He appeared older than her, but not by much.

He was beautiful.

It felt a odd to even think it - beautiful. But, he was. The most beautiful thing she had ever seen, though she could admit that there was scant competition. Beautiful things did not often come calling for her.

So, she stared, and prayed maybe god might forgive her a few moments at looking at something so lovely. Surely he would look, too, with a face like that at his window?

"I'm so cold," he said. "Won't you please let me in?"

The fine points of his teeth shone in the light.

She realised she had stood up from her bed. She realised she had half crossed to the window towards him, her trembling fingers curled around the latch. Her breath fogged up the glass and his did not.

She swallowed. Fear - and something else, something unfamiliar - curled like smoky invitation in the pit of her belly.

"Let me warm myself in your arms," he murmured. "For I am so cold, and you are so lonely. Are you not, miss?"

She yanked her hands back from the latch as if she'd been scalded, taking a few stumbling steps back. And...

He grinned. His voice changed, away from its sorrowful longing, and terribly it suited him more.

"That's how the line goes, isn't it?"

She squared her shoulders, heat flooding her face. "I ask that you leave, sir. You are not welcome here."

"Oh, miss." He wet his lips, and craned a little closer to the glass, as if he could feel the warmth of her even at such a distance and longed for it. "The pounding of your heart protests otherwise."

She had no proper response for that, and so she whirled away from him - it - with great determination, and returned to her bed. She put her back to the window and willed herself not to turn and check again.

He was back the next night, and the following, and soon enough she felt a little dizzy from sleeplessness and stolen glances. When she did manage to fall asleep, her dreams were strange fragmented things, consumed by the wicked smile of a pretty man warming up beneath the forbidden press of her hands. He would kiss her neck, and the swell of her chest, and hold her with such strong arms. And his eyes...they would burn into her, as if he had never once been made to be dead, made to be cold.

Curse the creature! And yet, she could not shake the thoughts of him.

After a week of it, she went over to the window again, with every intention of scolding him for his efforts. Just because he was a thing of the night, did not mean he had to be so improper when she was trying to sleep.

Their eyes met again.

His were very pale, as silvery as the rest of him, like a cat's eyes glinting in the night. They were...they were...

"Won't you undo the window latch?" he asked, and then with another quirk of a smile, as if to mock them both. "I am so very cold."

She didn't remember exactly undoing the latch, but then the window was open and the night air was cool upon her flushed skin. It was awful cold, and she shivered.

He rested his arms upon the sill, preventing her from slamming it shut again, but did not enter yet. He watched her as intently and as transfixed as she observed him.

"Are you ready to ask for what you want, miss?"

What she wanted?

"You intend to kill me. I suppose you imagine that nobody will miss me." She jutted her chin up. "I have told the priest of your visits-"

"-You have not."

She faltered.

"But I can humour you, if you wish to tell what you confessed." He raised his brows, a small smile playing on those lips again. "Perhaps that you have allowed a gentleman caller at your window at all hours? Vampires do not go for the likes of you. You must have done something wrong."

Had she?

"At least," he said, with a careless shrug, "I imagine that is what they will say."

"You are a monster. A damned thing."

"Indeed, but that does not mean they will not be quick to find fault in you for my sins. It comforts them, you see, to believe that they would never do the same."

In an instant, like an unravelling of smoke or another glancing of moonlight, he was inside her home. He smelled like snow. His mouth had more colour than the rest of him, red roses to the lily of him, and she felt her breath catch in her throat.

"Let me get that," he murmured, and closed the window behind him with a soft click. "I would so hate for you to catch a chill."

She backed up a step, though it was far too late for that.

"You have - my mind -"

"Yes." He closed the gap between them, only to cup her face gently, and oh he truly was cold. It made her gasp. Her knees felt weak. He did not let her fall, cradling her in the careful cage of his embrace. "You could not have resisted. It is not you - anyone would be the same."

"Then why me?" It seemed a small, pitiful question. It exposed too much that she was not the girl that people wanted. That she was the one whose mother was gone, and whose father didn't notice anything, and who nobody in the village would much miss.

"Because." He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and then her lips, and brushed her hair back from her shoulders to expose the line of her throat. "You are beautiful." He kissed her neck, her aching pulse. "And when I held your eyes in mine," he whispered in her ear, "I could not resist you."

The next night, he was back again, and the window was open.

"Do you know what you want?" he asked.

And she said, "I know what it is like to be the stranger in this town."

She said, "I know what it is like to always be the one outside, never invited in. I understand it all now, and you..."

She said, "it's dreadful cold, sir. Come in."

[ruki--mukami]

(NSFW) A scenario of Yui having sex with Ruki for the first time

⚠️ NSFW BELOW: 18+ ⚠️

“Keep licking it until no soup remains, Yui. This hand of mine is far from clean.” 

Rather than flinching from the searing heat of a freshly cooked tomato soup the legendary Eve prepared for him, Ruki exploited the opportunity to watch as she cleaned the broth off his long, elegant digits. A glimmer of wonder and curiosity in those large sherbet pink eyes ignited with each swipe of her tongue, earning further chuckles of amusement from the Vampire. From his perspective, Yui easily could have appeared to be licking a different area of his body—one lower down and thicker than his fingers. 

“Well, if you insist that you are not familiar about a man’s qualities, then allow me to demonstrate. Tonight you ought to pay close attention to your master and the pleasure he shall rain upon you. Is that understood, Livestock?” With the other hand, he began unbuttoning his collar, slowly but surely revealing his pallid yet toned chest seemingly sculpted from empyrean marble itself. “Undress.”

Utter bewilderment and trepidation flooded her visage as she withdrew her tongue from his fingers, eminently hesitant to follow suit and join him in the nude. All the Sakamakis from before had exerted force to catch a glimpse of her bareness, always against her own volition, yet Ruki commanded a humiliating authority that guaranteed far worse punishment should she defy his orders. Out of fear for what could happen next, Yui reluctantly started with her pink sweater, lifting it above her head until she remained topless in only her undergarments. A pleased hum escaped the Vampire’s lips upon the sight, but by the time she removed her knitted garment, a full set of built, porcelain abs captured her gaze. Even if she dreaded the imminent future, Yui could not help but internally admire his form, reminiscent of a work of art. 

“If only you could see your own reflection… You look as though you want me to ravish you right now. What an indecent woman. Perhaps this is how Eve felt in the garden of Eden after indulging in the forbidden fruit. You’ve read the Bible, haven’t you? The serpent in particular coaxed her into doing so… Just as I will tempt you.”

Knots formed in the anxious captive’s stomach as a clangorous unzipping noise filled the room, indicating the descent of his pants. Instinctively turning her head, a deep cherry hue dusted her cheeks, shy and apprehensive. 

“No. Look at me,” the Vampire immediately clutched her chin to enforce eye contact. “At one point, being in the nude was never a sin. It was mere primal instinct. Adam and Eve lived in that paradise, unaware of each other’s virtue,” a hand overlapped hers, guiding her fingers across his clothed bulge. Both surprised and full of wary, Yui let out a gasp at his well-endowed member. The Vampire simply snickered at the oddly cute reaction to his length, anticipating a protest of some kind. “But there will be nothing virtuous about tonight.”

Before she knew it, he had long torn off the tawny brown shorts from her slender yet ample legs, thighs promising a world of blood should he bite into them. Only a periwinkle set of bra and panties shielded her most sensitive areas from the Vampire, to which he skillfully unhooked with a deftly agile movement. What he deemed an average pair of breasts sprung into view, eliciting a sly smirk from Ruki as he caressed a mound with one hand and lowered his other to prod at her lachrymal pearl, a damp stain soon growing on lace as he inserted two digits inside. Yui failed to suppress a series of moans as he wrenched her open, unfamiliar with the surge and retreat motions of his fingers sinking into her cleft. 

“Hm… How adorable for a naughty piece of livestock. And I’ve hardly touched you,” he sighed, lowering his head to her sensitive nub. “I’ll have to prepare you further for your master’s cock.”

The same soup-besmirched hand withdrew from her breast, only to be replaced by his mouth swallowing it whole despite any silly denials from her or the seldom ‘Don’t touch me there, Ruki-kun.’ Lips enclosed around the areola, Ruki suckled the soft swell fervently with abandon. The young woman finally succumbed to rapture, letting out a quivering cry from his unwanted yet pleasure-inducing ministrations. Those sounds only encouraged him to take more, grazing the sharp tips of his fangs just above the nub to lightly puncture her pale skin. Occasionally his tongue would swirl around the perimeter of her sensitive bud, dragging upwards to pull shameless squeals of ecstasy and to exult in the red rivulets of life force dilatorily cascading down. 

“Mm… I want more of you, Livestock,” the pumps of his fingers accelerated, emitting a lascivious squelching noise from her core. “It seems you’re almost ready for me… but not quite.”

As Ruki plunged his slender digits in and out repeatedly, he imagined what her convulsing walls would feel like around his cock, erect from the mere taste of her crimson ambrosia. After deciding she had been teased enough, the Vampire hurriedly lifted her into his arms and splayed her out across the atramentous sheets of his bed, both hands placed under her knees to spread her legs apart. With raised appendages, visibly ashamed of how Ruki could see everything down there, Yui’s eyes fluttered shut in embarrassment. 

“There’s nothing to fret over, Livestock. You’ve endured everything well so far… Perhaps I ought to reward you for once. Go on and thank your master.” 

Peppering kisses along the underside of her thigh, he halted his affection upon greeting her weeping aperture, a small puddle of nectar pooling on the sheets. 

“So wet already… Good grief, it’s clear to me now that the Sakamakis don’t know how to train their prey. It’s a shame most men are reticent to such an act—but I shall take great pleasure in introducing it to you. Well, no matter. I’ll show you a kiss that’s far better than anything you’ve experienced thus far. Brace yourself, Livestock.”

Caressing the innermost flesh of her legs with his feathery touch, Ruki reverently ran his tongue along her entrance, instantly tasting the fruit of her arousal. Unable to contain herself any further, Yui arched her head back and voiced a moan, her fingers threading into his charcoal locks for much-needed purchase. Thrusting satisfaction with each swipe, the Vampire eagerly feasted on her womanhood. Slowly but surely the girl found herself a willing recipient of his tongue’s onslaught as Ruki worked her towards her sought-after release, frosting a chill breath over her sensitive folds in tandem with his wet muscle threatening to fuck her in earnest, yet not quite. Without intending to, Yui cried out again and again, his agile tongue dizzying her by the second. Languidly he licked and worshipped her cleft with open-mouthed kisses and spirals of his tongue, frequently decelerating the cadence only to quicken himself when she least expected it. First he focused on the slit, then concentrated entirely on the throbbing nub of her clit in urgent suction akin to the prior bloodsucking. 

“Lovely,” he praised, “such a good girl for your master. It’s almost hard to believe you’re just some ordinary churchgoer when you cry so lewdly.”

With those words, his tongue burrowed inside, pulling a symphony of wanton lust from the legendary Eve that would’ve instantly earned exile from Eden. Sheltering heat and a flood of arousal greeted him upon entry, devouring every last bit of her as Ruki’s tongue curled inside her walls and tasted her in full. The ribbon of muscle undulated in Yui’s folds as his lips hummed and vibrated against her entrance with each suction. Sparks and the pyre of ecstasy ignited as she screamed his name, electric coursing through in the most pleasure Eve felt since the serpent awakened her to a new world of sin, beckoning her to cast aside all moral principles and indulge. Indulge in the sheer bliss of Ruki’s tongue building up to crescendos of perfectly timed flicks, his fingers that circled and pressed her clit, and the immaculate suckle of his lips locked with her lower ones as he ate her. 

“Describe how this feels for you,” he spoke between withdraws of his tongue, “and remember to stay still. I’m not done with you yet… Not until I make you cum at least once. That way you’ll be more than ready for all of me, Yui. Ahhh… You look so beautiful when I touch you like this.”

As much as she fought her baser urges, the young woman was, in fact, on the fast track to orgasm. Subconsciously, she reached for Ruki’s scalp and buried her fingertips into his cinereous strands, both searching for relief and to urge his face closer to her most sensitive place. With doubled alacrity and acceleration, his tongue never once yielded, each plunge and undulation deeper, faster, far more renewed with urgency than before. 

“Those sounds you make when you’re about to cum… Let me hear it. Go on, cum for your master.”

Delaying the inevitable proved increasingly difficult. As if on cue with Ruki’s lust-laden lilt, Yui squeezed his locks of hair tightly and soared to the climax of utter fulfillment, panting heavily and quaking her legs from the onslaught of his oral talent alone. Rising from her womanhood, the Vampire rubbed the tip of his cock against her slit, greeting the abused spot with promise of a far better sensation, one that could only be granted by the same sheer thickness and length she previously questioned. Would he truly fit inside? Just watching him scrub the slightly florid gland along her walls skyrocketed the amalgamation of fear and excitement of being crammed to the hilt.

"You're so cute when you cum for me, Yui. I'm about to make you have an even cuter expression, one you didn't even know you were capable of making."

Inch by inch, he slowly wrenched her open. Clutching tightly onto his backside, Ruki chuckled as he inserted himself halfway, hard member throbbing uncontrollably upon the partial entry of her already tight canal. Exulting in her pristine and amazingly soft body, the Vampire failed to stifle a moan of his own, though Yui's easily overshadowed his. No longer would he hold himself back, pillaging her insides for the apex he aspired for rather than vice versa. Every passionate kiss, gentle caress, and sensual motion; all so Yui could wring him out, clamping on his hardness as it glided towards her cervix from how engorged he was with rapture.

"Yes, that's it... I'm going to move soon. Hold on tight to me."

Gasps of pleasure escalated to that of prolonged, drawn out moans from both sides as Ruki hammered himself at a sensual rhythm, first beginning with powerful strokes that ensured she trembled beneath him then accelerating to the most brutal, merciless thrusts no mortal would ever experience in their lifespan. Over and over again he proved his behemoth length with each slam against her womb, almost as if he wanted Yui to bear his children. Pistoning into her velvety heat, growling from above her writhing frame, thumbs circling and kneading her bosom with each penetration. A carnal euphony of bed springs squeaking, primitively yelled names, and flesh slapping flesh as their hips collided in audible claps that permeated the room in their copulation.

"Fuck... You're squeezing me so much... Ahh... Is this what it takes...? To awaken Eve," he grunted as he pounded in and out of Yui, "perhaps I need to engrave myself into you with more than just my fangs, but also this."

On cue, Ruki rolled his hips with extra exertion and supernatural force, reminding the young woman writhing beneath him that no human could ever fuck her the way he did in this moment. Immediately she felt the edges of his faded scars, in the place where an angel's wings may have fallen off. Without digging her fingernails in too uncomfortably deep, Yui opted to cling to the outskirts of the tarnished flesh instead, dazed and barely keeping up with his animalistic pace. Somehow she verged on the edge of collapsing, yet she wanted more from him. More of that intense gaze like glaciers avalanching into her a million times over, more of his hands roaming her every asset, more of his perfectly sculpted cock that rammed repeatedly into her ever-increasingly tight aperture from how much arousal he delivered with each decisive stroke. The fornication put even his rough bites to shame.

The serpent had Eve under his spell, urging her to forsake a life of innocence in favor of indulging with him, day in and day out. Together they would drown in seas of eternal sin from how their bodies melded into one, a union bound by blood and creativity's essence.

"Seeing you helplessly take all of me in... is so, so erotic," the Vampire breathed out between series of ruthless thrusts. "From here forward you will grow so addicted to my touch that you'll wish I was fucking you even when we are apart... You'll have only me on your mind, at all times... And even if someone else were to steal you from me—which will never happen—they would never be able to satisfy you the way I do," he cooed against the shell of her ear, roughening his strokes. "Your master is almost there... Haah... Ngh... Who do you belong to? You're my..." he let out a short, almost sardonic laugh, "what were you, again? Tell me. I want to hear it as you cum around my cock."

Those seemingly fragile, sweat-ridden legs of hers soon found themselves tossed upon his shoulders to take Yui at a new angle. One more titillating than ever, one that earned a guttural groan from Ruki as he folded her and made her his. Simultaneously his hands left her breasts only to instead entangle with her own digits, nailing them to the soft, now unkempt sheets beneath. Somehow the sensual proximity of it all, the locking of fingers, and his salacious voice this close to her ear not only beckoned her imminent release, but also coaxed Yui into giving in, admitting what he wanted to hear. That she was his dirty livestock. That she was nothing more than a personal blood bag for the eldest. That she was an immoral woman addicted to their copulation. Those words, even more so than the sole act of continuously pounding her cervix, broke Ruki's composure asunder.

"Fuck... Yes, good girl... That's right, you're my prey. You belong—on—ly—to—me." The violent assailment of her insides elicited a rocky and uneven tone in his voice as he neared the apex. "This slutty pussy of yours—haah—exists for me to fuck it to my heart's content...! This hole is only good for catching your master's cum... Ahhhh... Fuck...! I'm cumming...! Take it all...! Yui, here it comes...!!"

An ocean of viscous white surged her folds as Ruki finally hit his peak, wanton need suffusing every moan that escaped his lips; his lips that now connected with her shoulder, hurriedly sinking his sharp ivories into the adipose to descend past the realm of what moral copulation could offer and into the abyss of endless euphoria. By now Yui only seemed to have his name in her vocabulary, screaming it as they came in unison.

"Ahhh... Much to my surprise, you sure know how to please me," he cooed as his tongue assaulted the incision. "Your blood truly is first-rate... Rest while you can, Livestock."

[kookiecrumb]

jjk|| Your Head

"tags": @kazthebrekkerofinej

word count: uhhhh

summary: Jungkook is the heir to the throne of your Kingdom! In this tale of duty versus heart, will love prevail victorious?

tags: Royalty!Jungkook x Peasant!Reader, oneshot, smut, fluff, slight angst, some crack, pining, forbidden lovers, Jungkookie has a sweet tooth, strangers to friends to lovers

warnings: explicit language, impact play, birthday sex (technically), fingering, oral (m receiving*), love marking, alcohol consumption, s&m themes, horny grinding, praise kink/body worship

a/n:

hey guys!

