#high ceiling cleaning services

[highdustingsvcsca]

System4 San Francisco East Bay

Based in Moraga, CA, System4 San Francisco East Bay is your go-to for comprehensive commercial cleaning solutions. From strip/wax services to high dusting and post-construction cleanup, they serve a wide range of clients in Oakland and surrounding areas, including dealerships, schools, offices, and various industrial and commercial facilities. Visit: https://system4norcal.com/

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Choiceless Hope in Grief

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Angst, smut. Word count: ~2k

Summary: Following the events of Rook's Rest, Aemond seeks refuge in the only person he has left.

Author's note: Day five of Smuffmas - fireplace and face fucking. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

“He is waiting for you,” Lysa informed her, poking her head through the gap in the soft linen of the curtains that afforded her privacy while she bathed.

She sighed at the interruption, loathe to be pulled from the relaxation that the warmth of the jasmine infused water afforded her. Taking her time was a luxury she often indulged in, her rank and demand within Mother’s allowing her to keep her clientele waiting. However, this particular patron was one that insisted upon punctuality, and his status ensured no leniency for this particular rule.

The steam that wafted up from the tub obscured her view slightly as she peered over her shoulder at the serving girl. “Has he been prepared?” she asked, not wanting to rise from the water until absolutely necessary.

“Yes,” Lysa nodded, “exactly as you instructed. And he has had his draught,” she added, lifting up the empty tray that perched precariously upon her upturned palm, as if to emphasise her point.

“And the payment?” she enquired, turning away and leisurely lifting a leg from the bath, pointing her toes up towards the ceiling and watching as the wetness of her skin glistened in the candlelight.

“Paid up front,” Lysa informed her, “two golden dragons and a silver stag.”

She raised an eyebrow, her leg dropping back into the bath with a splash as her lips parted in surprise. That was more than double what he usually paid her. “Any particular requests?” she asked, attempting to mask the apprehension in her voice, as nerves fluttered in her belly. When patrons paid so handsomely, it was usually in anticipation of services that were considered illicit, even for the Street of Silk.

“Just the usual,” the serving girl replied, shifting from foot to foot with impatience, “shall I tell him you need a minute?”

“No need,” she insisted, with a dismissive wave of her hand, “I shall be there momentarily.”

Lysa disappeared from the gap in the curtains, and she rose slowly from the tub as water dripped down the curves and planes of her naked body in rivulets. She didn’t bother to dry herself – high status clientele often preferred tangible proof that the women they had purchased for the evening were clean. She draped a silk robe of emerald green around her body, tying it closed at the waist; the fabric clung to her dampened curves, accentuating the shape of her breasts and hips. She pulled her hair free of the clasp that held it fastened to the back of her head, allowing it to fall in soft, loose waves around her shoulders. She would ordinarily go to the effort of braiding it, however, with the considerable amount that had been paid for her time this evening she decided that it would not be wise to keep him waiting any longer.

Sliding her feet into slippers, she walked quickly through the pleasure house. The heady scent of fragrant oils and incense hung in the air, doing little to mask the pungent aroma of sex and sweat, instead they clung together, creating an oppressive feeling of humidity.

Moans of pleasure, giggles and the slap of flesh against flesh floated out from each curtained partition as she passed, the thin drape of fabric doing little to protect anyone’s modesty, though all occupied within were too far gone in their carnal acts to mind.

Since having been burst in on by his brother and his retinue a month ago, the man she would be entertaining this evening had insisted upon more private quarters for his subsequent visits. He had been granted use of Madame Sylvi’s personal bedchamber for the services he paid for – an unusual privilege for paying customers, but one that Sylvi had been more than willing to offer to ensure his continued custom.

She pushed into the room, the warmth of the lit hearth heating her still wet skin as she stepped inside, allowing the wooden door to close heavily behind her. Though Sylvi had gone to great lengths to decorate the room with vibrant coloured silks, plenty of candles and plush sheepskin rugs, it did little to distract from its modest size. The space was just large enough for a double canopy bed, a modest table and chair, and the small fireplace that was kept lit day and night to keep out the chill and scare away the rats.

There he was, just as Lysa had said he would be. His pewter cup had been drained of the milk of the poppy it had once contained and now sat upon the table. He knelt, stripped bare, in front of the cracking fire – Prince Aemond Targaryen – the most fearsome dragon rider in all of Westeros, kneeling before a common whore as though their roles had been reversed. In this room they were, at least that was what he paid her for.

She allowed her eyes to linger upon his lithe, yet chiseled physique. Though his hair was loose, hanging in long, silver strands around his sharp features, it did little to obscure the sapphire which sat snugly within his left eye socket - the gemstone glimmered in the firelight, reflecting the dancing of the flames.

She stepped in front of him, gazing down upon him as she crooked a finger beneath his chin, encouraging him to look at her. She could tell from the lack of focus within his seeing eye that the opiates had begun to take their effect, and this pleased her; he was always so stiff, much too closed off before it did, which made her job harder. He was more pliant like this.

His hands reached up to rest upon her hips and he pressed his face into her lower belly, cuddling tightly into her, the tip of his nose flush against her soft flesh. She moved her hand away from his chin, bringing it to rest upon the crown of his head and gently stroked his hair. They remained like that for several moments, the only sound in the room was the occasional crack of a log on the fire.

“They have made me prince regent,” he finally said, his voice muffled against her robe. He pulled back to gaze up at her, his expression was soft, almost tired looking, “are you proud of me?”

Her eyes studied him carefully, taking in the darkness beneath his eye sockets. She knew that for Aemond to be made regent, the king would need to be indisposed, but Aegon had been in excellent health on the many occasions he happened upon this particular establishment in recent weeks. “How did you come to be made prince regent?” she asked softly, trailing her fingertips along his prominent jawline.

Aemond’s eye fluttered closed as he leaned into her touch. She watched the bob of his throat as he swallowed, before looking up at her once more. He answered as a child would when being asked who spilled their milk. “He fell from his dragon,” he said simply.

“How?” she pressed more insistently, tilting her head slightly as she stared intently down at him.

“He was in the way,” Aemond whispered, snuggling his face back into her belly, his grip on her hips tightening ever so slightly.

“In the way of what?” 

She combed her fingers through his hair, watching how the paleness of it shone in the firelight. It was easy to envision how Targaryens considered themselves to be closer to gods than men, when their hair resembled spun silver.

“He was not supposed to be there,” he murmured against her robe, “he would have ruined everything, Rhaenys would have killed him.”

A pit of dread formed in the pit of her stomach at the mention of Rhaenys. She had seen the dragon’s head that had been paraded through King’s Landing, an ill omen if ever there was one. Of course Aemond would have been the one responsible, not Aegon. She felt foolish for not having realised sooner.

“So, what did you do?”

“I burned him,” he replied simply, pulling back to gaze up at her once more, “and I will burn you too if you tell anyone.”

It made her blood run cold how effortlessly the threat tumbled from his lips, how little awareness he had of the consequences of his actions or the true weight of the power he wielded. It was almost childlike to witness, which made it all the more terrifying.

“I will not tell a soul,” she reassured him, cupping his cheek, “but you must realise that what you did was wrong. Did you want to kill your brother, so that you could take his place?”

He lowered his gaze, his brow furrowing as he looked pensive for a moment. “I…no…no, I do not think so. I just wanted him out of the way. But I am better suited to rule than he is, and I will never even get to wear a crown.”

“Be that as it may, even princes cannot simply take whatever they please whenever they please.”

“My own mother thinks I tried to kill him,” he said, looking back up at her, “I see how she looks at me, she is afraid of me. She said I am too impulsive to rule.”

“And what do you think?”

One of his hands moved from her hip, slipping inside the opening at the bottom of her robe and gently stroked her thigh, causing a shiver to run through her. Her core throbbed in anticipation for what she knew he was silently asking for. “I want only what’s best for her. To protect my family. To win this war.”

“That is good,” she whispered, and gave his hair a tug at the roots, making him hiss through his teeth. “Now show me just how good you can be.”

She widened her stance slightly, allowing her thighs to part, as she urged him forward by his hair. He went eagerly, pulling open her robe and using his thumbs to spread open the damp folds of her sex. A groan reverberated through his chest as he swiped a broad stroke with the flat of his tongue against her sensitive flesh, causing her to sigh softly, her head tilted back slightly.

“That’s it. Good boy,” she urged, holding him in place by the back of his head as she ground her hips against his face, working herself upon his tongue as he flicked the tip of it feverishly against her swollen pearl.

The sensation made her thighs tremble, the steadily building ache made it an effort to stand, and she wondered fleetingly how he was not uncomfortable having knelt for so long. The thought was immediately pushed from her mind as he latched his lips upon the delicate bundle of nerves and suckled hard. She mewled, bucking her hips, anchoring him to her with the vice like grip she held upon his roots.

His hands moved to her hips once more, holding her steady as he plunged his tongue inside of her, the tip of his nose adding additional stimulation to the outer parts of her, as he thrust the muscle into her repeatedly. Her skin grew hot and clammy with exertion, exacerbated by the crackle of the flames within the hearth.

The coil within her grew taut, and as though sensing it, he pulled out of her with a lewd squelch of saliva and arousal, redoubling his attention upon her bud, alternating between precise kitten licks and forceful sucks.

Finally, she cried out, holding him tight against her as she shuddered in ecstasy. White hot waves of pleasure rippled throughout her body as her inner walls spasmed with the force of her peak. Only when the final tremor had coursed its way through her body, did she release Aemond’s hair and allow him to draw back.

She gazed down at him, her mind now felt as foggy as his must. He was a vision of beauty, staring up at her, lips and chin shiny with her slick, his pupil dilated with arousal, as his cock stood rigid between his thighs.

“Are you proud of me?” he asked, repeating his question from earlier. “Yes,” she breathed, “my good boy. I am so proud of you.”

Read on AO3

More Aemond fics

[sound-of-scoups]

Moth To A Flame | JJK & KMG | 02

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Female!Reader x Kim Mingyu  Genre|tags: Idol!au, series, established relationship, infidelity, lots of angst, lots of drama, smut, fluff.  Word count: 10.6k Rating: Explicit adult content (MINORS DNI). Chapter warnings: Mentions of BTS hiatus and the military service (yes, it’s a warning), mentions of reader being older than Jungkook (just a couple of months), domestic af, SMUT, oral (f receiving), fingering, petnames, explicit language. If there's more, please let me know. A/N: Chapter three will probably be released at the end of december. At the moment, I’m focusing on something I think you’ll really enjoy, and I want to finish it as soon as possible, which will leave me with little time to edit chapter three. Anyway, enjoy reading! Tags: @mansaaay, @nbjch05, @nejiiiiiiii, @cherrylovescheol, @ninigyuuu, @roseki, @callmemadhatter, @rosewithlxv17, @amandatrain

Summary: Four years ago, you crossed paths with a charming member of the K-pop group Seventeen during their tour stop in Osaka. The two of you shared three intense, unforgettable days before life took you in different directions. It was painful for both of you, but you knew you couldn’t take things any further and had to say goodbye. Now, back in Seoul for good, you’re in a new relationship with another idol: Jeon Jungkook—whose charm and stability make him everything you thought you wanted. You are very much in love with him, and as your connection deepens, it feels like your life is finally falling into place. That is, until you meet one of your boyfriend’s best friends and are stunned to discover it’s the same man you fell for in Osaka all those years ago. As buried emotions resurface and secrets begin to unravel, you find yourself torn between these two men, caught in a whirlwind of love and conflict, testing the boundaries of loyalty and the choices that could change everything.

← Previous ┆ Series masterlist ┆ Next →

It was early in the morning when you found yourself in Jungkook’s kitchen with Bam at your heels, preparing breakfast for the two of you. From where you stood, you could hear the sound of water running and Jungkook’s voice belting out a perfect high note from the bathroom, filling the entire apartment.

You moved around the kitchen with ease, the familiar surrounding comforting as you scooped rice from the cooker and moved it into two bowls on the counter. Bam, ever the eager assistant, watched you closely, his thin tail wagging as he caught the scent of Jungkook’s mom's kimchi leftovers from last night when you opened the container.

“Are you hungry, Bamie?” you asked playfully, giving him a gentle scratch behind his ears. As if he understood you completely, he responded with an enthusiastic bark, making you laugh. “Just a minute, buddy.”

A whole week had passed since the night you met Jungkook’s friends, and consequently, a whole seven days since you’d last seen Mingyu. Since that night, you simply hadn't allowed yourself to think about it at all, not wanting to waste a single minute reliving his words or his reactions to your presence, or even the way your body had responded to his. 

You've filled every second of your day with work and Jungkook, not giving yourself time to process the events of last week. You chose to completely bury the feelings from that night, convincing yourself that staying busy was the best way to cope.

The rush of photoshoots, meetings, and moments like this, preparing meals with Bam at your feet, the routine and domestic life with Jungkook has kept you from overthinking everything—and so far, it has been working perfectly well for you and your anxiety around the subject.

The only times your thoughts drifted back to Mingyu and that night at the restaurant were when you tried to summon the courage to tell Jungkook everything.

On the nights when you were alone in your apartment, lying in your bed and staring at the ceiling, you weighed the idea of coming clean to him, of laying everything out in the open, hoping he’d be able to understand. Yet, each time you got close to letting the truth spill out, the words seemed to vanish from your brain before they managed to escape your lips.

Maybe it was the fear of shattering the world you’d built together, losing him forever, or turning nothing into something. You just knew that whatever it was, the mere thought of losing the peace you had with Jungkook felt like more than either of you could bear. So, you let the conversation slip away and bury it once again.

But every now and then, in your quietest moments, you feared even more that the dam you’d built around your emotions might crack sooner than later. You were so afraid Mingyu would be braver than you and decide it to tell Jungkook everything, the thought simply gnawed at you, knowing you had no control over it.

So far, he has been silent. Very much different from your mind, that was still tangled with questions you didn’t feel ready to confront yet. Although, before you even could allow yourself to find the answers to them, you decided it would be better to push all the thoughts about Mingyu away. 

You told yourself that whatever had happened, whatever had flickered to life in that brief moment with Mingyu that night, was insignificant. It was easier this way, to concentrate on Jungkook and your relationship, to keep your world with him simple and untouched by secrets or memories from your past.

Why risk igniting questions or insecurities over something you were convinced had no relevance in your future?

Besides, even after everything that night, you still felt no need to look back or reconsider your relationship with Jungkook. There was no reason to dwell on fleeting moments, feelings or people you had long since moved on from.

Right?

As you were setting the food on the small kitchen dining table, you could hear the gentle hiss of the shower shutting off, signaling that Jungkook was done and would join you in a couple of minutes. 

You poured the freshly brewed coffee into your two usual mugs, the aroma mingling with the scent of kimchi and rice, making your stomach rumble. At the same time, Bam let out a soft whine, his eyes flicking from the bowls to you, clearly hoping for a bite.

“You’re so hungry, aren’t you?” you leaned down to kiss the dog’s head, voice shifting to the soft, affectionate baby tone reserved exclusively for him. He licked your face in response. “Yes you are, my baby.” 

You got up again and made your way down the length of the pantry toward the cabinets where Bam’s food was stored. He trailed behind you eagerly, his tail wagging when picked up on what you were going to do, his excitement growing with each step you took. 

Quietly, you moved around, passing neatly stacked jars and spices until you reached the right cabinet, shaking the package slightly to tease him. Bam's tail wagged furiously, another whine escaping him as he danced around your legs.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, baby,” you chuckled, crouching down to scoop out his breakfast in his bowl. The sound of kibble hitting his bowl was music to his ears, and he immediately dove in, devouring the meal like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

"Is your eomma being mean to you, Bamie?" you heard Jungkook’s voice behind you, sensing his warm presence close by. “Does appa need to punish her?”

Looking over your shoulder, you found him leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his bare chest, his abs on full display, droplets of water still clinging to his skin. His dark hair was a damp mess, falling into his eyes, and yet he looked absolutely radiant, a perfect blend of boyish charm and irresistible allure. His posture was calm, peaceful, completely different from the tense one he had carried so often these past few days.

So much has been on his shoulders lately. The past few weeks had been a blur of busy days and late nights with BTS latest comeback, and though Jungkook tried his best to keep his energy up, you could sense the weight of the things he was carrying floating in the air between the two of you.

You caught the strain in those brief moments when he thought you weren’t watching, because, not so unfortunately for him, you were always watching, just as he did with you.

You noticed it in the subtle signs he couldn’t quite hide—the sadness lingering in his eyes, the tension in his shoulders, the rare moments when his smile didn’t quite reach those warm, sparkling doe orbs, the pauses mid-sentence as though he was carefully weighing what he could reveal to you. Everything was there and you could see it perfectly, because you knew him like the back of your hand.

You respected his need for privacy, of course, but it hurted your heart to see him bearing his struggles with the way the media was handling the news of BTS hiatus all on his own. And as if that wasn't enough, there were the on-going conversations about military service and the pressure of his up-coming solo projects.

Everything had left you wishing you could share the weight of his burdens, to let him lean on you the way he so effortlessly allowed you to lean on him.

You’d tried encouraging him to open up, reminding him he didn’t have to go through it alone. But Jungkook had a way of steering the conversation away from his worries, brushing off your concern with a gentle kiss, a reassuring smile, a quick joke, or a change of subject, as if he were trying to convince you that everything would be fine, forgetting that it was actually him who needed that reminder.

You’d never push him; you knew Jungkook well enough to know he would talk when he was ready. So, for now, you decided to keep things positive and light, to be his summer Sun, a respite from everything else in his life.

Which meant not thinking about Mingyu and not thinking about the past.

Watching Jungkook, seeing the effort he put into maintaining his usual brightness lately, you decided that this subject could wait—Jungkook's happiness was more important than anything else.

You watched as Bam, mid-chew, paused to glance between the two of you, his tail wagging in earnest now that both his favorite people were in the same room. 

Jungkook walked over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind.

“You know you’re just jealous because I’m his favorite,” you scoffed at him, looking down at the dog, your tone of voice shifting again. “Right, Bamie? Who’s your favorite?”

Bam barked once and rubbed his head on your legs as if confirming your statement, and Jungkook let out a dramatic groan, throwing his head back. 

“Traitor,” he muttered, but you could see the way his eyes crinkled with laughter. “You like pretty girls who give you treats, huh?”

You laughed, leaning back into his embrace. “Well, if you wagged your tail like he does, maybe I’d give you treats too.”

“Careful, I just might,” he whispered into your ear, his voice low and playful. “Good morning, doll.” 

“Good morning,” you replied, your smile widening as he nestled you even closer into his warmth, you both walking back to the kitchen like this. “How’d you sleep?”

His fingers slowly started to trace gentle patterns along your hips. "Perfectly, with you here,” he planted a kiss on your shoulder. “How long have you been awake?"

"Not long," you said with a shrug. “My bio clock woke me up earlier than usual, so I took the opportunity to prepare breakfast early.”

Jungkook hummed softly in response, pressing another kiss to your shoulder, his lips lingering against your skin as if he couldn’t bear to pull away. “Feeling anxious?” 

You pouted, nodding your head. “Just a little bit.”

“How is your day looking?” he asked, brushing your hair to the side so he could rest his head on your shoulder.

"Busy,” you answered with a soft sigh, leaning into his touch. “I’ve got (G)I-DLE’s Yuqi’s photoshoot for Elle’s July issue, lunch with my brother, and later in the afternoon, that meeting with the head of Hybe’s fashion department.”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow, his thumb brushing lightly against your hip bone. “Wow, look at you, all busy and important,” he said, his voice dripping with playful admiration. “Did they tell you why they contacted you during the phone call?”

“No, they didn’t give much detail,” you explained, turning to face him fully and wrapping your arms around Jungkook’s neck as his immediately founding their way to your hips. “Just said it was urgent and that they’d explain everything in person. Something about a group, but I didn't quite catch it.”

Yesterday, you received a call from Hybe’s fashion department requesting a meeting with you at the company building this afternoon. You were in the middle of changing models outfits for the magazine photoshoot in a spot with poor reception, and you could barely make out what the woman on the other end was saying. All you’d understood was that it was urgent and had something to do with one of their group's demands.

The email wasn’t much more informative, simply stating that you had an interview scheduled for today with Kim Injae, the head of the department, and it left you unsure of what to expect or how to prepare for the meeting.

You watched as Jungkook tilted his head, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “A group? What do you think they meant by that?”

“I’m not sure,” you admitted, a small frown forming on your face. “Maybe they want me for a collaboration or a campaign?”

He leaned back slightly, his dark eyes deep in thought. “Could be,”  he murmured. Then his face lit up, a grin spreading as if he’d reached a brilliant conclusion. "Do you think they will bring you back to work with us?"

Your eyes widened at Jungkook's suggestion, and you let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. "Highly doubt it. We both know why I left, and I don’t think they’d want to revisit that."

It wasn't that simple, even though you wish it was. Hybe was a very strict company when it came to the line between personal relationships and professionalism. You being with Jungkook was exactly why you’d stepped away in the first place. You doubted they would give you the position back now that the lines were already blurred.

Jungkook tapped his fingers lightly against your left hip, his thoughtful gaze never leaving yours. Then he raised one hand, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as he stared at you with a knowing look. 

“Well, Soobin told me last week that TXT was looking for a new stylist. Maybe you’re it.”

Your breath hitched slightly at the suggestion. The possibility had crossed your mind, but you’d pushed it aside, not wanting to place expectations. 

“I don’t know. It’s possible, I guess,” you shrugged. “I hate being left in suspense. It could be something big or it could be nothing at all."

You weren’t much of a fan of suspense, and the lack of information they’d provided was making you anxious. It wasn’t as if this was your first job interview or anything new in your field. Still, an inexplicable sense of premonition crept into your nerves, and you couldn’t quite figure out why.

Trying to shake off the unease that was building in your chest, you let out a slow breath. It didn’t make sense to be so on edge—after all, you’d been in this industry for long enough to know that these things were par for the course. 

“All I know is that it’s urgent, since they stressed that they needed to see me today.”

“It’s something big, I’m sure,” Jungkook encouraged you, planting a kiss on your temple and intertwining his fingers with yours. “You’ve been killing it lately, so it wouldn’t surprise me if they wanted to work with you on something major.”

You just loved the way he was your number one fan, always encouraging you no matter what. A smile crept onto your face at his words. “You really think so?”

His expression softened. “I’m sure of it. Whatever it is, you’ve got this. You’ve done this job before, and you’re damn good at it. They’d be lucky to have you back.”

His words made you smile, easing some of the tension in your chest.

“I just wish I knew what to expect.”

“Do you want me to investigate? I'll call Namjoon hyung and—”

You laughed, cutting him off with a shake of your head. “No, absolutely not. You are not calling Namjoon to dig around for me.”

Jungkook’s lips curved into a mischievous grin. “Why not? He owes me for covering for him in the last practice.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help but smile. “As tempting as that sounds, I think I can handle this on my own. Besides, the last thing I need is for them to think I’m sending you in as my spy.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, untangling your fingers to raise his hands in mock surrender. “But if you change your mind, just say the word. My investigative services are always available for you, free of charge.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You offered him a small smile, pressing your forehead against his. "And I appreciate the vote of confidence. It means a lot knowing you've got my back.”

“Baby, I’ll always be right here to celebrate your wins, no matter how big or small.” His voice was calm but firm. He squeezed your hand, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles.

Your heart softened again at his words. "Thanks, Kook," you said quietly, meeting his gaze. "That means a lot."

"Always," he replied simply, his voice steady and sincere.

Sometimes, you wondered if leaving Hybe to preserve your relationship with Jungkook had been a terrible decision. But it was moments like this that reminded you the reason why you didn’t regret it for a single second. He would always be your choice—again and again.

“Oh, man!” he groaned, throwing his head back. “I'm going to have to warn those kids to stay the hell away from you. Yeonjun is a charmer!”

You snorted, shaking your head at Jungkook’s dramatic reaction. “Oh, please. I’ll be there to work, not to be swept off my feet by some gen z heartthrob.”

He crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow at you. 

“I’m just saying. Yeonjun’s a smooth talker, and if you’re not careful, he might try to charm his way into your good graces. I know how those guys operate. And since when do you think he's a heartthrob?"

You rolled your eyes, leaning forward to poke his chest. “Are you jealous, Jeon Jungkook?”

“Me? Jealous?” He scoffed, though his ears turned a suspicious shade of pink. You couldn’t help but smile at the slight whine in his tone. “I’m just being protective. Big difference.”

“Right,” you said, drawing out the word teasingly. “Well, you don’t have to worry. I’m immune to charm when it comes to work. Plus, I already have someone way more charming than Yeonjun could ever hope to be.”

Jungkook tilted his head, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Oh yeah? Who’s that?”

You grinned, running your fingers through his still damp hair. “This buff tattooed dude I know.” 

He let out a soft laugh, pulling you closer by your waist, the heat of his bare chest warming you through the shirt you were wearing—his shirt. 

“Yeah?” 

“Mhmm. Besides, I don’t even like younger guys.”

Jungkook chuckled, eyebrows arching as his gaze sharpened with amusement. Pulling you even closer, he teased, “Oh, really? You do realize I’m four months younger than you, right?”

With a soft laugh, you brushed strands of hair from his forehead, feeling his arms tighten around you. 

“The only exception."

A quiet groan escaped him as he leaned into your touch on his face, his shoulders relaxing as your fingers gently threaded through his hair, eyes slowly closing. 

“Good. Because I was about to say, I’m pretty sure I’ve already ruined you for anyone else.”

You rolled your eyes again, your laughter filling the kitchen. “Cocky much?”

He smiled genuinely with his lips almost closed, only the upper front teeth showing, his cheeks pushing up and nose wrinkling a bit, making your heart squeeze in love. His eyes stayed closed, but his expression was unmistakably Jungkook, full of fondness and something so inherently him that you couldn’t help but stare, savoring every detail of his face. It was your favorite kind of smile on him. 

"Well," his voice low and teasing as he lifted your left leg to hook on his hip, pressing your back to the kitchen island. “I like the idea of being the only one in your life.”

You bit your bottom lip, suppressing a smile, your heart thudding against your ribs as Jungkook’s words sent a thrill through you. His fingers tightened slightly on your thigh, holding your leg firmly against his hip, his body pressing you deeper into the counter.

You shook your head, letting your fingernails trail along his jaw. "Pretty sure you already are, you know, since I’m in love with you and everything."

He peeked at you with one eye, a playful grin tugging at his lips. Then he fully opened his eyes—those soft, doe-like eyes sparkling as his tongue teased his lip ring. His gaze lingered on yours for a moment before dropping to your lips. 

“I love hearing that.”

"And you know," you murmured, tilting your head to the side, your voice breathless as your hands traveled up his chest. "I’m already yours."

His eyes darkened, a pleased smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah?” he whispered, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Guess I just like reminding you.”

Before you could respond, Jungkook’s hand found the back of your neck, his fingers threading gently through your hair as he closed the little space between you and captured your mouth in a kiss. His lips claimed yours, lifting no room for hesitation, only raw, unfiltered need. You responded instinctively, arms wrapping around his neck again as his tongue slipped between your parted lips, his mouth exploring yours with an intensity that sent heat straight through you.

The way he kissed you—like he was starving, like you were the only thing he ever craved—made your mind spin. You wanted nothing less than to be devoured by him.

Jungkook moved with purpose, hands skimming down your back until they landed on your hips, his fingers gripping with just enough pressure to pull a quiet gasp from you. In one smooth motion, he broke the kiss and lifted you, setting you onto the counter, his body fitting between your legs as if it belonged there. Now at eye level, he looked into your eyes for a heartbeat, his own dark and searching. His hands slipped under the hem of your sleeping shirt and then his mouth was on you again, trailing down your jaw to your neck, leaving a line of warm, open-mouthed kisses that made you shiver.

Your head tilted back, breath hitching as his lips continued their slow exploration down your throat. The way his fingers traced your bare skin sent a shiver through you, your nipples hardening instantly, and you could feel his smile against your neck, clearly amused by the effect he had on you.

His fingers danced just shy of where you desperately craved his touch, teasingly tracing the curve of your breasts without quite making contact. Each barely-there caress sent sparks of desire racing through your veins, and you could feel his growing hardness pressing against you, igniting something primal deep within. 

Heat pooled inside you as his hands tightened around your waist, anchoring you against him. You rolled your hips instinctively, drawing a low, guttural groan from him that reverberated between your kisses and sent a throbbing ache straight to your core.

