#i make an effort to accentuate his eyes. hes the sort of man you WANT to tell things to

[harlequinides]

thedas' favourite storyteller

[cinnamontails-ff]

NSFW Alphabet - Astarion & Zoraya

Thanks for the tag @davenswitcher! I'm super late and this tag probably isn't cool anymore, but it didn't feel right to do this before chapter 25 of MA was out. This is of course assuming Zoya and Astarion have fully worked through their issues -- or, alternatively, you can picture it at as how things were before The Big One.

(Magistrate's Catvocate art by the wonderful @vyjuarts ❤)

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Aftercare is sort of a new experience for them both. Astarion has never really seen a need for it with his conquests, while Zoraya was probably a little too standoffish to really indulge in it with her previous boyfriends. Needless to say, they have wholeheartedly embraced the concept since they got together. Cuddling, snuggling, sweet words and tender touches -- they love to prolong their intimacy for as long as possible.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Zoraya likes her legs and loves to accentuate them with a pair of high heels and well-fitting trousers (or a skimpy little dress if she wants to win a domestic dispute). Her favorite part of Astarion is probably his eyes. This is what reminds her most of the boy she first fell in love with all those years ago, so there's a deep emotional connection for her.

As for Astarion, he loves her hair. He adores the fact that he is one of the few people who gets to see her wear it down (or even be the one to undo her hair for her after a long day). It's a very intimate thing for him, and he also likes to play with her hair during sex or cuddling. When it comes to himself, he's very vain about his hands. He loves to talk about the sorts of things he can do with his fingers, of course, but he's also just really enamored with the look of them. Pale skin, long fingers, immaculate nails -- the picture of a man who's never really worked a day in his life.

C = Cum (Where does your muse prefer to cum/have someone cum?)

Astarion loves to come inside of her. He enjoys the intimacy of it. Zoya would be open to experimenting a bit more, but as with many things, Astarion is worried about treating her the way he used to treat his conquests, so he's not quite there yet.

D = Dirty secret (Pretty self explanatory: a dirty secret of theirs)

Zoraya would really like to do a sexy role-play version of their "interview" in chapter 2, but she's scared that bringing it up will make him feel guilty for the type of person he used to be. I reckon a few years down the line it might be on the table :3

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Interestingly, they're both quite experienced with the physical aspects of sex -- Astarion more so than Zoraya, but she's had her share of partners over the years. It's the sex + feelings part that's a little new to them. This is of course featured in the infamous chapter 15 (:D), but I'm sure that also after that, there were a number of adorkable moments between them where they're grappling with this.

F = Favorite position (This goes without saying)

I pride myself on my creativity and my ability to write different types of stories with different OCs, but here's my universal truth: Astarion loves missionary and his girlfriend loves being folded over a desk and fucked from behind.

Sue me; I think it's hot.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)

They definitely have their silly moments! I think this is also where being friends first and lovers second comes in because they can seamlessly switch from one to the other.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

We all know about Astarion's lack of body hair, but I see Zoraya as someone who goes pretty natural. She keeps herself clean, but low effort otherwise.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment? The romantic aspect)

Astarion is definitely the romantic between them. He loves to tell her how beautiful she is, how much she means to him, how happy he is to be with her. Usually, he'll get a little incoherent as he approaches his climax and it's not unusual for him to switch over into Elvish because the words come easier that way. Zoraya is more reserved and a little insecure about expressing her feelings for him, especially in the heat of the moment. But internally, she's just as involved.

J = Jack off (Masturbation headcanon)

It's not off the table, but I imagine since they've moved in together, it has become a bit superfluous since they'll usually rather go at each other.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

They're two intellectuals, so obviously, they both have huge praise kinks.

Apart from that, Zoya is really into role-play because she loves the freedom to explore parts of herself she usually wouldn't let anyone see. Astarion is of course happy to facilitate pretty much any scenario she wants, but his major kink is simply being in a committed relationship with someone he actually cares for.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

His courtroom.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going?)

Zoraya gets turned on whenever she sees him go serious lawyer mode (hence, all the courtroom sex …). Astarion has a thing for her in a nightgown or one of his shirts from the previous night (cozy kink? Is that a thing?).

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Nothing degrading or outright painful. Some light hair-pulling or bondage would be fine, but nothing beyond that.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Zoraya used to be insecure about her ability to get him off, but it's quickly become one of her favorite ways to shut him up or throw him off his game :D To be fair though, I think Astarion's reaction to her has less to do with her being insanely skilled and more with his trust, his ability to let himself just feel when he's with her. And as much as he enjoys going down on her, in my head Astarion's favorite thing will always be just leaning back and letting her take care of him.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Usually, they work their way up, but there are times when they go hard and fast from the get-go (e.g. when they sneak off at a banquet or something).

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Astarion has a thing for semi-public quickies. Specifically, he likes singling her out from a group of people they're talking to and then leading her away in a way that makes it incredibly obvious to everyone what is going to happen behind closed doors. It's his way of showing off and yeah, he is not at all subtle about it.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)

A big part of their relationship is how Astarion lures Zoraya away from her good girl / overachiever personality. Showing her that actually, nothing bad will happen if she strays away from the rules every now and then. This extends into their sex life as well, but for the most part, they like to play with being discovered (sorry, Gale!), not with each other's comfort or safety.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

I will say this: The personal best he mentions in chapter 15 has been beaten in the meantime.

T = Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

They like handcuffs. I wrote a whole scene on it, but it never fit anywhere, so it'll probably stay in my docs *sigh*

U = Unfair (How much they like to tease)

Astarion loves teasing, of course, but Zoraya is quickly catching up with him. She really enjoys being able to unravel him by shooting him a look across the room or touching his ear in public. The teasing never lasts long though because neither of them is particularly patient.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Zoya is way louder with Astarion than she was with any of her previous partners. The woman is the definition of repressed emotions and with him, they are all coming out to the surface. At first, it's mostly just noises, but as they get more comfortable with each other, she also begins to tell him what she likes, how well he's doing etc.

As for Astarion, I like to imagine he used to make lots of over-the-top porn sounds for his conquests, but with Zoraya, he's much more quiet. He loves to whisper praise and encouragement, but apart from that, it's mostly soft moans and little gasps that get faster right before he comes.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

They have a stuffed bunny from Astarion's childhood in their bedroom (Sir Hopperson) and whenever things get steamy, Astarion gets up and makes sure the bunny faces away from them.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Zoraya has a scar on her thigh from where she was stabbed while defending him from the bandits in chapter 7. It's a spot Astarion always pays special attention to, kissing and caressing it every chance he gets.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

I headcanon Astarion as someone with a fairly high sex drive, but with Zoraya, he's often equally happy just holding her or cuddling with her. Any sort of intimacy will do. Zoraya's sex drive depends a lot on how stressed she is at work, but overall, I'd say average.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Zoraya tends to fall asleep fairly quickly. Astarion doesn't need as much rest, but loves being close to her anyway, so he often lies next to her, holding her or reading a book.

You guys have probably all done this tag already but for anyone who wanted to but forgot about it: Here's your tag ❤

[thatrickmcginnis]

JAMES TENNEY, Toronto 1989 + 1991

I hadn't heard of James Tenney when I was assigned to photograph him for Musicworks, a local art music journal, by Nancy, my old editor from Nerve magazine. (It's still around today.) Tenney was born in New Mexico and studied music with Carl Ruggles, John Cage, Harry Partch and Edgard Varese, and was a peer of Steve Reich and Philip Glass, performing in their ensembles. His work would be grouped in with movements like minimalism, process music, electronic music and plunderphonics, but in the '80s he was teaching composition at York University here in Toronto, which is where I photographed him, during and after one of his classes. I knew as soon as I took out my camera that I had a lot to work with - Tenney had a striking, rugged look, and my eyes were immediately drawn to the blackboard with its musical staff and the metal chairs stamped with "Music Dept". Tenney must have liked the results, because I have a record of him buying two of my prints a couple of months later.

My first portrait shoot with composer James Tenney was made during an uncertain time in my career, when my apprenticeship had ended and I was trying to make a living and establish a photographic style. By the time I had my second shoot with Tenney, precisely two years later, I was more confident and technically capable, and booked the session at my Parkdale loft, where I hoped I could achieve something more ambitious than our first shoot. I already knew that Tenney had a great image - a kind of Marlboro Man look that I wanted to accentuate even more with harder lighting and starker compositions. Of course my earlier pictures were an inspiration, and side by side they give some sense of how much my work had moved forward in two years.

My client for my second shoot with composer James Tenney was EAR magazine, another journal devoted to left-field and avant-garde music that had been publishing since 1973. If you don't remember the late '80s it was an exciting time if you were into weird, difficult music; there was a whole new audience for this sort of thing, from jazz to noise to oddball classical and art music, and EAR had become a glossy monthly with offices in New York's West Village above the Ear Inn. When I got my assignment to photograph James Tenney it had a sponsorship deal with Absolut Vodka, which helped pay for a series of CDs that would come with the magazine. Since I knew I was shooting the cover - my first ever glossy magazine cover - I decided to go all out, shooting with cross-processed slide film: it produced a look that seems very "period" to me now - high contrast and bright primary and secondary colours, and I had put a great deal of effort into mastering it.

I was very proud of the results, and of that cover, but unfortunately the magazine was going through ultimately fatal financial problems that would see it go out of business by the end of the year. It was the end of what I remember as an exciting time, culturally, and if I'm honest I still miss the excitement I felt during that period, which provided inspiration when I needed it badly. James Tenney's work is still studied and performed, and as a teacher he was a mentor to a whole generation of younger composers. He died of lung cancer in California in 2006.

[theworldisquietheretooquiet]

Now that I know you are also a fan, could I request any of the prompts from the list you might like to write for Larnach’s daughter?

-@outofangband

Thank you!!

It doesn't exactly fit any of the prompts sorry, but I wanted to write it. It could work for 'the shadows grew long in the forest' or 'seeking the unknown' I guess!

They all have Sindarin names, which isn't really realistic but oh well. Set in Brethil after she goes there. 834 words.

Cw: attempted sexual assualt, some bloodthirsty violence

Duvainel is hunting an animal. The trees grow close here and she must slow her running just a little as she darts through them. But she isn’t worried that her prey will escape. She can hear its breathing, ragged and panicked just up ahead; and if she focuses, she can glimpse the odd flash of skin through the leaves.

Her heartbeat is loud in her ears and sweat drips from her forehead as the ground steadily inclines but Duvainel still runs. The stretch of her muscles, the thwack of her feet on the ground thrills her. A thorned branch slashes her forehead, but she barely feels it. She grips her knife tighter and speeds up her pursuit. She feels how close the animal is to giving up, to falling. It is looking behind desperately for help.

The memory of that sort of fear is a vague thing now and power thrums through her veins.

Her prey stumbles on a root and trips, crying out, to the ground. Duvainel pounces.

The beast fights with all the desperation of a cornered animal, but it is weak and weaponless. It is not a fair fight, Duvainel thinks to herself, with violent amusement as her knife stabs into its gut. Its chest. They never are.

She is just getting ready to deliver the death blow when she hears clapping, and turns around to see Farrien, leaning on a tree nearby.

“Very impressive, Larnach’s daughter.”

Duvainel makes a futile effort to get some of the blood off her hands, then walks over to her friend and grins.

“I was worried I’d lost him at the stream, but he made such a great clammer through the thicket, it was almost too easy.”

Farrien laughs and her eyes are bright, shining with the joy of the hunt as Duvainel assumes her own are.

At that moment, Prestadis appears from the other direction and approaches them, smiling too.

“I told you a knife would be sufficient, didn’t I?” Duvainel gives her an exaggerated eye roll but acquiesces.

“Yes, you were right. An axe would have been too cumbersome.”  

The animal begins to whimper softly and Farrien scowls, walking towards it and delivering a hard kick to its side. It falls silent.

“Finish it off Duvainel, won’t you. That way we can be back at the settlement before dark. There are worst things than this filth in the woods after nightfall.”

She nods and makes her way back over to her prey, bends down and places her knife against its neck.

She looks at his torn and destroyed clothes and smiles slowly. When he had arrived at the banquet last night, he had clearly been so proud of them. As he had greeted his friends, he’d stood with a strange posture to accentuate his outfit. Duvainel and Farrien, from where they sat across the room, had made eye contact right at that moment, and had to stifle their laughs.

She had not been laughing later when he had come into the kitchen as she was washing the plates. She had smiled at him and thanked him, for his kindness at bringing her the remaining cups. Afterwards she had wondered how she could have been so foolish.

As soon as he had brushed too close to her, as he put them in the sink, she had known what was about to happen. She could not think what to do. There were no woods to escape through. No bright-eyed Elf-men to rescue her. But just as she was standing, paralysed by terror, thinking how this was meant to be a safe place, Prestadis had walked in.

The man had scowled only for a moment before bowing, smirking at her, and walking away.

Both Farrien and Prestadis had held her all night, as she vomited and cried. Then, just as the first rays of sun were appearing they had turned to her and said: “Do you want to see how the women of Haleth’s House deal with men like that?”

Duvainel presses her knife harder against the animal’s neck and watches as a crimson droplet appears. Then in one quick, savage motion she slashes his throat. The hot, red blood spills onto her hands and something in her chest slots back into place. She laughs in delight.

Farrien pats her on the back and grins. “I’m glad it worked for you, Duvainel.”

“What will we do with the body?” She asks them both, curiously.

Prestadis shrugs. “Burn it and scatter the bones in the river. They will assume orcs attacked him on his way home.”

Duvainel thinks for a moment. “Can I remove his head, first?”

“Oh, Duvainel,” says Farrien. “You are going to fit in.”

Prestadis offers her her knife since it’s the sharpest, but even with it, it’s slow, gruesome work. She collapses back on her knees as she finally finishes, setting the head on the ground in front of her.

“So,” says Prestadis. “How do you feel now, Duvainel?”

She smiles. “I feel righteous.”

[secretxxpaladaiseu]

Teru's big eyes went even bigger once he could let them wander up and down his company. He had found Hajime good looking from the very start, but having him accentuate his optical features almost caused Teru to forget how to breathe. No surprise he grinned wryly, and just like most things he did it looked lascivious. He didn't even need to try, seduction was his second nature, if not even the first one. But not only sexual seduction. There were other vices just as well Teru liked to introduce others to.

"Yeah, goddamn! And now you have the fucking audacity to steal me the show with your damn handsomeness!" Of course he wasn't seriously offended, his raspy giggle told about it. While the other took a drag from his cigarette he eyed him closely, and this not only in a friendly way but with the intense eyes of someone who was halfway devouring a prey. Yes, Hajime looked like someone who had something to offer in the way Teru was aiming for. And he smelled like someone who had, too. With confidence the sexappeal grew after all and the prey became even more nutritious. Teru wasn't one to sit on the chest of a sleeping person and causing them paralysis. He wanted them awake and aware. But at the same time his kind soul was genuinely happy he could have helped his friend.

"We need a room with a mirror then! Let's ask if they have one." Teru enjoyed to look at himself just as well after all. But even more he enjoyed it when others looked at him. Being inside he didn't have any shame or troubles to ask for exactly that, a room with a mirror, and it turned out that some rooms had mirrors all over the walls. "Perfect!", he judged and patted Hajime's back when they headed to one of the free rooms. "Did you've already think about a way to show your gratitude to me?" His finger tugged onto the necklace the other still wore.

Truth be told, Hajime didn't mind the looks he was getting from the other. Normally, he was fairly oblivious to flirtation thrown his way, but this wasn't a normal night for him. He already felt much different, and he could absolutely see the looks that Teru was giving. The guitarist was well aware of how good he looked, even having put actual effort into it this time instead of merely trying to look put together. No, tonight he wanted to look like a treat. He wanted those glances, those eyes…Maybe not Teru's specificially, but he did like the idea of him more than some stranger. Tonight, all attention was good attention in his mind.

Whatever 'magic' Teru had worked earlier by simply doing his makeup for a basic photo shoot, it clearly wasn't for nothing. Never in a million years would Hajime had thought something seemingly simple would change his confidence and personality slightly so fast. He looked good, though. He knew it, and would admit it in two seconds if questioned about it. Though, it didn't seem like there would be many questions. It all just seemed to radiate from the usually quiet, hidden man. While he didn't want the spotlight, he certainly didn't seem to mind being a topic of conversation.

"So what you're saying is that I should dress like this more often? Maybe I should pay attention the next time you do my makeup." He laughed softly as he followed him inside. It had been a while since Hajime had last been in a karaoke shop, but he was still excited for it. There were never any bad memories for him of being in a karaoke room. Just a bunch of drunken work colleagues making fools of themselves for fun. Trying to one up the ridiculousness and such. He couldn't imagine tonight being any different, except with a much smaller party.

He followed after him to their room, a new sort of grin coming over his lips as he stepped just a few inches closer at the tug of the necklace. It was a grin that was almost…Dangerous. As if he was completely willing to play into a possibly very dangerous game. Perhaps it was a darker side of Hajime, one that had been lying dormant and was coming back. "Well…I thought tonight would be on me. Of course, there's always other ways I could show my appreciation, I suppose. How about we start with some alcohol, though?"

@anemia-rp

[abimess]

Forbidden - Part 1

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Main Masterlist | Be notified of my stories

Summary: Meeting the perfect woman at a party has three complications: 1) you're married; 2) she's your student; 3) she’s too good to let go. 

Word count: 7.648 || Pronouns: she/her

Warnings: (a lot of) smut [18+ only!], alcohol 

You do NOT have permission to repost or translate my work on any platforms (even with credit)

Series Masterlist

───── ⋅ ✮ ⋅ ─────

You got to the party a few minutes before the time you scheduled with Tony, and the place was already crowded. The loud music pounding on the speakers and the smell of alcohol and smoke did nothing to encourage you to enter that hell of a place. But you remember your brother’s convincing - or rather, annoying - arguments, and you sigh softly, putting your hands in the pants pockets of your red suit as you walk in.

“You need to have some fun, man, you look like you were hit by a car.” The man had said the other day, laughing softly, and you left out the fact that you’ve been quite unable to sleep or eat properly as you told him you were just busy with work. The argument was of no use, of course, since Tony insisted it was just another reason to celebrate, since you finally got the job you wanted for so long.

Xavier Institute is the most respected art college in the country and one of the best in the world. Working there has been a dream of yours since you graduated, and Tony, who has known you forever and kept track of all your efforts, insisted that you celebrate the realization of this dream together. 

But you looked for the man everywhere and found no sign of him. You think about going home, but you've already gone through all the work of getting here and the effort of coming up with a costume. So you sigh softly, and make your way to the bar to get yourself something to drink, checking your phone to see if you got any text from your brother but finding no notifications at all. 

As you wait for your drink by the bar, you try to fit as comfortably as possible into the cluster of people around the counter, and the pair beside you catches your attention. The first one that draws your attention is the girl. She wears a set of tight-fitting dark red clothes - pants and a long-sleeved blouse - with several black details and runes drawn on them, covered by a half-skirt of the same color. Her dark hair is covered with an orange dye made not to last long, and the wavy locks are held by some sort of crown that goes all the way down to her cheekbones, accentuating them. And she's absolutely breathtaking. 

As for the other person, it’s a guy dressed up in a lazy attempt at a Michael Myers costume, with a faded gray jumpsuit, a generic white mask, and his hair thrown back with exorbitant amounts of gel. The boy holds a plastic knife in one hand, using the other to lean on the bar counter, approaching the girl as he talks on and on. It's not hard to deduce from her body language that he's bothering her, and her annoyed expression behind the tight smile lets you know he's been doing it for quite some time. 

“I think everyone liked you better when you didn't talk.” Your comment takes not only the two strangers by surprise, but also yourself. Maybe what they say is true, maybe dressing up as something or someone you’re not really changes you - or rather, makes you feel comfortable enough to be who you really are. In any case, you keep your posture unfazed, playing with your glass between your fingers.

“And who are you anyway?” The Michael Myers dude asks, his tone as annoyed as his stance. “Just someone who can read the room.” You answer calmly as you shrug your shoulders, signing to the girl in between you and him as you say, “she's clearly bothered by your presence, buddy, so why don’t you just leave the girl alone?”

The man turns his mask-covered face to the girl then, but she just keeps her eyes forward, the small smirk at the corner of her lips being the only indication that she’s listening to the conversation. So he grumbles disgruntledly, stomping away like a spoiled child. 

“Thanks for that.” Says the girl when the boy is away, turning her body slightly to face you. “Not needed but appreciated.” She adds with a raised eyebrow, to make sure you know she’s no damsel in distress, and you smile, nodding slightly. “Oh, trust me, he was bothering me too.” You say as you take a sip of your drink, watching her look at you in a mixture of curiosity and confusion as the citric drink slides down your throat. “I was trying to build up the courage to talk to you when he showed up.”

“Is that so?” The girl asks in an amused tone, her smirk growing as she leans her elbow on the counter, her hand supporting the side of her face as she eyes you intently. “Yeah…” You confirm, admiring the black nail polish on her neatly done fingernails. “It's been a while since I've done the whole flirting thing, especially with a woman as beautiful as you.” You risk it and the girl scrunches her nose before she says, humorously, “a bit rusty.”

“Very rusty.” You add with a grimace, making the girl giggle as you take a long sip of your drink. “I’m sorry.” You grumble as you shake your head, a bit embarrassed, and miss the way the stranger smiles sweetly at you. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” Her comment makes you look back at her again, and your eyes fall to her lips as she bites them in a smile. 

“I’m Y/n.” You introduce yourself with an easy smile, offering her your hand. “Wanda.” She tells as she holds your hand with her smooth one, and you let out a hum of satisfaction at the beautiful name. “Oh, Princess Wanda, daughter of the founder of Kraków, Poland.”

“I didn’t know that.” Wanda says with an amused smile, taking a sip of her drink, holding her glass with her featherlike fingers that were previously on yours. “I know a thing or two.” You comment with a playful shrug, making her giggle softly. “It’s a pretty name. You’re from Poland?”

“Sokovia.” She corrects you, and you click your tongue, grimacing slightly at your own mistake. “Close.” You murmur behind the rim of your glass, and Wanda watches you intently, taking a sip of her drink. “Very smart for a devil.” She jokes about your costume - red suit and dark makeup -, and you let out a short laugh before shaking your head. “Oh no, I’m not a devil. Too overrated. I’m just a demon.”

“What kind of demon?” Wanda asks with a raised eyebrow, and you smirk as you shrug your shoulders. “I guess you’ll have to find out.” Your comment makes her smirk back at you, taking her glass to her red lips and finishing it in one sip, and you waste no time in offering, “can I buy you a drink, Wanda?”

“Only if you’ll dance with me after it.” Her answer is quick and provoking, and you smile with satisfaction as you agree. “Deal.”

And then you buy yourselves another round of drinks, and you keep the conversation going with such an ease that surprises the two of you. As the talk goes on, you realize Wanda is smart and funny and the more time you spend with her, the closer you want to get to her. She doesn’t seem bothered by your approaches in the slightest, smirking at all the excuses you find to touch her body. 

When the new set of drinks is finished, she grabs you by the hand to take you to the dance floor, so energetically commenting on how she loves the song that’s currently playing, and you giggle softly as you intertwine your fingers with hers. Wanda doesn’t let go of your hand once you get there. In fact, she uses it to pull you even closer to her. 

You’re not much of a dancer, honestly, but you let the alcohol in your system move your body to the rhythm of the music. Wanda is not shy about pressing her body on yours, fitting her ass on your front as she dances to the music. So you let your hands roam her body boldly, feeling your skin tingle with every sound you draw from her. 

At some point she turns to you again, her face so close to yours that your noses are brushing, and her pupils are so dilated you can barely see the green of her eyes anymore. So you allow the adrenaline and lust to take over you, and you press your lips to hers firmly, your hands on the sides of her face to pull her close. Wanda whimpers in surprise, holding the front of your shirt tightly as she matches the kiss just as eagerly, pulling you closer.

With your hand on the back of her neck, you take the other to her waist, deepening the kiss and sliding your tongue against hers with intent. The girl moans helplessly against your mouth, feeling her knees buckle as you dominate her with such ease, her hands moving to your shoulders looking for some kind of support.

When air is needed, you move your kisses to her jaw and neck, sucking on her skin and smoothing it with your tongue. Wanda shudders with every touch, moving one of her hands to your hair, gripping it tightly to encourage you to keep going, her whimpers and sighs against your ear almost muffled by the loud music. 

Pushing your body forwards, you move together until her back hits the nearest wall, your torso pressed to hers even closer now. Moving your face up again, your mouth meets hers again in a kiss so hungry that Wanda’s head spins, her entire body surrendering to you as she kisses you back.  

With one hand firmly on her waist, you take the other to her thigh, pulling her leg up to your hip and setting your thigh in between hers. The girl whimpers against your lips at the sudden pressure, her hips jerking down to press her center even further to yours, one of her hands on your neck as the other holds your arm for stability. 

Wanda keeps moving her hips against you, looking for some friction to help her ease the aching in her core. To assist her, you tense up the muscle in your thigh, sucking her tongue as she moans against your mouth. Her warmth against your leg grows to the point of almost burning your leg underneath your suit, and you would’ve taken her for yourself right then and there if at that moment someone hadn't bumped into you, reminding you that you were in the middle of a party surrounded by hundreds of people.

You slow down the kiss, both of your hands on her waist as you pull your leg away. Wanda whimpers slightly, displeased by the lack, so you smile softly as you move your face away from her. The smile falters, however, when you open your eyes again and see her lips puffy from kissing so hard, and her eyes locked on yours with such desire that it’s hard to remember why you ever stopped in the first place.

“My apartment is close by.” She comments as she moves closer, keeping her lips so close to yours that they brush as she speaks. “Lead the way.” You request as you move your hands down and squeeze her ass harshly, pressing her further against you. Wanda grunts at the delicious pain, taking your lower lip between her teeth and pulling it harshly, to the point of stinging. You hiss softly, but before you could kiss her again, she’s pulling away, and holding your hand to guide you out of the crowded party. 

The air outside is as cold as it can be for that time of the night, but both your bodies are so warm you barely notice it. As Wanda asks for a lift on an app on her phone, you’re busy giving her a hard time, fitting your body behind hers and moving her hair to the side so you can have free access to her neck. The girl complains about not being able to focus, but you just keep kissing her skin underneath her ear, smiling as you hear her sigh. 

With the ride on its way, Wanda teases you back by pushing her ass against your center, smirking as she feels you groaning against her skin. In response, you spin her by the waist, and kiss her lips with such intent that soon her legs are giving in again. You keep your mouth on hers until the car arrives, and the two of you get in the backseat with puffy lips and messy clothes. 

Wanda can’t wait for the car to arrive to give wet kisses and nibbles on your neck, and you can’t wait for her to open the front door to press her body against yours, your teeth on her earlobe and your hands on her hips. But as soon as all that is done, her mouth is back on yours, devouring each other as if that was the last meal you would ever have. 

You press her against the door as soon as you’re inside the apartment, your leg back in between hers as your mouth finds her once more. Wanda sighs against your lips, moving her fingers to the front of your body, unbuttoning your shirt before she’s even taken off your suit jacket. But as soon as she’s done, she pushes it all at once down your shoulders, and you let your garments slide to the ground as you move your kisses to her jaw. 

With your hands back on hers, you pull her up by the thighs, her legs wrapping around your waist at the same instant. Moving your fingers down to the sides of her body, you loosen the claps that kept her skirt secured around her hips, letting the item fall to the ground as you hold her tight, walking with her around the apartment. 

Wanda tries to guide you as best as she can with your mouth on her neck and her hands on your bare back. But the two of you manage to get to her bedroom - some bumping into furniture and stopping against walls later -, and you lay her on the mattress as soon as you get there. 

Her pants are what you take off first, and Wanda moves her feet to get free of her boots before the piece of clothing reaches her ankles. On your knees facing her, your mouth water at the sight of her bare legs, a red underwear covering her center. You take your time kissing the soft skin of her inner thighs, hearing her sigh as you approach her core, her legs pulling apart instinctively. 

But before you reach your destination, Wanda places her fingers under your chin, pulling you up so she can kiss you again. With your hands on her hips, you pull her closer, kissing her hungrily as your fingers venture underneath her blouse, pulling the fabric as your hands slide up her back. 

The girl moves her face away from yours so she can get rid of the garment, tossing it somewhere on the floor along with the rest of the clothes. It's hard to take your eyes off her breasts covered by nothing but a red lace bra, and Wanda bites her lower lip in a smile as she watches your hungry gaze on her, moving her hands to the front of your pants.

Her fingers work on your belt with such ease that you only realize what she’s done when she throws the item on the bedroom floor, her hands returning to your pants to unbutton them. As you stand up again to get rid of your pants, Wanda lies down, leaning on her elbows, and the sight makes the knot below your belly grow tighter. 

As you lie on top of her, your body fitting into hers perfectly, Wanda takes her hands to your back, her legs wrapping around your waist as her fingertips slide against your skin. You barely have time to kiss her again, because soon the woman is pulling your sports top up, and you have to move away to pass it through your head. 

Not wanting to be left behind, you move your lips to her jaw, your fingers finding the clasp of her bra and undoing it with one move. Wanda’s hands let go of you as she takes the item off, and you’re unable to resist the temptation to pull away to look at her, gasping softly at the sight of her naked torso underneath you. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.”