Firstly, I want to say how proud I am of myself for growing so much during this fic. I learned a lot about what I'm comfortable with, what I'd like to work on, and where my confidences lie.

I won't lie and say it's been easy, because writing this meant dealing with a lot of my fears? I'm excited for all the works that are to come.

The only thing I can do is be as receptive to growth as possible, so I'm looking forward to learning...

*I actually learned that Vaseline wasn't invented until like the 1870s? The fic is written in the 1810s, so I actually had a choice between having them do it with vegetable oil or spit. Spit won.

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5 years ago

You bend over to pick up an apple that had rolled over under your father's produce cart, praying that it isn't bruised so that you have to pay for it out of your dinner, when a crumpled piece of paper hits you in the ass.

Confused, you crawl out from under the stand and unwrap the paper.

The paper itself is of the finest quality you've ever seen. It's a sturdy cardstock, bleached white with gold etchings on the borders. The print on the top of it reads "His Highness Jeon's Royal Study," and scribbled in some kid's amateur cursive below, "Nice butt."

You directed your gaze upwards, towards the towering castle walls. Sure enough, a boy no older than 15 had his noggin popping out from the top of the rampart, with two wide eyes staring down, curious as to your reaction. This was Prince Jungkook, heir to the throne of your kingdom.

"Shouldn't you be equestrian horse riding or playing polo or something?" You shout. He furrows his eyebrows, apparently offended at your assumption, and then disappears behind the edifice.

Moments later, another paper hits your shoulder as you're practicing your caligraphy behind your cart. It lands between the apples, so you reach your hand over and fish out out.

You glance up at the anticipant, and sure enough he's there with his doe eyes and his coconut head, ogling.

"No, dumbie. That's at MID-day." Well how were YOU supposed to know the royal schedule of the crown prince, it wasn't just common knowlegde you learned from being a humble farmer's daught--

Ah!

"Will you STOP?!" You put your foot down. "Unless you're here to buy my apples, then you're not getting ANY, little Prince." Oh, shit. You gave him ideas. Now it was really over for you.

In less than half an hour, half a company of men arrived at the marketplace, asking about your little old apple stand, and sure enough, Jungkook had bought out the entire cart so that you were forced to help with the transaction.

The young prince had eyes frankly too big for his head, with the most prominent cupid's bow you've ever seen. His nose slightly outgrew his face and his ears were hidden away behind his short, black hair. "Now you can talk to me." He gave you a rose he'd stolen from the royal garden. "I am Jungkook, heir to the throne of--"

"I know who you are." You interrupt him, documenting His Highness' total in your calligraphy book.

With a hand perched on his chest from surprise, he scoffed. "And I happen to think you're really pretty, so I was going to ask you to be my very first consor--"

"You're 15, you have playmates not consorts."

"And how old are you?!" He's had it, raising his voice and taking a bite out of one of your apples with force.

"16, old enough to have suitors." You tease. Jungkook hangs his head a little. He just needed someone to talk to, it would seem. Reluctantly, you scribbled down your address down on a piece of note paper and handed it to him.

"Look, if you buy more of my apples, I'll have an excuse to tell my Dad so I can hang out with you." You spoke in a low voice as to not raise suspicion.

Your dad is standing negotiating with the guards about prices, his usual embarassing haggling gruffly overpowering the guards elegant twiddle-tones.

"Wonderful! See you soon, my sweet!" He resumes his confident demeanor, tucking the paper into his overcoat with a small smile. He salutes you boyishly and marches away with a year's supply of apples.

For the next week, the royal kitchen had baked 3 apple pies, made 5 fruit salads, 4 batches of apple muffins, and threw the rest of them in Sangria; that's the same Sangria as King Jeon finds himself drinking in his wife's drawing room on Sunday.

"Call Chef, fetch him up here." He waves to his assistant, keeping his eyes on the outside. He was deep in thought, his hands stoicly behind his back.

The Kingdom had been prosperous for over many years now, and war had not come close to threatening its borders in a lifetime. Negotiations were always successful, and quality of living was high. The work of a King, in a situation such as this, was to perfect the image of the royal family as strong rulers, and to paint his daughters as desirable to foreign heirs.

"Your Grace," the assistant called his attention, "Head Chef Sung." The dainty man bows and scurries off somewhere else.

Chef Sung is a portly man, who carries himself heaving with every step, his great belly inflating with each hefty inhale. He approaches the King, and kneels down to kiss his hand with his fat lips.

The King recoils in disgust, but quickly collects himself and his words. "Where are these apples from, is it France or Spain?" He demands.

"Neither, Your Highness." Mr.Sung lifts up his eyes. "They are from our Holy Kingdom; by order of Prince Jungkook, an entire cart was purchased of these apples and we have not been able to get rid of them." Tears threatened Chef Sungs eyes at the very mention of the fruit.

'Well, there's one thing the kid's done right.' King Jeon now faces the Chef, setting down his drink on a mahogany table, leaning against it casually. "Well! Good. I'd like to meet the owner of that cart, invite him to my Sunday brunch."

"Oh, yes, of course sir! You'll never see them in our kitchen aga--What?" Chef Sung takes out his handkerchief, waving it around in the air and drying his tears at once. "So you like them! Why...Yes! Yes, of course!"

Your father thought it would be valuable to have you around the kitchen, learning from the skilled men and women employed by the Jeon family. He only visited once a week to drop off fresh produce, (he'd been officially hired to handle restocking of goods) but you, after showing promising signs of being a gifted baker during one of your father's restocks, were granted scholarship by Ms.Kang to be her aid.

You were now, officially, a resident of the Jeon Estate, residing in the servant's quarters, immediately adjacent to the kitchen. This was convenient. It was far too convenient for a certain little Prince to get the idea of wanting a midnight snack and wandering downstairs.

One day, he does just that. He finds his way into the first bedroom to the right of the stairs facing the kitchen, and that happens to be your bedroom.

He pokes you awake. "Ow! Ow, whyyy~" You whine and toss yourself over to the other side of the bed. His irritating poking persists. You grab his fingers and your eyes shatter open.

You sit up, alarmed. "You could have me arrested, what the fuck are you doing?!"

"I wanted a midnight snack! Besides, I wanna talk to you." He pouts, still holding a small teddy companion.

"Fine. I'll bake you ONE sheet of cookies." You slip on your night shoes and shuffle to the kitchen, and Jungkook tags along.

By the time Jungkook's 18th birthday comes around, he's in the kitchen helping you whisk buttercream to top his cake while having a tease at the Austrian Princess' mole.

"You have one right under your lip, look!" You take a little buttercream from the bowl and stain the dark spot with it.

He licks it up and hastens to add, "it needs more sugar, lady!" as he turns to grab a puffy bag of confection sugar.

"You're impossible to please." Snatching the sugar away from him, you smirk. "You can gobble down as many sweets as you want when the ball commences. Remember, this is the year you're supposed to be keeping your eye out for a girl of a good fam--"

"Yada yada, must have hips for childbearing, yada yada yada..." He mocks the speech his mother had told him that morning when he got dressed.

"Exactly." You set your bowl aside to fix Jungkook's tie. "Yes, and that's your duty, as our heir."

You step back and examine Jungkook one more time. He'd grown so tall in the last year, his legs like spider's and he was just beginning to grow into his features. Handsome boy.

You, too, had grown into an elegant young woman. You had a poised complexion, ready-mannered and graceful. Your hands seemed out of place in your otherwise feminine frame, carrying an extra bit of girth from baking. You were 19 years old.

Marriage was becoming an uncomfortably frequent topic during your visits home, as your mother had married young, herself, she expected the same of you.

Truth be told, there were plenty of offers for your hand. You were a skilled and very esteemed individual, who had broken into thr artisinal class. But your father knew better than put a dowry on your happiness. So long as you worked, he saw no reason to marry you off just yet.

"Now, go. Your sisters must be worried sick! Go out there." You shoo him, pushing him out the door of the kitchen despite his flailing arms.

Throughout the party, you'd been carrying a platter of your own baked goods, serving them to the aristocrats attending the Princes' coming-of-age ball. Accents from all over Europe and some from Kingdoms as far East as Cyprus jubilantly engaged in artful conversation which filled the air with good spirits.

Jungkook, himself, was busy being introduced to as many women as possible, a medley of presenting duchesses, ladies, and even Princesses of your Kingdom. They were each more qualified than you'll ever be, ten-fold.

One was a Greek Princess, her hair cascaded in darling curls down her shoulders and her eyes were deep-set, her voice a flirtatious trill.

Another, a Prussian Princess', posture radiated excellency, and whose complexion sparkled like powdered snow. Jungkook greeted her warmly, pleased with her appearance.

Distracted, you tripped up your skirt and dropped the remainder of your pastries. With that, you stepped off to use the restroom.

The sound of Strauss' Rosen aus dem Süden faintly loomed in the air as you wiped tears from your waterline in the mirror. That was just the way it was, wasn't it? Princes come of age, and they find wives who they commit their lives to.

"Married men don't have friends who are girls." You say out loud, just to realize it. Jungkook was now expected to find a mate within the season, and he was, in fact, quite the eligible bachelor.

Little did you know that Jungkook had been keeping an eye out for you throughout the party, not only because you were carrying his favorite Danish pastires, but because he knew your company was his greatest comfort.

He's in the midst of greeting the Duchess of Kent when he excuses himself to go look for you. He finds your mess first, frowning as he realizes something has gone terribly wrong.

He catches you in the hallway, face puffy and shaky. He grabs your wrist to keep you from darting back to the kitchen.

"Please don't do this, it's my birthday, y/n." It's as if an unspoken rule had been broken between you, and he feels it. Something is making you uncomfortable. "Was it the girls? You told me about this, it's my duty to at least greet them and--"

"Yeah, you sure did greet the Prussian woman nicely." You speak through tears. "She's the girl you were born to be with, huh? Your birthright?"Jungkook is silent. "Every girl at that ball wants to be your wife, want to have your children. They haven't known you for a day and yet they're ready to be your bride."

You search Jungkook's eyes for any sign of coherence, hoping that he would defend against you, that he would speak up and tell you otherwise. No such argument comes.

You yank your arm from his grip and march to the kitchen to remake the pastries you spilled.

You had the job of clearing off all the tables upon the departure of the last guests. It is midnight, and the windows of the castle stream moonlight down on the carpet beneath your feet. The glow of candles soothe you as you hum the waltzes which echo in your mind. It's a brilliant evening.

The centerpieces of the tables were gardenias, lush rose-like flowers with yellow pistils.

Summer, 1809

"Jungkook, wait! You're going to make me trip!" You shout from the top of the hill.

"You've gotta come see before the sun sets! It's the only way we'll get there on time, now run!" Jungkook's speeding down the terrain towards the Sycamore tree which grew deep and wide beneath the banks of a great rushing river.

You groan and throw caution to the wind, rolling down the steep mount in your Sunday dress. Jungkook turns to watch you, a grin spreading across his handsome face. "Look at you!"

You land on your feet at the bottom and scurry off to join Jungkook under the grandfather tree, out of breath entirely. "Now, look what you made me do. You're such a boy, you know that?! Making me come out here just to see some bloody--"

Jungkook has plucked a gardenia and placed it behind your ear. "Would you shut up? We got here on time. Behold."

In all its glory, the sun bathes you in its vivacious rays, creating a feeling of heavenly bliss as it dips below the horizon. The sky blushes pink, its clouds mere whisps above you. Wind rustles the leaves of the grand tree, rousing the birds to chirp their afternoon song.

"Mom used to come here all the time with my Dad, because of these." Jungkook clasped the blooming flower in his tender hands.

After a while, he says "the bugs will come out soon, so we ought to go back," as if he's trying not to scare something away. He helps you up, and with one last look across the valley, you walk next to each other back to the East Quarters.

You take all the silverware and plates by the tub to the dish-washing station and toss all of the linen napkins into the washing machine. All you had left was to blow out the lights in leading upstairs.

"Prince! It is very late, and there are no guests left for you to entertain. What troubles you?" Jungkook's sitting on the stairs with his head in his hands, still wearing his best suit.

"I disappointed you, y/n...I didn't like any of them." He admits, lifting his head up to sulk at you. "I should have told you then, but I didn't want to make you upset!"

Did Jungkook mistake your jealousy for disappointment?

"I'm not upset because you didn't hit it off with the girls..." You sigh. A confession is due, and he's ready to hear the truth from you about how you feel about him.

"Well, the truth is, I didn't like any of the girls because I like you, y/n. But you know that, don't you?" You pause, asking him to elaborate.

"Remember when I bought all the apples because I wanted to be with you? Like...I told you that you were my consort and I kind of meant it?" He felt pathetic now, realizing that you weren't just ignoring his advances. "So you didn't friendzone me for 2 years, you actually didn't know that I liked you."

It was almost laughable, a situation you would read in one of your illegal novels which you kept tucked away in your pillow at night. "No, Kookie, I didn't." You admit to your insolence.

You can't bear to lead him on any longer. You needed to put duty over your own self interest for the sake of the kingdom, even if it shattered his hope. It was better this way.

"But, you do know that we can't ever be a thing, right? It's just silly." Your heart tightens with the words which fall out of your mouth. "It is. Nevermind what your parents would think, what would it do for your image? You're on the world's stage, Jungkook, and you're a selfish person if you think you can just throw all of your duties away to date a scum of the Earth like-- like me!" With your heart in your throat, dry your eyes with your sleeve. "And...I want to, I really really want to, more than anything else to love you, Jungkook. I love you! I...can't." Through the blur of your tears, the shapeless blob that Jungkook has become stands up.

Taking his thumb and swiping it under your eyes, he sighs. Words escaping him, he takes your trembling body against his chest and nestles his head in the crook of your neck. Your cold hands travel underneath his overcoat to hold his waist. The Princes' lips plant a gentle kiss on your neck, chaste yet deep and satisfying.

"I will not accept any bride if not you, my love." He draws back, meeting your fervid gaze. "To the world, I remain a bachelor for a few years."

"And after those years, Jungkook?" You ride your hands up to caress the man's jaw. "You will still love me after those years, and then what?"

"I don't know," he says, voice as soft as powder. "I don't know many things, y/n, that's why I need you to teach me." His palms are rubbing at your waist, beckoning you closer.

His breath quickening as you lean your body against his hold, and you figure it must be the wine he drank to calm his nerves. That was it, wasn't it? He was drunk.

"You're not drunk, are you?" Your face sours, really hoping it's not the case as you feel your body temperature rise.

"Y/N, I've only had a glass. You saw I was a wreck back there." His lips kept chasing yours in a dance you can't quite describe. "I have wanted to hold you like this since I saw you selling apples on the street. Give me the honor..." His forehead against yours and his strong hands supporting your back, he's already fucking you with his eyes.

"The pleasure of being your lover." He squeezes your waist tight with his forearms, planting brisk kisses behind your ear and breathing in your scent. He smiles against you. Your skin pebbles at his affectionate touch, purring softly as your eyes roll back in delight.

"Kookie..." You breathe, leaning on his broad chest. "Kook, the maids are wondering where I am, I have to go..." You slur, tugging at his collar.

He grunts in protest, taking your ear between his teeth and nibbling it.

"If you let me go, I'll steal some cake for you tomorrow at breakfast." If there's anything Jungkook likes more than Cream Ice, it was cake. He unravels you from his arms and nods, his eyes softening.

"Request my service tomorrow, from Ms.Kang. She's been sweet on me lately." You peck his cheek before stepping back. Your rouge has embarrassingly stained His Grace's cheek.

Jungkook bows and presses a kiss on your hand, eyes rising to meet yours. "Til' morrow, babe."

Jiyoo shakes you awake the next morning, handing you a cake and a note that reads: "Prince Jungkook has a commission he must discuss with you. Meet him at his chamber immediately."

Lacing on a simple corset over your nightgown, you try not to look too red in the face as you climb up the stairs to His Majesty's room. You'd be up there alone, as requested. The girls would absolutely start rumors based on that alone-- rumors which you realize are probably totally true. This was stuff of scandal, after all...

'There shouldn't be anything scandalous about love.' You decide as you rap on His Highness' door.

"Please enter...but only if you have my cake!" Jungkook says in his morning voice. He's so cute.

The simplicity of Jungkook's abode takes you by surprise. His bedroom is very well lit, a capital display of the flowered valley through his bay windows washed the room in gold, painting his porcelain white carpets and his cotton sheets a warm creme color. His drawers and vanity were etched in gold, with breathtaking detailing.

The Monarch himself was splayed across the bed, laying on his side casually. He held a glass in his hand, holding a white wine. He puts down his glass and sits up as your presence.

"We both know that you didn't come here as my servant." You lock the door behind you. "And I have no such commission to give you, darling." The innocence which undertones his usual speech is missing as he coaxes you towards him.

"This much I know, Your Majesty," You say, taking a bit of frosting on your index finger and smudging it on the Princes lips. His black eyes, as cunning as a viper, watch you dangerously as you push two fingers past his plush lips. He wraps his hands around your wrist and draws your hand away, his gaze fixating on you.

"Set the cake down." At his command, you carefully place the confection down on a nearby chest, feeling Jungkook's eyes on you, drawing you back towards his grip.

"Let me pull your laces apart," with your waist held by his Herculean hand, he hums "and then let me pull you apart. I want to memorize your pleasures and gratify your desires, I need it, y/n..." Your back flush against his chest and your thighs split, his hands knead into you as he litters your collar with his mark.

You gasp softly against the crook of his neck, giving into his hold of you. His hot tongue spreads under your jaw, closing into a hard kiss as his hands travel back up to undo your corset and free your tits.