Your hands found their way to his chest, feeling the firm planes under your fingers as you held him close. He let out a low, appreciative hum, your lips meeting again as you draw his lower lip between yours to feel the cool press of his piercing against your mouth. That was all the encouragement he needed to collide your lips completely, holding you steady as he took the kiss deeper. 

His hand slid up your thighs, their warmth igniting your skin as they circled your waist before settling possessively on the soft curves of your ass. The sensation sent a thrill through you, and his hand, still resting on your ass, pulled you closer, pressing your clothed clint against the hardness of his crotch and making you moan. 

“Kook, fuck…” you cursed against his lips, fingers curling into his hair, wanting him closer, wanting more.

When his fingers started to travel south, you could already feel your panties soaked and sticking to your pussy. The effect Jungkook had on you could probably be studied by experts and still, no humanly explainable answers would be found.

“Are you wet for me, doll?” 

Jungkook's voice was low, a teasing edge to it that sent a shiver down your spine. You knew it was a half rhetorical question, because not much later his thumb hooked under the edge of your lacy panties and moved them aside to check it himself.

You bit your lip, trying to suppress a whimper, but it only made his smirk grow wider. 

“I asked you a question,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. “Are you wet for me?”

Slowly and deliberately, his fingers parted your slick folds, his touch both teasing and tempting. His thumb hovered over your clit, not quite touching, just lingering there, driving you wild with anticipation.

Your breath hitched, and you nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “Fuck, yes!”

“Good girl,” he said, his tone dark and dripping with satisfaction, starting to rub your clit nice and slow. “Such an obedient little doll. Always so wet for me.”

A shiver coursed through you as his thumb circled your most sensitive spot, sending waves of pleasure through your body. When his first finger slipped inside you with ease, a soft moan escaped your lips. When he added a second, stretching you just enough to make your head spin, your breath hitched, voice trembling as you moaned his name again. 

“God, how are you so tight?” he asked, not waiting for an answer. His voice was low and rough. “So perfect for me. Just for me, yeah?”

Jungkook's dark eyes never left yours, watching your every reaction closely as his fingers worked you with a precision that left you breathless. He wasn’t asking you a question, he was making a statement and you knew it: you’re his and no one else. 

His thumb circled your clit again in quick movements, while his fingers curled inside you, hitting just the right spot with each thrust.

“Baby,” you gasped, your voice breaking into a needy cry as he found that perfect spot deep inside you, sending a surge of ecstasy through your trembling body.

“Feels good, doll?” 

“So good, Kook. Fuck!”

Your hands gripped his shoulders as ripples of bliss rolled through you. His name fell from your lips like a prayer again and again, each moan driving him further into his focused rhythm. His pace quickened, his movements more insistent as he watched every reaction your body gave him. 

Your back arched, and your breath came in short gasps, the tension inside you coiled tighter and tighter, every nerve alight with anticipation. And then he stopped, pulling back just as you teetered on the edge. 

A desperate whimper escaped your lips.

“Kook, what—” 

He chuckled softly, the sound low and teasing, his breath warm against your skin. “Calm down,” he murmured, his lips curving into a wicked smile. “I want to taste you. Lay down for me, baby.”

Jungkook’s command sent a rush of lust through you, leaving no room for hesitation. You leaned back against the counter, your body already trembling under his intense gaze as he dropped to his knees in front of you. His hands gripped your thighs gently but firmly, spreading them more apart as he trailed kisses along the sensitive skin.

He leaned forward, his breath ghosting over your core and you couldn’t help but gasp. Hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties, he pulled them down slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. The tension in the air was thick, each second stretching into an eternity as he took in the sight of you laid bare before him.

“Do you have any idea how gorgeous you look like this?” he murmured, his voice and eyes thick with desire. 

Before you could even respond or shy away under his gaze, his jaw parted, and his pink tongue darted out, licking a bold stripe from your entrance to your clit with deliberate, agonizing precision.

A curse and a moan escaped your lips, your body arching into his touch. Your hands slid under the oversized shirt you wore, desperate to grasp your neglected breasts, fingers tugging at your sensitive peaks.

Your image makes Jungkook’s hands tighten their grip on your thighs, pulling you closer to his eager mouth and you gasped, a surprised yelp escaping when you slid down slightly on the counter beneath you. 

A breathless laugh tumbled from your parted lips but melted into a new moan as his own wrapped around your clit, sucking it hard. The cold press of his piercing against your sensitive skin sent a delicious shiver through you.

“Jungkook,” you whimpered, voice trembling. “So good, I–”

Jungkook swirled his tongue, letting you feel the precision of his attention. One of your hands tangled in his dark hair, tugging hard and making him groan, vibrating against your clit. The sensation was so overwhelming that for a moment, your breath escaped you, mind consumed entirely by the pleasure he gave you.

“You taste so sweet,” he declared against your core, his voice rough. “I could have this everyday for breakfast.” 

As his finger slowly slid back into your dripping heat, his lips and tongue worked together, lapping at your clit to coax your body into pure relaxation. The pleasure was intoxicating, and you couldn’t stop yourself from rocking your hips against his face and the rhythm of his finger going in and out of you. 

When his middle finger joined in, your mind dissolved into pure bliss. Jungkook’s tongue traced a sinful path again, licking you up and down, savoring every drop of your slick. He sucked greedily at your folds before returning to your bundle of nerves, flicking it just enough to make your walls clenched tightly around his fingers, drawing him deeper, your body completely at his mercy.

“Gonna cum, baby. Fuck!"

“Let go for me, doll,” he urged, his voice low and commanding.

The pressure built steadily, your body trembling as the coil in your stomach tightened, ready to snap. Jungkook seemed to sense it, his pace quickening as he focused on the spot that made you cry out, your body writhing beneath him. 

His hands slid up to hold your hips in place as your body shook above him, and with one last flick of his tongue, your release finally hit, crashing over you like a wave, consuming every part of you in its intensity. 

Your cries echoed through the kitchen as your body shook uncontrollably, every nerve ending alight with sensation. He held you through it, his hands firm and reassuring as he lapped up every bit of your pleasure, savoring you like you were his favorite meal.

When you finally came down from the high, he pulled back, his lips glistening and his eyes dark with satisfaction. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, leaning up to press a kiss to your inner thigh. “I’ll never get enough of you.”

Jungkook began to trail soft kisses up your belly, his lips brushing against your skin with a tenderness that made your breath hitch slightly again. Your hands instinctively found their way back to his hair, your fingers threading through the dark strands, combing them carefully as his mouth continued its slow way up.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, his voice gravelly with affection. “I love having you’re here.”

His lips were warm and soft against your skin, lingering at the curve of your waist, breath hot and comforting against your ribs as he nuzzled closer. 

“I love being here,” you replied, melting into him once more. 

You felt Jungkkok smiling against your skin, his hands slid up your sides, his touch firm but reverent, like he was memorizing every inch of you.

“I love mornings like this and you're so good with Bam. Having you here… it feels right,” His voice held a quiet sincerity, his gaze warm as he looked up at you. “Like this is exactly where we’re supposed to be.”

You felt your heart swell at his words, matching his tender expression. “I know what you mean. Being here feels like being home.”

You closed your eyes, fingers tightened in his hair as he kissed higher, his lips brushing just beneath your collarbone. Junkook smiled again, his hands shifting to cup your cheeks as he leaned in to capture your swollen lips again. The kiss was slow, deep, and filled with a yearning that made your heart ache.

As he pulled back, his thumb traced your jawline, his gaze searching yours. “Let’s make this our thing, every day.”

“What do you mean?”

“Move in with me.”

“Alright everyone, let’s take fifteen!” 

Those were the exact words Mingyu needed to hear from Hoshi right now, causing everyone else in the room to let out groans of relief as they immediately dropped to the floor.

Mingyu himself let out a long exhale, running a hand through his damp hair, waking to a corner of the practice room and watching as the mirrors lining the wall reflected his restless expression, sweat glistening on his forehead and neck.

He grabbed a towel and dabbed it against his face, trying to catch his breath as he sat down on the wooden floor, away from the rest of the members. As usual, the room buzzed with casual chatter and the sound of sneakers scuffing against the floor as the others stretched or joked around.

Mingyu, on the other hand, remained silent, leaning against the wall with his gaze fixed on his hands, completely locked in thought. His chest heaved with fatigue, his shoulders sagging slightly.

It wasn’t just the practice that had drained him. No. The physical exhaustion was manageable, something he’d long grown accustomed to.

The problem was that no matter how much he tried to focus on the rehearsals, on the music, the choreography, the shouts of encouragement from his members, in the fact that the first show of the tour was getting closer and closer, his mind kept drifting back to you—to the silence that has been haunting him since that night a week ago. 

It was exhausting. 

All Mingyu wanted was to talk to you, to make sense of everything that happened since the day you parted ways at Kansai International Airport to the moment you saw each other again in that restaurant. He wanted to understand how you were suddenly back in Korea now and, most important, of all the people in the world, how you ended up becoming Jungkook’s girlfriend.

What kind of sick twisted joke was the universe trying to play on him?

He simply couldn't understand. 

Additionally, you had said to him that you would think about talking, but a week had gone by, and nothing.

Seven long, torturous days, and still, his phone remained silent. Every time it buzzed with an unknown number, his heart would lurch, hoping it was you, but it never was. He didn’t even know why he expected you to try to contact him, or how that could possibly happen, since you didn’t exchange numbers.

Yet, despite everything, he still held onto the hope that you would. 

So far, all he’d gotten from you was silence and it was killing him, making him absolutely restless. He hated himself for it, hated how he’d become the guy waiting around for a message that would probably never come. It was pathetic, really.

He rubbed a hand over his face, frustration gnawing at him. Part of Mingyu wanted to reach out to you first, to demand an answer, even though he wondered how he could even do that.

He didn't even know if you had told Jungkook yet. Were you planning to tell him? If you already had, how did he react? Was he angry with Mingyu now? Was he angry with you? What did it mean if you hadn’t said anything? Should he have been the one to say something to his friend? 

He had so many questions swimming around in his brain and he just wanted to find answers to them.

The other part of him, however, was too afraid of what he might hear. 

What if your silence was already the answer? 

Mingyu rested his arms on his knees and lowered his head, letting out a bitter, quiet laugh, shaking his head as if he could somehow remove the thoughts from his mind.

Why do I even care? he thought to himself, even though he already knew the answer very well. 

Goddammit. 

He hated how much power you still held over him, how even now, after all this time, you had the same effect on him as you did four years ago. How he found himself stuck, unable to move past the hope that you’d reach out, that you’d say something—anything—that would prove he hadn’t been a complete fool for waiting for you to show up again all these years.

“Alright, man,” Minghao’s voice cut through his thoughts as the red haired man settled down next to him. “Spill it. What’s up with you today?”

After days of watching Mingyu zone out during practice, Minghao couldn’t hold back any longer. He’d noticed his friend's unusual restlessness during this week’s rehearsals—his gaze darting around the room, his mind clearly elsewhere. Mistake after mistake on his moves, even on the simplest parts of the choreographies, and Hoshi had been scolding him every five minutes to get things right.

It wasn’t like Mingyu to be so distracted; he usually approached every song with relentless focus, always going the extra mile to ensure every move was perfect, especially with a tour just around the corner. So, of course, something was wrong with him; Minghao just couldn’t figure out what it was.

He mimicked Mingyu’s kicked out puppy posture, looking at him with his eyebrows arched.                

Mingyu glanced over, his expression caught between irritation and reluctance, but the look quickly softened when he noticed who was sitting next to him. 

“What do you mean?” he asked, though his tone was more deflective than curious.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” Minghao replied, nudging his friend’s shoulder with his own. “You’ve been off all week. Something’s definitely on your mind. So, what’s going on?”

Mingyu blinked, finally realizing he hadn’t masked his mood as well as he’d thought. He straightened, a faint forced smile appearing on his face as he shrugged it off. "Nothing,” he muttered, but even as he said it, he knew it was a lie. Minghao clearly wasn't buying it either.

"You’ve got that look on your face," Minghao said, waving his hand in front of Mingyu's face. "The one you get when you’re carrying something heavy. Come on, talk to me."

Mingyu let out another sigh, running a hand through his hair and wiping his face with the towel again, leaning his head back against the wall. 

“Just a lot on my mind. You know how it is.”

Minghao nodded slowly, his head tilting as he watched his friend carefully. “Yeah, I do. But usually, you’re one of the members keeping the rest of us calm. What got you rattled?”

Looking away and glancing over at his members, laughing and messing around the room, Mingyu hesitated. He wanted to brush it off, to tell Minghao it was just the anxiety pre-tour, or that he was tired. But he knew Minghao better than that. His friend had an irritatingly sharp sense for when things weren't right, and Mingyu didn’t have the energy to lie anymore. 

Except that he couldn't tell the truth either. 

So instead, he chose to be evasive.

“Just… life stuff,” Mingyu said finally, trying to keep his tone light, though even he knew it sounded forced. 

“Family stuff?” Minghao pressed. He shook his head no. “Did you fight with one of the members?”

“No.”

“Girl problems?”

Mingyu rolled his eyes, but he didn’t deny it. Instead, he let out a slow breath, tossing the towel onto the ground and rubbing the back of his head—why did he suddenly sound like a fifteen-year-old? 

“Something like that.”

Minghao’s eyes narrowed the way they always did when he was trying to see straight through Mingyu’s defenses. He tilted his head again, studying him for a small second, then gave a small, knowing smile.

"Oh?" he faked gasped, leaning back on his hands. "You? Having girl problems?"

Pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, Mingyu groaned. “Can we not call it that?” he muttered, but even he couldn’t keep the frustration out of his voice. 

Minghao just laughed softly. “Alright, alright. Let’s call it... romantic confusion. Better?”

Mingyu let out a reluctant chuckle, dropping his hands to his knees. 

Ironically, it was actually the perfect way to describe his current situation.

“You make it sound like I’m a teenager, but sure, whatever.” He paused, taking a deep breath and hesitating again for just a moment before gathering courage to ask, “Have you ever had someone just… show up again in your life, out of nowhere?” 

“Someone important, I’m assuming?” Minghao asked back thoughtfully, a hint of intrigue in his face. 

Mingyu nodded but offered nothing more. 

Then Minghao decided to venture, an amused gleam in his eyes now. “So… I’m assuming that ‘something like that’ has something to do with a girl from your past that is now back.”

Mingyu stilled, jaw clenched ever so slightly, considering whether he should even respond to it. But he was the one who had allowed the conversation to go this way in the first place, he might as well respond to Minghao's question. 

He shrugged, watching his reflection in the mirror as if might offer him a better answer. “Maybe,” he finally admitted. “It’s complicated.”

“Isn’t it always?” Minghao chuckled slightly. “But to answer your question: no, it’s never happened to me.”

There was a pause as they both watched as Seokmin dragged Chan across the room by his legs, the rest of the members laughing to a joke they’re both unaware of. The silence stretched between them until Minghao shifted as if preparing to ask a question he’d been holding back, his curiosity far from satisfied. 

Mingyu could feel the shift in Minghao’s posture, the way his friend leaned just a little closer, eyes flickering with that signature curiosity that always meant he was about to dig deeper. The background chaos of the practice room continued—Chan was now flailing dramatically while Dokyeom cackled, and the other members egged them on—but to his surprise, it all felt distant. 

“Can I ask you something?” Minghao finally questioned, his tone soft but very probing. “Not related to this.

Mingyu met his gaze, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he sensed something coming. “Go ahead.”

Minghao seemed to hesitate for just a second, his voice dropping a notch. “What really happened to that girl from Osaka? I know you said she was unattainable once, but four years it’s a long time, man.” 

Mingyu exhaled, trying to mask his shocked expression, wondering why Minghao was bringing that up now—four whole years later. Though he suspected it was no one’s fault but his own. He hated how he was an open book with his feelings, and hated how easily Minghao could read him. He’d spent years avoiding this question, brushing it off whenever his friends brought it up. But now, with everything coming back so suddenly, it was getting harder to ignore. 

He ran a hand through his hair again, his fingers tugging at the roots as if that might somehow pull the words out of him. “Well, for starters, she’s no longer unattainable.”

Minghao’s eyebrow arched in surprise. “Why do I sense a but coming?” 

Mingyu let out a humorless laugh. “But she’s now completely off-limits.”

He hadn’t realized how much he’d been carrying until the words left his mouth, how the weight of it all felt like was pressing his chest. 

Of all things, he couldn’t help but feel selfish for barely acknowledging, even after these seven days, the full weight of this fact: you were now off-limits because you were with someone he cared deeply about—someone he would never risk hurting.

He watched as Minghao studied his face for a moment, the significance of the confession settling between them. The noise of the practice room seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the tension of their conversation hanging in the air.

“What do you mean, ‘off-limits’?” Minghao asked quietly, his eyes never leaving Mingyu’s. There was a softness there, an understanding. “I thought she had disappeared.”

“She did,” Mingyu's voice was barely a whisper when he answered. “Didn’t think I’d see her again.”

Mighao watched him with a mixture of surprise and sympathy. “But now she’s back?” 

Mingyu nodded, his jaw clenched. 

“It’s her, isn’t it? The someone importante who’s back in your life?” When Mingyu didn’t say anything, Minghao pressed on. “What’s stopping you now?”

Mingyu swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the floor. “She’s... she’s with someone else now. Someone who... well, let’s just say it’s not exactly someone I can compete with.”

Minghao stayed serious for a few seconds, staring at Mingyu with a contemplative expression. Then, suddenly, he burst out laughing, as if Mingyu had just told the funniest joke in the world.

“You’re bullshiting me. If anything, this someone else is the one he can’t compete with you.” 

“It’s not just about competing with someone else,” Mingyu said, his voice tinged with frustration and defeat. “It’s about competing with someone I care about deeply. Someone I would never hurt. Ever.”

Someone he couldn’t hate even if he wanted to, he taught. 

Minghao’s eyes widened slightly as he leaned back, his lips quirking up into a faint smile, though there was no humor in it.

 “Ah,” he said simply, the weight of Mingyu’s words sinking in. 

Mingyu had spent hours, days, months, and years imagining what it might be like to see you again—to touch you, hold you, kiss you, and finally ask the question that had haunted him since the day you vanished from his life. Every single one of these scenarios painted in his mind with a romanticized curiosity. 

And yet, no amount of daydreaming could have prepared him for the cold, harsh nightmare of reality. When the moment finally came, it felt like he was the butt of the world’s cruelest joke. Everything he’d built up in his mind crumbled in an instant, the weight of shattered expectations burying him beneath the wreckage.

Jungkook was one of his closest friends—hell, one of his best. Their bond had been forged through years of trust and loyalty, long before the day he saw you. To Mingyu, Jungkook was more than a friend; he was practically family.

But he still couldn’t help but think that it was unfair; he had seen you first. 

“Well,” Minghao’s voice broke his thoughts again. “I just don’t think you can sit there and pretend you haven’t spent the last four years waiting to see her again.”

Mingyu took a deep breath, turning his gaze away to watch the other members across the room as they bantered and laughed, feeling as though he’d just been punched in the stomach. Minghao’s words carried an honesty he wasn’t sure he was ready to face.

The worst part was that there was no way you didn’t hear his friends laughing and joking at how he had spent the last four years waiting for you to come back.

And even then, a week has gone by with you in complete silence. 

It was like he had been transported back to the moment he realized that no matter how much effort he put in, finding you wouldn’t be as easy as he had hoped.

He exhaled through his nose, his voice low and bitter when he finally spoke. “What good would that do, Myungho?” he muttered, his eyes still fixed on the scene in front of him but not really seeing it. “Waiting doesn’t mean anything if the outcome’s already decided.”

“Maybe not. But waiting says a lot about how much she matters to you.”

Mingyu let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head. 

“And what does that matter now? She’s with someone else. End of story.” His voice cracked just slightly on the word someone, and he cursed himself for it.

Minghao’s expression softened, but there was still a sharp edge to his words. “If it were really the end of the story, you wouldn’t still be sitting here, torturing yourself over it.”

It was because, for him, it wasn’t. Not really. 

Since that night in the restaurant, memories kept flooding back—flashes of laughter, stolen glances across the hotel bar, long and late night conversations in the quiet of the hotel room. He’d spent three days with you, but those moments had burned deeper than some entire relationships he had before. And then… nothing. You were gone, and he’d convinced himself he could just move on.

His silence spoke volumes to Minghao.

“So… answer my first question. What happened between you two, really? Why’d it end in the first place?”

“That's the worst part; I don’t even know, man," he started, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. "She told me she was moving here and we decided we would give it a try once she was settled. But on the last day, she disappeared."

Minghao nodded slowly, waiting for more, his silence encouraging without being pushy.

Mingyu continued, his voice growing softer. “After looking for her everywhere I could, I thought... if I let her go, it’d be easier. For both of us. I mean… maybe she disappeared by her own choice, you know? I even asked Daeho hyung for help to find her at the time, isn't that ridiculous?” 

He could still remember how stupid he felt when he asked their former manager for help. He felt even more embarrassed when he was scolded for focusing on things he shouldn’t have—distractions, as Daeho liked to call them—rather than focusing solely on Seventeen’s career.

Stopping for a second and closing his eyes, Mingyu let out a shaky breath, as if releasing the weight of the memory.  

“But as you know, I couldn’t let it go, no matter how much I told myself to,” he laughed, but it came out hollow. “Every time I thought I was moving on, something would remind me of her. It’s pathetic, really.”

Minghao frowned, his gaze steady but kind. “It’s not pathetic, man.” He leaned forward slightly, his tone serious but gentle. “It looks like you never got any closure.” 

“I didn’t. And now that she’s back…” He paused, his jaw clenching as he fought to steady his emotions. “It’s like everything I tried to bury is crashing down on me all at once.” Mingyu shook his head, dragging a hand through his hair in frustration. “And the worst part? I can’t even hate her for leaving. Not when I don’t know the whole story.”

“Maybe that’s what you need, then…” Minghao said, his expression thoughtful. “ to find closure.”

Mingyu looked at him, his shoulders tense, the vulnerability in his eyes raw and unguarded. “And what if the closure doesn’t change anything? What if it just... makes it worse?”

“Then at least you’ll know. At least you’ll have an answer. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll finally be able to move forward.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” But even as he said it, the uncertainty lingered, heavy and unresolved.

His gaze swept across the room, taking in the other members, until it landed on someone he had almost overlooked: Vernon, sitting in a corner, fidgeting and lost in his own thoughts.

Mingyu already knew what was on his mind; it had been the topic of discussions all week—the possibility that his girlfriend, the latest, and now former, Seventeen main stylist, might be fired for having a personal relationship with someone she worked for. 

They had been accidentally discovered by the company’s fashion department supervisor last week. Since then, the group’s stylist position had remained vacant, with only a few days left before their tour began. Vernon was just as restless as Mingyu, haunted by guilt over what had happened while the company discussed under the covers his girlfriend’s future. 

Mingyu wanted to help him, but his own muddled thoughts left him incapable of offering any support. 

“Look, Gyu, I know it’s a tough situation,” Minghao said gently. “But be honest with yourself. You don’t have to rush into anything, but if she really matters to you, don’t let fear, or anything else, stop you.”

For a moment, Mingyu just stared at Minghao, his friend's words hanging in the air between them. He hated how Minghao always had a way of cutting through the noise and getting straight to the heart of things.

"You don’t have to figure it out all at once, man. But don’t lie to yourself about how you feel. She’s already here, right? That’s gotta mean something.”

With that, Minghao stood up and made his way across the room, heading toward Vernon, leaving Mingyu to process alone the weight of his words in the quiet that followed.

You smoothed the fabric of your blouse again, trying to calm your nerves as you stood in the sleek conference room. The floor-to-ceiling windows framed a breathtaking view of the city, but it did little to settle your anxiety. The weight of anticipation hung heavy in the air, and the buzz of your thoughts traveling back to the events of this morning only grew louder with every passing second.

You had been waiting for a few minutes, and the girl sitting at the table outside the room had already come in three times to offer you coffee. Finally, you politely accepted, hoping it would stop her from coming in and looking at you nervously.

Not that you wanted to be alone. The last thing you needed right now was to be alone with your thoughts, replaying Jungkook’s gaze when you left the kitchen this morning. But at the same time, if she wasn’t planning to start a conversation that could distract you, you didn’t want to be faced with that glazed look that would only make you anxious.

When the door clicked open again, a tall, sharp-suited woman stepped in this time, clipboard in hand. She offered you a polite smile and you immediately stood up, offering a slight bow to the woman as you returned her warm smile.

“Thank you so much for joining us on such short notice, Miss Kang,” she said as she approached you, extending her hand. “I’m Kim Injae, the head of the department.”

You shook her hand, her grip firm but not overpowering, the kind that transmitted confidence without arrogance. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Kim. Thank you for having me.”

“Oh, honey, please, drop the formalities and call me Injae,” she said warmly as the two of you took your seats acroos from each other by the glass-top table. Her tone softened slightly, though her professional edge remained. “I’m sure you’re wondering why we called you here today.”

You offered another smile, folding your hands in your lap. 

“The thought did cross my mind, yes,” you admitted, keeping your tone light despite the undercurrent of curiosity—and, admittedly, nervousness—that you felt.

Injae leaned forward slightly, her well-manicured hands resting elegantly on the table, as she opened the folder she brought with her. If there was one way to describe her, it would be like staring at a brunette, Korean version of Donatella Versace—elegant, sharp, and undeniably commanding.

“Well, we’ve been following your work for some time, Y/N. When Hyejin brought you in last year to work with the Bangtan Boys, we were really impressed with you,” she paused, her sharp gaze meeting yours. “We would have liked to keep you with them as their lead stylist, but given the personal circumstances between you and one of their members, we couldn’t.

Your stomach dropped slightly at her words, though you kept your expression neutral. Have you been called here to respond to a disciplinary lawsuit?

It couldn't be. Two months ago, when you deliberately decided to quit your job here so you could stay with Jungkook without having to hide your relationship, it was still a secret. The two of you only came clean when you were no longer associated with the company or BTS in an employment capacity. 

And luckily for you, it was right at the time when Elle Magazine Korea offered you the position as their editorial stylist, so everything ended up working out perfectly.

Deep down, you knew that you loved working as a tour stylist and designer more than anything else, second only to your dream of designing your own clothing brand. Which is why the decision wasn’t as easy as you made it seem at the time.

“I understand,” you replied carefully, maintaining your professionalism. “It was an incredible experience, and I’m grateful for the opportunity I had.” 

Injae nodded, her expression unreadable as she leafed through the pages carefully. “It’s unfortunate when personal and professional lines blur,” Then she stopped for a second, looking back at you with a smile. “But the heart wants what it wants, right?” 

Her words lingered in the air, a delicate balance between acknowledgment and understanding. You felt your cheeks warm slightly but maintained your composure, offering her a polite smile in return.

"I guess so," you admitted cautiously, unsure of how much to reveal.

“That being said, I do recognize talent when I see it,”  Injae said, keeping her tone steady. “and you, Y/N, are undeniably talented. Which is why we’re sitting here today.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you processed Injae's words, feeling yourself relax in the chair now that you knew you weren't being prosecuted or punished. She had a way of being direct yet warm, and her casual remark made your stomach flutter with hope.

Still, you held your composure, giving her just an appreciative smile. “I’m honored to hear that, honestly.”

“You study at Central Saint Martins, right?” she asked, fixing her glasses on the tip of the nose. You simply nodded and she continued. “That’s amazing. And not only that, I’ve gone through your resume before and I must say, your experience is impressive.”

Injae’s words washed over you, her tone carrying a mixture of admiration and curiosity that made you sit a little straighter, your head held high with humble pride. You knew exactly what your accomplishments in your chosen profession were, and no one was prouder of them than you. Still, it wasn’t every day someone showered you with compliments like this, listing them off with such genuine admiration.

So you managed another polite smile, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you nodded once again and she carried on, leaned forward and resting her elbows on the table. 

“It’s amazing that at such a young age, you already managed to work with multiple international artists and you were even responsible for making the big brand ambassadors.” 

Her words made another flush of pride rise in your chest, though you maintained your professional demeanor. “Thank you so much, Injae. I’ve been fortunate to work with some incredible teams and artists.”

“Fortunate, yes,” she agreed, “but talent and hard work don’t go unnoticed, and yours is evident.” 

Injae’s sharp gaze softened just slightly, and she tapped a perfectly manicured finger on the glass table.