Wanda’s cheeks get rosier underneath her heavy makeup, smiling softly as she pulls you down again to slide her tongue on yours. Holding her by the waist, you fit your knee in between her legs, making her moan against your mouth, instantly starting to move her hips against you in search of some friction. 

Deciding you’ve been too long without tasting more of her, you move your kisses down, leaving purple marks on every piece of skin you can find, her whimpers filling the room as you make each one of them. Wanda’s back arches against yours as your lips wrap around her nipple, licking and sucking until it stiffens inside your mouth. 

Her hands move to your hair, gripping it and keeping you exactly where she wants you to be. Pressing your leg harder against her, you take your mouth to her other breast, giving it equal attention, smirking as you feel her wetness growing on your bare thigh. It doesn’t take long for her to grow impatient, pushing your head down, and it takes even less for you to obey, leaving a trail of wet kisses down her stomach. 

When you reach her lower part, you hold her legs open for you, your eyes locked on hers as you lean down, watching her biting her lips harshly in anticipation as you kiss her center covered by the thin red fabric, her taste and scent making you roll your eyes as you grunt in satisfaction. The vibration makes Wanda whimper lowly, closing her eyes for a second, and you’re sure you’ve never seen a sight as beautiful as this one. 

Wrapping your fingers around her panties, you pull them down until it slides down her legs, and make your way back up to her center as you place soft kisses along her inner thighs. Wanda’s breath hitches as you bite her skin tightly, and a loud moan rips out of her throat as you sink your face into her, your tongue savoring her pussy hungrily and collecting her juices.

As you suck her clit expertly, Wanda’s hand takes a hold of your hair, keeping your mouth exactly where she wants it to be, as the other one grips the sheets tightly. You slide your tongue along her folds, her sweet taste making your palate tingle, your core throbbing.

“Oh, yeah- fuck, don’t stop.” She lets out in between moans and whimpers, the grip on your head getting tighter as you sink your tongue inside her, your nose brushing against her clit making her see stars behind her closed eyelids. You had no intention of stopping anyways, eating her out as if your life depends on it, devouring her with everything you have.

You hold her thighs open for you as her body begins to shake, her orgasm approaching her as her moans become louder. You keep your movements steady, guiding her through her high as her back arches, her cum dripping down your chin as she thrusts her hips forwards.

Her hand makes a bit of pressure against your head, asking you to stop. But even then you don’t pull away, licking her clean, her juices running down your throat and making you feel complete. “Y/n, please-ah.” She hisses at the overstimulation, but you slide the tip of your tongue on her clit lightly. 

It doesn't take long for Wanda to be ready for another, her hips jerking against you as her hand tightens on your hair again. This time, you wrap your tongue around her clit, thrusting two fingers inside her without warning, making her scream at the delicious intrusion, her walls pounding against your digits. 

“Oh, fuck, so good. I’m gonna-” Her second orgasm gets to her much faster, and before the words even come out she’s squirming against your touch, her walls clenching around your fingers and her cum dripping onto the sheets. “P-please, it’s too much.” She begs in a whiny voice, her hand weekly trying to pull you away from her throbbing pussy. 

But this time you obey, slowly making your way back up to her, your mouth kissing her body as she tries to regain the rhythm of her breathing. You kiss her as soon as you reach her, your tongue sliding sensually against hers and making her shudder, a low moan escaping her as she tastes herself in your mouth. 

When air is needed, you move your lips to her neck. But they don’t stay there for long, because soon Wanda is placing her hands on your shoulders, and reversing your positions on the bed. “It’s my turn now.” She says huskily against your lips, and you smirk as she kisses you again, far from being opposed to it.

As she fits more comfortably on top of you, her core fits perfectly against your own, a moan leaving your lips as you grab her waist on reflex. Wanda smirks against your mouth, moving her hip experimentally and shuddering when you whimper for more, trapping your lip in between her teeth.

She pulls away from you just to remove your underwear - at this point completely soaked -, and soon is back to her original position, pressing her pussy against yours, ripping moans from the both of you in the process. Your whole body warms up as she starts to rub against you, your juices mixing with hers and providing the perfect friction. 

You hold her hips to help her guide her movements, her legs growing shaky as she starts to move faster. The scene as a whole takes you to cloud nine, Wanda’s breasts bouncing as she rubs herself against you, her mouth half-open as she moans, her eyes ajar. You wanted to get up and take one of her rosy nipples inside your mouth, but her hands on your stomach keep you in place, her nails digging into your skin.

She reaches her high a second after you do, your moans filling the room as your cums mix together. When she can’t take it anymore, Wanda collapses against you, her face hidden in the crook of your neck as her arm wraps around your middle, her breathing completely out of rhythm. You run your hands down her back soothingly, and not long after she’s lifting her head again, and kissing you slowly enough to send a chill down your spine.

A smirk makes its way to her lips as your hand squeezes her ass, and you take no time in reversing your positions again, desperate to taste her once more. 

⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅

You wake up to an empty bed, but the frown only remains on your face until you find a folded towel on the end of the mattress, along with a set of clothes and a note that says “meet me in the kitchen when you’re done xoxo.” With a groan, you stand up, but instead of the clothes Wanda saved for you, you collect your own - now placed in a pile on the chair in front of Wanda's desk.  

Before going to the bathroom, a set of picture frames catches your attention. In one of them, you see Wanda and a boy about her age, his hair platinum, sitting on what seems to be a long grassy field. On another, you see her with the same boy, accompanied by an older man, the three of them sitting on a brown couch. The last picture of the three makes you laugh through your nose as you see Wanda and two other girls making funny faces for the photo at what looks like a New Year's Eve party. 

You imagine those are her family and friends, and you can’t help but smile at her in all of them, enamored with her beauty in absolutely all those settings. But you shake your head to keep the thoughts and the sleep away, holding your clothes against your body as you move to her bathroom. 

Some minutes later, you’re back in your suit and entering the kitchen, smiling at Wanda’s figure with her back at you, stirring something on the stove, her body covered by only a long sweater. Her damp hair is now in its natural brown, like the ones you'd seen in the photographs in her room. And as all the other times you’ve seen her until now, breathtaking.

“Morning.” You say as you wrap your hands around her waist, kissing her shoulder. “Morning.” Wanda says back with an easy smile that fades away when she spins on her heels to face you. “You’re not wearing the clothes I sorted for you.” Her eyes go down on your figure for half a second, figuring you're already leaving, and you have to hold back a smile at her disappointed frown.

“I can’t stay for long, I'm waiting for the moving truck to deliver this morning.” You explain, apologetically, and Wanda nods slowly in understanding. “Will you have breakfast with me at least?” The brunette asks with puppy dog eyes, and you’d have been unable to say no to her anyways. “Of course.” The grin she offers you is blinding before she leans forward, and you let out a giggle as you kiss her back. 

You help her set the table and finish the food she was making before you eat together, the entire process surrounded by light conversation or just some comfortable silence. You exchange smiles every time your eyes meet, and Wanda tries to stop herself from creating so many expectations with this stranger she met at a party. 

She knows she shouldn’t. This was most likely just a one-night stand, as it was supposed to be. But there was something about you that she wanted to know more of, to keep closer. Anyhow, she’d obviously not tell you any of that, keeping on with the casual conversation until the breakfast ends. 

“You don’t have to-” She starts when she sees you washing the dishes, but you pull a dismissive face. “It’s okay, I still have some time.” You assure her with your hands already covered in soap, smiling when she still looks uncertain, “I insist.” She smiles in gratitude, kissing your lips softly before moving around the kitchen to put everything back in its place.

“Thank you.” The brunette says when everything is done, wrapping her arms around your shoulders after you’ve wiped your hands on the dishcloth. “No problem.” You assure before kissing her softly, feeling her smile against your lips. The kiss soon grows deeper, your tongue meeting hers as you press her against the kitchen counter. 

“I thought you had to leave.” Wanda teases as you move your mouth to her neck, biting her lip tightly when you bite her sensitive skin over the mark you’ve made last night. “I do but you’re so fucking irresistible.” You groan against her skin, feeling her neck vibrating as she chuckles. 

Before the brunette can even process, you’re already on your knees, sinking your face in between her legs in kissing her center covered by a new piece of underwear. “Y/n, what-” Her question is cut short by a moan as you move the fabric to the side, sliding your tongue along her folds, already soaked from you kissing her like that a moment ago. 

“Oh, fuck.” Wanda’s hands find the marble for support as you eat her out, her knuckles getting whiter as her legs grow weaker. But you hold her up, a leg over your shoulder, as you suck her clit, tasting her on your tongue. Soon one of the brunette’s hands leaves the counter to grip your hair tightly, making you groan against her pussy. 

The vibration is enough to send her over the edge, spilling her juices on your mouth as her moans escape her throat, the sounds muffled to you by her thighs squeezing your head. When she’s sure she can’t take it anymore, Wanda pushes your head lightly, her stomach twisting with desire as she watches you come back to your feet, wiping the corner of your mouth with your thumb, a smirk on your lips. 

“Let me return the favor.” She requests with her lips brushing against yours, her hands on the collar of your blouse. “Hmm maybe some other time, I really gotta go now.” You say with your hands on her waist, but Wanda is already moving her lips down to your jaw, taking your earlobe in between her teeth and making you shudder. “Fuck, you’re not helping.”

“I have no intention of helping.” She chuckles mischievously against your neck, and you have to muster all your strength to pull away. “I have to go.” You insist, and the only thing bringing comfort to Wanda now is that you sound as disappointed about it as she is. So she nods in understanding, and offers to walk you to the door. 

“I left my phone number on your nightstand.” You let her know when you’re already on the other side of the door, holding back a smile when you see her sketching an eager one. “I’ll call you.” The brunette promises as she leans against the open door, and you can’t stop yourself from smiling this time. “I’ll be waiting.”

Wanda lets out a giggle at your response, so cute that you can’t stop yourself from moving closer to her again and kissing her hard. The brunette laughs softly against your mouth as she matches the kiss, but before she’d like, you’re pulling away again and saying goodbye for good this time. And Wanda watches you walk away until you disappear into the elevator. 

⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅

"And this is your office." Says the redhead as she walks you into the hugest room you've ever worked in, and you try not to feel so small there. "You'll get used to the space, honestly, some of us even manage to fill them with crap." She jokes as she sees your wide-eyed expression, and you let out a laugh as you nod in understanding. 

After the weekend of the party, it was all about going back to the real world. Moving to Westview was exhausting and with every little thing that went wrong, you found yourself thinking maybe you should've left part of your belongings in New York. Your entire family still lives there anyways, it's not like you wouldn't have someone to keep an eye on your stuff for you. Besides, settling into a new job was always a challenge and the amount of bureaucracy got your head pounding every time.

Luckily for you, Tony - who had come to spend a few days in Westview to help you out with your moving - was by your side to give you support and the company you needed, even if he kept teasing you about your secret one-night stand.

"We don't have to talk about it, Tony, please, just let this go." You grumbled when the arguments about him abandoning you - because he was too busy sleeping with the cop that had stopped him that night - didn't work anymore, and your brother chuckled to himself before helping you empty yet another box.

And speaking of the brunette, it's been four days and Wanda hasn't called or texted. It's fine, you think to yourself. Maybe it's better that way. You already had too many things going on in your life, you could run away from trouble. At least that's what you repeated in your head every time you checked your phone and saw nothing.

"It's great. Thank you, Professor Romanoff." You say with a polite smile towards the redhead, who offers you a playful one in return. "Oh, please, there's no need for formalities, Natalia is just fine." She comments, waving her hands, and you let out a somewhat embarrassed giggle before telling her she could do the same.

After that, you and the Russian Professor chat some more, and she only leaves many minutes later - not before assuring you a few times that you could come to her if you needed anything, which made you smile with slightly rosy cheeks. And, finally alone, you busy yourself putting your new office together. 

⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅

Wanda saved your number on her phone the very moment she found the paper laying on her nightstand - smiling a silly smile as she saw the signature “from your daemon” under it. 

But she only has the guts to text you on Friday, after some annoying insistence from her best friends, Kate and Yelena. She apologized for taking so long, but didn't explain the reason for the delay was that she was panicking too hard when she asked if you'd like to do something on Saturday - because Yelena had been too energetic on how she should ask you out at once. 

And although you said you were happy she texted, you apologized for not being able to see her that Saturday, since you were still busy with the moving and adjusting to your new job. Still, you asked her out for the other weekend, and even though the brunette was upset she wouldn't get to see you as soon as she expected, she agreed to the date with a smiling emoji.

But it's still Tuesday and Wanda would have to wait another four days to see you again. At least classes were distracting enough, she thought to herself as she walked through the university corridors, listening to a story Yelena was telling about one of the times she went to visit her parents on their farm that was making Kate’s eyes water from laughing so hard.  

"Oh my god, she's here." The brunette cuts her friend off as soon as they walk into the classroom, her eyes widening as she sees the one she least expected to see, you. With your face in profile to the door, checking some papers on your desk and wearing a blue sweater with the sleeves rolled up and beige pants, with prescription glasses on your face that Wanda didn't even know you needed. And you looked even more charming than you did that night at the party.

"Where?" Kate and Yelena ask at the same time - at this point they don’t even have to ask since all Wanda talks about these days is you-, their eyes running with curiosity among the few students that were already in the classroom. But Wanda just tapped Kate’s arm - who was closest to her -, unable to say or do anything other than that. Not long after, the two girls follow the glazed eyes of their friend towards the desk in the front of the room. "The Professor?!"

"Shut up!" The brunette finally moves, holding Yelena’s arm for her to speak quieter, and the blonde makes an apologetic grimace before taking her eyes to you again. "My God, how old is she?" Kate asks with amusement and furrowed brows, and Wanda crosses her arms in front of her body, moving her feet so she’s with her back turned to you. "She's not much older than us." The brunette answers, but noticing her friends still have their eyes on you, she sighs impatiently. “And stop staring!”

"Go talk to her." Yelena suggests when she looks back at Wanda - not before exchanging an amused glance with Kate. "Are you kidding me? I can't just go there and talk to her!" The brunette argues matter-of-factly, but the blonde has an equally disbelieving expression as she answers. "Are you kidding me? A few nights ago she had her mouth on yo-"

"Yelena!" Wanda talks over her friend with cheeks on fire, looking around to see if any of her classmates - or worse, you - had heard the conversation. But everyone seems busy enough with their own interaction and activities to pay attention to what she and her friends were talking about, so the brunette sighs tiredly, ignoring the other two girls’ laughter to say, "Come on, let's sit down."

Wanda can’t help but glance at you as they look for a place to sit, her heart stopping for a second every time you make the tiniest movement and she thinks your eyes will finally meet hers. But they never do, and the brunette is left to wonder what you would do if you spotted her in the middle of the room. Would you be shocked to see her as much as she was? Would you care? Would you wave at her? Ignore her completely? 

"What's her name again?" Kate asks when they’re all finally seated - not on the first rolls but also not so far in the back -, waking Wanda up from her thoughts. “Did you really not memorize it after Wanda talked about her a thousand times?” Yelena hits back with humor, but the brunette just ignores her friends with her cheeks slightly warm, busing herself with taking her stuff out of her bag. "Y/n."

"Last name?" Kate asks again, typing something on her phone. And this time Wanda freezes for a heartbeat of a second, her eyebrows furrowing slightly. "I don't know."

"Dude, you took her to our place and you don't even know her full name?" Yelena asks with raised eyebrows, earning from Wanda an embarrassed shrug of her shoulders. "Brave." The brunette jokes with a snort and Kate is not late to retort, "I think the word you're looking for is horny."

"Good afternoon, class." You’re speaking before Wanda can tell her friends to fuck off, and the brunette’s attention is immediately completely on the front of the class. "I'm Y/n Stark and I'll be your professor on the History of Arts." You introduce yourself as your eyes scan the room, trying to memorize the students' faces, until they finally rest on her. 

Wanda holds her breath as your face changes to something she interprets as astonishment. But soon there’s a small, discreet smile on your lips that fades away as you go back to looking around. A smile that belongs only to her, she thinks, and the redness goes back to her cheeks as she looks down, missing the way Yelena and Kate exchanged knowing glances from their seats. 

"I know that Professor Frigga had already structured the semester with you before her retirement, but I will show you some changes that I intend to make. But, before we get there, any questions?" You go back to talking, looking around for any raised hands. Wanda has, indeed, a lot of questions. Not a single one she can make right now, however, so she keeps her arm down, her eyes locked on your figure. 

"Uh, Wands…" Kate calls out lowly enough for only her to be able to hear, her eyes on her phone. The brunette turns her face to her friend discreetly, frowning as she sees the weird expression she makes. "Professor Stark?" A boy she doesn’t know speaks before she can, and her eyes are drawn back to the front of the room with curiosity.

"Yes, Mr…?" You ask, dragging out your last word for the boy to complete. "Mr. Morales." The boy says, lowering his hand as you nod your head in understanding, encouraging him to continue. "Is it true you're married to Carol Danvers?" The question triggers several murmurs around the classroom - now nearly full -, but Wanda can barely listen to anything, her face going pale as she stares at you. 

You’re married? No, you can’t be married. That’s impossible. Not after that night at that party. Not after all the things you’ve done together-

"Uh, yes.” Your voice speaks louder than the thoughts inside her head, and Wanda can’t help but let out a disbelieving gasp. Your eyes meet hers for half a second as you speak, but the brunette turns her face away immediately, locking them on the empty page of her opened notebook. “Yes, it's true, Mr. Morales, but I think it's best if we let personal matters aside during our classes, yes?" You end the discussion - which doesn’t help much with the muttering and whispering -, before turning to the board. "So, as I was saying…"

You go on with the class, but Wanda is unable to pay attention to a single thing, her head and heart competing to see who races faster. How could you do that to her? You never said a thing, you weren’t even wearing a ring. Did you have a ring? She’s sure you weren’t wearing any. But you run your fingers through your hair now, and the golden piece shines under the strong lights of the room, making her stomach turn. She still couldn’t believe it. 

"Who's Carol Danvers?" The question escapes her mouth before she can hold it back, shifting her hurt gaze between her friends. "How the hell you don't know who Carol Danvers is?" Yelena speaks first, her eyebrows raised in disbelief, but the brunette ignores her completely as she watches Kate googling something on her phone. "She's the Captain of the U.S. Football League."

"The best player of the season." Yelena adds with excitement that soon turns to embarrassment as Wanda glares at her. "Sorry." The blonde mumbles with her arms crossed, but the brunette says no more, leaning to her side when Kate shows her her phone. There, Wanda can see a few pictures of the two of you, both at events and in paparazzi photos. And you look happy, smiling and holding hands, sharing hugs in some of them. When a specific picture of the two of you kissing, the brunette looks away, letting out a long sigh as her eyes return to you. 

She wasn’t sure how exactly she was feeling about it all. But as the minutes dragged by, her hurt was being replaced by anger, until the point her jaw was locked so tightly her teeth could crack at any moment now, her arms tightly crossed and, if looks could kill, you’d be lying dead on the floor. And she’s sure you noticed, because you only dared to look at her a few times, soon looking away until your eyes never found hers again. 

When the class came to an end, Wanda was the first to stand up, striding to your desk with her hand holding the strap of her bag. Yelena and Kate exchange worried - and somewhat curious - glances, but they decide to give their friend the moment she needs with you, so they walk to the door along with the rest of the students, glancing at their friend as she makes her way to you.

“Professor Stark, can I speak to you for a second?” Wanda’s voice sounds by your side as you put your belongings back in your messenger bag, and your stomach sinks for a moment, your heart beating faster. But you don’t look up at her, taking your eyes to your wristwatch instead. “I’m sorry, Miss Maximoff, but I have another class in ten minutes and-”

“Y/n.” The brunette interrupts you through gritted teeth, her eyes burning the side of your face. So you sigh softly in surrender, finally looking up at her. She looks as beautiful as she does in your memory, the marks on her neck that she’s failed to cover up completely making your insides turn conflictingly. But she looks so hurt you can’t stare at her for too long, averting your gaze to the door before bringing it back to her again. 

“Yes?” You ask in a low voice, the silence growing between you as the students leave the room and Wanda tries to figure out what to say next. “You lied to me.” That’s what she decides on, her eyes watering with hurt. “Technically, I never said I wasn’t married.” You say in a failed attempt to lighten the mood, earning yourself a disbelieving laugh. 

“You used me.” She stresses the word, hurt dripping down her tone as she sniffles back her angry tears. “I trusted you. I thought…” Her voice dies down as she lets out another laugh completely devoid of humor, looking away from you. “You thought what?” You ask with a bit of expectation that shouldn’t even be there in the first place, your brows furrowed. 

“Never mind, it’s stupid.” That’s her answer as she turns her back on you, making her way to the door. “Wanda, wait.” You call out as you pick up the pace, placing yourself in front of her to stop her from leaving. And although she does, she looks down at the ground, and you feel your mouth going dry, your heart pounding in your ears. “It doesn’t have to be a one-time thing.”

“What, you wanna fuck me when you’re too bored of fucking your wife?” The brunette hits back angrily, taking a defiant step toward you. You take a step back, shaking your head eagerly. “It’s not-”

“Fuck you, professor.” Wanda interrupts you with her teeth gritted and her eyes watery. She sidesteps you, her shoulder slamming into yours roughly. And this time, when she makes her way to the door, you don’t stop her.

Part 2

[rainbowsky]

Hello 🌈

Firstly, I want to tell you that I really enjoy your blog and want to thank you for all your updates and for always helping turtles. I really appreciate your efforts.

Secondly, I wanted to ask about DD. Some time back I read somewhere that DD isn’t comfortable with people mentioning his younger days especially his blonde phase. I was a little surprised when I read this because I absolutely adore blonde little DD. Anyways, I have no background knowledge on this.. I don’t even know if it’s true or false. I did ignore it for some time, but it often pops up in my mind whenever I come across old photos so I feel like I need a bit of a clarification, I just want know if it’s true and whether DD did actually mention this in the past or whether it’s just made up BS by people.

Thanks so much for your kind words, Anon! 😊

Anon is talking about the 'White Peony' look that DD debuted with.

There has been a lot of fan talk about that look...

Standard disclaimer: This is my own perspective on things and could be totally incorrect. I don’t have any special insight into DD’s thoughts.

It's actually a pretty controversial look in the fandom. Some fans love it, some fans hate it. Some fans are really judgy and awful toward fans who like it and will practically label anyone a pedophile who speaks adoringly about the White Peony or thirsts over that DD (because DD was 17 when he had that look).

Just a reminder to everyone that there is never any excuse for being a dick. You're not protecting DD from predation by bitching people out for thinking he is pretty with long blonde hair. Don't be ridiculous. The man is in his 20s now.

I’ve never been a big fan of the look myself. It just isn’t very aligned with his personality and demeanour. Not to say that he doesn’t look stunning in some of the pictures from that era. He does. It would be pretty much impossible for DD to ever look anything less than amazing. He’s just a handsome guy.

However, I think the White Peony is just a fantasy. A beautiful, sweet fantasy, but a fantasy nonetheless. It’s not representative of DD's personality, AFAIAC, and it can't hold a candle to the DD of today.

And there has been a lot of talk about DD being oversexualized and often lowkey sexually harassed back then because of the look. I don’t doubt this is true. We all know women are treated this way, and so are young beautiful effeminate men. This type of look strikes me as the sort of thing that would have made him a target for a lot of unwanted attention.

It would be understandable if DD hated the look. While he seems to enjoy exploring genderbending fashion, we also know that he is the sort of person who likes to do things on his own terms. This look would have been created for him based on how the management team wanted to market the group, and might not have reflected the type of image he wanted for himself.

He was marketed as the maknae of the group (the youngest), and the look accentuates his femininity and beauty and makes him seem younger, even vulnerable.

We know he loves being the cool guy and hates being seen as cute, and absolutely bristles at being called ‘beautiful’ or having a lot of attention drawn to his 'youth'. I think it’s possible that his sensitivity to those things is exacerbated by how he was treated as the White Peony.

We also know he is a hip hop guy who loves that culture, dance, music and fashion - even back then. This look is practically the polar opposite of 'hip hop'.

Just as one example of how he was treated back then:

When he was being interviewed as part of Uniq, a host told him he looked 'more feminine than a female' and that women would be jealous of how pretty he is. He reacted by laughing and that was interpreted as him being 'shy', but it looks to me like he's positively squirming with discomfort, and the smile never reaches his eyes.

Other people might have a different interpretation, but that's how it lands on me.

I realize that a lot of this is just conjecture based on my own understanding of DD and his career path. In terms of actual evidence that he hates the look, I have seen a couple of moments where he spoke negatively about it.

At one point he was talking about how awful the bleaching process was. He said it was painful and burned his scalp and the fumes hurt the eyes and nose, or something along those lines.

In another interview he referred to his blond years as his 'dark period', or something to that effect, and said that if he could he would delete all photos from that era.

Unfortunately I didn't save them, and after a lot of digging I still cannot find them. If anyone knows which interviews I'm talking about and can link these clips, that would be very helpful.

How does GG feel about it?

There are multiple rumors that GG loves the White Peony look. Obviously we can’t verify whether they’re true or not.

At one point GG is seen in the Untamed BTS saying that he prefers DD's 'natural' makeup look, so a lot of fans interpret that as meaning he wouldn't like dyed hair, earrings and makeup on DD either.

I personally think people tend to run away with that comment from GG and read far more into it than he clearly stated, but everyone has their own interpretation. Ultimately we will probably never know how GG feels about it.

Any discussion of this look and of this era of DD's career usually leads to at least some friction between fans. Just a reminder to everyone to be kind to each other. There is never any justification for social toxicity. A little humility goes a long way.

Ultimately I think DD looks so much better now, so much more mature and more distinctly 'himself', but there's no denying the White Peony was beautiful, and still captures fan hearts even today.

[jungkxook]

—amortentia.

⟶ pairing: jungkook x reader

⟶ genre: hogwarts/harry potter au / enemies-to-lovers + fluff

⟶ words: 5,486

⟶ rating: pg-13

⟶ summary: jungkook loves everything strawberry but the simple pleasure is always kept hidden, stowed away as if some hideous secret to protect the rumours that had built up around him — until a love potion outs him.

⟶ disclaimer: this is a repost of an old fic from my old blog since i know some of you were asking about it! i hope you enjoy!!

Jungkook loves strawberries.

He remembers fondly the warm summers as a child when he would go strawberry picking with his grandmother, and revels in the taste and the memory each time he bites into a fresh berry, the juices coating his tongue in sickly sweetness; he likes the smell of all the lotions and lip balms, candles and fragrances, that carried notes of the red fruit in comforting wafts, remembering distantly a time when his mother’s fruity perfume would breathe warm life into his cold house in the middle of a dull winter; he remembers sentimental times spent at the local cafe near his home, loving and basking in the way the homely and warm aroma of a freshly baked pie and the sugary tartness of strawberry lemonade would fill his nostrils and consume his senses, leaving his mouth watering. 

Jungkook loves everything strawberry but the simple pleasure is always kept hidden, stowed away as if some hideous secret to protect the rumours that had built up around him.

Ask any girl that thought Jeon Jungkook is handsome or any boy that thought Jungkook is a god and they would say he smells like the purest form of any man with a harmonious scent of musk, cedar wood, and oak; like fresh rain that soaked in the middle of a mossy forest, spices, and black coffee — but they couldn’t have been more wrong. Maybe he did smell of musk or wood or rain when he was continuously outside, practicing every moment he had with his Quidditch team, but Jungkook was more than just that. Really, though, it made sense as to why people thought that way about him when he had left such a lingering impression on the school.

You can still remember the very first day you saw him; the very moment you had, from your spot in line in front of the Sorting Hat on the first day as a first year, saw the stoic boy step forward. Made up of a nervous face and obsidian locks that fell into his equally dark eyes, the Hat had instantly deemed the boy a Ravenclaw — and perhaps the house’s reputation was what added to his mystique and strange charm. Even then, from what you observed, he had been a silent boy, making his way to and from classes usually alone, and somehow ignoring the gaggle of girls (from all years and from all houses) that trailed along behind him, giggling and clamouring over how cute he is.

As the months went on, you never witnessed much change in Jungkook safe for the friends he suddenly made in the first half of second year (a surprising mix of Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors, and Slytherins) and the smug attitude he began to develop. A rebel, they said, a bad boy at heart, the very antithesis of Ravenclaws. Someone all the girls craved for and all the boys yearned to be. And while you tried to assume that perhaps there was more to the boy than meets the eye — that maybe he was built on different layers you could one day explore — when he begins to become too conceited with the way he is praised, you grow disenchanted by him and his cocky smirks. Yet, for some reason, he finds it necessary to go out of his way to talk to you no matter what — and you were quick to learn to despise him and his constant mocking, all possibilities of trying to get to know him diffused. 

In first year, you had to endure a whole semester worth of Jungkook tugging at your hair when he sat behind you in Charms class. In second year, an unspoken rivalry began in which the two of you would compete to see who could earn the better grades. You can’t quite pinpoint when or where the hatred for one another began, but the irritation that comes as a result of it only grows more adamant with each passing day.  