One by one, his fingers pop open the buttons left on your gown until the collar hangs off-shoulder to expose your collarbone. At the sight of new skin, Jungkook's tongue darts to stain it.

His hands stagger above your breasts. "Is it okay if I touch you here?"

"Oh, Kookie, touch me everywhere~" Your hands form fists around Jungkook's shirt, beckoning him impossibly closer.

Grasping one ever so carefully, his thumb grazes your bud as he playfully bites under your ear. "ah-- ahh,"

Jungkook groans in response, he can't believe how cute you sound. Curious, he wants to hear more, so he traces your thighs and experimentally pushes up the outside your cunt.

You squirm, tensing up immediately in response. You bring your hands down to find the latch on his trousers and dip your hands below to rub him through his undergarments. He heatedly bucks up to meet your touch, a panting mess.

You face him now as he watches you ride his fingers while you grip his girth through his clothes. He takes you by the ass and places you on his prominent bulge, hips rolling into you as he hungrily kisses you, his firm hands grinding your core on his cock.

His face is a sinful red, panting under you desperately.

"I've been wanting to do this," His voice warbles through your touch, running your thumb along his underside. It's his turn to gasp. He sits up and collapses his lips into yours, softer than rose petals and his taste faintly like wine.

You place your hand on his chest, and his heart is pounding, a thin layer of sweat already forming on his honeylike complexion.

Hastily, you pull your dress over your head and lean back to allow him to familiarize himself with your stark form, a dainty chain hanging between your bosom. Jungkook bites his lips as he wriggles out of his clothing, desposing of it beside the bed.

He's giddy behind those sultry eyes, you know him well enough that he's overexcited to get inside of you. It goes straight to his cock, your playfulness as you feel up his bare shoulders and discover his abdominals, your fingers tracing his ridges with a sense of innocent wonder.

He takes your hands and looks at you in this way-- Butterflies fill your stomach instantly. Jungkook's thumbing at your pout with his intrepid fingers.

His eyes flutter when grip his base and submerge your upper body below his hips. You lick a long, thick stripe up his underside, causing his breath to hitch and his head to fall back on to the bed.

Those goddamn cupid's bow lips of his would whisper the dirtiest things under his breath, lewd thoughts that sounded completely alien coming from His Majesty's mouth, he said for you.

"Oh, such a pretty mouth~ It's so good, y/n, you swallow me so good--" he moaned like a mantra, trying to keep his hips from snapping up into you. Your hot, wet tongue wrapped around his throbbing cock was only a fantasy to him for years.

He fills your throat with his girth, his taste tantalizingly smooth. It leaves your mouth with a 'pop.' You struggle to keep your legs apart as you crawl up to kiss him.

He takes those fingers of his and slides his index and middle into you and languidly thrusts them, smirking against your lips. "Shit, you liked that, hmm..."

"Kookie...please," you whine as he squeezes your ass hard before smacking it. You yelp, the sting of his fingers radiating from your skin.

"I like it when you beg, y/n, it's so cute..." He pulls your ass up to his thighs. He's flush hard against your abdomen, already sticky with his precum and your spit. You marvel at the self control he has.

You don't finish your thought before he has his head inside of you, impaling you on his cock and stretching your entrance, hissing at how incredible it felt to have you around him.

His shaft reached pleasure points within you had yet to discover. You clench, feeling his tip brush against your cervix. "Wh... hngh," he groans, "how did you do that, do it again--" You wrap your legs around his thighs and clench around him, biting your lip. You watch as he shivers from pleasure, feeling his skin horripilate under your touch.

His thumb is softly circling above your clit as he pulls out of you carefully. He swirls back in, nestling himself inside your heat, hissing. "Ahh~ Jungkook~!" At the sound of his first name moaned out of your mouth, he groans and rolls his hips up to create messy friction. That familiar knot in your stomach tingles as he plays with the bundle of nerves buried within you.

He glances up at your ruined lips, clashing with them again as he lifts your knees up with his hands and thrusts nice and rough, making you yell with every jolt of his cock. The smell and sound of sex fills the room as he experiments with positions, laying you on all fours.

"Get your ass up for me." You obey, ever servile. You're reminded-- you're his servant. He owns your work, he owns your services, and now he wants you in the most lucrative way, he wants your soaked cunt around his imperial cock. He gets what he wants.

Jungkook's palms smack against your ass one more time, just to watch the way it jiggles for him. He smirks a little before he shoves himself into your pretty little cunt. You bury your face into the pillows in pelasure as he chases your orgasm with vigor, fingering your clitoris while you move your hips back to meet his hard thrusts.

You whine like a harlot, his cock allowing you every satisfaction as he works a head-spinning orgasm out of that cunt. "I'm gonna cum, Kookie~!" you warn as you spasm against his length, moans ripping from your throat as you coat him with your thick juices.

His hips stutter up and he just barely pulls himself completely from you as he paints your back white, a guttural groan escaping his mouth.

After a while of loud panting and scattered giggling, Jungkook reaches over for a wet cloth and cleans the both of you gingerly. You trail your hands up to caress his jaw and kiss his lips softly.

"You need to tell everyone that I had a long and extensive request for the Harvest party, that I wanted a lot of fall fruits and vegetables featured in the baked goods, make it as specific as possible and make sure that you mention that I want to meet with you again, over dinner." His labored breathing punctuate his words, as youd kisses consume him. "And..."

"And?" You cock an eyebrow, simpering.

"Doyouthinkmaybeyoucouldbringmesomemilktogowithmycake?" He mumbles, eyes glued on the bed.

"What?" (If you give a Kookie a Cookie...)

Disgruntled, he sighs and repeats: "Milk! Milk for my cake. I know it's moist cause you made it but I'm really thirsty, especially after..." His cheeks flush a cute pink. You wait for him to continue just to fluster him a little more. "Y/N, just please!" You can't ever refuse his pouty face.

Next week, Jungkook's got you pinned against the hallway wall, making out with you hungrily as his hands ride up your dress. Just across the hall, his Dad is negotiating war with Portugal over land in the West.

The next month, you have his cock buried in your throat underneath the table at an important conference about how to create jobs.

All this while the pressure for Jungkook to find a bride continues to rise as he reaches seniority, and as his father's grey hairs pronounce themselves.

Warm touches are always hidden away to the public eye, but often shared between two kindred spirits underneath the man in the moon's watchful eye. Jungkook, as he reaches his maturity, grows strong. His jaw sharpens, and his eyes darken. His hair grows long, and he gains weight. Now at the proud age of 20, Jungkook had become a man before everyone's eyes, including the eyes of foreign monarchs and their eligible bachelorettes.

One day, you're serving the Royal family at a private dinner, when the topic of marriage comes up for the first time since his birthday.

"Your mother has made friends with the mother of the Austrian Princess, and she's invited you to the cordial ball to introduce yourself to the Princess. An allyship with Austria would prove advantageous for our relations with France, so you are to make your best impression." The King wipes his mouth. Setting his fork down, he continues: "It is in the family's best interest for you to marry her, if the French Princess, Anastasie, does not present this season or the next." The Queen holds the King's hand firmly, reassuring him from his shoulder. She wears a slight frown on her face, her eyes worrisome, somber. The King hides his anxiety, as he's been accustomed to from decades of responsibility. Would this be the face of Jungkook soon?

For now, Jungkook's face is scrunching at the thought of marrying Anastasie. She's not the most delightful young woman, her imprudence ruined her enjoyment of any event. She couldn't keep an intuitive conversation about regional politics and domestic policy for the life of her. Her people were on the brink of overthrowing the aristocracy, he was sure of it.

"Yes, father," is what you hear from him before you disappear down the stairs to fetch desserts.

Jiyoo interrupts your quest for sweets with a letter, signed by His Grace. She has a naturally innocent demeanor, her cheeks rosy and her frame as delicate as a feather. "Y/N, you have another special request from His Majesty...can I ask you why you get so many of these?" She looks genuinely curious, not a single menacing thought behind those eyes.

"It's because the Prince really really loves his cake." I mean, technically it was true. Jungkook never passed up an opportunity to squeeze, smack, or dig his fingernails into your ass during your sessions.

"Oh." Jiyoo pouts. "So it's not because you're like, in love or anything?" Her eyes are glued to the floor. You were expecting this question eventually, as the other girls in the kitchen were already suspecting it. It was only a matter of time before word slipped into the girl's ears.

"As much as I enjoy the Prince's interest in my baking, it isn't my place to confess any sort of feeling for him." Your answer is straightforward enough, so Jiyoo nods and hands you the letter. Another request.

Outside the Palace, Winter came like the wind. Lakes froze over, and couples tied up their skates and danced on the ice. The trees were bare and brown, not a single leaf persisting through the chilling breath of Jack Frost.

Jungkook had left for the Winter Palace, to volunteer and raise spirits up in the North. As heir to the throne, he was to be Commander in Chief of the Royal Armed Forces, and therefore needed to undergo intensive training in order to boost morale.

You're back home, and in your wake is your father, who has now grown tangibly tired. He's been on a strict diet of warm vegetable soup for about three months, now. His eyes are sunken, but he still wears a subtle smile even during his most trying days.

Match girls make their rounds at night, you watch as the lamplighters illuminate the streets with their tall ladders and their taller peacoats. Shop windows glow warm shades of yellow and creme; inscriptions on the glass create shadows on the white snow.

"Wow. It's almost as cold as the King's heart out here." You step outside one day with a cup of tea, sneaking in a cheeky smirk. Yeah, good one.

"I heard that!" You turn towards the little voice. A child, maybe about 9 or 10 years old is pointing at you. You squint at it.

"Well, it's true..." You mumble. You have a bit of change in your pocket, so you walk towards a stand to buy a hot bun and a paper.

"Chilly today, hon...Best you take this on the house." The tenant hands you a steaming cake wrapped in a simple cloth and your paper. You stick the paper in your dress pocket and take back your change. You nod a 'thank you.'

You spill the contents of your pockets on the dining table and snatch the paper, snapping it open. Your eyes eagerly skim the headline: "Prince Jungkook Fires Up Royal Army." Below is an article detailing the happenings of His Majesty. All of it sounded very intense, the running, strategizing, first aid training...Was there anything Prince Jeon couldn't nail on the first try?

You set the paper down and pick up your now lukewarm tea. In the back of your mind you're coping with the fact that the Spring Solstice is next week, and that marks the beginning of Jungkook's last season as a Prince.

The King is ill with tuberculosis, and recovery is unlikely. If Jungkook is to marry, it is next season and that was final.

Sitting at the window of his Winter Castle study, Jungkook plays with a ring nestled between his fingers. He looks out onto the lake, as if he's trying to reach you with his gaze. His heart is tight knowing that it would be the season he chooses his bride. Actually, he'd already made up his mind long ago. If his duty was to marry, there was no way to evade such a responsibility. He had to fulfill it, despite his anxieties.

He straightens up and walks out of the hollow room with a firm step.

You awaken with the sound of horse's hooves thudding against the Earth. It is yet to be dawn, and in the distance, thunder roars mightily.

A figure wearing a long, black hood hoists itself off of the animal, tying it to a nearby post. It walks towards an obscure entrance, unknown to many staff.

Intrigued, you wrap a blanket around yourself and peek out at the stranger. His fingers are shorter than his palms, and that's when he tosses of his hood, his eyes set on you. "Y/N..."

You're bewildered by his guise, questions filling your head.

"I was horny, so I left camp" He sits down at the counter, catapulting a cookie into his mouth.

You roll your eyes. "And the guards let you?! Jungkook!" You whisper-yelled at him, readjusting your makeshift blanket-dress.

"Obviously not!" He puffed out his chest with pride. "I bribed them," he smirks.

"You're insufferable," you scoff, your eyes wandering down to observe his physique. His shirt is anything but conservative, highlighting the muscle he'd earned through laborious, sweat-inducing drills. You can feel his eyes on your face as you observe him.

"You can't hide it either," he crosses his arms. "You're standing in the kitchen with a blanket around your naked body." He flicks his tongue. He steps forward, putting a finger under your jaw so you're looking him in the eye.

Your eyes fill with lust as he speaks over your lips. "Look at yourself..." A crash is heard in the other room.

Jungkook's head darts up and in a flash, he disappears into the night.

'Fuck.' You gather your dress from the floor and shuffle back to your chamber.

The first event of the season commences with the most exaltant of spirits as friends of old greet each other with youthful smiles. Juicy exposés, enticing tales, and thoughtful greetings are exchanged in the most formal manner, and the conversation is lively; the most controversial topic of conversation, however, is the rumor that Jungkook is to marry this season.

So far, he's been to four different private residences within his own Kingdom and has been invited, by the secretary of King Louis XVII to meet their daughter. It would be an understatement to say that stakes were high for the pending King.

You were kneading your dough a little too hard thinking about it. "Not so rough, y/n!" Ms.Kang snatches the mixture from your hands. "What is up with you lately, you're so tense! It's really disrupting the kitchen's dynamic."

You shrug it off. "It's going to be hard sedating Anastasie's sweet tooth, I suppose."

"Well, you seem to be doing just fine dealing with Jungkook's addiction to cakes...She's perfect for him, really." Ms.Kang throws more flour on your kneading table and steps off. You give up on the dough, covering it with a cloth and letting it rise.

Jungkook is tapping his feet, munching on finger sandwiches as he waits on you to make an appearance.

"Dearest Prince, look, I am wearing Mediterranean violet!" A duchess shouts as she passes by him, to which he raises his eyebrows at. Another, with dark green eyes approaches and begins speaking rapidly in French at him. Frightened and undereducated, his canned response was: "Excusez-moi, Pouvez-vous répéter plus lentement s'il vous plaît," to which the duchess furrows her eyebrows before something else catches her attention, elsewhere.

Truth is, Jungkook is incredibly shaken at the thought of announcing his engagement tonight. Well, that and the fact that you had yet to pop out of the kitchen. Man, those finger sandwiches were good.

As the night progresses, Jungkook realizes that if he doesn't get up on that platform and say what he needed to say, he'd have to say it in London. Setting his fears aside, he plants himself on top of the orchestral stage and taps a champagne glass with a cheese fork. The music comes to a stop.

With conviction, he begins: "The time has come that I announce my engagement. To all of my beloved friends, who have introduced me to the most beautiful, talented, diverse, and benevolent ladies I've come to get to know over the years, I thank you from the depths of my soul." He swallows and continues, his confident voice masking his trembling. "The life of a Prince is defined by the virtues presented to him at birth. Those virtues are: duty, responsibility, grace, kindness, mercy and integrity." Here comes the part, oh shit.

"I am abdicating my throne to my Cousin, the Duke of Namseong."

Silence sweeps the room. You poke your head out to see what was going on.

"...to marry the love of my life, y/n." He points at you. Your face is cherry red, and you find yourself dropping those same Danish fucking pastries all over the carpet.

"Shit," you fall on your knees, plucking them from the ground one by one. You don't know whether to run as fast as you can or to present yourself, but your body seems to be currently doing the latter. You go along with it.

Jungkook takes your hand tenderly on the stage. "I am unable to perform my duties as King, and therefore am ineligible for the throne." His touch gives you the will to continue beside him. You feel the pure fear rushing through your love's veins, and he knows that this is the hardest thing he'll ever have to do, yet he stands by his announcement.

So, if Jungkook doesn't get to be King of this World, he at least will forever be the King of Your Heart.

But all this, of course...is all in Your, dear reader, Head.

~

a/n:

hope you enjoyed.

[littlefreya]

Prince Of Darkness

Summary: There'll be no escape tonight, the devil always gets what he desires.

Pairing: Devil!August Walker x Unnamed OFC (3rd person pov)

Word count: 6k

Warnings: 18+, DARK! NonCon, kidnapping, stalking, breeding, exhibitionism, loss of virginity, supernatural stuff, sex in a cathedral, mention of heaven and hell. Please proceed with caution. 

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own

A/N: I have put a lot of effort into this story, and I’m really anxious af. We all like to see August as a demon, but I decided to go all the way... And I’m nervous at your response and going to die after hitting submit. So bye.

Many thanks to the love of my life @agniavateira​, for support, brainstorm and beta. And to @crimsonrae​ and @wondersofdreaming​ who held my hand. 

Please give feedback and reblog if you enjoyed my work. 🖤

Title: Prince of Darkness

Blood painted the streets, courtesy of the blinding scarlet lights that danced upon gravel and tar before dwindling into darkness. The soft, beaming glow pulsed with the muffled beats of a monotonous song that played inside the luxurious nightclub. Like thundering war drums, it rumbled in the ears of the elegant man who stood along the shadows. 

Leaning against the cement, he took a sip from a glass of spiced Bordeaux and brushed an index finger over his thick moustache to wipe away misguided droplets of wine. 

‘How could anyone enjoy this abomination?’ He wondered with a guttural groan, never quite grasping this electronic noise thing; but then again August was older than this music, and his tastes far exceeded cheap and trivial antics. He was a man driven by the appetite for destruction and forbidden delights, and tonight, he was finally about to obtain both. After decades of anticipation, the succulent fruit was ready to be plucked. 

Oh, what an intoxicating and delicious mist his unsuspecting beloved emanated, setting his heart aflame with her sheer ripeness.  

‘It’s been so long, so painfully long.’ 

Time had lost its meaning as he waited, curving and swerving into a stream of an infinite river flowing with decay and death. 

But as the old saying went: all haste comes from the devil. 

So the man lingered against the wall, a sparkle enkindled and crackled in his eyes, morphing into black wells whilst the waves of her honey-liqueured ambrosia grew pungent, seeping through his airways and sinking in his throat. The corners of his mouth twitched slightly, revelling in the sound of harsh tapping heels that echoed louder with every step until she came summoned into the naked wilderness of the city street. 

‘Beautiful and innocent as the garden of Eden. Of course, of course...’