You inclined your head slightly in gratitude. “I’ve always believed in pushing boundaries and challenging myself. Fashion is constantly evolving, and I love being part of that evolution, creating pieces that not only reflect it but provide it to others.”

“Precisely,” Injae said, her approval evident. ”It’s why I believe you’re the perfect fit for the spot that recently appeared in our department.”

“I’m honored that you think so,” you said earnestly. 

Her lips curved into a small smile, and she leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. “For obvious reasons, you can't work with BTS. Which I assume you already know.”

“Yes,” you answered, almost whispering, remembering yourself to take a deep breath each time you were reminded of the consequences of your choices and the reasons you had made them in the first place.

Injae’s smile widened just a fraction, the glint of intrigue in her eyes. “But, that doesn't mean you can't work with any other group in the company.”

Your heart skipped a beat for a second, anticipation swirling inside you as her words hung in the air like a hopeful promise. You straightened in your seat once again, your fingers lightly grazing the edge of the polished table to hold yourself together from bursting with excitement over something she hadn’t even said yet.

“One of our groups recently lost their lead stylist,” she began, her tone now practical. “And we need someone with experience, creativity, and adaptability. Someone who can handle the intensity of a global tour while elevating their image and branding. In short, we want you to fill the spot.” 

Your heart raced against your ribcage as her words echoed in your mind, leaving no room for doubts. The implications were clear: this could be your chance to step back into a role you’d thought you’d left behind—a role that allowed you to do what you loved most. This wasn’t just a job, it was a massive opportunity.

“Oh, wow,” you said, overwhelmed, carefully trying to keep your tone steady and not squeaky. “It means a lot to me, being recognized like this.”

Injae smiled warmly, her sharpness softening just a fraction. “You’ll be the lead stylist, which means that you’ll also be the one setting the tone, overseeing an entire team of stylists, designing the group tour outfits and getting brands to collaborate with the artists,” she explained. “It’s a leadership role, and it’ll test your ability to balance artistry with management.”

You nodded again, the gravity of her words settled over you, the enormity of this opportunity both thrilling and daunting. This was more than anything you had ever done or dreamed before. 

“Their tour starts in two weeks,” she said, continuing her explanation, looking down at the pages in front of her again. “Don’t worry, though, most of the pieces are already finished, and just some of them still need to be finalized, adjusted, and selected. After that, they’ll have a month off, and you’ll have plenty of time and resources to make any changes or create whatever you feel is necessary.”

Your mind was already spinning with possibilities. Two weeks to finalize styling for a tour was tight, but it wasn’t unfamiliar territory. “It is a tight schedule. But I’ve worked under similar constraints before. I’ll make it work.”

“I had no doubt you would,” Injae replied with confidence. She closed the folder in front of her with a decisive snap, then leaned forward slightly. “That’s why you’re here. But that's not all. I’ll have my assistant email every detail and everything that will fall under your responsibility as the lead stylist. As well as the contract and an overview of the team and current wardrobe inventory.”

You nodded, your mind already spinning with anticipation and plans. “Thank you. I’ll review everything as soon as it comes through.”

She paused for a moment before continuing, her tone softening. “Y/N, I know stepping back into this world might feel like stepping back into the past actions, but I trust that you’ll use all of your experience, both personal and professional, to excel here.”

You couldn’t ignore the double meaning in her words. Though your chest tightened slightly at the thought of past entanglements, you focused on the opportunity ahead.

Besides, what were the chances of finding yourself in a situation like the one before? You were happy with Jungkook and weren’t looking for a boyfriend or anything else in that area. 

As you’d said before: he was the only exception.

“Of course,” you said sincerely. “I won’t let you down.”

“Good,” Injae said simply, her tone cool and authoritative. “Because this group isn’t just any group, they’re at the peak of their careers, and the eyes of the country are on them. Your work will define part of their image, and in turn, their legacy.” 

“I understand,” you replied, meeting her gaze directly. “May I ask what group we are talking about?

A hint of amusement flickering in her sharp gaze, realizing that she had forgotten the most important part. “Oh, did I not mention?” she tilted her head slightly. “Are you familiar with Seventeen?”

If you liked this feel free to let me know with a like, reblog, comment, whatever you prefer! ❤️

© sound-of-scoups

[uzumaki-rebellion]

Spinning the Block Part 4

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Officer Jessica "Jess" Sims

Warning(s): 18+ Explicit Sexual Content.

Summary: Jess takes Terry to The Pit to find Zeb.

Word count: 6.2K

"Give him cornbread

Whatchu gonna give him?

I wanna know"

Beau Jocque And The Zydeco Hi-Rollers – "Give Him Cornbread"

The heat of the club blasted Terry's face the moment he stepped inside.

A muggy dampness clung to his skin that made the air outside seem like the draft of a closing refrigerator door. He paid twenty in cash for entry, and took in the fast music, fast dancing, and fast service of drinks and spicy Cajun chicken wings. His head automatically started bobbing to the sounds of the accordion and the foot stomping. French Creole peppered his ears with the call and response between the band and the audience.

"There are some seats over there," Jess said.

He led her through a dense crowd that watched the clogged dance floor and noticed right away the stares coming from other men and a lot of women. Jess gripped his hand tight. The topknot she had on her head fell into disarray around her shoulders, making her look so much different under the lights…softer. Almost ethereal.

A couple took the seats they were after, and Terry placed Jess in front of him at the edge of the dance floor. He had to press into her because the place was overly stuffed with wall to wall people hoping to find a bit of real estate to move their hips. The midnight hour had passed and the real partying had begun. He lowered his lips to her ears.

"Keep your eyes open."

She nodded and scanned the room, searching for Zeb. The people surrounding them rocked their bodies in time to the uptempo music and he shook his hips, too. It had been a minute since he took time to party, and zydeco was in his blood. The Pit had the perfect down-home ambiance and décor that shouted locals-only. It touted itself as a club, but it looked like an old run-down restaurant that expanded into one. He could see where they added the expansion to create more space for the bandstand and dance floor in the ceiling's demarcation line between the gray and beige walls.

Jess swayed and shimmied her shoulders. Her backside bumped against his crotch. Her tight denim couldn't keep him from feeling the plushness of her ass, and once she started winding her hips, he stifled a groan and the urge to thrust into her to match the rhythm. He chastised himself. The old party scoundrel revved up in his bones, but he had a mission to complete first. They were there to find Zeb. He stepped closer to Jess, preventing her from moving. If she kept giving him all that friction, eventually, his dick would start poking on her. It was bad enough that he could look down over her shoulder and get a full view of her breasts propped up high like big ole country biscuits. His large hand could probably fit all in her cleavage comfortably. He tried to push libidinous thoughts from his head, but Jess tested his slippery restraint. Her hair fell to her waist like a silky swathe of nighttime sky and he fought to keep his hands from touching it to see how it felt against his fingertips.

She tapped his chest, and he lowered his head next to her lips.

"He's on the dance floor…wearing the blue baseball cap with the alligator on it. With the woman in the red blouse."

Terry clocked them both.

"Let's dance," he said.

He clasped Jess's hand. They passed through the crowd again.

"Hey…Jesss."

A big dude with a broad chest, wide smile, and clean-cut appearance approached her. He glanced at Terry, and the grin on his face slipped away.

"Hi Zion, excuse me for a minute," Jess said with haste.

Zion glared at Terry, but then Jess tossed back her hair and the man looked smitten again.

"You can just follow my lead," she said.

Terry ignored her words and held her hands like the experienced dancer he was. He started cutting up right away and that dimple in Jess's cheek popped out.

"Never mind," she said.

Her expression made him laugh. She definitely wasn't expecting him to be good. Her body followed his lead the way it was supposed to, and he swung her out a few times, pulling her in close. The position of his dick rested against her stomach and she acted like she couldn't feel the weight or heat of it so near. He knew for sure that if she were topless and took her bra off, her breasts would drop to where his dick would be if it were erect and ready for her. His mind drifted off, imagining her standing there rubbing her big tits all around his dick with her hair lightly brushing against his skin.

Fuck.

His dick jumped, and the first pooling of blood thickened him slightly. He played it off by spinning her around and working his feet in a box step to keep from bumping bellies again.

Damn. She kept distracting him. Keep it together.

Terry locked his focus on Zeb and his partner. The music segued into another number. Zeb left the dance floor, and Terry followed with Jess on his heels. He overtook the man and pretended to know him.

"Aye partna, long time no see," Terry said, all friendly.

Zeb looked at his shades, trying to figure out who he was. Jess patted his elbow.

"Follow us outside," Jess said.

Zeb balked and took two steps back from them like they had the cooties. Terry pulled off his shades.

"You know who I am, right?"

"I said a private place, Jess," Zeb hissed.

"Follow us to my car," she said.

Jess headed toward the exit. Zeb didn't move. Terry yanked out his wallet and kept his voice calm.

"Lemme pay you that money I owe you."

The word "money" lit Zeb's eyes up. He checked to see if anyone watched their interaction. Folks were busy slow dragging, drinking, and chasing tail.

"Yeah…c'mon," Zeb said.

They walked out together. Terry headed for the Durango.

Jess handed him her car keys. She opened the back passenger door for Zeb and patted her purse. The man climbed in without hesitation. Terry jumped into the driver's seat and adjusted it. From the outside of the SUV, it only looked like Terry and Jess were in the vehicle. Slipping his fingers in his wallet, Terry pulled out five hundred dollars in fifty-dollar bills. He handed it to Zeb.

"I want ten thousand," Zeb said.

"This is all the cash I have right now, but getting more is not a problem. I can pay you ten thousand."

Zeb's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. Once he knew his asking price wouldn't be haggled over, he relaxed his shoulders.

"I don't want to talk about it here. Too many eyes who may recognize him," Zeb said.

"No one can see you here," Terry said.

"Can I trust you to pay? What if I tell you what I know and you fuck me over?"

"I have plenty of money. Trust me."

"Zeb, you can have my word that he'll pay," Jess said. "Terry is the type to do what he says he's gonna do."

Terry glanced at her. She kept her eyes on Zeb.

"I'ma need more than five hundred in my hand."

"How do we know you're telling the truth? You could be lying to us," Jess said.

"I told you I ain't runnin' no con, not with the shit I know. I need that ten thousand to get up outta here. Your cousin was just the tip of the iceberg of the foul shit goin' on in that prison."

"Tell him about the weapon," she said.

Zeb stayed silent. He seemed to wrestle with what to do.

"We ain't got all night, Zeb. I got the man in front of you. Talk," Jess grumbled.

"I know where the weapon is that killed your cousin. It was a shiv made from prison fencing. The killer gave it to me to dispose of. I hid it instead."

Terry ground his teeth together, and his jaw tightened. Jess looked at him with concern. Zeb leaned forward.

"It wasn't a prisoner who did it," Zeb said.

Terry exhaled, and Jess gripped the shoulder of the passenger seat.

"What are you saying, Zeb?" she whispered.

"A guard stabbed him. It was a set-up. Word came down, and I was told to take the shiv after it was used. But the guard cut his own hand by accident. He had to cover himself by pretending he was saving Mike and applied pressure to the wound. But he let him bleed out first. His blood is on the shiv with Mike's, and I'm pretty sure his fingerprints are on it too, because he only used a tiny piece of rubber glove to make a handle. It must've slipped, and he lost the grip, cutting his palm. DNA is on that shit. I wrapped it up in plastic —"

Terry lunged forward and grabbed Zeb by the throat.

"Terry! Stop! Stop choking him…he didn't kill Mike!"

Jess grabbed on his arm.

"Terry, please! If you hurt him, you won't get what you want!" Jess begged.

Her shrill voice stopped him. He released Zeb.

"Easy…everybody just… stay easy," Jess said.

Zeb gasped and rubbed his throat. He sat back in his seat with wary eyes on Terry.

"They threatened my family, bruh. My mother…my brother. I didn't help kill your cousin. They told me to dispose of the weapon or risk losing my parole and my family. But I had to keep it for insurance or else they'd pin it all on me!"

"Where is it?" Terry said.

Zeb shook his head.

"Nah, I need my money first. I'll tell you the name of the guard and where the shiv is. If you can't get all cash, I'll take a cashier's check for half of it. Make it out to Zebediah Chapman."

Terry pondered the honesty of the man.

"If you're lying, I'll come for your family myself."

"I'm a dead man if I don't leave this place soon. The longer I stay, the more danger they'll be in, too. I don't trust anybody in this town. I took a chance on Jess because she saved you."

Jess tapped her nails on the seat. She lined her gaze with him. He almost got lost in her sultry eyes.

"Tomorrow is the big cookout over at Landrieu Park. You could give him the money there. Lots of different people will be there from the church. It'll be safe and we'll all blend in. There's a basketball court… Terry could put the money in a gym bag for you Zeb, and it'll look natural. Y'all can talk in my car and make the transaction in the parking lot," she said.

Zeb nodded.

"That'll work. It's close to my mama's house. What time?"

"Better to do it early. It starts at three. Let's say two o'clock," she said.

Zeb jumped out and headed away from them with his hat pulled down lower.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"I believe him. He's scared out of his mind and isn't interested in trying to rob me, even though he knows I won a settlement. This is the first big break in this case after two years. Thank you, Jess."

"He found me. It wasn't like I was actively trying to solve anything."

"You came to me right away. That's good enough."

Terry leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes, grateful for any hope of getting justice for Mike and his aunt. He bit his bottom lip and a wet trail of tears rolled down his cheeks. He wiped his face.

"I need a drink," he said.

He climbed out and wiped his eyes again.

A lead. The possibility of concrete proof. The Edgewater Correctional Facility was a private prison doing all it could to fight his aunt Rosa for the death of Mike. If Terry had the weapon to turn over to Rosa's lawyer, it would be a bombshell case he could slam dunk.

The tension he carried in his neck and shoulders for two years loosened a smidgeon. Jess walked in front of him to the entrance, and he placed a gentle hand on her lower back as he bent to open the door for her. Over at the crowded bar, patrons made space for them. Jess leaned over and whispered something in Creole to the bartender, a plump man with cherub cheeks and a buck-toothed grin.

"Gotcha, Jess," the bartender said, turning to fetch a bottle from the top shelf.

He placed two shot glasses in front of them, and a liquid resembling molten gold filled them.

"What's this?" Terry asked.

"The best thing we have in the house," the bartender said.

Jess lifted her shot glass and held it in front of him. He picked up his.

"May tomorrow go well for you," Jess said.

They clinked glasses and tossed back the first round.

"Goddamn!" he shouted.

Jess giggled as he pounded his chest, feeling the fire go down.

"One mo' for the floor?" the bartender asked, tilting the bottle his way.

"Oui," Terry said.

"Tu parles créole?"

"Un petit peu. Ça fait un moment," Terry replied, tilting his hand back and forth indicating how little he spoke in awhile since being away from home.

"Vous le comprendrez très bien ici."

"You really think I'll understand good here?"

"We conversatin' well, and you got Jess with ya. She can help you pick up what ya don't remember."

"Stop volunteering me to be a translator, Andre. He understood every word you said with no problem."

Andre poured her fresh whiskey to the lip of the glass and did the same for Terry.

"Hurry up and drink. The music is extra spicy right now," Andre said.

Terry and Jess didn't bother to tap glasses the second time. The whiskey bloomed a sun in his chest, and lightness permeated his limbs. A forward momentum appeared in his life once more, banishing the stagnant cement block that felt like it was stuck in his spirit and would drag him down into a lonely abyss.

He rose from his stool and reached back for Jess's hand. She held it and he glanced at her fine ass, acutely aware that her admirers were throwing daggers at him with their stares cutting his way. A glassy shine of beautiful brown eyes peered back at him from her. On the dance floor, he pulled her in close to make sure she was real because the liquor had him floating already. The zydeco sound this time was funky and drum-heavy. The lead singer's voice had a rhythm and blues drawl to it.

He slipped his right leg partially between Jess's thighs and they swayed together. She held onto his upper back and he squeezed her waist, enjoying the perfect fit. The sight of a tall, strapping man and a short round woman throwing down forced others to give them room. The liquor heightened the experience heavily because they stepped in tandem, touching each other with an intimate familiarity. Each time they separated to do their own syncopated moves, the crowd urged them to cut up some more.

"Get it, Jess!" Andre called out.

A few women shouted her name, letting him know she was well known there. Jess shook them wide hips and her titties bounced. He matched her energy. Her eyes lined with his and he knew she was feeling him. Big time. They danced together with one hand connected, and he snapped them in time to the beat, watching Jess turn and drop her hands to her knees, throwing that ass against his crotch in time to the music. When she spun back up to face him again, he dropped his knees low and playfully snapped his fingers toward her body, letting the crowd see how sexy she moved for him. It stirred up a little competition on the floor and the lead singer started talking to the dancers, egging them on by describing how quick they moved.

They both spun away from each other and danced separately. Jess had her eyes closed and threw her hands up in the air like she was doing a praise break in church, letting her long hair swing on her back. Winding her waist up, she looked angelic and sinful at the same time. Sweat poured out of them, but they kept moving until he snagged her hand again. He twirled her out and pulled her back fast, sliding his thigh between her big legs again.

They danced the night away while sipping liquor between songs.

"Where you get him from, girl?"

A skinny woman with a pock-marked face and friendly grin stared at Terry, and Jess gave a toothy smile, not bothering to answer. They were in synch and danced as if they both had to exorcise some demons through rocking hips and ass shaking. Her face glistened with perspiration like his, and she looked even more beautiful. Her hair puffed up, losing its length as it curled at the root. She shuffled feet with skill like no other, and he wondered why he never ran into her over in the Greenwood clubs he partied at in his youth. He'd messed around with plenty of Shelby Springs girls before he joined the marines. Had Jess walked around his neck of the woods, he would've been on her in a heartbeat.

"Secoue-le!" he shouted.

She grinned and shook her body like he told her to.

"Donne-moi plus!" he added. Give him more.

"Tu en as assez," she teased.

"You sure I have enough?" he said.

"Oui. You do."

She rolled her eyes at him and clutched his shoulder. A boldness surged through him. Terry stopped dancing in the middle of the floor and cradled her face. Her eyes widened, and she touched his waist. She had to have sensed his palpable attraction to her. It sat around him like a heavy shroud of fog ready to engulf her. Jess's eyes stayed connected to his like she was trapped by his allure. She made it so damn hard to remain a gentleman.

He kissed her.

His lips smothered hers and she tilted her head back, accepting the offering of intimacy. She opened her mouth, and he slipped his tongue inside, tasting the strong whiskey they shared all night. The kiss didn't last long, but the satisfaction of going for what he wanted was enough. If nothing else ever happened between them, he was pleased to have finally sampled those delectable lips. He pulled back and her eyes were still closed. The corners of her lips crooked up into a smile, and that dimple appeared.

"Let's go have another drink," he suggested.

She nodded, but before they reached the bar, another man slipped his arm around her waist and led her back to the floor.

"You owe me a dance, remember?" the man said.

"This is Zion," Jess said.

"W'sup? I'm Terrell," Terry said, using his full name.

"Oh, yeah? Well, I'm 'bout to steal her for a minute…you mind?"

His tone tested Terry to say different. Jess didn't appear to take the guy serious, but she averted Terry's direct gaze. She had to ride home with him regardless of what Zion may have been hoping to get into with her. Let him have his little dance.

"Nah partna, I need a rest."

"Be right back, okay?" she said.

"I'm going to the restroom. Have fun," he said.

She walked with Zion back to the dance floor. He meandered around until he found the men's room and voided his bladder at a smelly urinal with half a pink urinal cake. Afterward, he bought himself bottled water. His buzz ended an hour ago when he cut himself off in order to drive sober, because Jess stayed tipsy. He didn't know her tolerance level, or where she lived, and figured he'd drive her home, or take her back to his motel and book a room for her.

He'd need to get to the bank by twelve noon, and luckily there was a branch of the one he used off the highway exit near the motel. Rosa's lawyer would be in his office on Monday, so whatever Zeb gave him, he'd pass on to the law office instead of the authorities first.

Terry took a seat at a small table and surveyed the crowd. Two white women sauntered near him, flirting with a few men. The club was entirely Black and the women stood out like fetish thrill seekers by the way they interacted. A BBC prowl is what it looked like to him. Several patrons with pinched faces and eye rolls made it very clear that the two interlopers were not welcome because of their sketchy behavior. The ladies didn't care, strutting around like they were the shit. Up close they looked older, forty-ish by his estimate, their faces carved with severe lines and sharp angles, but their clothing tried to appear youthful. One of them with a beauty mark above her lip stared at him in the half-light as she approached.

"You have such beautiful eyes," she slurred.

He nodded with a polite smile and looked past her, searching for signs of Jess and Zion. The music had him bouncing in his seat and he caught sight of Jess eventually. She gave Zion two songs before she left the other man's side. Zion watched her walk away as Terry waved her over to him.

No more seats were available at the table, but Terry pulled her onto his lap side saddle. Jess acted shy but he held onto her waist with both arms, in the front and back. He enjoyed how his arm rested on the puffy part of her belly like a cushion made for him. What he wouldn't give to rest his head there while she rubbed on his scalp. He stayed respectable with her like that, not tempted at all to rub on her booty. Zion stared at them from a distance.

"Whenever you're ready to go," he said.

"I'm not good to drive," she whispered in his ear.

"I'll get you a room at the motel," he said.

She nodded.

They listened to the music, but he delighted in holding her. Her backside sank into his thighs and she draped an arm around his shoulder and neck.

"I had fun with you tonight," he said.

"I haven't been out like this in a long time. You helped remind me of what I've been missing…fun."

He checked his cell and decided they should head back. Jess stumbled a little as they headed out. He held her arm to keep her steady. As they approached the Durango, he noticed the white woman who spoke to him inside the club, fucking a hard-faced man with locs in the driver's seat of a white Honda. The window stood cracked open, and they were loud. Jess looked at them for a second and ignored them as she handed him her keys.

Climbing in next to him, Jess buckled up and sighed.

"That's all they come here for. We call 'em marshmallow hoes, cuz they always sniff around for hot chocolate."

"She told me I had beautiful eyes."

"She wanted some dick."

He grinned. Jess stared at his face.

"You do have beautiful eyes."

"So do you," he said.

"Stop flirting with me."

He laughed, and she reached under her seat and pulled out her purse.

"I drank way too much."

She took out her cell and texted a message to someone.

Terry drove them onto the highway, and they listened to a gospel CD.

"My grandfather's music," she said.

She reached to turn it off.

"Let it play," he said.

"He likes listening to it when I take him around to do his errands. I live with him."

"It's cool that you still have a grandfather around. Both of mine died when I was in junior high."

"He's been a widow for ten years now. My grandma had breast cancer. He took care of her to the very end. Retired early from his job to look after her when she first got diagnosed. We thought she beat it, but it came back. I told myself I would take care of him the way he did for her. They were so cute together."

She stared out of the window and then rolled it down, making waves with her hand in the warm air stream.

"He's my best friend," she said. "My family and friends used to make fun of me, always wanting to be around my granddaddy when I was little, but he's always been my favorite person in the whole world."

"Mike was like that for me. He was more like my brother than a cousin. Wherever he was, that's where I would be, and vice versa."

"Pull over…"

"What?"

"Quick, pull over!"

Terry drove the car to the side of the two-lane highway and Jess jumped out, retching violently into the dirt. A bunch of liquid spewed from her and she heaved several times until she stopped and wiped her lips.

"Sorry…sorry…" she said.

"No problem. You feel better?"

She wiped her hair back and inhaled the summer air.

"I'm good…I'm good…I'm—"

Vomit flew out again, and she fell over into the dirt from the unexpected force.

Terry put the SUV in park and hopped out to assist her. He lifted her to her feet and rubbed her back. The strands of her hair were soft satin.

"This is so embarrassing," she lamented.

"We all over-do it sometimes."

He helped her back into the SUV and chuckled under his breath.

"At least you didn't get any on your clothes," he said.

The parking lot at the motel was full of cars.

"The hell," he said.

He had to park her car in front of the manager's office. A No Vacancy sign blinked in bright neon blue.

"Be right back.'

The night manager smiled at him as he walked inside.

"Are there no more rooms available? I was here a few hours ago, and the lot was nearly empty."

"A lot of people showed up last minute for the Crawfish Festival this weekend. All booked up."

"Do you have a rollaway bed I can rent for my room?"

"We're all out, unfortunately. Rented the last one two hours ago."

"Okay, thanks."

He stepped back in the car.

"Looks like you'll be bunking with me. No extra rooms available. Crawfish Festival going on."

Jess palmed her forehead. He drove to find parking on the side of the motel near the garbage dumpster. She moved slowly when he opened her passenger door. He held her purse for her as she limped out. Her color had drained from her cheeks, and she pushed back her hair.

He opened the motel door, and the room was warm. Flicking on the air conditioning, he guided Jess to the bed.

"I'll loan you a shirt and some shorts. Maybe you should take a shower to feel better?" he suggested.

Jess looked down at the king-sized bed. He grabbed the extra blanket in the closet along with the clothes to change into.

"You can put this blanket down the middle as a divider…y'know…if you want."

"We're adults. It's fine. Thanks for the clothes."

She took them and went into the bathroom.

"Need help with the water?" he called out.

He worried about her still being unbalanced and cracking her head open.

"I got it."

The shower water ran.

He pulled out some sweats to sleep in and turned on the TV, waiting for his turn to shower. Plopping a seat on the bed, he watched an old movie. Jess came out wearing his clothes with her own bundled up against her chest.

"I used some of your mouth wash since I don't have a toothbrush," she said.

"That's fine. Drink some of the bottled water I have over there."

She glanced over at the six-pack he bought in town and took one. He entered the bathroom and let lukewarm water rinse him well before lathering up. Exhaling deeply, he let the day run down the drain. Drying off, he pulled on his sweats and night shirt.

Jess tucked herself under the covers. The extra blanket sat on the chair.

"Okay?" he asked.

"Yeah."

He adjusted the air conditioner temperature and turned off the lights.

"TV remote is on your side. You can watch what you want," he said.

He climbed in on his side of the bed and the space between them was wide enough for two strangers rooming together. Jess turned the sound down and he set the alarm on his phone.

"Night," he said.

"Night."

He turned on his side. His stomach was jumpy and the self-awareness about being in bed with her kept him awake.

The TV droned on for an hour and he yawned. He dozed off. A woman in a movie wept, and he wondered what Jess watched. The weeping went on for a minute longer, even after a commercial came on. He sat up and looked over at Jess.

The crying came from her.

She left the remote in the middle of the bed. He muted the sound.

"Jess? What's wrong?"

Her body shuddered while faced away from him.

"Jess?"

He gently pulled her to his side. Wet eyes peered up at him.

"I feel so bad for you," she huffed out, choking on the last word before scrunching up her eyes.

Her head fell against his chest, and he held her close.

"I'm sorry for everything, Terry…so sorry…"

She sobbed and he let her get it all out. He stroked her hair.

"All we can do now is get this information from Zeb, Jess. We're taking steps to get Mike justice. You're helping me. Hold on to that and nothing else in the past."

"I didn't trust you…I didn't act soon enough…I just…I failed you as a citizen."

"Chief Burnne failed me and you. Alright?"

She hid her face from him, too full of shame. He tilted her chin up and forced her to look at him.

"I hold nothing against you, Jess. I swear. You were one woman up against an office full of sketchy men. Once you knew the deal, you acted on my behalf. I'm still here because of you. Remember that."

He used his thumb to wipe away the tears that pooled under her lids.

"You saved me," he whispered.

He kissed her forehead to reassure her. She trembled and sighed with relief.

"Get some sleep," he said.

He continued holding her, allowing his body to enjoy her warmth and softness under the covers. She reached up and ran the back of her hand down his cheek.

"Thank you," she said.

This time, she kissed him. Pried his lips open with her tongue. The full weight of her breasts pressed into his chest. He gave her back the rising passion in his mouth that she shared with him. Something ignited in her and their long, wet kisses seemed to go on forever. He slanted his head to taste her mouth deeper and went against his better judgment by palming her breast. There was so much to hold. He played with her nipple until it stiffened in the borrowed shirt. The need to see them overpowered him.

"Take this off," he said.

He didn't have to ask twice.

Jess pulled it over her head and, with the light of the TV, she revealed to him the full glory of her breasts. His dick twitched in his sweats. He cupped both of them with his hands and lowered his head to suck on them, groaning as he did so. His dick hardened so quick listening to her soft pants. She raked her nails over the back of his neck. He sucked and played with her nipples, putting as much titty in his mouth as he could, stretching it wide. His dick started leaking pre-cum. He could feel it sliding down his hip.