In third year, you distinctly remember being confined to the many dusty oak shelves and rows of leather bound books in the library, your eyes constantly flickering to the ornate grandfather clock nearby you as you wait alone. An agreed time of 6 pm to meet in the library after dinner to work on a partnered assignment had otherwise vanished from the boy’s memory. Had it been up to you to decide what partner you wanted, you would have much rather preferred to pick one of your friends and not the Ravenclaw who was fifteen minutes late. With the project due in two days, and with the nearly three weeks you had to finish it, you had constantly asked to meet with Jungkook to work on it and each time he had made a different excuse. 

As time crept on and the waning hours of the daylight dwindled to a dull darkness, twenty minutes would pass and it was then that you would grudgingly begin packing your belongings. The wait was not worth the trouble. Yet just as you are standing from your seat, the boy waltzes into view, coming to a nonchalant halt in front of you and placing his bag on the table, as if he didn’t know how late he is. He has abandoned his robe to wear only a grey fleece pullover on top of his white button up, his torn up Converse shoes ruining the uniform outfit with his casual flare. Your stare flickers up to meet his smug face and a frown forms on yours as you spot the other third year Slytherin girl giggling a flirtatious goodbye to the boy who winks in response. Finally, he turns to look at you.

“You’re leaving already?” Jungkook asks. “I just got here.”

“Twenty minutes later, Jeon,” You snap.

The boy quirks a brow, twisting around in his spot to look at the clock. “I could have sworn you said we should meet at six-thirty. I’m ten minutes early.”

“I remember saying six o’clock,” You say. “As well as you telling me that six was perfectly fine. Look, History of Magic isn’t my favourite either but I would appreciate it if you at least put some effort into the class and this project.”

“Shh!”

The hiss that comes from the student studying near you only makes you scowl. You turn around hotly to continue shoving your books and papers into your backpack.

“I was busy,” Jungkook says.

“Busy flirting with every living thing?” You asks.

“What?” Confusion paints his face, and then he is shaking his head furiously. “No!”

Your eyes narrow into a scrutinizing glare. You point over your shoulder at the same Slytherin girl who is still within the library, standing just a few feet away from the pair of you. She has an opened book in her hands in an attempt to look distracted but her eyes are fixated solely on Jungkook. When she catches Jungkook staring, his gaze lifting over your shoulder, she hurriedly looks away and blushes.

“So I assume she’s just a friend?” You retaliate. “You know what your problem is, Jeon? You never take anything seriously.”

Immediately, Jungkook tenses. His arms snake around to cross in front of his chest.

“Well, you take everything too seriously,” he says. “When was the last time you had some fun? Any time I talk to you, you’re always fussing about the work or about how much you hate me—  it’s like you’re a walking, talking, breathing dementor! You suck the life out of everyone.”

“Shh!”

The snarl this time is much harsher, coming from yet another student who has been devoting his time to writing an essay. But now you can’t be bothered to worry about silence. You slam shut the book in your hand with a very loud thump that seems to echo around the eerily silent room and fling a strap of your bag over your shoulder.

“Well, I’m sorry that I, and this assignment, are such inconveniences to you,” You say, “but from now on I give up on making sure we both don’t fail this class. If you need me, which I assume you won’t, I’ll be in my room, far from you.”

“Excuse me!” The familiar bark of the librarian’s voice hardly makes you jump even as she comes marching down to the two of you. “This is a library, a quiet place to study. It would be greatly appreciated if you could bring your conversation out into the halls.”

Had she not interrupted your conversation with Jungkook, you would have never realized just how loud your voice had risen. Clearing your throat and tightening your grip on your bag and the book, you tear your eyes from Jungkook and stomp defiantly out into the corridors to retreat to your common room, leaving Jungkook alone. He would find you the day after in a sluggish state, his hair dishevelled and his clothes askew as if he had slept in them — or, rather, had not slept at all — showing you all the work he had finished for the assignment the night before.

In fourth year, you are leaving the stands of the Quidditch pitch on a surprisingly warm November evening. Following the slew of students back to the school after a heated game between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor — where the latter team won after a fiery race between the two Seekers for the golden snitch — the eager chatter buzzes in the air. Beside you are your two friends who are, just as many others are doing, whispering excitedly about Jungkook’s role as Seeker and his “amazing performance.” 

“Did you see the way Jungkook played?” Hana asks from the right side of you. “How can someone be so attractive?”

To your left, Nayeon is practically standing on the tip of her toes, desperately craning her neck to search the crowd for the boy and his friends. “Oooh, look! There he is! He’s so sweaty! Imagine his muscles—”

“You’re ridiculous,” You sigh with a disapproving shake of your head.

Despite your condescending tone, you can’t help but glance over your shoulder to follow your friends’ gaze. Laughing in triumph with his team and friends, Jungkook stands adorned in the usual Ravenclaw royal blue Quidditch uniform, the robes somehow accentuating his tanned skin and dark hair that clings to his sweat-covered forehead. Since when had he grown so tall? And maybe Nayeon was right — since when did Jungkook start looking so muscular? 

“Your staring is obvious, Y/N,” Hana says. 

“And so is your crush on him,” Nayeon murmurs. 

“Crush?” You burst out into laughter. “Now that’s funny. I could never have a crush on him!”

“Have a crush on who?”

The familiar voice makes you groan inwardly and the arm that is tossed around your neck almost makes you gag. Your body grows rigid under Jungkook’s touch, though he doesn’t seem to notice that or the way you carefully try to peel his arm off of you but to no avail. Joining him is his typical duo of friends. The other Slytherin boy next to Jungkook is the shy and soft Park Jimin, accompanied by their inseparable Hufflepuff friend, Kim Taehyung. The two boys smirk wolfishly down at your friends, both of whom are so suddenly at a loss for words.

“Evenin’, ladies!” Jimin says. “Enjoy the show?”

“We hate to brag but we taught him everything he knows,” Taehyung says, ruffling Jungkook’s hair.

Jungkook rolls his eyes and swats Taehyung’s hand away. “Maybe the three of you can come down to watch us practice one day.” 

Your friends exchange glances and giggle nervously. 

“We’d love to,” Nayeon smiles.

Your lack of response clearly doesn’t go unnoticed by your friends, nor Jungkook and his friends. As you turn your head to look away from the group, you briefly catch the sudden scent that is Jungkook and your face scrunches. It isn’t so much as gross as it is overpowering. Passed salt and sweat, you can smell something clean like freshly cut grass or some sort of lemongrass shampoo. But instead of telling him out loud what you thought, you pushed him away.

“You smell terrible,” You said. “Go take a shower, Jeon.”

“Always playing hard to get,” Jungkook sighs. “Sorry we can’t all smell like your floraly essence after playing an intense Quidditch game.”

You only hum in response, turning your head to look away from him and his friends. The act seems to earn a smirk from Jungkook and then he and his friends are parting from you, walking back to the locker rooms. After that day, your friends’ profuse pleads and begs for you to come with them one day when the Quidditch teams are practicing would eventually make you cave in. When Jungkook sees you sitting in the stands burrowed in a wool scarf and heavy robes, albeit with a frown on your face and your eyes scanning the pages of a book in your lap, he catches your attention by shouting your name and then winking at you. Seconds later, a Quaffle is thrown his way by a fellow teammate and nearly knocks him off his broom.

In fifth year, you are seated in your Transfiguration class at the back and nearly dozing off as your Professor drones on and on in the early morning about some boring lecture. Jungkook sits in the row opposite you and a seat behind but that doesn’t stop him from constantly trying to catch your attention, whispering your name. It is only when you hear a few classmates near you break out into wondrous awes that you lift your head from its resting place wedged between your folded arms on top of your desk and turn. Soaring above the students’ heads is an enchanted paper bird, its thin wings fluttering its way to you.

You gaze at it for a moment, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips, before noticing that it is Jungkook who had magicked it, wand in hand as he waves it towards you. As soon as it reaches your table, it floats around your head and lingers in front of your face, beckoning you to take it. Instead, your hands try swatting it away though it doesn’t seem to budge. When you relent and succumb to taking the bird, it is not before you shoot an annoyed glance back at Jungkook. Then, you unwrap the bird in your hand. With thin black ink sprawled out in perfect cursive writing, a single dreadful question is poised in pretty script: Meet me tomorrow at noon at the Three Broomsticks? It’ll be my treat.

“Is that from Jungkook?” Hana asks. She peers over your shoulder from beside you to look down at the paper, her voice incredibly louder than you would have liked. “It is! Is he asking you out? You know, I always knew you liked him. You’re a terrible liar— ”

You gasp. Your hand quickly covers the paper, yanking it out of Hana’s view. “I do not like him!”

“Do too!” Hana laughs. “So, what are you going to say? Huh, who knew Jungkook was so soft and cute? Have I told you how cute the two of you would be together?”

Maybe it’s the way she so suddenly begins to gush over you dating Jungkook, or the way her voice garners the attention of those sitting around you, letting other girls fawn over how cute his simple gesture is, that makes you curdle with embarrassment. But what are you so shy of? You are insistent that you don’t like Jungkook but you were certain that if word spread that you did have feelings for him, your whole life would be drastically ruined. Or maybe you were more fearful of the idea of possibly liking Jungkook in return, even if you had so profusely been lying to everyone and yourself.  

“Stop it!” You hiss. “I would rather kiss the squid in the Black Lake than date him!”

Then, as if to emphasize this apparent hatred, you grab your quill and furiously write in big scratchy letters “NO” before crumpling it in your hand and twisting in your seat. Set on chucking the balled up piece of paper right at Jungkook’s smug face, you are startled when you feel the paper being plucked from your grasp by none other than your Professor. She stands before you with a sour look on her face, a willowy old lady with gray wisps of hair pulled back into a tight bun. 

“Ah, Miss Y/N,” she hums, “if you have more important matters that you seem to want to discuss with Mr. Jeon, surely you can divulge with the rest of the class too.”

Your mouth clamps shut. You watch, stricken with horror, as she unravels the paper in her hands, her glossy eyes skimming its contents from beneath her half-moon spectacles. She purses her lips, and then shifts her gaze to you and then to Jungkook sitting behind you. The silence that follows as she moves towards him is near unbearable, making you shift uncomfortably in your seat.

“If you would have much rather preferred to flirt with Miss Y/N than listen to my lecture, feel free to leave my class, Jeon,” Your Professor says. She drops the paper onto his desk with a flourish. “Though, it’d be in your best interest to stop your daydreaming and pay attention to my class because I’m afraid her answer was no.”

Your eyes widen as you twist in your seat to look at your Professor and a startled Jungkook. And, maybe, if you looked hard enough and passed the smug smirk, you could see his conceited stare falter as a look of hurt flashes across his eyes. A few murmurs and giggles break out amongst the students, making your cheeks burn hot and forces you to turn back around and away from Jungkook.

“And I suppose that now neither of you are busy tomorrow, you wouldn’t mind spending it in detention with me,” Your Professor says. Then she was rounding on her heel, marching back to the front of the classroom and restarting her lecture.

After the torturous detention where Jungkook suddenly refuses to look or talk to you after what had happened, and a week after the missed Hogsmeade trip, you would find Jungkook walking the halls, hand-in-hand, with another Ravenclaw girl. As they pass you, seemingly unaware of your lingering presence, you see the girl stop Jungkook and lean forward to kiss him, his own hands resting on her waist and tugging her closer to him. Though you tell yourself you’re free from his constant flirting and mocking, you can’t help but feel somewhat let down as you walk away that day.

In the beginning of sixth year, when all the students had found a moment to themselves and a much needed break from all the sudden stress of homework, you would wind up at a party being held in the Room of Requirements. Though you weren’t quite sure how the students were able to smuggle alcohol into the school, you remember drinking until you are blissfully numb and without a care in the world. Most of the evening had been spent chatting to Nayeon and Hana but when they become distracted with flirting with their crushes, you are left alone. It isn’t much long after that you stumble into Jungkook. Drunkenly dancing to the upbeat thump of music that reverberated around the room, you had, somehow, lost your footing. As you fall into the thick crowd, a pair of strong hands reach out to swiftly catch onto yours arms and hold you up. Jungkook’s surprised when you don’t bother pushing him away and let him help straighten you up. Clearly, you’re much too drunk to function, and he makes sure to hold you at a comfortable distance away from him. Then, there, under the dim lights of the room, you are met with his typical smirk tugging at his luscious pink lips (which you find yourself gazing at for longer than necessary). 

“Ah, if it isn’t Jeon Jungkook,” You rasp. You sway dangerously in his hold and nearly fall to the floor again. He tightens his grip on you and catches you once more before you can slip away. “What do you want from me tonight?”

“Hey, you bumped into me. I’m just being nice and making sure you don’t face-plant the floor.” 

“Yeah, but of course you had to be right beside me. I think I’d rather have face-planted the floor.”

He quirks a brow. He feigns dropping you, momentarily loosening his grip just enough for you to come flailing forward with a yelp of surprise. He doesn’t let you fall too far, though, and catches onto you swiftly once more, hooking his arm around your waist. When you meet his stare with a scowl, he grins. “You were saying?”

“Do you remember that one time you told me I never have fun?” 

“Not really.”

“Ah, well, you say a lot of shit to me,” You say. “But that stuck out the most. You called me a dementor. A dementor. My thirteen year old self never forgot that.”

Jungkook winces at how carefree you seemed to say it, at how you still remembered it three years later. His hands drop from you once you’re steady and he runs his fingers through his locks, softly pushing them up and out of his eyes before they ultimately fall flat against his forehead once more. 

“I didn’t mean it,” he says. “I mean, look at you now. You seem to be having a lot of fun. How drunk are you anyway?”

“It’s not fun when it feels like I’m trying to prove a point to you,” You sigh. “But I already know you don’t care about me.”

“That’s not true,” Jungkook says. “You’re the one who doesn’t care about me.”

You burst out into a fit of mocking laughter and shake your head at him. Swaying forward, almost precariously close to him, you tap the tip of his nose with your finger. “Jeon Jungkook, you can be real oblivious.”

And then you are kissing him, pressing your soft lips to his. He doesn’t push you away, albeit however incredibly surprised he may be. Instead, as he feels your lips move against his, he finds himself basking in everything that is you. All he can smell is your floral perfume and, passed the liquor that stained your lips, could taste your peach lip balm and the bubble gum you had been chewing earlier in the night. He hates how much he loves it. His hands lift to rest on either side of your face and he gently brings you closer to him, his tongue laving at your peach flavoured lower lip. He hears you moan softly in content as you melt against his chest, your fingers suddenly tugging desperately at the hair at the nape of his neck. It’s then that you realize that all you can smell is the scent of freshly cut grass and his lemony shampoo, but all you can taste is something warm and sugary that feels all too comforting.

You come to the conclusion in your drunken mind that you would have loved to keep kissing him. That, maybe, kissing Jeon Jungkook wasn’t so bad. But then just as suddenly as you had kissed him, he is pulling away from you, sending you crashing and burning down from your reverie. With swollen pink lips, wide eyes, and dishevelled hair, Jungkook shakes his head abruptly and mumbles a quiet, “I’m sorry.” 

He flees from your grasp and from the party before you can stop him — and it is in that moment that you began to hate Jungkook, but not more than you hate yourself for actually enjoying the way it felt to kiss someone like him. You would never learn why he had left so soon until much later when he tells you that he didn’t want you to regret anything you did drunk — didn’t want you to regret kissing someone like him when you had seemed to hate him for years prior.

In the second half of sixth year, when you begin to fail Potions, your Professor does what he thinks is best and pairs you with Jungkook, the smartest student in his class. Hearing that Jungkook, of all people, is remarkable at Potions doesn’t come as a surprise. You are quick to learn just why he had been placed into Ravenclaw, carrying their impressive ambition and intelligence. If anything, you are almost jealous of how easily he seems to pick up on things and can reproduce them at top notch quality.

Your friendship with him is still strained and is perhaps even worse than it had once been ever since the night of the party. Neither of you talk about the moment and, from what either of you were concerned, both of you had long since forgotten the night had ever happened. Unbeknownst to you is that when Jungkook sees how cold and distant you become in the days after, he refuses to tell you the truth that the kiss is always on his mind. So, when you are forced to work with him for any assignments or in-class work, most of your conversations end in constant bickering. Miraculously, somehow, your grades do gradually begin to pick up. 

One day, when you both walk into class, you are greeted to the sight of a smoldering cauldron placed neatly on top of your Professor’s desk, a beautiful scent filling the room that seems to be coming specifically from whatever has been brewing. The liquid contents within contains a mother-of-pearl sheen and clear smoke spirals from it in wisps. As soon as everyone is seated at their desks, your Professor steps forward and begins his lecture.

“Good evening, class!” he chirps. “Today we have a very exciting lecture that has to do with what is currently sitting on my desk. Now, can anyone tell me what exactly it is?”

A few shouts of guesses are tossed into the air but all are wrong as your Professor simply shakes his head. Jungkook raises his hand casually and your Professor points enthusiastically at him. 

“Yes, Jungkook?”

“It’s Amortentia,” he says.

“Right you are, my boy!” Your Professor beams. “Five points to Ravenclaw! This is, in fact, Amortentia. Now, for those of you who do not know what it is, that is perhaps all the best. But as it is, it’s important to educate you on the various effects each potion can have on a being and why someone should, or should not, administer it. Amortentia, simply put, is a love potion.”

Gasps of awe and murmurs from certain students circulate the room as your Professor carries on.

“And not just any love potion — the most powerful love potion in the world,” he says. “If anyone were to receive such a potion, it would cause an intense infatuation and obsession on the drinker. However, the potion must be continuously administered to the drinker or else the effects will wear off and the drinker will regain his or her conscience and free will. Now, if you ever wanted to know how to identify Amortentia, you can rely on its very distinct smell. Differing on the person who smells it, it will always morph into the scent of whomever you desire most. For instance, I smell lemon drops, toothpaste, and parchment paper. You may all smell something different.”

A handful of students lean forward in their seat, desperately moving closer to the cauldron and the potion that carried such charming scents. Despite not wanting to show your immediate interest in something as strange as a love potion, you sit back in your seat but inhale a slow, deep breath of air and the scent that makes your heart skip a beat. It would pose as an obstacle to focusing on the lecture as your Professor carried on, though you find you’re not the only one so easily distracted by it. Halfway through the class, he stops his lecture and informs the students of their task for the evening: replicating Amortentia perfectly with the help of the partner sitting next to them.

So, you and Jungkook immediately head to work, beginning the tedious process of preparing ingredients and brewing the potion. Naturally, your own potion brewing goes faster than others as Jungkook seems to know what to do with everything. For the most part, you sit back and watch, as Jungkook refuses your help any time you offer, claiming you would only just slow him down. When it’s done, and the entire class is still halfway through theirs, you fold your arms over your chest and look up at Jungkook, noting the way his eyebrows scrunch together as he peers down at the glistening potion.

“I can’t smell anything,” You say. “Did you even do this right?”

Jungkook grimaces, though his stare falters. He doesn’t admit it aloud, but he worries for a moment that maybe he isn’t as good at Potions as he thought he was. In the next second, he scowls and shoots you a look.

“What kind of question is that?” he asks. “Of course I did it right! I followed everything properly. It even looks perfect.”

“Well, obviously it isn’t perfect if neither of us can smell anything,” You say.

“Well,” Jungkook says, irritated, “maybe if you didn’t bathe yourself in your ridiculous floral perfume, I could smell something.”

“Me?” Your mouth drops open in an appalled gap. “Now it’s my fault? You’re one to talk. Did you have practice this morning? All I can smell is grass and your stupid lemon shampoo or whatever it is. It’s disgusting.”

The bickering continues on between the two of you until you’ve seemingly grabbed the attention of the entire class. Near the very end of the period, it’s Taehyung who finally says something, leaning back in his chair to look at the two of you. 

“Jungkook didn’t have practice this morning,” he says. “He also didn’t shower because he slept in late. Or did you forget that, Jungkook?”

“And Y/N?” Nayeon chimes in from beside you. “Didn’t you run out of your perfume last week?”

Jungkook clamps his mouth shut. Your own heart stops. Suddenly, your face is burning intensely and Jungkook’s own cheeks are pinched a bright red as, slowly, the realization seems to dawn on the both of you. Chuckles emit from your friends as your Professor signals that the time is up. You don’t dare look at Jungkook as your Professor grades each potion, and then anxiously await the chance to dash out the door when your Professor claims yours and Jungkook’s potion was done just perfect. As soon as he moves on to the next pair, you have gathered your belongings and have darted out the room. You are nearly halfway down the corridor when you hear Jungkook calling after you, begging you to stop.

“Y/N! Hey, Y/N! Wait up, please!”

Your feet quicken in pace as you round the corner. Just when you think you’re free, you feel a hand clasp around your wrist and pull you back into a hardened figure. Jungkook. He’s standing so incredibly close to you now, his gaze softening as he looks you once over. You can only avoid his stare, though your eyes fall to the distraction that is his hand clamped around your wrist. 

“I really am not in the mood to talk right now, Jungkook,” You mumble. “Just leave me alone.”

“What else did you smell?” Jungkook asks.

His question makes you stop. It’s what causes you to carefully lift your stare to look at him.

“What?” You stammer. “What does it matter?”

“Just tell me, please,” he says, his grip tightening around your wrist. “I need to know.”

You could have shaken your head at him, pushed him away and walked off, but the longer you stare at him, the faster you begin to cave. Your mind is instantly brought back to just moments ago and the love potion that had filled your senses. As you think about all the lovely things you could smell, you whisper the answer in a sheepish voice:

“Strawberries.”

There is a split moment where all you can see is Jungkook’s beaming grin before he is pulling you toward him for a kiss that nearly sweeps you off your feet. You collapse against his broad chest, your hands flying up to bundle in his shirt and pull at him tightly as he kisses you and kisses you. You wonder why he had done so spontaneously but then it seems to hit you.

All you can smell on Jungkook, all you can taste, is lemon, grass, and strawberries. 

⟶ All rights reserved to © jungkxook. I do not allow reposting, translating, or any sort of modifying and reuploading of my work.

⟶ Feedback is always appreciated!

[mrs-gucci]

The Forbidden Fruit {medieval priest!Kylo Ren x Reader}

anonymous:

Priest!Kylo + tavern + visiting his known mistress

author’s notes: hello, hello! ooo, priest!Kylo is a dirty man and I am very much here for it ;) thanks for the request! (post-writing note: this got waay longer than I originally intended lol)

warnings: a touch of fluff. smut. general filth. the incorrect use of the Adam and Eve bible story. oral sex (f receiving). a bit of religion-infused coercion. innocence kink if you really squint. hints of praise kink. virginity loss. 

tw’s: extramarital affair/sex (as was common in medieval times). (!!) dubcon (!!) **please let me know if I missed any warnings and/or tw’s!!**

word count: 1.8k

kylo’s taglist peeps! @goddessofsprings​ @icarusinthesea​ my general taglist peeps! @safarigirlsp​ @babbushka​ ​@mrs-zimmerman​ @dirtytissuebox​ @thepalaceofmelanie

[NOT my edit. full credit goes to sacklers_sack on Twitter]

Father Kylo walks into the Adam and Eve Tavern and steps up to the bar, ordering a mug of frothy golden brew. He takes a sip as he walks over to his usual corner table, fingers fiddling with the ring around his thick finger. 

Even though his wife already knows of his affair, he still feels a small twinge of guilt whenever he lies to her about his whereabouts. It’s a very slight feeling of remorse, though, considering the fact that she’s one of Satan’s disciples.

You walk in only minutes later, flipping the hood of your cloak off the top of your head. He looks over at smiles at the sight of you, admiring your pure and raw beauty. He’s almost sure you’re some sort of angel in disguise, too beautiful and pure to be anything less. Gods, he wants nothing more than to wreck you, split you in half with his cock.

“Hello, angel.” He purrs as you walk over and sit down at the table with him, eyes lingering on your bosom, which is accentuated greatly in this particular gown. “I am glad to see your beautiful face this eve.”

Your lips curl up into a small smirk. “No need for such flattery, Father. We both know why you summoned me here.”

“I’ve always loved how you get right down to business.” Kylo chuckles devilishly. “There are a series of rooms upstairs, the very reason I chose this particular establishment to conduct our...meeting. Step into the last one down the hall and strip bare, lay down on the bed. I will join you in a moment.”

Nodding, you stand and make your way up to the room, swaying your hips a bit extra for the Father. He smirks when he notices this, taking another sip of his beer as he feels his length twitch to life ‘neath his robes.

He waits a few minutes, finishing the mug of beer and leaving behind a tip for the barkeep before walking up to the room he’s reserved for the night. When he walks in, the sight of your nude body illuminated by the warm orange glow of the crackling fire greets him. Gods, is there a better sight to behold than this one?

Your chest rises and falls gently, rhythmically, breasts rising and falling along with your steady breathing. He’s hypnotized, momentarily, drinking in the angelic beauty that lays across the bedsheets.

His robes are swiftly removed and draped over one of the chairs, leaving him in only his undergarments. He points to your legs with his pointer and middle fingers, silently indicating that he’d like you to spread them. You do.

“Tell me, angel. Have you heard the Biblical tale of Adam and Eve?”

You shake your head, biting down on your lip when he takes a step forward towards the bed. “No, Father, I have not.”

He smirks, standing with his hands clasped behind his back. Remnants of his hot breath tease your bare skin, causing you to shudder.

“Adam and Eve were the first human beings created by God, and they inhabited in the Garden of Eden. They were given allowed to use or consume any of the other plants in the Garden, but they were told not to eat any of the forbidden fruit from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.”

You gasp when his hands suddenly seize your ankles and pull you to the end of the bed.

“But,” The Father sinks to his knees, never breaking eye contact. “They failed to resist the temptation. The fruit...”

He pushes your legs as far apart as they can go, then lightly traces your glistening slit with his fingertips. Your breath hitches in your throat at his featherlight touch on your center.

Your eyes widen when his nose nudges your outer lips and he takes a long, slow inhale of your natural scent. He shudders, groaning under his breath before his tongue suddenly licks an agonizingly slow stripe up your cunt.

“The forbidden fruit was just too sweet.” Kylo says, licking his lips with a small smirk at the corners of his mouth. “It was so tender, so juicy; it just felt too right to be wrong, too delicious to be sin.”

You can’t stop the desperate whimper that escapes between your parted lips, insides clenching desperately against themselves. He notices the way your hole puckers, and his smirk grows a bit wider.

His mouth opens, then, and he encapsulates your entire core in a sloppy kiss. Your back arches and you gasp loudly, head pressing back against the pillows. The coarse hairs of his beard scratch your skin in the most delightfully pleasurable way, only adding to the sensations he’s creating with his mouth.

“F-Father--ohh!” Your feet plant and your hips lift up off the bed. “Oh gods, mmmm!”

He begins moving with more aggression, passionately slurping up each and every drop of the sweet nectar that leaks from your cunt. His assault doesn’t let up, not until his efforts bring you to the ultimate high.

“Father! F-Father, oh Christ!” You shriek softly, legs quaking as you hit your peak with an Earth-shattering intensity.

Kylo pulls away shortly after you’ve ridden out your high and he’s consumed every single drop of your sinful sweetness, upper lip and beard glistening with your release. He practically rips his undergarments off and wraps a large, veiny hand around the base.

“Lay up at the head of the bed, now. I shall claim your innocence tonight, angel.”

Your eyes widen and you sit up, chewing on your now-tender bottom lip. “I d-don’t know...”

The Father shakes his head, quickly pinning you to the bed, caging you with his large body. You watch his silver Holy Cross necklace shimmer in the dim light, reminding you that he is a man of God and that he would never ask anything of you that he didn’t think you were ready for.

“Do not fear it, my child; why would His Holiness grant us the bodies we posses, ones that can bring such pleasures, if we aren’t intended to use them? Trust me, angel, all will be alright.”

You’re not much of a religious woman, but he makes a reasonable argument...

“O-Okay.”

He smiles, reaching down to place a gentle kiss on your lips. “I will go slowly for you. It may hurt at first, but I promise it will get better.”

You nod. “I trust you, Father.”

His tip swipes all through your slick before settling at your entrance, ready to push in. He holds your cheeks, looking deep into your eyes.

“Are you ready, my angel?”

As soon as you nod, his pelvis pushes forward and his length pushes through your unstretched walls. You cry out, tears instantly burning your eyes as they instantly begin to collect in the corners.

Once he’s fully seated inside you, he remains still, jaw clenched so tight you’re worried he’ll crack his teeth should he clench any tighter. It’s taking every single ounce of his willpower not to fuck you raw, but he knows what he must take care of you this eve. There will be plenty of time for all of that in the future.

“You’re doing sssso well, angel. Taking me so well.”

His words of encouragement, his mutters of of praise reassure you that this was a good choice. You’ve never felt so stuffed in your entire life, not even after holiday feasts and the more your insides stretch in accommodation, the better it begins to feel.

You nod up at him, the first tear escaping your overflowing eyes.

“I’m a-alright now, Father.”

He plants a kiss on your forehead, still cradling your face as he draws back, then pushes forward once more. The noises that escape your lips are positively sinful and they only encourage him on, hips steadily gaining speed and force with each passing moment.

Soon, your body and breasts and excess flesh bounce in time with his hips’ sharp, forceful thrusts. By now, the pain has completely subsided and made way for the pleasure to build in your loins.

“S-So sssweet,” He grunts quietly in your ear. “So j-juicy and tender...and you’re a-all mine...”