The stranger scrutinised the young woman with another sip from his wine and a bite of great intrigue - but stoicism and silence, for now, were his most valuable allies. 

Clad in a lithe black dress and a stylish leather jacket to keep herself warm from the chill autumn breeze, she fished for the mobile device in her purse while distress washed her wrinkling brow. Illuminated by the bright screen, her face sulked as for the seventh time in the last 30 minutes, her attempt to find an Uber bore no success whatsoever. 

Was there something about tonight that all drivers were kept occupied, or had her luck simply run dry? 

Showing her face to the moonlit sky, she sighed in great frustration. This must have been fate’s retribution to a mindless bad decision; she should have left with her friends, but staying alone to fruitlessly catch the eye of the uncaring bartender seemed more significant as the buzz of alcohol dimmed any ray of logic. Now deep into the night, walking home alone didn’t appear to be the most sympathetic solution, yet it occurred to her that there wasn’t much of choice.  

“You seem distressed.” 

Equal to a dark chant sputtering words of witchcraft, the low yet incredibly soft baritone of his voice slithered from the corner and crept down her spine with icy scales. A lurching hollow flared within her gut, her neck seized by the tight grip of a serpentine phantom. 

His vibrato sounded like a voice that called her through a dream she never had before; despite the unsettling arctic spasm gyrating through her shaky limbs, it lured her to return a stare and meet the cryptic face behind the seducing chant. 

Two sharp glaciers glimmered at her as the stranger sauntered into the penumbra, momentarily lit by another flash of neon red that broke onto his face and highlighted his ethereal features. Her lips drew open, her nipples hardening against the fabric of her dress as a shiver ran through her. To say that the stranger was handsome would be an understatement, as it almost seemed as if he was ‘designed’ by a sculptor - carved cheeks led a path to slightly pouted lips, and a stark, dimpled chin was shadowed by dark stubble. His chocolate-brown hair was elegantly combed to the side, with a couple of large lustrous locks gently nestling over his brow.

Though it wasn’t his good looks that left her riddled with prickly goosebumps, but the unprecedented magnetic haul that made her feel as if she was physically drawn toward this mysterious man. 

Frightened by the unbidden reaction of her own body, she quickly retreated to gawk at the phone and provided no answer to his inquiry. A strange yearning to submit grew between her clenching thighs, a primal response to his striking looks and charms. 

But she killed the seed before it set roots in her flesh. 

‘They said Ted Bundy was charming as well…’ she mused. Frivolous as she wanted to be, getting murdered was undoubtedly not among her plans tonight. 

Revelling in her silent reply with an arched brow, he tilted his head when a blinding flicker abruptly caught his keen eye. Kissed by the pale moonlight’s beam, a small silver cross rested upon her collarbone. His sharp fangs begged to peek with sardonic amusement, but he kept his lips clamped, not wishing to scare her too soon. 

There was to be plenty of that later...

“May I offer you my help, sweetling?”

Threading his long fingers between the smooth stem and clasping them around the bowl, he lowered the glass to the side of his hip, dragging the girl’s unwilling eye to the healthy bulge in his groin. 

Her lips drew open as a surge of staggering heat flushed at her apex. 

It seemed enormous... 

“Name’s August, like the emperor, but you can call me whatever your heart desires...”

Embers burnt at her cheeks; in her belly, the odd mystical calling continued weaving at her core in an urge to accept whatever it was he had to offer. Her eyes warred to tear her gaze away from his nether region as her lashes fluttered to meet the abysmal glance that bestowed both frost and fire through her tendons. 

There was something archaically familiar about this man as if she knew him before the days had names. Yet she swore, it was the first time she ever saw his striking face. 

“I can take you wherever you need to go.” 

Breath laced with wine titillated her nostrils as the words spilt from his lips, whilst another crimson ray broke upon the marble of his face. Never had he urged, but instead suggested with a tongue soaked with honey. Still, a blazing aura of danger encircled him. And even though the very natural fear of walking home alone grappled her, it still seemed like a much better plan than entrusting her life to a stranger who was twice her size. 

Deciding to keep her tongue knotted, she turned and began striding away. ‘Best not to engage him,’ she thought, but once she moved past his bulky figure, her heart suddenly picked up its pace and her legs refused to function as if they no longer belonged to her. 

Seconds stretched into eternity. The thought that this civilised savage will assail her and drag her into the night scratched at the back of her head. But the worst of it was the simmering throb. Unforgiving, like gathering storm clouds, it thundered the closer she walked by him and then gradually died out as she finally managed to move away and free herself from this invisible bond. 

Savouring the final drop of wine, August watched amused as the frightened little lamb quickly oscillated on her feet, scampering into the horrors offered by the dark. It was funny how fear made animals act so heedlessly and rush straight into the burning heart of peril. 

A toothy grin peaked his chiselled cheeks. Always the gentleman, he shifted from the concrete, discarding the glass carelessly to shatter on the sidewalk. His sinew stretched in a relaxed ripple of an apex predator before he straightened both vest and jacket and stroked his thick moustache. 

Though her heavenly fragrance still soaked the air, the girl was already gone from normal eyesight. It was a pity to see her leave, yet there was no need for him to rush.

There was never really a choice for her. 

Strangely, the night kept growing unnaturally darker. A great ocean of blackness and crystalised stars spread from above, casting looming shadows across the tall buildings that resembled a maw filled with rotten teeth. The tepid wind that blew between the vast concrete monoliths was nothing but the breath of a mythical beast intoning her name through the shadows.

Clawing at her forearms, she meandered through the inert street with a wary eye. Desolate neon signs flickered hauntingly, bequeathing a vibrant beacon of dread over the shimmering, onyx road. Not a living soul was in sight as if the world descended into stillness, dominated by an eerie, dead silence save for the harsh echo of her hasty heels. And yet, the long path felt anything but lifeless. With every step landed on the ground, she could sense the movement beneath the surface: swarming vile things, slippery and scaled. Unseen by the human eye, they hissed dirty little secrets and slithered with sinister hunger, drizzling down their fangs. 

‘You can already feel me inside you, can’t you sweetling…’ Remaining hidden, he had to admit that watching the little lamb leap shivering into the slaughter has been somewhat of foreplay.

A veil of fumes emitted from her parted lips. The air became colder, summoning a terrifying truth that made her lungs clench around the black void that abruptly filled them with the notion that maybe... maybe… that chill, liquid-like thing that threatened to touch her ankle wasn’t just in her crazy imagination.

There was something out there, something undeniably familiar. This unusual gust of wind brushing at her nape has accompanied her since she could remember herself, an unsettling breeze bidding that evil lurked between the creases, holding its sinewy fingers clasped together while waiting for her to answer his hushed calling.

‘And once you finally answer, there is no turning back…’ 

Fear gnawed its frosty fangs at her bones, puncturing tiny painful cavities that were needles in her flesh. Tonight, of all nights, the same hazy feeling became stronger than ever before. Deep inside, she knew she would meet her end. Pressing the oily pads of her fingers at the sharp corners of her pendant, she inhaled and chanted a prayer, refusing to succumb to the noxious malice when a frozen pin pierced her heart.

Like the lark calling on the dawn, an unbidden chant carried her name.

Drenched with frigid sweat, she exhumed a shuddering breath, praying to God that it was only her imagination playing tricks on her ears. 

‘The greatest trick he ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist.’

Indeed in the darkness, leered the beast. All teeth and malicious glee, August moved from one shadow to another, feasting on the aphrodisiac that was the mixture of her harrowing terror and unveiled desire. If only she knew the trail her scent left for him to follow - he could smell her from miles away. 

The little flower between her legs began blooming the moment their entities finally encountered one another, and it was his ancient name her dew had dripped for.  

‘My sweet little thing, tonight I will finally grant you a purpose...’ 

Like a hound awakened from a deep slumber, he flexed his bulging muscles and tailed her in utter silence. The same spell that burnt in her core seethed the blood gathering in his ardent loins. Since the dawn of humankind, he had more women than any other man on this earth, yet none has evoked such hunger in him. 

He would have eaten her alive and torn her to shreds if only he didn't have bigger plans for her.

Still hidden by the unnatural night, August stalked from behind, the blaze of his enkindling burn licking her path as he crept further to ensnare his prey. He wished she could see herself through his own flaring glance, how beautiful she was with tears of despair rolling down the tender slope of her cheeks. 

His beloved girl; his, by ancient law. Spirited as a rageful tempest, she insisted on escaping her prophesied fate. Muscles and bones strove against the panic that turned her boiling blood frigid. But no power, physical nor divine could revoke this otherworldly attraction that bound her to him. His bidding could never be undone and as much as his blood relished from the thrill of the chase, it was time to put an end to this dance and seal their union. 

Appearing from a stygian haze of a spectral nightmare, the beast drew his claw to grasp the fleeting girl’s shoulder.

The world froze along with the scream that died in her throat. Cold, slippery wet, the phantom serpents slinked around her ankles and held on to the ground as the thing behind her bit his nails into her collarbone. His touch was no ghost, but as real as the quiet moon that voyeured her fate from above and did nothing. A wretched gasp of anguish shuddered through her airways as his fingers stalked forth to cinch at her neck. 

His grip was tighter than the icy finger of death, yet its caress was the sensual lick of a gossamer tongue. 

It was almost as if he worshipped her. 

Shadows befell her as the assailant leaned close, wafting a mist of intoxicating fumes scented of poisonous elixirs and an ancient forest that laid deep between the veils of the underworld, hiding forbidden mysteries that none dared speak of. Seeping through her orifices, it stung her eyes and raked remorseful tears. 

“Please…” she broke into sobs, shaking her head at the dawning of her fate.

The man inhaled deeply. Though she could not see him, the joyful malice that danced on his pleased breath roared in her ears.

“Do not fear me.” The sonorous rumble caressing her ear was hardly a surprise in its familiarity.  It was him, the handsome bewhiskered gentleman from earlier. But of course, it was always him: the whisper in the dark, the slithering things moving beneath the tepid ground, and the smell of burning pyres. 

But who the hell was he?!

As if he read her mind, his hand twisted around her nape and with a careful sway, turned her to face him. The voice inside her head warned her over and over again not to look at him; yet the temptation was too great, peeling her eyes open to stare at the thing that made her heart drop to her gut.

Vast, raven wings spread from each side of an Adonis figure, their intimidating length denying her widened eyes to look at anything but the dark god that soared tall in front her. No, not a god, a devil. A pair of small golden horns peeked from the mane of long curls, and the heavenly icy gaze she remembered from earlier had melted into an abysmal lake of fire.

He was beautiful.

He was monstrous.

And just like that, she descended from the earth, swept into a thick swamp of darkness that swallowed her whole. Never letting so much as her feet kiss the ground, August scooped her into his strong arms. Peering down upon her, he broke into a delightful grin, already enamoured with his delicate new bride. The pang of lust tingled in his groin, though despite the raging need to claim her now, it was her screams he desired more than all as he would consummate their eternal marriage. 

Wicked tongues of fire licked up the shallow air, casting a faint amber glow into the abominable sombre of a vanishing nightmare. Shy as feral nymphs, the bursting sparks ascended melancholily, whispering tales of perishing days that fell to harmony with a strange mumbling chant. Still locked in a void of unconsciousness, the fallen girl shifted with disquiet, her hands restlessly clutching at a virginal silk gown that covered her body. 

Vaguely remembering a horrifying dream of a demonic entity, she woke with a sudden electric jitter. A peal of breathless pants pushed through her heaving chest before she slumped into the intense relief one experiences from a brush with either death or a ghastly fantasy. 

“Thank God…” she whispered with a fist pressed to her breast.

Yet, something was amiss. The low vocal melody continued despite her state of clarity, tangled with the eerie presence of a hundred cutting glares that stabbed her crawling spine. Slowly and carefully, she lifted her head and scanned her surroundings. 

The blood drained from her face.

Swaying like shadowy wraiths stood men cloaked in black velvet hoods. Tears of milky boiling wax trickled from the candles held by their stringy fingers, yet they didn’t seem to flinch as the burning rivulets seared their flesh. Their hollow eyes were fixated upon her while words of a dark sacrament sputtered from their lips and reverberated through the endless archways and ribbed vaults that towered above them. 

Her trembling muscles were briskly stifled under the unsettling realisation of her whereabouts - a cathedral, a thousand years old if not more. Burning torches lit crumbling pillars and statues of monstrous winged creatures that encircled them from every niche, their malicious shadows dancing upon dusty obsidian bricks. Unglazed windows were barred by black iron, the beautiful floral shapes preventing any means of escape. 

Only the fractured ceiling held a cheap shred of hope, as a vast rupture of broken stone exposed her to the scarred carmine wolf-moon.

If only she had wings…

Bones rattling beneath her crawling flesh, she sat upon the hard surface with wells of despair. Her hands clutched around the edge of the bed, only to be kissed by the sharp corners that pierced the delicate flesh. Hissing with pain, she lifted her arms and stared below at what appeared to be a midnight-black marble creased with golden veins and saplings-like patterns. 

It was beautiful, just like the creamy gown that covered her body.  

“Do you like it, bride?” 

Rising from the crowd like a flame among charred coals, appeared her handsome abductor. Suitable to a true evil prince, a long red cloak enrobed his broad, sturdy form, the velvet hem trailing behind him like a thick river of blood while he marched forward with no haste in his dauntless mien. Human once again, August offered the most endearing grin; two profound dimples embellished his scruffy cheeks, and his eyes shone brighter than a frozen sea. 

Yet in her sullen gaze, he was nothing but a monster.

Abruptly enraged and driven by pure instinct, she jumped off the marble and paced backwards. Tears of anger and fright rimmed her swollen lids and her bare feet nearly collided as she shook her head at August who was neither impressed nor concerned by this foolish protest. 

“You stay the fuck away from me!!!” She warned with a scream and hastily turned away. 

Lost in some trance, the praying mob never stirred, granting the girl a fair chance to escape the bewhiskered man who was still several strides away. Her feeble legs made three to four steps when her muscles swiftly turned to stone, and her stomach lurched. 

‘No! It couldn’t be! How?!’

Curls shining like precious coils of onyx, August emerged in front of her, continuing his relaxed gait as if this was a natural occurrence. His bright icicles melted into malicious dark pools of twisted desire, and his tongue briefly laved his plump lips at the sight of pure disbelief that cascaded over her face. He could feel right under her skin, hear the thrumming heart that both chilled and fumed for him. Further beyond her thoughts, his betrothed yearned to be defiled and torn open by him. 

It was her destiny, whether she liked it or not. 

Still she fought, so ferocious and defiant, flinching away from his attempts to seize her. It was almost comical to watch her deny him, knowing that her fate would be no different; she will spread her legs and submit to his conquest. And yet, her battle was immensely appealing; what better bride to the dark lord than a woman who breathed fire.

“Who are you?!” She cried, her trembling voice rising with panic and her cheeks soaking with tears, “What do you want from me?!”

August's face was devoid of mercy, her whimpering hisses did nothing to deter him and only further increased the appetite of the deprived wolf that circled in his gut. With a wring of his wrist, his fingers snapped at her elbow, hauling her against his rock-hard chest with such might her heels hovered above the ground. 

Writhing in his grip she flung her hands at his face, clawing streams of crimson to trickle down his cheeks. The notion of hurting this vicious man brought somewhat of a sick joy; but her onslaught died at once, and her mouth fell agape as his skin healed with not even a trace of injury. 

“Oh God, what are you?!” She shuddered. 

Still holding her elbow hostage, his free hand travelled to the hem of the white gown, the long, perverted fingers twisting around the fabric before yanking it off at once. A resounding rip echoed through the tall arches, causing the chanting choir to halt their susurrations at once. 

All eyes were afloat as the cold air kissed her skin. In vain, she attempted to cover herself only to be felled by the restraints of August’s grasp. 

“God?...” The man finally spoke, his melodic voice ending with a sonorous hum that sprouted through her arteries like a deadly toxin. Not less poisonous, his gaze trailed down her form, worshipping the very sights of his delightful prize. 

“Not God, but once I was an angel,” he suggested and leaned down to inhale her skin with a gratified growl before he flicked his wide tongue at her chest.

A groan of approval emitted from his lips, the sheer coat of sweat that layered her bosom was soaked of freshly brewed fear, his most favourite savour. His wet, velvety snake swept the sweet-briny wetness and licked further down her breasts, twirling around the erect nipple.

Unintended, she moaned. A river of delights rushed between her grinding thighs.

“No!”

Wrongful, unwanted bliss awoke in her. She felt desecrated and allured at once. Her fickle body deceived, mistaking this vile conquest as consensual. And the more August took, the more she desired; her dutiful womb demanded to consummate this bond, almost as if the beast had bewitched her a long while ago, embedding his essence in the marrow of her bones. 

August grinned against her skin, the scent of her arousal fresh in his nose while his lips travelled to kiss down her sternum and the slope of her torso. His thick whiskers left a trail of fluttering butterflies.

“Have sympathy, my love. I had built my own realm and waited in the forlorn abyss. Empires fell and worlds disintegrated into ashes while I waited for thou,” he explained and clutched the cheek of her behind in his claw, squeezing it possessively. “I have longed for your touch since the day your ancestor promised you to me, little lamb. A hundred years’ worth of waiting for the bargain to reach its end, and for you to finally be ripe.” 

The beast pressed one last languid kiss below her navel, a guttural hum exuded in between his lips, huffing hot against her belly. Slowly he rose to his full height, towering above his helpless victim who hugged her arms to cover her naked body and watched her nightmare unfold once more. Cold wind chilled her damp cheeks as August flung the blood-red cloak and exposed his naked figure before her.  

He was massive, a masculine build fit for a warrior angel, covered with thick bulging muscles and dark hair. Lips parted, she forgot herself, gawking in awe and allowing her gaze to trail down to his unapologetically monstrous cock. Firm and throbbing, it dripped with hunger, urging to find release inside her clenching cavern.