He pulled the covers down from her body and then reached over to turn a lamp light on. He wanted to see everything. Her breasts were better than he imagined. Sizeable reddish-brown areolas. Plump nipples. She noticed the tent in his gray sweats…and the pre-cum stains soaking through.

"Can I eat your pussy?" he asked.

"Yes."

He groaned so loud, grateful that she gave him consent to taste her. She shimmied out of his basketball shorts, and the puffy roll of flesh across her belly made him happy. He tugged on it and moaned when he saw how fat her vulva was under it. She shaved herself closely down there and he could already see the pink inner folds glistening from between the puffy outer lips. He slapped her vulva playfully and sought her clit that already retracted from its hood, looking like a tiny pink diamond all exposed. His mouth watered, and a bit of clear saliva flew out.

She laughed at him, and he grinned, wiping his lips.

"Can't help it. Look how pretty this pussy is," he said.

He pushed her fat thighs back. She opened up to him like a pink rose in bloom, the soft pubic hairs already sticky near the inner labia. Shucking off his sweatpants, he lowered his face and feasted on the most succulent pussy he ever had in his life.

Jess moaned his name and told him to eat her pussy good. She started whimpering when he watched her face while he sucked, licked, and kissed the pussy he craved all night. He knew how to work his eyes whenever he ate a woman out. They melted every time. Jess was no different, however, he felt different doing it this time. She made it feel more erotic with her loving gazes and the soft sighs of his name falling from her lips. He spit on her folds and licked his tongue all around her sensitive parts, paying attention to the delicate clit. She was ultra sensitive, and her legs trembled every time he licked circles around it or kissed it. His lips were sticky with her slickness. He rose to suck on her tits again. They spread some on her chest and the volume pleased him. Backshots with her would look so pretty with her tits smacking together.

His dick bobbed and her eyes looked excited to see what he was working with. He was girthy and above average, and if her pussy felt as good as it looked, he was going to bust a tsunami in her. Kissing along her neck, he nibbled on her earlobe and whispered in her ear.

"We can go as far as you want. You tell me what you want, Jess."

She moaned and threw her hands around his neck.

"I want that big dick," she panted.

"I can put it wherever you want," he teased in her other ear, "Your pretty mouth, all in that fat pussy," he moaned.

He gently rubbed two fingers on her clit as he spoke. She arched her back. He glanced over at the closet. Had he known they would get into it, he would've pulled some condoms out earlier.

"I have condoms," he whispered into her mouth with urgent kisses, letting her taste her pussy.

She nodded. He jumped off the bed and fetched two. Sitting on the edge, he started tearing the gold foil packaging open, but she slid down to the floor and engulfed his dick with her hot mouth, making his fantasy come true. She wedged his thick dick between her breasts, rubbing and sucking him off.

"Oh…shit…." he mumbled.

"You like that, Daddy?"

He could barely see the tip of his dick. Her big tits swallowed his length. Pre-cum spilled out, adding more lubricant.

"You gonna let me fuck that pussy?" he asked, just to make sure it was all good.

She slid her tongue across the tip of his dick and spit on the slit like the nasty girl he needed. Jess nodded and he fisted her hair, pulling her head back so they could make deliberate eye contact.

"Tell me," he said.

He put some extra bass in his voice. She gave him a sly grin, and that dimple melted him.

"I want you to fuck me until the sun comes up," she said.

Say less.

Terry lifted her up and tossed her on the bed, ripping the condom open with his teeth.

Part 5 Soon Come...

Masterlist

Tag List:

@nahimjustfeeling-writes

@planetblaque

@kindofaintrovert

@thedondada05

@blackburnbook

@avoidthings

@slutsareteacherstoo

@nayaesworld

@notapradagurl7

@4pfsukuna

@yamst3rdamctrl

@sweettea-and-honeybutter

@comfortzonequeen

@theereina

@brattyfics

@prettyisasprettydoes1306

@megane96

@honeytoffee

@taurusqueen83

@mightbeher

@melaninpov

@carlakeks

@woahthatshitfat

@hrlzy

@theglamclosetsl

@liquorlaughslove

@teeresaresa

@cocoagadgetsworld

@mogul93

@helloncrocs

@dremmmm

@simplyzeeka

@pearlkitten33

@jas241

@leahnicole1219

@kaykay772

@juniperlovesstuff

@kingclementyne

@thickmadame

@onherereading

@daneiawrites

@hotgrlcece

@darqchilddaydreamz

@ariiijestertheklown

@blackerthings

@soufcakmistress

@jaythegreat

@venusincleo

@ovohanna24

@kirayuki22

@beas-mind

@supremechae

@solunaseira

@kalaahisthebestest-

@justlo7

@kanafunee

@contentfiend

@nun0ir

@livingfiction

@megamindsecretlair

@ranikyani

@thegreatlibraryofalex

@wabi-sabi1090

@soft-persephone

@insertcatchynamerighthere

@invisiblegiurl

@mitruscity

@gopaperless

@thabiddie23

@beenathembo

@aldrigmer444

@gg-trini

@youalreadyknowitsmesis

@teddybeerz

[oneforthemunny]

have i the right? |yandere!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: ever since you started working at turtle's tapes, you and eddie have grown closer and closer until he finally asks you out. it feels like the pieces of your life are finally falling into place, things are going right for once- but things are not always what they seem.

contains: minors dni 18+. dark fic. dark!eddie. yandere!eddie. dark tones of the fic. stalking, obsession, breaking and entering, mentions of past violence, mentions of past trauma and relationships. masturbation.

Twelve days. 

Twelve days since you walked in. Eddie didn’t know what divine intervention had stepped in, decided to shine down on him and bring you into Turtle’s Tapes, a resume in hand, asking for Mel. 

You had been so jittery, fingers drumming on the strap of your leather shoulder bag. Red nails, freshly painted, Eddie could tell by the smudges around the edges you hadn’t bothered to clean up. He didn’t point it out, couldn’t even if he wanted to. Tongue too thick, breath caught and suffocating in his throat, wrapped around the words he wasn’t even sure he’d form yet. 

He managed to point you to the back office, croak out the words he couldn’t even remember, hoping his cheeks didn’t reveal the flush of heat thrumming through his body when you smiled at him, waving when you walked away. 

“You’re working again?” 

A giggly voice had Eddie turning, spine straightening, shoulders rolling back when he turned from the stack of records he was sorting. 

You had your hair up today, pulled back so he could see your face fully, more features for him to memorize. 

“Yeah,” Eddie snorted, chin ducking to his chest, a waterfall of curls hiding the pink of his cheeks. “Brenda called out of another shift.” The eye roll he added made you giggle. 

“Again? Why do they even keep her around?” You muttered, grabbing a stack of records out of the shipment box, handing the top one- Out of Time- over to Eddie. Your nails were starting to chip now, around the edges, flaked red polish. 

“Well, she-she’s not bad. Pretty good on the register.” Eddie grabbed the record, sucking in a breath to calm the excited tremble in his hands. 

“Right.” You frowned, lips puckering out the way they did when you were thinking. Eddie noticed it on your first day of training, when he was explaining how to stack the eight tracks, an adorable tick he found himself thinking about at night, staring at his ceiling replaying every word you’d said. 

“I didn’t- I wasn’t trying to be bitchy.” You shook your head lightly. “I was- I mean, you’re always taking her shifts. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.” 

“No, no,” Eddie’s grip tightened on the record, the plastic wrapping crinkling under his touch. “I know you weren’t.” 

Stupid, stupid, Eddie cursed himself, watching your face fall. The bell trilled, pulling your attention to greet the customer with a cheery tone. You were still new, still eager to impress and help, not weathered and worn from customer service like Eddie. He was thankful for it, truthfully. 

Eddie liked watching you work, liked watching you in general. When he could cut his eyes, stare shamelessly like he used to in freshman year algebra, watching Stacy Simmons from the back corner of the class. 

You were better than Stacy Simmons. Prettier. Definitely nicer. Stacy never even looked at Eddie, he wasn’t even sure she knew he existed, even when he sent her the candy-gram on Valentine’s Day. 

He wondered what kind of candy you liked, what it would have been like to go to high school with you. If you would have acknowledged him, maybe even been friends with him? Gone to prom, wore a corsage he pinned on with his Judas Priest button. 

“Were you a cheerleader in high school?” Eddie asked when you finally migrated back over to him, stocking on the other side of the stacks. 

“What?” Your nose crinkled lightly, lips curling in a tiny smile. “A cheerleader?” 

“Yeah.” Eddie’s heart hammered, chest burning with regret, embarrassment. What a stupid fuckin’ question, Munson, why would you ask that?

“No.” You giggled, shaking your head. “Do I look like I was a cheerleader?” You snorted lightly, brow raising playfully. 

Eddie wanted to tell you, you looked like the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, prettier than a cheerleader, than an angel. 

Instead, he thumbed through the stacks, pretending to look for a record, a desperate attempt to play it cool. “Kinda.” He shrugged. “Not in a bad way, you’re just… you get really peppy when you’re helping people.” 

“Peppy?” You laughed. 

“Yeah.” Eddie smirked. “I mean, your voice raises.” 

“Wow.” You shook your head, lips rolling, biting back a smirk. “I didn’t even realize I did that. I guess I do.” 

Eddie’s stomach turned, a violent, sharp jab when your smile dropped slightly. Munson, don’t ever speak again. What the fuck is wrong with you today? Get it together. 

“It’s not a bad thing.” Eddie shook his head, sweaty palms gripping the stack of records. “You’re- The customers really like you.” 

“Thanks.” You muttered. There was that silence, filling the space between you. Eddie loathed it, feared it, terrified that it would linger forever, that he might never hear the sound of your voice again because he drove you away. 

“Do you close tonight?” You hummed, shuffling down to the next stack. Head still tilted down but eyes lifted to look at Eddie, lines creasing on your forehead that he’d never seen before. A new angle of you for him to preoccupy his thoughts with, play in his fantasies. 

“Yeah.” Eddie nodded, swallowing down the growing lump in his throat, thumb twisting the ring around his middle finger. His stack was gone, finished, but he wouldn’t dare leave to get another. Not while you were talking, while he was in your attention. 

Instead, he pretended to organize the names, shuffling the stacks. “Just us tonight.” His lips curled, dimples deep in a grin. 

You smiled back, soft but bright, enough to make his heart flutter and take flight. “Fun.” You shrug sweetly. “That means we can change the music, right? I don’t think I can listen to Amy Grant on a loop again.” 

“Yeah, definitely. As soon as Mel leaves we can.” Eddie swore he was in love, hoping you couldn’t see the blush in his cheeks. Every second he spent with you, time built his feelings, made them grow stronger and stronger. 

“Play something actually good.” Eddie smiled. He’d been shuffling the same records back and forth, fiddling between his hands. 

“I’m sure you will. You have great taste.” The compliment was so natural, so easy coming from you. Still, it made Eddie blister and burn at the praise, so sure his heart might swell and tear through his ribcage, splatter all over the aisles and on your t-shirt. 

“The customers really like you too. Always come in and ask for your recommendations.” You added, filing in the last of your record stack. 

“Yeah? Thanks, I mean,” Eddie took a breath, swallowing down a stutter, jumbling of words. “Thanks. Just trying to keep the kids cool, y’know? This grunge shit.” Eddie shook his head. “Sorry, I know you’re a fan. Nirvana’s not that bad.” 

You laughed, shaking your head at him, an empty box cradled on your hip. “So I guess I can’t convince you to spin Nevermind tonight?” You batted your eyes at him sweetly, lip tucked between your teeth. Eddie’s knees tightened. 

As soon as Mel left, Eddie was tearing open the album, shoving Heart in Motion back in its slip with far less care than he should have. Mel would bitch him out, bitch him for opening and playing a non-approved album on the store’s system. Eddie didn’t care, he’d buy the album in secret, give it to you maybe. Slip it in your locker with a note. 

If your smile was anything like what you gave him when the opening chords to Smells Like Teen Spirit played through the speakers, he’d buy you a million of those fucking albums. 

The hours were slow for a Thursday, especially with the new releases. Not that Eddie minded, he’d never complain about a lack of asshole highschool kids, demanding for cassettes and tapes. 

“I think it’s because of the rain.” You tilted your head back, looking out the front window, painted and splattered with rain drops. 

Eddie was convinced you could read his mind, sure you might be his soul mate, made just for him. “Yeah, I think so.” He nodded, wiping off the counter with a sudsy rag. 

You sighed, heavy, pushing past your lips, puckering them in a perfect pout. Eddie’s tongue ran over his bottom lip, the soapy warm water seeping through his fingers. 

“I was hoping it would hold over until I got off.” You admitted, shoulder’s falling, dragging the broom lazily around your dust piles. “I forgot an umbrella or a rain jacket.” 

Eddie paused, a second longer than he should have, your attention moved to him. “You- Sorry, you walked?” Eddie shook his head lightly, curls bobbing, brushing against his cheeks. 

“Yeah,” You muttered, looking down at the broom, pushing the piles of dirt around. “My car’s in the shop. They said it would be ready a week ago.” 

Eddie’s fingers curled around the rag, water piling and pooling in the spot in front of him. He’d find where your car was, make them fix it, fix it himself if he had to. 

Still, your rainy predicament gave him an opportunity he’d been looking for. Plotting and mulling over for the past twelve days. 

“I can give you a ride.” Eddie shrugged, dragging the rag, stained with dirt from the years of use, over the glass, prismatic streaks on the glass from the cleaner. 

“No,” You shook your head politely, sweeping the dirt pile into the dustpan. “I can’t ask you to do that. It’s fine, honestly, I live really close-” 

“-C’mon.” Eddie rolled his eyes lightly. “It’s pouring and it’s dark. Shouldn’t walk alone at night, anyways. Lots of weirdos out.” 

Your own heart skipped at his tone, thrilling and thrumming with excitement. “I mean, if it’s not a problem.” You hesitated. “I can give you some gas money-” 

“-No, don’t.” Eddie said firmly, plopping the rag back in the bucket of water. “It’s not a problem, seriously. I don’t mind.” 

Your lips curled, a shy smile. “Thank you.” You nodded. “I really appreciate it, Eddie.” 

“It’s not a problem.” Eddie shrugged. “Besides, you’re not wearing the right shoes.” He nodded towards your white Keds, cloth on top, stained with dirt from your walk here. “Can’t let them get ruined.” 

“They’re already ruined. Really dirty, I need to clean them.” You smirked, toes wiggling in your sneakers. “But thank you.” 

“Hey, it’s no problem.” Eddie shrugged, trailing you when you crossed the store, bending over to brush up another pile of dirt. Your shirt rode up, jeans lowering just enough for Eddie’s breath to still entirely. The strings of your panties, high cut, a lavender shade peeking over the band of your denim, that had Eddie’s head spinning. 

His face flushed, blood rushing straight to his crotch, shamelessly. A still soapy hand adjusted himself, turning so you wouldn’t see. Wouldn’t see how easily he was flustered, attracted to you. The last thing he needed to do was scare you off, fuck this all up again. 

Like with Chrissy. 

Eddie winced, teeth clenching at his own thoughts. No, he wouldn’t think about her. You weren’t anything like her. How dare he insult you like that, comparing you so lowly to her. 

His eyes cut back to you, hips swaying while you swept to the beat of Lithium, head bobbing to the clash of the drums. 

No, he knew better this time. He’d be more careful. He wouldn’t mess this up. 

Eddie gave you his keys to the store, let you lock up while he took the trash, sprinting to his van. He shoved the cigarette buds in the plastic trash bag, smushing down the brown, grease soaked fast-food paper bags he’d carelessly tossed in his passenger side. He would’ve had his car detailed if he would have known he’d be giving you a ride. 

“Ed?” Your voice carried around the corner. 

“Back here!” Eddie called, jamming his keys into the van’s ignition, the engine sputtering to life before evening out into a steady roar. One leg out, Eddie stopped, sucking in a breath. He swiped the yellow scrunchie off his gear shift, shoving it in his pocket just as you turned the corner. 

Eddie smiled, walking to the dumpster, flinging the bag in. “Sorry, just wanted to get the car started. It takes a while for it to warm up.” 

He held the door open for you, bowing dramatically when you slipped in. You giggled at his antics, and his heart soared, fluttered with pride. Eddie slipped into the driver’s side, eyes scanning the console and back of the van nonchalantly when he backed out, making sure he hadn’t left anything lying about. 

He was more careful after what happened before. More aware, double checking his steps, but the scrunchie had him on edge. It was close, too close for his comfort. 

“Seriously, thank you.” You looked over at Eddie, the glow of the street lights cast a nearly angelic, golden luster over your features. “Saved me from getting sick.” You nodded towards the window, Eddie’s wipers creaking with every swipe over the glass. 

“Can’t have that now.” Eddie smirked, looking over at you, throwing his blinker on. “Have to take your shifts too. Then I’ll really be overworked.” 

You laughed, looking out the window, smile falling as Eddie cruised down the familiar street. 

“But seriously, if you ever need me to take a shift for you, I don’t care to.” Eddie shrugged, eyes cutting over to yours. He didn’t see the way you’d stilled, hands wringing in your lap, spine rigid. “I was just kidding.” 

You stayed silent, heart hammering, inching further and further up your throat. Eddie frowned, looking over at you. “You alright?” 

Your wide eyed gaze met his, scared, startled. He saw flashes of Chrissy before him, merging into his vision. “What?” Eddie cringed. He didn’t mean to sound so fierce. “Are you alright?” 

“How do you know where I live?” You asked, blinking at Eddie, eyes rounded. Your eyes cut to the road ahead, Eddie inching closer to your apartment complex. 

His heart stopped, a pause that lingered a little bit longer than he meant it to. “You told me.” He blurted, a white knuckled grip on the wheel, turning back towards the road. “When you started, you told me you lived at Magnolia Place. My friend Jeff lives over there, remember?” 

You had mentioned it, not to him, to Lindy. Eddie had overheard it, when he was lingering around, watching you from behind cassette stacks. You frowned, but your grip loosened, relaxing. Eddie held his breath, switching his hand casually, freeing his right hand- just in case. 

“Oh,” You chirped, flushing with embarrassment, chin tucking towards your chest. “I-I’m sorry. I forgot about that.” You shook your head. 

“It’s alright.” Eddie shrugged casually, his fingers loosening around the wheel. 

“No, that was weird of me.” You shook your head, hands rubbing down your face. “I watch too much Dateline.” You laugh softly. “It’s always the single girl in an apartment alone, y’know?” 

Eddie smirked. “Do I give off those creeper vibes?” His eyes cut to yours, longer than they should have, reading your reaction. “Bundy vibes or something?” 

“No,” Your laugh made him relax, exhaling slowly. “I’m just- I don’t know. I need medicated. I get, like, super worried about things sometimes.” You looked down at your nails, picking at the chipping polish. 

“No, that’s a good thing. Better to be careful.” Eddie nodded, turning into the apartment complex. “Ok, now I do need you to tell me which one. Left or right?” 

“I’m in the very back right.” You pointed through the rainy window, drizzle still steady. 

Eddie turned the wheel with his palm, slowing the van to a cruise through the parking lot. “Where does your friend live?” 

“Hm?” Eddie hummed, brow furrowed, looking over at you. 

“Your friend?” You pressed lightly. “You said he lives over here? Where, if you don’t mind me asking? I just… it would be nice to know someone just in case.” 

Eddie craned his head, heart thrumming in his chest rapidly. “He lives right there.” Eddie pointed, finger pressed to the window. “On the left side.” 

You nodded slowly, leaning forward, close enough that Eddie could smell your perfume. His head spinning, stilling entirely, scared to move and have you inch away. 

“But if you ever need anything,” Eddie followed your muttering of directions. “You can just call me. I don’t live too far.” 

“That’s sweet,” You smiled softly, turning so you were inches away from Eddie’s face. He hoped you couldn’t feel the heat radiating off his cheeks. “I don’t want to bother you, though.” 

“You’re not.” Eddie shook his head. “I promise. I’ll let you know if you bother me.” 

“Yeah?” You laughed, Eddie could feel your breath on his curls. 

“Yeah. Oh, yeah.” Eddie nodded, sliding into a parking space easily. “You’ll know.” 

You smiled, and for a moment, Eddie contemplated leaning forward, grabbing your face with his hands and kissing you. You moved before he could, unfastening your seat belt instead. Eddie tried to hide his huff of disappointment. 

Too slow, Munson, you’re always too fucking slow. 

“Well, thank you, again.” You reached for your purse, slipping your arm through the leather strap. “I really appreciate it.” 

“Any time.” Eddie’s fingers drummed on his denim clad thigh, desperately racking his brain for anything, anything to get you to stay. Even just for a second longer. 

“Enjoy your day off.” You smiled, the streetlights above you catching in your eyes. “You deserve it.” 

“Thanks.” Eddie gave a tight lipped smile, heart jumping when your fingers cradled around the door handle. “Wait-” Eddie’s voice was sharper than he meant, your head whipping around towards him. 

“Sorry,” Eddie blushed. “I just- You don’t close tomorrow, right?” Eddie asked, foot shaking by the brakes, the rumble of the engine vibrating the soles of his shoes.

“No, I’m an opener. I get off that four.” You smiled proudly. 

“Oh, well, I was thinking if, um,” Get it the fuck together, Munson. “If you’re not busy tomorrow after work, I- we could go to The Hideout?” 

You blinked. “I mean, I know we talked about it, and you said you’d never been. I’m not playing tomorrow, but I-I know the band that is. We could go and listen to the music, or just go and hang out. It’s really fun, really chill.” Eddie rambled. Chill? Who says chill? 

“If you want to.” Eddie blurted before you could reply. “I-I know you probably have plans, or something better to do-” 

“-No,” You shook your head, a smile spreading over your features, beaming as bright as the streetlamp about the two of you. “I mean, yes I want to go. No, I’m not busy.” You gave him a small, breathy laugh. 

“That sounds like fun.” Eddie was convinced it was a dream, the entire interaction. You in his van, agreeing to go out with him. His luck was finally changing, falling into place. 

“Yeah?” Eddie’s eyes were bright. “Yeah, I-I mean it will be. I promise.” His foot still shook. “I’ll pick you up.” 

“Yeah, that-that would be nice.” You beamed, heart fluttering with butterflies, tingling with excitement. 

“I can get you at seven? We can get there kinda early and get a good seat by the front if you want.” Eddie couldn’t help his smile, couldn’t hide it even if he wanted to. 

“Sounds good.” You smiled. There was a pause, and you weren’t sure why, what came over you when you leaned forward, lips pressing in a soft peck to Eddie’s cheek, soft over the crease of his dimples. 

Eddie flushed, body burning, flaming with heat, he knew he wasn’t hiding. You grinned, a small giggle, bubbly like the two of you were in junior high, kissing behind the bleachers. 

“I-I’ll see you tomorrow.” You grinned, opening the door. Eddie nodded, eyes still wide, lovesick or maybe lovestruck- he couldn’t decide. 

“Thank you again!” You squeaked, shutting the door, scampering to your door. You turned, waving at him before pushing the door open, slipping inside. 

Eddie sat, in a daze, head foggy, blinded with a rush of emotions. He could feel your lips on his cheek, a light tingling imprinted onto his skin. 

He’d nearly ruined it, fucked it all up before it even began. He wouldn’t let that happen, couldn’t be careless like before. 

Eddie pulled out of the parking spot, the light from your bedroom catching his eye in the rearview as it flickered on, blinds wide open. For someone who watches so much Dateline, you should know better. 

Eddie’s stomach turned, foot pressing into the gas, halting in front of another complex. Eddie turned, adjusting the rear view mirror so he could see you. Maybe you hadn’t left it open. His mind swam, flooded with fear. He couldn’t live with himself if something happened. 

Just a quick check. Make sure she’s alright, and then leave. It won’t be like last time. 

Eddie let the van roll to a stop, cutting the headlights before killing the ignition. A steady stream of rain drummed on the roof of the van, melodic and calming. Eddie reached in his pocket, holding your yellow scrunchie. The thing that had nearly blown his whole plan. He swiped it from your locker four days ago, held it close to his nose that night, hand wrapped around his shaft, eyes fluttering closed, breathing in your scent and imagining what it would be like if you were there instead. 

Eddie closed his fist around the silk, tucking it back in his pocket, reaching for his leather jacket, thrown over the back seat. An old Yankees cap, navy and worn in the floor of the van’s trunk. Eddie slipped the cap over his curls, pulling the brim low, zipping his jacket up. 

Hands in his pocket, Eddie scanned around him. Nobody out to see him, catch him like last time and stop him. He wouldn’t let them even if they tried. Not this time. 

The rain beat off Eddie’s shoulders, repelling off the leather of his jacket, wetting the ends of his curls. A final look over his shoulder, and Eddie was slinking back towards the wet brick of the opposite unit. Shuffled side steps, creeping closer and closer into the dark, angling himself to see your window. 

He stilled, pressed fully to the brick, when your figure fluttered out of the corner of the window. Eddie watched the steam roll, following you out of the bathroom in a cloud, a towel wrapped around you, another in your hair. Toothbrush lazily scrubbing inside your mouth, flicking on the TV in your room. 

She’s safe, now leave. Leave. Eddie’s mind screamed, but his feet were cemented in place. Hidden in the dark shadows, drawn to you like a moth to a flame, the light luring him though he stayed still. 

You disappeared, Eddie watched you in the large mirror above your vanity. 

Now, go now. Before she sees you. She’s going to see you. 

The pounding in Eddie’s ears roared over the falling rain, deafening. Still, he stayed. Frozen in fear, maybe instinct. 

When you returned, dropping your towel, kicking it to the corner of the room, Eddie was glad he stayed. Eyes wide, willing himself not to blink. He didn’t want to miss a second, not a single one. Your bare figure, better than his own imagination could curate. Soft edges and curves that Eddie couldn’t wait to feel. How jealous he was of your hands, smoothing the Avon body lotion over your shins, up your thighs. 

What he would do to be the one doing that instead, his mind fading, slipping into his imagination. Inside your bedroom, instead of out, pressing soft kisses to your freshly lotioned shoulders, nose trailing along your soft skin. He wondered how you’d feel in his arms, letting yourself relax in his touch. 

Eddie’s fantasies were halted when you moved to the vanity, snapping back to his cruel reality, a jolt of icy cold fear dumped into his veins. He could see himself in your mirror, the very corner. You bent down, picking up your comb and he took his chance, stepping back, hidden from your gaze, only a sliver of you to be seen, when you’d tilt your head a certain way to blow dry your hair. 

Eddie stood, cold puffs of air clouding around his nose, clutching the switchblade in his jacket pocket every time he heard the smallest rustle. Ready to attack, to do anything he could to keep from being caught. He couldn’t ruin this, lose you before he ever truly got you. He was so close, so close.  

Your light didn’t turn off, the same warm glow spilled out from your window, rain beating against the glass. Eddie’s feet ached, heart rate stroke level high. “Shit, shit, shit.” Eddie muttered, carefully stepping back towards the window.

 You were no longer at the vanity, instead on your stomach, painting your nails at the end of the bed. Not red, from what Eddie could see- black. His lips curled. He liked to think you were doing this for him, for tomorrow, to match his dark and moody attire. 

Eddie army crawled under your window, holding his breath when he passed under your window sill. He could hear the muffled sound of the TV- Dateline. You really should know better. Eddie would make sure to tell you that when he finally got inside, make sure to put in blinds and curtains for you. 

His jaw flexed at the thought of someone trying to hurt you, someone else watching you. Watching you to harm you, not keep you safe like Eddie. The thought nearly had him staying in his van, parking closer and keeping watch through the night. He decided against it, the risk of nodding off and you seeing him there stronger than his want to stay. 

Instead, Eddie pulled out of the parking lot, watching your window in the rearview mirror of his van as he drove away. 

“Morning.” You sang, a skip in your step that you couldn’t hide, punching your card with glee, putting it in the assigned pocket. 

“Good mornin’ to you, Sunshine.” Brenda grinned, brows raised at your cheery demeanor, running the price gun over the new cassettes. “What’s got you so happy on a Friday morning?” She snorted lightly. 

“Mm, nothing.” You hummed, twisting the metal lock around. You were getting better at it, thanks to Eddie. He’d helped you the first few times. Tricky things, he’d told you with a half smile. 

“Nothing?” Brenda sang, a playful mocking tone that had you blistering in heat. “You’re just that excited to stock tapes all day? That’s it?” 