Your small whimpers and gasps turn to scandalous moans and cries of desperation. You hold onto his arms tightly, fingernails digging deep into his alabaster skin, surely leaving marks.

“Please, Father, please...”

Kylo can feel his control, his restraint beginning to slip as he nears climax. He’s unable to hold it off, unwilling to deny himself this heavenly pleasure whilst his cock is stained with fresh virgin’s blood.

The thought of that alone thrusts him right up to the edge, looking over the cliff to the peak of bliss.

“Y/N, my a-angel, I...I will not be able to endure much l-longer.”

You nod, grabbing hold of his hair firmly. “It is alright, F-Father. Use m-me, use my body to bring yourself p-pleasure.”

Those words send him careening into climax and he quickly pulls away just as the first rope of his foggy liquor emerges. His hips still give half-hearted mock thrusts as he spills his creamy seed all over your puffy, used cunt.

He crawls off of you once he’s finished, beginning to redress immediately. You sit up, shakily and already you can feel the pain in your loins beginning to build from the Father’s hardened intrusion.

Your eyes catch sight of some red dripped down onto the bedsheet and your cheeks warm, acute worry flaring up inside of you. Is that supposed to happen?

Almost as if he read your worried mind, Father Kylo steps up to you and holds your chin up so that you can look into his eyes.

“Bleeding is typical for virgins, nothing is the matter, I promise.”

You nod, sighing softly in relief. “Thank you, Father.”

He smiles, bending down to place a chaste kiss on your lips. “It is I who should be thanking you, my child. Thank you for giving your innocence to me, for trusting me. You did so well for me tonight, angel.”

Your cheeks warm in flattery, smile splitting your face. But, your expression falls into a frown when you see him drape the cloak over his shoulders.

“Must you leave so soon, Father?”

Father Kylo nods as he pulls on his shoes. “I must get back to the convent, angel; I apologize for having to rush off so quickly. But, I promise I will make it up to you next time, yes?”

You nod, offering a small, disappointment-tinged smile. “Yes, of course, Father. I understand.”

He reaches ‘neath his robes and pulls out the small, silver Holy Cross necklace, draping it around your neck.

“Something to remind you of me, ‘till we next meet.” Kylo says, kissing your temple. “Farewell, my beloved angel.”

Your lips tug up into a genuine smile, fingers toying with the silver charm as he approaches the door and slips out.

“Farewell, Father.”

[bibliocratic]

litany An exploration on endings. Or: all the ways it could have gone wrong and right.

jonmartin, spoilers for 200, content warnings in the tags

--

This is not what she thought victory would feel like.

Basira’s fingers tense and smart with overexerted aching when she stops to stretch them out. There is a geography of broken blood-vessels under the bruising that lies puddle-splotched over her hands which scrabble and claw talon-bent at the rubble. They are scored with scratches and tears where her exposed and dust-ruined skin has snagged on fractured brickwork.

She uncovers a foot first, as she pushes up and over the twisted mental of a window frame with an exhausted clatter. A trainer, the white doused with mud, the trailing laces caked stiff and russet. More heaving and hauling, her breath purging from her faster now – maybe, maybe, maybe, but she has lived too long now to believe in miracles. Overturning a fire-blasted section of what could have been once part of the imperious and grand stone stairwell, she reveals the leg the trainer is attached to, pulverised and off-angled by the weight of the collapse, the fabric of it drenched in soot. She peels back a cascade of plasterboard with a grunt, and there is a twisted pelvis, shattered ribs caved in under an acrid-smelling jumper. She’s not surprised at the dull punch of revelation, when she digs out hunched shoulders, coils of hair turned grey-white like swans’ down with the dust.

Martin is obviously dead. She hopes it was quick, fears it was not. His body lying stringless is curved around something, clutching it to him with his bruised and broken fingers. It takes many minutes of labouring, her spine seizing with complaint, sweat pooling at her brow and under her arms, but eventually she reveals Martin’s tender quarry, bundled up against his chest, blood-soaked from a wound long congealed. His own long and bloody fingers clenched and moored into the weft of Martin’s jumper.

She doesn’t need to check his pulse. She is cursed with enough sentiment to do so anyway. Crouching for a moment in the thick of the settling devastation, the fug of dust coating her nostrils, before she murmurs ‘I’m sorry’.

As she stands, she takes off her coat to lay it over them respectfully, the only shroud she can offer.

When her voice is composed, its cracks flattened out, she shouts the others over to tell them to stop searching.

--

The knife does not go in easily. There is force behind its thrust, a manic wave-shock of hysteric intent, and Jon’s lips part in a gasp as skin and sinew and flesh split. The noise wrenched from Martin is soiled with ruin, tremulous and saw-toothed, and he will never be able to forgive himself.

Jon’s eyes close. Peace of a sort granted to Magnus’ last and most beleaguered of Archivists.

And then they open. All of them, like the unfolding back of petals during blossoming, a meadow’s expanse of sight flowering on his face.

“No,” Martin whispers, the refusal almost lost over the tumult of the building around them. He pulls the knife out, and it drips onto the floor, making damp the material of his trousers. “No, nononononono.”

The wound presses together like lips, and then it is gone.

“I think it’s too late for that, Martin,” the Archivist says in that calm and reasoned voice of his.

--

It is a surreal, poorly-rendered mirror of before. A way the record of the world has slipped, juddered aground in a repeat. For all they have both changed, outgrown the casings of the people they were, for all they have endured both together and apart, it is a sick homecoming of sorts to stand again a second time round at the entrance to his hospital ward.

She’s brought supermarket flowers bunched in plastic, the last of a bad crop and too late to get the freshest, the stalks of baby’s breath drooping, the petals on the carnations mottled slightly and past their glory days. Jon lies submerged in sleep, the focal point in a placid storm of machines and wires. This coma chemically induced with no inkling of the supernatural, a last-ditch effort by the doctors to reduce the swelling on his brain. To give the body a chance to heal from the damage sustained during the collapse, his frame bludgeoned and punctured like a shrike-caught mouse, the smoke that has snarled like brambles in his lungs. The almost comically neat wound punched into his chest, nicking his heart.

She hopes his sleep is dreamless.

It takes him weeks to wake up.

“… Georgie?” he finally gasps out on an otherwise uneventful Thursday. His vocals are ribbed and scored with smoke damage. He’s sluggish as he blinks and turns and groans at the complaint of his body around him. “What – er?”

“Hey Jon,” she replies. “Good to have you back with us.”

She lets him acclimatise. Without his glasses, he squints and peers owlishly, like an inquisitive bird, absorbed by the novelty of his environment, the mundanity; the hospital-blue curtain that’s been pulled back around his bed, missing a few rungs and so hanging lopsided in places. The wilting flowers on the side table. The IV needles threaded into his arms.

“Did it work?” he asks finally.

“We think so.”

Georgie doesn’t add more. The conversation is one she knew they’d have, but it still feels like stepping out on frozen water. She is waiting for it to give beneath him, for the drop and drown in the unmoored cold.

His relief muddies in increments. His brow crinkling with a frown, glancing around again at the other beds. Their occupants dredged up and out and recovering from their private terrors, bringing the lessons of their landscape with them.

“Where - ?”

He looks up at her. The ice cracking.

“I’m… I’m so sorry, Jon,” she says.

--

“We made it. L-look, see, we’re – I don’t know where we are exactly, b-but that doesn’t matter, does it, because we’re together, yeah? We’re together and that’s… that’s what we promised.”

The blood is drying on his trembling fingertips, the crevices of his palm, and it flakes off like decaying leaf-fall. The front of his clothes is clogged and sodden, the slick slow to harden. The weight in his arms is making his shoulders scream but he can’t let go.

“We – we did it,” he repeats hollowly. Desperately. “We did it, s-so you can come back now. You can come back. Together, you promised.”

The winds of this new world blow as cold as the old one did, and it is Martin’s only reply.

--

“It’s for the best, Martin,” the Archivist says.

“Shut up,” his furious watcher snarls. “Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Don’t play st – Like him! Like he would! Using his voice.”

“It’s my voice. It’s me, Martin.”

Martin doesn’t respond to that. Their arguments are cyclical as roundabouts. He tells Martin he loves him. Martin tells him to fuck off.

The place where Jonah Magnus met his End, crumpled up on the dais of the Panopticon, has been cleared of blood. It distressed Martin to look upon, as evidence of his ascension rather than his capacity for brutality, so the servitors saw to its removal. The body he gifted to the mulch of the bone gardens, and the wailing growths flourished beautifully with the nutrients it bore.

The screams beyond the walls of the Panopticon cut off faster as he hastens them towards the End. He observes a world in its twilight. There is still torment, and it is unendurable and unfair but it will end under his reign, for good and for ever, and he will ensure that there is no more.

“You don’t have to stay,” the Archivist says. Considered. Gentle. “I know… seeing me like this is not what you wanted. I want us to be together while it ends, but I won’t force you.”

“And how is it any better out there?”

“It’s not,” he admits. “Here, I can keep you safe. I want you to be safe. I want you to be happy.”

“Well, you fucked up there then,” Martin snaps.

His anger is righteous and flint-spark, makes barriers that almost waylay his grieving. He looks at him, and for a moment, his gaze shakes. He will see nothing less than he expects to see, a man, unkempt from travel, a bit grubby. Coarse hands he has held, lines he has attempted to smooth. In many ways, this makes it worse.

Martin turns away, and the Archivist lets him go.

He needs time and they have more than enough of it now.

--

He is inconsolable when they dig them out. A horrible, anguished keening like he’s being struck, a gasping that violently gags and stoppers in his chest. His face twisted, blotching, his eyes swollen, and the picture he makes is ugly, rent-open, decimated, bawling into the body he’s crushed up against him. Rag-doll limbed. Ashen.

They can’t make him let go. His cries transform and degrade into wails, garbled wordless, the horizon of language lost. They aren’t even sure if he knows they’re there. The sound pouring out of him is frenzied, delirious and anguished by surviving the unsurvivable alone. He fades hoarse through the ruin he has made of his throat and then he just weeps into Jon’s chest, and still he will not let go.

Melanie’s the one that stops him using the knife the first time. Wrestling it from his grip more out of surprise than shock at Georgie’s shout, and her anger is poisoned with her panic, throwing it to one side and hearing it clatter, snarling that I’m not going to fucking bury both of you, you hear me, don’t even think about it, fuck you, you think this is what he would have wanted, you think we want to lose you too?

Martin doesn’t reply.

They are not fast enough to stop him the second time he tries.

--

There are two men, strangers to these parts, who moved into the village from elsewhere like seeds caught on breeze. They plant their roots in uneasy soil. They talk to no one, versed in polite but guarded pleasantries, their greeting smiles to-the-point and weathered like coastal walls to withstand even the most inquisitive of questioners.

The one who is tall has the pared-down appearance of someone who has lost a lot of weight through some wasting that gnaws upon him. A gauntness that accentuates the furrows and gulleys and crags of his face, worsens the snow-stark white of his hair. The one who is short has been formed naturally sharp in features, although the brown of his eyes is mellow, prone to distance and otherwise unremarkable. The rumour mill, that tumbles in cycles of chatter that rolls from suspicious to musing, supposes some great and devastating fire to account for the injuries on his hands and the exposed skin of his face and neck, the pocked divots like scattered spark burns, ragged scars from shrapnel of some kind.

The one who is short limps on a sturdy walking stick, fashioned from an oak branch divorced from its tree in a storm. Any travel ventured upon is slow and demonstrably an effort. His free hand clasped in the hand of the one who is tall, who decks himself in layers even in the mildest of weathers, whose eyes are biting as hailstones, awashed grey and framed with bruising as though his dreams are rarely kind.

They re-painted the outer walls of their house last summer, when the temperature wallowed sticky and dense and glorious. The tree in their garden has fruited its first pears, few and stunted but a start that promises better crops come next year.

There is the hope that the strangers are happy.

If they are, it remains nobody’s business but their own.

[tennessoui]

You kind of already did 31 but pleaseeeeeeee

these ficlets keep getting longer ffs this is 2k

31. One is a sex worker, the other is a client AU

anakin's had his turn as a sex worker in my writing so it's Obi-Wan this time, paired with Vaderkin and i made it more dark than I thought would happen whoops but. warnings are: probably bordering extremely dubious consent even though no sex happens and this is just the lead up. a brief reference to underage sex work, though absolutely nothing comes of it. and vaderkin being a bit creepy.

There is a saying among the workers at the Establishment: if the imperial palace calls for you, you should hope the person that is displayed next to you is prettier.

Obi-Wan has never bought into prayers of any kind and this saying is only ever said with something akin to a worshipful dread. Still, when Ahsoka drapes a cloak of red around his shoulders and whispers those words to him—“May the others be your betters”—he thinks for a second about the nature of prayer and of hope and the futility of both in this galaxy.

“Don’t worry, little ‘Soka,” he smiles from under the cloak’s hood. “I’m sure it’s just a mistake.” He is, after all, one of the oldest workers here, makes most of his money these days tending bar and running the front desk, called in to serve mostly for virgin customers who want a gentler and more experienced hand to guide them in the art of pleasure. He doesn’t think any of the words could be used to describe the Emperor Vader, can’t see the imposing black-suited man interested in the art of pleasure.

Ahsoka can’t look him in the eye, but she hugs him tightly as he boards the shuttle that will take him to the Palace.

The ride there is quiet. Obi-Wan tries to avoid as many glances from the other people as he gives to them. Most of them are young, human. He seems to be the only male above 40. His chances are good.

Maybe he hadn’t been lying to Ahsoka. Maybe, truly, his name being included on the list had been a mistake

Something inside him hesitates though. He’d been out in the Upper levels a week ago, making his way home after one of his rare appointments with an old client turned friend. A child had fallen into the path of a small parade of speeders. A correctional officer had raised a whip. Obi-Wan had reacted on instinct, catching its lash with his forearm. The child had run off. Obi-Wan had stayed. He’d raised his head just enough, eons later, to see the durasteel outside of the largest speeder pass by his prone form, just enough to see the Imperial crest on its hull. Just for long enough to see a glint of a yellow eye from the window.

Bacta had treated his wounds, but his mind had not allowed him to rest easily, caught up in the memory of that eye--had he imagined the interest? Had he imagined it all?

And so to hear his name called tonight--the first calling since The Incident--had felt like the confirmation of all of his most unfounded fears.

Would tonight be the night he died? He had lived a long life. A rough one. Perhaps it is time.

Still, in the back of his head, a selfish, utterly human part of him whispered, may the others be your betters.

---

Those chosen do, often, come back. Sometimes they do not. Mostly they do. Obi-Wan has never truly decided which of these fates is the worse one. Those who survive don’t say anything for days on end, their eyes blank as they stare forward. Their bruises, if they are there, are easy to heal. But something is always wrong with their minds afterwards. And those who don’t come back...well. It’s hard to say what happens to them, where they go. Far away or down below.

Obi-Wan is forced to his knees in between a moderately aged female Togruta and a fairly young teenager. The boy is shaking. He can’t be more than sixteen.

They’re in the Entrance Hall. Obi-Wan has never been here before, but he supposes it makes sense. There will be one person who ventures further into the Palace. The rest will be dismissed out the doors that just shut. No need to bring the scum further in than they have to.

Distantly, like a funeral drum, Obi-Wan can hear the sound of feet falling, making their way closer. Just a single pair. He wants to look up, to watch the Emperor--because it has to be the Emperor--approach, but there’s a Guard behind him, holding his head down.

The footsteps are close now. There’s only ten of them--sometimes, Obi-Wan has heard that there can be as many as twenty or thirty--so the line is short. Vader paces quietly from the first to the last person, before stopping in the middle. Obi-Wan can just see the black of his boots if he flicks his eyes as far as they can go to the left. The boy next to him lets out a muffled sob. Obi-Wan wishes he could offer the kid some sort of comfort, some sort of reassurance that the Emperor will choose one of the other workers, a body more desirable than either of theirs, but there are no words to describe the guilty relief of a suffering passed onto someone else.

On some sort of invisible signal, the Guard behind Obi-Wan wrenches his head back by the hold he has on both the silken hood and his own hair. It’s far from comfortable, tilted so far back. The message is obvious. Submission is not optional. Respect will be shown through any means necessary.

Obi-Wan tries to keep the hulking form of Vader in his eyesight, even though to see ahead of him he has to close his eyes almost completely because of the angle. It’s impossible to see anything from the chest up, but he can still hear. Loud, mechanical breathing fills the halls. Vader stops at each person for no longer than five seconds before he continues down the line. Obi-Wan holds his breath, waiting for his turn. Does he turn his head as much as he can, to try and accentuate the gray at his temples? Does he lower his eyes?

He doesn’t, in the end, do either. Vader is wearing a mask, completely covering his face. He doesn’t even look human, except for the way he cocks his head slightly as he stares down at Obi-Wan. He feels flayed, just under the single look, but he can’t turn away either. He glowers up at him. Five seconds pass. Vader should be moving on by now. The fact that he hasn’t fills Obi-Wan with the sort of fear he’s only felt a handful of times in his life.

“This one,” Vader says through a voice modulator. Obi-Wan closes his eyes in defeat, thinks of Little Ahsoka back at the Establishment, thinks of what she’ll think if he doesn’t make it home.

But the boy next to him bursts into sobs and Obi-Wan opens his eyes to see that Vader’s hand isn’t pointing to him at all, but instead just to his right.

But Vader’s face is still pointed directly at Obi-Wan though, head still cocked. The question is as clear as if he actually spoke the words aloud. What will you do about this?

What will he do? What can he do? It’s the street from a week ago all over. A child is in danger. How can Obi-Wan ever live with himself if he doesn’t at least try to throw himself on the blade?

“No!” he says before he can think it through. The Guard behind him jerks his hair back roughly in punishment, but the monster in front of him runs two gloved fingers down his cheek, the pantomime of a lover’s caress. “Me instead. Choose me.”

“Quiet,” the Guard hisses to him, making him wince with the ferocity of the yank he gives his hair. Obi-Wan pants open-mouthed as he tries to think of an argument, of a single reason why the Emperor should not get what he wants, should settle for a washed up whore instead of a younger model. All he can think of is the moral justifications of it, and he’s not sure Vader would care for that line of reasoning.

“I’m asking,” he blurts out. The fingers pause from where they’ve been absent-mindedly touching his beard. “When has anyone ever asked?”

The Emperor takes a step back and seems to consider Obi-Wan, what he has to offer. He tries to preen, to throw his shoulders back and sit back on his heels to show off his body, but it’s hard when the Guard hasn’t let up on his hair. In fact the grip gets even tighter as the man behind him snorts a common insult.

A second later, the hand and the pressure disappear. Obi-Wan falls forward automatically at his sudden release. He scrambles away instinctively, even if that means closer to Vader. Vader who has his hand raised out in front of him clenching his gloved fist tight. Obi-Wan looks behind him at the guard who had held him. The man is scrabbling at his throat. Obi-Wan knows already it will be a futile effort. With Vader distracted by his execution, he turns to check on the boy. He’s looking down, refusing to make eye contact.

Probably for the better.

The Guard falls to the floor. The other nine Guards don’t move at all. Obi-Wan supposes there’s no room for loyalty in a galaxy like this.

“Come,” Vader says, running a hand through his hair. It’s a surprisingly gentle touch, seeing as that hand just took someone else’s life.

Slowly, Obi-Wan rises to his feet and follows behind him, through the twisting halls of the Imperial Palace. He thinks anyone could get lonely here if they have no one to keep them company. It’s so big. Obi-Wan shares his room with three other people, and he frets if one of them is still gone by the time he falls asleep.

This much space would drive anyone mad for another’s touch.

He blinks at himself, incredulous. Is he actually trying to feel compassion for the Emperor? Is it actually working?

The Emperor flings open a pair of elaborate doors without touching them, and suddenly Obi-Wan’s in the bedchambers of the most powerful man on the planet. And to think, he’s wearing mismatched and terribly darned socks.

He resolves to not ask Vader for permission to do anything with his own body for the entire night. He sits on the edge of the bed and watches as Vader takes off his cape and his gloves.

“Would you like to know my prices before or after?” He asks as cooly as possible.

“Your price is that it’s you here and not the boy.”

“Would you have wanted the boy?” Obi-Wan can’t hide the disgust in his tone.

“No,” the Emperor says succinctly. “But I did want to know what you would do. If you really were the same man as the one in the street.”

Obi-Wan’s breath catches in his throat. “Why would you want to know that?”

“There’s so little good left in the galaxy. It’s fascinating that so much is concentrated in you.” Vader reaches up to unlatch his mask. A cascade of golden curls falls out.

He huffs. The Emperor of the Galactic Empire thinks there’s not enough good in the galaxy. It’s at the very least ironic. “It’s a greedy galaxy, your Imperial Majesty--”

The Emperor turns around to face him, helmet still held in his hands. Obi-Wan is surprised to learn he’s just a man. An attractive man, certainly, young and almost pretty with a perfect arch to his lips and a roguish scar cutting through a thick eyebrow. If he had been one of Obi-Wan’s workers, he’d have taken him under his wing, tried to protect him from the clients who would have paid extra to rough up that face.

He was saying something. Obi-Wan had meant to say something else. Oh. Right. “Good cannot be bought.”

The man in front of him--was it really Vader?--smiles, but it doesn’t reach his yellow eyes. “No,” he purrs, discarding his helmet and stalking forward. “But you can.”

[littlemisskookie]

Piss Off Your Parents

Piss Off Your Parents Ship: BadBoy!Jungkook | RichGirl!Reader Description: Roommates!AU | BadBoy!AU | FakeDating!AU | In an effort to piss off your parents you move in with their worst nightmare- a boy with tattoos, a rock band, and an irresistible charm. Warnings: Dom!JK, Daddy Kink, D/S Themes, Spanking, Pussy Spanking, Intercourse, Rough Sex, Dirty Talk, Creampie, Fingering, Oral, Multiple Orgasms, Squirting, Size Kink, Hair Pulling, Praise Kink, Lots of Pet Names, Angst, Fluff, Drug Use (it’s just weed) Word Count: 16,411 A/N: Based on the song 18 by Anarbor! This ends my hiatus! I’ve been writing this for literal months so I hope you guys like it. Happy Early 3rd Year Anniversary!

"Oh, you must visit us in Morocco! We got a summer home there not too long ago, and it's absolutely divine!"

"You don't say? We were thinking about visiting there! It was between there and Budapest."

"I went to Budapest not too long ago, actually. Remember when I was telling you about Belgium?"

"Belgium? I remember Prague..."

"Oh yes! Prague, that's it. Well, it was the trip after-"

You rolled your eyes, internally groaning as you listened to your mother speak with the Senator's wife. You hated going to these. The senator loved to host "intimate" parties, which mainly compromised of the 1%. Everyone knew it was because the next election was coming up, and he wanted to raise funding. As if he needed it, you mused to yourself, admiring the interior of the mansion. Spilling wine on a nearby couch would cost as much as some student loans.

Still, you were the daughter of a wealthy family, trust fund baby among other things. Your college was paid for, not including the bribing, and you were the darling among many. Daddy's little jewel, and one of the few brats who wasn't forced under the scapel at 16.

You couldn't stand the boys in that circle. They were all the same, figuring that a man of their "status" should have a trophy equally worthy. Or perhaps they wanted an arranged marriage, no bullshit, simply in hopes of linking the family businesses together and gaining your father's support. Often times they were just men who had never heard the word "no", and didn't like hearing it, wealth be damned.

You feel sick to your stomach, seeing one of your "suitors" eyeing you when he enters. He's different from the others, no suit adorning his figure. Instead of a suit and tie, he wears all black, leather jacket and combat boots. The graphic tee is tucked into his ripped jeans, accentuating his tiny waist. You peak at the tattoos on his hands, and the jewelry he wears. Lots of rings, some earrings, and a chain necklace, with a matching one on his pants. He had long hair that hung around his ears, making it where he had to flip his hair to see what was in front of him.

You felt as though the world had stopped, holding your breath as you simply stare at him. He gives you a charming smile, surprisingly cute dimples showing up on either cheek. It felt as though the breath had been knocked out of your lungs, and your stomach was doing flips.

"Oh, that boy! I told him to dress for the occasion," the Senator's wife scowled. She smiles towards you and your mother. "If you'll excuse me."

As soon as she scurries away, you turn to your mother, eyes wide with wonder. "Who's that?"

Your mother gives a judgemental stare to the boy as he's approached. "The Senator's son- Jungkook. You grew up with him when you were about toddlers."

"The Jeons created that?" You couldn't believe it. Those two had sticks shoved so far up their asses you were sure you could see the end whenever they opened their mouths. You would've remembered growing up with a specimen like that. "How come I haven't seen him until now?"

"His parents sent him off to boarding school in Switzerland, hoping it would whip him into shape. It didn't. After he got his degree in college he decided to make some rock band. Apparently he's back in town to work with this new record label- or was it to own his own guitar shop?"

"So he's some baddie rock star?"

"Dear, I told you to speak properly. Like a lady." Your mother sighs. "But in other words, yes. Figures the Senator would make the living embodiment of teenage rebellion- though I'm surprised it's lasted this long."

"I'll say." You hadn't been able to do anything of the sort. Your parents were strict to whip you into the shape, not allowing any form of rebellion, though you have your tiny ways. You learned to appreciate the little things. So when you looked at the Senator's son, in all his indie-rock glory, you couldn't help but admire him.

"I'll see you in a bit, Mother. I do believe I have to acquaint myself," you say, sliding away with ease.

"Y/N!"

You're long gone, though, the lecture Jungkook was surely hearing now over as his mother stomps away, shaking her head. You combed your fingers through your hair, hoping you looked good. You wore a tight red dress, though it wasn't too revealing, as well as a matching set of diamond earrings. Don't even mention the carats on your necklace.

"Hey," you say, giving the coy smile you had mastered so long ago. "Jungkook, right?"

"That's me," he says, taking your hand to bring it up to his lips, winking at you. "And who do I have the pleasure of meeting?"

"Meeting?" You feign slight offense. "Don't you remember me? Y/N. We grew up together as toddlers." Before he has time to take it seriously, you let your expressions melt back into a smile. "Though I wouldn't worry too much about it- it was long ago."

"I don't think I'll be forgetting you again any time soon," he says, a smirk on his lips.

You giggle at that. "So what brings you here? Doesn't seem to be your kind of scene."

He shrugged. "My dad's the senator, as I'm sure you already know. He figured I'd be able to bring in a few dollars with promoting to our 'friends', along with getting me on the 'right track'. AKA his track. Y'know, politics and that sort of stuff."

"I get that," you nod. "My parents have been pushing me most of tonight to find myself some new boyfriend here."

"And why haven't you? I'd figure a gorgeous girl such as yourself would have no problem."

"The problem isn't with me, mind you," you say, sighing. "Let's just say that most of these guys aren't exactly my-" You nod to the suitor who had been eyeing you the entire time, though he now glares at Jungkook. "-type."

"They aren't my type either," Jungkook jokes, waving in acknowledgment to the man. He leans in close to whisper in your ear, and you can't help but feel your knees go weak at his scent. Was that cologne or did he naturally smell good? "What exactly is your type then, hm?"

"I'm talking to him."

He smiles at that. "Good move, princess."

"Who do you think you're calling princess?"

"Oh? What would you like to be called, then?"

"Wouldn't you like to know? You already have too much power over me. That would just be my one-way ticket to doom." You let your fingers twirl around a lock of his hair, admiring how soft it was. "My name will do for now."

"Fair enough," he chuckles. "Do you want to get some fresh air on the balcony? It's just that wonderbread over there seems like he wants to pick a fight, and I'd rather not get blood on that white shirt of his."

"Is that why you're wearing black? So the blood won't show up?"

"You're wearing red- it'll do just as well."

"Touché. No fighting tonight, though. Wonderbread can't even handle a nosebleed."

"Lead the way then, Y/N."

You're happy to do so but already find yourself cringing as Wonderbread catches up with you before you can leave. "Hey! Y/N! Where are you going off to? The party's just started"

"Jungkook and I are just going to get some fresh air," you assure him, trying to smother the rising feelings of annoyance as well as the urge to groan.

"Jungkook, huh?" Wonderbread looks him up and down, eyes squinted, glaring at his appearance. "The senator's son?"

"That's me," Jungkook says in response.

"You don't look like the type," Wonderbread mutters.

"You mean boring?" Jungkook snorts, giving his own dirty glance up and down Wonderbread's form.

"What are you insinuating?" Wonderbread's face was already getting red. It was always so easy to offend these sorts of guys. They could dish it, but not take it.

"I mean black is slimming. You should dress in a way that flatters you, y'know?" Jungkook plasters on a fake smile that could rival your own. He reaches for Wonderbread's tie, toying with it between his fingers for a few moments. "But judging from your choice of baby blue, I don't think you do."

"Why I oughta-"

"I think now's a good time to get that fresh air!" you say, pushing Jungkook off in the direction of the balcony. "Right, Jungkook?"

He simply shrugs, taking the hint before stalking off in that direction. You're about to follow him when Wonderbread yanks on your arm, a scowl on his face. "I thought you had better taste, Y/N. That you were smart."

"Let go of me, please."

His grip tightens. "Didn't your parents tell you to stay away from guys like that? He'll just get you into trouble- they always do. What with their piercings and tattoos and drugs- stay away from that. He had a choice and could've been like that, but it's clear he wants to be a rebel and get himself in jail."