She didn’t even know a man could be this vast, but alas, he was no man at all.

It was at that moment when blackest wings spread before her that realisation finally struck through like a blunt hammer to the back of her head. Covering her mouth she cowered away, her exposed back hitting the raised altar behind her. 

August was no man nor god, but Lucifer himself. 

Seeing the hope die in her eyes, the devil sneered. 

“No, no, no! This can’t be real! This isn’t real!!!” She yelled, pathetic little hiccups sputtering from her lips.

August tilted his head, giving a scornful pout and scoffed with amusement. “Am I not?” He asked as he lifted an arm to flick his fingers, summoning two of the hooded servants to approach the dais. Their eyes were soulless gems embedded to a grey face that was cracked like a broken eggshell. 

“I am real, beloved, as real as the child you will conceive me tonight.” 

Shrills of terror flew through the great hole in the ceiling. Kicking and screaming, she fought as the men seized her arms and dragged her to the altar, forcing her flat down and holding her arms to prevent her from escaping. They never blinked at the ferocious war she waged against them, though an impish smile slowly possessed their faces as their master strode forward. 

“Sweet little lamb,” August chanted, enamoured with his fiery bride while he sauntered by the edge of the altar. His Adonis body golden in the candlelight, his fingers squeezed and pumped the ravenous demon that hung heavy between his legs. The twinge in her womb rose in response, a low roar thrumming as it yearned to succumb to its unbridled purpose. Sheen, the arousal trickled between her kicking legs and onto the smooth stone, making her cheek flame.

Much to August’s pleasure. 

“Our son will burn this world to cinders,” he promised and snaked his fingers at her ankles. Calmly deflecting her attempts to kick against him, he dragged her toward him until her knees folded over the edge and spread between his thighs. The platform was in the perfect height, positioning her delicious Eden at the height of his blessed demon. 

“You will make an excellent mother.”

Her entire body shook, her cunt clenching along her sobs in both defence and beguiling need as August leaned in and grazed the silky pink crown between her wet petals. She begged he wouldn’t be able to invade her, but her prayers fell to deaf ears.    

“Please don’t do this to me! I will do anything… please!” She wailed a bargain, still trying to escape the servants’ grip and looking at him pleadingly, “I… I...haven’t been with a man!”

“Oh I know…” August beamed and stroked himself back and forth between her engorged lips. Vamping flames tingled at her flesh, her core foolishly squeezing around nothing in demand for this wretched monster to defile her.  

“You’ve kept yourself for me, didn't you? I have waited for you too, for centuries even, but now our waiting has ended, and I can finally love you.”

With one brutal thrust, he breached through the gates of her sacred haven, corrupting her purity and ripping her open with the elegance of a savage. 

Exasperated bats fluttered their wings over the red moon at the sound of her pained howl. Eyes flared to the bleak sky above; the girl watched them in a daze, disbelieving the blazing demon that scorched her from inside as he nestled himself between her resisting gates with no intention to cease. 

In his villainy, August pushed further. Stunned thunders of ecstasy erupted from his lips, all to humiliate her along with the dark minions who circled the altar to pervertedly witness this sacrilegious ritual in which their master ravaged the unwilling maiden. Ignoring her body’s vehement protest, he forced himself unfathomably deep, only stopping until the head of his cock kissed the gateway of her cervix.

Crystalised tears rolled down her temples and stained the cold marble beneath her body. Slit impossibly sore, she twitched and sobbed at the overwhelming feeling of being invaded by another entity. Her once protected realm was now under the domain of a ruthless prince, and he took no prisoners and granted no mercy nor care at her vain endeavours to push him out. 

He would never stop. He would have her again and again until her sacred little womb would be plentiful with his seed. 

“Tight,” he blurted out in a blissful huff and reached his talons to bite into her quaking thighs. Spreading her wider, he hooked his hands below her knees, moulding her into a vessel to be fulfilled. Arctic orbs glazed down her naked figure, his plump lips cooing at her aching whimpers. The taut and hairy muscles of his gut flexed as he carefully withdrew his vicious cock, coated in the crimson sorrow of her maidenhood.

Hollow pain throbbed in her empty cunt as he suddenly abandoned her. Distressed and overwhelmed, she hoped he would stay out, yet her traitorous body coveted his return in a false faith that it would ease the fervid twinge that soared to her belly and even burnt in her breasts.

It was far from true.

No less vigorous than before, August plunged back inside her, stretching her again, shaping her as his own as she yipped and struggled to escape. His head threw back with a roar of divine pleasure, feasting at the thrill of her dauntless veils wrapping around him like a succulent flower. For a moment there, he wondered who preyed on who. Her concupiscent little cove sucked him so wantonly it threatened to swallow his raging cock. 

‘But of course, every virgin is destined to become my whore.’

Hot and heavy, his shaft seized the void that had always been inside her, their heaving organs collided in euphoric bliss like two broken shards that were lost for decades and finally pieced back together. And even though she seared with every jerk or shift he made, the impassioned flames licked at the seams of her twitching cunt in waves of ache and foreign desperation. 

“No…” she whispered, shame singeing her throat as the little pesky sparks enkindled where the devil had violated her. Vision blurry, she gazed at him utterly mystified. Part of her warred to stoke the fire that screamed heresy, while the other begged to yield to her demise.   

As August pulled away again and thrust harder, a breathless moan tore from her lips.    

A cutting grin radiated onto his face. “It feels so good inside you,” he sang and slid one hand to stroke all the way down from her sweat-ridden thighs to her belly, feeling the movement of his cock with every push and shove. 

He was taunting her, yet she couldn’t care less. Over the cinders of pain and virtue, a garden began to bloom. With every abysmal stroke of his swelling shaft, she could feel green saplings and coy vines growing within her uterus—soft, beautiful tendrils stalked through her arteries, sprouted through her cove, and engulfed his swelling demon as well.

She was no longer burning but becoming alive. Pained cries suddenly evolved into asphyxiation of bliss. Beyond her realisation, she undulated her hips in the desire to endure each of his wet claiming thrusts. Her spine coiled against the surface, further allowing him easier passage to nourish the wilderness that continued spreading through her blood. 

Noticing the change in her, approving groans rumbled in his throat; his little bride was growing tighter around his demon, her quivering lips and fluttering lashes the image of true Elysium. It was not long before he would plant his seed in her fertile lush. Her cunt milked and suckled around him, demanding to be bred by the devil. 

“Yes, my love! Give in to me! Give in to your primal sin!” August urged, enhancing the rhythm until he was thrusting into her like a battering ram, the sinful elixir of their union smearing on his groin and dripping down her rump. “Descend with me!” 

In her delirium she witnessed magical nightshades and sinewy stalks growing amidst the gritty bricks, encompassing the ominous cathedral with bright colours. 

It was paradise on earth, given to her by the unearthly rapturous joy of having this demon violate her, slamming harder with growing frustration until his thick girth ripped through the last threads of her self-preservation and that which she tried so hard to deny erupted through her clenching core.

Euphoria. 

For a lingering moment, she had wings of her own, pale as precious pearls and lustrous stars. Tingling waves of ethereal white heat burst at her seams, purifying her as she flew above the cathedral, and watched their ungodly union from above. But her wings suddenly caught aflame and before she knew it, she crashed onto the earth with a secondary, more violent climax. 

The beast’s roars erupted into a brutal thunder, causing the sturdy pillars of the cathedral to quake and crack like thin glass. With all his might, he clutched her thighs and hauled her against him, slamming his swollen cock deep into her belly and releasing his smouldering, milky essence until it seeped from her sleek. August’s wings flew open as he found his own rapture, blazes following through and consuming the ancient hall. 

This was no longer a hallucination. 

This was Inferno.

Still radiating with orgasmic glow, she screamed horrified as everything around them vehemently burnt to coals. Even the soulless servants crumbled into dust, accepting their fate without so much of a yip. The fire raged and died within seconds, leaving nothing but broken pillars and ashen smoke.  

Shortly, the tepid air of night caressed her naked skin as they remained alone in the ruins of what was once an ominous cathedral. Still buried in her viscera, August broke into a low, stretching groan of relief which made her immediately return her eyes to him. Shame rose bitter in her throat and new fresh rivulets trickled on her cheeks.  

After all that he had done to her, she could see nothing in him but a beautiful monster.

“My beloved queen,” August keened to comfort her and moved his hand to tenderly stroke her lower belly. 

A toothy smile broke upon his face, his eyes gleaming with surprise as he felt the life that had already begun growing in her angelic fortress. A son, strong and glorious as his father. For the first time in his long existence, the devil was truly elated and he vowed in that moment that he would give her much, and much more. But first, she needed to be cared for. 

Her assaulted hole convulsed with pain as he pulled himself out, leaving a trail of creamy fluids to dribble at his departure. Sniffling and shaking, she watched him bemused, as he climbed onto the altar and moved to lie beside her. Though she no longer flinched as he touched her, what was the point of it anyway? He had already destroyed her and stolen her innocent soul.  

“You make me so happy, my beloved queen,” August had murmured as he gripped her jaw and pressed his lips to hers. His kiss claimed her breath, pillaging whatever left of her chastity and wit until she absentmindedly kissed back, forgetting herself as his tongue bested her will. 

When he broke away, the taste of spiced ruby wine and blood lingered in her mouth. 

“An eternity awaits us,” the devil explained as he pecked her nose and her forehead lovingly, to which she shivered - out of fright or out of want, she couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

“You had made me the happiest, now give me the chance to grant the same favour, ask for anything you want in the world and it shall be yours,” he begged and wrapped her in the shelter of his strong arms to lie down with him on the smooth stone surface.

Absentmindedly, she welcomed the protection offered from his embrace and stared silently as flakes of cement broke from the remnants of the wall floated in the air around her before she opened her mouth. 

“I wish for…” 

Her whisper faded into the dark.

*Disclaimer: I do not own Mission Impossible or August Walker

Beautiful dividers by @firefly-graphics​

[junghelioseok]

clandestine. | 01

↳ forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest.

◇ jungkook x reader ◇ smut | fluff | brother’s best friend!au ◇ 10.3k [1/6]

notes: this fic was originally going to be a oneshot, but i changed my mind and decided i didn’t want to kill tumblr with a totally unnecessary 50k jk fic so 🤷🏻‍♀️ here is part one of a fic that 100% only came about because @puellaigmotum​ coerced me into it like 2 years ago (lmao rip 💀) and also bc i have zero self-control and am hopelessly h*rny for jungkook these days and don’t look at me i don’t wanna talk about it okay??? 🙈

warnings: jk’s massive noona kink, some ~under the table~ action, too much detail about jk’s dumb veiny arms probably, but at least he doesn’t have tattoos bc i started writing this before he got them and i don’t need to torture myself anymore than i already do!!!

⇢ 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 

It’s always been easy to spot your brother in a crowd. Passengers flood off the train, jostling around you on their way to the station’s exit, but even in the swarm you can perfectly see Jimin’s golden head of hair bobbing its way toward you, a deep scowl etched across his face. “You’re late,” he says in lieu of a greeting, his honey brown eyes raking over your scuffed suitcase distastefully as he comes to a stop a few feet away.

“And you’re just as impatient as ever,” you retort, coming to a stop before him with your luggage in tow. “Think you can lord it over me since you can drive now?”

“Don’t forget that I’m your ride home,” Jimin scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I could just as easily leave you here to fend for yourself.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” you tell him, raising a brow in silent challenge.

Jimin stares down at you unflinchingly, and you stare right back. The tension stretches between you, taut and heavy, until every passing second feels like a light year. Around you, the crowd slowly dissipates, but still you remain—two motionless statues locked in a wordless struggle. From somewhere overhead, a monotone voice announces the next train departure times.

Jimin’s mouth twitches. You blink, twice in quick succession.

And then your little brother breaks into a grin—one that’s so wide you fear his mouth may detach from his face entirely. An answering smile settles across your face as you watch him throw his head back, dissolving into laughter that you can’t help but echo.

“Damn it, Chim!” you say, instinctively grabbing onto his wrist when it looks like he might fall over. “Your poker face still sucks.”

“I’ve gotten better!” Jimin immediately defends. “I mean, you’ve got to admit that, right?”

“Nope.” You sigh and hold a hand over your head so you can measure your height against his ever-so-slightly taller frame. “Same old annoying kid I grew up with. Seriously, have you grown at all in the past year?”

“Whoa, too far, Noona.” Jimin takes ahold of both of your cheeks, pinching them affectionately. “You’re only a year older than me, you know. Besides, I’ve been taller than you for two years now!”

“I’m pretty sure hitting puberty at age seventeen isn’t something to be proud of,” you reply, pulling away from him with a mock grimace and giggling when he lets out an offended squeak. Playfully, you reach up to ruffle his hair, scrubbing your knuckles just a little too roughly against his skull.

“Noonaaa,” he complains, drawing out the last syllable until he runs out of air. “Jeez, you haven’t even been back for an hour yet and you’re already being mean to me. When do you go back to Seoul again?”

“Three weeks,” you reply, narrowing your eyes. “But I can and will make these three weeks hell for you. Don’t test me.”

Jimin snickers and drapes his arm over your shoulders. He picks up your suitcase with the other hand, and you thank him with another, gentler hair ruffle as the two of you start toward the exit of the train station. “College hasn’t changed you one bit.”

“And senior year hasn’t changed you,” you say, letting him guide you outside and breathing in the balmy summer evening air. Jimin’s brow furrows as he tries to remember where he’s parked, and you kindly take your suitcase back when he nods decisively and heads toward the left side of the lot. “You excited to graduate?”

He sighs, fumbling in his pocket for the keys as the two of you approach the car. “It’s going to suck. Your ceremony was boring as hell last year.”

“Wow, rude.”

Jimin looks up from where he’s unlocking the driver’s side door. “Am I wrong, though?”

You flash him a grin as he unlocks the remaining doors, heaving your suitcase into the backseat before sliding into the passenger seat beside him. “Nope. But afterward, you’ll be done with high school forever.”

“Thank god.” Your brother rakes a hand through his hair, mussing it further as he carefully starts the ignition and checks his mirrors with all the diligence of a new driver. Once satisfied, he pulls out of the parking space, meandering his way out of the lot and onto the main street.

The ride back to your childhood home is a short one, full of familiar storefronts and landmarks that dredge up all sorts of fond memories. You hadn’t expected your first year of university—away from your family and your hometown—to make you quite so emotional. But before you know it, Jimin is making the turn into your neighborhood, and you can’t stop the way your eyes begin to well up when you see your house in the distance.

As if reading your mind, Jimin glances at you as he pulls into the driveway. “Feel good to be home?”

You nod, blinking back tears. “Feels great.”

He grins. Pulling the key from the ignition, he climbs out of the car and grabs your suitcase, waving for you to head inside. Eagerly, you start toward the front door, but you barely make it halfway up the driveway when it bursts open, revealing your father standing there with open arms and an enormous grin. He’s just as tall as you remember, and looks exactly the same save a few more strands of silver lacing his hair. All of a sudden, you’re a little girl again, running up to give him a hug and giggling madly when he tries to scoop you up like he used to do so many years ago.

“Hi Dad,” you greet when he gives up and sets you back down on two feet. “Where’s Mom?”

“Cooking up a storm,” he replies, chortling. Wrapping an arm around your shoulders, he leads you into the kitchen where your mother is hunched over the stove with a spatula, delicious aromas wafting up from the array of pots and pans in front of her. “Honey, look who’s home!”

“Hi Mom,” you say, grinning when she whirls around, startled. The spatula, still dangling loosely from her hand, drips sauce onto the tiled floor, but she barely notices in her eagerness to give you a hug, throwing it down into one of the simmering pots and striding forward to wrap you up in a tight embrace.

“How was your trip?” she asks, pulling back and angling your face this way and that. “Did you sleep on the ride? Did Jimin drive safely?”

The last question draws a protesting whine from your brother, who has lugged your suitcase over the threshold and is now seated at the dining table, fiddling with a spoon. “My driving was fine, right Noona?” he says, his bottom lip jutting out into a pout.

“Yes, Chim,” you agree, laughing at the pleased expression that overtakes his face. Curiously, you walk over to the stove to inspect the food, your jaw dropping as you take in the assorted vegetables and meats. “Wow, Mom. Are you cooking for an army?”

“Jungkook is coming over for dinner,” she explains, following you over and plucking up the spatula again. “That boy has the biggest appetite I’ve ever seen—you remember, right?”

You laugh. “Of course I remember. He and Jimin were always stealing bites of my lunch at school.” Peering over at your brother, you fix him with a mock glare before walking over to the cutting board on the counter and sizing up the pile of onions and peppers sitting there. “It’ll be nice to see him again, though. How is he doing?”

To your surprise, a new voice answers your question—a voice that somehow manages to be simultaneously familiar and foreign. “Why don’t you ask me directly, Noona?” it says, and you whirl around, wide-eyed, to face the newcomer.

This can’t possibly be Jeon Jungkook, is your first thought upon seeing the young man standing in the kitchen doorway. The Jungkook you knew in high school was a scrawny kid—all gangly limbs and a nose that was too big for his face. The Jungkook you knew wore oversized white t-shirts that made him look even younger than he was, a look that was only enhanced by round wire-rimmed glasses that always gave him a look of permanent astonishment. The Jungkook you knew was nowhere near this tall, and definitely not this broad.

But this Jungkook—this Jungkook takes up nearly the entire doorframe with his bulk. Dark eyes stare at you from beneath equally dark hair, his gaze unhindered by his old glasses. A cobalt blue shirt stretches tight over his chest, and you swallow when you notice just how much the buttons are straining to contain the muscle underneath. Black jeans and simple black sneakers complete his outfit, and the entire look is so jarringly different from what you’re used to that you are left momentarily speechless, gaping like a fish out of water. Vaguely, you wonder when he got his ears pierced.