“Yeah.” You snorted lightly, pulling the lock open, wrangling it out of the metal hold of your locker. “No, I…” You spun the lock in your hand. “I’m going on a date tonight.” 

“Oh?” Brenda’s brows raised. 

You nodded. “Yeah. With, uh, with Eddie, actually.” Your heart fluttering in your chest, bubbly and excited. 

“Oh, really?” Brenda laughed, putting her hands on her hip, pricing gun still in head. “Well, that makes more sense then.” 

You frowned. “What?” 

Brenda shook her head, kicking the box lightly with her foot. “That boy,” She snorted lightly. “He called my phone night before last, all crazy, I thought he’s been hurt or somethin’. Askin’ me to switch shifts with him last night.” 

You paused, stilling. “H-He did?” You squeaked, hand closing around the lock tightly. 

“Yeah,” Brenda smiled. “I mean, I was a little confused why he’d want to work a closing over an open, ‘specially with all the shifts he’s been picking up. But I thought, hey, none of my business. Maybe he needs the money.” She held her hands up playfully. “This makes me feel better, though.” 

You twisted the lock nervously in your hands. “It does?” 

“Yeah.” Brenda looked at you. “He just likes you. Wanted to take you out. Probably scared I’d tell you or somethin’, you know how he is.” She rolled her eyes dramatically. “He gets a little paranoid about things. Dramatic, that one.” 

Your stomach turned, sharp and twisting. “But-But Eddie, he wouldn’t, like, he’s a good guy?” You asked. “I mean, he seems like a good guy, but you-you know him better than I do.” 

“I’ve known Ed since he was a little boy.” Brenda waved you off, her flippant tone made you feel better somehow. “I used to date his uncle, actually. Wayne started taking care of Eddie when we were together. He was wild, I’ll tell ya. But the sweetest kid. Wouldn’t hurt a fly.” 

“Right.” You nodded, swallowing down your nerves. “Right, I- I’m just not from here, ya know? I get kinda…” You waved your hands, slinging your purse in your locker. “I also get paranoid.” 

“A good match then.” Brenda grinned. “You’ll have fun with him. If he doesn’t treat you right, you let me know. I’ll tell his uncle and he’ll handle him, alright?” Her eyes shone in a playful way, comforting. Soothing your nerves with a warm smile.

You were anxious, and why wouldn’t you be? You hadn’t been out on a date since you moved to Hawkins. 

Since you left your hometown. 

Since you left him. 

You swallowed, shaking it from your mind. You wouldn’t let him ruin this for you, wouldn’t let your mind consume itself. Eddie’s locker was just above yours, a plethora of stickers- Metallica, Black Sabbath, Iron Maiden, and so many more all collaged together. Some peeling, overlapping and covering the others. Right in the middle, a bright, smiley face sticker. You’d given it to him last week, the grocer at Melvald’s snuck one in your bag. 

“I brought it for your sticker collection.” You had grinned at Eddie, waving the yellow sticker around playfully. You hadn’t expected him to put it right in the middle of his collaged locker. 

It was sweet. A simple, sweet, silly gesture that had you giggly and blushy for the rest of your shift. 

You pinned your badge to the inside of your shirt, letting the metal back snap into your soft cotton, pushing out the back doors and towards the register, letting your mind drift into daydreams about tonight. About Eddie, while you straightened the tapes on the front table. 

A ringed hand gripping the plastic cup, warm from the coffee inside, Eddie sipped slowly, eyes trained on the corner. He waited, parked and hidden behind the row of bushes in front of McDonald’s, hoping it would camouflage his van enough. 

His breath hitched, strangling the liquid in his throat when a figure rounded the corner. Your hair was down today, freshly styled, and you had gone without your white Keds. Eddie’s heart bubbled, fluttered to life with a soaring warmth. Your nails were painted black, he could see it as you got closer on the sidewalk, shrinking in his seat, peering just over the steering wheel to track you until you got to the store. 

When you slipped into the door, safely inside Turtle’s, Eddie geared into reverse. Van rolling steady back towards Magnolia Place. 

“It’s always the single girl in an apartment alone, y’know?”

Your voice rang in his head, a rhythmic melody that lured him into a trance, tunnel visioned all the way back to your apartment doorstep. The flathead screwdriver and allen wrench heavy in his pocket, clammy palms wrapped around them. 

As much as he hated his father, cursed and blamed him for the way he was, every hardship he’d endured, he did have to thank him for making him resilient. Al had passed on more than just his wild curls to Eddie. He’d given him his resourcefulness, taught him. Eddie thanked Al, wherever he was, when the door clicked open. 

Your apartment smells exactly like how he thought, looked exactly how he imagined. A hodgepodge of second hand furniture, throw pillows and blankets neatly folded and placed on the patterned couch. Your shoes kicked in a pile by the door, your white Keds amongst them. 

Eddie crouched down, cradling the shoe in his hand. The small speck of dirt splattered on the sides from your walk to work yesterday, an imprint of your foot molded into the sole. 

Eddie let himself wander around the small space- your space. He hoped he’d be back tonight, invited in this time, but in case he didn’t, he just needed a look. To see the full thing, to see how you lived, feel closer to you any way he can. He couldn’t help it. He wanted to know everything about you, every single thing. 

Your perfume taunted him from the vanity, clouded his mind the very same way it did when he smelled it on you, catching whiffs when you’d walk past. Eddie drenched the edge of his band tee, saturated it in your perfume. For later, when his mind would wander back to you, when he’d miss you, when he’d long to smell you. 

Stacks of photos lined the vanity, a man and woman donning similar features to your own. Even when you were younger, you always had the same smile, bright and warm. Your towel still kicked in the corner of the room from the night before, bed sheets crumpled from sleep. Eddie’s hand slid across the crinkled cotton, he hoped they’d still be warm. 

Next to your sink, a bottle of purple acetone, red soaked cotton pads in the trash. A small tray of nail polishes next to that, pushed into the corner, every color imaginable- including the red. The same red you wore when Eddie met you. That you kept painting over for the following days until you finally gave up, let it chip away. 

His mind screamed, roared at him not to. That you would know. 

I’ll give it back. I’ll give it back when she invites me over. She’ll never know. 

Eddie plucked the Revlon bottle out of the group, pushing the others back into place, pocketing it. 

Ok, that’s enough. Enough. You’re gonna get caught. It’s going to be Chrissy- No, no, don’t fucking even compare her to that sick- 

Eddie’s mind spiraled, pulling deeper and deeper into himself, a white knuckled grip on the counter, eyes crossing in a hazy daze, foggy and distorted. A familiar buzz ringing through his ears, a roar of static, heart hammering so fast he was sure it wasn’t beating at all. Flashes of memories he’d tried to forget, beat his head against a wall and knock them out, unforgiving and rapid. 

A sliver of purple peeking out of your wickered hamper halted those hauntings just as quickly as they’d begun. Carelessly thrown on top, Eddie’s vision honing in through the mirror. The same lavender thong that had teased him the night before, consumed his thoughts later that night, hand pumping his cock, free hand holding your scrunchie to his nose, eyes screwed shut picturing- wishing it was you instead. 

I’ll bring it back. With the nail polish, she’ll never know. 

Eddie was nearly in a trance like state, swiping the panties off the top of the towels, shoving them in his pocket. He couldn’t- not here. He was sure he wouldn’t be able to contain himself. 

Instead, Eddie waited until he was back home, in the sanctuary of his trailer. Pulling the old, metal lunchbox off the top shelf of his closet, he sunk into the mattress. A treasure chest, filled with all his favorite things. All his memories of you. 

The scrunchie, a note you’d written him about an order signed with a heart before your name, your application he’d swiped off Mel’s desk after you got the job. It was small, smaller than Eddie would have liked but it was safer this way. The nail polish he tucked away, but the panties he kept out. 

Reaching for the Jergens by his bed, Eddie freed his length from his boxers, settling back against the headboard. Tail of his shirt tucked by his chin, the overwhelming scent of your perfume wafting up to him, dizzying his senses. Eddie sighed, free hand tugging at his shaft, relaxing into the pillows. 

He could see you, a fantasy that challenged his perception of reality, riding him soft and slow. Would you like it like that? Harder? Rougher? Sweeter? Him on top? Eddie’s mind flurried with worry, what if’s, pleasure simmering out slowly. 

Eddie blinked, a heavy lidded gaze landing on the panties in his hand. You flooded back to his mind, picturing you in your little panties, shy and bare before him. He swallowed down a groan, pushing the crotch of your panties to his nose. A pungent, spicy scent, swarming with something so intoxicating. Eddie whimpered, pushing the lavender panties further under his nose, suffocating himself nearly, but he didn’t mind. 

He hoped to have you in a different way, to experience you authentically later tonight. Even just to kiss you again, feel you again, his body ached for it. But for now, Eddie would suffice having you this way, his own little secret, a dark and twisted fantasy just for him. 

[thefusioncelestial]

Mix 19: The Knightly Sea Prince

polo-drone-065 asked:

Would you do like a chav meets a posh boy

Ah, the UK, one of the longest running democracies still in existence, and yet still has a Royal Family. And it is an old one. Many treat the birth year of the British royals as 1066 when William I took control, but they go deeper being able to trace themselves back to Cerdic of Wessex. That meant that this land has been influenced by the progeny of one man for over 1500 years.

As such, England & Scotland would develop a quite rigid society on the social side of things. Your station was not determined by wealth or any actual contribution to society, but what family you are born into & who you marry with. This leads to the creation of the Nobility: scions of Kings & Queens who never took the throne, next the Aristocrats: people who got in the good graces of a monarch to receive a rank & title.

And then there was everyone else.

Unless one got into a royal government, moving up socially or economically was hard. And while the functions of everyday government was eventually handed over to the people, the previous system persisted. A stark reminder that no matter how high you climb, there is always a ceiling.

Despite the wide strides made within recent times, there are those who have yet to catch their lucky break. And within those groups is a section of of young men with poor prospects who have banded together for protection. They aren't gang members, but they are stereotyped as being socially uncouth & wearing sportswear.

Being treated as the rough unwanted members of British society has made them the perfect target. They spend a lot of time outdoors in the streets trying to find something to do between job interview or promotion failures, and with all of that untapped & unused testosterone concentrated in an given area with the masculine aspects of British culture: you get a lot physical violence. When compared to their much more pampered & curated preppy counter parts, these men tend to be more physically dominate, and without centuries of rigid structure imposed on their fighting ability like you would in say fencing, they are able to adjust better to changing conditions.

The aristocrats love this. Their society rules makes it hard to for them to have much in the way of street smarts, and the pampered lifestyle can induce other bad habits. And so untold numbers of these poor men have been captured & assimilated into the young heirs of these landed peoples.

Here is Peter Montague-Pandall:

Slated to be the 22nd Earl of Salcombe.

One wouldn't think that a small coastal resort town like Salcombe would have anyone struggling. But every place has someone who is struggling. With resort towns, most people not business owners are forced to either go into fishing, farming, or into a service role. And while there is a lot of money that flows through, the pay for onsite workers can be bad & the rich clientele are notorious bad tippers.

Most with no prospects outside of cleaning the poop deck, move out via university or the military, and this has kept the local population low. But there are some who don't even have the option.

For Peter he grew up here, his family has been here for centuries. Granted monopolies long ago for saving some medieval king in the heat of battle, their solider founder ancestor set them up for life through bravery.

But like many such families, they all, aside from those who kept a strong military service tradition, lose their edge.

The inbreeding & a couple generations of gambling addictions should have layed the Montague-Pandall's low like the Fulfords, but they were able to course correct early enough.

The Pandalls were connected enough to learn about how the nobility would occasionally assimilate the strongest palace servants or guards to strengthen the family while still keeping up the bad practices that they do. But, they did not have enough power to get one of these necklaces that facilitate this. The fountain that birthed the method in Greece was not infinite in its waters.

A new method was found among those families, and they made a plan. They would make sure that some in their respective towns & cities were kept poor & working class, and unable to move up the ladder. The strongest born of this would be used to strengthen their heirs when the time was needed.

The Pandalls had a tradition that each heir & one spare would be merged with one of these people. The end result of constantly bringing in new DNA, new ideas & perspectives, and new skills would create a long chain of Earls stronger than the last. One result of this is that the Pandalls gained an reputation for being rather hot among their peers. And on top of this, they were more liberal with who they married.

Peter was not only the top of his school's social circle due to his family, but due to his good looks. What the average person didn't know is that untold numbers of people were absorbed into his male ancestors to create this town's Adonis. And if the traditions held, his sons would be born with similar physical gifts.

The Pandells were careful on who they selected, but they eventually paired Peter up with someone.

Here is Jaxon:

He has dreams of leaving his hometown for something different. He likes to go to the beach and stare out west towards America. A land said to be of much better opportunity. But it is a land where you can also fall harder.

But Jaxon is a bit more upright about his future. He is best friends with Peter, son of the Mayor, scion of the richest family within the area.

While they don't help his family with things like bills or food, they have always made sure he was clothed. And so for among his sports clothing wearing brethren, he always had the highest quality. This of course caused conflict. His peers were jealous of this, and so he got into a lot of fights growing up. And that constant fighting forged him into a warrior.

It was the summer after graduation. Jaxon was going to join the Royal Navy. Peter was bound for Cambridge University.

Jaxon & Peter were inside Peter's bedroom. From what Jaxon understood, Peter had a graduation & parting gift for him.

Peter was at the entrance facing the door staring at the door knob. He knew what he had to do. His father did this at his age, so did his grandfather and so forth. But he liked Jaxon. Did he really have to assimilate him. He tried to persuade his father to chose someone else. Someone with no personal history.

He locked the door & turned to Jaxon who was sitting in a desk chair.

"I love you," Jaxon said. Jaxon was always straight to the point. Trying to weasel yourself out of a situation in the streets would get your teeth knocked out too often.

Peter, who was walking towards Jaxon, paused. Did he just confess to Peter.

"I do too, like a brother of course," Peter responded.

Jaxon stood up & gave Peter a hard expression that softened a little.

"I like you a bit more than that," Jaxon said.

Peter took out a small rounded cylindrical vial that contained a yellow fluid.

The fluid was how the aristocratic families without a necklace merged with others. It took some research, firstly by going to the source, and doing decades if not a century more of alchemical, and then chemistry related research. As it turned out, human to human fusion was one of the secret goals of alchemy.

Peter quickly opened the vial and swallowed the liquid.

"What is that," Jaxon asked.

"Liquid luck after what I just walked myself into," Peter said.

"Why are you confessing to me now," he asked.

"You saw how every girl in our school wanted to climb me, and yet I never responded," Jaxon replied.

"I thought being near me was enough to not get you to end up in paternity court," Peter said.

"I would gladly go to court if you were the other parent. I wanted you climb and explore me so badly, but I know someone in your position would never be able to act if you felt the same way," Jaxon said.

"You could have as-"

"Shut up my Sea Prince, I am not done. I am telling you now, because I am leaving this place. Your dad gave me the funds to travel to go to basic training. I am going to see the world, meet new people, and maybe fall in love again. Next time, with someone who isn't so blind. But I wanted to let you know that I no matter what happens after I leave town, that you will always be my first love," Jaxon said.

A silence fell the room.

"That's a lot of words coming from you," Peter said.

Peter started walking towards Jaxon. He soon face to face with Jaxon. Or he would be. Peter was 6'1. Jaxon was 6'5.

"I guess you are influencing me a little bit," Jaxon said.

This was it, maybe he could answer Jaxon's feelings through what he was about to do.

Jaxon closed his eyes & moved to kiss Peter. He was forceful about it, pressed too hard. Peter backed up a little bit, but stayed connected. Jaxon then moved to hold and caress Peter's forearms. This eventually moved into a full embrace. For Jaxon this was the first & last time he would embrace his first true love.

He let go, or tried to. His mouth wouldn't come unstuck and his hands started to sink into Peter's back. He opened his eyes quickly. He knew what Peter was trying to do. But rather than fight back, he gave in.

Peter was scared, he couldn't get a full look at Jaxon's face given his physical position relative to Jaxon's, but the eyes told all. A fierce anger like a Tiger fully committed to killing its prey after said prey tried to fight back in vain was shone through his eyes. Peter fully expected Jaxon to pull back violently and physically rip their faces, but the opposite happened.

Jaxon pushed in. It felt good too. As Jaxon moved into Peter's body, a wave of ecstasy filled his body, but that was mixed with fear. It was only a few minutes, but 60% of Jaxon was mixed into Peter. Jaxon sank more and Peter felt bloated. Their skulls had merged, and Peter lost his facial features. He was a blank skin colored canvas.

All that was left of Jaxon on the outside was his shoulders, chest, abs, & back. Peter tried moving, but it was hard. Each step pulled Jaxon in more & more. The shoulders were gone. More steps. The abs and lower back. He was now in front of his bed and as he reached it, all of Jaxon was consumed.

Peter felt weird. He didn't just feel bloated, he felt Jaxon's mass move inside him. Constantly swirling & flowing, like a river without end.

And then it happened.

Peter's body mass quickly shrunk away. Ribs sticking out, skin hanging off the bones of his arms & legs. Abs gave way to the general shape of his spine. He was like a skeleton draped in skin, but no facial features.

Peter woke up in a completely white space. He was laying on a nice sofa and he was in his fully healthy body again. He quickly undid his shirt, and his muscles were all there.

Was what just happened a dream? A nightmare? But no, he doesn't know of rooms where the area was an featureless white void. He thought about it again. Based on what he was taught by his family both directly & in his records, he was in his mind space. It dawned on him.

He really tried to assimilate his best friend & would be lover Jaxon.

Peter got out of his thoughts when he remembered Jaxon. He knew what was going on; the mental merge. Where was Jaxon?

"I AM RIGHT HERE YOU PAMPERED DONKEY OF A MAN," Jaxon yelled:

Jaxon was now visible to him. Why was he in his boxer briefs? Peter wondered.

"I had an idea of what you money grubbing, self important monsters were doing. I know of a couple of mates who disappeared, all who had help from you lot like...like," he said in an angry & then confused tone.

He couldn't remember exactly who got assimilated. As he thought harder, his memories of them faded away, moving further out of reach. This was by design. The one assimilated would face some form of historical erasure. Some completely, others had aspects of their history smashed into the intended beneficiary.

"Wait, I didn't want to do this-"

"Why didn't you just choose someone else. Pick someone else with nothing to look forward to. I had an option, your family gave it to me," Jaxon roared.

"You know how set in their ways my family can be," Peter said.

"All the help, the great treatment when I came around, and putting ideas into my head. I was just a pig for the slaughter. Tell me, my fate was sealed the moment we met wasn't it," Jaxon asked.

Peter darted his eyes away from Jaxon.

"Yes," he said sadly.

"DONT LOOK AWAY FROM ME, THAT IS NOT THE MAN I LOVE, NOT THE PERSON WORTHY OF BEING ONE WITH ME," Jaxon screamed.

Peter looked back at Jaxon. He noticed that his mental space had changed. It was now a luxury hotel. He realized what had happened.

His father set him up.

He started to become aware of his body in the real world. The emaciated look was due to Jaxon fighting back so strongly on a mental level. The process didn't know which way to go. Not until they resolved who would dominate.

Peter pulled himself together.

"Listen, I know you want to beat me to a pulp, but let me explain. We are giving you a chance," Peter said.

"If that was the case, we would be taking each other's cherries on your bed right now, but instead you tried to use me like meal supplement," Jaxon said. He was much calmer. He wanted to know of this "chance".

"Normally, people who are chosen to be assimilated are knocked out cold, chemically or physically, and then given further drugs to weaken their mental fortitude," Peter said.

"Why," Jaxon asked.

"You had a glimpse of my world, do any of the stuck up pricks I am forced to hang out with seem to have the mental strength or personality to take you guys over fairly," Peter said.

"Absolutely not, you over patted sheep break down at the simplest of inconveniences. Why wasn't this done to me? As you can see, you are doing a bad job of dominating me," Jaxon asked.

"My father probably set this up. My guess is that he wants me to earn this new me. Perhaps due to the subtle influence of whoever he absorbed. Their own way of giving you a fighting chance when they didn't," Peter said.

Peter was fully committed to letting Jaxon take over. His form of apology.

Peter got up, ready to get pummeled and be an aspect of Jaxon.

Jaxon was soon right up to Peter's face.

Those eyes were full of anger, but they soon softened into Jaxon's normal stoic face, but they were a little tinged with worry.

"You knucklehead," Jaxon said. Before Peter could respond, Jaxon kissed him again in their mental space. Unlike the last time, there was no mixing of bodies. They were soon in an embrace. They slowly fell back into the couch and made love. In each thrust from Jaxon, Peter could feel Jaxon's emotions flow into him. His love, his worry, his anger, his confusion, and his acceptance. Mentally, this lasted for hours. In the real world a few seconds.

"Did we just..., bang mentally," Peter asked.

"Another round? Want to try being the top this time," Jaxon said confidently.

Surprisingly, they did it again, but in the way Jaxon suggested.

The couch that hosted this activity twice was in shambles. Peter looked back at the mess and was blushing. He didn't know he had that DAWG in him.

"What do we do now," Jaxon asked.

"Go through that door and live your life. Don't worry about me, I will gladly sacrifice myself so that you can see the world," Peter said.

Jaxon took Peter's hand & made the rest of him follow. Before Peter could protest, they both were a few feet from the door.

"What are you doing," Peter asked.

"I am not going to do to you what you just tried to do to me my Sea Prince. Since we can't come unstuck, let's walk this new us together as equals," Jaxon said.

Peter teared up and then wiped his eyes.

"You would agree to something like that after everything," Peter asked.

"Yes, outside from trying to eat me, everything you did for me made my life more bearable. Even if I had to fight more because it made me stick out more in streets," Jaxon said.

"Your father was right in picking me, you would be useless out there without me guiding you. But once we step through this together, we will be guiding each other, or guiding the new us," Jaxon said.

Peter let out a deep breath.

They both walked through the door.

Peter didn't dominate Jaxon, and Jaxon didn't dominate Peter. This meant that they would be reborn a new person.

The mass that was Peter began to show signs of life again.

It was no longer Peter though. Peter & Jaxon decided to walk the earth as equals. It was still deciding on its name though.

A liquid flowed through it's heavily constricted veins. It was DNA. Peter & Jaxon's DNA had broke down & mixed into a new structure. This new structure was being distributed throughout its soon to be new body.

Though it had no mouth yet, it moaned.

Starting with his feet, then his legs, chest, shoulders, arms, hands, and neck loud pops could be heard in that order. Immediately following the large pops in each body part, muscle exploded in those areas.

As the buttocks grew, you could hear the noise of stretched rubber, and its jewels were big like Jaxon's, but long & girthy like Peter's. Hair grew around the base.

Its stomach expanded in waves, doubling in mass each time. Soon it stopped growing after the third wave and began to restrict. An eight pack was forming with boulders for abdominal stones.

As the skin in the stomach restricted, the rest of the body followed, the result was a more vascular body than what Jaxon had.

Jaxon & Peter were quite compatible and this resulted in a new wave of muscle growth all over that made him more massive than Jaxon as well.

The formless face began to have features again. He had Jaxon's eyes, but softer. Jaxon's skull shape, but rounder. Peter's mouth, but more flush with pink. He had a combination of their noses & eyebrows. Jaxon's chin, Peter's ears. His hair texture & color were from Peter. but the volume was from Jaxon.

He let out a loud yell like a roar.

He was breathing heavily. Then he opened his eyes. It was time to meet his father.

He busted into his father's study unannounced.

"Hello son. Which one are you. Jaxon or Peter," he asked in a monotone manner. He also took a quick glance at the hinges of the door that guard his private study. They were bent at different angles. He was belated; he had strength beyond reasoning.

"I am both. I am Owen Montague-Pandall," Owen responded.

".... Good," the father said.

"You knew, you knew they wouldn't dominate each other," Owen said.

"It was obvious that Jaxon was in love with Peter when they turned 13. The boy was stealing too many glances at Peter once puberty kicked in. I figured they would mutually...mix. A reward for both. Jaxon can live his life with Peter as one, and hopefully you will do your duty and engender the next generation in the future. Tell me, do you like girls or boys," the father asked.

Owen mused for a bit.

"Both," Owen answered. Owen turned to leave.

Good enough the father thought.

"A reward for what though," Owen asked.

"I am aware that Jaxon would defend & protect Peter when he couldn't. Peter was good with a fencing blade, but everyday street fights were not his foray. Jaxon was his knight,' the father said.

Owen continued his walk out of the room.

"Are you not going to knock me out? You sure did a number on my door. I hated that door," the father said.

Owen turned his head.

"Like you said, they found a way to make this crap sandwich into one hiding gold. I can tell you, they are humming happily deep in my subconscious," Owen said.

"Your plans for the future," the father asked.

Owen smiled and walked away. He didn't utter a word.

Owen went to Cambridge like Peter was planning to:

He would spend enough time there & then go join the navy like Jaxon wanted. He would finish school through the methods that the military allowed him to. He would be both scholar & warrior. And like Jaxon, he would get to travel the world.

He would need to. Jaxon & Peter found the easy way out by merging, but now Owen would have to find his first true love, and not try to devour them this time.

Plenty of fish, in the Navy.

He also made sure that Jaxon's original family was taken care of. No more getting eaten by some elitist idiot.

[nomsfaultau]

Philza Malewife Competition Round 9

Previous rounds: Cleaning. Cooking. Decorating. Karens. Sick Day. Eggs. Hugs. Venting. Current points: The Lambs Wolves Wear (2), Lighting Lanterns (1), Weight in Gold (2), Fault (2), everyone else (0). And an honorary point to qsmp for a guest appearance.

For a quick synopsis for the fics I’m referencing- those are here

Next round: Handy man! Broke a Samsung Smart Fridge? Giant magical explosion? No problem! These Phils are on the job, dedicating their experience and skills to crafting, repairing, and home improvement!

GOLDEN APPLES (Gilded Atrophy): Well this Philza did repair all of L'Manburg after withers, tnt, and however many wars occurred. If he could patch up a crater, he can fix just about anything. This includes lovely walkways and infrastructure, beautiful residencies for the refugees of the nation, stunning air balloon lanterns, and overall just the prettiest town ever seen on the server. It's all developed from his centuries of knowledge, though might be a little slow since he's building it all by hand while his wings are recovering from the blast damage. If he can fix a country, he can fix anything. Also patches up creeper holes <3

The LAMBS Wolves Wear: He lives in an old house (built by his great great grandparents) and is used to fixing things up by hand. Doesn't have much in the way of materials, but can chop down trees or make rudimentary replacements. And given "Tommy" keeps destroying the house, he's putting those skills to use....or would, if "Wilbur" isn't refusing to let him, insisting on plastering illusions to 'fix' everything. So, now it's broken, and you can't tell it is until it's too late.

MANDATORY FAMILY REUNION: Hahahahhah......he has a check for 200k to make this go away..?

Where do BABIES come from?: "Heyyyy Dad? Could you swing by, I think my fridge is broken. And the shower, and backdoor, and- DID YOU START A FIRE IN THE WASTE BASKET?! Sorry, I- oh yeah, I have news about new...roommates?" Essentially, this dude just got out of college, does not have money for a repair person, and is replying on his own dad to dad for him. Also forgot to tell his family he now has...four kids? And counting?? So that'll be fun....

LIGHTING LANTERNS to Bring You Home: "Mmm I'm reading. Technoblade I humbly fall in supplication in need of your godly power blah blah fix it for me. "HAEH?! Your words fall upon closed ears for I am a god of Work, not of lazying about!" "Fascinating. I did not realize you were incapable." "NAY! VERILY I AM THE MOST CAPABLE!" "uh huh prove it. Do I win the tournament now?"

Worth far more than you WEIGHT IN GOLD: He has made a very fluffy nest! (this is all he is capable of building). Like technically he can use rudimentary tools...but that's kinda it.

LORD what fools these mortals be!: Poof. He conjures up the finest of new rooms. The ceiling is infinitely high and sparkles with constellations. There are floating steps and magic candles and waterfalls for bed curtains and jewel trees and just about any magic you can imagine. Doesn't show much hard work, though.

FAULT: Philza reveals a lot of craftiness and resourcefulness within Fault. He is shown carving a reed based woodwind instrument for Wilbur, tanning rabbit hide and creating sinew thread for a dagger sheath, contributing metallurgy abilities to the crafting of Tubbos' prosthetic legs, and constructing fairly serviceable tarp tens for everyone while on the run. Has lots of experience from building houses, crazy knowledge for all sorts of time period based skills, trades, architecture trends, etc. However doesn't currently particularly have a house to do home repair in.