"I said let go of me." You try to pull your arm back, but he stays firm.

"Why don't you just listen to me and stop for a second. Guys like that will just hurt you. They hurt everyone around them, including themselves. They're scum-"

"I said-"

"Don't be an idiot and stick with your own kind."

"If you don't let go of me right now, I'll scream. I don't care," you grit.

Wonderbread scowls again, muttering to himself as he finally lets go of you. You rub your sore arm, glaring at him. He simply scoffs. "You'll be the laughing stock when you go crying back to your parents."

"Have you ever considered I don't want to be like you people? Like us? Look around, Wonderbread. None of us are happy. You clearly aren't because you can't get laid, at least not by 'your own kind'. I haven't done anything with Jungkook, I just met him tonight and we're getting air, and even if I did, it'd be none of your business. So stop staring at my rack like you have been for the past hour and get a life."

You turn on your heel, marching over to the balcony, leaving Wonderbread far behind you. Jungkook's waiting for you, leaning on the railing.

"Are you ok? I saw some of that back there. I wanted to help, but I didn't want to go all 'Alpha Douchebag' like other guys. Besides you seemed to be able to handle yourself at the end."

You huff, brushing your hands through your hair. "I'm able to defend myself once in a while. I'm not some damsel in distress."

"Never said you were, princess. And trust me when I say I'm no white knight."

"That's why I'm here with you instead of Wonderbread."

"No one with a personality spicier than flour would want to stick around with Wonderbread," he responds.

"You've got a point," you huff. "Guys like him are hard to shake off."

"It's not hard to see why. You're gorgeous and rich, double whammy," Jungkook winks.

You groan. "God, not you too. Besides, you're one to talk. You waltz in here, dressing like sin, son of the senator no less, and you don't expect girls to fawn over you?"

"Who said I didn't expect it?"

"Plus, it's different for guys and girls. In this sort of society guys just want a trophy wife. The girls want a trophy too, though. The hottest guy, the richest guy- a provider," you state. "The gender roles of the high class still stay in the 50s, I'm afraid."

"So you followed me out here because you see me as a provider, huh?"

"Did you invite me out because you saw me as a trophy?"

"No." He shakes his head, his locks bouncing as he did so. It was strangely attractive.

"Well if I just wanted a provider I'd stick with Wonderbread. He'd be more than willing to 'provide' for me."

"The only thing softies like that can't provide is an orgasm," he bluntly says.

You burst out laughing at that. "Oh my god, don't-"

"I'm just saying," he chuckles. "Besides, it's not all that bad. So you're hot and rich- boohoo. First world problems, am I right?"

"I know, I know, I'm privileged but- God, it's annoying."

"It's just a few guys who want to marry you- what's the big deal?"

"What's the big deal?" You hold out your hand, tallying off the reasons. "My parents are pressuring me to marry young, wanting to trust their wealth to a man they don't even know rather than the daughter they raised. I'm constantly sexually harassed, and most of the time when I reject the guy he either doesn't take the hint or just says I was fat or ugly to ease his bruising ego. Everything I do is perceived as a ploy to get a man, and the other chicks go as far as to slut-shame me or say I think I'm better than everyone else because I'm some SJW who doesn't want to get boob surgery to please a man, despite the fact he'll probably be sleeping with an 18-year-old when we're 50 and hating ourselves."

"If it helps, I think your tits are great as they are."

"Did you listen to anything I said?"

"Of course I did, baby. But you have to keep in mind when a guy hears the words 'boob surgery' he tends to tune in more," he jokes. "But yes, I get your struggles. I grew up in the same environment, for the most part."

"Why aren't you out here trying to win a trophy, anyway?"

"Didn't you hear? I was sent off to boarding school. It's good to see an outside world that doesn't cater to your every need," he shrugs. "You know, a world where women are more than trophies and guys are more than the thickness of their wallets."

"Instead the thickness of their cocks?"

He winks. "Now you're thinking like me."

"So you got outside perspective and chose to follow that instead of a life that would've provided you with everything?"

"What can I say? I've got passion for things outside of elections and sexism."

"Let me guess- you're in a rock band, ride a motorcycle, and play guitar," you roll your eyes. "Color me impressed."

There's a moment of silence, and you turn to him, finding him bashfully stunned. "No shit! You're actually all of those things?"

"I'll have you know I own a guitar shop along with the band. Have to pay the bills somehow."

"Oh my god- you're like every teen girl's wet dream! The living embodiment of a Harry Styles fanfiction but without the toxicity!" You guffaw. "I can't believe this. I should've known. Leather jackets, long hair, tattoos- fuck!"

"Yeah yeah, you've made your point, princess."

"I mean, I thought I was a bit of a parent's worse nightmare when it came to youthful rebellion but you're the icing on the cake," you continue. "Fuck, you'd piss my parents off."

"Getting turned on by the thought of it, little girl?" he teases, trying to get you to back down, quirking a brow at your amusement.

"You know it," you flirt back, tugging at his belt, fueled further. "I love nothing more than showing them I'm more grown-up than they realize."

"Oh?" He starts to take you seriously, gulping. "I would've figured a Daddy's girl like you would've loved pleasing her parents."

"I guess you could say I'm a different kind of Daddy's girl," you wink. You laugh at his serious expression, knowing your little joke was in full effect. "Calm down, Jeon. I'm not going to fuck you on the balcony- despite how my type you are."

"I'm your type?"

"Haven't I made it obvious?" you snicker. "I told you I loved nothing more than to piss my parents off- and you're the embodiment of that. I could see my dad's face going red already! I mean, motorcycles, rock band, tattoos, leather, guitars- already my type, but it's the cherry on top."

"You're weird about that, huh? I knew some girls were into this whole look, but I wouldn't have figured it was for the same reason as you."

"All girls who are attracted to guys like you are attracted for the same reasons," you muse. "Daddy issues."

"Makes sense," he hums. "But I'm not all that dreamy, princess."

"Oh? Explain."

"I drink."

"Vodka I hope."

"I also smoke. Weed."

"Better than vaping like the 'cool kids'."

"I'm broke."

That's the one that takes you by surprise. "How's that? You're the senator's son."

He shrugs. "My parents cut me off after I came back from boarding school and told them I wanted to join a rock band and make a guitar shop. They hate my look as much as your parents would- though they brought me here in hopes that those my age could rub off on me in time for the election. I make enough to live in my apartment and provide for myself, but I don't think I'd be able to be the same kind of 'provider' as Wonderbread over there."

"Well, what do you think I'd use Daddy's card for?" you say. "It has been gathering dust..."

"God, you're serious about this," he laughs. "I'm on a fast track of getting a rich girlfriend and I didn't even have to lift a finger. I'll have to start calling off my other girls soon enough."

"Not quite," you say, pressing your finger against his lips. "There's one thing that'll prevent me from dating a guy like you- no matter how appealing you may seem."

His brows furrow in a state of confusion. "And what's that, princess?"

"There's one thing that's very consistent about men like you- what, with your 'bad boy with a heart of gold' persona," you say, tilting his chin up a bit. "Heart breakers. All of you. In all of the stories, fiction or reality, it ends the same. A broken heart one way or another, even temporarily. I'm guessing with you it'd be those other girls you mentioned. If not that, arguments because of how different we are. Or perhaps it'd be my parents saying enough's enough and taking me away or something- I don't know. It's the only thing that my parents and Wonderbread get right, though."

"So what does that boil down to?"

"It boils down to the fact that I wouldn't fall for someone like you."

"Charming?"

"Sleazy."

"Handsome?"

"Generic."

"Dangerous?"

"Extremely."

Jungkook chuckles at that. "I don't think you'd be able to choose whether or not you fall for someone, princess. I've been told I'm quite irresistible."

"I'm sure you are- but I made my choice the moment you stepped through those double doors," you smile, tapping his nose. "I'm not going to be another broken heart. That I guarantee."

"Oh, you read too much fanfiction. What Harry Styles fanfiction gave you this mindset? The Bad Boy's Rich Girl?" He laughs. "I see it now. I assure you, baby, I'm a lover, not a fighter."

"I can handle fighting. I was raised in it. A lover like you isn't what I need."

"Are you sure? I'm confident in my loving abilities."

"Ha," you flatly say. "Sure you are. Choke me, baby."

"Give me the safe word first, baby."

You roll your eyes. "You're no good for me."

"Poison."

"You'd break my heart."

"Like so many others'."

"You'll call me?"

"At 2 AM."

"God, you're sleazy."

"You love it, baby."

"Shut up and put your number in my phone so I can wait two days to text back."

-

You and Jungkook had been texting non-stop since the senator's party. Surprisingly enough, between the banter and flirting, he was a very genuine person. He was caring and sent the same memes, though you were considering unfollowing meme accounts so that you'd be pleasantly surprised. Damn him for having the same sense of humor as you.

You were in the middle of spamming the skull emoji when your mother called for you. You rolled your eyes, huffing as you put down your phone, checking your appearance once more in the mirror. Your parents told you to get dolled up for the evening, and you could only hope they were taking you to see the musical that was in town.

Once you glided down the stairs, however, you were supremely disappointed.

"Y/N," your mother beamed, "this is Jin. He's a doctor, and he's involved in-"

"Non-invasive surgery," Jin interrupted, already pissing you off. "Pleasure to meet you- your parents told me all about you."

"Pleasure's all mine," you say through gritted teeth, already absolutely pissed. You turn towards your mother. "May I talk to you for a moment?"

"Of course, sweetheart." You see her internally roll her eyes as she escorts you to the kitchen, where you immediately turn on your heel.

"This is the fifth boy you've brought home for me to date! How many more do you need to bring for you to realize I'm not interested in them?"

"Sweetheart, you have to understand-"

"Understand what? No means no. I don't like any of them. The fact you won't stop pressuring me into dating strangers isn't helping, either."

"We just want to see you settled down with a proper gentleman-"

"Settled down!? I'm in my young 20s! I'm nowhere near menopause, for your information. I've got my whole life ahead of me before I even have to think about marriage."

"Don't raise your voice at me, young lady," she fumes. "What, would you rather we bring... bring a Jeon Jungkook?!"

"Is that what this is about?"

"We know you've become affiliated with him, yes. We're trying to get you on the right path."

"To hell with that noise!" you burst. "Jungkook is no less- no, more of a man than those dweebs that walk in! You want to know why? Because he's honest! I know these guys better than you. They might act all nice and charming to you guys, but that's just because they're after your money. You can't seem to see that, however, because it's not your tits they're staring at! It's not you who's the trophy. It's not you who is sexually harassed and seen as a prize to be won!"

"Young lady, I won't stand for such behavior!"

"I'm a grown adult, and I'll date bastards like Jeon Jungkook if I so please," you huff, turning away. "Tell Jin it was so nice to meet him, but unfortunately another 'proper gentleman' is keeping me occupied."

You stomp away before she can grab you and force you on your date, and by the time you're in a secluded area, you burst into tears. You simply wish your parents could see you as an adult who is capable of making her own decisions. That you're allowed to live your life and you're different from them and that's ok. They couldn't seem to get it through their thick heads, however.

You were sick of it. Absolutely sick of it. Over 20 years of this bullshit, and now it was worse, what with them pressuring you to jump into marriage with someone 'respectable'.

There had to be some way to get back at them. To get it through to them. To get back at them for their bullshit or get them to see you're not some naive 16-year-old or something.

With a shaky hand, you pick up your phone, dialing the number to call your friend.

"Jungkook? Yeah... yeah, I've been crying. Can you, uh, do you think you could do me a massive favor?"

-

Jungkook had to admit, it came as a surprise when you asked to move in with him.

It really didn't register with him, however, until you pulled up in front of his building in your luxury convertible, boxes filling up every inch of space.

He had no problem with you becoming his roommate- after all, you promised you wouldn't bother interfering with his bachelor lifestyle. In fact, he was quite amused.

Fake dating. Your deep-rooted frustration for your parents was quite apparent, but he didn't think it'd go this far. You'd live with him for a while under the guise of boyfriend/girlfriend, at least to your parents. He didn't quite understand the revenge scheme or how it worked, but he understood enough. Between your choked up sobs, you had explained the plethora of men your parents have brought to your house under the guise of a date when in reality they were trying to pressure her into marriage.

Even if that hadn't been happening, Jungkook would've let you come in. You two were friends. You had insisted that you would pay your half of the rent and wouldn't become his actual girlfriend, and admittedly, Jungkook liked the thought of a roommate.

"What happens if your parents cut you off?" Jungkook had questioned you, knowing how rough it had been for him when it happened.

"Unbeknownst to my parents, I have a job," you explained.

"What? You said you just used your father's credit card when we first met!"

"I barely knew you! Now that I know you're not some creep I can tell you. If you must know, I'm the assistant to some chief executive for a fashion company."

"The Devil Wears Chanel?"

"It's The Devil Wears Prada, but close enough."

Still, he couldn't help but feel a bit worried for you, especially now that he saw you again. You lifted your designer sunglasses to reveal tired, worn eyes, a look only achieved through crying. He greeted you with a smile, however, hugging you once you stepped out of your car.

"How you holding up, princess?" he questioned, giving you a warm embrace.

"God, better now, thank you." You melted into his hug. "Thank you for doing this. It means a lot."

"Hey, I promised to piss off your parents, didn't I? I'm a man of my word," he chuckled. He stepped back, combing over your hair affectionately. "Now, here's the deal, oh precious fake girlfriend of mine. As roommates, we've got a few rules. Rule number one: No fucking after 3 AM. Despite my many escapades, I have a bedtime. Rule number two: when one person cooks, the other washes the dishes. Simple. Rule number three: Be honest. We're living together, so we've got to be honest. Lying, secrets- none of that. You've got something on your mind, you say it. We'll yell at each other for a few minutes and settle it. Sound good?"

You nod. "Sounds like a plan."

"Alright. And the fake dating rules, baby?"

"Nothing much. Drive with me once or twice to visit my parents, to show we're 'serious'. We can go into details about our story if need be. Keep up the act around rich brats."

"Sounds good," he chuckles. "Already turning into a Wattpad fanfiction, isn't it?"

You smile weakly, a light giggle escaping your lips. "Oh god, it really is, isn't it?"

"Hey, there's a reason they're popular. We've just got to do it better." He looks back towards your car filled with boxes. "Here, let me help you with your things, Your Highness."

"Why thank you, my humble servant," you say, getting a box yourself. "I sure do love a big strong man!"

"If only I weren't a peasant boy who worked at the stables."

"Indeed. You're filthy- I shouldn't even let you touch my valuables," you snicker, "but I suppose you'll have to do."

"You're right about the filthy part," Jungkook winks.

-

Being roommates with Jungkook wasn't what you expected.

Your work was getting more hectic, so you were arriving later than usual. It absolutely exhausted you, and you'd be stumbling in, kicking your heels off at the front door only to collapse into Jungkook's arms, who would wait for you. Every. Single. Night.

You had told him that he didn't have to wait for you. His work ended at 6, and even the nights when he'd play with his band wouldn't go too late, as they play until midnight for their usual gigs.

Still, he had insisted. Something about not wanting you to feel alone. You'd never tell him how much you appreciated it. Instead of the vast, empty mansion, you lived in, where the only thing that would embrace you was dust, you lived in a small, messy apartment and collapsed into a pair of warm arms.

On the few days you were off you were able to properly spend time with your roommate. Every other Friday would be movie night, where one of you would pick the movie for the two of you to watch, all because you believed the other was "tasteless". Nevertheless, it was time you truly enjoyed, and you were genuinely disappointed whenever you had to miss it because of your job.

Living with him was domestic in a good way. It was a friendly face to come home to every day, a warm hug to embrace you whenever you kicked off your heels. It was burnt bacon on some mornings and lazy Sunday clothing to borrow whenever you felt like it.

Sure, it wasn't always the greatest. Often times you guys would bicker over some basic chores and neatness. Jungkook left his clothes everywhere in the living room, and you'd leave all your heels in a heap in front of the door. However, you thought it'd be worse.

You were suspecting people over every other night, all as tatted and pierced as he was. Weekly bong parties where they'd try to hotbox the apartment, maybe. Women draping themselves over him every other morning, wanting to stay for the day, glaring at you because they saw you as a threat.

There was some of that, but not really. Jungkook, when it came down to it, was just another ordinary guy. Human. He'd have some of his bandmates and friends come over once in a while, and they were just as handsome and tatted as he was. They were polite and friendly, though, and didn't even leave much of a mess behind. Jungkook would get weed for the two of you to smoke once in a while. As for the women? Well, there was only one woman you had encountered.

It was a Friday night and you were able to come home at the usual hour, kicking your heels off and letting out the high ponytail you had in your hair. You massaged your scalp, making eye contact with Jungkook from his position on the couch. You strut over, plopping yourself down by his side and positioning yourself where you can lay your head in his lap.

"How was your day at work, princess?"

"Exhausting," you groaned. You'd never admit it to Jungkook, but you had warmed up to the nickname as of late. It made you feel warm inside. Special. You weren't a princess. You were his princess.

His fingers start running through your hair, giving you a gentle massage as he hums in understanding. "Want to talk about it?"

"Just the same old shit, honestly. You'd figure I'd be used to it by now."

"You'd figure," he chuckles. "Well, I'm glad you're working hard. It might be difficult, and the boss may be a bitch, and the pay lower than it should be..."

"But?"

He smiles. "But... if it makes you happy, then I'll support you."

"God, I think you're halfway to fixing my daddy issues already," you grin. You look up at him, noticing his long hair was styled, and a leather jacket adorning him. Typically when he was in the apartment he'd simply lounge around with uncombed curls and glasses, one of his baggy white shirts revealing the tatted sleeves you loved. "Hey, what're you all dressed up for?"

"Oh? This? I've got a date tonight," he shrugs, eyes back up on the TV.

"Oh," was all you could manage to say. He had said it so bluntly like it wasn't a big deal. Well, it wasn't. He was your roommate. Why should you care whether or not he's got a date? It's not like you had feelings for him or anything. That would be ridiculous. It would only complicate things.

Jungkook was your friend. He let you move in with him and comforted you in your time of need. Sure, you guys flirted a lot, and there was a lot of physical affection, from combing through each other's hair, cuddling on the couch during movie night, or tight hugs on especially rough days. But none of those meant that he liked you. Maybe you just kept thinking back to the air of mutual attraction, the first night you met. Maybe you had lulled yourself in a false sense of comfort, thinking of him as a boyfriend.

But he wasn't. You guys didn't kiss. You guys didn't have sex. You guys didn't even say anything about liking one another. For all you knew, he saw you as a sister at this point. The two of you knew each other like the back of your hand at this point.

Besides, the worst thing you could do was fall for your roommate.

Not an option.

Still, there was a feeling in the pit of your stomach that made you squirm in discomfort. You felt... unsettled, by the thought of Jungkook with another girl.

Was she pretty? Was she like you? Or was she more like him? Was she covered in tattoos and a cute septum piercing to go along with it? Did she have brightly colored hair and like punk rock? Yeah, you could picture Jungkook with a girl like that. They'd make an aesthetically pleasing couple.

"So, tell me about her," you say, realizing the two of you had been silent since you got lost in thought.

He shrugged again. "Not much to say. She's nice. She's been visiting my shop a lot recently. She's got some old guitar that she refuses to let go of, so she visits me for repairs. She visits so often I started to think she was breaking it on purpose. Eventually, she asked for my number and... well, now I've got a date."

"Cool," you nod. "What time do you have to leave?"

"I'll probably leave to pick her up in about 15 minutes," Jungkook says, looking down at his phone. "Actually... I think I have to leave now. I lost track of time."

You raise your head to let him up, and he checks himself once more in the reflection of the microwave in the kitchen. You chuckle, walking up to him and straightening out his clothes, fixing his hair a bit.

"There we go, now you look... maybe presentable," you smile.

He laughs a bit at that, ruffling your hair. "I promise we can have movie night tomorrow. If not, you can pick. We can even watch that god awful Fifty Shades movie you've been bugging me to watch."

"It's for the irony! We'll be watching it to make fun of it!" you exclaim, part of your usual banter about the series.

"Uh-huh. Just don't get horny based on that garbage, or I'll have half the mind to kick you out," he jokes. He grabs the key to his motorcycle and grabs the extra hot pink helmet- the one the two of you had picked out together once you started riding with him. "Don't bother staying up for me, ok? You need your beauty sleep."

"Is that your way of saying I'm ugly?" you say, quirking a brow in a comical manner.

"Absolutely hideous," he grins, kissing the top of your forehead. "Sweet dreams, princess."

He shut the door behind him, and you felt your heart sink in your chest.

Maybe you did feel something for Jungkook.

-

She wasn't exactly what you were expecting.

To be fair though, there was no way for you to expect waking up to a nude woman in your kitchen.

Typically you would've ignored Jungkook's suggestion for you to go to sleep, instead opting to head to bed once he left. You had been completely wiped from the workday, and could barely keep your eyes open. Maybe your body simply had pity on you, choosing to put you in REM sleep before you had to hear the two of them having sex.

Maybe you thought Jungkook was the type to do it at the girl's place. Maybe you thought he was the type to kick the girl out as soon as the deed was done. However, he was neither.

You had woken up to go to the kitchen, prepared to make your morning cereal when you heard the sizzling of bacon on a pan. Ah, Jungkook must be making breakfast. No doubt he's burned it again by now- something about not liking the bacon to be too fatty. The two of you really knew it was because he couldn't cook anything other than ramen.

"Jungkook, are you- oh shit!"

Instead of your edgy roommate, you were greeted by a woman wearing nothing but an apron. Literally nothing. She had been turned away from you, and you had gotten a full view of her ass and sideboob through the apron.

Out of instinct, you cover your eyes, hearing her shriek.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't know someone else lived here. You're not his girlfriend, are you? He told me he was single!"

"What? No, no! I'm his roommate, Y/N," you say, slowly peaking through your fingers. She was facing you now, and though she couldn't change at that moment, the apron covered up everything. You let out a sigh, lowering your hands.

"Oh, well nice to meet you, Y/N!" She smiled brightly, offering an awkward hand. "I didn't know Jungkook had a female roommate."

You shake her hand, quirking a brow. "You didn't see all the shoes by the door?"

"I was a bit... preoccupied, so to say," she chuckled awkwardly. "I'm Solji."

"Nice to meet you, um, Solji," you say. "You're Jungkook's date from last night, right?"

"Yeah." Solji tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear, and at that moment you completely get it. She's pretty in that natural kind of way. The kind of pretty that looks gorgeous without makeup, but would probably look good either way. Anything she did could be done with grace.

Jungkook walks into the kitchen in only a t-shirt and briefs. "What was that scream about- oh."

"Hi, Jungkook." Solji's voice is breathy, as though even seeing Jungkook again made her dizzy. You knew that feeling all too well. "I-I'm sorry. You were asleep and I couldn't bear to wake you up, but I thought it'd be rude to leave, so I thought I'd make breakfast! And then your roommate..."

"Y/N," you help, noticing she had forgotten your name already.

"Y/N! Right, sorry." She smiles apologetically. "And then Y/N walked in..."

"We're good now though, I think we were both just startled," you say. You look between the two awkwardly, an air of silence hanging over the three of you. "I, um, need to... pee."

You exit the situation as quickly as you could, holing yourself up in your room for the majority of the day. It isn't until later that day, when you lounge in the kitchen, stuffing your face with pop tarts after doing your best to avoid social interaction that you see Jungkook.

"Hey, Kook," you say, wiping the crumbs off your face. You probably looked like a mess right now, from lounging in your sweats. You couldn't care less, though. You were starving, and Jungkook had seen you worse. "Where's Solji?"

"Hm? Oh, she left."

"She left? But she seemed so happy to be here."

"Well, then I guess a more blunt way to put it is that I kicked her out," Jungkook shrugged.

You're stunned by his clarification.

As though sensing your shock or judgment, Jungkook quickly changes the topic. "So, movie night tonight? Since we missed it last night? I can make the ramen."

"I... yeah. Let's do it."

He grinned. "Great! I'll get alcohol too, and we can take a shot every time they say some cringy dirty talk."

You rolled your eyes, unable to hold back the smile that tugged at your lips. "You really want to destroy my liver, don't you?"

The two of you didn't speak of Solji again.

-

You still hug on tightly to Jungkook's waist as he rolls up to your parents' mansion, clinging even after his motorcycle comes to a complete halt.

"You know, I'm pretty sure your waist is smaller than mine," you note, finally loosening your grip. You had seen Jungkook shirtless plenty of times- the man child had a tendency to prance around the apartment half-naked. Still, his abs were rock hard- and you felt so squishy in comparison.

"That's just because I work out, baby," he chuckles, taking off his helmet and giving his locks a dramatic swoosh of freedom. He grins boyishly at you, helping you take your helmet off as well. "It wouldn't kill you to get out of the apartment for something other than work, you know."

"Excuse you! I work out plenty in the confines of my room," you fume.

"Sure- like those little girl weights do anything," he jokes.

"Well, I oughta-"

"Miss Y/N."

The two of you look up at the front door, the butler looking at you with that usual scornful expression of his. He glowers at you and your fake boyfriend, giving a sneer. You'd figure after all these years the man would show a little warmth towards you- but then you remembered it was your parents who were paying him, not you.

"I do believe your parents are expecting you and your... boyfriend, miss," he says, eyes scanning over Jungkook with clear disdain.

Jungkook only grins in response, putting the helmets up and helping you hop off, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. "Lead the way, chump."

The butler scoffs at that, turning on his heel to follow Jungkook's orders as the younger man giggles. One of Jungkook's favorite hobbies, as it turns out, was pissing off rich people. Must be the socialist in him.

"Chump?" you question, raising a brow. "What century are you from?"

"Oh, don't say that. Besides, I highly doubt I would've been let in if I had called him a cuck."

"I'm surprised we even got this far."

Jungkook, determined to help you piss off your parents, had decided to wear a plain black t-shirt that revealed as many tattoos as possible, as well as chains and hoop earrings. His jeans were ripped, his sneakers were scuffed, and he was the most handsome man to walk the earth.

Your parents had insisted that you finally visit them. You had never been away from home for this long, and they had suspected you'd be on your knees groveling by the first week. Still, you held your own and seemed to be doing well for yourself. So naturally, they had to see the boy who agreed to take you in, who they were sure would break your heart by this point. Perhaps they'd beg for you back while they were at it.

They didn't do that, however, instead greeting you with a hug.

"Darling," your mother says, giving you that familiar tight embrace that left you unable to breathe. "We've missed you."

"Missed you too," you grunt. "How have you two been?"

"Fine, fine, the usual," she says. Her eyes glance over the two of you, and Jungkook quickly locks his hand with yours, fingers interlocked as he gives a tight squeeze of support. "And... you two?"

"Thriving," Jungkook interjects. "She really takes care of me. I don't know how I got along without her."

"I don't do much- he's the one who usually stays up to make sure I'm home safe, as well as help me with the dishes... Or at least tries." The two of you exchange a small smile at that.

"I see..." Your mother's mouth goes small, and at that moment you have a hard time reading her. Or maybe she was having a hard time reading you. Maybe she could sense something was off. That the two of you weren't real.

Your heart started racing in your chest, and you silently prayed to yourself that she wouldn't be able to see through your ruse.

Before you could overthink further, however, she smiled. "Lunch, then?"

Your father claps his hands in delight. "Dear, you'll be glad to know we have your favorite! We had the cooks make it especially for you."

The four of you walk to the dining room to eat, and Jungkook leans in. "Wait, what's your favorite?"

"It's literally just spaghetti."

-

Surprisingly, lunch went better than expected. Your parents asked you and Jungkook exactly how you two came to be, and you had your story under lock. Most of it was the truth- you had reunited at the Senator's party and gotten to know each other through becoming friends. Eventually, the two of you began to form feelings, dating a bit before you decided to leave your parents and move in with him. You explained a lot about the living arrangements between you two, aside from the fact you two were just roommates. You'd explain small things like movie night and how you'd leave your shoes by the door, or how he'd burn anything that wasn't ramen and how he'd wait for you to get home every night without fail.

Before you knew it the lunch was over and you had to leave. Jungkook was getting the motorcycle started, making sure everything was in order while you hung back to speak to your parents at the front door.

"So..." You trailed off, unable to start.

"So?" Your mother looked at you quizzically. "Dear, remember what I told you about finishing everything you start. That includes sentences."

You take a deep breath. "So you're not going to insist I move out of Jungkook's apartment?"

Your parents exchanged looks before turning back to you.

"That was our original plan, however," your father sighs, "it appears that this isn't a situation we can put in our own hands. We'll let you two stay together."

You furrow your brows, confused. "Wait, what? You're letting me stay with him?"

"Of course, darling. We know you may think of us as evil capitalists, or whatever the liberals try to convince you of-"

"Father."

"-but we aren't evil enough to stand in the way of love."

"...Love?"

"Yes, love," your mother sighs. "We were prepared to demand you move out the moment you got to the door, but you look at that boy the same way I look at your father, and the way he looks at me. I suppose you reminded me of how we were in the old days."

"Besides, you do seem very comfortable with the boy. More sure of yourself. Perhaps it is beneficial for you to be living away from your parents- after all, we won't be here forever," your father says.

"Don't say that," you say, frowning.