And then Jungkook—or at least, the young man claiming to be Jungkook—takes three steps forward, his entire face melting into a crinkly-eyed grin. You catch a glimpse of the adorably prominent front teeth that always made him look like a rabbit, and that’s all it takes to break the spell.

“Jungkookie!” you exclaim, darting forward to greet him. “It’s been so long!”

“Hi, Noona,” he replies, his grin widening at your approach. In an instant, he has you wrapped up in an embrace, easily lifting you off the floor in a display of strength that would’ve had a lesser woman swooning. His hands curl firmly around your waist, and you have no choice but to wrap yours around his nape, squeaking in protest when he spins you in a full circle.

“Kookie!” you gasp, wriggling helplessly in his grasp and huffing when he only cackles. “Put me down!”

Obediently, Jungkook lowers you back to the ground. His hands linger on your waist until he’s certain that both your feet are planted firmly, and it’s only then that he pulls back to get a good look at your face. “You know I’d never drop you, right?” he asks innocently.

“As if I can trust anything that comes out of your mouth,” you retort with a laugh. “I’ve seen you scam your way out of detention with those pretty doe eyes. Don’t try me, kid.”

Jungkook snorts. “Kid? I’m not that much younger than you. Plus I’m older than Jimin, y’know.”

“By a month!” your brother protests from the dining room, his blond head popping up from behind the vase of daisies serving as a centerpiece.

“Month and a half,” Jungkook stage-whispers to you, cupping a hand and bringing his mouth to your ear conspiratorially. His breath tickles your cheek, and you swat him away with a giggle that becomes a full-on laugh when Jimin lets out an offended cry and rises to his feet. Striding over, he pokes Jungkook squarely in the chest, his eyes narrowed.

“I invite you over to my house and this is the thanks I get?”

Your dad chooses that moment to interrupt from the living room. “Your house? When exactly did you start paying rent, Jimin?”

Jimin’s jaw drops. “Are you taking his side?” he asks in disbelief, glaring at Jungkook when he starts laughing. “I’m your son!”

“I’m your father,” your dad replies.

“And I’m your mother,” your mom pipes up, brandishing a spoon. “And I’m telling all of you to get your butts over to that dining table in the next ten seconds, or no dinner for any of you.”

Your dad, Jimin, and Jungkook immediately fall silent, cowed by her proclamation. Grinning, you join your mother at the counter, grabbing a handful of spoons and accepting the platter of kimchi she hands over. “Direct as always, Mom.”

She laughs and picks up a bowl of rice. “To deal with men like them? You have to be.”

Food in hand, you make your way into the dining room. The table is set, the steaming food arranged neatly in the center, and you watch as your mother takes her seat next to Jimin and leaves you to sit beside Jungkook on the opposite side. Your father beams from his spot at the head of the table, glancing at each of you in turn before turning and giving your shoulder an affectionate squeeze.

“Look at you kids, all sitting at the same table again.” He sighs, and you’re certain that he’s thinking back to the last time all of you were together—well over a year ago, at this point. “It’s a shame that your parents couldn’t join us, though, Jungkook.”

Jungkook nods. “Yeah, they told me to apologize on their behalf. They have tickets for the theatre tonight, and couldn’t get a refund on them.”

Your father laughs and waves the apology off. “I’m sure we’ll catch them next time,” he says. “Pretty hard to avoid each other when you live next door, isn’t it?”

“Definitely,” Jungkook agrees with a chuckle. Then he turns to you, the silver hoops in his ears glinting in the light from the overhead chandelier. “I’m sure they’ll drop by soon to see you, Noona. Mom wants to hear all about Seoul—I think she’s worried about sending me so far away by myself.”

“Junghyun stayed in Busan for university, didn’t he?” your mom asks.

Jungkook nods. “Yep, he still lives downtown and everything. He wanted to come over tonight, but his work wouldn’t let him take the time off.”

Your mom sighs. “That’s such a shame. Is he at least attending your graduation?”

“He’s driving in the day after tomorrow for the ceremony,” Jungkook confirms. Then he pauses, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. His gaze flickers down to the plate of sweet potatoes on the other side of the table, and before he can even open his mouth, your mother is already passing him the plate. He thanks her with an embarrassed chuckle but digs into the food nonetheless, and everyone else takes it as a sign to follow suit. You’re in the middle of scooping rice into your bowl when Jimin speaks up again.

“So what’s it like living in Seoul?” he asks, his cheeks bulging with pork belly. “You have roommates, right?”

“Suitemates,” you correct. “But yeah, I live with three other people. Namjoon, Hoseok, and Jennie are all great though, so it hasn’t been a problem.”

Jungkook pauses mid-chew to gape at you. “You live with guys?”

“My building’s co-ed,” you explain. “We all have separate bedrooms, but we share a common space and bathrooms.”

Your mother—on the lookout for any potential future grandchildren, as always—perks up. “Namjoon and Hoseok sound like nice boys. Are you friends?”

“Yes, Mom,” you sigh. “We’re friends. Just friends.” And then before she can ask about whether or not any other boys have caught your eye, you quickly turn back to your brother. “So, what’s your plan for next year? Are you and Jungkook living together?”

Jimin hums. “Yep, that’s the plan. Unless you want to live with us too, Noona.”

You laugh. “Why, so I can protect you from all the bullies like I did in elementary school?”

He flashes you a cheeky grin. “More like so I can protect you from all the weird college guys. Who’s this Hoseok guy anyway? Do I need to beat him up?”

“Please don’t beat up Hobi,” you entreaty, giggling when he pretends to crack his knuckles. “Or Joon!” you add quickly when he remains undeterred and makes to stand up from the table to defend your honor. Balling up your napkin, you throw it at him, and both of you burst into hysterics when your makeshift weapon bounces off his forehead and straight into his glass of water. The rest of dinner passes in a haze of similarly playful antics and happy chatter, and by the time the last bowl is scraped clean, it feels as if you’d never even left.

“I’ll do the dishes,” you volunteer, standing up and gathering up the empty platters. Jungkook and Jimin are quick to jump to your aid, collecting any utensils that you missed, and you offer them a grateful smile as they follow you into the kitchen.

“Let me do the washing, Noona.” Jungkook rolls up the sleeves of his cobalt blue shirt to expose a familiar silver watch glinting on his left wrist—a watch that his father handed down to him when he was sixteen, and that had been worn by his grandfather before him. You still remember the day he’d first worn it to school, proudly displaying it even though the band was too loose around his narrow wrist.

He’s grown into it now, you realize. The watch no longer flops around like it used to, and sits snugly in place instead. Your eyes trace the silver buckle on the inside of his wrist before trailing up to follow the network of thin, branching veins in his forearm, admiring the smooth flex of muscle as he grabs a sponge from the wire rack hanging above the sink and squirts some dish soap onto the surface.

“I’ll dry,” Jimin chirps, selecting a towel and brandishing it. “Noona, do you want to help me? We’ll finish faster that way.”

Nodding, you pull another towel out from the drawer and rejoin the two boys at the sink. Jungkook washes quickly and efficiently, and you determinedly avoid staring at the way water trickles along the patchwork veins on his hands as he gives you bowl after bowl to dry.

It doesn’t take long for all the dishes to be washed and dried. The three of you take the time to put them back into the proper cabinets before bidding your parents a good night, heading out onto the back porch. Falling back into old routines feels like second nature, so you plop down onto the steps without hesitation and grin when Jungkook takes a seat beside you.

“Wait, I almost forgot!” Jimin exclaims, bouncing up from where he was beginning to sit down next to Jungkook. “I bought some beer earlier and left it in the trunk. Be right back!”

You watch your brother run off, his floppy blond hair a stark contrast with the deep blue evening sky. In seconds, he’s disappeared around the corner of the house, leaving you and Jungkook alone on the porch steps.

“Chim really hasn’t changed one bit,” you remark with a laugh, turning toward your dark-haired companion.

Jungkook chuckles. “The kid loves his alcohol, that’s for sure.”

“Please.” You elbow him in the ribs. “I know you’re just as bad as he is.”

“Maybe,” he concedes with another chuckle. “But come on, Noona, you can’t tell me you don’t enjoy a drink every now and then. What about all that college stress?”

You hum, leaning back on your hands and staring up at the sky where the full moon is just beginning to rise, surrounded by a smattering of stars peeking through the velvety darkness of night. “I never said that I didn’t enjoy a drink, or five.” Jungkook laughs at your remark, and you smile before letting out a soft sigh. “I’m glad Jimin got the beer, though. Maybe I’ll finally be able to stop stressing out about my internship.”

That sobers Jungkook up immediately, his eyes widening as he peers down at you and lays a gentle hand on your back. “Are you still worried? You already got the job, didn’t you?”

You nod slowly, thinking back to the job offer that you had accepted at the end of the semester. It had been difficult finding a company in your desired field that offered internships to first-year students, but with dogged persistence and a lot of luck, you’d managed to snag a summer position. It isn’t due to start for another three weeks, however, and while you’re grateful for the chance to visit your family, part of you also wishes that you didn’t have to wait such a long time. “I just have no idea what to expect, you know? The only jobs I’ve ever had were in retail and food service, and that was all ages ago. I don’t feel ready at all.”

A strong arm settles across your shoulders, and you look up to see Jungkook gazing down at you with something indiscernible sparkling in his deep brown eyes. “You’re gonna be amazing,” he murmurs, his voice whisper-soft. “You know that, right? You always are. This won’t be any different.”

And you believe him. Every detail of his face is bathed in silvery moonlight—the gentle slope of his nose, the sharp angle of his jaw, the little scar high on his cheekbone—and you wonder how you never realized how handsome he is before now. And maybe it’s the low, soothing timbre of his voice, or maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you—with unspeakable tenderness and gentle affection glimmering in his irises—but you lean in before you can even realize what you’re doing. You don’t look away, and neither does he.

Jungkook’s gaze drops, trailing down the slope of your cheeks until it lands on the curve of your mouth. He hesitates for a split second, his throat bobbing harshly as he swallows and sucks in a breath.

And then his lips are pressing against yours—soft and tentative and just a little bit chapped. Your eyes flutter shut almost on instinct, your body relaxing as he shifts and pulls you a little more firmly against him. Slowly, his arm finds its way to the curve of your waist and settles there. Your fingers curl around his nape, carding through his silky hair.

It’s only when Jungkook’s tongue darts out to run along the seam of your lips that reality comes crashing back down, your stomach plummeting down to somewhere around your toes as you wrench away from his embrace. “Kookie!” you gasp, your breathing labored. “We can’t!”

Jungkook blinks, momentarily entrancing you with the way the stars reflect in his gaze like glittering diamonds. “Why not?” he asks, reaching out for you again. “You kissed me back, didn’t you?”

Squeaking, you bat his hands away. “Jungkook, no! We can’t! You’re Jimin’s best friend, and god, this is all kinds of weird, and—“

The dark-haired young man looks like he wants to protest more, but the sound of footsteps coming back around the house sends both of you scooting back to your original positions on the porch steps. Jimin appears two seconds later, plopping down beside Jungkook cheerfully and dropping a six-pack of beer at his feet.

“What’d I miss?” he asks, seemingly oblivious to the tension lingering in the air as he pops open a bottle and hands it to you.

“Nothing,” you say immediately, accepting the proffered beer. The cool glass bottle is a welcome relief, and you hurriedly take a long sip when your mind unwillingly begins to wander back to just how warm and soft your dark-haired companion’s lips had been.

Jungkook is much slower to respond to Jimin’s question. His shoulders slump as he reaches down to grab a drink of his own, twisting the cap open viciously and taking a swig. “Yeah,” he mutters, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Nothing at all.”

Luck must be on your side, because Jimin doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss as he grabs a beer for himself and flops backward, resting his weight on his elbows as he gazes up at the night sky. “It’s nice out,” he remarks, looking utterly at ease.

You are anything but. Beside you, Jungkook is sipping pensively on his beer, and you are painfully aware of the heat radiating off his body. Jimin is still chattering away, rambling about whatever pops into his head, and you take the opportunity to sneak a glance at Jungkook. His face is cast in silvery luminescence from the moon, his mouth pulled down into a deep, contemplative frown—and you are once again forced to shake off thoughts of how nice it felt to have his mouth pressed against yours.

This is Jeon Jungkook, you tell yourself sternly. Friend, neighbor, and Jimin’s best friend in the entire universe. You kissed him, sure, but it was a mistake. A moment of weakness. And it won’t happen again.

You repeat that over and over, silently reciting it in your head like a mantra, until, at last, you finally start to believe it.

///

You’re in the middle of brewing a fresh pot of coffee after a lazy morning spent sleeping in when you spot Jungkook outside through the kitchen window. He’s standing in the yard in a sleeveless white tee, wiping at his forehead with the back of his hand as he thoughtfully regards the row of hedges that serves as the property line between your house and the Jeons’ house next door. In his other hand is a shovel, and you can’t help the way your gaze automatically traces his exposed biceps, admiring the way they flex when he finally selects a spot and begins digging.

“Is the coffee done yet, Noona?”

Jimin’s voice yanks your attention away from your gardening neighbor, your vision overtaken by a mess of fluffy blond bedhead as he sneaks into the space between you and the counter and obnoxiously cuts you off from the pot of fresh brew. “Hey!” you protest, but Jimin just gives you a cheeky wink before grabbing a mug and pouring out a generous helping of piping hot coffee. After a moment’s thought, he pours you a mug as well, handing it over with an exaggerated bow.

You roll your eyes, but accept the warm cup nonetheless. Following him into the living room, you make yourself comfortable on the couch as he flops down onto the carpeted floor and turns on the television. Idly, he begins flipping through the channels in search for something to watch, and you endure random snippets of the morning news, a cheesy soap opera, and a series of infomercials before sighing and rising to your feet again. “I’m getting some food. Want some toast, Chimchim?”

“Mmm. Sure.”

Slowly, you meander your way back into the kitchen. Your mother is standing at the counter stirring sugar into her coffee, and you smile as you walk up to join her. “Morning, Mom.”

“Good morning, sweetie,” she says, taking a careful sip of her drink. “Did you sleep well?”

“Like a log,” you reply with a grin. Grabbing the loaf of bread off the counter, you pull out a few slices and shove them in the toaster. “Do you want toast? I’m making some for me and Chimchim.”

“Just one slice for me,” she says, opening up the dish cabinet and pulling out three plates. Obligingly, you hand her one of the two freshly toasted slices and drop the other onto your plate. Popping some more bread into the toaster, you’re just about to grab the jam from the fridge when there’s a knock on the door.

“I’ll get it!” Jimin yells from the living room. You hear the soft pad of his footsteps in the hallway and the low creak of the front door as it swings open—and then your brother is snorting out a laugh at whoever is on your doorstep. “Dude, why are you covered in dirt?”

You’re beginning to have a sneaking suspicion as to who your guest is, and it’s confirmed when your brother’s question is answered.

“I’m helping Mom plant some hydrangeas out back,” Jungkook’s voice explains, his tall figure stepping into view a moment later. “Can you come help me lift the bushes?”

Jimin rolls his eyes. “You could’ve just texted me.”

“Who knows if you would’ve answered?” Jungkook asks, laughing. “Knowing you, you’d just leave me on read. Besides—” and here he glances over at you, dark eyes glimmering with an emotion that you can’t quite pinpoint, “—I wouldn’t get to see two of my favorite ladies if I didn’t stop by.”

Jimin pretends to vomit at the line, but your mother laughs delightedly as Jungkook takes another step into the foyer and flashes her a winning grin. “Good morning, Jungkookie,” she greets him. “Have you eaten breakfast yet? {Name} was just making some toast, and we’ve got fresh coffee.”

Jungkook’s gaze slides over to you again, taking in the flannel pajama pants and oversized t-shirt you’re wearing. “Thanks, Mrs. Park,” he says, though his eyes never leave yours. “I ate already, but coffee sounds wonderful.”

You are beginning to feel increasingly vulnerable as Jungkook continues looking unblinkingly in your direction. Thankfully, your mom pipes up, drawing his attention away with a decisive clap of her hands. “Coffee it is, then!” she says brightly. “{Name}, why don’t you grab Jungkook a cup?”

Hurriedly, you turn toward the cabinets, trying your best to ignore Jungkook as he chats comfortably with your family. Your success is limited though, and you can feel his penetrating stare lingering on your back even as you fetch a mug and fill it up to the brim.

“Noona.” Jungkook’s voice comes from behind you, much closer than you remember him being. “Can I have some cream and sugar, please?”

Somehow, you manage to reply without stammering. “Yeah. Sure.” Dumping some of the excess coffee into the sink, you spoon in some sugar and give it a quick stir. Just as you turn toward the refrigerator for the cream, a strong arm cuts you off.

“I got it, Noona,” Jungkook murmurs, backing you up against the counter as he tucks the little white carton into your outstretched hand. His proximity has your heart skipping several beats, and you almost drop the carton entirely when he speaks again in a husky whisper, his mouth at the shell of your ear. “Just a little bit, please.”

You are acutely aware of the heat radiating off of his body, warming your back and flushing your cheeks. Quietly, you open up the carton and pour a splash of cream into his mug, the swirl of white melding with the dark liquid within. “Is—is that enough?”

Jungkook reaches around you to open up the silverware drawer, grabbing a spoon and giving the coffee a stir. “That’s perfect,” he purrs, his hot breath stirring gooseflesh on the back of your neck.

This close to him, it’s easy to forget where you are and who you’re with, but you somehow manage to regain enough of your senses to wrench away and reclaim your personal space. “G-great,” you stammer, picking up the mug and shoving it into his hands, determinedly ignoring the ripple of his arm muscles as he accepts. “Um. Chim. Did you want your toast?”

“Yes, please,” Jimin says, barely glancing up from where he’s made himself comfortable at the kitchen island, idly playing on his phone.