I thiiiiink next round will be the Maid Outfit round but that will take a bit because I’m planning full drawings for each one.

[binsito]

service

pairing: kim seungmin x fem reader

synopsis: busy seungmin hires a cleaning lady to spiff up his home only to accidentally hire a topless maid ♡

word count: 2.5k

rating: mature, includes: unprotected sex, swearing, oral sex (f & m receiving), usage of the word "mister" in a sexual setting, "good girl" is used once, slight body cumshot, slight power play ??

note - seungmin as a business man is very sexy to me.. i hope i articulated this story well bc imagining it in my brain was very 😵‍💫

seungmin was a very busy man.

his career often had him working long, stressful hours. his success came with the sacrifice of his social life and maybe a couple of metaphorical gray hairs due to the constant goals he needed to reach for his company.

he was proud of his work, no matter how tedious his job may be. sure, he barely had time to himself but his mother had always advised him to become a hardworking, professional man and of course he listened. at such a young age, he found himself quickly getting promoted and making enough to live comfortably, he couldn’t complain. 

he normally came home late, toeing his shoes off at the front door and sighing as he made his way to his room. tugging at his tie to fall back into his bed. his house virtually looked unlived in. it was a lovely place, marble flooring with high ceilings but the only purpose it served him was to sleep and get ready for work the next day, an unbreakable cycle. he knew he needed to take better care of his home, at least dust it off here and there, but with what time? he could barely use the bathroom for five seconds before work emails would pour in. he figured it was about time he found someone to tend to the house for him, do his laundry, maybe have some meals prepared for him. he had the means to pay for such a service so why not? having a cleaning lady wouldn’t be such a bad idea?

he needed someone fast so he scrolled online for services while he unwinded in bed. the quicker someone could show up to fix his house up, the better. 

he ended up finding an ad that piqued his interest, clicking on it to get more information. the rate they were charging was a bit high but he assumed it was probably because they included more in their cleaning packages. “fuck it.” he sighed out as he booked the soonest available date, at least his house wouldn’t keep suffering from his negligence. __ the next morning, he was getting ready for work as he got a confirmation text message. “morning, mister kim. i’ll be arriving at 10:30, we’ll keep in touch” you had messaged. he was pleased at how quickly his appointment got approved and he finished up so he could greet you when you arrived.

eventually his doorbell rang and he walked over to open it, smiling at you as he moved aside to let you in. 

“hello, mister kim” you smiled as you introduced yourself. you held your hand out for him to shake. he returned the smile and shook your hand firmly, he seemed like a gentleman and his house was lovely. 

he explained everything around the house in great detail and gave you a small tour. it was a beautiful house, very modern and sleek although you could tell he barely lived in it, it lacked the warmth of a typical well loved home. “feel free to make yourself comfortable.. i left a list on the kitchen counter of things i need you to do. thank you for coming so punctually, shoot me a text whenever.” and with that, he was gone. grabbing his briefcase as he hurried out the door to start his day. you looked over the list: sweep and mop, change his bedsheets, iron his suits and dust off his bookshelves. cute, you thought as you noticed he signed his name on the bottom right corner in elegant cursive along with the date.

you started going around the house, working diligently, humming as you carefully dusted off his bookshelves. he seemed interesting, lots of books about philosophy and music. it seemed he was well versed in piano, having lots of classical sheet music scattered about. 

your mind began to wonder.. he was handsome, was he single? he had to be seeing someone right? engaged at the very least? but the more you looked around, the more you noticed the absence of a womanly presence in his home. just one toothbrush, one towel, no makeup lingering around, no forgotten panties or heels, nothing.

you weren’t one to jump to conclusions but normally one’s bedroom held a lot of information about someone.

is that why he requested your services? you wondered..

nothing wrong with hiring a topless maid to clean your house, it was always fun for both parties. he’d be satisfied with a cute little maid doing house chores and you’d be enjoying the attention and compensation. besides, he was pretty attractive and you couldn’t wait for him to get back home that evening to see what would ensue from him seeing you with your tits out for him.

but the problem was.. seungmin had no fucking idea he had requested services from a topless maid. he was tired, half asleep and just really needed his house to be cleaned. maybe he should’ve checked thoroughly, maybe he should’ve read between the lines when the site stated that they offered “special services”.

stupid, stupid mistake. so when he comes home and unlocks the door, the last thing he expected was to see you semi nude.

his jaw almost hit the damn floor, eyes widening while you acted so nonchalant. you glanced over at him with a soft smile, washing some dishes while your pretty tits were on display for him, buds hardening from the cold air in his house. “welcome back home, mister kim” you smiled coyly “h-hi um..” his brain was short circuiting, he didn’t even know what to say or do (he would be lying if he said he wasn’t incredibly turned on to be greeted in such a way). “excuse me.. im going to set my things down in my office” he said, trying not to look down at your exposed chest as he tried to also hide his painful erection. he quickly walked off and checked the website again once he was alone in his office, laughing at how dumb his mistake was. if he had read carefully he would've noticed the implications of the website. “dammit seungmin.. you are quite the idiot..” he said to himself with a chuckle. however, it was a pleasant surprise even if it was unintentional on his part. he couldn’t remember the last time he had seen a nice pair of tits. this was making him realize how badly he needed to take a vacation from work and go have some fun. maybe the lack of a relationship and intimacy was making him dizzy because he couldn’t help but think this was the best thing that could’ve ever happened to him.

so he let out a sigh and straightened himself out before walking back out. you had since finished the dishes and were leisurely wiping down his countertop. “everything alright, mister kim?” you asked as you leaned over the counter, head leaning against one of your hands he nodded his head and sat at one of the bar stools “no.. everything’s fine. were you alright while i was gone?”

“mhm.. but i was excited for you to get back.. wanted you to compliment me on my job well done. did i do good mister kim? the house looks nice and tidy doesn’t it?” you giggled softly “oh yes.. looks a lot better thank you. you did a perfect job, good girl” “ah.. would you like me to take your shoes off for you? i mopped and i don’t want you to mess up my hard work..” you pouted. before he could answer, you had made yourself over to him, getting on your knees beneath him and pulling off his shoes. you could feel his gaze on you, he was a little tense and you found it absolutely amusing. you knew he was trying hard to act calm but you could see right through his demeanor. “oh mister kim.. you’re so hardworking.. i can tell.. poor thing. all work and no play..” you cooed. “want me to help with that? i know you want to touch.. just tell me mister kim..” you stated blatantly, no need to beat the bush when you could tell from the tightness of his pants that he was turned on. “a-are you sure?..” his voice was weak, he thought he sounded absolutely pathetic. “oh yes mister kim.. i’m at your service remember? i wanna play too you know? i think i deserve it for doing such a good job.. been waiting for you to get home to me allll day.. i worked extra hard for my reward..” you looked up at him through your eyelashes with a devilish smile. having sex with a client was never off the table for you, especially if you found them hot. if the situation arose and you were both down, you took the opportunity. you liked being taken care of after making their house look spotless. and lucky for seungmin, if he wanted to go further than just a little topless cleaning, you were more than willing to indulge him, he was just your type. seungmin couldn’t even recall the last time he had sex.. he had been so swamped with work that he had since forgotten about such a thing. he was normally so uptight and frustrated with work, the occasional jerking off on the weekend wasn’t even doing it for him anymore. he shyly leaned forward and cupped one of your breasts, giving it a firm squeeze before pinching the bud, his big hands were able to cup a decent handful and he was pleased at how warm they felt in his hand. “how can i help you mister kim?.. oh please tell me.. i’m dying to get to work..” his hands were basically trembling at the sound of your sultry voice. he could barely form a sentence, face flushed with his mouth slightly agape. this was absolutely preposterous but he was brimming with lust and want. he nervously started to undo his belt, pushing his bangs back a bit to get a better look at what he was doing.

there was nothing sexier than a man in a suit, freshly off work, a bit disheveled and tired from the work load but ready to to pull his cock out.

once his cock was visible to you, you bit your lip in anticipation. he was long, his cock leaking and an angry red, you were sure you could take care of his problem very well.

the length was making your mouth water, the idea of him being able to reach so deep inside of you making your thighs press together. “oh mister kim.. your cock looks delicious.. may i have some?” 

mouth open and willing to take him, you were so ready to taste him, hear the noises he would make. normally the shy ones were the loudest ones in your experience and you were excited to see him let go.

“go ahead.. make yourself right at home..” he says, cock twitching as he watched you inch towards his head, sucking on the tip and smiling against it “so fucking yummy..” you whispered before taking more of him, closing your eyes when his cock hit the back of your throat.

you had to use a hand to stroke the bit that didn’t quite fit, gagging on his cock as you coated him in spit. drool trickling down his shaft and collecting on his balls as you reached down to give him a tight squeeze.

“s-shit.. i-i’ll cum if you do that..” he whined, eyes glued on everything you were doing to him.

and that only encouraged you to do it again, feeling his thighs clench as a grunt left his throat, pulling off just before he reached his high and giggling at him as he protested.

“don’t you wanna be inside instead?” you got up from your knees, bending yourself over the counter.

his eyes traced over the swell of your ass that was peeking from under the useless skirt. you were wearing a flimsy thong that would surely rip if he tugged on it just a little bit

“c’mon mister kim.. please.. i want your cock inside me..” canting your hips at him to entice him further but he was already planning on shoving his dick inside you.

he stood up behind you, lifting your skirt further to finally reveal your ass, thong irritatingly in the way so he picked it aside as he rubbed his cock against you. he thought he was dreaming, maybe the lack of sleep was getting to him because there was no way in hell this was happening, not when it felt this good.

he gripped your hips tightly with one hand as his guided his cock to your hole, it was so tight, sucking his tip right in as he bit his lip in restraint. you opened your legs further for him as he pressed another inch in.

“fuckk mister kim.. can you feel how wet i am? my pussy is dripping..” and he definitely could feel it. he could also feel how you purposely clenched around him, how soft your walls were, how inviting and warm your hole was. he couldn’t wait to have you full stretched along his cock.

once he bottomed out, he gripped your hair, pulling you into an arch as he fucked into you, tits bouncing with every sharp snap of his hips

his bangs hanging over his eyes, sticking to his forehead as he muttered incoherent curses.

“s-shit! you’re taking my cock so well..” he groaned, losing himself in the feeling of you

he didn’t know how long he would last, his balls tightening with every thrust. he was soon to be a goner, it just felt so fucking unreal, all this pent up stress about to blow deeply inside your pussy. you moved against him, meeting his thrusts as you reached down to touch your clit, the ridges of his cock pushing against you so perfectly you thought your knees would give out.

“i-i’m gonna cum oh my god.. s-shit shit!” 

one final pump and he was cumming, quickly pulling out to spill over your asscheeks. he was out of breath yet still rock hard.

you got on top of the counter on all fours invitingly, which seungmin gladly accepted the offer. spreading you open as he buried his face deep in your cunt, lapping hungrily as you moaned. wet noises filling his normally quiet home. 

his tongue didn't leave a single crevice untouched, flattening and sucking harshly as your toes curled from the pleasure. he pressed his tongue in while his fingers came up to rub your clit. his nimble fingers coaxing an orgasm from you, one that made a mantra of "mister kim's" spill from your lips.

your essence all over his face as he licked his lips, sighing in ecstasy, giving you a light slap on the ass as he pulled your skirt back down

both of you in a haze yet still craving more. you knew this definitely wasn't going to be the last time seungmin would request services from you.

which was absolutely right.

seungmin quickly booked you again for the following week after you had left, same day and time. you were bubbling with anticipation for the next time you’d come over.

you fucking loved your job.

please refrain from reposting, modifying, translating, copying or stealing my work. - © binsito

[brain-rot-central]

Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal, Ch 11

A/N: Hi I wrote way too much for the next chapter so I split it in two, lul. We get a little spicy in this one, but the big sex coming next ch I promise. It's already written; just have to revise!

As always, if you're still here, thank you so much. If you're new here, welcome to my hurt/comfort fic. Grab your tissues, your stuffies; whatever your emotional support method is. This fic is a ride. Happy to have you!

Rating: Explicit Word count: 4.4k Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Durge (named Tav, mortal) Warnings: 18+, sexy time, descriptions of gore, references to blood drinking, liiiiight love triangle inference, pregnancy, their relationship is a mess but they love one another. It's an AA fic; idk what else to say lmao Summary: After an evening of vulnerability, passion flare hot. An unexpected interruption leads to a disconcerting understanding. However, Astarion and Tav refuse to let this possible new revelation ruin their evening.

♥ Previous Chapter ♥ Next Chapter ♥ Link to Ao3 ♥ Playlist

They’re barely past the threshold before Astarion swings them around. Tav’s back collides with the wall adjacent to the door with a hard thud; Astarion is on her seconds later. He wastes little time jamming a thigh between her legs, brushing his knee against her sex. A soft moan escapes her as she clings to his shoulders.

“Up–stairs– Astarion–” Tav struggles to say between short breaths. It’s a poor attempt at getting Astarion back on track. Beseeching him to return some caution to where it’s rapidly fading to the wind. Astarion's hand is then on her hip, encouraging her to rock back and forth on the expanse of his leg, his other hand wound tight within her hair. 

Soft whines pour like rich wine from her mouth when Astarion flexes his thigh, creating a rigid surface of friction. Sparks shoot from the apex of her thighs and throughout her core, nearly knocking the wind clean out of her lungs. Tav feels herself clench as her hips begin to rock of their own accord, chasing more and more of the salacious pressure between her thighs.

“I believe I'm having a change of heart,” he growls against her ear. The vampire lord then dips his head into the crook of Tav’s neck, kissing languidly over his mark. “How am I ever expected to deny temptation when it calls my name so sweetly?”

The hall is quiet enough that Tav can only assume dinner service is winding down. Her moans reverberate against the high ceilings of the marble hall, every tiny gasp amplified. The candelabras have burned down to a faint glow; the corner Astarion has pushed them into is thoroughly blanketed in shadow. They wouldn't be caught immediately, should someone walk by. Yet the risk still exists.

“We're exposed, Astarion,” argues Tav, grabbing handfuls of the vampire's hair. It’s a farce, more than anything else; the thought delights her more than she cares to admit. Astarion so desperate for her that he hoists her legs over his hips, pulls her smallclothes to the side and slides himself home, down to the hilt. Tav moans, loud and wanton, as she continues riding his thigh. 

She struggles to keep her eyes open as the edges of her vision draw closer together. From the corner of her eye, blinkling tiredly, Tav catches a glimpse of the painting hanging on the wall. The one she saw when first stepping food in this manor, of the vampire and his prey. The vampire’s lifeless expression bores into her soul–she takes in the woman draped over his lap. She ponders what possibly transpired prior to that moment, trying her best not to draw comparisons between her current position.

A foul chill passes through her.

“Is that so bad?” teases Astarion, drawing her back to the present. He sucks at the flesh of her throat. “I’m the Lord of this manor, and I say we can rut wherever we damned-well please,” he growls, pulling her roughly against him.

Her head swims as she clings to him, arousal saturating her thoughts. Tav would allow him to take her here, she realizes. To fuck her against the wall, in clear view of anyone who dared to look. She'd allow them a view of how loudly her body cries out for him, the beautiful melody they both sing when joined.

“Oh, but I suppose you make a good point, love,” Astarion coos. His hand drifts to the outside of Tav’s thigh and he grips it tight, lifting it over his hip. “But that would involve us parting from our current position.” He grinds himself unabashedly against her center. “Is that what you really want?”

Tav whimpers at the thought of him peeling away from her. Losing the feeling of his body against hers. Tracing the outline of her body with his hands. Lips on hers, her neck, her breasts–him being everywhere but nowhere all at once. It's too much–she needs him now. 

Desperately. 

Tav snakes a hand between them, fishing for the button of Astarion's slacks. “Now,” she says, undoing his fastenings with lightning deftness. Deftness that he taught her. “If you have the gall to tease me like this, then you better take me now.”

She watches as his lips curl into a devious smile, showing just the slightest glint of a fang. “With pleasure,” Astarion purrs.

Rat bastard.

His cock springs free as she pulls him free from his underclothes. The heavy weight of him within her palm sends a ripple of pleasure throughout her body, heat coursing through her core. Tav wastes little time wrapping her hand around his shaft, giving a few experimental pumps. She delights in how Astarion growls low in his throat, giving her the encouragement she needs to plant soft, soothing kisses against the vampire’s lips, teasing his bottom lip between her teeth. Astarion reciprocates with starving enthusiasm while pulling moan after moan from her and into his mouth. He swallows them all greedily, as though nothing could ever quench his thirst for this. For her.

Pre-fluid weeps from the bulbous tip, aiding in the glide of her hand over his cock. “Tell me to stop and I will,” Astarion groans against her mouth. His cock twitches in her hand as she runs her thumb over his frenulum. Their eyes meet, lust sitting heavy within their shared exchange. Tav only nods her head and groans as she shuffles her small clothes enough to allow him entrance. He glides easily as she positions him between her folds. The rumble that erupts from deep within Astarion’s chest tells her just how slick she is–how much he longs to slip within her tight heat. “Tavaria…” he whines against her ear, nearly breathless. His tip teases at her entrance and she catches it, the head finally slipping in, giving way to a delicious burning stretch, and then–

“Well, I see we've skipped dinner and gone straight for dessert!”

The voice pierces through them like a shard of ice, freezing them solid. Tav clings to Astarion's shoulders out of instinct, but she feels the vampire tense beneath her. He pulls himself free of her, Tav whining softly at the loss, and he sneers over his shoulder at their unwelcome audience. Tav’s skirts fall to the floor and she drops her leg from his hip, Astarion stuffing himself back within the confines of his slacks with nimble skill.

“To what do we owe the pleasure, Your Grace?” Astarion hisses through clenched teeth, fastening his pants.

The duke chuckles behind them and crosses his arms over his chest. “Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm pretty sure it’s in poor taste for the host to skip out during dinner service.” Wyll gives a wry smile, looking over Astarion’s shoulder. “Though, I clearly see why, now.”

“Oh? Did you miss me, darling?” A touch of sarcasm laces Astarion’s tone as he huffs a laugh, alongside impatience. “What is it you really want, Wyll?” Tav swears the tips of his fingers are sharpening into claws as he clenches his hands into tight fists. The turquoise gem of Astarion’s ring glints in the dim firelight of the hall.

“I'm searching for a certain soldier who possesses hair resembling a roaring campfire.” Wyll lifts his brow in question. “Have you seen her?”

Arousal still clouds her mind, though through the murkiness, Tav realizes that Wyll isn't immediately aware of her presence. She's unsure if that’s a good or bad thing–mostly because Wyll believes Astarion to have stolen away for a quick romp with some random person. Or, conversely, he doesn't believe Tav to be the type to allow herself to be taken in the middle of a dimly lit hallway. A sinking feeling overtakes her stomach with each thought.

Either way, neither theory bodes well for her.

Cautiously, with her heart nearly clamoring out of her throat, Tav pokes her head out from around Astarion's form. “I'm here, Your Grace,” she says, feeling the heat of the blush currently rising to her face. To her horror, Marceline, Oscar, and Lester stand behind Wyll, their eyebrows also raised in silent question. Gods above, she thinks, embarrassment flooding her. I really couldn't have waited a bit longer?

A few heartbeats of silence pass over them. Astarion scowls heavily as Wyll looks them over, turning now to meet the young duke. Wyll’s mouth opens and closes repeatedly, as though to say something, but no sound is ever produced. Oscar snickers, his cheeks still possessing the rosy color from his drinks earlier in the evening. Lester adverts his gaze, choosing to look over the decor along the walls. Respectful, as always. But it's the look Marceline gives her that tugs on Tav’s heart. 

The two women have never discussed Astarion, nor Tav’s past involvement with him. Tav only ever spoke openly with Shadowheart about him, her having laid witness to the romance unfold during its infancy. But perhaps Marceline had known, somehow, that this deeper part of her existed. Maybe in the way she carried herself, or how she avoided looking upon expressions of affection between others. Perhaps it was enough to tell Marceline, quietly, that her heart had been broken once before. Almost irreparably so, and given the well-known fact that Astarion was a prior traveling companion, Tav knows without a shadow of a doubt that her colleague is actively putting the pieces of the puzzle together.

How foolish she likely seems to Marceline, having allowed the man who wrecked her so thoroughly back into her life. To still give him so much power, so much sway over her heart. To be carrying his child. Though, that’s something none of them are aware of.

Yet. 

Tav lets out a heavy sigh. A wave of strong nausea rushes through her, prompting her to hold back the urge to empty her stomach onto the floor. Either that, or to perish within a moment’s notice. Anything to stop how mortified she feels at this moment.

“Ah,” Wyll muses, finally speaking. He clears his throat. “Well, I just wanted to wish you farewell.” His gaze shifts to Astarion, then back to Tav, mouth falling into a hard line. “I expect to see you tomorrow morning, bright and early.”

Tav nods softly. “Of course, Your Grace.” A barely audible sound rises from the back of Astarion's throat as she addresses Wyll, his nails nearly breaking skin as he tightens his fists.

Wyll gives a slight bow of his head. “Goodnight then, my friends,” he says in jest, “Don't stay up too late!”

As the entourage exits the manor through the foyer door, Tav realizes Wyll hadn't corrected her use of a formal greeting to him. She'd said it twice–twice–and he’d failed to invite her to use his name instead. Her stomach twists again.

The door clicks shut and Tav tears herself from Astarion's hold, drawing in a deep breath. “That wasn't good,” she says aloud, unsure if it's to herself or Astarion.

“Oh, please,” Astarion says from behind her, rather cooly given the situation, “he's upset because we're having the fun he only wishes he could have! I’m sure he'll get over it.”

Tav shakes her head, turning to face him. “I wouldn't be so sure about that, Astarion. This is different. He's…” She pauses as she chews at the inside of her mouth, thoughts flooding her mind. “He doesn't approve of us.”

The vampire laughs. “Of course he doesn't! So long as I’m involved,” Astarion places a hand over his chest, “I doubt he ever will.”

“Could have fooled me by tonight's performance. You looked a touch more friendly,” Tav says.

“What can I say? I know how to play the part of a dashing rogue all too well,” he answers, a lilt to his voice. Astarion then approaches her, lifting a hand to cup Tav’s chin. He lifts her face to meet his gaze. “But I can’t help but feel as though his disapproval bothers you,” Astarion ponders. His eyes are soft, contemplative, as he looks at her.

She sits with the thought for a minute before answering. “No, it doesn't bother me.” A half truth–she doesn’t need Wyll’s approval. “But it does concern me how I'm going to continue working with him as my superior.” She shakes her head as the questions rack her brain. “Will he continue to be fair, will he hold this against me, will he–”

“He's not going to do anything,” Astarion interrupts, gruffly. “Not to you, at least. He'll settle all of his grievances with me.”

Tav blinks as her mouth hangs agape. “You?” she asks. “But you're already working with him!”

“Indeed, but it seems as though our dear, sweet Wyllyam still possesses a few heartbeats that belong,” the hand on her chin lifts, Astarion tapping the tip of her nose gently with a finger, “to you.”

Tav rolls her eyes, turning away from him. “Oh, Astarion!” she laments, marching for the stairs. “He does not!” She clutches handfuls of her skirts as she begins her ascent. Astarion quickly follows behind her.

“Is it truly so hard to believe?” he calls after her in mock question.

Tav reaches the top of the stairs and whips around, glaring heavily at Astarion. He halts his approach, leaning a hand over the stair rail. “Were he to still possess feelings, Astarion, he would have used the time you and I spent apart to his advantage.” She tilts her head to one side and narrows her eyes. “Don't you think?”

The vampire scowls, mouth twisting into a hard line as he resumes following her up the stairs.. He stands tall over Tav upon reaching the top of the stairs. “No,” he growls, “I don't. Because the reality of the situation, my love, is that he was giving you space.”

She looks around, attempting to ascertain which direction Astarion’s bedroom is in. To the left is hers–she can only assume that it lay in the opposite direction. Her feet begin to carry her forward. “Space for what?” Tav inquires, slightly annoyed.

Before passing too far out of reach, Astarion extends a hand to grab her arm, halting her in place. “Tavaria…” His voice trails off into a whisper. “You don’t trust that I know longing when I see it?”

A heavy feeling settles within her chest, eyes drifting closed. 

Perhaps Astarion is right–maybe Wyll's kindness hasn’t been simply out of the goodness of his heart. She knew of the duke's prior feelings for her, assuming that he put them aside when she chose a path with Astarion. Her mind races through their interactions over the last few months, down to the most minute of gestures: all of the smiles, the kind words, the gentle touches.

Wyll is no stranger to her state of being after her separation from Astarion. She may have not spoken with him about how she felt, but he'd kept his eye on her. Watched patiently from afar, always making sure he was available should she need him. Wyll has been ever the gentleman; he’s never insulted her, nor raised his voice at her. Calm, cool, and collected under the most intense of pressure, always an ear open to her lead, her suggestions. Never giving her anything less than the respect he believes she deserves. 

But as Tav recalls their moments spent together, during their journey and beyond, she can now see so clearly the distinct gleam in his eyes when he holds her gaze. Hears the softness of his tone ringing in her ears, feel the ghost of his hand running delicately down the length of her arm…

A shiver runs down her back as she stares blankly at Astarion. 

As much as she hates to admit it, Astarion has a point. Wyll was allowing her time to heal. Giving her heart the space to repair itself, even if to only swoop in once patched back together. He’d never gotten over her. No, quite the opposite, really. Wyll had simply hardened his heart, choosing to bide his time. Waiting for Astarion to slip up, for their love affair to end with finality, all for a chance to play hero. And now that they’ve chosen to rekindle their flame, Wyll is forced once again to grin and bear it.

And she didn’t see it. Rather, didn’t believe herself worthy of his affections. They’d met during a strange time–Tav hardly recalled anything about who she was. She’d awoken in an Illithid dreadnought, newly tadpoled, learning she had all but a handful of days before death came to claim her for good. And when that didn’t happen, each day brought her closer to reclaiming her identity. But not without a few bloody missteps.

And then, there was Wyll. 

Precious Wyll–the son of Baldur Gate’s Grand Duke Ulder Ravengard. Bred and groomed to be the perfect aristocrat to assume his father’s title. Suave, polite; even his insults were kind, albeit backhanded. He is a stunning example of the type of man you bring home to your family for dinner. Perhaps not her family, but to just about anyone else’s. Why would he want to be tangled up with her? She craved blood, murder, gore. Death. She would sooner tear her hands through his abdomen, cracking open his ribcage, just to caress his spleen. To feel its curve along her fingertips. To remember the touch of the delicate blood vessels between her hands.

She would have killed him, all in the name of her Father. There’s no way to tell if she would have, but she’s sure she would have tried to on more than one occasion. Tav would have killed him and lain within the aftermath, sleeping as soundly as a newborn babe after a feeding.

She chose Astarion, in part, to spare Wyll that fate. She may have not realized it at the time, but she understands now. Astarion was already dead–she still craved to carve him from navel to neck, but she knew his heart was cold. The urge wasn’t as strong. Wyll was young, strong, and clean. Fresh. A perfect sacrifice for her Father.

Her heart sinks. 

The love she holds for Astarion can be compared to none other she’s known throughout any point in her life. But the acknowledgment that she gave up an opportunity to be with Wyll out of self-doubt…is crushing.

There is, of course, the chance that Astarion’s concerns are merely playing into paranoid delusion, as he’s so prone to doing. Tav sighs, turning to face Astarion once more. She gives him a sullen expression as tears begin stinging at the corners of her eyes. But despite her hopeful optimism, the longer the thought sits with her, the clearer the image becomes. Astarion threads his fingers between hers, pulling her closer. Sobs bubble up within her chest, threatening to rupture.

“Oh, my sweet little love,” he whispers, inviting her into his chest. He wraps his arms around her waist, resting his head against hers. “Do you now see what’s been clear to me this entire time?”

She still isn't entirely convinced, holding out the smallest bit of hope that this is all one giant fallacy, though the thought alone is enough to upset her. Tav shakes her head in disagreement. “I’m still not sure,” she says, voice wavering. Foolish as it may be, a small part of her still wishes that Wyll's kindness is of his own merit. That it isn't as Astarion claims, that he doesn't wish for something in return.