"It's true, dear. Not that we want it to happen any time soon, or to be morbid, but we're simply glad there's going to be someone to take care of you after we're gone." Your mother looks back to Jungkook, who is now looking at the three of you with curiosity. "He might not be the most dignified boy, despite the fact that he comes from such a prestigious family. However, he loves you, I can say that much. I don't think he'll break your heart any time soon."

"If he does though, I'll kill him," your father threatens.

"You won't be killing anyone," you assure him. "Jungkook treats me well."

"That's all we ask." Your mother gives you a kiss on the forehead. "Love like that can't be faked, my dear. Who are we to step in the way?"

You give the two of them a tight hug, tears springing in the corners of your eyes. You wipe them away quickly before looking back at Jungkook, who was still waiting for you patiently. "Well... I should get going."

"Remember we love you."

"Love you, too."

-

You put down the hot pink helmet, silent. You and Jungkook had just arrived back at the apartment, and neither of you had said a word about your parents.

"So..." Jungkook trails off. "What'd your parents say? Right before we left? It seemed pretty serious."

You were silent as Jungkook continued.

"Let me guess- 'You can't go out with that boy! He's a good for nothing, disgrace-'"

"They said they liked you- us." You cut his impression short. "They said love like ours couldn't be faked. They're letting me continue to live with you."

"...Oh." Jungkook clearly didn't know how to respond to that. He was stunned, a deer in the headlights.

The two of you are silent, awkwardness hanging between you two.

"Ridiculous, isn't it?" you say with a nervous chuckle.

Please say it isn't.

"Yeah, totally," Jungkook laughed along, his smile matching yours. "Must mean we did a good job of faking it, huh?"

I wasn't faking it.

"Maybe we should go into acting," you smiled. "Prepared to have me live with you forever?"

"Always, princess," he grins, ruffling your hair. "You know I can't have a moment go by without you by my side."

"If only my parents could've heard that."

"Yeah," he chuckled. "Love like that can't be faked- little do they know."

"Yeah." You wave it off with a laugh, putting an end to the awkward discussion.

Little do they know.

-

Tonight was the night you were finally going to see Jungkook's band, Obsidian Chaos, perform.

Sure, he had many other performances, but you were never able to make them because of work. Your boss, however, seemed to have an extreme case of the swine flu, and therefore was unable to perform her duties. Code: Day off.

So here you were, in a bar that would have any other girl of your social standing shriek in horror. Everyone here looked something like a freak show in a conservative's book, and the place reeked of weed and liquor. You were living for it.

You were singing along to one of the band's newest songs. You knew the words already, having listened to the songs on repeat using your Spotify Premium.

Jungkook looked good on stage- his skin shiny with sweat as he poured his heart out into the songs. He was really revving it up on the guitar, the bassist and drummer both keeping up in stride. They were truly something special, and you found yourself glad that they were a bit more underground. It made you feel like you could keep them to yourself.

It wasn't until they finished you were able to meet the bandmates.

You had never met them before, as they were always practicing in the drummer's garage. They didn't have much need to go to Jungkook's apartment.

They were similar to him, though, also dressed in dark clothing with piercings and tattoos. Equally as hot, in your opinion.

The drummer greets you. "So you're the girl our precious guitarist is going on about!" He picks you up and gives you a hug, twirling as he did so. "I'm the drummer, Jimin!"

"Hey, Jimin!" You didn't even mind how affectionate the guy was, as it didn't seem perverted in the slightest. Perverted hugs were something you had to get used to at a young age, sadly. You shuddered to think back to your father's friends who would give you tight, lingering hugs at 14, all in hopes to feel your developing breasts against their chests.

"Ignore him, he always acts like a puppy whenever there's a pretty girl," the bassist says, extending his hand for you to shake. You did. "I'm Yoongi, the bassist. If I had known Jungkook's roommate was so gorgeous, I would've smoked some of his weed a long time ago."

"I could've just brought it to you, dude," Jungkook says, rolling his eyes.

"I don't trust your shit, man."

"You guys were great up there," you compliment, grinning. "I seriously think Obsidian Chaos is my most played artist on Spotify. The name's pretty neat too- both pretentious and edgy."

"Well, thank you. Jungkook here wanted our name to be ReBex- but luckily seniority rules. We've got a new album coming up soon- Jungkook's gotten a lot of inspiration to write, as of late," Yoongi says. "I wouldn't have thought a girl like you would be into our music, though."

"What's that supposed to mean?" you say teasingly, feigning offense.

"You don't exactly fit in here, sweetheart. You stand out," he chuckles.

"How could she not, though? She's hot!" Jimin exclaims.

"So I'd blend in a bit more in something like this?" You yank Yoongi's beanie off, messing up your hair before sliding it on. You pose in it, wiggling your brows as though to get under Yoongi's skin. "I think I look better in this than you do."

"I agree," Jimin says, smiling.

Yoongi only smirks at that. "I agree too- but I think you'd look better in nothing at all, personally."

"Is that so?"

"Hey hey hey!" Jungkook jumps in before the sexual tension can jump further. "Rule number four! I'm adding this now- no fucking the members of Obsidian Chaos!"

"Wouldn't that include you too?" Jimin questions.

Jungkook thinks for a moment. "Revision! No fucking my bandmates."

You all laugh at that.

-

Jungkook wasn't sure what was keeping you so late.

Today you were supposed to be out clubbing with a few of your friends. You definitely deserved a night of fun, and seeing as you weren't lounging around a mansion anymore, your preppy friends hardly got to see you. Jungkook told you he thought it was a good idea for you to be dragged out, and despite the fact he wished he could've come with you- just to keep an eye on you, of course- he had to tend to the shop and write songs with Obsidian Chaos.

Still, this was a ridiculous hour. He had gotten used to staying up this late for you- your job was an abhorrent one, in his opinion. No one should have to stay at work for that long.

The only thing that was keeping him awake was the worry that wracked his brain. Even he didn't club this late- and he had been to quite a number of clubs.

His heavy lids stayed pried open as he wondered where you were. Were you all right? Was everything ok?

What if you were hurt?

What if you had gotten into an accident on the way there? Or the way back home?

What if some creep roofied you? What if your friends had left you at the club?

He shook his head, running his hands through his hair. No, he had to stay optimistic. You were a grown woman, you could care for yourself.

Right?

He began biting his nails as he read his messages to you, asking when you were coming home. It was a nervous habit he had picked up as a kid. He couldn't believe he was regressing back to these habits, yet, here he was.

He huffed, grabbing a jacket, on his way to the club, when suddenly he heard the rattle of the doorknob.

You burst through the door.

With someone else.

The stranger was all over you, his hands roaming up and down your skimpy dress. You awkwardly kicked the door shut, your eyes firmly shut and mouth pressed against his. You moaned when he pinned you against the door, your wrists trapped in his large hands as his mouth began to travel to the nape of your neck, leaving marks in his wake.

Jungkook was frozen, immobile as he watched you hook your leg around the stranger, drawing him closer, pressing his body impossibly closer to your own. The stranger let out a husky growl that had you shuddering beneath him.

There was something oddly familiar about the stranger, though Jungkook knew he had never seen him before in his life. Maybe it was the tattoos that peaked out from beneath the sleeves of his leather jacket. Maybe it was the combat boots or the multiple ear piercings, or even his shaggy hair.

Jungkook couldn't help but realize the man's alternative style was eerily familiar to his own.

It was at that moment you finally opened your eyes from the pure bliss, only to come face to face with Jungkook.

You gasped in surprise, quickly pushing against the stranger's shoulders to pry him off you. "Taehyung," you said in a serious tone, though you sounded breathless.

The man grunted, confused as to why you wanted to stop. He got off of you, turning around to lock eyes with Jungkook.

"Oh, sorry man, didn't see you there," Taehyung chuckled. "Was occupied, you know?"

Jungkook finally found the words to speak, though his mouth felt dry. It felt as though his tongue were too big. "I- yeah, no worries, dude. I'll leave you two to it."

"I- Jungkook," you said.

"Shit, is she your girl?" Taehyung questioned.

"No, my roommate," Jungkook answered. "I was just waiting for her to get home- make sure she's safe and all."

"So you wouldn't mind if we...?"

"Just, um, keep it down. I'll be heading to bed."

"Sweet, bro," Taehyung grinned, turning back to you, leaning in to give you a kiss.

Jungkook finally unfroze, quick to turn on his heel and retreat to his room. He could go to bed now, seeing that you were home safe and sound. He should have no problem falling asleep, what with the anxiety and worry no longer plaguing him.

Despite this, however, as well as the soundproof headphones he had on his ears, he wasn't able to get a wink of sleep.

It was probably apparent the following morning. He had bags under his eyes and kept looking as though he'd faceplant into his cereal.

"You look like shit this morning," you remarked, reaching over to tousle his hair.

Jungkook noted that your new boyfriend was nowhere to be found. You seemed well put together. Your hair was pulled up in a bun instead of the bed head he had been expecting, and you wore the same pajamas as always. Maybe it was the post-sex glow that made you seem so lively.

"Don't worry about me," he yawned, stirring his spoon around in the cereal. He usually loved Lucky Charms, but he found his appetite... absent. Addressing the elephant in the room, he sighs. "So, where's your boyfriend?"

"Boyfriend?" You looked at him quizzically before a look of realization painted your features. "Oh! You mean Taehyung?"

"That's the fucker."

"I kicked him out once you went to bed," you shrug.

"Huh?"

"We... Well, we didn't do anything. I wasn't in the mood to have sex last night, I guess," you clarified.

"I... um..." Jungkook didn't know what to say.

"Yeah, so... sorry if you put on those bulky headphones of yours. Knowing you, you just played Waterparks at full blast in an attempt to block out noises that weren't being made," you chuckled nervously.

"You didn't have to kick him out on my account," Jungkook said, scratching the back of his neck. "It's still a bit before 3. It's not against the roommate agreement."

"No, no, don't worry. I wanted to," you said, offering a weak smile. "I was just... tired."

"You sure? I mean it- you don't have to stay abstinent on my account. I've brought someone home before. It'd be hypocritical of me being upset with you doing the same."

"I mean it, Jungkook, I wanted to.  I just wasn't in the mood."

You seemed to be in the mood before, Jungkook thought. Had he not walked in, he had no doubt the two of you would've gotten more hot and heavy than earlier.

Jungkook felt guilty for ruining your potential hook up. "Alright, well, if that's what you wanted, my guy."

Your smile faltered a little. "No princess?"

Jungkook chuckled warmly at that, reaching forward to pull you in. "My bad, princess," he said properly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "I was just relieved that you were here and safe. I won't lie when I say I wasn't worried- I was just about to head out to look for you."

"Thank you for staying up so late for me."

"Anything for my princess."

-

"I'm pretty sure your father would send a SWAT team on my ass if he found out I was letting his little girl do this," Jungkook laughed, watching as you coughed after taking a hit.

"Shut-" cough "-the fuck up, Jungkook."

The two of you were sitting on his couch, smoking weed. It was the first time you had ever smoked pot with Jungkook, as the moment you got home after a long day at work, you asked whether or not you two could smoke together. Well, demanded was a more accurate term. Jungkook didn't question it though, instead giving you that same, obnoxious, amused smirk.

"Is this your first time smoking weed, baby?"

"I haven't smoked since I was 16," you say, taking another hit, letting it settle deep into your lungs before coughing numerous times. "It was only twice with some guy who thought I'd blow him if I got high enough. My first time I didn't feel anything despite four hits. The second time I took 6, but his weed was so weak I didn't feel much. Man, was he pissed."

"A guy like Wonderbread, I'm guessing?"

You laugh. "Alas, even commoners feel privileged. I'll let you know though I didn't even touch his little cheesedick."

"You just used his pot and took advantage of him, huh?"

"Oh please! That's not it at all. Either I take advantage of him than the other way around. His intentions were totally sketchy, hoping I'd become inebriated enough to fulfill the lewd fantasies he had garnered. If he was willing to waste weed on a girl, he should've left it at that. I didn't owe him anything. No matter how much shit guys give, whether it's weed or Lamborghinis, you don't owe them anything. You don't owe them love, sex, or a relationship. It's their choice whether or not they want to buy your affections, but those feelings cannot be owed. Women are not in debt to men because they fool themselves into thinking that they deserve blowjobs because they're 'nice' or 'waste shit' on the woman."

Jungkook whistled. "I sense a lot of pent up anger today. I gotta say, I never expected you to demand my stash. Wait, no, I did. But I expected it sooner."

"My boss is a bitch," you mutter. "She's great at her job, and I admire her, but God, she's a cunt."

"What'd she do?"

"She's just-" You let out a frustrated groan, taking a deep inhale from the blunt before puffing it out. "She's so condescending and demanding. She expects me to be little miss perfect and thinks I'm lazy because I'm privileged. It's like no matter how hard I work and prove myself she still can't see me as anything other than a spoiled rich brat. Every tiny mistake I make confirms it, and every big accomplishment goes ignored."

"Are you unhappy enough to quit?"

You sigh, taking another hit. You could feel it setting in now. Your limbs felt lighter, but your head a little heavier. One thing was for sure- this shit was a lot stronger than what you had at 16. "No. I love my job, and I still respect and admire her. I may complain about it a lot, but I still love it."

"You complain about me a lot, though, princess," he laughed, nudging his thigh against yours. "Does that mean you love me?"

"Well, yeah."

Jungkook tenses up at that. "You do?"

If your head wasn't as cloudy as it was now, you wouldn't have opened your trap. You felt uncaring, however, speaking freely as you took another hit. "Yeah, I do. I love you. We've lived together for months, Jungkook. You're one of the people I'm closest to. You mean the world to me."

You lean your head against his shoulder, fluttering your lids as you shut them, concentrating on his breathing. The rise and fall of his shoulders lift your head along with them, and he lets out a chuckle. His fingers comb through your hair, doting. "I love you too."

You take a hit, playfully blowing some of the smoke in his face. "I'll always be your princess, right?"

He smiles again. "Didn't figure you as the affectionate stoner. Usually, you're acting like a brat, y'know."

"What can I say," you hum, nuzzling your nose into the crook of his neck, planting a small kiss there. "Pot gets my panties wet."

Jungkook freezes underneath you, and you continue, sucking lightly on the skin to leave small pink and red marks, nipping a bit. You put your blunt in a nearby ashtray and find yourself climbing into his lap, his blown-out pupils locked with your own.

You wouldn't be doing this if you were sober. But right now you were releasing every pent up frustration you had- whether it was anger towards your boss or the sexual attraction you felt to Jungkook.

Jungkook's silent, only staring at you, waiting for your next move. You place your hands on his chest, feeling how quickly his heartbeat raced. You wondered for a moment if yours was doing the same.

And then you stopped thinking.

Your hands slid up from his chest and around his neck, tangling into his long locks as you close your eyes and kiss him. He kisses you back after a few seconds reaching behind you to put out his blunt before gripping onto your thighs, tugging you closer to his body.

You two were completely intertwined, wrapped around one another like ivy, a small, intimate moment that felt so grand in the scheme of things.

And then it stopped.

Jungkook pulled back, gripping your arms to push your chest a few inches from his, ending the kiss. "We can't."

"Why not?" You weren't angry, but rather curious. Your voice didn't even show a hint of confusion, instead instantly accepting it. Maybe it was the sober part of you that knew what you two were doing shouldn't be happening.

"I just... We're roommates."

"I don't remember not hooking up being one of the rules."

"It's an unwritten rule not to sleep with your roommate, I think," Jungkook says, his cheeks turning red. It was as though he were admitting he wanted to sleep with you.

"But you flirt with me all the time and act like you want to..."

"Fuck, I do, princess, I do." Jungkook brushed your hair out of your face, looking into your eyes with as much sincerity as he could muster. "But I don't want to be like that asshole you met at 16, or Wonderbread, or any other asshole you met. I don't want you to think I had ulterior motives or I'm trying to take advantage of you in this state. For all you know I'm exactly like the asshole before but with better shit."

"But you're not, Jungkook. You respect me, I know that."

"Just trust me on this, ok? Nothing changes between us." He presses a kiss against your forehead, as though to further confirm it. "I still love you, of course. You're my roommate, after all. It makes living together a lot easier. I just don't want you to wake up and see me as another douche who saw you as nothing more than a status symbol."

Your voice is quiet, like a child who's parents were disappointed in them. "Ok."

"You did nothing wrong, Y/N."

You nod your head. "Mhm."

Jungkook sighs, gripping onto you tightly before standing up, walking you to your room. "C'mon. Let's get you to bed, princess."

-

Usually, when something was up between you and Jungkook, you'd resolve it quickly.

You guys had been roommates for what felt like forever, now. Of course, you had issues. Of course, you've gotten into arguments. Typically you'd resolve it quickly.

After the encounters with Solji and Taehyung you guys talked about it immediately. Even the smaller things. One time Jungkook accused you of hating a new song he was working on, and you guys argued about it then and there. Another time he had been lazy and forgot to do the dishes, and you had been in a bad mood and lashed out over the small detail. Another time you were just looking to fight for the sake of fighting, and Jungkook called you out on it, resulting in, what do you know, more fighting.

This time, however, was different.

The two of you were barely talking, mainly speaking in grunts and noncommital nods of the head. Neither of you really even used the living room anymore, simply going into the kitchen to make food and eating in isolation in your rooms.

Jungkook still waited for you to get home, though. He wouldn't greet you, however.

You two still kept up with your dishes and cooking, sometimes leaving the food for the other on the countertop.

You started lining up your shoes instead of kicking them to the side, as though to be more mindful.

Both of you hated it, though.

A week without interacting with the person you lived with? Who treated you as a best friend? Agony.

Jungkook was the one who acted on it.

He knocked on your door before opening it. "We need to talk."

Clearly he had just gotten back from hanging out with his bandmates, what with the slight sheen of sweat on his forehead and his locks looking particularly unruly. He hadn't even bothered taking off his leather jacket. You could only guess that he marched directly from the front door to your room. It was such a stark contrast from you, who was only wearing pajama shorts and a tank top.

"Why?" You felt shame and embarrassment, your cheeks burning red. Every time you looked at him you could only think of when he pushed you away. When you had made a fool of yourself and climbed all over him. When you made him uncomfortable and overstepped your boundaries. When you ruined everything.

"You know why." It was clear Jungkook was in a confrontational, no-nonsense mood now, having finally mustered up the courage to face this head-on. "We need to talk about that night."

"We were high-"

"No, it was more than that. Otherwise, we wouldn't be in this... this funk."

You could feel tears springing up in your eyes. "Yeah? So?"

"What do you mean so?"

"I mean so?" You let out an exasperated sigh, still unable to meet his eye. "Who cares?"

"I care!"

"I don't want to have this conversation."

"Well, I do." He kicked the door behind him, crossing his arms. "Why're you acting so weird?"

"What? I'm not the only one acting weird, you know. It's a two-way street," you seethe.

"I've been making attempts! I have," he insisted. "I tried talking to you just yesterday in the kitchen when you were washing dishes. You just ran away to hole yourself up in your room. We need to move past this."

"I'm sorry, ok!" You fume, crying out the words. "Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"Sorry for avoiding me?"

"Yes- No-" You bury your face in your hands. "I'm just... I'm embarrassed, ok? You wouldn't understand."

"You're embarrassed because of that night? Because- what, it's me?" Jungkook tilted his head, as though wanting you to meet his eye. "Any other guy and you wouldn't be acting this way."

"Yes, partially because it's you. You said nothing would change between us but clearly it has," you sighed. "I fucked everything up, Jungkook."

"No, you didn't. I told you that you didn't do anything wrong."

"But I did! You respected me at least, and stopped it from going further because you knew that I wasn't in the right mindset or wasn't capable- I don't know, but the point is that you put in my feelings and thoughts for if I'd be sober and such, especially with that big monologue I had given. But..."

"But what? I don't get it. Did I do something wrong?"

"No, you didn't. I'm glad you respected me. But I didn't respect you." You wiped at your eyes, frustrated with yourself. "You were also smoking that night. Yet you thought of me and if I was in the right headspace to consent or think about things, but I didn't think about you. I of all people should've been able to realize that."

"Oh." Jungkook seemed stunned, as though that wasn't the answer he was expecting. "Y/N, it's ok. I've got a lot more resistance than you do, and I'm a lot bigger. I wasn't nearly as affected as you were."

"It still doesn't take away the embarrassment of climbing all over you. I feel stupid," you huffed.

"You're not stupid-" Jungkook stood in front of you and reached out, only to have his hand slapped away.

"Shut up," you hissed. "You're not the one who made a fool of themself."

"Don't lash out at me, princess. You didn't come off as stupid or anything else- you're just overthinking as always."

"As always?!" you mimic. "You're full of it, you know that? God, I hate you sometimes."

You try to push at his chest out of annoyance, but it grabs your hand, keeping it there. "Say that again, I dare you," he growled.

You gulped, able to feel the deep vibrations against the palm of your hand.

You were quiet, whimpering as he towered over you, with you still sitting on the bed and him standing before you. Your eyes lock with his, finally, his hard glare making you cave in on yourself, all of the rage dying within you, leaving something else in its wake. Sensing your submission and the shift in the air, Jungkook only lets out a dark chuckle, leaning in.

You lean back, falling onto the bed as he climbs over you, one leg between your own. You brace yourself, feeling your muscles get tight as he hovers over you, not touching you. You feel the anticipation build as his nose grazes the side of your neck, similarly to how you did that night. His scent overwhelmed you, despite the fact you should've gone nose blind to it after all this time. Still, his cologne and natural scent overpowered you, enveloping you completely.

"You know, I'm getting real tired of your attitude, little girl."

You stiffen at that, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine.

"Have you had any alcohol, or smoked anything, or taken anything that might affect your senses?"

"Huh? No?"

"Do you want me to touch you, princess?"

"I..."

"Be a big girl and tell me what you want, baby."

Baby. Princess. Little girl. All names he had called you before, but tonight they hit differently.

"Yes."

"Do you want me?"

"Jungkook..."

"I want to hear you say it, Y/N."

You took in a deep breath. "I want you, Jungkook."

He smirked at that. "That's a good girl."

Before you had time to process anything, he was positioning you where you were lying on your stomach beneath him, with his knees on either side of you as he straddled the backs of your thighs.

"Jungkook-"

He yanked down your shorts, exposing your panties before giving a sharp spank to your ass.

"You know, it's really unfair that I call you so many pet names and don't have a special one of my own," he says, his voice hot in your ear. "Don't you think so, princess?"

You shuddered beneath him. "Yes."

"Yes, what?" Another spank.

You groaned at the sensation, burying your face into the mattress as you muttered the words.

He pulled your hair, lifting your head so you couldn't hide your face. "What was that? I don't think I heard you. What did I say about using your big girl words?" There was a rain of spanks with those last few words. You could feel your ass start to warm up now.

"Yes, Daddy," you said, biting on your lip from the pain of the slaps. The pure irony of the daddy kink being used, no doubt because of your daddy issues. Your revenge against your parents using Jungkook had finally come full circle.

Jungkook grinned, giving you two more slaps, this time as a reward. "Now was that so hard?"

You feel his fingers go down to the wet spot on your panties, now sticking to your folds, evident from your arousal. You shook your head, gripping the sheets. "No, Daddy."

"Mm, I think my princess liked her spanking," Jungkook hummed, twirling the pads of his digits around your clit, watching you squirm beneath him. "Did you like being put in your place for being such a brat?"

"Fffffucckkk." You couldn't think straight, your hips raising from the bed to buck at his hand, needing more friction.

"Such language, princess." He gives a quick swat to your pussy, watching you twitch and yelp in surprise. "I would've thought a little rich girl like you was taught to avoid such language."

Jungkook was generous as always, giving you what you needed as he continued to pet your folds and rub your clit. He seemed to know exactly how to touch you, drawing small circles as he admired how you squirmed and panted into the sheets. You'd wiggle beneath him, your skin still red from his earlier ministrations.

"I-I'm gonna-" You bit into the sheets. You've never cum this fast with anyone before, and over such a small thing. Jungkook was just rubbing you over your panties and you were losing it. You'd never live this down.

"Oh? Gonna cum in your panties like the disgusting little girl you are?" Jungkook let out a dark, sinister chuckle, leaning down so his lips could be felt at the shell of your ear. "Go ahead and cum, dirty girl."

You felt yourself come undone, thighs shaking as you moaned into the sheets, knuckles turning white from how hard you were gripping them. Jungkook rubbed you through it, letting you see the orgasm until its end.

You panted as he flipped you onto your back, petting your hair as you came down from your high. He pressed his hand against your cheek, letting you feel the cool metal of his rings against your hot skin. "How're you doing, baby?"

"I-I'm good," you murmur, eyes drooping and fluttering. "Thank you, Daddy." You turn your head to the side, capturing his thumb in your mouth, sucking on it lightly as you twirled your thumb around it, tasting the metal against your buds.

"Fuck," Jungkook groaned. "You're gonna be the death of me."

Slipping his hand away, he pulls your clothes off, one by one, until you were completely bare beneath him. Your panties are the last to go.

"I think you've ruined these," he chuckles, pulling on the waistband of your underwear to let it snap back against you. "Now it's your turn."

You don't bother covering up, comfortable with him and in your own body. Jungkook grins, leaving a trail of kisses down your chest as he descends further down.

He spreads your legs, arriving at his destination. You let your fingers gravitate to his silky hair, tugging to bring him closer to your goal. He chuckles at the action, answering your request as he lets his mouth finally meet your folds, laving his tongue over the area to help you relax.

You gasp at the feeling, arching as he gets quick to work spreading you open with two fingers so he could have easier access to the area. Your thighs twitch as his tongue finally brushes against your clit, and upon noticing how sensitive you still were, he runs his tongue over it, again and again, a smile evident as you let your thighs tense with every movement.

It wasn't until his lips finally suctioned around it that you felt his finger slip into your entrance as well. It was easy, no friction necessary from your copious arousal, and the feeling overwhelmed you. He crooked his finger up as he pumped into you, finding the bundle of nerves with ease as you found it harder and harder to contain your moans. Before long he had to insert another finger, scissoring the digits to stretch you out.

"So fucking tight," he panted, breathless as he continued to place sloppy kisses against you, rubbing your g-spot in an effort to see you squirm. "Gotta stretch you out to take me. You're so small, I'll probably break you."

"I want you to break me," you reply immediately. "Please, please, please, Daddy!"

Jungkook let out a smirk at that. "Seems like that bitchy attitude is finally replaced with manners. Since you asked so nicely..."

His mouth returns to your cunt, french kissing and sucking harshly on your clit has his hand hammers into you, rough and sloppy thrusts helping catapult you towards your high. Before long your eyes were rolling back, hips rising into the air as you feel your high overpower you, and you were cumming against Jungkook's tongue.

He eased his ministrations, slipping his fingers out despite your whine at being empty. He let his tongue run over your folds, soothing them before he came up for air, lips meeting yours with a sloppy kiss. You realized the two of you hadn't kissed at all since this whole ordeal, and you pulled him closer between your legs, pulling him closer as you let your tongues dance together.

He breaks away again, but keeps his forehead against yours, as though to assure you he doesn't intend on ending it just yet. "How're you holding up, baby?"

"Mm good," you hum, still high on bliss. You reached down to his crotch, palming it, pleased to feel the stiffness beneath the material of his pants. "Want Daddy's cock."

"How can I say no to that? You just can't get enough, can you? C'mon then, take me out so I can get inside that dirty cunt."

You do as you're told, finally able to get his cock free as you hook the waistband of both his pants and boxers around his thighs. As you do so he takes off his leather jacket, tossing it to the corner of the room.

He pumps himself, jerking off into his hand as you watch. He was about as big as you expected- then again you always fantasized about Jungkook having a big cock. One by one he was fulfilling all of your fantasies, and creating even more.

He pressed the head of his cock against your pussy, rubbing up and down the slit for lubrication. You ogled his size, wondering how much the stretch of his girth would burn. As though reading your mind, or just the expressions on your face, Jungkook stops. "Are you sure you want me in this messy cunt of yours, baby?" he questions. "We can wait. I can eat you out some more if you want."

"No, I need you inside me," you immediately respond.

He can't help but grin at that, cooing at you with a condescending, sickly sweet voice. "No please? So demanding. Spoiled little princess, used to getting what she wants." He pushes inside of you inch by inch, and you hiss at the stretch, loving the slight burn.

When he bottoms out inside of you your foreheads are pressed together, hot and sweaty, but oddly intimate. A single tear runs down your cheek, and he reaches up to wipe it away, cradling your cheek.

"Look at me, Y/N."

You do so, eyes locking with his. "I'm ok," you confirm before he can ask. You were able to read his expressions as easily as he could read yours. "Move, please."

He nods, doing so, starting a slow rhythmic pace as he pumps into you. You groan at the feeling. You couldn't remember the last time you had been intimate with someone, especially someone who fills you up so completely, unable to even avoid the sensitive parts within you.

Soon Jungkook was picking up the pace, the thrusts becoming harder and quicker, more precise as he lifted himself up onto his arms to look at you, admiring how your eyes would roll back every now and then. He reached between you two, spreading your lips apart with two fingers to properly look at how well you were taking him.

"Fuck, you're just sucking me in baby," he hissed, doing his best to compose himself. "This pussy was made for me, wasn't it? No one else."