Your mother pokes her head around the doorframe of the adjoining laundry room, where she has clearly started a fresh load if the sound of splashing water is anything to go by. “Don’t make your sister do all of the work, Jimin. Go help her—it’s your food, isn’t it?”

Obligingly, Jimin hops off the stool and grabs his favorite jar of jam, joining you at the counter. He takes the slice of toast you offer him, slathering it messily and taking an enormous bite. “Thanks for breakfast, Noona,” he says, blowing you an exaggerated kiss. “Ready, Kook?”

Jungkook raises his mug of coffee in acknowledgement. “Ready.” Then his gaze flickers back to you, twinkling with silent mirth. “And Noona—thanks. The coffee’s delicious.”

You can’t find the words to answer. Silently, you watch him disappear out the front door with Jimin, following his dark head of hair as it bobs across the yard. His biceps flex as he gestures for Jimin to help him lift a hydrangea bush, and your eyes linger on the stretch of defined muscle, tracing the network of prominent veins running along his forearm before your brain can caution you to stop. It’s almost as if you’re on autopilot, and by the time you zone back in, your gaze has wandered too far south for your liking. Letting out an audible groan, you tear your eyes away from the mouthwatering view of his thick thighs and return to your now-cold breakfast. And you don’t think about Jeon Jungkook again, pushing the image of his broad shoulders and handsome face into the darkest recesses of your mind.

Or at least, that was the plan. Jimin comes back inside after about an hour, tracking mud through half the house before your mother reprimands him and orders him to take off his shoes. Jungkook, thankfully, chose to return to his own home as well, and you immediately banish the thought of him showering off all the sweat and grime that has no doubt accumulated on his toned body. You shove away the mental image of water slicking his golden skin and collecting in the hollows of his collarbones, and when your mind conjures up pictures of what lies south of his waist, you resist the urge to scream into the pile of freshly laundered pillowcases your mom presses into your arms.

You’re just about to head upstairs to scream into a real pillow when there’s another knock on your front door—a familiar cadence that you heard just this morning. And that’s when you realize—to your complete and utter dismay—that Jeon Jungkook isn’t done tormenting you yet. Not by a long shot.

“You again? You do realize that this isn’t your house, right?” you ask, swinging open the door and thanking whatever gods may be out there that your voice remains steady. Then you raise a brow, glancing down at his change in attire. “Wait, why are you wearing a suit?”

Jungkook gives you an infuriatingly impish grin. “Do I need a reason?” His hair is still damp from the shower, a stray lock flopping down across his forehead, and as you watch him brush it away absently, you notice that he’s holding something in his free hand.

“What’s that?” you ask curiously.

Footsteps sound from behind you, interrupting before he can answer. “Jungkookie?” your mother asks, appearing at the foot of the stairs. “I thought I heard your voice. Are you here for Jimin again?”

Jungkook flashes her a winning smile and raises the garment bag he’s holding. “No, I was actually hoping to get some advice. I’ve got my suit ready to go for graduation tomorrow, but I can’t decide which shirt looks better. My mom likes how I look in blue, but I wanted a second opinion from you and Noona.”

To your utter annoyance, your mother coos and gestures for him to come in. He’s already wearing the blue shirt—a pale periwinkle one that reminds you of a cloudless day—but your mom takes the garment bag out of his hand and unzips it to look inside. “What are your options?” she asks.

“Blue, red, and yellow,” Jungkook replies, pulling each shirt off its hanger and holding them up to his chest in turn. “What do you think, Mrs. Park?”

“The blue is lovely,” your mom says thoughtfully, straightening his collar. “But this shade of yellow looks nice too. A handsome young man like you—you really can’t go wrong with any of these.”

Jungkook grins and scratches behind his ear, trying to hide his embarrassment. “Thanks, Mrs. Park.”

The dryer chooses that moment to beep shrilly, signalling the end of its cycle, and your mother darts off to tend to it, leaving you and Jungkook alone in the living room.

“What about you, Noona?” Jungkook asks, just as you’re about to try and sneak out under the pretense of helping with the laundry. “Which shirt do you like?”

“Does it matter?” you ask. “It’s just going to be hidden underneath those horrible black trash bags they make you wear.”

He laughs. “Sure, but what about before and after? You know my mom’s going to want to take a million pictures.”

“Can’t argue there.” Resigning yourself to your fate, you put your stack of clean pillowcases down on the arm of the couch and cross your arms over your chest. “Show them to me again?”

Jungkook raises the yellow shirt, holding it up for a few seconds before swapping it out for the red. “Well?”

You pause to consider it. “Red,” you decide after some deliberation, pointing at your choice. It’s a deep crimson color—almost burgundy—and you rub the silky material between your fingertips before taking it and replacing it onto its hanger. Jungkook joins you with the yellow shirt, his arm bumping into yours as you both reach for the garment bag, and even though you flinch away from the contact, Jungkook doesn’t let you stray very far. A strong hand clamps down around your forearm, and you inhale sharply when he backs you up against the wall and cages you in with his solid body.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Jungkook looks thoroughly unfazed as he blinks a few loose strands of hair out of his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“Jungkook—” you hiss, struggling to see over his shoulder if your mother has returned. “Get off me.”

“Come on, Noona,” Jungkook murmurs. “I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me. Ever since you got back—ever since we kissed—”

“A mistake,” you say, cutting him off with a finger to the lips and glancing around furtively to make sure no one is eavesdropping. “That was a mistake.”

Jungkook raises an eyebrow. “Was it? Because I really wanted to kiss you, and I’m pretty sure you wanted to kiss me too. You kissed back, didn’t you?”

“Y-you—“ You clear your throat and try again, cringing at how shaky your voice comes out. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But Jungkook simply laughs. “Don’t I?” He inches closer until you’re chest to chest, his gaze darkening as it flickers downward and lands on your mouth. Your heartbeat quickens, thudding erratically in your ribcage. It would be so easy to push to your tiptoes and close the distance between your lips.

“God,” you huff. “You’re so—”

His other eyebrow rises to join the first. “I’m so—?” he presses, tilting his head as he awaits your answer. The loose lock of hair flops across his forehead again, and this time you cannot stop yourself from reaching up to brush it away.

“Shut up,” you hiss as your fingers drop down to wind into the soft hair at his nape. “Just shut up.”

And then you’re kissing him—really, really kissing him—pulling him down to your level and sliding your free hand up his infuriatingly toned chest.

“See?” Jungkook’s lips curl up into a smug smirk as he pulls away slightly, his warm breath fanning across your cheeks with every word. “I knew you were into me.”

“God, do you ever stop talking?” you retort, pushing him back until you have enough room to switch your positions and maneuver him against the wall.

Jungkook lets you pin him in place, blinking down at you lazily with his mouth still stretched into that maddening little smirk. “Only if you make me, Noona.” His hands slide down your sides, coming to a stop at your hips in an ironclad grip. “Only if you kiss me like that again.”

So you do. Your fingers tighten in his hair as you crush your mouth to his, and when his lips part you slip your tongue inside. Jungkook—still smirking—relaxes and lets you take control of the kiss, but his hands continue to wander. Before you know it, he’s already snuck underneath the hem of your shirt, rubbing warm circles into the soft skin of your waist. His lips move languidly against yours, his tongue careful and gentle in its exploration of your mouth, and you sigh when he tugs you closer. You’re pressed flush against him by this point, pinning him between your body and the wall, and neither you nor he have any intent to move anytime soon.

The sudden slamming of a door jerks you back to reality. Here you are, standing in the living room where anyone could walk by and see you kissing your brother’s best friend—again. Shakily, you pull away from Jungkook with your heart in your throat, putting as much space as you possibly can between your bodies. “Fuck,” you mutter. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. We can’t do this.”

Jungkook’s chest is heaving, his lips swollen and red. “{Name}—” he tries, but you shake your head and cut him off before he can continue.

“You need to leave,” you whisper.

“But—”

“Please,” you say, your heart hammering wildly in your chest. “Please, Jungkook. Just leave.”

Jungkook swallows, hard. And then, much to your relief, he picks up his garment bag, shoving both shirts back inside. “Okay,” he rasps. “I’ll go.”

Elsewhere in the house, you can hear your mother calling for Jimin. Your father is watching TV in his study—you can hear the low hum of voices and a laugh track. Your entire family is here.

And yet, you’ve never felt more alone as you watch Jungkook stride down the hallway and disappear out the front door.

///

Returning to your high school is odd. The hallways and classrooms are familiar, but they all seem smaller than you remember. And were the ceilings always this short? You aren’t sure. What you are sure of, however, is that Jungkook and his family are currently headed your way, with beaming smiles on their faces and colorful flower bouquets in hand. Greetings and congratulations are exchanged, and it isn’t long before you are face-to-face with Jungkook himself, a tight smile on his face as he meets your eyes.

“Hi, Noona.”

“Hi,” you reply. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

Now that the graduation ceremony is over, he’s taken off his robe to reveal the red shirt underneath. The silky material drapes over his torso and clings to the toned planes of his chest, and your fingers itch to run across the defined muscle. Swallowing down the urge, you instead gesture toward his parents, who are engaged in deep conversation with your own parents while Jimin chats with Junghyun off to the side. “I guess we’re all getting dinner after this, huh?”

He nods. “Yeah, at that one place downtow—“

“Jungkook! Jimin!” A feminine voice interrupts him mid-sentence, and you watch in surprise as both your brother and Jungkook are suddenly engulfed in a massive tangle of limbs. Immediately, you recognize Jisoo and Lisa—two girls you considered casual friends from your own high school days. The third girl in the trio of friends—Chaeyoung—is noticeably absent, but you don’t get a chance to question her whereabouts. “Can you believe it? We’re graduates!” Lisa is saying excitedly, still clutching tightly onto Jungkook’s shoulders. She’s pressed flush against him, her chest molded to his, and the sudden rush of jealousy that takes root in the pit of your stomach takes you aback with its ferocity.

Calm the fuck down, you instruct your pounding heart. Stop it, right now.

“Has Tae told you about the party tomorrow night?” Jisoo asks, breaking you out of your thoughts. “You guys better be there—and that means you, too, {Name}! It’s been forever since we’ve seen you!”

You clear your throat and attempt to smile. “Yeah, it’s been way too long. It’ll be nice to finally catch up.” Unwillingly, your gaze flickers back over to Jungkook and Lisa, doing your best to maintain a neutral expression when you notice the casual way his arm drapes over her shoulders.

Your attempts are in vain. Jungkook notices your stare immediately, a massive shit-eating grin spreading across his face. One eyebrow rises in a silent taunt, and you swear his grip around her tightens. Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you instead turn back to Jisoo, finally voicing the question that’s on your mind.

“So, where’s Chaeyoung? I saw her during the ceremony, but haven’t seen her around since. She didn’t leave already, did she?”

“No, she’s still here,” Jisoo answers, exchanging a look with Lisa. Curiosity piqued, you watch her gaze dart over to Jungkook for a split second before returning to you, a tiny smile gracing her face once more. “She’s with her family right now, but she’ll be at the party tomorrow.”

“I’ll congratulate her there, then,” you say, returning her smile with one of her own. Silently, you wonder at the uneasy glance the two girls had exchanged, but decide not to press it, chalking it up to some senior year drama that isn’t any of your business.

“Well, we should probably get going,” Jisoo says after another beat. “We’re off to dinner.”

“We should be on our way too,” you agree, glancing over at where your parents are still chatting, having absorbed Junghyun into their conversation at some point. Bidding the two girls goodbye, you sidle over to join them, trying your best to subtly nudge your parents toward the door.

After what feels like an eternity, your parents finally decide that they’re ready for a change in scenery. The drive to the restaurant is blessedly short, much to the relief of your grumbling stomach, and you are more than grateful for the brief reprieve from Jungkook and his knowing smirk. It doesn’t last long, however, and you mentally brace yourself when you spot the Jeons’ car in the parking lot of the restaurant. Upon entering, you are quickly ushered to your reserved table where the Jeons are already waiting, and somehow in the shuffle you end up right between Jungkook and Junghyun, the former’s face dissolving into a satisfied grin as he watches you sit down.

Then he turns to Jimin, who’s seated on his other side. “Hey, man.”

You bristle at the blatant way he’s ignoring you. But two can play at that game, so you turn to Junghyun with a winning smile, laying a hand on his shoulder for good measure. The older Jeon brother is four years your senior, but despite the age difference, you’ve always gotten along well.

“Junghyun, I haven’t seen you in ages! How have you been?”

The elder Jeon grins and leans in to give you a hug. “Good, good—work’s insane, but that’s old news. What about you? How’s school going so far?”

You can feel Jungkook’s gaze on you, hot and heavy. The hairs on the back of your neck prickle under the weight of it, and you resist the urge to shiver. Instead, you give Junghyun’s bicep a final squeeze before pulling away, steadfastly ignoring the way Jungkook lets out a disgruntled hiss from between his teeth.

“School is good,” you tell Junghyun. “I’m trying to get all my general requirements out of the way early, so my first semester wasn’t very interesting. I took some more focused classes in the second, though, which made things infinitely better.”

The elder Jeon laughs. “Guess that means you’re on the right track then, huh?”

“Guess so,” you reply, laughing right along with him.

The server stops by to take drink orders, and your parents take it upon themselves to order food for the table as well. You continue chatting amicably with Junghyun as the server returns with a tray of water, sodas, and soju; beside you, Jungkook does the same with Jimin. The only break in conversation comes when the server—a pretty girl with a chirpy voice and a nametag that reads ‘Mina’—leans over to set a glass of Coke down in front of Jungkook. He thanks her with a crooked smirk and a low purr of gratitude that has her cheeks flushing pink, and it’s all you can do not to gape at him like a fish. The flirtatious quirk of his lips, the seductive tone—it all comes far too naturally to him, and you wonder for a moment just where the old Jungkook has gone. The Jungkook you used to know stammered every time he had to talk to an unfamiliar girl, and had trouble looking even you in the eye despite having known you since grade school.

But now, he’s nowhere to be found. The young man sitting beside you remains as calm as can be, shifting his body toward Mina so that he can request a straw.

“Of course, here you go!” Mina’s gaze lingers on his hand as he accepts the proffered straw, eyes widening when his fingers brush against hers lightly.

“Fast service,” Jungkook remarks, his voice dipping into a low, indolent drawl. “I like that.”

Mina giggles and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She’s clearly about to respond to him—flirt right back, undoubtedly—but your father stands up and taps his glass with a spoon before she can open her mouth. “I want to make a toast,” he says, and you send him a silent, heartfelt thank you when Mina wisely chooses to make herself scarce. “Congratulations to Jungkook and Jimin, our two rad grads!”

An audible groan rises up from your side of the table, where Jimin has buried his face in his hands. “Oh my god, Dad.”

“What?” your father asks innocently. “I really think you’re rad, grad!”

Jimin groans again, muffled by the sleeves of his jacket. “I want the earth to swallow me whole.”

Laughter all around. More toasts are given, and the bottles of soju scattered around the table slowly dwindle down to their last dregs. Junghyun picks up the one closest to him and fills up your glass for the fourth time, drawing a protesting whine from your lips as you try to cut him off. “Wait, that’s not fair! Pour some for yourself too!”

“Relax, we can always order more,” Junghyun says with a laugh, topping off your glass before glancing around to find Mina. Much to your irritation, she’s already headed your way, bearing loaded platters of meat and vegetables and wearing a bright smile that seems to only be directed to Jungkook.

“I hope you’re all hungry!” she chirps, coming to a stop between you and the subject of her affections. You swear she shoots you a dirty look over her shoulder before turning back to the table, her cheerful facade back in place as she smiles at Jungkook. “Where did you want me to put the meat?”

“Anywhere it’ll fit,” Jungkook tells her with a suggestive smirk, keeping his voice soft enough so that only you and she can hear.

Mina cannot hide her answering smile. Likewise, you cannot hide the way your nostrils flare, throat bobbing as you swallow down the ugly feelings bubbling up in your chest. You can feel Jungkook’s gaze roving across your skin, but you refuse to look at him, stubbornly facing the front as Mina distributes food around the table. As soon as she’s departed again—her fingers brushing across the back of Jungkook’s chair in the process—you’re up and out of your seat, heart beating faster than you’d like to admit.

“Restroom,” you say shortly by way of explanation. It’s thankfully empty when you arrive, and you immediately make a beeline toward the sink to splash some cold water on your cheeks.

It’s absurd—this snaking jealousy coiling in your belly and winding up between the slats of your ribcage. Straightening up, you give your reflection in the mirror a stern look, silently willing the feelings in your chest to abate. Gradually, your heartbeat slows into a regular rhythm, your cheeks cooling, and after waiting another two minutes, you decide that it’s been long enough. Drying off your hands, you exit the restroom and wind your way back to the table, keeping your pace leisurely even when Jungkook looks up and catches your eye. His expression is unreadable, and you valiantly ignore his burning gaze as you take a seat.

“How is everything?” you ask Junghyun, picking up a spoon and piling your plate with food from the nearest platter.

Junghyun pauses mid-bite to answer. His mouth opens, but you don’t catch his answer because there is a sudden, heavy weight on your knee. A warm palm caresses the skin exposed by the hem of your dress, slow and sensual and deliberate. Your eyes widen and your lips part, but no sound escapes. The rest of the table’s occupants fade away into the background, conversations and laughter dulling into a low drone. Beside you, Junghyun is still talking, but all you can hear is blood rushing through your ears.

And on your other side, Jungkook is smirking.

The bastard.

Gentle fingertips skim along your skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake. Your entire body stiffens, but Jungkook refuses to relent. He’s still chatting with Jimin, chuckling at a joke you didn’t hear, and you wonder how he can remain so calm when you are anything but. Your heart takes off in a sprint, clattering wildly against your ribcage, and for a few moments you are absolutely positive that everyone at the table can hear. Any moment, one of your parents will look over and see how wide your eyes are and how warm your cheeks feel. Any moment, Jimin will look down and see his best friend’s arm snaking beneath the table and realize what’s happening.