For once, she wishes someone was good–kind–because they simply wanted to be. Without expecting something in return. Astarion speaks through the lens of his past, she knows. From being forced into a life where what he could give stood as a basis for his worth for over 200 years. And she knows he speaks out of an abundance of caution for her, not wanting to see her go through any semblance of the life he knew. To protect her.

“I just…hope this is different,” Tav admits, quietly.

“Ever the optimist,” Astarion comments, peeling himself from her. The smile he gives her is disingenuous; more for her sake than his. The reds of his irises shine in the dim light of the upper level. The sharpness of his face softens from the shadows cast over it; his skin takes on an amber glow.

He truly is the most beautiful man she’s ever seen. Man, creature, fiend–it matters not to her what he is. It never really did. His beauty is simply an added benefit. All she’s ever cared for is his heart and soul, and his willingness to share both with her. The song he sings simply for her and no one else. She wonders if she, too, sings for him? She wonders if he can hear it. Do they sing a gentle harmony together, or are they a harsh clashing of contrasting pitches?

Tav raises a hand to hold the side of Astarion’s face. She settles her gaze on his lips, lifting to his eyes as she says, “I really don't wish for this to ruin our night.”

This time, he smiles earnestly. Astarion whisks Tav into his arms, earning a surprised yelp. She wraps her arms around his neck. “Then let us continue.”

Once she's sure she isn't going to slip from his hold, Tav allows herself to rest her head against his shoulder. The tip of her nose rests within the crook of his neck and she breathes in. It's not as strong as earlier in the evening, but his cologne still lingers. She allows her eyes to trace along the small glimpse of his collar bone, up to the scars embedded in his neck. Warmth spreads throughout her, knowing an artery lay beneath those marks–thick and plentiful with life sustaining blood.

Had she fangs, she would have supped upon him by now. A small taste, just to rejuvenate her. He'd allow it, she thinks. Why wouldn't he? Slowly she begins to lose herself to the fantasy. Swapping their blood and saliva between kisses, back and forth, until they solidified a flavor purely their own. One that none could ever replicate.

A part of her fears she may be slipping too far into him. Like a small frog in a pot of water, unaware that it’s begun to boil. But gods how she longs for this–to be so thoroughly his. For him to be so entirely hers. The sun could melt, the world plunged into eternal darkness, but none of it would matter so long as they're together.

Is she truly wrong for that? Is that not what she deserves?

Her lips find the smooth skin of Astarion's neck at the same time he leans over to open the bedroom door. A rumble of appreciation rises from his chest as he brings them both into the room, closing the door behind him. He brings her to his bed, placing her gently down on the silken duvet cover, climbing on top. Red, Tav notices from the corner of her eye. She’s resistant to relinquishing her hold on him, fearful that if she does this will all slip through her fingers. Astarion dips his head into where her neck and shoulder meet and sucks; a thin sheet of golden linen makes up the canopy draped above them.

“Astarion,” groans Tav, hooking her legs around the small of his back. She feels his hands traveling down her sides, pulling up her dress. All at once, the fabric feels too tight around her. “Help me out of this thing,” she says, more of a demand than a question, forcing herself up onto her elbows.

The vampire is silent as he complies with her urgent request. As his hands undo the zipper to her dress, his mouth lavishes attention to the other side of her neck. He peels the dress off her shoulders, Tav groaning in frustration at the brief loss of contact between them, but Astarion is quickly back on her. She pulls her slip gown over her head and pushes the emerald dress further down and over her hips, kicking it off her legs. Astarion nudges it off the side of the bed before reclaiming his place fully between her legs.

“You’ve no idea how many nights I’ve spent imaging this,” he grounds out as he travels down her chest. Tav falls back gently on the bed as smooth lips plant kisses between the valley of her breasts. He closes his mouth over the stiffened peak of one breast, kneading the other within his hand. “To have you here, like this.” He lightly rolls her nipple between his index finger and thumb. “With me.”

A moan slips past her lips as she arches into his touch and Tav dares herself to look down, just as Astarion bites the tender flesh of her breast. Not hard enough to draw blood, but she still can feel the familiar sting of his fangs over her skin. Pleasure shoots straight to her core. How could she ever go back to a mortal man after this? They could bite her, sure, but nothing would ever compare the rush of anticipation before each of his bites, knowing they may or may not pierce her skin. Leaving yet another mark on her body; a statement that it was she who nourished him.

Their eyes meet as he releases her breast from his mouth, tongue flicking over the hardened nub. There’s a blush set high on his cheeks again, eyelids heavy over pools of crimson. She lifts a hand to his cheek, brushing her thumb over his face. It’s warm in her palm, and Astarion turns his head into the touch, kissing the inside of her hand. Her thumb brushes briefly over the plushness of his lips, and she’s overcome by one of her strangest urges yet.

She needs him under her. More than she’s ever needed something in her life.

“I’m considered the Lady of this manor, yes?” Tav says urgently, the question coming out more as a statement.

Astarion lifts his head, brows pulling together as he ponders. He nods his head slowly in agreement. “I do recall saying as such, yes.”

Tav tilts her head, running a hand through his hair as she smiles. “Well, your Lady has a request, m’lord.” She speaks lovingly to him, thoroughly enjoying the wide-toothed grin he gives her in response. 

He chuckles; Tav catches a glimpse of white peaking just over his bottom lip. Astarion kisses her breast again as he says, “Oh? And how may I be of service, m’lady?”

She fills her lungs with uneven breaths, pushing herself up on her elbows again. Astarion pulls back to allow her room. Lightning races down her spine, but Tav manages to make eye contact as she states boldly, “I want you under me.”

[chilling-seavey]

I thought of this for TWIG but for when the reader is in her second trimester and so sex hungry, she accompanies George to a race and they stay up most of the night having sex that when George goes to the track for media day. He cannot be angry at her as he watches her peacefully sleeping

For realllll...there's nothing like a luxury 5-star hotel room king size bed. But, let's be totally honest here, it kinda started in the two-person tub after that delicious room service dinner spread. The hotel suite high enough to not be concerned about the floor to ceiling window that the tub was centered on, the darkness of the foreign city beyond acting as a gorgeous backdrop to your love and lust.

It's not like George was unfamiliar with hotel suites — in all honesty he was quite numb to their grandeur by that point in his career — and you weren't much different with your own little travel bug and your modest hospitality background. So it wasn't like either of you could blame the excitement of a hotel stay on the reason you were all over the each other not even a good five minutes into your shared bathtub soak. No, it was entirely your unfathomable love for each other—and that George wasn't great at turning away your advances, especially when you were so pretty and pregnant with his baby.

And the water in the free-standing porcelain tub grew cold as the minutes passed, little waves sloshing over the sides in time with your motions, ungracefully riding him with your hands gripping the edge of the bath. His eyes would be all over you to but mostly staring up at your face, his hands greedy on your hips, guiding you, encouraging you. When you were both pleasantly satisfied, you would shiver together in the now-cool water for a few moments, you still perched on his lap, sharing warm kisses. Then you would both get out of the tub onto the dangerously slippery floor—George with a firm grip on your hand to keep you steady.

When you were both wrapped in towels, the remainder of the linen was tossed onto the floor to mop up the spilled bathwater. George caught a glimpse of the way your towel was wrapped around you, pulled a little tight over the swell of your stomach, and he would go to give you a kiss as you brushed out your hair at the vanity. Rookie mistake, really, because you would never allowed it to just be a kiss.

Because before he knew it, you were up on the expensive natural stone countertop and he was knelt in front of it, your legs over his shoulders and towel aimlessly draped open. And he looked up at you with hooded eyes, lashes looking too heavy with lust and pupils blown wide, mouth taken up between your legs in ways that had you writhing. You definitely knocked a few bottles off the counter in your euphoria, sending them to the floor with a crash that neither of you acknowledged.

And then the very obvious tent left behind under George's towel when he stood up between your legs had you tugging at the expensive linen. It fell to the floor, leaving him bare and gloriously handsome in front of you and in seconds the night was taken right to the bedroom.

That gorgeous king size bed with the built-in headboard and sleek modern design that neither of you even bothered to admire. Naked and warm from your shared bath and your shared lust, clean skin against clean skin, the two of you made an absolute mess of the once pristinely made bed. Throw pillows thrown to the floor, duvet rumpled and sheets untucked, pillows dotted in drool and tears and bathwater that lingered in the ends of your hair.

God bless the vice-regal suite too because there were only two on the floor of the hotel so it made it feel far less incriminating to be loud than if you had a multitude of neighbours. Especially when you might as well have been recreating the Kama Sutra with how many positions you pulled that night, all over the bed and all over each other. It was so easy to be loud when you were pregnant; everything just felt so much more intense like all of your nerve endings tripled in sensitivity. Someone might have thought you were filming some adult film in the next room. But George was right there with you, sharing in your pleasure, spurred on by the sounds you made.

It was so easy to loose track of time like that, desperate to get your fix of each other, nothing ever feeling like enough. And George had the anticipation of the race weekend to go off of, using that excess energy in all the right ways. Besides, it was only media day the following day so what would it really matter? All that mattered was you laying there in bed and leaking with his cum (so much too) and absolutely glowing with his baby inside you; it was a fiercely primal mindset that almost scared him with how intense it felt. Nothing felt like that before you.

He ordered you something to eat from room service when you were done at some ungodly hour of the night—something you were craving—and you ate it happily in bed, lips still swollen from all your kissing and cheeks still rouged from the night's events. And you fell asleep together in the mess of the bed, limbs half sticking out from under the skewed duvet, George with one arm draped above his head and your cheek on his chest.

And he felt like he merely blinked before his alarm was going off in the morning. You stayed asleep like a freakin' log beside him while he was struggling to get his wits about him enough to reach for his phone and turn off the blaring alarm. He didn't wake you, of course, as he peeled himself out of bed to get ready—although he was sure the way his back cracked when he stretched would have woken you.

For the first while he was awake he felt like he was running on 1% battery and he grumbled to himself as he got ready for the day about being up so late on a work night; now he was going to look exhausted for the media content and sound boring in interviews. But, when he returned to the bedroom to give you a kiss goodbye, the sight of you so peacefully asleep had him stopping in his tracks.

He just watched you for a second, how your messy hair was splayed over the pillow and you were wrapped in a tangle of off-centered sheets and the duvet. Your foot was sticking out of the edge of the sheets and your mouth was half open, breathing heavily in your slumber. Oh, but he was so smitten with you. Suddenly he couldn't remember what he was grumbling about in the bathroom, all he could focus on was how cute you were when you were asleep and so natural.

George walked over to the bedside and stroked a gentle hand over your hair and then over your bare shoulder and he leaned down to kiss your temple. With a whispered "I love you" in parting, he gave you another soft kiss and grabbed his phone and slunk quietly out of the room.

Sure, he wore sunglasses into the paddock that morning to hide the bags under his eyes but there was no hiding the grin on his face.

[acotarxreader]

Say My Name

Azriel x Reader

Synopsis: After being separated from his brothers by the High Lord of Night, Azriel becomes accustomed to the new chain of command in his life, lead by you. But with the Mortal Realm war beginning to rage, will your relationship move beyond professional

Warnings: Angst.

A/N: Man, writing this made me so unsure of the timeline of the world before Feyre and the girliepops entered, I just used this one to aid the fleshing out of this story. There is a part two that I have half written but maybe you guys would prefer this as the stand alone it is now? Let me know! Also gawk in my part of the world means to get sick (fellow Irish friends can probably tell what part of the country I'm in by that lol) and I kept rereading the line I wrote and laughing.

P.S adularescence is the shimmer from moonstone hehe I love her

*********************************************************

Azriel lay staring up at the decadent ceiling of his new room in the House of Wind. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the intricate detailing in almost two hours, doing what he could to dissociate from his feelings having just been separated from the only family he ever knew. The clock ticking deafened him, soon it would be morning and he would begin work as the High Lord of Night’s personal Spymaster. He couldn’t stop his mind racing but forced his eyes closed, he would be no used to his brother's sleep-deprived. It felt as though the moment his eyes shut, the sun rose and his personal valet entered the room with his clean uniform. 

“Morning Sir” the clear sharp voice sent Azriel out of his bed and onto his feet as the staff member whipped the curtains open after placing the uniform over the chaise. 

“Sir is not necessary” 

“Yes Sir” Azriel decided to not push back further, only moving to dress himself quickly behind his folding screen as the valet left him alone again. Azriel took a deep breath, clearing his lungs out entirely while running his hands through his hair.

“Spymaster, you are required in the drawing room”

“One moment” Azriel fought the urge to sigh before following the voice into the hallway and eventually to the drawing room of the House of Wind. 

The long table reached nearly the length and breadth of the opulent room, a far cry from Windhaven. Azriel took in the faces of the High Lord's staff as they busied themselves around the room, servicing the various members of the Inner Circle of Rhysand’s father.

He took an empty seat closest to the door, the chaos of the makeshift war room giving him some sense of normalcy. He surveyed his hands on his lap whilst reminding himself to breathe until he felt the heat of a stare bore into the side of his head. He lifted his gaze to the direction of the inspection to find your moonstone-coloured eyes scanning him, the only female in the room with a seat at the table. You looked away as if bored by the prospect of him catching your eyeline, landing them back on the High Lord’s empty chair. 

You took a long, almost laboured breath out before standing, the chaotic room entirely stilling at the action, Azriel filed this reaction away immediately. You couldn’t have been much older than him if at all and yet you commanded this room better than any other he’d seen before.

“Well, now that we’ve all arrived-” more eyes fell sympathetically on Azriel, he hadn’t realised he was late “-Ah, keen eyes have found a new member of us, perhaps you are not all so useless after all-” a slight laugh left the group at your dry tone “-Azil is joining us from-”

“-Azriel” he corrected you, every head turning in his direction now, a lump growing in his throat at the feeling, his shadows curling around his ankles in an attempt to comfort. 

“Huh, cute-” you scoffed out “-Spymaster, interrupt me again and no one will have a need to remember your name” Ice nearly leached from your speech, Azriel was making a great first impression with his new command.

“-Right, Azriel, will be the new Spymaster for the High Lord, like the rest of you he will report to me and Azil-”

“-Azriel, intel must need help if you don’t even know my name” he mentally cursed himself for cutting across you again, especially when he noticed the room's eyes fixating forward on the table and not on him.

“Anyways, smartass Spymasters aside, we all have our assignments for next week’s gathering in Hewn City, and arrangements have been made for travel. This is purely a diplomatic function, to help strengthen Winter Court relations, you know where I am if you have questions, which isn’t an invitation to have questions” You spoke with such commanding energy, the room hanging on every word before you gave a half nod and made an exit, trailed by two other members of the council. The room sprang back into chaos and revelry in your absence. 

“She is not to be feared just because of her position” he retorted, moving to stand only to halt at the laugh from the Fae adjacent to him..

“Are you fucking insane Spymaster? I guess they don’t teach common sense at Windhaven-”

“-Illyrians can’t be taught what isn’t natural to them” Azriel’s eyes cut into the Court member who made the throw-away comment before looking back to the High Fae who first addressed him. Benson was as close to your second in command as you could have, he was fiercely loyal and even more so unpredictable. Rhysand had mentioned him before to Azriel, that he had been one of his Father’s most beloved assassins and where possible was to be avoided, great job so far Azriel thought to himself.

“YN is to be respected Spymaster” Benson bit out. YN, had Rhysand ever mentioned that name he thought? Azriel furrowed his brow, deciding he had given into enough of their squabbling, choosing to leave the room. He missed his brothers. 

“Oh she loves to break the clever ones”

“He can’t be that clever if he challenges her” Benson smirked.

“Well she can’t be that much of a challenge if a simple correction throws her off” Azriel shot back at the third High Fae to join the gang up. 

********************************************

For the next week, Azriel familiarised himself with the House of Wind and its quirky residents. He searched for you in the meetings he attended but never found you, he was beginning to think you were a sleep-deprived dream until your silhouette caught his eye during his training exercise outside. He watched you walk the length of the boundary balcony of the House of Wind, deep within your thoughts as he found his legs bringing him closer to you, eyes fixated on the back of your head. 

“Take a mental image, Spymaster, it’ll last longer” You sighed at him before turning around. You shone to him in the light of the Summer sun, positively glowing as though you were made of the light itself. You rolled your eyes at his gawking before turning back again, Azriel only then realising he had been staring. 

“I suppose your silence means the others have warned you, shame you were interesting for half a second there” You almost laughed the words out, surveying Velaris below as Azriel moved to your side and took in the view of Rhysands beloved city.

“I’m sorry about inter-”

“Don’t apologise, Spymaster, just don’t do it again” You glanced at his beautiful face for only a moment before pulling your eyes back again. Azriel left the somewhat easing air still for a moment before speaking again. 

“You can call me by my name”

“I’d rather not gain that level of familiarity with your Spymaster” You clicked your tongue off your teeth.

“You don’t seem much older than I am” he was feeling bold, his loneliness in the Court of much older members starting to weigh on him. 

“I didn’t know the High Lord had high-ranking females in his Court”

“It’s just me, the other applicants for my job were found to be unfit by the time of application” You gave a somewhat dark laugh that Azriel found himself smiling at. 

“Good because I’m not” You laughed fully this time, stealing another glance at the Illyrian, Azriel wishing secretly to keep your iridescent eyes on him for the rest of his days. 

“Rhysand hadn’t mentioned you” You broke the look at the mention of the High Lord's son, not going unnoticed by Azriel.

“That does not concern you Spymaster, nor should it so that perhaps is best left there” 

“YN, they’re ready!” Benson called from the steps of the House and you gave a little sigh at the interruption.

“Your keeper is calling YN” Azriel smiled and you scoffed lightly before turning in the direction of the steps. 

“Make yourself useful tonight Spymaster, diplomatic gathering or not, there’s always war games going on” Azriel found it difficult to tear his eyes from you as you joined Benson’s side and dipped back into the shadows.

***************************************************

The Hewn City gathering was colossal, Fae from both Night and Winter danced and drank and rejoiced in the music of the live band, the two High Lords watching on with amusement and suspicion of one another. Azriel stole Mor away the second he landed his eyes on her, desperate for some ounce of familiarity. The two reconnected and recounted the time they had been apart, enjoying one another's company against the backdrop of the Court of Nightmares. 

Azriel excused himself for a moment from his friend, moving across the vast dance floor to retrieve a drink. A hand suddenly went around his mouth from behind as he reached the edge of the ballroom floor. He felt his body be hauled backwards, almost too stunned at the boldness to fight back. You let go of Azriel once you reached the service hallway of the ballroom before you pushed him back into a tiny disused service closet. 

“What the fuck?!” Azriel evened his breathing out in the dark small space, pushing away the deeply repressed memories, your presence having a soothing effect on him he didn’t care to acknowledge.

“What information had Morrigan?” you bit out through the dim light, Azriel’s eyes adjusting as yours seemingly glowed.

“None to concern yourself with YN” Azriel rolled his shoulders, fighting to pull back some ounce of the composure he lost with being so close to you in the enclosed space. 

“Everything with her concerns me” Your serious tone gave Azriel pause, as you glanced out the hall to check if you had been followed. 

“We were discussing how much we miss Rhysand and Cassian” Your head shot back to him with the sound of their names, reclosing the door as you went, sealing back in the darkness. Azriel shuffled slightly at the return of the sealed door, trying his best to not show his rising discomfort.

“What’s wrong Spymaster?”

“I-I I don’t like enclosed spaces” he admitted, forcing the maroon in his cheeks away before it could rise. He waited for the ridicule that normally followed from that admission but it never came. You seemed to look at him knowingly before pushing the door open slightly so it was ajar, a small stream of light leaking in. 

“Why hasn’t he mentioned you?” 

“There, no big deal”

“That’s what Rhys says about it too” You scoffed at his words

“Not here” you warned but that wasn’t a complete shutdown of the conversation so Azriel felt somewhat hopeful he’d get to continue to unravel your mystery. You shuffled slightly under Azriel’s gentle intrigued gaze. 

“You’re the one who hauled me in here, can I go? Or are you avoiding your handler?” 

“Stop staring at me”

“It’s hard not to”

“Well figure it out” Neither of you could look away from one another.

“No one can handle me” you half scoffed.

“Bet I could give it a shot” You raised an eyebrow at him before stepping even closer to his challenging tone, your chests and toes now touching.

“Not afraid of me Azriel?” You whispered so softly Azriel for a brief moment thought he misheard but the sound of his name on your tongue would never be something he’d mistake. 

“Petrified” He moved a rogue strand of hair from your face, doing his best to not touch his scarred hand off your delicate skin. 

“Good” You leaned in further, as you caught hold of Azriel’s hand, his feelings towards his biggest insecurity melting away. He felt his heart race as he leaned into the space between you both until your head fully pulled back from his reach and you released his hand. 

“Something is wrong” Your head snapped to the door, raising a finger up a few inches from Azriel’s face to prevent him from questioning you. 

“Fuck” You whispered, leaning down to your boot and withdrawing a sharp dagger. 

“Take this and don’t get fucking killed, bail out before you let that happen to you Spymaster” You didn’t give Azriel a chance to be offended before you flung the door open and began to run down the hall, retrieving another blade from our thigh, Azriel hot on your heels. 

The two of you burst into a scene of total and utter chaos, members of both Courts screamed and tried to escape the onslaught of individuals sheathed in black. You sprang into action, catching hold of two not so stealthy characters, and taking them out with one swish of your blade. Azriel dashed towards the Lady of the Night Court, the superhero of his childhood, his turn to defend her. Azriel was almost in arms reach of her before he was sent sailing to the floor by the heavy body of one of the assailants. Before he could react, he felt their warm blood hit the side of his face, looking to find Benson holding the Fae's head in his hand. Rhysand’s mother reached for Azriel as he shot back up to his feet, taking hold of her arm and winnowing her away from the sheer pandemonium. 

**********************************************

Hours later Azriel stayed pacing up and down the hallway in front of your office, waiting for your return. The sound of your strained voice saying goodbye to Benson filled the hallway before you strode down it alone, hair dishevelled and covered in a layer of crimson not belonging to you. 

“YN” Azriel tried not to startle you as he stood out from the shadows, only gaining a slight reaction from your exhausted state.

“What do you want Spymaster?” You half sighed out, reaching to unlock the door of your office, your muscles straining.

“You can say that all you like YN but I don’t believe you”

“I just wanted to see if you're alright?”

“There’s no need to, of course I am, part of the day job” you grunted, the door finally giving in under your weight. You threw down the dirty weapons onto the chaise before rolling your neck and sinking into your chair behind the giant oak desk as Azriel almost sheepishly followed you in. He watched you lift a heavy hand to the side of your neck, just catching a glimpse of a fresh gash before you hid it with the collar of your shirt. Had that been your punishment for not knowing the attack was going to occur Azriel thought. You tossed your legs onto the desk as Azriel closed the door behind him.

“What did I say about interrupting me?” Your legs found the ground again as you leaned into the desk, attempting to cut Azriel with your eyes.

“I’m really not yours to worry about Spymas-”

“-Azriel, my name is Azriel” It came out of him more clipped than intended but Azriel would not become nameless in this Court.

“You can interrupt me but I can’t interrupt you, how is that fair?!”

“News flash Spymaster, nothing in this Court is fair. I will not tolerate being disrespected by a male of lower rank than me” You stood, closing the distance between you, your sharp tone matching his. Azriel’s hand shot for your collar and for a split second you thought he was going to hit you and you’d be responsible for another death that day but no, it instead tugged down the collar of your leathers revealing a fresh weeping gash. You gulped slightly at the motion but didn’t pull back from his touch, if anything you found yourself leaning into him.

“Did the High Lord do that to you because of today?” His eyes bore into the marking occupying his bone-chilling tone.

“Yes” you said faintly, his hazel eyes landing on yours as their adularescence flickered. 

“I should kill him where he stands” he moved so painfully slowly, his lips ever so tenderly met the top of the gash before he calmly pulled back, dropping his hand and moving towards the door, stopping in front of it as you spoke again.

“Are you threatening my High Lord in front of me, Azriel?” You tried to stop your voice from shaking as your eyes were fixated on his back.

“YN, I believe you’re the first person since my brothers that I would tear the world apart for” he breathed without returning to you again and passing through the doorway.

*****************************************************************

Whatcha think? A second part required or is the open ending fun? Hehe Let me know what you think friends!

[highdustingsvcsca]

System4 San Francisco East Bay

Based in Moraga, CA, System4 San Francisco East Bay is your go-to for comprehensive commercial cleaning solutions. From strip/wax services to high dusting and post-construction cleanup, they serve a wide range of clients in Oakland and surrounding areas, including dealerships, schools, offices, and various industrial and commercial facilities. Visit: https://system4norcal.com/

[clavissionary-position]

Ikepri Rooms Ranked By How Expensive They'd Be As Hotel/Airbnb Suites

1. SILVIO

Listed in the dictionary as the extreme antonym of a cheap room. The type that requires reserving years before in advance because nowhere on earth will you get a better view of dolphins porking. And forget about sheets being washed daily, they get completely replaced three times a day. You feel like a billion dollars after one night's stay, which is great because you've surely spent half that amount on said stay.

2. JIN

The reason this ranking exists. Luxury walls, flooring, bedding. Other hotel suites wish they could be Jin's room. Catching your reflection on any of the surfaces automatically increases libido. The sheets are infused with heady compounds commonly found in massage oils. You can see the mini-bar no matter where you're standing in the room. The fucking complimentary lollipops.

3. YVES

The crown canopy alone is so iconic that it demands a premium, but who wouldn't want to treat themselves to a stay in such a chic and manicured suite? Its amenities rival any high-end spa. There's amenities for actual cats. You go in clean and come out shiny.

4. CHEVALIER

You're paying for the books and you're paying for the balcony. If you face the bookshelves it smells like roses. If you face the roses, it smells like books. It's obvious Chevalier did not put this room on the market, nor did he tamper with it to such inutile effect.

5. KEITH

The premiere suite for introverts who simp for succulents. The bright and refreshing color palette is sure to uplift your spirits, and if that doesn't do the trick, who doesn't like fiddling with an actual telescope and accidentally breaking it? The ceilings are higher than you'd find in most suites, making it perfect for taller guests. There's always a fresh galette waiting for you every day.

6. NOKTO

A room that enticingly strays into the realm of maximalism. Staying in this suite with all its souvenirs and foreign effects lets you feel like a globe-trotter while you're getting ravished into the luxurious mattress. No single occupants allowed.

7. LEON

You're paying for the books and you're paying for the sheets. Mostly the sheets because some of the books are a little dusty. Room Service specializes in meat dishes. The windows grant one of the most breathtaking sunsets you'll see anywhere.

8. LICHT (palace room)

Despite the cool palette, it evokes calm and happy feelings. The wolf motif means lots of fur accessories. Just, uh, ignore the collar in the drawer. Even if you're into it. That's not for you. Yeah, this is probably another room that wasn't listed by its owner.

9. RIO

The view, the view, the view. For some reason Rio comes with the suite. 24/7 butler. Partway through your stay and after receiving world-world-class service, your understand why the convenience fee was so much higher than what you paid for the actual room. It's also obvious that this experience is worth far more than what it was listed for.

10. LUKE (cottage room)

A cozy stop on any b&b tour. The owner asks you do not disturb the teddy bears on display. If you find that the teddy bears disturb you, you are free to sleep facing the walls while enjoying the everpresent fragrance of honey.

11. SARIEL

The perfect room to spend an entire day in while reading or cuddling or being spooky and goth. There's spare glasses everywhere. You can see how some of the seemingly-ordinary fixtures could easily be turned into props for more adult-oriented activities. There's also ale flasks everywhere. ...Who put this room on the market? (whip-cracking sounds)

12. LUKE (palace room)

It definitely feels like you're staying in someone's personal bedroom and not an officially sanctioned suite. If you stayed in the cottage room before this, you might even think one of the teddy bears followed you. Well, that's just what they do.

Unlisted properties ranked:

1. CLAVIS (treasure and contraband room)

A national secret too dangerous to list. Expensive based purely on the illicit contents and sheer volume of shovels, which apparently add up.

2. LICHT (cottage room)

A national secret too secret to list. Also if "Simple and Clean" was a physical room. No one should know it exists, even though everyone probably knows it exists. If it were on the market, it'd be impossible to book. It's so picturesque it makes you want to cry. Most of the hypothetical extra charges on the hypothetical bill go toward maintaining the field of flowers surrounding the property.

3. CLAVIS (palace room)

A national secret too dangerous to list, but there have been rumors that you can stay for free if you manage to get past all the locks and traps and tell the owner how much you love him.