You moaned at that, biting your lip. "D-Daddy..."

"That's right- Daddy. This pussy was made for Daddy, all for him," Jungkook went on, now beginning to rub your clit with your thumb, feeling you clenching down on him with his words."Remember that. Who am I again?"

"My Daddy."

"That's right. Yours. Who's the only person who can fuck you this way?"

"You. Fuck, Daddy, I'm gonna cum. Let me cum for you?"

"Good girl. And who are you going to cum for?"

"You Da-Daddy- ffffffuck-"

"That's right, cum for me. Give me one more, I know you can. Be a good little girl and cream on my cock. Get me as nice and messy as your dirty little cunt."

Your eyes rolled back as your third orgasm shook through you, more powerful than the first two. Droplets of cum sprayed out, getting all over both you and Jungkook. You moaned, shaking as Jungkook groaned in satisfaction.

"Fuck, you just squirted everywhere," Jungkook said, his thrusts getting sloppy. "You're so perfect."

"Cum in me, Daddy. Use me," you asked, looking up at him with pleading eyes. "Use my body."

"Shit, shit, shit-" Jungkook grabbed your wrists, roughly pinning them to either side of you as he thrust into you like a mad man, using your body to jerk off before finally, he was erupting inside of you, filling you to the brim as he bottomed out inside of you. He panted, hands squeezing your little wrists like a vice. You were positive there would be bruises by the morning.

Soon he collapsed on top of you, sweaty and out of breath. He rolled over, chest heaving as he stared at you, grabbing you and tugging you close so he could bury his face in the juncture of your neck, acting as the big spoon as you two cuddled.

You slowly regained your breath, reaching back to comb through his hair.

"Just stay like this for a minute," he said, eyes closed and voice soft, a stark contrast to his dominating demeanor before. "Let me just hold you for a few minutes and then we can go take a bath, ok? I'll take care of you."

You let him do exactly that.

-

The morning after didn't feel as awkward as you had expected, Instead of the uncomfortable air that had been left after the two of you made out, it was oddly comfortable. Not the kind of comfortable that was there before, with you two bickering and joking with each other, but rather a far more affectionate one.

The two of you had been waiting for months to be able to touch each other how you wanted, and now you had the opportunity. You weren't able to keep your hands off of Jungkook, and not even in a sexual way. You'd let your hands roam freely over his body, whether it was combing through his fluffy hair or feeling the broad expanse of his chest, and the hard muscles beneath his band tees.

Jungkook wasn't much better. You'd be doing as simple as making yourself a bowl of ramen and he'd press up behind you, wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in your hair, breathing in your scent. It was like nothing was between you anymore, and it felt so right. Jungkook was your best friend, your roommate. The man you had lusted and pined after for what felt like forever. He just got you.

Or that's what you thought at least.

The two of you were watching a movie again, as always, but instead of the casual arm draped around your shoulders you two were completely intertwined, ignoring the movie as you two shared small, slow kisses. You let yourself melt in the moment, the taste of him addictive.

He gives you that look that you love, the one where his gaze is deceptively soft and solely focused on you.

"You know," he says between pecks, "I meant what I said before."

"Meant what?" you smile.

"That I love you." He pushes a lock of hair behind your ear, staring at you. "I think I've been in love with you since my father's little party."

You stiffened.

In love?

That was very different from the love you had interpreted.

You plaster on a fake smile, hoping he didn't notice how you had tensed up. "Is that so?"

"Mhm," he hums, pressing a small kiss on the tip of your nose. "Did you mean it when you said you loved me?"

"I did," you tell him, burying your face into his chest to avoid looking at him, focusing on the vibrations of his chest as he hummed with delight, wrapping his arms tighter around you as he pressed his lips against the top of your head.

That night you slept in his bed, his arm wrapped tightly around your middle. You didn't get a wink of sleep that night, and the moment he rolled over to his side, you knew what to do.

When Jungkook woke up, you were gone.

You had seemingly left no traces. Your bed was neatly made, your dresser drawers were empty. It was like you didn't exist.

Jungkook was absolutely distraught. He had the shop closed down for a bit, instead choosing to lay around in the apartment you once shared, playing the same few chords on his guitar.

He was angry. He was sad. He was pissed and frustrated and miserable and confused. He felt so stupid for fucking everything up. He wondered if what you said was a lie. Was everything between you a lie? It had to be. How else could you just cast him to the side like that? Like he meant nothing to you?

In the end, it seemed you truly were just using him. He should've known any affections you had for him were just some phase. You were just indirectly lashing out at your parents and using what you knew would piss them off. He knew that since the beginning, and still let himself get fooled.

That didn't stop him from sulking, however.

It wasn't until Yoongi barged into his apartment that Jungkook was forced to do something.

"What the hell man? You've been skipping out on practices- where have you been?" Yoongi looked around, seeing the apartment a mess.  Jungkook didn't look much better, sitting upside down on his couch in sweats and greasy hair, strumming on his guitar. "Jesus Christ, dude. I got you were a mess from the lyrics you've been sending me, but this takes the cake."

"What do you want, Yoongs?"

"I want you to pick your ass up and get out of this funk! I've noticed you haven't been running your shop for a little bit, and it seems clear to me that you've just been sulking around. Where's that roommate of yours? I would've thought she'd tell you to get over whatever it is you're sobbing about and do something about it."

"I don't want to talk about her," Jungkook muttered, striking a chord that had many of the notes clashing.

Yoongi winced at the sound. "I always thought that you two weren't just roommates. She always looked at you how a puppy looks at their owner- and you weren't much better."

"Well, she's gone now," Jungkook said bitterly.

"What happened?"

"She didn't love me, simple as that."

Yoongi shook his head. "That's a lie, dude. That girl was crazy about you."

"Well, that's what happened. I told her I was in love with her and the next thing I know, I wake up and she's gone."

"Maybe it was something else," Yoongi shrugged. "Then again, you knew her better than me. But you can't let some girl keep you cooped up in your apartment. Sulking isn't going to bring her back. Obsidian Chaos is going to be releasing the next album in just a month- you need to have your shit together by then. Don't tell me that you want to quit the band."

"No," Jungkook sighed. "It's just... I miss her. And I feel confused and-"

"You feel about a million emotions, my man, I know. And none of them are exactly helping to motivate you," Yoongi finished. "Do you really want her to see you in this state, though, when she comes back? If she comes back?"

"No," he admitted.

"You can't expect her to come and save you. You've got to save yourself first. She was never responsible for your happiness- remember that. Pick yourself back up and who knows, maybe she'll be waiting for you."

Jungkook did pick himself back up after that. He took a shower and opened the shop, going day by day, and though he still felt heartache and longing for you, he was able to pull himself together a bit more with each passing moment.

Obsidian Chaos released their next album, Oblivion, shortly after. Jungkook wrote most of the lyrics, and every single one was about you. Maybe it was like a siren call, trying to call you back to him. Luckily for them one of the title tracks blew up on a few websites and apps, giving them a lot of coverage and publicity. Their popularity had blown up overnight, radios constantly playing the hit song, making it impossible to escape their sound.

It was a rainy day, about a week after the release of Oblivion when there was a knock at the door. Jungkook thought it was a bit too early for him to have stalkers, but he was precautious, looking through the peephole.

To his surprise, it was you. Your hair was soaking wet, your designer clothes sticking to your skin. Your makeup seemed to be running a little.

Jungkook immediately swung the door open, shocked. You were here. You were really here.

"Hi," you said, your voice meek and small. "Can I come in?"

Jungkook stepped aside to let you in, closing the door behind him. He was speechless. There were so many things he had wanted to say to you, weeks of planning some long monologue for nothing. It felt strange seeing you in his apartment, despite the fact you had been there countless times before and lived there yourself. You seemed foreign, out of place, even though it hadn't been that long.

"Congrats on your success, by the way," you said, filling the silence. "Oblivion seems to be a big hit."

"You heard it?"

"I stayed up all night waiting for the release. Besides, your song plays everywhere I go. People love it. I couldn't escape your voice even if I wanted to."

"The song was about you."

"Yeah... I know." You wiped your wet face, taking in a deep breath.

"Y/N, what are you doing here?" Jungkook finally asked.

Your breathing was shaky. "I came to apologize. I know I don't deserve your forgiveness but... It was wrong for me to flake out like that, to leave without explanation."

"Why did you?"

You seemed unable to look him in the eye. "Every time a guy told me he loved me, that he was in love with me, it turned out to just be to use me. It was a way to get on my good side and use me for... Well, ulterior motives. When you said you loved me, I had spent so much time convincing myself that you didn't see me that way that I assumed you only meant platonically. Even if I wanted it to be in a romantic sense. When you confirmed, though, that you were in love with me, it just sparked so many memories of guys before. I was stupid. You've proven time and time again that you're honest and genuine, and that you respect me in a way those boys never could, but I couldn't handle it. I needed time away to figure my shit out. So I left and went to my parents', and I told them everything. The fake dating, the roommate situation, the job, that you were in love with me- all of it.

"My parents have been wrong about a lot of things. About what I should be, about what kind of guy would make a suitable husband, but they were right about one thing." Your eyes finally locked with his. "I was stupid to let you go, especially when I'm as head over heels over you as you are for me."

"So..." Jungkook didn't know what to say, overwhelmed with your speech. "What does this mean?"

"It means I love you too, Jungkook. I'm in love with you. I meant it when I said it back then, the same way you meant it. I took a taxi and ran over here as soon as I realized that. I've been in love with you for God knows how long, and I want to be with you, for real this time. That is... if you'll take me back."

Jungkook couldn't help but melt at that, smiling as he pulled you into a tight embrace, despite how your wet form began to dampen his clothes. "Always, princess."

[hes-writer]

Errors

Summary; harry comes over for dinner

Warnings: angst and fluff for this one

Word Count: 3234 words

A/N: possibly the last part of the Tarnish series. Thank you for all the support that you have given me and @devilinbetweenthesheet-s. This was a month worth of work and I cannot believe that I was actually consistent with the updates (except for this one, which is 2 days late lol). 

Read till the end for a sneak peek of part 6!!

This is Part Five of the Tarnish series.

____

Harry felt out of place.

As a world-renowned pop star, he was used to being paid a different kind of attention in most of the places he went to. He should be used to it. Harry had to take measures in order not to get recognized for stepping into a local coffee shop. Even in hot weather, his recognizable tattoos gave easy access for fans to whisper amongst each other, wondering if it was the right time to ask for a photo or merely share a conversation with him. 

 His voice--the thing that made him as famous as he is now--was tinted into his fans’ heads. Recognition blaring in their ears when the deep, gruff tone projected the open air. It would be quite disturbing if he had to change the pitch for everyday errands. Harry would rather feel out of place than go to extremes to change who he was. 

 This lifestyle was something that he was used to, having been under the scrutiny of the public eye for a little over a decade now. But Harry knew that Y/N was a small, town girl practically bickered and poked until she was forced to cough something out to taint Harry’s name in vain. From the way, he preferred sniffing his nose into a hanky instead of a Kleenex. The way he snored loudly when his nostrils felt dry. The way his hair isn’t as naturally curly as it appears to be. All of these things were the borderline crossing of his privacy that she could’ve taken to the press, urging in many articles written about his odd habits or preferences.

 Not that he thought Y/N was that type of person to spill secrets in the midst of desperation, but Harry had cheated on her for God’s sake. If she did run her mouth, Harry wouldn’t blame her. He was horrible to her; cheated on her for a year, not even bothering to tell Y/N that his affection was teetering in favour of not hurting her and wanting to keep his side relationship a secret for a taste of adrenaline that came with his less-than boring life. 

 Harry left her alone while she was going through a life-changing period of her life. To be fair, Y/N didn’t actually tell him. She tried, but the message never reached his cognition. Harry wanted to save his salvation by choosing to believe that it was her fault for not visiting him in person to tell him the news. 

 Really though, how could Harry possibly know about her pregnancy if she didn’t make the effort to inform him of his own child. It wasn’t like he was supposed to check in on her, his ex-girlfriend, right? That was unheard of. And frankly, Harry thought that the day everything blew up--when she read the letter meant for Camille; Y/N made it very clear that she did not want to speak to him again. So really, Harry was just respecting her wishes. 

 Y/N was supposed to be the one feeling out of place; not Harry. If only she had told him when she identified the symptoms of pregnancy, he could have helped out. Harry wasn’t sure if he would have left Camille to begin a family with Y/N (if she took him back) or if he was only a parent of support. One that was there for the sake of raising a child but not sharing the means and affection to build a relationship with Y/N. 

 These were Harry’s thoughts as he sat with the family of three. In between Y/N and Connor as they sat on opposite ends of the round table with baby Halo in her high chair and Harry across from her. Halo was staring at him with wonder and curiosity; a shy type of look that tinted her cheeks a tad rosy and her lashes to peer at the man adjacent to her, wondering why he was joining them in their family dinner. 

 Harry felt out of place.

___

 “What’s wrong, baby?” Connor asked, feeding the child a spoonful of peas. “Not usually like this,” She shook her head, tucking her arms together and pursing her lips inwards in a sign of rejection. 

 Halo looked at Y/N who was giving her a soft smile, then to Harry. “She’s not usually like this. She must be shy that you’re here tonight, Harry,” Y/N explained, a tone of indifference that she tried to mask to help Halo feel a little more comfortable. 

 Harry gulped heavily. His child was uncomfortable because of him. He almost felt guilty for wanting to scoop her up and canoodle Halo in his arms. Harry still hadn’t had the chance to do that. 

___

 When the door opened earlier this evening, Harry was met by Y/N’s furrowed brows, firmly reminding him that this dinner was for him to be slowly introduced into Halo’s life. Harry would get the chance to care for her by helping the child with her nighttime routine. That included brushing her teeth, tucking her in, a bedtime story and possibly a kiss on the forehead. 

 Harry was giddy, to say the least. Harry was confident with kids and could easily mould into what they needed. If they wanted him to pretend to be a car while they jumped on his back as they grasped onto his curls to steer him, he would. If Harry was instructed to be a pretty princess with a plastic tiara on his head, he would exaggeratedly lift a pinky up to play the part. It was easy for him to win the hearts of his little nieces and nephews because they were familiar with him. They knew him as ‘Uncle Harry’ who gave them gifts whenever he came over to visit or if there was a large family reunion.

 He couldn’t exactly do that with Halo. She was familiar with him, yes. However, the one time they interacted, Harry had made her cry. It didn’t sit right with him that tears sprung from her corneas when she was only trying to make him feel better, sensing that her parents wanted nothing to do with him.

 It wasn’t like Harry knew what she liked either. Did Halo like playing with dolls? Animals? Race cars? The most basic of things, Harry didn’t know. What was her favourite colour? When was her birthday? His resumé was already tarnished since he wasn’t present when her mother fell pregnant. Then, he missed her first steps, her first words. He was just a stranger to her.

 And it showed from the way he stepped foot into the kitchen.

 Harry heard her before he saw her. Tiny squeals and giggles fell from her mouth as Connor chased her around with plates grasped in his hands. Y/N had scolded the man for getting distracted instead of setting the table. Halo’s noises quieting down when she caught sight of the familiar yet unfamiliar man loitering the doorway.

 “‘M sorry, love. Halo wanted to play,” Connor gripped her waist to pull Y/N closer to him, pressing a kiss to her cheek as she fought off a smile from splintering her face. “Right, cutie?”

 “Wanted to play! Sowwy mama,’ Halo apologized, tugging on her pant leg. 

 That was when Harry realized the possibility of ruining the little family they had in the words. But this was supposed to be his in the first place so he couldn’t care less if he wrecked it. As selfish as it may be, Harry thought that there was meaning in him accidentally hearing Gemma’s conversation with Y/N. Sure, it was bound to happen, but it couldn’t have come at a better time. The hole in his heart caused by Camille’s confession of not wanting kids was growing each day, accentuated by the late-night trip to the grocery store and seeing the small baby clothes that took up half of his palm. 

 It was a sign, right? He felt like he was drowning in a relationship that had no future and the next day, he was met with Y/N and their baby. 

___

 Symbolism. As a writer, it was absolutely crucial to introduce some sort of word, item, place, or person and infuse it with impeccable meaning. Irrefutable to the point that that noun is and will be what the writer makes of it. 

 Round tables were supposed to be better at sprouting conversations than rectangular or square tables. Any conversation between a pair must be shared with everybody who sat around it. There was no room to quietly snicker or ration secrets. Yet somehow that theory was not working. At all.

 Harry felt like an intruder sitting in a table that never held more than three people because it was always just them: Y/N, Connor and Halo. As the child got more comfortable with his presence, she slowly started babbling incoherent and coherent words alike, conversing with her ‘parents’ as they asked her about her day at daycare. Y/N asked about Connor’s day at work and the latter reciprocated the question which she was currently answering. 

 “It wasn’t as busy as I thought,” Y/N shrugged her shoulders, forking a piece of mash. Connor made a sound of recognition, “S’that why you texted me to go home instead?”

 Y/N nodded, helping Halo scoop her own forkful of mash, “Yep, I had time to go to the store. I know that you were swarmed at work,” The couple allotted a loving glance towards each other. 

 Harry’s heart was cracking. He was witnessing what he could have had and He had a front-row seat to it. Was it jealousy? Maybe. He was in a relationship so he shouldn’t feel like swarming Y/N’s smaller frame in his arms, shielding her and baby Halo away from Connor. But he did.

 “What about you, Harry?” Connor questioned him with a kink to his brow. Harry could tell that the question wasn’t sincere, purely out of consideration. 

 In a surprise, Harry coughed a little, reaching out to his cloth to dab the corners of his mouth. Truth to be told, Harry spent the day in a state of anxiety. From the moment he woke up, Harry could feel his chest expanding with nervousness, heart beating loudly and pounding in his ears. He picked at the skin of his lip in the wonder of what he was going to wear. If he should wear cologne or if it will irritate Halo’s senses. He spent the better half of the morning browsing online for toys he could get in a hurry to give to Halo. 

 Harry contemplated cancelling the dinner because of the uneasy feeling boiling in his stomach. Heightened senses and pinched nerves convinced Harry that he could feel the muscles of his esophagus contracted as he swallowed. Lungs punctured with the tip of the pen he was using to scrawl a list of ideas to build a bond with his daughter

 “It was alright,” Harry said warily, “Didn’t really have anythin’ to do today except come here,” 

 Y/N pulled her head back in surprise, “Sorry, we ruined your day off,” 

 His eyes widened immediately. Harry’s usual aura of confidence nowhere to be seen, “N-no, no. I didn’t mean it like that,” He could feel stray curls hitting his cheekbones lightly. “I jus’-- it’s m’break so I haven’t got anything for the next couple of months,”

___

 Harry’s settled nerves were awoken when it was time to clean up. Y/N insisted on doing the dishes with Connor while Harry bonded with Halo. 

 “Remember, you’re doing this for her,” Y/N whispered in his ear, causing shivers to crawl up his spine, “Don’t be nervous, Harry. She’s going to love you,” She added, seeing the way he blinked warily at Halo and Connor. Even going as far as giving him a comforting smile. 

 “Thank you, Y/N--for giving me this,” She nodded in response, jutting her chin downwards.

 “Hawwy? Mama said you gonna help me get to bed?” Halo’s green eyes still shone despite the dim kitchen lighting, reminding Harry that this was his and Y/N’s creation. Throughout the dinner, the child had somehow warmed up to Harry’s presence. With a promise of an ice cream trip after her nursery classes earlier in the morning, Halo was quick to befriend the man who she pointed out: ‘has the same dimple as me!’--while poking a stubby finger to her plush cheek, grinning to showcase it. 

 Harry could feel his heart thud, crouching down to her level, worried of her straining her neck looking up at his tall stature. “Tha’s right. Wanna show me where the bathroom is?” She nodded, grabbing Harry’s index finger to drag him along, exerting his lumbar to keep his height low. He could feel Halo’s feet stumbling, keeping her balance by tightening her grip on Harry. 

 Their time in the bathroom was fairly short. Halo had learned to brush her teeth by herself. She only needed Harry to guide her up the stool so that she could reach the sink, spitting the foam from her mouth when Harry made a funny face in the mirror, giggling loudly that had Harry’s chest feeling light. 

 As they walked through the hallway, Harry couldn’t help but let his ears be numb to Halo’s babbling about her favourite stuffed toy. He didn’t mean to. Instead, his neck craned to the door left agape, assuming that it was Connor and Y/N’s with the way the Gucci shoes that Harry had bought her were neatly placed at the bottom of the foot of the bed. He stared down at his moving feet, mood souring despite the bright colours of his loafers imprinted in a little rainbow--the same ones that he just caught sight off and wavered just as quickly.

 “You like it?”

 He snapped out of his thoughts when Halo climbed on her tiny bed, clutching her favourite stuffed toy. Harry plastered a beaming grin on his face, inspecting the painted room, the small desk pushed against the wall and the numerous artworks taped to almost every surface. 

 One, in particular, had his heart aching more so than it already was.

 It was a hand-drawn stick figure portrait of Y/N, Halo, and Connor. Harry couldn’t even pretend that the skinny, stretched black marker was him because the child messily penned Connor’s name underneath. The figures were holding each others’ hands, oblong faces paired with a curved mouth shaped upwards. It didn’t help that the title at the top was “My Famli” which was crossed over with a red marker and re-titled underneath as “My Family” in neat handwriting that Harry could recognize as Y/N’s. 

 “Hawwy?” She repeated, wondering why he was staring so hard at the drawing taped on her bedside table. Her brows furrowed when a drop of tear fell from his eye and landed on Connor’s head, smudging the ink and making it blurry disarray as Halo gasped. “Oh no!”

 “‘M s-sorry, Halo,” Harry’s tongue felt too thick in his mouth, sobbing threatening to escape but he remembered how that would make his daughter feel. Halo placed her soft hand on top of his.

 “It’s okay, Hawwy. I can do it again,” Her timid voice made his heart flutter. Halo didn’t want Harry to cry again and it looked like he was about to so she scurried in planting her shaky legs on the floor. A blank paper was already stable on her desk, grabbing a marker to draw the ruined project again. She could see Harry’s shadow towering over her, thanks to the light projected by her lamp. 

 Flipping the paper over, Halo giggled, “Go away! Y’cant see it till it’s done,” She used her force to push him backwards which wasn’t a lot so Harry walked backwards until the back of his calves hit her bed frame. “Stay there and play with Honey,”

 As she got back to work, Harry searched for ‘Honey’, finding an oatmeal coloured bear with a pot of honey clutched between its threaded paws. He stared at the plush toy for what felt like forever, wondering how special this must be to her. And how Harry wasn’t the one to have given it to her.

 “Done!” Halo’s timidness returned, hiding the paper behind her back yet Harry heard the slight crumple. 

 Placing the stuffed toy on the bed, he asked, “Are y’gonna show me?” 

 She handed the artwork to Harry while he watched, smiling softly. Halo slapped her palms on her cheeks when Harry turned it over, his breath hitching when he saw the extra figure that she had drawn. 

 Harry. With a head of wild curls and dotted green eyes that appeared more black with the lighting.

 He couldn’t help it when happy tears seared his waterline which Halo mistook for complacence. “You don’t. . .like it Hawwy?”

 “I-I do. I love it, honey,” Harry admitted, chuckling slightly as he patted his upper thigh. She climbed onto the bed with him, the wood creaking beneath Harry’s weight. Halo clumsily climbed on his lap, lifting his heavy forearm so she could sneak between his legs. 

 Harry could feel his nonexistent double chin crowding his neck as he looked down at Halo who was cuddled to his chest, lips turned into a pout, looking at her quick-minute work. “I like it cause you’re there,” She pointed at the ice cream in Harry’s hand before yawning loudly. 

 “You’re sleepy, baby Halo?’

 She nodded, pressing a small hand on his chest. Harry took the initiative to lay the child down on her pillow despite every nerve in his body urging him to stay in that position. But Harry figured that he had probably overstayed his welcome for the night. 

 Harry pressed a passionate kiss to her forehead, caressing her head gently. Sleep eyes stared at him as he pulled her fleece blanket to her chin. “Stay?” She questioned, fists crumpling to clutched the end of the fabric.

 “I can’t, bub,” He informed with regret, shaking his head sadly and his mouth curved downwards. His knee was sore with weight pressed on his knee cap and his lumbar was aching with how he crouched down one too many times this evening, but all pain seemed to disappear when Halo picked up Honey the Teddy Bear from beside her and gave it to Harry. “For me? Thank you,”

 Halo laid back down on her bed, “Mhm,”

 “Why?”

 As a two-year-old, Halo could only say so many words, yet her thoughts went far deeper than her brain could comprehend. That she felt a profound attachment to Harry despite seeing him twice. How pleasant it was to spend even just a small amount of time with him. Harry was nice and gave her forehead kisses and rubbed her head that placed a smile on her face. He cried because he loved her artwork and he apologized when he did something wrong. He contorted his lips into a silly face to make her laugh. He was going to be picking her up from school and Harry said he was going to buy her ice cream tomorrow! 

 “I dunno,” Halo shrugged, peering downwards to avoid eye contact. Harry chuckled heartily, puckering his pink lips to another peck on her forehead, and then both of her cheeks. 

____

let us know what you thought!! Part 6 aka Ruin is already up on Patreon!

RUIN - SNEAK PEEK

“Hate to remind you but Harry left you once before, don’t think he’ll hesitate to do so again,”

She froze at Connor’s words. Y/N was aware that he only said that in good faith, to remind her of how hurt she was at the time and just how long it took for her to be able to finally breathe again. 

One side of Y/N urged to still defend Harry. She wanted to turn and around, yell at him because Connor doesn’t know Harry as she does. Harry wasn’t the type to build a child’s dreams up only for him to personally manhandle the heart and crush it in his fist. There was a reason why he was a godfather to so many kids; Ruby, Arlo and Jackson—because he was capable. Harry was a nurturing father who put himself on the back burner in favour of making sure that the little ones were safe and secured. He had no problem being third if it meant that the kids were first, then Y/N, then him. 

It all sounded so good in Y/N’s head; so well-rehearsed and very well thought out. The monologue that had somehow stuck in the sides of her brain like a script taped to the wall, ready for the time it needed to be recited. The shredded pieces of paper also reminded her that Y/N might’ve known Harry before, but she certainly doesn’t anymore. In fact, she knew just as much as Connor did.

Just like Y/N had grown and evolved into a new person, Harry was not the same guy he once was when they were together. 

“I told him the consequences if he did,” 

Connor pulled back, stepping away from her. “But wouldn’t it be better if we didn’t take that chance? Who knows what he might do. . .” He trailed off, grabbing a dry rag to wipe the water dripping from the dish. 

____

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[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (1) || atz

The sounds of the waves crashing against shore, the white sea foam like clouds of the sky.

Salt touches your tongue as sea spray catches the light of the sun, casting a beautiful rainbow across your cheeks.

Seagulls circle in the clear blue expanse above, their cries ringing out for miles.

Rain lashes against your arms and droplets clings to your eyelashes. They resemble tears.

Lightning splits the darkness of the clouds and thunder akin to cannon shot rolls overhead, but there is no fear.

You smile wide, eyes closed, but then something in your chest weighs you down.

Suddenly, you’re yanked into the depths, water filling your nose and lungs and all at once, you cannot breathe. The weight in your chest drags you down, down, down, and no matter how hard you flail and thrash about, no matter how desperately you reach for the surface…

There is nothing but darkness.

Drip, drip, drip.

Your eyes flutter open softly, like a new butterfly’s wings. You’re lying on something wet and rough beneath your body, and to your horror, when you instinctively try to rub your eyes, your hands are bound together by a coarse, thick rope.

Right in front of you is a puddle of water and drops of water keeps falling into it, forming tiny ripples. You try to sit up as your eyes instinctively follow its path, up the grime ridden stone walls to the crack in the ceiling were rainwater seeps through. A spider lazily weaves its web in a corner and for a moment, you’re spellbound by it.

Crack!

You flail backwards at the deafening sound of a thunderclap, but your hands are tied together and you’re sent crashing to the ground painfully. Luckily, the ground is wet so the fall isn’t as painful as it could have been, but you still feel a tenderness in your hip where bare skin got dragged across uneven stone. You suck in a breath.

“Come on, it’s not that bad. Sit up again.”

Exhaling carefully, you roll onto your back, ignoring the pain of the small rocks digging into your side, and finally heave yourself up with a haphazard effort of numb limbs. Your bound ankles come into view, along with dirty, calloused bare feet. They’re tied with a thick red cord that there’s no chance you can cut through or untie, and when your mind finally screams at you the obvious, your heart stops.

“You’re in a prison.”

Your head snaps to the right, metal grills lining the tiny window in the room. To your left, the only exit secured with heavy metal bars, kept locked by three iron chains, each with a metal padlock at the end. Whoever locked you up here wanted to make sure you had no chance of escape. Before you can think any further, the sound of chattering and clanking metal wrenches you back to the present.

“-some woman down here.” The sound of heeled boots echoes down a flight of steps. There’s a soft squeak of leather and the man curses. “Damned stairs, what was that bastard Arthur thinking, holding a public execution today? Justice calls, my ass. He probably just wants to get rid some whore that heard his mouth running when he was drunk-”

“Quiet, Mannon!” Another voice, higher and hushed this time. “You never know if someone could overhear you! The governor will have you hanged!”