And then Jungkook squeezes your thigh, and all thought flies out of your head, dissipating like fog in the sunlight. He’s growing increasingly bold, his fingers trailing up until he can trace the hem of your dress, teasing at the soft material. Your breath hitches in your throat, and Jungkook’s smirk widens. You can see him out of the corner of your eye, trying to hide his smugness behind his soju glass, and for a moment you’re tempted to throw his drink in his face.

But more than that—more than anything else right now—you want him to continue touching you.

He’s sliding beneath your dress now, inching down to the delicate skin of your inner thigh and tracing nonsensical patterns there. You grip the edge of the table as he trails closer and closer to the lace of your panties, knuckles turning white against the dark wood. It’s a wonder no one has noticed your flustered state yet, and you cast concerned glances at Junghyun and Jimin before Jungkook notices your inattention. Punishingly, he slides a single finger into your panties, snapping the lace against your skin and covering the sound with a cough that he buries in his elbow. He can’t hide the way you jolt in your seat though, your knee thudding against the table. Junghyun gives you a worried look, laying a hand on your shoulder as he asks if you’re okay, and you hurriedly nod. And underneath the table, Jungkook resumes his ministrations, languorous and soft and deliberately avoiding the place you need him most, as if he has all the time in the world.

There’s a growing damp spot between your legs. You can feel it seeping through the cottony material of your panties, sticking uncomfortably to your folds. Jungkook’s touch is whisper-soft, caressing along your thigh until your skin is tingling, and it’s all you can do to swallow down the whimper that’s bubbling up in your throat. He’s thoroughly enjoying this—you can tell—and you’re certain he can feel the way you tense up when he suddenly drags a single finger up your clothed slit. A low hiss escapes your parted lips, and in an instant, all eyes are on you.

“Noona?” Jimin asks curiously. “Something wrong?”

“I—” Your mind whirs, searching for an excuse. “It’s nothing. I’m fine. The, uh, sauce was just spicier than I was expecting it to be.”

You haven’t touched a single thing on your plate in minutes, but no one seems to notice your obvious lie. Conversation resumes, and you determinedly pick up your spoon again, intent on getting something more substantial in your belly than the fluttering butterflies that have taken up residence there.

“You sure you want to eat that, Noona?” Jungkook’s voice reaches your ears—a low, dulcet purr that sends electricity shooting down your spine. “You should probably drink some water to cool down.”

And before you can answer—before you even manage to reach for your water glass—he’s slipped his hand into your panties, the warm pad of his thumb pressing experimentally against your clit. The slight pressure has you gasping, your heart pounding hard enough to leap out of your chest as you drop your spoon. Your hands drop down to your lap—one gripping the edge of your chair while the other finds its way around Jungkook’s wrist, and you aren’t sure whether you’re trying to stop him or spur him on. His arm muscles flex underneath your fingertips, and that’s all the warning you get before he angles his hand, a lone finger sinking inside your drenched entrance.

“Oh, fuck.” You can’t stop the strangled curse that escapes your lips, an airy hiss from behind clenched teeth. Your grip on Jungkook’s wrist tightens, but it doesn’t seem to dissuade him at all as he begins a leisurely pace, sinking deeper into your cunt with each thrust.

Luckily, no one hears your whimper. Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, you bite back the sounds threatening to spill out and instead focus on maintaining as neutral an expression as you can muster. Beneath the table, Jungkook remains relentless. Even when your mother looks over and addresses him directly, he doesn’t cease his ministrations, keeping both his tone and his pace even as he responds.

“Jungkookie, you’ve barely touched your pork belly. Are you full already?”

“Stuffed,” Jungkook replies smoothly. He punctuates the word by adding a second finger, and you almost bang your knee on the table again, your eyes going wide at his audacity.

Your mother pushes the platter of meat closer to him anyway. “No need to be polite, honey. Here, eat up.”

Obligingly, Jungkook picks out a few pieces with his free hand and piles them on his plate. “Thanks, Mrs. Park,” he says as he brings some to his mouth. “It’s delicious.”

Satisfied, your mother turns her attention elsewhere. Jungkook returns his to you, and you almost groan aloud when his thumb brushes against your clit again, rubbing tight circles around the sensitive bud before he sheathes both fingers inside you once more. There’s a growing heat coiling in the pit of your stomach by this point, lighting every single one of your nerves on fire. Your body is screaming for release, and Jungkook seems more than eager to give it to you. He’s freed his wrist from your grip, leaving you to clutch helplessly at the table as he angles his fingers upward. No doubt he’s searching for the spot that will have you seeing stars, and you know he’s found it when a sudden burst of pleasure spikes through you. Your mouth falls lax, and Jungkook grins, thoroughly satisfied.

There’s something building inside you, something that has your tummy tensing and your toes curling in your shoes. Jungkook’s fingers dig deep, his palm rubbing against your clit with every thrust, and it takes every remaining ounce of your self-control to resist the urge to rock your hips into his hand. A bit more of that delicious friction, and you’ll be falling over the edge. You know it, and so does Jungkook if the smirk on his face is anything to go by.

And then a voice is pulling you back to reality, a warm hand settling on your shoulder. You flinch at the contact, your startled gaze flying up to Junghyun’s, and balk when you see him staring at you with equal parts amusement and concern.

“I—what?” you stammer. “Did… did you say something?”

Beneath the table, you feel Jungkook’s fingers retreat, leaving you empty and aching for release. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook wipe his glistening hand on his napkin, a frown that can only be described as petulant settling onto his face.

“Whoa, relax!” Junghyun drags your attention back to him, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I just wanted to say goodbye. I have to be up early for work tomorrow, so I’m driving back into the city tonight.”

“Oh!” It takes you a few seconds to process his words. “Right, yeah. Have a safe drive back. It was good to see you.”

“Ditto,” he replies, flashing you a warm grin. “But hey, are you all right? You’ve been a little weird the whole night. Was it the food?”

Gratefully, you seize upon the excuse. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine. I think maybe something isn’t sitting quite right in my stomach, but I’ll be okay. Don’t worry about it.”

He nods and leans in for a hug. “Take care of yourself, yeah?”

“You too. Bye, Junghyun.”

With the elder Jeon brother’s departure, everyone else quickly decides that it’s time to disperse as well. You adamantly refuse to look in Jungkook’s direction as your parents fight over the bill, focusing your goodbyes on Mr. and Mrs. Jeon even when he glances your way with a knowing little smirk and a soft murmur of, “Bye, Noona.”

You can’t look at him. Not when every movement reminds you just how damp your panties are, your core begging for relief. Not when he’s waggling his fingers in farewell—the gesture anything but innocent. “Bye,” you warble weakly, before fleeing to the car.

The memory of his fingers burns fresh in your mind later that night as you lie in bed, your hand stuffed down your panties and working furiously to find that sweet, sweet relief.

[yinses]

made you not look

gojo satoru

rating: 18+

| poor ijichi never saw it coming |

a/n: @j-u-u-z-o​ made a hc about gojo not keeping his hands to himself on a car ride and i took it a step further.  sin responsibly friends. 

you decide to indulge him. rookie mistake number one. gojo satoru, the most powerful sorcerer, a glutinous sweet toothed man with no inhibition, does not under any circumstance need to be gratified. 

but he gave you this cute little pout, hands grabby with insistence when he asked you to please sit in his lap. 

poor ijichi, sitting quietly in the driver’s seat, offered you a polite smile. he was use to gojo’s antics. seasoned to the venturous eccentricity of your relationship. even if he didn’t mind he wouldn’t voice it. but something about the subtle quirk of his lips is enough to sway you over your best judgement. 

it was always expected for gojo to do a good job. to slay whatever curse stood in his path with efficiency. surely even he deserved a treat every now and again. 

utter foolish thinking on your part. 

gojo is absolutely giddy when you agree, eagerly patting his lap before ultimately reaching out to help you settle. the option of car safety is thrown out the window at this point, so you take a sideways position on his thigh, just above his crotch. if he notes your obvious avoidance, gojo doesnt comment, only widening his legs to offer a more comfortable seat. 

when you go to ask if this okay for him, he meets your open mouth with a quick kiss and a mutual nuzzle of his nose. 

and so ijichi takes off without further comment. 

the radio is tuned to something causal, you think it might be jazz. its purely white noise, nothing to get to invested in, but gojo seems to think otherwise. 

there isn’t really a beat to follow, but he manages to tack onto some rhythm as his knee jumps along. the motion isn’t entirely jarring but it still brings you to a light bounce. you catch ijichi’s gaze briefly in the rearview mirror as he takes in gojo’s ‘enjoyment’. eager to please, he reaches out to turn up the song a bit louder. 

gojo’s left elbow is resting on the edge of the car window, face mirrored against the glass. you just miss his smile. 

you’re hardly ten minutes into the ride when gojo first complains that his thigh is getting numb. thinking that he’s finally had his fill, you go to move to the free seat to his right when he gathers your escape attempt and deposits you squarely in his lap. 

this evenly distributes the weight, he reasons. and it makes sense. so your guard drops a little more.

when you first feel the firm press against your rear you think, okay this has gone on long enough. the journey is maybe fifteen minutes from completion and you’ve satisfied the man to his fill. 

as if there was a limit to his greed. 

you make another move to slide into the next available seat when gojo’s arms slip around your waist and tighten. his breath is warm against your nape as he grinds his face there, lips curving up to brush against the shell of your ear. 

if you move then ijichi will see, he whines. 

well at least he’s not denying that he’s getting excited like a school boy. and so you sigh and cater to his whims again. you’ve gone this long at this point. so you settle back against as he resumes the bounce of his knee. 

the road had been a bit bump for the last mile as ichiji was forced to take the backroads from the suburbs to the city. it should be nothing. with proper bracing, you’d be able to steel yourself against the jostling. but you’re under gojo’s care now and he seems content to go along with it. 

with the next jolt his hips rock forward, an eager and positioned thrust against your core. a whimper of surprise leaves you but the sound is lost to ijichi who has become a new fan of the current station. 

gojo’s face is still pressed against your skin, allowing you to feel the beginnings of a wider grin. your breathing halts the moment he places his palm over your thigh. his thumb rests casually over the edge, drawing small circles over the inside. 

you know where this is going. you may have been stupid before to allow it to get to this point, but you’re on track now. even if you’re too delayed to make a difference. 

still you feebly try. hand shooting out to intertwine with his when it dares to flick a forefinger across your covered mound. you try to distract him, rubbing your own thumb against the his knuckles and veins. you’re able to guide his hand up away from the ‘danger’ zone, resting them against your tummy. 

gojo, ever the planner, turns your strategy against you as his fingers hook under your the waistband of your pants. 

satoru, you hiss, eyes darting wildly to the oblivious ijichi. gojo only hums in response, knee raising up and down again to hinder your attempts to fight back. just when you fear it might finally be enough to garner the driver’s attention- you realize with a thrilling chill that the movement has become an accustomed element to the ride.

the rhythm is off now, no longer following along to the latest song but the false intention is enough to bleed into ijichi’s background. 

you sly bastard. gojo chuckles heartily, hand already curling under the elastic of your panties. his calloused fingertips gaze your cunt, spreading the growing wetness and pinching your nub along the way. 

his movements are unpredictable, trading firmness and speed but never fully entering you. you realize with a heated flush that he doesn’t even need to. the situation along is dragging you to the edge at high velocity and you bite your lip to contain your mewls. 

the music is isn’t nearly loud enough to block out any open-mouthed sounds.

a shame, gojo notes as he runs soft circles around your clit. you could be treating ijichi too with your beautiful sounds. 

his fingers ride your slick down to your slit to tease the sensitive folds. your walls flutter and clench around the absence of thickness but your mind fills the void. it helps when his finger crooks and brushes a receptive spot that ignites sparks.

fuck, ijichi. the poor man didn’t deserves this. 

you close your eyes as you work yourself through the tormenting pleasure, hips moving along with the jump of his thigh instead of fighting it. if you’re going to do this, you might as well finish. overall its a tortuous pace- impossible to go too fast or hard without garnering attention. but forbidden fruit is always the sweetest. 

unwisely you hump against his hardness, the action not nearly enough to help him along the way but it meets its goal for you. gojo nibbles along the choked gasps stuck in your throat as your climax washes over you and pulls you apart at the seams. there is certainly a sticky pool of wetness connecting your laps now.

your head falls back against his shoulder as his hands works itself out of your pants. he barely flinches as your heavy pants tickle his ear. 

gojo makes a show out of licking his fingers, delving greedily into the overflow of your essence. 

it was this action that draws the driver’s attention as his brow raises.

“another snack, gojo-san? i fear for your teeth.”

the said man grins around his digits. 

“i wouldn’t worry your little head about it, ijichi. i have it under control.”

[queens-hoes]

Loving the MLQC boys

(semi-nsfw content below cut)

Kiro

Loving Kiro is

Innocent love that never fails to bring the widest smiles to your faces. It’s the purity of first love and the excitement of youth. It’s racing across amusement parks and winning the biggest stuffed animal and sharing cotton candy. It’s walls covered in candid photos and photobooth strips to relive every happy moment of your relationship. It’s the endless optimism of a newlywed stage that never fades away and a constant stream of sunshine. It’s running across an airport and into his arms, tickle sessions and makeouts in limos and getting scolded by his stylists after messing up his hair. It feels too good to be true and sometimes you fear it really is just a dream, only for a cheerful yell of “Miss Chips!” and a noisy kiss against your cheek to bring you back to reality. Loving Kiro is the giddiness of experiencing all your firsts together and feeling like the sun still hasn’t set, even in the middle of the night.

Gavin

Loving Gavin is

Passionate love that works to make up for lost time. It’s the thrill of reconciliation, of reuniting with someone you haven’t seen in what feels like an eternity. It’s his warm embrace around you every morning and the sound of his heartbeat against your ear every night. It’s the weightlessness of flying, the feeling of constantly being protected and of knowing you’re safe, it’s freedom from the constant hustle and bustle of daily life. It’s tracing his scars and pressing gentle kisses against each one, silently reassuring him that you think they’re beautiful. It’s appreciating the simple things and knowing you could be happy with anything as long as he’s by your side. It’s feeling like a lovesick teenager again, of being proud of your boyfriend while constantly stealing his jackets to wear over your own, of wishing on stars and finally watching them come true. Loving Gavin is undeniable warmth at every minute and the surprise over finding home not in a place, but a person who adores you.

Victor

Loving Victor is

Majestic love, the type embodied in royalty AUs. Elegance in everything, from the plating of your meal to the way his fingers glide across your skin, or the way they pull at the knot of his tie before he slides the sleeves of the dress he bought you off your shoulders. It’s red roses to accompany every date and the faint whisper of classical music in his apartment, the lingering smell of caramel on his clothes and the taste of red wine on his lips as you drown in one another. It’s nights at the opera in his private booth, his hand slowly travelling up your skirt in the middle of an aria, hands that have broken and built entire companies, that have brokered countless deals and have saved you more times than you can count. It’s the deep whisper of his voice against your ear, making you vows in every language he knows before ravaging you. Loving Victor is embracing classic romance at every instance and never settling for less— after all, he’s always there to remind you just how much you deserve.

Lucien

Loving Lucien is

All-consuming love that overpowers you completely.  It’s sweet smiles across a lecture hall and warm cups of tea in niche cafes, walking arm in arm and flashing polaroids that make you feel as beautiful as he thinks you are. It’s peaceful afternoons and diabolical nights where you let him take you in a million different ways in your apartment, in his apartment, anywhere you happen to be. It’s the dark glint that enters his eyes from time to time and not knowing if it comes from another filthy daydream or that part of him he refuses to speak about but you both know is there. It’s the looming sense of tragedy and the bitter sting of betrayal soothed only by his lips on yours. It’s letting him claim you over and over even though you both know you should stay away from each other. It’s the crash of your lips with his, coming together like two magnets that can’t survive without the other. Loving Lucien is knowing you’ve fallen in love with the wrong person but being too addicted, too attached to ever want someone else— it’s his shadow constantly in the corner of your eye, watching you, guarding you carefully because you belong solely to him.

Helios

Loving Helios is

Addictive love that you know you’ll never recover from. It’s your heart shattered on the floor and the taste of blood on your lips. It’s the cold feeling of metal against your back as you look up into eyes you recognize but still can’t find answers in. It’s the shock of seeing a stranger in someone you once knew like the back of your hand, of seeing eyes that were once filled with light drowning in darkness. It’s the odd familiarity of his body against yours, yet knowing that it can’t possibly be who you think it is, only to return again and again. There isn’t any romance or affection to be found, no sweet words or adoring gazes, just straight-to-the-point actions that make you feel full while also making you endlessly want more despite knowing it’ll only hurt you. Loving Helios is knowing that the fruit is forbidden and still going back for another bite— it’s knowing that he can only promise danger and you gladly letting yourself be damned.  

Shaw

Loving Shaw is

Mad love that feels like adrenaline coursing through your veins. It’s constantly being on the run from something, whether it be the cops or your responsibilities, but knowing that you’ll never get caught as long as he’s with you. It’s throwing caution to the wind and trying everything at least once, even if you know you’ll hate it. It’s his signature smirk whenever you think you’re being subtle, or the way he dramatically leans down whenever he looks you in the eye. It’s the annoyance of never getting your way but the secret satisfaction of knowing he always gives in to you in the end, albeit with sarcastic comments inserted in-between. It’s the feeling of bass in your chest and your shoes against the pavement and the electric feel of his tongue in your mouth. It’s raking your hands through his soft lavender locks even when he asks you not to because you know he secretly enjoys it, that it soothes him far more than he’ll ever admit out loud. Loving Shaw is knowing you’re playing with fire and happily submitting to the flames, to hell with being burned.