4. GILBERT

A national secret too dangerous to list, and there have been rumors that it undergoes regular renovations ever since the owner got engaged. It's the kind of room that makes you think "yeah, that'd probably be expensive as hell to stay in," but it seems the owner doesn't care for pricing things out of the reach of the masses, so that's why it's ranked so far down. If the room were available.

a/n: Thank you for reading. I took some inspiration from the modern headcanons @/leonscape has posted in the past. Also the bit about where Licht keeps his collar I believe is something mentioned in a collection event story, which I read the translation by @/hotaru987 for.

[writing-in-glitter-pen]

♡ Cooking With the Genshin Men ♡

Cooking together is such an adorable domestic moment, one that fills your home with warmth and love ♡ All the genshin men behave differently in the kitchen, they have their strengths and weaknesses. Some want to get involved in the process, some just love watching you work. All love sharing this activity with you ♡

Childe, Zhongli, Kaeya, Diluc x gender neutral reader || fluff, romance

Content Warnings: Lots of swearing in Childe's part, use of the term "pet" in Kaeya's part.

Childe can’t cook for shit but insists on helping. He follows you around the kitchen like a lost puppy, ending up as more of a hinderance than a helper. You’ll start a step and he’ll beg to finish it, saying something like, “take a load off, girlie! I’ll take over (with rizz).”, then fuck it up immensely. He fucks up in ways you didn’t think were possible. Even if he’s just stirring pasta sauce, you’ll end up having to clean it off the ceiling. He’ll get all dejected if you bench him, and you don’t like to see him pout, so you’ll have to get creative. “Darling, will you tie my apron? I just can’t reach back there…” you say, batting your big doe eyes at him. By God, will he tie that apron for you—with the goofiest crooked grin on his face. He’s such a fool for you. You find that delegating tasks like this, ones that have nothing to do with the actual food, to him is the best way to let him feel involved without it looking like an atomic bomb went off in your kitchen. You can ask him to fetch the colander off a high shelf, press the button on the salad spinner (with supervision, or else he might overdo it.), and preheat the oven. Make sure you thank him loads for his help with it, “I don’t know what I’d do without you~”, and throw in a kiss on the cheek for good measure. He’ll feel like your valuable little sous chef, and you’ll both have an edible dinner ♡

Zhongli’s food feels like heaven on your tongue but he takes forever in the kitchen. He’ll offer to make you lunch at noon and it’ll be done by eight o’ clock...the next morning. He doesn’t even notice it; one of the pitfalls of living for a millennia is a loss of his sense of time. That being said, his dishes, both cooked and baked, are divine. So you’ll just have to help him speed up the process. Whining that your hungry every fifteen minutes isn’t the most moral way to achieve that goal, but it definitely has an impact—despite how he hushes you with a, “Patience, sweetheart.”, or if you really bug him, “I am not beyond closing your mouth via physical means.”. You’re not sure what he means by “physical means”, but with the way his voice rumbles like an earthquake when he says it, you don’t want to find out. So you zip it. Another way to have the food ready in the same decade you ordered it is to help! Vegetables he'd otherwise sautee on simmer are softened and browned in five minutes with you on the stove. Meat he'd give an hour-long, full-body Swedish massage to is crushed to inch-thickness in mere moments with your mallet. You let him handle marinades--them being his specialty, but you have him start them days in advance, so he can flavor them to his standards and you won't be left waiting for dinner 'til you're a sun-bleached skeleton. Zhongli is used to taking things at a snail's pace, so he needs you in the driver's seat to hit the gas. Though, you equally need him to tell you when it's important to slow down. Cooking is not a loveless process, the amount of care he puts into food for you is a way of expressing his affections--he won't settle for anything less than perfect if it's on your plate. So he is happy to stand over a cauldron of broth all day, stirring it, adding in anything he believes might be missing, giving the water ample time to pull every last drop of flavor from the bones, all for it to be a moment of joy in your stomach. To him, any time he spends in service to you, no matter how tedious the task, is time well spent.

Kaeya is a fantastic cook, especially when he’s drunk, but he won’t share any of his secret recipes with you. He tells you it's because he's sworn to his family to never speak a breath of them...but really, he wants you to have to ask him to make it for you. And he will! Happily! It brings so much satisfaction to his soul to have you eat something he's made and it bring a smile to your face. It makes him feel valuable and like he's properly taking care of you--two things that deep down, he's quite insecure about. Not to mention, he goes wild for that pleading look in your eyes when you ask him to cook you a specific recipe you're craving. Despite how much he loves it, he just has to tease you for it; "Oh, look at you begging. I didn't realize I had a pet to feed.", his signature smirk adorning his face. He'll top it off with a kiss to your forehead, chuckling at your face contorted in offence. You can only stay mad for so long, as the moment you take your first bite, all you feel is smitten. Just like his skill as a flirt, he really is just that good. He'll soak in the sight of your content, dreamy face, fulfilled in how much you enjoy something he's made for you. Fulfilled in seeing first-hand how he has a positive impact on you--shooing away his internalized fears of not being enough. He's done something good. He's made you happy. And even if he pokes at you for it, he looks forward to you asking him to do it again.

Diluc knows the basics but really, he just isn’t all that into cooking. He has staff to handle that for him and, frankly, he doesn’t have time to pursue it as a hobby. But when you cook for him? You’ve made his day, his year, his life. He’ll replay the memory of the taste on his tongue and warm feeling in his heart over and over again to the point that he literally dreams about it. He’s just so touched that you made something for him. Putting love and effort into this dish with him in mind. He also likes to watch you when you cook; how you flit around the kitchen, the skill you demonstrate when you chop and season...and his front-row seat comes with perks--as you'll periodically hold out a spoon of sauce or broth for him to taste. There's something about you holding that spoon to his lips, the way you blow on it for him with your perfect lips, him sipping it with you gently supporting his chin that sends his mind reeling, his heart stuttering. He has to restrain himself from asking to marry you right then and there--the thought of you with his ring on your finger, of this dreamlike scene in the kitchen being a daily occurence, it's just too overwhelming to ignore. Maybe it's the way he feels doted on when you do so, he's at the mercy of your hands and you use them to care for him, to ask him his preferences on what you're making for him. There's really nothing better. He'll go to sleep that night with a warm feeling in his stomach and that composed smile on his on his face, hoping you'll cook for him again tomorrow.

[sleepingdeath-light]

lunch break ; 18+

kinktober day eighteen

pairing ; jamie winton x trans male!reader insert

fandom ; you, me & the apocalypse

masterlists ; fandom | kinktober | ao3

content ; phone sex, mutual masturbation, praise kink, dirty talk, semi-public sex acts

minors and ageless blogs do not interact

This move was actually going to kill you.

You could see the headline already: ‘local man found dead, crushed under mountain of cardboard boxes’ slapped across the front page of the newspaper, nestled between a mind-numbing celebrity gossip article and the latest fear mongering bollocks about something no one in their right mind would ever think about otherwise… maybe they’d even lean more on the tragedy angle and put a blurry pixelated-to-hell-and-back picture from your wedding day right in the centre of the page. There were a few particularly shit photos in your album that you refuse to get rid of (despite your darling husband’s objections) and the thought of any of those getting printed for everyone and their mother to see was enough to make you snort out a laugh despite yourself.

As you continued to move boxes and unpack all of the tat Jamie couldn’t bear to part with, your train of thought continued to follow that rather morbid track: were the boxes even heavy enough to take you out or would you just be trapped in place until poor Jamie found you? Lord knows your Jamie, for as much as you appreciated his physique, was a terribly lanky man and he certainly wouldn’t be able to rescue you from your cardboard prison on his own and you’d sooner let the earth itself devour you whole than be faced with the shame of needing to be saved from your mortifying corrugated sepulchre by your new neighbours. You hadn’t even learned their names yet!

Well, nobody except for your neighbour to the right. A lovely older woman in her twilight years… Maude? Mavis? Maggie? It was definitely an ‘M’ name… or was it an ‘N’? You weren’t really paying attention to what she was saying at the time, too focused on bringing more boxes inside.

Fucking boxes. You were sick of the damn things. If Jamie told you he wanted to move again after all of this you’d cry.

Then again you already felt like you were going to cry now and you weren’t even halfway through your dragon’s hoard of ceiling high stacked boxes. Frankly it was nothing short of a miracle that you hadn’t sliced clean through your hand yet given just how much ductape you’d had to cut through so far — but you also weren’t going to celebrate quite yet lest you actually jinx yourself.

Heaven forbid you have to drive yourself down to the local hospital to get stitches for something so stupid. You might actually have to move again after pulling a stunt like that…

That was enough of that thought experiment, you decided with a huff, no point embarrassing over yourself over something that hasn’t even happened (yet) and wasn’t going to happen (you reached over and knocked twice on the hardwood floor beside you). Better to focus on the task at hand and not let those ideas overstay their welcome.

You pulled open the flaps of yet another box and laughed heartily at the first thing you saw: Jamie’s pink underwear. He’d been looking for those before he left for work this morning, you recalled with a smile, and he’d surely appreciate a heads up about his signature garment’s location.

So, holding them limply in one hand, you reached blindly for your phone and dialed his number.

—————————————

The phone rang three times before your beloved finally picked up with a ‘hello’ that rang out with that particular tone of exhaustion that only a morning of customer service manages to bring out of him. You found yourself biting back a smile as you greeted him in return with all the enthusiasm and affection you could muster despite your own tiredness.

‘Jamie! My darling, love of my life, apple of my eye, my better half, my -‘

‘Good afternoon to you too sweetheart!’ Jamie cut you off, his words uttered softly around a quiet laugh that sends a warm fond feeling spreading from your heart to the tips of your fingers. ‘I’m assuming you didn’t just call to shower me with pet names. Is everything alright back home?’

‘It’s… erm…’

‘Boring?’ Jamie offered and you barked out a laugh in response.

‘To say the very least, yes. If I ever see another box in my life after this it’ll be too soon…’ you dramatically collapse back onto the settee and you hear him sigh your name through the speaker of your phone in a way that has your skin heating up.

‘Sorry, love. I’ll be home in a few hours to help you, just hang on a bit longer, yeah?’

You hum non-committally before remembering why you actually called your husband and speaking up in a much lighter and peppier tone than before. ‘Anyway! Speaking of boxes, you’ll never guess what I happened to find in one earlier,’

‘Oh? Is this another stray-fork-in-the-decorative-pillow-box situation?’

‘Something like that, actually!’ You say through a laugh, bringing your phone away from your ear to take a picture of yourself dangling his underwear beside your face — making sure to put on your cheekiest grin to add insult to injury. ‘Sending you the pic now, hopefully the WiFi at your job doesn’t fuck the quality… again…’

Jamie laughs and mutters his agreement and, after taking a second to briefly check the photo for any obvious embarrassing blemishes (God forbid you miss something stuck between your teeth… again…), you press the send button and wait for the inevitable half-amused-half-flustered sigh to echo through the speaker.

One second turns to two and then to ten before it finally gets delivered to Jamie’s phone, your grin growing broader and broader as you waited for the inevitable self deprecating comment to follow. But it never came, the silence between you stretching out for close to a minute before you finally called out to your husband in a slightly worried tone.

‘Jamie? Sweetheart?’ You hear him splutter and cough as if you caught him off guard before he manages to actually respond to you in an oddly strained, much quieter, voice.

‘Y-Yes darling?’

‘Something wrong? Oh God did one of your coworkers see that? I probably should have waited until you got home to show you that… I’m so sorry, babe -’

Jamie swiftly interrupts your rant with a shaky call of your name before taking in a steadying breath and continuing in almost a whisper. ‘It’s okay. I’m not upset, and nobody is in my office right now that would have seen it… but, sweetheart, did you need to get all of that in the photo?’

‘All of what?’

He lets out a trembling sigh. ‘My love please look at the picture you took again. You’re showing all of your, um…’ he quietens even further and his voice cracks slightly over his next words in a way that sends an unexpected wave of heat straight to your core, ‘your marks. The ones I gave you last night…’

Your eyes widen ever so slightly when you see exactly what he’s talking about before you’re hit with a realisation that makes you laugh.

‘Baby… did that make you hard? Is that why you’re so quiet right now?’ He lets out a sound close to a squeak and you continue, pushing past your own brief bout of embarrassment as you start to unbutton and unzip your shorts. ‘Thinking about what we were doing when I got them, right baby? Want me to help you out? Paint a clearer picture for you?’

Jamie huffs out a halfhearted protest and you can practically see the redness of his cheeks as he speaks to you. ‘Sweetheart I’m at work. My office is right next to reception. We can’t do this right now -‘

‘But you want to, right?’ You interrupt, using that tone of voice you know he loves and delighting in the way he gulps audibly through the call. ‘Besides, we can be quick. Just stay quiet and clean up your mess once you’re done and nobody will know,’

He pauses in consideration for a brief few moments before letting out a shaky but affirmative sigh, unzipping his pants and pulling his cock into his hand as he speaks to you.

‘Fine, okay. Quickly, my lunch break is nearly over…’

And in return you grin to yourself and offer a cocky bit of reassurance has earns you a pitchy groan from your husband.

‘Oh don’t worry, I won’t need long,’

—————————————

‘Remember how hard you got when you were eating me out last night?’ You tease in a low breathy voice, delighting in the way he groans into the phone in return. ‘You were super vocal too. Sometimes I think you enjoy it more than I do…’

‘You taste like heaven, love, how could I not?’ He asks the question so earnestly that you can feel your skin burning from how flustered he’s made you. Unable to stop yourself from slipping your free hand into your underwear to play with your swollen clit as you listen to him rant about how much he wishes his face was buried in your cunt right now. Circling, tracing, rubbing, and toying in time with his words as you try and bite back your gasps and moans and groans.

‘… fuck I wish you were sat on my face right now,’ and so do you, but you force yourself to push back those thoughts and continue reliving last night so you can actually fix the problem you caused.

‘And I wish your cock was inside me right now, but I guess both of us will have to wait to get what we want.’ You huff your faux-complaint and hear him let out a sound that’s somewhere between a strained laugh and a gasp. ‘All I can think about now is how deep you were inside of me last night… how big you are. Fuck, Jamie, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that,’

You hear his breath catch in his throat and can imagine just how flushed his face must be right now. He’s always so bashful when you praise him, especially when you talk about his dick, and you wish you were there to see just how much your words are effecting him — but for now you’ll settle for listening to the wet sound of him fisting his cock getting faster and louder, and the quiet moans and groans and grunts he’s unable to bite back to let you know just how much he’s enjoying your vivid recollection.

You turn to look at your reflection in the mirror that’s leaning against the kitchen door and let your eyes drift from mark to mark as you speak. ‘Don’t think I’ll ever get used to that fucking marking kink of yours either… they’re everywhere, babe. I don’t even remember getting most of these — when did you get the chance to bite down on my thighs, anyway?’

He lets out a strained little sound before pulling himself together just enough to offer you an actual response, his words clipped and interrupted by gasps and moans and cries as he does his best to speak to you.

‘Couldn’t — hah — help myself. Y’so — God — amazing. ‘Nd you got so — oh — wet when I did it. They look s’good on you too…’

And you can’t stop yourself from plunging two fingers into your drooling pussy at his words, letting out a low groan that Jamie is quick to catch when your fingertips crook straight into your g-spot. And that little sound, and the faint wet sound of you fingering yourself down the phone, only serves to push your dear husband closer to his end as he wets his lips and forces out one last question to you.

‘Oh God,’ he all but moans out the words and it sends another wave of heat straight to your core, ‘sweetheart are you..?’

‘Mhm,’ you moaned out your confirmation to his unfinished question, ‘couldn’t help myself, you sound so hot when you’re jerking off Jamie…’

And that seems to be all it takes to finally send your husband toppling over the edge of climax. You hear the loud clattering of his phone dropping onto his desk and hear the broken, distant sound of him half-groaning-half-gasping your name through what you’re sure are gritted teeth before the line goes quiet and you’re left to push yourself to your own peak with that wonderfully erotic image in mind. Gasping and whining and moaning his name as loudly as you please into the emptiness of your new home until you’re cumming so violently all over your fingers that your vision goes completely white and you momentarily forget how to breathe — reaching nirvana with a muted cry of ‘oh my god’ that earns you a quiet moan through the speaker of your phone before you’re gone to the world and unable to think of much anything at all.

Anything at all besides the fact that you really wish it were Jamie’s fingers inside of you instead of your own, that is…

[whump-tr0pes]

Honor Bound 6 - 24

Honor Bound 6 - 24 (Not Used to Freedom) - @badthingshappenbingo

Requested by @who-needs-a-life-anyways

Red X for posted, white X for requested! Send in your requests! If you don’t see a prompt here that you already requested, please send it again!

~

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3, Honor Bound 4, Honor Bound 5, and the prequel Vera.

AO3

Masterlist

Contents: past captivity, themes of self-harm, past hallucinations, angst, recovery, Gavin being a feral Pomeranian with Isaac desperately holding the leash, frank discussion of murder, past child abuse, complicated feelings about abusers, Isaac "it's not my fault my love language is Acts of Service and all I know how to do is kill" Moore, discussion of dead parents

~

For the third time in three days, Gavin woke with no collar around his neck. He woke with a soft mattress beneath him and a thick, warm blanket over him, and the golden late-September sun creeping into the window. The shades were pulled back, so that the sun could come in and so that he could see out, see that he wasn’t in a small windowless basement with stairs up to a single door, a high ceiling, and a gallows against one wall.

Most importantly, he woke next to the warm, strong body of the man who had saved him, and he told himself yet again like a fervent prayer that this wasn’t Schiester’s cruelest hallucination yet.

Gavin rolled closer to Isaac and tucked his head in the hollow of Isaac’s throat. He didn’t know if Isaac was awake, or if it was simple unconscious instinct that had Isaac’s arms drawing around him and holding him close, but he didn’t care. He breathed out a shaky sigh and allowed himself to be held. There was warmth, here, unlike anything he had ever felt in the depths of Schiester’s basement. Even with the blankets he had earned with his desperate, often false confessions, nothing had ever felt even close to this warm. It had only ever been the chill of the air and of Schiester’s gaze, and the fire of the cane, the knife, the beatings. Then the chill, again, of being so completely, utterly alone.

Tears wet the pillow beneath Gavin’s head, and he sniffled. He hadn’t meant to start crying.

A hand cradled his cheek, and he pressed his lips to Isaac’s palm. The tears flowed freely now. His face screwed up and he buried it against Isaac’s chest.

“Gavin?” Isaac’s chest rumbled against Gavin’s ear. Gentle fingers slid through Gavin’s short hair, and he shivered at the soft touch. It had been days of soft touch, of clean clothes, of a warm bed, of hot food… Surely Schiester wouldn’t let him feel this relief for days. The only price had been watching Isaac’s pain as he reeled from his memories of Rosa, watching Isaac as he struggled so, so hard not to punish himself for all the shame that threatened to crush him – and nearly losing his own life again at the hands of another specter with cold blue eyes.

But that was Edrissa, not Schiester. And Sam said they really don’t think she’s going to try again.

“Are you alright?” Isaac rasped, tilting Gavin’s face up so he could get a good look. Isaac’s eyebrows pulled together over dark eyes and darker circles beneath them. The kindness in his eyes, the concern, fully undid him. Gavin’s throat closed around a sob.

“No, look,” Isaac said, his own voice tight. He guided Gavin’s face up, tilted it so he was looking at the room, dimly lit by the sun. “This is real. You’re safe, Gavin, you’re—”

“N-no, I, I know,” Gavin whispered. “I think… I know.” Isaac let out a breath. “I’m just…” Gavin pulled Isaac close again, buried his face in his neck. Tears wet the collar of Isaac’s sleeping shirt. “I was just… so scared. So alone.”

“I know,” Isaac said brokenly.

“I thought was going to die,” Gavin whimpered.

“I kn-know,” came the reply. Isaac’s arms tightened around him.

“I thought… I thought I… I thought I broke you, I thought I made you hate me so much you’d l-leave me there…”

Count yourself lucky.

Ice clutched Gavin’s chest, threatened to drag him away from Isaac’s arms and down, down into the depths of Schiester’s basement again. It was always waiting for him, always there. He simply had to close his eyes and let himself be pulled in.

A hand, gentle as a kiss but strong as iron, slid under Gavin’s jaw and lifted his face until his eyes met Isaac’s again. Isaac’s lips trembled as he said, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry that he… that he ever made you feel that way. That he ever made it possible. But Gavin… no. No. You didn’t break me. And I could…” The hand on Gavin’s jaw began to shake. “I could never… leave you there, Gavin, I’m… sorry it took me so long to—”

“Don’t,” Gavin breathed, and shook his head. “Don’t.” He reached up and twined his fingers through Isaac’s, kissing each scarred knuckle. Gavin’s breaths were shaky and ragged, and Isaac’s matched his.

Gavin forced himself to draw in a slow breath through his nose.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Nothing smelled like Isaac in the basement, but Gavin could smell Isaac all around him now. It calmed him, slowed the stuttering beat of his heart. He scrubbed at the tears with his sleeve and met Isaac’s eyes again.

“I want to go outside again today,” he said with an uncertain smile.

Isaac’s lips curved up. “That sounds nice. Any particular place, or…?”

“Just outside,” Gavin said. “Anywhere. The town again, or…” He trailed off as Isaac’s smile froze. “Or the woods, maybe…”

“We can go into town,” Isaac said thickly. “We can, um…” He swallowed hard. His thumb rubbed along his forearm over his long sleeve, back and forth, and unconscious movement that made Gavin’s own scars itch. “If you want—”

“I don’t want to run into Rosa again,” Gavin said as he gently took Isaac’s wrist in his hand. Isaac went rigid and met Gavin’s eyes with a startled look. “I… that’s the last thing I want.”

Isaac swallowed hard and squeezed his eyes shut. “If we, um, r-run into her while we’re out, then—”

“I don’t want to run into her again if not allowed to kill her, Isaac,” Gavin said, as calmly as he could muster.

Isaac’s eyes flew open. His pulse raced under Gavin’s fingers. “S-sorry?” he mumbled.

“After what she did to you?” Gavin said, feeling rage coiling inside him like an injured predator. He thought his fury had been beaten out of him, cut out of him.

Not when it comes to my family. Not when it comes to Isaac.

He cleared his throat and took a steadying breath. “After what she… did to you,” he murmured, “I don’t want to see her again unless you’ll let me at her next time.”

“You could barely stand,” Isaac huffed, incredulous.

“I could have done damage,” Gavin said. His stomach roiled with bitter hatred for the woman who had looked at Isaac as he fell apart in front of her, because of what she had done to him, and laughed.

Laughed.

“You don’t know her,” Isaac said, shifting his gaze down. “She made me, um, who I am.”

“Bullshit she did, Isaac,” Gavin snapped. “She taught you how to handle a weapon and take inhuman amounts of punishment, and she cheated because you were already ready to do the second thing. And she couldn’t even beat you in a fair fight, so I think I stand a fair chance at half strength.”

“She can… but I…” Isaac shook his head as if dazed. “You’re not at half strength, Gavin.”

Gavin snorted, his eyes still blazing. “Fine. A quarter. My point still stands, she’s a fucking piss-ant weakling that couldn’t beat you with one arm tied behind your back, so you should have let me at least try while I had my shot at her. I don’t know if I’ll get another chance.”

Isaac’s brow furrowed. “Why do you keep… She’s not weak, she used to beat me every fucking night. She used to beat me into the fucking ground. And—”

“First off, that’s fucking horrifying, so I hope you registered what you just said.” Isaac opened his mouth, but Gavin kept going. “Second, how old were you when that was happening?”

Isaac blinked. “Um… I mean, I was… younger, but… even once I got a little older, she could still take me with the others, she could still—”

“So she could beat you as long as there were multiple other people you were fighting? Along with her?” Gavin’s head was beginning to throb.

“I mean… sometimes it was one-on-one with her, at the end of the night, when—”

“When you were tired?”

Isaac looked at Gavin helplessly. “I mean… yes, when I was tired, but sometimes you have to fight when you’re tired—”

“But I’m guessing she was always fresh when this happened.” Gavin’s jaw ached, too. He forced himself to relax it.

“I… I don’t remember, but… yeah, I guess she was fresh more often than not…?”

Gavin was shaking with rage. “Why didn’t you let me fucking kill this woman?” he breathed. “Who hurt you and used you and made you think, after all of this, that she was somehow stronger than you, so you were too scared to fight back against all of it?”

“I wouldn’t have fought back,” Isaac said as he shook his head. “I would have lost the family if I… if I ever…”

Gavin fell silent. He had no answer, no retort for the words that faded between them. Gavin had never fought back, either. He had never even considered it. He had been so young when his parents first made him afraid that he never remembered there being another option.

And, just like Isaac, he had been saved when his family cast him out when he failed to be what they made him.

“S-sorry,” Gavin rasped, and pressed his lips to Isaac’s scarred knuckles again. “I’m… I’m just… angry. At what she did to you.”

“Yeah,” Isaac said softly. “I’m getting that.”

“You’re not angry?” Gavin’s eyes flicked up to Isaac’s.

“Um…” Isaac wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I am. A little. But mostly there’s just… shame.” He seemed to be trying very, very hard not to press on the newest cuts on his forearms – the ones not left by Gavin, but by Isaac himself. “I mean… are you angry at your parents?”

“Yes,” Gavin answered, without hesitation. Then, “But… mostly for… what they did to you. The family.”

Isaac huffed and pressed a kiss to Gavin’s hair. “Feelings about the people who hurt us doesn’t ever seem to make much sense. I wasn’t angry at my mother for… years. I mean… I didn’t realize I felt anything but guilt for her until this year, and even then it’s… hard.”

“Yeah,” Gavin whispered. He drew in a deep breath and let it out.

“For what it’s worth, while we’re on the topic of parents and killing people,” Isaac said, “I know this might be… kind of a weird thing to say.” He gently cradled Gavin’s face and pressed their foreheads together. “But for what your parents did to you… I’m jealous that Vera got to kill both of them. Doesn’t seem fair.”

Grief, familiar and faded, washed through Gavin’s chest. A bitter laugh tightened in his throat. “That’s fair,” he said. “And definitely the most romantic thing you’ve said all morning.”

“I do what I can,” Isaac said with an equally tense laugh, but the arms around Gavin were careful and warm. Gavin fit into them like Isaac’s arms were home – the only home he’d ever known. All his parents’ homes, his warehouse in the east prairie, the Crayton house, the lake house – they had all been places he’d laid his head, but none of them had ever been home. The only place that he had ever rested, the only place he had ever found peace, was in the arms of the man who held him now – the arms of the man he thought he had broken a second time. Tears burned in his eyes again and he blinked them away. He didn’t want to spend the morning crying and angry. He wanted to spend the morning outside with the sun on his face and his hand twined with Isaac’s.

“I want to get up,” Gavin said softly, and pushed himself upright. “We don’t have to go into town, but… please, Isaac, let’s—”

“No, we can go into town,” Isaac said with a shaky smile. “If Rosa lives here, then… I’ll have to find a way to make peace with that. And if you want to go into town, then… for fuck’s sake, we’re going into town, and no one is going to stop us.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips against Gavin’s cheek. Gavin turned his head and caught Isaac’s mouth in a kiss that Isaac broke after only a moment.

Gavin’s smile faltered. “To town it is,” he said softly. “And then it would be good to visit with Vera and Tori?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Isaac said. He groaned as he rolled out of bed and stripped off his shirt. “We have some stuff to catch them up on.”

“Yeah,” Gavin said as he averted his eyes from Isaac’s scars. “Yeah, we do.”

Continued here

@womping-grounds ​, @free-2bmee ​, @quirkykayleetam ​, @walkingchemicalfire ​, @inpainandsuffering ​, @redwingedwhump ​, @burtlederp ​, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog ​ , @whatwhumpcomments ​, @whumpywhumper ​, @stxck-fxck ​, @whumps-the-word ​, @justplainwhump ​, @finder-of-rings ​, @inky-whump ​, @orchidscript ​, @inkyinsanity ​, @this-mightaswell-happen ​, @newandfiguringitout ​, @whumpkitty ​, @pretty-face-breaker ​, @pebbledriscoll ​, @im-just-here-for-the-whump ​, @endless-whump ​, @grizzlie70 ​, @oops-its-whump ​, @kixngiggles​, @1phoenixfeather ​ , @butwhatifyouwrite ​, @carnagecardinal , @whumpifi , @squishablesunbeam