“Ha!” A derisive snort. To your mounting horror, their footsteps seem to be drawing nearer to your cell. “As if his men are going to lug themselves here to check on a mere prisoner. Lazing about in their offices all day, doing nothing but paperwork, afraid to get their hands dirty- Oh, she’s awake.”

Your face jerks upwards, but seconds later you flinch away from the light of the torch in the men’s hands. Slightly disoriented, you try to regain your bearings. That’s when the shorter and slightly rounded man pulls out a set of key from the pocket of his crimson uniform, moving towards your door. Your hope bubbles in your chest like a warm spring.

You watch, fascinated, as the chains slither away from the bars, landing in heaps on the floor. The man that resembles a bamboo stick draped in an ill fitting uniform steps forward and with a quick swipe of a pocket knife the ropes fall from your ankles. Warm blood rushes to your feet as if it’s the first time and you let out a sigh of relief.

“Thank you.” You say gratefully, but the men simply stare at you, one unsympathetic and stone cold, the other won’t quite meet your eye. The portly one shakes his head, hand reaching down for the cord that binds your hands behind your back and tugs you to your feet carelessly.

“Don’t thank us for dragging you to the gallows, girlie.” The man snaps, unceremoniously shoving you forward. Before you fall, the other man catches you by the shoulders, steadying you. He’s warm.

“Mannon, stop doing this, alright?” His voice echoes somewhere far, far away, as if you’re underwater. You don’t register what he said.

Gallows?

“Yes, gallows, the place where people get hung, idiot.” A voice in your inner subconscious rings out, surprisingly clear even through the white noise that had filled your mind from panic. The insult manages to slap you back to your senses.

“Idiot?” You repeat to yourself under your breath, almost offended as the two guards pull you out of the cell and march you up the stairs with your hands tied behind your back. This laughingly pales in comparison to the actual trouble you are in.

Then it hits you full force.

You are walking to the gallows. Walking to your own death.

There’s a moment of serene peace for a moment, then you’re panicking, trying your best to recall what exactly has led you to this. What had you done to be deserving of the death penalty? You wrack your mind desperately for some some sort of answer, some sort of reason, but nothing comes forth except a blank, white canvas where your memories should be.

Where are your memories?

Fear floods through you like a tidal wave, rising and sweeping throughout every corner in your mind. It’s so real it’s palpable, clawing at your throat and stealing the breath from your lungs. There is nothing in your memories, no smiling parents, no first birthdays, no new pretty dresses, no favourite foods, nothing but white noise and the sound of waves crashing against shore.

How old are you? What did you eat yesterday? Why are you here?

Who are you?

You can’t even begin to fathom the answer to that one question.

“Hey, move it.” The rounder guard behind you shoves the small of your back forward, your bare feet dragging along the cobblestones of the street. The sky is dark and grey, as if weeping for all that you cannot remember and you see the townspeople peering at you and whispering to each other from tiny cracks in the doors and windows, no doubt wondering who it is unlucky enough to suffer the wrath of the official of the town. But there is not an ounce of recognition, only sympathy. Nobody cries for you, nobody tries to stop you as you take one step after another to the gallows. Nobody knows you.

You are alone.

Suddenly everything becomes so real to you. The feeling of cool rainwater as it trickles down your cheeks, the stone against your bare feet. The crisp cold air of a storm. The colour of the rain clouds. In another few minutes, you will be completely devoid of all sensation.

“I refuse.”

Like any thunderclap, the sound is deafening, it makes your eardrums ring and if your hands weren’t tied you’d clap them over your ears. But most thunderclaps don’t split buildings or cause massive screaming and mayhem.

“The official’s building!” The skinnier guard cries out in horror at the sight of the roof on one of the larger buildings on a hill collapse in on itself. There’s another ear splitting boom, and in the next second, your eyes manage to catch a glimpse of a round shape flying through the air before in plunges into the already collapsing building.

“Pirates!” You hear someone scream, his voice cracking with desperation and fright. “Pirates at the harbor-” His voice is abruptly cut off just as the clanging of a bell fills the air.

“Hurry, Philip! We need to get there!” The guard, Mannon, yanks on his partner’s arm and without a second glance back at you, they sprint down an alleyway, pulling sabers from hip sheathes.

You blink.

You’re free, just like that.

Your eyes dart around for something to free your hands with, but there’s nothing and you can hear the sounds of screaming getting ever closer. Townspeople are fleeing into buildings, doors being slammed shut, candles being extinguished, bolts drawn. From where the official’s building, you hear the click of several heeled boots pacing down the street in double time.

Between them and the pirates, you’d pick the pirates.

So with your hands bound behind your back, you dash down the same path your two captors took.

The sound of cannon fire fills your ears and there’s smoke everywhere. Your eyes sting, but you force yourself to keep moving, one foot in front of the other, one step at the time. There’s another earth shaking boom and suddenly the ground next to you explodes. You bite back the scream in your throat and continue running, you can’t afford to fall now. There are people all around you, dressed in the distinctive red coat of the law authorities here or in a motley array of tunics and breaches, both hold weapons, and both are dying.

As you move forward without looking back, there’s the sound of clashing metal, musket fire, screams of the wounded or dying. A man suddenly falls in front of you, blood pooling like a blossoming rose across the white of his undershirt, matching the vibrant red of his uniform. You leap over the corpse and turn back, staring open mouthed at his unclosing eyes, still wide in his shock, the slack muscles in his cheeks and jaw unmoving.

He’s dead.

You look up, almost instinctively. There’s a young man standing there, a long spear in hand. He’s wearing a sandy brown shirt over a white linen tunic and long, white pants that only accentuate his height tucked into knee high leather boots. His eyes, a soft brown beneath matching curls, meet yours for a split second.

Then you run.

You sprint as fast as you possibly can, feet flying over fallen swords and broken planks. You cannot stop. Through the acrid scent of smoke and gunpowder, you can finally smell it.

The sea.

In the harbor three ships are docked. One, with the emblem of a crimson rose embroidered onto its flag, has had its mainsail torn to shreds and the deck peppered with holes. Majority of its crew lie dead or unmoving, and even as you watch one of the last gun crews are blasted into the sea by a round cannonball, which shatters upon impact with the deck to form tiny, flying pieces of shrapnel that take out the gun crew beside it. The other ship, presumably a merchant vessel, is looted bare as its crew watches helplessly. Pirates heave chests of salted fish and silk cloth onto the third vessel.

The third ship is a large, ocean going vessel. Above its three sails on the mainmast flies its flag. A plain black design with the word ATEEZ in bright, bold orange, you immediately know this is the pirates’ ship. The harbor is chaos, clamoring of two sides to get the upper hand, but you can’t stop now. Taking a deep breath, you dash forward.

A blade narrowly misses your neck as you continue running with all your might, sliding under the business end of a swinging club. You barely feel the sting of your skin tearing as a stray musket ball nicks your upper arm, adrenaline pumping through your veins like a drug. You feel something warm and wet soak into the fabric of your sleeve, but like hell you’ll let that stop you now. By sheer dumb luck, you finally reach the gangplank of the pirate ship and dash up it, the wood creaking beneath your feet. They might be bleeding after that mad dash through town, but you’re here.

Now what?

Fighting is still going on all around. Pirates work in small groups to fight off boarding officers as they try to swarm the pirates. You hear a voice shout out “Fire in the hole!” over the din, and the five subsequent explosions send the boat rocking from side to side.

You’re still not safe.

Glancing around desperately, your eyes fall onto a small hatch in the main deck. Dodging the end of an ax on the path of its back swing, you leap for the trapdoor. Thank heavens you’re barefoot, because only with your toes you manage to nudge the bolt open and pull the hatch open. It’s stairs, leading down into the gloom of the storage hold, and from what you can hear, relatively quiet.

You’ll take your chances.

With a painful grunt, you take the stairs two at the time and your legs give out at the last moment. You crash to the floorboards just as the hatch closes over your head, throwing you into darkness except the faint shafts of light coming in from the cracks in the upper deck. Your ankle throbs with pain, but you don’t have time to worry about that. You frantically drag yourself behind a few barrels in the corner, out of sight of anyone coming down the steps and huddle down, praying for the ship to sail as fast as possible.

As if the gods were listening, you hear someone above deck shouting commands. “Weigh the anchor! Unfurl the sails! Wooyoung, fire the retreat flare!”

The voice is deep as the ocean and has an unmistakable air of command. You hear the pirates scrambling to carry out the orders, footsteps thudding across the deck and from the screams and splashes next to you, they are tossing the town officers overboard too. Not a second later another massive boom rocks the ship side to side, you knock your head on the barrels and a bundle of sackcloth falls onto you.

“Oww…” You mutter under your breath feeling something warm trickling down your temple, but then suddenly you hear the same, deep voice issuing commands again.

“Raise the gangplank, make way!”

There’s a sudden jerk of movement as the wind fills the sails. You gasp as you are almost thrown forward, barely regaining your balance at the last moment as the ship begins moving away from the harbor. The furious cries and jeers of the town officers fade away, replaced the sound of the sails beating in the wind and the lapping of waves against the side of the ship.

Home, your mind tells you.

As if all the fight has left you in a single moment, you slump back against the wall, the energy thrumming in your veins evaporating like steam, leaving only a sore ache in your limbs. You should really tend to the cut on your head or find some way to free your hands, but the overwhelming exhaustion crashes over you. The sackcloth is really warm, and you need to be properly rested before you can think of a plan.

“Maybe I’ll just close my eyes for a few seconds.” You tell yourself as your eyelids slide shut and your breathing slows. You sink into a deep sleep.

It feels like you’ve barely closed your eyes when a voice shakes you out of your slumber.

[all-about-seggs]

The Game of Three-

Rating : 18+, Explicit

Word count : ~ 3K

Pairing : Geto Suguru x female reader x Mahito

Warnings : Mirror sex, dub con, gaslighting ( kind of, like I wanted to add it but not sure if I did it right), Fingering, Cunnilingus, degradation (slight), voyeurism, choking, threesome near the end.

A/n: When describing Suguru's place I totally went into weeb mode and used traditional Japanese terms but I tried to define them to the best of my abilities so y'all won't get confused and I put the link of their pictures in their name as well, so you can check them out if you want.

The red clouds above you parted to reveal the cerulean blue sky, painting the engawa in front of you in its hues. Giving a quick look over to the now clean surface beneath your feet, you made your way to the supply closet to put the mop back.

It's been a few uneventful months since you got employed as one of the only two maids in the entire manor. It was fairly big, atleast for just one person, and minimally decorated so it wasn't that hard to keep the entire place clean even with the two of you. The other maid was a nice old lady who showed you the way around the place and how to do what when you were just starting out.

The manor was quite, most of the time, even with your boss's guests staying over for a couple of days, the place lacked any sort of liveliness much less talking. Just a few more hours until your evening shift is over, you mused to yourself roaming around the garden to feed the pond's fish their dinner as the sun began its descent. Mindlessly, you kept looking around the area until one of the rooms caught your eye. On your right you saw the silhouette of your employer through the thin Shoji door that coverd his room.

Having finished bathing, you saw his toned mascular arms slipping out of his thin bath yukata that contrasted to the one he usually donned, his elegant movements accentuated by the growing darkness the evening provided. His daily outfit was nothing if not modest, covering his body from head to toe, leaving everything to the imagination but right now the delicious shape of his body was on full display, making it harder for you to move.

It wasn't until his form moved closer to the door, that you realised how badly your current actions could effect the job you were given. Just the thought of yourself getting fired after being considered a peeping tom made your breath quicken and not in a good way. The panic surging through your veins momentarily turned your mind blank, making you stumble until the heel of your foot slipped on one of the algae coated rocks. Clenching your butt cheeks you braced yourself for the impact but the efforts proved pointless as the considerably shallow pond's bottom made full contact with your body.

Pain aside, the cold water of the pond was what added most to your immobility until you heard footsteps heading towards you. Looking up from your seated position, the tall figure of your boss, maybe ex boss, loomed over you. He extended one elegant hand towards you.

" Are you okay.....?", His soft tone carried nothing but gentleness but being a mess, both physically and mentally, it took you sometime to process what he had said. Hesitation was clear in your actions as you meekly let him pull you up. His grip on your arm was firm and with how easily he pulled you out of the pond showed his Zephyr-like nature had a brute strength underneath. Threads of wet, black hair covering the sides of his well sculpted face, reached all the way to his mid- back. His usual heavy garb was replaced with a single, cotten yukata which were damp in every places his hair touched.

"Y/n...... Was it?, Can you stand", putting both his hands on your shoulders he peered at your face, you still for a moment, too fascinated by his slitted eyes to look away. This was the first time you two had a real conversation so you forced yourself to speak,

" Oh...umm, I'm sorry! I didn't payed attention to the slippery rocks and fell,.....but I'm okay! So..... Yeah... thank you", it was difficult to keep your voice steady, not wanting to reveal your obviously perverted BUT unintentional peeping. Yup. That's what you kep telling yourself although his secretive smile told you that your poor lie didn't make the cut.

" I see, so tell me y/n dear.....", His hands on your shoulders gripped them a little tighter as he leaned down until his face was right in front of yours, " where exactly were you paying attention to?", The question was simple, nor did it had any threatening undertones but your throat still felt clogged. It was too embarrassing, telling your boss that you were shamelessly ogling at his silhouette changing clothes. One second, two seconds, a lot of seconds passed with you playing dumb until you heard a soft sigh.

" Alright...... If you don't want to tell me, I'll let it go........for now", emphasizing the now, he took your cold hands in his warmer ones, leading you inside his room. You were still drenched, hesitating to climb on the perfectly dry floor of his room,

"It's okay..... I'll go ask for a change of clothes so you sit here, better than the outside right?," Smiling, he disappeared down the hall. The whether wasn't cold, so you didn't have to worry about getting sick but you still reeked of fish and algae, making a change of cloths a better option. You could chid yourself for it but looking at the things in his room can't be considered peeping so you turned around from your sitting position, taking in your surroundings.

His room was relatively normal, just like rest of the manor, the furnishing was minimal, a low chabudai with a few soft looking zabuton around it, a wooden cupboard, the slightly elevated tokonoma on the right side of the room had a full body sized mirror, along with a couple of other tiny decoratives. Nothing stood out with everything in place, your boss sure had simple tastes, you thought to yourself when the door slided again, when the owner of the room itself entered.

He was empty handed , earning a questioning look from you, " it's gonna take a few more minutes to find women's clothing, I hope you don't mind, for the time being....", He walked over to cupboard, producing a towel out of it.

" Use this to dry yourself", handing you the towel he kneeled beside you, he was being so nice, you hadn't expected him to be so kind but you gratefully accepted it. When you began drying your hair, you felt his eyes on yourself, pointed and unnerving. You gulped, feeling like he could see right through your head, just waiting for you to fess up on your own. You were lost in your thoughts when his voice suddenly filled the room.

"You know.....y/n, when you desire something.....", His fingers made their way to your collar, playfully stroking your neck," you should let yourself have it", his last words were nothing but a whisper against your ear as he placed himself right behind your seated form. His upper half of the robe already wet, stuck to his body, defining each and every cut of his muscles. He was somewhere between lean and mascular, his beautiful face giving him just the right amount of sensuality. You weren't naive enough to be oblivious to his suggestive tone.

It was weird to you, perplexing even as to why a clearly well to do, good looking guy would not only make a move on his maid but a maid who smelled like she just popped out of a can of tuna fish. His deep, even breaths stroked your ear as he waited for you to answer.

" I really wasn't thinking about....... 'This'", you pulled his hands wrapped around your shoulders away, to prove your point. You thought he'd be upset but his face only lit up by your rejection.

" Is this embarrassment I see y/n? Because it's not cute", he rose on his knees, looking down at you he gently added, " the mundane world would feel much better if you indulged yourself a bit more you know, even if those indulgences are only of....."

" Sexual nature", his sharp eyes slited as his lips curled into a wicked grin. Impossible to read, his actions did nothing but lure you in a honey coverd poisonous trap. It was obvious with the way his hands started massaging your arms, right where it hurt from your previous fall, blowing softly in your ear. They was all just tricks to make you fall just so he could shame you from above but you'd be damned if it didn't got you all hot and bothered. He grazed his hand across your blouse sticking to your bust, your nipples hardened with the slightest touch. The reactions your body gave were no lies and therefore couldn't be hidden. He pressed your bodies closer until you sat snugly against his torso. You closed your eyes, still unable to decide whether or not you want to let him have his way and deal with all the risks that would soon follow after.

The front of wet your shirt was completely open by now, reveling the garment underneath. Suguru's hands trailed up and down your thighs as he hiked your long skirt higher until it pooled around your hips sticking to the sides. He hooked his left hand under your left knee, doing the same with your right side, he pulled your legs apart, with the mirror in front, you and the man behind you had a full view of your damp panties.

" See that? This is what you want. To be exposed by me. Just the thought of spreading yourself open in front me have you this wet y/n...... Are you sure you weren't waiting for this moment all along?", His voice had a mix of mockery and eroticism in it, his words only adding to the fire burning in the middle of your core. With his right hand, he grabbed the thin strap of your panties at the side of your hips and tore them off until the shredded garment was left dangling on one of your hip. The air in the room, made contact with you now naked pussy but what made you shiver was the mirror in front of you. Suguru held both of your legs as far apart as possible, his face, now lacking all the warmth it had just a few minutes ago. When you tried to squeeze your eyes shut he pinched your inner thighs hard, making you cry out in a mix of pain and pleasure.

" Keep looking y/n, I'm proving it to you, just how much you're body is begging for me. And I won't stop until you've said so yourself, so keep. Your eyes. Open.," The darkness of his tone was accentuated with the look in his eyes. The fingers of his right hand made their way to your cunt, with two of them he spread your dripping lips apart, reveling the tiny swollen bud that was screaming for attention. You felt it too, the need for release spreading in your body but voicing it meant your defeat so you held your breath, letting the self assured guy behind you continue his ministrations.

" Why can't you be honest just like your needy cunt?", He cooed against your throat as he rubbed your nether lips with his digits, coating them in your slick. He didn't touch your clit, if you were going to be a brat then he's bringing his A game too. Making you beg was his only motive now, his eyes met yours, the mirror in front of you showing every nook and cranny of your privates and by now you're sure Suguru has memorised all of it. The ache between your legs was getting worse as he kept on sliding his fingers up and down your folds but never touching the rest of your sex. You knew what would make him do it but after the prolonged defiance you're not sure how to put it into words.

" Whats wrong y/n, are you ready bow to your filthy desires?, Getting off on my fingers is going to be a lot better than yours right?", Damn his rude ass remarks but they were true, the last few months have been very long and dry for you, day in and day out all work, maybe that's why you're giving in so easily, what he promised was as tantalizing as his actions, that's why you were so horny, easily aroused even.

"Right..... You're .... right, so do it.....master", you broke out, the last of your self control shredding itself as you let your voice flow out just as much as your cunt, your juices.

" Finally gave in huh?, It would've been so much easier if you'd just admitted to being my slut from the start, but oh well, this is also good", his thick fingers slipped in you with ease as he wrapped his left hand around your throat, making you look straight at the mirror. You were a mess, a totally different kind of mess you previously were, in addition to your already damp hair, your eyes were glazed with lust, the corners of your lips moist with your drool that threatened to spill out, your clothes were disheveled and tattered, you were disheveled in general and barely recognisable.

" Now look at yourself closely, how your face twists when I make you cum, how you look when you're begging to me like a real slave," his fingers picked up a brutal pace, going in and out of you relentlessly, his thumb roughly massaging your throbbing clit, sending shivers up your spine. You could clearly see your drool covered face turning hotter by the second, pussy dripping from your buliding orgasm on the tatami mats below it, your moans coming out in broken whimpers as Suguru's hand tighten around your throat, eyes rolling back for a second, you cum around his fingers hard.

" Do you see that ? How disgusting she looks right now?", Turning his gaze to the left he called out to his accomplice in crimes, " Mahito", the other man, with an amicable smile on his peculiar face stared at, not where you lied on the floor, but at your pitiful form that appeared in the mirror.

" I just dropped by to give you the clothes you asked for the young lady earlier," his talked merrily, not minding the scandalous sight in front of him one bit," but it appears that you aren't going to be needing them for a while", throwing the cloths aside he sat on your left side. Suguru kept his eyes on the mirror, loosening his hand around your neck he let you breath, mind still hazy.

" You're free to join in, if you have the time. But I'll have to warn you though, she's a persistent one, it took me a while to break her as well", Suguru smirked, pulling his fingers out of your abused hole making an exaggerated show of bringing his cum smeared fingers to your face, as if prove his victory.

" I don't mind a challenge every once in a while Geto kun, I'm not bad at 'this' myself, but to make sure, why don't you keep sitting, after all it's been a while since touched a living human", Still a bit delirious, it took you a few more seconds than usual to process the change in your situation or what he meant by living just now or touching even. The man named Mahito kneeled in between your still parted thighs, you thought it was strange that your brains last and probably rotting cells decided to focus on his eyes. They were heterochromatic, it gave his already scared face a haunting quality.

The fact that you were sandwiched between two men soon left your mind as Mahito started sucking on your still sensitive clit, your legs instinctively clamping if it's weren't for Suguru holding them apart. The man behind you weren't entirely evil though as he rubbed soothing circles on the soft inner flesh of your aching thighs, his touch only heightning the touch of the man between them.

Mahito licked your juices as if they were made to be feasted upon, slurping on them lewdly, the V of his fore and middle finger seperated your pussy for more access, he grazed his teeth lightly across your clit, fighting the urge to bit it down. You didn't have any energy at this point to put up a show of defiance so you kept moaning, the sight of the man lying flat on his stomach along with his face hidden in between your legs was urging you to cum, but the abrupt thrusting of Suguru's fingers in your mouth cut them off.

" If you're mouth is available enough to scream for just anyone who makes you cum then you truly do have the makings of a whore.", His words were nothing more than a possessive hiss against you throat, long fingers grazing your tonsils as he pushes them deeper. You gag a little, the fingers in you mouth kept you from reacting to the man who worked your pussy until it throbbed against his face.

Mahito turned his heterochromatic eyes towards your face, it seemed like someone was keeping you from your release, he sucked on your clit again adding two fingers in your streched out cunt. He moved both his tongue and digits in similar motions, causing a surge pleasure wash down your senses, with just a few quick pumps of his fingers, your juices gushed on his face as your moans get stifled by the fingers in your mouth.

" That wasn't so bad right?", Mahito pushed himself up as he asked his partner in crime, something about his tone was awfully cocky, making Suguru's face scrunched up in a haughty smirk as he added,

" Indeed, you sure know your way around the human's body Mahito kun, but maybe a little less egar to please attitude would do better. Can't let our toy think we're just here for catering to her needs now can we?", His voice loaded with provocative innuendos sounded nothing but gentle but the other man knew better.

" Hooo?, Is that a challenge for round two, then?", He met Suguru's goading with a playful and assured tone. Both of them stared each other, neither of the males backing down they both turned their eyes at your spent body, and you know even without having to look, that it was going to be a long night.

[andraaste]

I am not your enemy - Lance fanfiction Part 1

Hey, this is the translation of the first chapter of my fanfiction, hope you'll enjoy it !

(Link for Chapter 2 here)

Chapter 1 : I am not your enemy

"I know you only just woke up and you're not ready to hear this yet, but know that today you are seen as the hope of the Eldaryans. You saved us all and you are worshiped as a deity, however, you must know one thing..."

Stranger faces crowded around me, jostling in a dance far too fast in which I couldn't keep up. Each gaze I met stared at me with a mixture of amazement and admiration while paradoxically, a sense of doubt hovered in each of them. Stalls of food, trinkets, and even potions spread out before my eyes in an abundance of information. The bright sunlight forced my eyelids to squint as uneasiness took hold of me. The market place, much larger and more developed than seven years ago, was teeming with life and sounds, each stronger than the next, which accentuated the headache that had assailed me for almost two weeks. Without warning, a shoulder jostled me and I swayed dangerously while grabbing the edge of a booth in an effort to support myself. The person gave me a scared look and quickly fled while muttering a vague apology that I wasn't paying attention to. What the fuck is happening to me ? The weight of emotional fatigue from awakening from the crystal was felt more and more, my body was searingly exhausted each day and I was sleeping well over ten hours each night. However, my condition did not improve, which prompted Eweleïn to keep me under observation as soon as necessary. I vaguely heard a man bitch about the fact that I was blocking the passage, which gave me the strength to let go of my makeshift support to stand up and continue my journey. But where had Jamon gone ? I was supposed to follow him to show me where to find weapons for the Obsidian Guard, which was now the one I worked for, but despite his very tall stature, I couldn't see him in the dense crowd. who surrounded me. Resuming my awkward run, Huang Hua's words circled in my head since I thought I saw, a little earlier, what sounded like my worst nightmare. "... He's here, Andraste. He repented and now works every day to right his past mistakes. His actions are totally unforgivable and no one will ever forget what he did to Eldarya, but his heart is no longer filled with the darkness that decimated him and that is part of why I decided to give him a chance here. " My stomach immediately turned as I thought about those words. He was there. The one who had put my life on hold for seven long years lived here like a repentant, and no one seemed to mind. But how could they have been ?! No matter how hard I twirled the words of the leader of the Sparkling in my head, I couldn't understand the decision. “He deserved it badly, you know. He was not greeted with open arms and even still, his presence remains only tolerated by the inhabitants of the HQ. But he is the most useful part of this guard and without him I don't think we could have got up so quickly. Don't look at me like that, I know what you are thinking, but I can only ask you to trust me. " My head was spinning as quickly as the nausea that was mounting again. "Have I ever shown you that my judgment was wrong ?" " Faced with this flood of nonsense, only my reason had managed to answer him at that time. “No, you are certainly right. " No, his judgment had never been distorted. Absolutely never. And it was eating me up. My fingernails dug into my arms, my breathing suddenly quickened and I felt anger sneak up on me. And as if to echo what was dawning in that moment in me, I lifted my head and froze instantly. It was his hair, almost silvery white, that caught my eye like a magnet. His large size also had a lot to do with him, he was well above all the people around him, and his tanned skin warmed his characteristic icy gaze. With his graceful, almost feline gait, he seemed to move serenely in the midst of a crowd filled with unconsciousness. It was him, I was sure. I will recognize him among a thousand, his cold mask having obviously never left him. Lance was a monster and he stood in front of me. Totally frozen for several seconds, my blood swirled around as I

jumped up without even realizing it straight ahead. The anger, which had already nestled deep in my heart for a long time, suddenly exploded, absolutely devastating. The latter crept in like poison, burning me so much that I literally exploded with rage as I ran towards it. The traitor hadn't noticed me yet and I decided to take advantage of it by rushing straight behind his back, ready to do battle. And for the first time in my life, I wanted to kill. With a desire so deep, so intense, that it dictated my every move and every thought. I probably lost some of my humanity at that point. Who knows, maybe deep down I was just as monstrous as him. Taking advantage of the surprise effect, I raised my fist forward and crushed it with all my strength on his jaw. The latter was thrown to the side and, under the effect of adrenaline, I was ready to perform my gesture again when his eyes, as cold as a lake of ice, spotted my movements. With a sharp gesture, as quick as a fraction of a second, he stopped my intention with a firm, almost painful grip on my forearm. This simple touch made my blood run cold as it burned my skin. Blinded by hatred, I tried to free my arm from its makeshift prison but nothing helped, my executioner did not give in a millimeter. - LET GO OF ME ! I shouted at him. - I am not your enemy, do not force me to hurt you, he begged me then. In response, I stepped aside and threw my second fist in the direction of his face, but much to my pain, Lance was faster than me and stopped my movement for the second time. - Andraste, I'm fully aware of your anger, but let me explain what happened. Totally blinded by anger, I couldn't hear what this killer was trying to tell me. - Let go of me, for God's sake ! I struggled like crazy and despite his strength far superior to mine, the young man was clearly not leading. - Look, you can't do that here. We are in a public square and everyone is looking at us, he tried to make me hear. His voice, both calm and alarmed, penetrated me to the depths of my soul. Stirring my memories, she took me back seven years, remembering every moment spent by her side. Fear, anger, hatred but also another feeling, much less gloomy, seized me then. But I didn't want that last feeling. In spite of myself, he had returned, like a sweet and bitter reminiscence, ruffling my skin where his hands still held me. I would never dare to admit to myself what I had felt for this monster during a fleeting moment. When the latter had kidnapped me, and maybe even before, an attraction had more or less pushed me towards him. Some sort of unhealthy admiration, perhaps. - You know very well that it's more difficult for me not to hurt yourself than you do to me, he said with a slightly superior air. But who did he think he was ?! Anger twisted my temples so much that my sight suddenly blurred. Lance noticed it and, hesitating for a moment, he kept me from collapsing by sliding a hand both firm and hesitant on my waist to hold me back. I pushed him away unceremoniously as a sharp pain gripped my stomach. - Don't touch me, Lance ! The latter raised his red-stained hand, his face troubled. - You're bleeding, what's happening to you ? My eyes froze on his dripping fingers. - I ... I don't know. My hand in turn rested where his had been a moment earlier. I found there a hot and abundant liquid. Some blood ? My sight blurred again and I sank under the alert gaze of my enemy. I felt two arms surround me before I passed out.

(Chapter 2)